#aaaaaangst

....no this isn't an Art Fight attack disguised as fan art what do you meaaaaan-

But uh ey! This one gets it's own post cause I actually fully rendered it...and ey Masquerade deserves it, so eh >:/

Already mentioned it before when I submitted my attack, but i'll say it here again- Just that i've actually been meaning to do another piece of fanart for this AU for a while since...i'm not really happy with how the first one turned out (the one with the endslate). I dunno, think it just looks plain, not happy with the background and ESPECIALLY the lighting, and i feel i could've done better drawing the chracters. So since then, been meaning to do another piece to redeem myself (and give more love to the AU), so when Art Fight was coming around....i knew just what to do >:]

All in all tho, real happy i was able to get this piece done again (especially considering i'm starting to feel art block hit o h n o -), i'm sure it won't be the last time I do something for this cool as hell AI, but for now I shall rest for a bit...before i'm mercilessly attacked in Art Fight again cause GODDAMN i'm being murdered over there agsjsnaksj-

With that said tho i'm real happy with how this one turned out!! It's simple, yeah, but think i got the vibe across well! Especially with the coloring/lighting, think that was a good improvement, and like always it's super fun drawing Tim in this AU, his design's absolutely adorable and just AGSJDBAH MY BOY-

· ‘Mon bebe, did you remember the gadgets I made for you? The ones with the discrete beacon that integrates with my network. In the leather case?’

‘Yes Chamber, I did, see? Right here’

‘And you’ve gone through the exit strategies? Through tower, towards arcade, extraction fro-‘

‘from A gate, yes Chamber. It’s okay. I’ve memorised the briefs,’ you finish.

‘And what about weapon conditio-‘

‘Vincent.’

· You place your hands firmly on either side of his face and bring him in close. He lets you, eyes pricked with concern and fear.

· ‘My love, I can handle this. It’s just another mission. This is literally our job.’

· Chamber very consciously takes a big breath in, and lets it go.

· ‘I know, mon chouchou, I just worry.’

· He insists on being set up on the same site as you, as a precaution, of course

· You turn around from your setup and sure enough, a rendezvous beacon is set up near your position

· ‘Chamber! I need to be able to manoeuvre around site, I can’t have your tech crowding my-‘

‘Just a precaution mon amour’

· Eventually, familiarity kicks in and the move stabilises. Nesting up high, you keep your rifle trained on the bottleneck to the site.

· You hear Chamber’s voice, smooth and warm in your ear, relaying through early information that there’s nothing amiss

· It’s not exactly the sweet nothings he whispers when you’re alone, but it’s really nice to have him close in moments like these

· You mutter a half-hearted joke, and he chuckles gently. Even though it’s totally inappropriate, hearing him laugh sends those pleasant tingles up your spine

· The moment is cut short when you catch movement across the courtyard. ‘Hold up, I have something here.’

· Another few seconds of tense silence pass before you hear the tell-tale shriek of Skye’s hawks. They found something. Shit shit shit.

· ‘Chamber, you there?’

· It’s only a moment delay but your anxiety peaks until you here a quick ‘yes mon bijou, just dealing with a scout, I don’t think-‘

· Your world is knocked sideways, ears ringing. How the fuck did they get on site?!

· Over the comms, you manage to make out a strangled ‘we’ve got shit here from mid, gotta regroup’ from Skye

· As the stun wears off, you swear and retrain your rifle on the courtyard, now littered with smoke

· Is that…? Instinct kicks in, and you triangulate the flicker of an assailant’s shoulder to land your shot through the smoke, hearing a grunt and a thud that could only have been the enemy Breach. One down, but where the hell is your backup.

· Chamber’s voice comes in again, spiking with panic as he yells the coordinates he picked up from his alarm

· Shit, that’d pincer him from behind. Checking your map, your three colleagues are all occupied or too far away.

· You curse again and leap from the ledge, pistol out as you forge through the smokes and make your way towards your partner’s gadget

· Favouring urgency over stealth, you hear a couple of shots ricochet off the metal near you. Someone must be spraying. Not good

· You grit your teeth and keep running, full pelt into the smoke to get to the hold point

· A sting in your left shoulder doesn’t give you time to register before agony, white hot, flashes through your abdomen. You’re in too much pain to track how many bullets must have shredded through your armor, instead opting to stumble behind cover and yank out the recon dart from the enemy Sova’s bloody owl drone

· Shielded from bullets clattering off the entryway like some awful hailstorm, you force out a couple of shuddering breaths and scramble around for a pressure pack to hastily reattach

· The thick smoke starts to disperse, and you take the moment to swing wide and catch the enemy Sova in the neck.

· God. You hate seeing him crumple, reconciling that with the polite man you see around the protocol common rooms. The one that helped you with your shots when you were still finding your feet. There’s an awful sort of irony in that

· The world starts to throb louder and harsher and you make to turn around

· A sharp kick to the back sends you crashing to the cold compound floor. You let out an involuntary cry as your wound gets jolted, and you start to feel the sharp pain become a dull roar

· ‘Well well well,’ the enemy Yoru’s voice coos from behind you. ‘The fabled marksman finally graces us with their presence.’

· Any hope you have of responding is strangled out by a sharp kick to your good side

· ‘I would have hoped you’d put up a bit more of a fight. I guess the setups you train with are pretty rudimentary, wouldn’t you sayyyy’

· You manage to hiss out a strained ‘fuck, you,’ which is promptly met with a heavy boot pressing into your back

· ‘You’re in no position to negotiate, loser. I know they told me to bring you back alive, but I’m sure our Sage can work something out…’

· You bite back hot tears of frustration. You always knew this was a possibility, but it didn’t make it any less humiliating to be so at the mercy of the mirror agents

· The breath in your ear is hot and triumphant

· ‘Either way, you’re ours now. What do you say to th-‘

· Yoru’s taunts are cut off with a sharp intake of breath, and the weight on your back is abruptly lifted with a thud from behind

· A very familiar voice rings out, but it’s not the warm and flirty tone you’re used to. It’s laced with ice and venom

· ‘You do not. Touch them. You do not.’

· It sounds like the hit he landed on Yoru was pretty bad, as the enemy agent manages only a wet gurgle

· ‘You do not go near them. You do not go near them. You have no idea how critical of an error you have made.’

· Even through the blood rushing through your own ears, the words command the space around the three of you and everything is silence.

· You start as a shape thuds down beside you. From the corner of your eye, you see Yoru plunged face first into the ground, cheek smushed painfully against the cool metal. You hear the click of a silencer, and muster just enough strength to turn and see Chamber pinning him down

· Eyes wild and dark, bits of hair pulled from their tight hold and suit absolutely ruined, Chamber holds his headhunter against the back of Yoru’s skull

· ‘The only thing, clone, that stops me from putting this bullet through your head, is the fact that you will be serving as a cautionary tale to the rest of your precious crew’

· At the sound of a gunshot, you flinch, and the Yoru lets out a whimper

· ‘It’s just a leg wound, clone. I’m sure Sage can work something out’

· Satisfied with his work on Yoru, Chamber turns to you

· ‘Oh, mon tresor, shhhh, please, be here with me, be here with me’

· His voice now is so very gentle and soft and scared as he kneels next to you, hands gently checking your vitals and brushing your hair back to get a better look at your face

· You make to get up, but at this point your body has gone into shock and you can only manage out a strangled grunt

· ‘No no mon bebe, it’s okay, I have you, I have you, I’m here now, it’s okay, shhhh, let me’

· His voice is cracking at this point, but he manages to ease you onto your back, and then up against the wall, as gently as he can

· ‘Vincent, y-‘ as you go to reach for him he leans in and stops you, panic flashing across his face

· ‘no no if you do that you’ll bleed more, please just let me’

· As hard as it is to stay focused at this point, you can make out his hands trembling as he checks your bandages and starts to apply pressure. Every time you hiss in pain, he winces reflexively and keeps muttering consolations under his breath

· ‘Skye, I need you now’

‘Yeah uh sure I just -fuck- taking down their Neo- oh jeezers fucking chr-‘

‘Skye, I need you now’

· As you wait for Skye, Chamber stays as close to you as he possibly can, gently brushing hair and tears out of your eyes, peppering the top of your head with kisses, tapping your cheek softly but urgently when he sees you drifting

· It’s by far the most distraught you’ve ever seen him, barely able to form sentences as he tries to keep himself together for your sake

· Once you finally get back to base and stabilise, he does not leave your line of vision. Like, at all. For maybe a week.

Her pregnancy wasn’t great, not that she thought it would be a walk in the park, but she hadn’t imagined it would have been as difficult as it had been. Both Matteo and herself had been so scared when she went into labor two months before she was supposed to. They worried what that would mean for their precious baby. Labor had been hell, it had been one big hazy, painful hell for Giada, but it was oh so worth it when she saw her baby girl for the first time. Of course even the birth had been something that hadn’t come normally. They had to name their little Delilah Gia Rossi when she was in an incubator instead of with her in Giada’s arms like she had imagined for months. The doctor had said that Delilah had an underdeveloped lung and that she had to be in the incubator until it was fully developed. 

Giada and Matteo prayed and prayed that their little miracle would make it and when she did they cried. She was such a tiny little thing at first, Giada could hold her in one hand when feeding her if she wanted to. As Delilah grew, so did Giada and Matteo’s hope of a perfect family, sure she was a sick baby but she was a joy. Their joy. Giada would be the first to admit that they spoiled their little girl, especially after they found out that Giada couldn’t have any more kids. Everything was great and beautiful and her and Matteo’s marriage felt reborn, it was full of that ever-consuming love and sex was once more something enjoyable. Of course it didn’t happen as often as they would have liked given their child and her needs but they made it work. Giada couldn’t remember ever being so happy as she had been then at that moment in time when it was Delilah, Matteo and her against the world. 

Things, however, didn’t last. Thinking back on the circumstances of her and Matteo’s divorce after everything she had learned recently, she had the strongest urge to reach out and apologize for never believing him. Things were so good up until Delilah had turned nine, she was at her fifth school after some incidents at the others and because of Matteo’s job. Matteo had started to become…wary of Delilah and what words fell from her mouth. The two butted heads constantly. Always arguing about telling the truth and honeyed words. At the time Giada had been convinced that Matteo was just stressed with work and that he was taking that stress out on them, because she knew that her little Gia wasn’t a liar. Sure there had been bullying accusations but it was Delilah who was getting bullied and those other kids who claimed her little baby was actually the bully were nothing more than troubled. Matteo hadn’t seen it that way. Not after Delilah’s third transfer.

No. He had been convinced that she was a troublemaker. That she was the bully and not the victim like she had sobbed to them every time there was an incident. It had only escalated from there and so had the fights on the matter. Giada just could not understand why her husband wouldn’t believe their daughter, it was like he couldn’t. Like he physically and mentally was incapable of doing so and Delilah noticed. She had always been an overly observant child, it made hiding her La Befana gifts hard; as well as the sweets. Delilah knew her father didn’t believe a word that came out of her mouth and it depressed her so. Giada could only do so much, could only provide so much attention and love when the only attention and love her baby wanted was her father’s. But it only got worse.

The shouting got louder. The words cut deeper and it felt like anything Giada did was useless. Matteo would get frustrated at her for being so easily manipulated while Delilah sobbed into her chest about her father’s anger. It all came to a head a couple of days after Delilah’s birthday, Matteo finally had a true day off from the Embassy same as Giada and of course Matteo and Delilah got into one of their little fights. Apparently one of her teacher’s had called Matteo to talk about Delilah’s missing assignments, ones she had told them she had done. Of course Giada believed her daughter because Delilah would ask her for help going over her homework so she knew she had done the work, even if there wasn’t much of it. When she had said that Matteo had looked like he had wanted to yell, scream, something other than the long sigh he had let out. He had gone on a rant about how ‘this was why he made sure the teachers called him’ and ‘how could she not see it’? 

It was during this that Delilah had started to cry and cower behind her mother. She had been saying something repeatedly under her breath but Giada couldn’t hear her and listen to her daughter at the same time. That was when Delilah had seemed to snap. She curled into a little ball at Giada’s feet and yelled, “I’m sorry Babbo! Please, I’m sorry! I promise I did the work, I promise! I’m not lying so please don’t hit me again!” The silence. Oh how Giada remembered the silence that had followed that and her daughter’s whimpers. She remembered the numbness she had felt and the overwhelming fear and anger that followed. The fight after that had been astronomical, Giada had told Matteo she wanted a divorce and if he knew what was good for him he had better sign the papers and never come into their lives again. She had told him she was being merciful in not bringing him to court but he had only laughed and said he would have preferred they had gone to court but in the end he had signed the papers. 

It was the last thing he ever said to her that was what haunted her till this day, till this very moment. It was right after the papers had been signed, all his things were moved out, the signing of the papers was to be the last time she saw him. It was with the last stroke of the pen that he finally looked up at her and said, “You better get that girl some help Giada. Sooner or later her lying with every breath she takes will come to bite you and her in the ass. This type of thing, Giada, it doesn't go away and she won’t grow out of it. You’re going to believe she’s your perfect little angel until consequences for her lies come knocking at the door. And you’re not going to like what they have to say.” After that, he had kept to his promise and left them alone, actually he had left Italy as a whole, apparently he had gotten an offer by another embassy to be the Italian ambassador. She never found out where, but it had been the hot gossip at work for a long time, too long. 

That was when Giada had started looking at other embassies that needed a secretary, it wasn’t the high-profile job of an ambassador but it put bread on the table and it was what she was good at. The moves were good for her and Delilah and slowly they healed, but oh how Matteo’s words hung around her like a smell that wouldn’t go away. Especially now, because he was right and Giada should have listened. Maybe if she had and they had gotten Delilah the help she so desperately needed, then maybe she wouldn’t be in a Parisian hospital watching the slow rise and fall of her daughter’s machine aided breathing.  She knew teenagers and practically everyone told lies, it’s a part of life, but she never imagined lies would have brought her to this moment in her life wondering if her child would wake up. Everything had changed once The Protector had surfaced, that was when everything had come to light and Giada wished she had still been in the dark. 

It’s not easy to face reality especially when it was particularly against you, Giada thought as she looked over her daughter once more. She honestly didn’t know what she hoped for.

On one hand she desperately wanted her daughter to wake up, to be okay and to heal so she could answer every question her mother had running through her head at the moment. If Delilah woke up Giada vowed she would get her daughter the help that Matteo insisted she needed, the help that she now knew she needed. She just didn’t understand why her daughter would lie about so many things, why she felt the need to lie, the need to turn a whole class against one girl enough that that girl snapped. Thankfully, Giada knew how messed up it sounded, even just in her head, but thankfully Paris had Hawkmoth. Otherwise that little girl may have taken her own life and Giada didn’t know if she could live with herself if her daughter was the one responsible for that. 

Heaven only knew if Delilah would have felt any guilt either way, she sure as hell didn’t seem remorseful knowing she caused the City’s worst akuma to date to form. If anything she had seemed pleased with herself and that, that’s what broke Giada. She had hoped beyond hope that Delilah just didn’t understand what she had done but when they had been watching the news Giada had seen it. She had seen that self-satisfied smirk her daughter wore before she schooled her look into one of fear. It was so fast, a blink-and-you-miss-it type of thing and it had made her feel like maybe she had hallucinated it due to the stress of the situation. Next thing everyone knew the news was reporting that the akuma victim, Marinette may have been Ladybug, who due to some extensive research Giada had done, was not as incompetent as Delilah had told her she was. 

The research hadn’t made her feel any better because it meant she hadn’t been hallucinating. Her daughter wasn’t who she thought she was and Giada really didn’t know who she had been living with. She had been manipulated for years and she had had no idea. Delilah had always seemed so independent so Giada just placed her trust in her daughter, she now knew that was the wrong thing to do. Others would probably mock her, were probably mocking her for her stupidity but she had wanted to trust her daughter because really, they were all each other had. Even her parents had cut off contact with her because at the time Giada had believed they had been cruel to Delilah just like Matteo had supposedly been. So Giada had told them they would no longer visit unless they apologized to Delilah and owned up to what they had done, of course they had argued their innocence until they just stopped trying. 

It hurt, it hurt because Giada lost them for nothing and she couldn’t even call them, or she could but there was a high possibility they wouldn’t answer and that would be more than her heart could take. Right now though she needed to talk to someone, anyone who didn’t look at her daughter in disgust and her in pity. She didn’t know what to do, her daughter laid before her on a hospital bed beaten and broken because of lies she told and the absolute craziness that Paris had become. It happened so fast. Giada had been ready, ready to confront Delilah with all her research as soon as her daughter had walked down from her room. She had hesitated when Delilah had kissed her cheek and said her usual morning greetings, a tear had fallen. Delilah had looked properly worried for her and that hurt because Giada had no idea if the worry was real. 

She had opened her mouth to say something, anything but then their door was kicked down and people rushed in and it was all just motion. Hands were on her, holding her, a voice was soft, pitying, telling her she was a victim of the silver-tongued fox. They said it would all be over soon, that they were there for a higher purpose and that she would be free. Giada hadn’t understood but all she had done was struggle and scream for her daughter, her daughter who looked genuinely scared. She was made to watch as these people, The Followers she would later find out from the police, beat her daughter within an inch of her life. They used their fists, their feet, they used whatever objects in the home they could and just as fast as they had arrived they left. The strength in her legs had all but gone and Giada had crawled to her daughter who she couldn’t even recognize anymore and hastily called the cops.

Then they were here and the doctors were telling her most of her daughter’s bones were broken, some penetrated her organs and she had brain damage. Then came the announcement that Delilah was in a coma and that they weren’t sure if she would wake, that it would be a miracle if she did. She had been her little miracle so at first Giada had been certain Delilah would pull through and would wake, then she really processed everything and that certainty diminished. So she sat there thinking about the other hand, the other option for Delilah and arguably the most merciful. Of course Giada wanted her to wake but some part of her thought her daughter would be better off passing away. It was an awful ugly thought but it consumed her. Her little girl, no matter how mad she was, how disappointed and how horrified she was with her, she didn’t deserve this pain. If she woke she would be paralyzed for life, she would never be able to do anything for herself and it would be Giada taking care of her.

Giada didn’t know if she would have it in her to do so. 

She also didn’t know if she had it in her to press the call button to the number she had gotten from her friend Theresa back in Italy, but Matteo deserved to know what happened to Delilah even if it was all over the news. She believed it was best to hear it from someone rather than to find out some third-party way. So with a heavy heart and small amount of confidence Giada pressed call. 

It rang. 

And rang.

And rang.

Each ring made Giada’s already low confidence dwindle until she heard the tell-tale sound of a click. “Ciao. This is Matteo Baiamonte speaking.”

“Matteo. Cia-Ciao.”

“Giada.” The somewhat warm tone he had when answering the phone was all but gone. “How did you get this number? This is my personal number.”

“That’s beside the point Matteo, I…I have some bad news.”

A heavy sigh. “I know Giada. Bad news is the only news that travels fast, what I don’t understand is why you called me.”

“She’s your daughter Matteo.”

“Was. Both of you made that very clear when I was told to never contact you and you changed her last name-”

“She asked!”

“Because that makes it better? You always did what she asked like a good little fantoccia!”

He always knew what to say to cut her deep. “I didn’t call to fight Matteo!”

“Then what did you call for Giada?” He yelled, slightly hysterical. “If it was only to inform me of Delilah, a simple email would have sufficed but given you haven’t updated me on her medical history since I left I doubt this is what this call was really for.”

“If this was for sympathy,” She heard Matteo chuckle in disbelief. “You’ll get none from me. I warned you Giada. I warned you about that girl and now? Now you and her are facing the consequences.”

“Conseq-Matteo! You act as though Delilah deserved this! To be beaten within an inch of her life all because of some lies!”

“Porca miseria! Giada. What she did was more than lie. Delilah lied, she manipulated and she did it all without remorse. I feel some sympathy for her for the consequences she faced but I did tell you she would face them. I just never imagined they would be so pricey…I don’t know what you expect me to say Giada. I feel bad for the kid, I do but nothing more and I did not appreciate this call.”

“You deserved to be told.” Giada choked out over her tears.

“No I didn’t. I deserved to be left alone. I left you guys alone like I promised and now I ask you to give me the same courtesy Giada. I have a life, I have a family and I know that’s not news to you if you got your hands on my personal cell phone number. The point is, I moved on, and you need to move on from this to.”

“I don’t think I know how to Mat.” She answered honestly. 

“Strength and Courage, Gia. Strength and Courage.”

The call ended without any goodbyes and that was just as well, because even with his harsh words, Matteo was still the man she knew. He still, in all his anger and frustration, gave her advice. Things were messy between them but even still after everything she and Delilah put him through he was willing to give her advice and call her the nickname she carried throughout her years. It felt like when they had been friends in the embassy and fought over something they both had different opinions on, but when she was stuck, Matteo always managed to give her advice and be her rock. So she wiped her face of any remaining tears and prepared to call her parents as many times as was necessary to get them to listen so she could apologize and maybe, just maybe they could mend their broken bond. Giada slipped her hand through Delilah’s unresponsive one and held it.

“Strength and Courage.” Giada echoed softly, she would get through this and when Delilah woke up they would get through this, so she pressed call. 

Next Chapter

*La Befana-"The Good Witch" in Italy, on Jan. 6, Le Befana comes to the house and leaves gifts for children while also sweeping the floors of the household. For naughty children she stuffs their stockings with coal. It is said that her housework kept her from traveling with the Three Kings on the night they went in search for baby Jesus, or at least that's what it says according to the tale. It was later on that she went with a bag full of gifts for the newborn Jesus.

It's said that she sweeps the floor as a way to sweep away the problems of the previous year away and leave the family with a fresh start.

*Babbo- a more personal way to refer to your father in Italian

*Ciao- Hello

*Fantoccia- female puppet

*Porca miseria- literal translation is "pig misery" but it basically means "For God's sake/For Goodness' Sake"

She gulped back a sob. “I thought I was trapped in a nightmare when I got the call, you know. There has been an accident, Miss Galathynius. Of course, the damn EMT couldn’t quite pronounce my name, so it sounded like a child trying to make sense of the syllables.” With her free hand, she flicked the rogue tears off her cheek. “I keep replaying the last thing I said before you left that night, Ro. I keep hating myself for them.” She sniffled. “I told you I hated you. I hate you. I hate you. Nothing could have been farther from the truth. God, I’m such an insensitive fucking idiot. I knew what you were going through with Maeve, I knew that you’d been broken down time and time again at that awful woman’s hands, and I...I lashed out because I was stupid and insecure and fucking stupid.” 

Rhythmic, steady beeping from the machines hooked into Rowan’s body was the only answer she got. His heartbeat pulsed across one of the screens, a slow, constant electric green blip the only indication that the love of her life was there behind the ugly gown and the mottling of injuries. 

“Why couldn’t I just pick up the phone?” she whispered, voice cracking as that sob broke through her barrier. “Why was I so stubborn and insistent that I’d been in the right? Why couldn’t I see how badly you were hurting, how badly I needed to pull my head out of my ass and read the words so clearly scrawled across your face?” No longer bothering to stem her tears, she reached up to his achingly handsome face, the face that no amount of bruises and scrapes and scars would ever change that she loved. “Remembering the way you looked at me right before you left--it kills me, Ro. Every time.” She choked out another rough sob, tasting the salt of her tears. “They say time heals all ills, but I’m so, so scared it won’t heal this one. 

“My Rowan.” Lifting the back of his hand to her lips, she pressed a teary, tender kiss to the inked skin. “My buzzard.” Another kiss. “Please, don’t leave me.” Breaking into pieces by the last pleading words. 

She watched his chest rise and fall in rhythm with the tube pumping oxygen into his lungs, helping him breathe as his ribs and bruised lung healed. Watched the blips and beeps of his pulse, his brain activity, his blood flow pulse across the screens as she clutched his hand, the familiar warmth leeched away as he slept. 

“Would this have happened if I hadn’t been so closed off?” she breathed hoarsely into the silent, sterile room. “Would we be here like this if I’d just fucking talked to you for once?” Hot salt tears dripped onto his hand, her grief pouring out into the hospital bedsheets. “All I want are answers, Ro. Even if it’s just a ‘no,’ even if you tell me to fuck off. I just--” Her breath hitched. “I just want to hear your voice again, buzzard. I just want to see you smiling. I’m so sorry, baby. So fucking sorry. I did this to you--I was an idiot and I yelled at you and I made you leave and gods, I’m the reason you were in that crash.” Sobs shook her shoulders, the full force of her emotions unmasked for him. Only for him. “I love you, Rowan Whitethorn. I will never stop loving you, even if you never know it again.” Raising that hand to her lips, she pressed a soft, teary kiss to his knuckles, careful to avoid the IV. 

Finally, hesitantly, she loosened her grip on his hand, letting go before she cracked into pieces all over the hospital floor. She pushed her chair back, still with her fingers touched to his, and stared at his still, sleeping body, the pale undertone of his tanned skin. Her fingers twitched. 

No. 

His fingers twitched. 

Gasping, she raised her eyes to his face, barely believing that any of this was happening. 

Pine green crashed into turquoise, silent tears pooling in the depths of Rowan’s eyes. 

Awake. He was awake. He could hardly move, save for twitching his fingers against hers, and he was still under heavy pain medication and sleepy from the sedatives, but he was awake. Staring at her. Alive. 

Chest heaving, Aelin pressed the nurse call button, lacing her fingers with Rowan’s, her eyes not leaving his. The nurse burst into the room in less than a minute, rushing to the bedside. 

“He’s awake,” Aelin croaked, beaming through her tears. “He’s awake.” 

“He’s awake,” the nurse echoed, hurrying to check Rowan’s body functions on the monitors. Two more nurses rushed into the room at her words, talking to each other rapidly about Rowan’s vitals. “Breathing seems normal, heartbeat is steady, BP a little low but not dangerous...” The nurse who’d first entered turned to Aelin, smiling widely. “He’s perfectly fine, Ms. Galathynius.” 

Aelin could only smile wider, gripping Rowan’s hand. “What comes next?” 

What came next was a slow, steady recovery. Rowan went under sedation again the next day to have the breathing tube removed, so the next time Aelin visited him, he was propped up in bed with an oxygen tube under his nose, more coherent than he’d been when he first awoke but still unable to speak. The doctors had warned her that he’d be silent for a while as his throat recovered from having a breathing tube, but she didn’t care. All that mattered was that he was alive, awake, and recovering his motor function, despite the fractures, the bruises, the bandages and casts on his body. 

He’d recovered enough function in his good arm that when she arrived and sat down at his side, heart bursting with all she wanted to say, he pulled over the whiteboard a nurse had left for him and slowly scratched out three words. 

I love you. 

“I love you, Ro,” she breathed. 

He erased and wrote again. I heard you, you know. 

“You did?”

Yes

“I’m such--” 

I forgive you. Setting down the whiteboard, he closed his hand around hers, every ounce of his love for her shining in his eyes. I forgive you, I love you. 

Hesitantly, she pulled herself closer, leaned gingerly over his body, and pressed her lips against his. “I love you so much.” 

“To...whatever...end,” he mouthed, forming the words with some effort. 

To whatever end. 

~~~

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Ari has a clipboard, and a ball-point pen of a brand she hasn't used since she worked here what feels like a lifetime ago. She has a print-out of an up-to-date personnel list – some bright spark managed to get into the computer systems, an important victory that she can't muster the will to give a shit about – and a folder with as many of the ID photos as they could dig out in a hurry.

And she has her personal experience. 

The stench isn't as bad as it should be. It should reek of death in here – blood and shit and burned flesh and gut wounds and the first inroads of decay. It should be hard to breathe. But someone's dampened it with magic to make it bearable. Ari still smells all of those things, but the air isn't thick with it. She doesn't gag.

She's grateful to whoever had the good sense and the know-how to cast that spell.

She ignores the friendlies, the warlocks. Other people ID'd them hours ago. 

Ari's not sure how long she's been working triage. As long as it took to create the breathing room to step away. Long enough that the endless grim decisions have mercifully blurred together. Long enough that her eyes are gritty and her limbs heavy with exhaustion. 

If she lay down, she wouldn't sleep. 

She can still feel the adrenaline buzzing through her nerves, tightening her chest. Her bones ache fiercely, especially her hands. The idea of sleep is almost laughable.

So here she is instead, rolling dead ex-colleagues over to get a look at their faces.

It's been a long, long time since any kind of violence had the power to make her nauseous, but she feels queasy now. 

Ken Carter was kind to her when she was a trainee, and tried to warn her away from Maclauren. She didn't listen. 

Russell Mathis was completely anal about arranging his desk just so, but if you wanted something filed promptly, he was your guy. 

Rosie Edson drank too much and everyone knew it. Turns out she was right about dying too young for the liver damage to matter.

Gabe Usher was a decent person. Or… Ari always thought he was. Can you be decent, and work here? If you really believe you're protecting more people than you're hurting? 

He's dead, either way. The question of what he deserved has never felt so meaningless. 

Shacora Stone is a stranger, except that Ari killed her. She shot her, and she remembers vividly the wide-eyed shock as the agent realized she was dead. Ari IDs her by reference to her photo.

Stone wasn't quite twenty-one.

Yan Cheng was an asshole but she was funny. Ari used to like her. They'd get drinks after work sometimes. 

Ally Dixon was not a good person or a friend. The world's probably a better place with her gone, but Ari can't bring herself to feel any gladness. 

Matt Hinton was her lover, briefly.

The list goes on and on.

She sees Caleb in all of them – the blood-soaked uniforms, the lifeless eyes.

Halfway, she has to stagger to the sink to be sick. She hasn't eaten in god knows how long and it's just acrid bile that burns her throat. She swallows water until she can't taste the acid anymore, then she picks up her clipboard and gets back to it. 

She thought there would be some sense of victory if they won.

Usually there's a thrill to surviving a firefight. Usually she feels alive after dicing with death – a reckless kind of high that makes her want to drink and fuck and shout at the sky. 

Some of the others are feeling it. She heard them celebrating in the halls, despite Peyroux's best efforts to keep them focused on securing and fortifying their position. 

Ari supposes distantly that she's glad someone's happy. For her own part, she feels closer to the stiff, sightless dead than to the victorious, exuberant soldiers whooping and laughing in the halls. 

There's only a handful of non-magic people left alive in the building. The handful of hostages in the cells below – carefully guarded and warded against their own over-exuberant fighters – and Ariadne.

Why did Taryn want her here? Why did Peyroux?

There's only a few dead she can't match to a name, in the end. A few she doesn't recognise and doesn't have a photo for, yet. A few too badly burned to ID.

When she's done, she leaves her clipboard by the door. Maybe they'll tell the outside media, so that the families can have closure. Maybe they'll even find a way to return the bodies – or their ashes – to their loved ones. Ari doesn't care. That's not her job to worry about. 

She didn't volunteer for their sakes, she did this for herself. She had to know. 

And now she does. 

She returns to the field hospital. They've set up in what used to be the second cafeteria, because the infirmary wasn't big enough. 

Sage looks as hollow as Ari feels, dead on her feet.

"I can't sleep," Ari half-lies. She hasn't tried, but she doesn't have to. "Give me something to do?" "We have plenty of that," says Sage. "Have you eaten?" Still queasy, Ari considers pretending she has. "Not yet," she admits.

"Go eat," Sage orders, "I don't care what. I'll have something for you when you get back." Reluctantly, Ari nods. Sage is right. Food is necessary, and will help.  "Alright," she agrees. "Back soon."

Sooner or later, her body will protest her rough treatment, and she'll suddenly want nothing more than to collapse. It happens faster now than it used to. 

But until it happens, she will work. It's good work, supporting the healers in the hospital. Work she doesn't have to doubt or be ashamed of.