THORNS

Breathe in, breathe out. Don’t let the memories affect you; you are stronger than this. You are better than this. You know that running now only creates more heartache for both you and the others. You can’t be selfish anymore. You have them to think about, and it is for them that you won’t do that anymore. The pain is all temporary anyway, and one day it will subside. Or so you hope.

Leaning against the old wooden porch that seemed to creak with her every movement, Freyja began to wrap her arms around her legs as she glanced at the glorious beholding sight of the sunset light melt into the mountains before finally being engulfed by lingering clouds. Closing her eyes briefly after witnessing such a beautiful scene, she tried to hold back the incoming rupture of tears she knew that were dangerously close to leak out of her closed lids. Ones that always arose at this time of the year, the one time where Freyja seemed to have emotions such as this. The anniversary of her mother’s death always brought about painful memories of her childhood whilst causing her to question her place in this world, one that made her wonder how she had even found such happiness; and if she even deserved to have such a taste for all the remarks she remembered her mother hatefully spitting in her face. That she was unworthy, that she was undeserving of love. And that her mother always regretted her birth.

But everytime she was brought to this edge, it seemed someone always brought her back; first being Maeve, or then Cat, then it seemed Nik who had appeared out of seeming nowhere.

“It’s chilly out here, you need a coat. Take mine.” He rumbled, a weak smile appearing upon her features as she nodded taking his own even when there was nothing she wanted more to do than to disappear into the abyss, away from the happiness she had found herself surrounded by. And it seemed Nik seemed to sense her wary thoughts, her fears and in all that he took a seat by her, wrapping an arm around about her frame as she took in shaky breaths, wondering just how she had found herself here. No words needed to be exchanged, nothing need to be said, Freyja leaned her head against his shoulder as she whispered into the atmosphere, “Thank you Nik.” And the more important unspoken, ‘I love you.’

And perhaps. Just one day, she wouldn’t have these thoughts at all.

With the morning light barely brushing against his skin, he sucks in a few more breaths. He allows himself a moment to feel the weight of their words, only a moment, before he shakes out his legs for a run and starts removing the fresh wraps on his hands. He didn’t know where he was running to, but it was anywhere that wasn’t here. Here he could feel himself slipping further away. His warmth was seeping right out of him in a place that was suppose to be home. Their home. Now he can’t look back at it.

He lets the wrappings slip through his hands. The wind only picks at them briefly when they fall to the gravel behind him as he is about to take off running. But, he doesn’t make it a step further without the sound of heavy footfall on rocks to alert him of another presence. Eyes squeezing shut, a thumb and forefinger rubbing at his eyes and down his cheeks, he debates running. He could still make it. It would be a challenge trying to out maneuver her powers outside, but he has done it before. Just go now! Go, go, go, go, go! His mind is frantically screaming the words, almost begging, while his feet stand their ground. His body is in its own little war and all that ends with is his heart losing out as she catches up to him, and he lets her twist him around to face her.

He doesn’t catch her gaze. Rather he stands straight, towering her enough to look over her head at the mansion that stood tall behind her. This damn place. Her. He couldn’t keep doing this. All this twisting and pulling. The leaving and staying. What was real? Was any of it real? He isn’t sure of much anymore. Then she starts sputtering out a lot at once, and something in his chest cracks with her always. Always loved him. Always. How can she say she loved him when she didn’t even confide in him? How could she be saying all this now after months of proving the opposite? It didn’t make sense. If she loved him, why did she choose to stay there after everything was over? If this was love… did he even want it?

Before he could come up with an answer, she is slipping away from him again. He really couldn’t keep doing this. “Freyja, please.” His voice cracks, “for once. Stop running.”

He stands there. Unsure of himself. Wrestling with his thoughts and what it meant to give in. It was a lot. This, what they had, has been festering for so long. Kept hidden while fire met fire. This much desire drove him to leave everything behind for her. And while it ruined things, a part of him was certain he would do it again, in a second, in a heartbeat, for her. She let him know he still had a shred of a heart while freezing and covered in blood for awhile. He almost started to believe her. Until she let him know otherwise, and then chose the brotherhood over him. His fingers flex. He stifled a moan from the motion that caused his hands to ache. Hands she had been so gentle with a moment ago. So gentle. A vulnerability in her. A simple caress. He swallows. It was there: the terrifying truth. Unfolding never in her words but through her actions.

He finally takes a step towards her, wobbly. Then another. And another. “If you love me, stop running away from me.” He can’t keep his gaze off her now, all the love he has hoarded over the years emerging in his eyes even as she kept her back to him. And now the silence feels somewhat comforting as he thinks of what he wants to say, how much he can afford to give away. He moves around her to stand in front of her, blocking her way. The mansion and all its recent stirrings of real fears for him out of sight. Almost out of mind. He lets those same cracked, bloody hands caress both her cheeks. It’s almost fitting. All of their moments seem to come with blood. “Because I can’t love you if you won’t stay.”

There’s just so much history when it comes to both Nik and herself. History that pulls at her heart, moments of time where she’s always wanted to let go and embrace the darker part in her that selfishly has only ever wanted and never given up. And for so long she found herself containing it because she thought it would make others happier, and that she could find herself being content. But with each aching day she found herself falling into a deeper and a darker pit of loving those who seemed to find no fault in all her very many flaws. And she hated herself for it, but she couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like if she could even find the courage to tell the truth, to speak her mind for the first time. 

And she had given up so much in the past, it ached for her to see the pain so clearly depicted upon Nik’s features, ones that had so often been guarded amongst her after she had shattered his heart after he had lay it on the line for her. And perhaps just with these last few words she would finally feel free. She had felt caged for so long, doubting anyone’s true intentions when it came to her life because of what had happened with her deceased mother and absent father. It had affected her more than she liked to admit, she was so utterly broken. Yet in the company of Nik and Cat she somehow was able to be made whole, and it ached her to tear them away from her heart. Her fingers caressing his arm, tightening ever so slightly as she pleaded for him to listen to words, to just hear them for the first time for what they truly were, she released a sigh of relief as the truth was finally spoken.

She no longer had to live in the life of possibilities and what ifs. He knew the truth and now the ball was in his court. She could live with the fact that he probably no longer loved her. She could live with the fact that she had probably lost her chance. But at least no longer it would plague her mind at night about the possibilities and what could have happened if she hadn’t been so cowardly and chose to stomp on his heart instead of accepting his feelings and letting him know that she reciprocated them tenfold. Yet the moment she started to walk away, moisture beginning to well up in her eyes as she thought about the fact that their life could have had such a different future if she had taken another path, the moment she heard his voice resonate in the oh so deafeaning silence, she immediately stopped.

“You love me?” She whispered, her heart dropping at each continued word. Her arms dropped to her sides as she reached out a hand to caress his face, her eyes gazing directly into his. “But how could you possibly love me after all of this?” She asked, her eyes continuing to well up as she stepped closer towards him. He loved her. How could this be?

A content smile upon Freyja’s lips, she lay on her stomach as she relaxed in the sun; almost like a cat absorbing sunlight when it so rarely came out in Athos. She had never found herself feeling so content, almost as if there was a sense of peace when it came to the little things that were whispered at the back of her mind; especially of enemies coming in the cusp of the night to injure those she loved. A finger reaching for her phone, she scrolled through the latest stories on her Instagram as she found herself admiring a photo from a couple years ago, one of the most precious memories she had containing both Nikolay and Catalina. How she took advantage of each day, the happiness she could feel radiating off of both as she suddenly looked up to see both of them watching her almost with amusement at the rarity of seeing such a pleased Freyja. “Come here, you two.” She murmured, extending an arm over to beckon them over as she flipped her camera upon a selfie mode, feeling the need for an impulsive selfie with the pair of them. To capture moments such as these, to be grateful for such good in her life. “Let’s take a selfie.” Ignoring Nik’s pouts and Cat’s whines, she pulled them down upon her picnic mat as she poised the camera to take a photo of the trio of them, a pleased smile appearing upon her lips as a stream of laughter began to escape. “I love you guys so much.” Words that would have once upon a time been so hard to utter, but now she couldn’t help but say all too often.

Silence had never been quite this loud. It ate away at him; at his nerves, his comfort, and his will to share this space with her. It devoured, and he couldn’t even look past her anymore. He had to look away. Staring in her direction had her squirming and folding in on herself, arms wrapped so tightly around herself.

Did he really make her that uncomfortable from three little words? Was it even the words? She saw the monster behind the man in Russia. Maybe that was all she saw now. A monster; ruthless, tortured, and completely, without a shadow of a doubt, unsalvageable. “You said it all in Russia,” he grounds out, speaking in the direction of the door. He should get out. He should go for a jog instead of burdening her with his very existence. He bites down on the inside of his cheek, wanting pain. He wanted anything but to focus on Freyja. The familiar taste of iron in his mouth was enough to keep him from tightening his bruised, bloody fists and hightailing it back over to the punching bag. Running his thumb along his middle and forefinger, he lifts it and drops it. Then again. Then, on the third time, he lets it come to rest on her shoulder. A light touch. Hardly there.

As it limply lays there, he pulls his gaze from the door to the floor to her face with a forced, ghost of a smile. One he was so used to harboring when in the presence of Bratva. “And what happens in Russia stays in Russia.” The feelings had were encased under layers of ice on Russian soil. That is what he told himself, at least. He had to. He had to remind himself that, to her, they are a never. He lets his hand slide away from her, pained. There was no need to pretend his touch ever sparked a smile. It was all blood and powers and fury from the start with them. Two hands trying to connect but only meeting as fists. He never made her smile like Cat did. Hell, even Midas sparked more feverish delight in her eyes than him. He was a monster, and nothing more. A truth that had been painstakingly clear since he left for Russia a second time. Bratva had proven that. Catalina had, too, when he got back. With every day that passed since his confession in Russia, Freyja seemed to be saying it in the silence. All who was left to say it was Midas, if he ever showed.

He jerked his thumb in the direction of the door. “I’ll go for run. Get out of way.” He wanted to leave. He wanted to run and run and run with the wind snapping at his face, driven to tears, until he couldn’t anymore. Until his legs were all that ached. Not his heart. And that is what he did. He shoved his hands, still wrapped, into the pockets of his shorts and walked out. Walking up the stairs and out the front door without bothering to close the door, desperate for the fresh air. He makes it about halfway down the gravel pathway before he stops. Just breathing, existing. Refusing to think about anything but the morning sun against his sweaty skin.

There is an ache that arises at his words. One that begs to be set free, for her to turn back time to Russia. One that causes her to bite her tongue, the familiar taste of copper arising as she holds her mouth clamped shut despite all she longs and wants to say. She holds such guilt for what has arisen in their past, for being the one that has torn what once was to be shattered into a million pieces. And yet, she doesn’t regret it one bit. If she had to sacrifice mountains to save Nik, Cat or Midas she would. Because they are the lights in her life that she has come to love and protect, and she would never do anything different when it came to making sure that they were safe. Yet as her fervent gaze finally turned towards him, her heart dropped as she looked at the pain that was so evident upon his features. Pain that could have only come from one like her.

Perhaps the whispers were true. Death only followed her. Death and pain. She remembered her past well. A dead mother. Dead bodies dropping about her the moment she entered a room to finish the job. And yet after all this she wanted more. She wished to be more than the moniker that others knew her as. To be set free from her past that marred her future. The one that had caused her to be a coward when it came to her feelings. That had caused her to run away, flighty and fleeing the scene when it came to confronting the truth. She had never liked to stare the truth in the face, and now she had the opportunity once again. And the moment he started to move towards the door, she knew that she only had one option. Even if it hurt even more than his rejections. If she never said it aloud, perhaps she never would.

“Nik, I.” She began, staring helplessly as he walked out, each further step causing her arms to wrap around her body tighter. It was never meant to be like this. She should have told him the truth, and perhaps things would be different now. She should have followed him home after the job had been done. But she had been a coward then and she was being one now. No more. She ran after him, hoping that he hadn’t disappeared like she knew he so easily could. Her senses easily tracking him down upon the driveway she reached out an arm to grasp upon his tightly as she forced him to look at her. “I’m so sorry for everything. The pain, and what happened. You laid your heart on the line and I stomped it to pieces. And I let you think that was the truth. But the truth is, I’ve always loved you Nik. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you till now. And I know you feel differently, but I just wanted to let you know. I love you and I just wanted you to know.”

And like a weight off her chest, she finally let go as she began to walk away, turning her back to him as she moved back towards the mansion. For the first time she had revealed the truth to her feelings, and unlike what she had felt before — it almost felt catatonically good to do so. But why did it hurt so much to know he did not feel the same way?

The hand that runs through his short hair finds rest at the nape of his neck as the simplest of words reclaim his full attention. A name. His name. Spoken so abruptly from her only to end there and leave him wondering if he should just leave. It might be better for them if he were around less. Where she is is not where he can be. Not now, at least. Maybe not ever. Not when it brought out a fervor in him, making it harder to breathe, while knowing it wasn’t reciprocated. Maybe he still needed time to recover from her, and from their time in Russia when she let him start to love her only for that to be shattered like the picture frame of the four of them that use to rest on his bedside table.

His hand drops to his side as he is about to say something, but then she is talking again and he finds himself caught off guard. Unsure of himself for once. What did she have to be sorry about? It wasn’t her fault she didn’t love him? It was his burden to carry. One he was slowing peeling away, strip by strip, day by day. Considering his past, it wasn’t too hard to do either. It’s easy to keep scrapping off little pieces of yourself until there is nothing left. Until you feel nothing. Losing himself to the void, shell of a man was simple as long as he let himself slip into it, into his past self. He started off that way when he came back from Russia. He can revert once more if necessary. “No need for sorry,” he says, taut, staring at her but past her at the same time. “My fault for discomfort. I felt something that was not real in Russia. Frostbite got to the head. Its gone now.” The ache in his chest said otherwise. But, he wouldn’t say that. Those feelings would get lost to the abyss of a thing he called his heart.

There is so much she desires to say. How much she wishes that she could emphasise the truth, for what she truly feels. The guilt she has often felt for the way she feels, and even more so for the way she broke the pieces of himself that he had granted for her to see. She knew how difficult it would have been for him to even do that, and yet he had done it. For her. And so as she stood there, her hands almost outstretched to reach his own, she continued to falter over what words she could possibly say to confess the truth she that she had kept under wraps for so long, the candor that she had so often wished she possessed.

Yet as she continued to watch him, she could feel her hopes slipping by every second the more he continued in that moment. She should have just left. He didn’t deserve this. And now she regretted even approaching him in that instant, her heart continuing to ache at his words, every fibre of her being clawing at her to clam up, and forget the intentions she might have had at that second. “Oh.” A small word, and an infinite amount of silence that continued by the next second as she began to wrap her arms around her stomach, wishing that she had never approached him at that second, even thinking she could get a minute second chance. “If that’s the case, I won’t say what I was going to say.” She began to whisper as she stepped backwards, her gaze dropping from his own as she felt a harder ache from her chest. One that burned at the lost chance she had, at the fool she was.

Hopefully. Hopefully. Hope was truly all they had this night, and hope seemed to win out against all odds. His swords digs deeper into the dirt as he uses it to balance his weight. All he wanted to do was get off his feet, but they couldn’t do that just yet. Then, as if he struck by a knife from behind, he whips around with a sudden burst of energy or worry. Podrick. Where was he? He remembers he was behind him a moment ago. He twists further around to see him a little further behind to his left now. With one look back at Brienne, he lets out the breathe he had been holding what felt like the whole night. “Let’s hope so. If it isn’t, we’re dead,” he says with a level of certainty. They barely survived this. They couldn’t afford anymore surprises. Jaime lifts his sword with a small grunt to keep it from dragging as he moves over to Podrick. Instinct has him looking the boy over for any deep cuts. Any signs of pain that might indicate he needs a healer.

Brienne’s gaze quickly surveying over their side for any sign of Arya or perhaps even a red haired individual to signify Sansa’s survival, she began to hasten her pace towards Jaime as she hoped and prayed to the seven Gods that they had survived the attack. She didn’t know what she would do if they had not. “I never thought I’d survive.” She admitted, as her eyes began to catch sight of Podrick, a light sigh of relief escaping her lips as she moved towards the pair, as she exclaimed, “Podrick, thank the God’s you’re alive. Are you hurt?” She asked, as she tried her best to ignore the pains she could feel from her lower gut, knowing she would be able to find a healer later once the others had found help first. “Let’s find you a healer.” She murmured, as she offered a hand to the boy, her eyes briefly surveying Jaime as she took account of his own injuries. She was glad he was still alive.

He spots a flash of a smile out of the corner of his eye. Just a whisper of what more could come from her. He liked that, and he liked being the one to stir such a rapturous sight. When she was on his ship with the darkling, she only ever seemed dazed and confused to Nikolai, like she still wasn’t sure what she was capable of. That wouldn’t do. She needed to believe in the improbable. It certainly did wonders to erase the worry lines marring one’s skin and keep you looking young and beautiful. “At least I would still be the center of attention.” His smile morphs into a look of pure aghast. “I’ll be the talk of every town. Privateer sacrifices his good looks for downfall of darkling: was it worth it? Certainly not.” He jokes, but he knew it would be worth it if that is all it takes.

It was quite freeing to be upon a ship for once and not stuck within the Palace; with a set schedule for her training, eating and sleeping. It had been awhile since she had nothing that she was commanded to do, and she wasn’t afraid to say she quite enjoyed the freedom. And whilst a part of her ached for Ravka, and wished that there was something more she should do than be fleeing upon a ship, another whispered that it wasn’t so bad to be there. Her gaze turning towards the Captain, her smile continued to remain upon her lips as she began to chuckle yet again, trying to imagine his shaven hair, especially with locks such as his. “I’m sure you’d be the centre of attention, hair or no hair. But I’m afraid I’d have to agree. Not sure you’d attract any of those ladies with no hair.”

Chuckling at Freyja’s teasing, Cat just shrugged her shoulders in feigned indifference. In all honesty, she was probably the pickiest eater within the house, having grown up with a professional chef cooking for her each day, it was only one of the departments she had been hopelessly spoiled in.  “The things we do for love.” She replied with an overly dramatized sigh. “Though I do sincerely doubt you’re going to burn this… unless I manage to distract you properly.” Her mood for once was too good to be dimmed by any of her darker thoughts. For once her life felt bright, soft and utterly manageable considering the most difficult thing on her mind right now is keeping her hands of Freyja as to not ruin the entire kitchen as well as breakfast. “I guess so. I mean we don’t make the rules.” Standing up on her tiptoes, she leaned forward, unable to tame the smile spreading on her lips. “I can’t believe I get to do this every day now” She mumbled, before pressing a careful kiss onto Freyja’s lips, tasting the morning coffee she must have already had. “That’s what I was talking about.” Her lips only left the other girl’s for a second before pulling her in again, now kissing her more passionately. Breakfast would have to wait for just a minute. 

If there had been one thing that Freyja had missed when she had been away, it was the softness that was brought out of her when it came to a certain Catalina. One that was brought out from the depths of darkness when she had the other in her arms, or was simply in her presence. She longed to always never be far, and it was a solemn vow she swore the moment she had been accepted back into the fold. “I’m truly lucky to have you.” She mused before laughing at the prospect of burnt pancakes, and sprinklers coming off in the chance of any fire. Nik would certainly be amused, but she was sure Midas would be irritated to be awoken suddenly drenched. “Perhaps we should make it a challenge.” She said with a raised eyebrow, before moving towards the other to wrap her arms around Cat’s neck as she returned the passionate kiss, a hand moving to turn the stove off before returning her attentions back towards Catalina. “I think we’ll have to try once more to make sure we got it right for the recipe.” She murmured before pressing another kiss to Cat’s lips.

Walking in the bar after her, he motions for her to find a quiet booth while he makes he way over to the bar counter. It takes him no time to flag down a bartender and slide an overly gracious amount of coin to pay for his glass of red wine as well as a bottle of firewhisky for Ana. A glass in one hand, the bottle in the other, he keeps his head low and lets the shadows cast from the brim of his hat blanket his features. It was best to not be too seen. When he places the bottle on the table and slides into his side of the booth, however, he feels complacent enough to remove the hat. Small indulgences never hurt anyone. His world wouldn’t collapse if one or two wandering eyes spotted him in a bar with his controversial, and high-risk, friend Ana. He pushes the bottle towards her before leaning back into the hardwood back of the seat with a little grimace. He’d grown too use to luxury; plush seats one could melt into and waiters at the snap of a finger. His back might pay for this later. “I skipped the glass for you. Figured you’d like it straight from the bottle down the gullet.” His fingers play with the spine of his own glass. “Now, tell me, what has you so on edge? If looks could kill, I would have been dead in that alley.”

Her eyes skimming over the various occupants within the bar, she knew that Evan would be more comfortable to find a booth with a much quieter setting, especially because of his pristine reputation. Politicians were rather fickle creatures at times. And whilst normally she would have made a crass comment about his need for appearances, she wasn’t quite in the mood to indulge into banter conversations just yet. She despised the fact that she was to stay in England for more than had been planned, and she worried about the creature that clawed beneath her skin; the one that longed to play with the darkest of beings and be allowed beyond the surface. And for so long it had been easy to keep it at bay, although it truly seemed she was struggling at this point. She could not afford for any weaknesses, even if Evan seemed to be seeping into all the cracks she tried to seal up. These thoughts coming straight to a halt the moment Evan appeared again, a small chuckle began to escape her lips as she nodded, taking hold of the bottle to take a long sip of it before placing it down upon the table with a loud thud. “Perhaps, you’re lucky I noticed it was you.” She commented dryly, before shrugging and deciding to state, “My mother decided that I couldn’t go home for the holidays. I miss Bulgaria.”

He couldn’t find the words to answer her then. He didn’t care to. He felt he did enough to take care of himself after his matches. Then again, Lada always got all riled up and red faced, too, when he would spend hours in the gym the next morning after a long, harrowing mission. But then Freyja is there in front of him again. She is touching him again. And she is swatting away his hands to replace them with her own, to re-wrap them, and skin finally comes into contact with skin.

He can’t stay detached. That isn’t a solution. He can’t seemingly float about his feelings as he once had. He can only embrace them, and embrace the heat that licks his skin and causes his blood to boil. He has to admit how much he cares. ”спасибо.” A low, guttural sound. Hardly above a whisper. His eyes don’t make contact with hers, but his hands stay in hers even as she finishes up wrapping them. He even gives her hands the barest of squeezes, too, as his mouth opens and closes, wanting to say something, but failing. What was there left for him to say? He had already said it all months ago and she had given her answer. He quickly slips his hands from hers then and runs one through his hair, already starting to grow out a bit from the buzz cut he had while in Russia.

Silence echoed throughout the room as Freyja moved towards Nik, her eyes dancing about, but never quite meeting his own. She couldn’t bare to look at his features, the way she knew that pain lined them because of her own actions. Call her a coward, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to confront that particular ghost. Yet here she was, her hands finally meeting his own for the first time since Russia, her figure slightly shaking as she began to wrap his wounds, her mouth slightly parted as she almost dared to say something, just anything.

Her hands outstretching to almost cup his own the moment he squeezed her fingers, she immediately almost protested the moment that the connection was lost between the pair. It was now or never. “Nik, I.” She began, her lip curling beneath her teeth as she struggled to find the words to say to the other. He had laid it all on the line in Russia, and she had brutally refuted his words, never allowing him the inch to her mile. I love you. I want you to know that I regret what was said so much. Please forgive me. I just want us to be what we once were again. I wish it wasn’t like this. “I’m so sorry.” She finally settled on as she finally took the courage to step into his line of vision as she continued, “It’s all my fault.”