#fighting blind

I didn’t remember taking off my filthy robes and changing into the spare outfit I kept in my locker for nights out. The nylon fabric felt incongruous; I’d become used to thick, soft robes. My bra chafed.

I let myself into my apartment. Everything was where I’d left it. 

My phone chirped in my bag and I pulled it out to see a text from Emma: Don’t stay too late! Reality TV beckons.

It was our little joke since she had introduced me to Ru Paul’s Drag Race, six months ago.

It felt like five lifetimes ago.

I put the phone to sleep, dropped my bag in the kitchen, and dragged myself to my bed, looking ahead of me but not seeing.

I lay down, fully clothed. The date on my bedside clock showed that here, almost no time had passed. I’d been deposited back to almost the exact moment I'd left.

My gaze was unfocused as I stared at the ceiling. My eyes reported back a view of the plain plaster, but in my mind I saw Pero’s last moments. The length of thick red ribbon around my wrist felt unreasonably heavy. I twisted the fraying ends with my right thumb and forefinger.

If I could have cried some more, I would have. 

I felt wrung out, a cloth squeezed too hard and then left out on the line until it sagged, dry as bone, moving only at the whims of the wind.

Eventually, I slept, and when I did, I dreamed of my husband’s big, soulful brown eyes, his scarred hands on my skin, the whisper of his melodic Spanish accent in my ear.

*****

I woke up in the middle of the night, shaking. My arm spread out across the cool, crisp sheets, reaching for the warmth of a broad Spaniard who had been killed in battle thousands of years ago.

I clutched desperately at a pillow that did not smell of him, and I waited for dawn to come, silent and dry-eyed, a husk of myself.

The next day, I called in sick. 

Emma left me six texts and three voicemails. Marco tried to call all afternoon. I ignored them both, and I stayed curled up on the bed, staring at nothing, hardly moving except for water and bathroom trips. 

Eventually, I slept. 

No dreams came.

*****

I wasn’t sure how much time had passed when a sharp rapping on the door jerked me from my half-sleep, half-grief stricken stupor.

“Fuck off,” I moaned to the empty room, my voice paper-dry, cracking. “You’re not Pero. He’s gone.”

The clock showed a whole day had passed. It was just after ten a.m.

The pounding got louder.

I scrubbed my hands over my face, got up wearing yesterday’s clothes. Walking felt like dragging my feet through a carpet of molasses.

I yanked open the door without checking to see who it was.

Emma stood on the other side, and she took me in with wide eyes, her lips parting.

“Um, oh my God,” she breathed, taking in my wrinkled clothes. I probably stank. “What happened? Flu?”

I gazed at her, my very best friend, trying to summon joy at seeing her face again, when I never thought I would. Instead, I just shrugged.

And then she moved forward and wrapped her arms around me, and I let my face fall into the familiar feel of her shoulder, and I cried.

Two cups of tea later, I had unloaded the entire story to Emma, who had listened without interruption, various expressions parading across her elfin face, but, who now almost certainly thought I had experienced some sort of intense mental break.

I wasn’t entirely sure I hadn’t.

“Well,” she said finally, with the tone of someone speaking to a very infirm person or a  baby; “You can’t go back to work in this state, can you?”

I gaped at her. “You want me to go back to work now?”

She tugged my hand until I reluctantly stood up from the sofa. “You’ve not got a lot of choice. There’s a man in the staff waiting area and he says he won’t leave until he sees you. Came all the way from America.”

My heart sank further still. I just heard America, not Spain.

Emma herded me into the bathroom, stripped me off as I stared sightlessly at the wall, turned on the water, shoved me under it.

I watched, unfeeling, until the spray hit the red ribbon around my left wrist, and then a cry raked up my throat, and I slid down the tiled wall, curling in on myself, pressing the damp wedding bracelet to my lips, wishing myself back in China. Back in Pero’s arms.

Wishing I could hold him just one more time.

Just one more time.

*****

Emma didn’t say much on the way to the Armouries. What could she say? From her point of view, her colleague had called in sick one day and  appeared to have suffered an intense psychotic episode.

I half sleep-walked off the tube, up to the museum. People passing probably thought I was taking very strong drugs.

Emma made me a very strong cup of tea, so strong that perhaps the spoon could have stood up by itself, and steered me to my desk chair. “Sit. I’ll bring the visitor.”

I stared into the mug. “Do I have to? Please don’t make me.”

Emma set her hands on her hips, her face creased in sympathy,  brow pinched with worry. “You can go home right after. I swear. Okay? You get one more day of whatever... this is, and then I’m taking you out on the town. London at our feet. Or, you know, twelve hours on the sofa, with popcorn and Ru Paul. Okay?”

I nodded, just to get her to leave.

Time passed; I wasn’t sure how much. I stared at my PC’s Welcome to the London Armouries screensaver, and wondered how much trouble I would get in if I hurled my computer out of the window.

Then I remembered I didn’t even have a window in this office. 

I smiled without humour.

A soft knock at the door made me look up. “Come in,” I called, with zero enthusiasm.

The handle turned, and I expected to see Emma, but I didn’t. What I saw made me topple off my chair.

A man with Pero’s face stood in the open doorway. His hair was lighter, cream caramel kissed with autumn, tousled. Scruff adorned his upper lip and the same strong jaw as Pero’s.

The same soulful, deep brown eyes.

The same striking profile, same nose I’d loved the hook of.

I stared at him as all the noise was sucked from the room. My ears rang.

He hurried over to me. “What the- Are you okay?” he asked in a husky-edged, drawling baritone, California with just a lick of Texas.

I stared at him wordlessly. My mouth opened and closed, until I finally squeaked out, “is this some kind of joke?”

The man stepped back, brows furrowed. “Funny. I’m pretty sure that's my line.” He rubbed a hand over his scruffy jaw, and that was when I saw it.

The circular mark on the root of his thumb. The depiction of infinity; the spiral, the serpent eating its own tail. Not black, like ink, but the colour of melanin.

My heart lurched into my throat.

This time when he offered me his hand, I took it. 

Our palms touched, and something electric chased down my arm. The stranger jerked as if I’d struck him, slapping his hands over his face as he reeled back, hitting the wall and sliding down it. I rocked back on my heels, staying on the floor.

He held his hands over his eyes for a moment that stretched, shaking, his shoulders hunched in.

When he finally looked at me, his eyes had changed. Darker, somehow. His mouth just a little scowly.

My heart jumped like it had been supercharged, because there was my Pero. I was frozen to my spot.

“The dreams,” the man said, very slowly. “I’ve been having these crazy dreams. But they’re.. memories, aren’t they?”

Unable to speak, I nodded.

“They’re my memories. But also… not mine.” He stared into the distance for a long moment, his face pale, wonder sketched on his features. “And this.” He ran the index finger of his right hand over the birthmark on his left thumb. “You did this.” His eyes sparked hazel fire, accusing me of this insanity.

And he was right. I had done this to him.

I held his gaze, my heart in my throat, heavy. “I gave it to you. Before.”

The stranger’s hand eased over his abdomen, resting where Pero had been gored open by Tao Tei teeth. “It feels… fuck, it feels real.”

I swallowed, my eyes burning, stomach bottoming out.  Tears streaked down my face and I let them come, my stomach cramping, and for an agonising moment, it was like losing him all over again. In my mind’s eye I saw the blood pulse from him, his life slipping away and me crouched over him, helpless to stop it. “It was real.”

We sat together in silence for, I don’t know how long. I both ached to touch him and feared it. Feared the modern texture of his open-flannel shirt over a white t-shirt. Feared the rough denim of his jeans.

And how would he smell? Not of lemon oil, leathers or woodsmoke. How could he?

“I’m Zach,” he said into the dragging silence. “Zachary Pero Wellison.”

My mouth dropped open.

Zach smiled lopsidedly, pushing a hand over his face. The face that was Pero’s, and yet, not. “So… I guess with the addition of…” He waved his hand between us. “...this, I’m sort of…. Both of us? I’m Zach, but I somehow have the memories of….. Pero.” He pressed a fist to his head and then popped his fingers in a “head exploding” reference. “Is this really happening, do you think?”

I laughed, without humour. “At this point, I don’t think I know.”

Zach huffed out what might have been a laugh. “The shrink sure as hell didn’t cover this in PTSD counselling.”

His deadpan delivery made me smile for the first time since I’d woken up back in 2019.

Footsteps sounded outside, followed by voices that lingered and then, after a minute, moved on. My gaze flicked over Zach, my stomach heartsick. Pero, my Pero, was in there, and yet, he wasn’t.

This was impossible. Everything I had ever learned told me what Zach and I were experiencing just did not happen.

But.

“You’re military?”

He nodded, shrugging off the shoulder of his flannel shirt and pulling up the right sleeve of his t-shirt to show me the bottom half of an intricate tattoo on his shoulder. “Semper Fi. Marines. Buzz cut grew out.”

I ate up the extra view of his body, greedy to know where he would be the same, and where he might be different.

“Glad I never saw anything like… the Tao Tei in Afghanistan,” he said shakily, a self-deprecating laugh escaping his lips.

I held his gaze. “It was an experience. Are you.. I take it you don’t still serve?”

“Nope. Three tours and an honorable discharge, two years on the street, but for the past five I’ve had a steady job. A roof over my head.” He summed up his life so flippantly; his delivery really reminded me of Pero’s nonchalance about death.

I sell my sword for coin, I sleep when fighting has exhausted me, and one day I will die and return to the earth. Simple, don’t you think?”

“Um, so... can I get you a coffee?” I asked, swiping my hands over my eyes. It felt like a monumentally banal thing to say seeing as this man now seemed to hold every memory my dead husband had ever clocked up, but I didn’t have anything else.

“Got any whiskey?” he half-laughed.

“I wish I did.”

“I’m good. Drank about a gallon of it at the hotel. Nerves. I, um…” He lifted those cocoa eyes to mine, and for a second, a heartrending second, it was Pero looking at me. My pulse tripped. “This is... fuck, this is a lot. I really…” He clenched his hands into fists, drawing my attention to that birthmark, the same lines, lines I had drawn, only in that brown shade of skin pigment. “I wanna touch you. Or he does. I don’t know. But… can I? Is that okay? I can’t think about anything else.”

Twin zings of excitement and fear skidded up my spine. “Um… okay.”

Neither of us moved.

Zach laughed nervously, standing. He towered above me as I sat in the corner next to my computer chair. I let my gaze travel up his body, long legs in faded blue jeans, a flat stomach under that white t-shirt, the lines of his torso delineated by the open plaid shirt.

His eyes were soft as he offered his hand again, palm out flat.

This time, when I took it, no lightning. Just a warm touch. His fingers sure and confident around mine.

He tugged me gently to a standing position, until we were only a foot apart, then he let our joined hands fall to our sides. We stood together like that for goodness knew how long, looking into each other’s eyes; his so familiar and yet so new.

Zach lifted his free hand to gently skim his thumb along my jaw, and just like that, the air changed. Each breath I took seemed supercharged as I gazed into his big, soulful eyes. “Zach,” I whispered, and it didn’t feel wrong.

He slowly lowered his head to mine, his eyes constantly flicking to meet mine, checking it was okay. Checking I was okay.

And then just before our lips met, a shudder went through him, and he whispered, “Cielo,” with just a hint of Spanish melody, and there was no way in hell he could have known that word unless-

And I yanked him down to me and kissed him with all the love and yearning and grief in my heart, and he kissed me back. His hands came up to spread over my back, and the warm, solid wall of his chest felt divine. 

Perfect. 

Bliss.

I opened for him, and he licked into my mouth, his teeth scraping just a little, and I welcomed the tiny hurt, pressing closer into his body. His lips were Pero’s lips, his little shaky inhale the way Pero would sometimes suck in a breath when we kissed. I shoved my hands beneath his open plaid shirt, felt the play of muscle on his back, under the soft t-shirt, and it was like holding Pero. I sobbed into Zach’s mouth and he drew back, frowning.

“Sorry,” I choked out. “I’m sorry. I -”

“I know,” Zach whispered, stroking my hair back. “I was there. He - I - loved you … He loved you. More than anything.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, pressing my lips together to stop them from trembling. “This isn’t happening. I would give anything to have him back. Anything. But this is… it can’t be real.”

Zach cupped my cheek, his eyes dark, stormy, and for a moment it was my husband looking at me. “Ask me something only he would know.”

I opened my eyes again. This was like living in an alternate reality of the film Ghost. But real. I felt the floor under my feet. I felt Zach’s palm against my skin, gun-callused, the same way Pero’s had been sword-callused.

“What did he say to me, when we... when I…” The words dried up on my tongue. Suddenly I didn’t want to share, which made no sense. “The first time,” I finished lamely.

Zach dropped his gaze from mine, a flush stealing over his cheeks. “Cielo. Heaven. I will not last,” he murmured, that Spanish melody sneaking, incrementally, into his tone.

My pulse spiked. 

No one could know that.

He met my eyes again. “Fuck. I know. This can’t be happening. But it is. Unless we’re both suffering the same delusion.”

I half-laughed. “Unless. God, Zach. I’m sorry. I’m sorry about…. all this.”

“I’m not. I wanted answers to these insane dreams, to the burning feeling on my birthmark, and however absolutely batshit those answers are... I had so many moments over in Afghanistan, wondering what I was fighting for... where my life was going. Always thought - it’s so stupid, but always thought I was just waiting for something. And maybe that something is you.”

My stomach dropped. “Oh, Zach.”

He smiled lopsidedly. “Whatever this is, it doesn’t feel like just my twisted little secret anymore.”

“I-” My heart pounded. “Secret. Oh my God, secret. The axe.”

Zach’s gaze shot to mine, wonder sketched on his handsome features. “I know how to open it.”

*****

I’d never run so fast before. I skidded out of the office, Zach on my heels, past some very surprised visitors and down to the artefact storeroom. I could only hope that no one had been there since the day before yesterday.

Zach stood silently by, but I saw his hands clenched into fists by his side as I swiped my keycard.

It was still there.

The door slammed behind us as I lurched on to the floor, picking it up, uncaring about being without cotton gloves.

Zach held out his hands, and I passed it to him. He gazed at it in wordless awe, his eyes poring over it, fingers stroking reverently.

Then he turned it over, pressed his thumbnail into the slice representing Pero’s scar in the carving on the bottom, and the handle turned, loosening.

I gasped in shock, surprise, joy.

Zach gently pulled the haft loose to reveal a shallow compartment in the metal handle, two pieces of parchment and a loop of crimson lying inside, like the finest of treasures.

With hands that shook, I took out Pero’s handfasting bracelet. The edges were frayed, the fabric so old it had discoloured, but it was his. I lifted it to my lips, felt my heart wrench from my body.

Zach had set the axe down and held the pieces of parchment in his palms. His eyes were wide as he breathed, “I wrote this. I mean, he did. But I remember writing it.”

I paused, the dusty, faded bracelet pressed to my cheek. “What?”

He showed me the yellowed parchment, the writing faded beyond recognition. “The words are almost gone. But I was there. I - he - wrote it while you slept. On the handfasting night.”

The world spun. I braced myself up on one arm. “Would you read it? Please.”

Clearing his throat, Zach closed his eyes, and to my amazement and joy, to my sadness and gratitude, Pero’s voice left his lips.

Querida

You sleep as I write this. My wife, in our bed. Your body and soul more beautiful than I could ever have wished for, in this life certainly. I am not good with words, mi vida, but you must know that you hold my old, scarred heart in your hands.

I think perhaps, you always have. 

If you are reading this then I have gone with God, but whatever He may have planned for my old bones, I will carry you with me always.

Until we meet again,

Yours,

Pero 

When he’d finished, tears streamed unashamed down my face, wetting my jeans. I couldn’t have cared less.

Zach’s face was drawn, too. He set the two pieces of paper aside and opened his arms, and without a second thought, I crawled into them. He rocked me gently, and I pressed my face into his neck, breathing him in; he didn’t smell of Pero, he smelled of rosemary and sandalwood and coffee, but it wasn’t wrong.

“Thankyou,” I whispered into his shirt. “Thank you, for letting my hear his voice, just one more time.”

Zach said nothing, just nodded. He understood. He always would.

We sat that way for I didn’t know how long. Eventually I roused myself. “Zach?”

A soft chuckle rumbled from his chest. “It’s still me. I think,” he drawled, American again, but that husky-edged voice curled its way into my heart.

“What’s the other piece of paper?”

He lifted one arm to pluck it from the floor. “It’s… what is this language?”

I recognised the penmanship. “Oh my God, it’s Gaelic.” I scrambled off his lap, reaching for my phone. This piece of parchment had been wrapped inside the other, and the words had been mostly preserved. I took a picture of the text, uploaded it to the translation app a colleague at the British Museum had developed. While still in beta, it nevertheless contained many ancient languages.

Within a few moments, a translation appeared, and Zach and I gazed down at the screen as I read aloud:

Jade

The thought that this message may find you in a future many, thousands of years from now gives me pause, I must admit, but since fighting those… Monsters, I find nothing surprises me.

We gave your husband a warrior’s wake. That I swear to you. Lin saw to many of the details personally. After your rooms were cleared I found a note in his hand and I enclose it here.

We captured a Tao Tei in the days following Tovar’s death. We fed Ballard to it. A fitting end for such a waste of air, I think you’ll agree.

And after that, the strategists found the Queen. We think we’re halfway to learning how to be rid of them. Once and for all, I pray.

A year has passed since you and Tovar left me. As I write this, Lin sits beside me with our twins, Jade and Pero, named for the man who saved Lin’s life, and the woman he loved beyond the boundaries of time.

I don’t know what will happen when we die, but we will keep Tovar’s axe in our family as best we can. Lin says she trusts the spirits to take care of it, and after all I’ve seen here, I can’t disagree with her. 

She wouldn’t listen even if I did.

We miss you.

With love,

William Garin

*****

A/N: One more chapter to go on this journey. Thank you, thankyou, thankyou for all your love, comments, messages, reaction gifs, theories, THANKYOU x 1000000000. Thank you for indulging my insanity.

The walls of the chambers resonated with whirring and stamping footsteps - clear preparations for a battle.

Tovar, William and I kept glancing at each other as we were hurried along the stone walkways. My heart had leapt into my mouth and I swallowed as if that would help.

We were paused at a huge, imposing oak door. Oh, my. I hated, hated dark spaces. I felt myself begin to tremble, nausea churning my stomach like a stormy sea.

Unexpectedly, Tovar’s tied hands brushed mine. His dark gaze searched my face, his brow furrowed.  The comfort came from such an unexpected quarter that my stomach dropped in surprise, my heart skipping when he tangled his fingers with mine, and nodded once, as if to say: this is not insurmountable.

And I found that I could breathe again.

The soldier assigned to us fumbled; dropped his keys. The woman in charge with the shrewd eyes and high ponytail stalked over, demanding in Mandarin to know what was going on.

The soldier hesitated, his eyes huge in his pale face. “I can’t find the key, Commander Lin,” he murmured, clearly afraid.

Commander Lin sighed, and opened her mouth to speak, but a commotion outside, and a thump that almost shook the walls, interrupted her.

“Bring them to the wall,” she snapped, her tone assertive rather than scathing. I got the impression the army respected her. “We can guard them there.”

She power-walked away and I thought: they probably won’t guard us that hard, against the Tao Tei, anyway. I hoped today wasn’t the day we died. 

Against my will, I had become a little attached to these two men.

The soldier poked us forward with his spear. He looked young. I hesitated for a moment, wondering whether to try and talk to him, and he misjudged the angle of his spear and ripped a tear in the back of my blouse. I gasped in surprise rather than pain - he’d grazed me at most, but Tovar turned on him.

“Do not touch her again,” he growled, and I hadn’t seen such a feral look in his chocolate eyes since we’d killed the Tao Tei. His voice had dropped half an octave; he looked capable of killing with his bare hands.

The soldier staggered back with an apology. William grabbed at Tovar as best he could with his tied hands. “Enough. Let’s not create another battle when one rages above.”

Tovar took a deep breath. I reached up with my tied hands and brushed my fingers along his cheek. Less than a day ago I could never have imagined touching him like this - I could never have imagined wanting to. Did I imagine it or did he lean into my caress, ever so slightly?

Another crash sounded from above, and the soldier started to panic.

William turned, met the young man’s eyes. “Come on, boy. Take us up to the wall, do your duty, serve your country. Can you do that?”

I translated. The Irishman’s dulcet tones had their intended effect, and the soldier straightened, gesturing with his spear - thankfully avoiding my torn blouse - for us to go ahead. Without much choice, we did so.

Up on the wall, carnage reigned. The soldier bid us to sit by the far side, away from the edge of the wall, where I could see various green clawed arms scrabbling at stones, some gaining purchase, others being cut down. It was clear that these soldiers were a well oiled machine, but the creatures - Tao Tei - held their own. The size of a bull, their jaws gaped and snapped, dripping saliva and blood.

The three of us huddled where we were held at spear point.

“Aim for the eyes!” was yelled again and again. The crunch of massive machinery all but shook the ground we sat on and I gaped as giant fireballs flew into the air. 

“Mother of God,” Tovar whispered, and I looked at him, and saw, for the first time, that he was truly, bone-deep, afraid. It was difficult with my hands tied, but I moved my arms over and touched my hands to his.

“Jade,” he murmured, his voice softer than I had ever heard it. “If we die today-”

“Crane Corps attack!” a voice boomed from the left of us, as a huge claw swiped over the battlements and took out three soldiers in one fell swoop. Another huge Tao Tei clambered over the one with its claws in the walls. I spied a crossbow lying just a few feet from the soldier guarding us.

“Untie us, please!” I shouted in Mandarin. “We can fight!”

The young man - eighteen at most? - stared at me, eyes glassy. His first time in combat, maybe? His armour looked shiny, unused. 

“Please,” I implored. “I can use that crossbow. Give us an axe, and….. That broken crossbow there. Please.”

“They’ll have my head,” he murmured, but he dropped his spear and rushed out to us, using a short blade to cut the ropes on our wrists. I grabbed for the crossbow, shouting at William to use the identical, broken weapon just a few feet away, cracked so it resembled a bow he was used to. A quiver of arrows sat unused across from us and I grabbed it, throwing it through the air to William. He caught it deftly, and I kicked up an axe from the floor. Tovar grabbed it, and I watched him testing the weight of it in his hands, the gleam of bloodlust in his dark eyes.

William began firing off arrows faster than anyone I’d ever seen; his hands a blur. A few times we’d held archery contests at the London Armouries and William put award winning archers to shame with his deft skill and speed.

I slung a quiver on to my back and took aim with the crossbow. Tovar grabbed my arm, and I made to stop him, but before I could, he pressed his mouth to mine, a quick, ferocious kiss. His moustache and heavy stubble tickled my skin, but his lips were surprisingly soft. His free arm banded around me, holding me captive against his broad, armoured chest. He licked into my mouth, fervent and passionate, an edge of desperation to his actions, and when he broke the kiss we were breathing hard.

“I could not die today without tasting you,” he breathed, and then ran off into the fray, his armoured form swallowed by the crowd.

I blinked. And now I was supposed to concentrate enough to stay alive?

Fuck.

Thanking @rzrcrst​ for the beta! Tagging: @the-green-kid @songsformonkeys​ @agirllovespasta​ @nyrnerosmartell​ @chews-erotically​ @apples-of-february​ @heatherbel @mstgsmy​ @synystersilenceinblacknwhite​ @buckysalefty​ @readsalot73​ @opheliaelysia​ @randomness501​ @emmy-dandiliom918​ @prdsdjarin​ @a-seeker-of-imagination​ @havenforafrazzledmind​ @badassbaker​ @thewaythisis​ @kindablackenedsuperhero @lackofhonor​ @keeper0fthestars​ @starlight-starwrites​ @agentpike @alldatalosr @littlemissthistle​ @cryptkeepersoul​ @stylelovechild​ @maryan028 @seawhisperer​ @restingnurseface​ @emesispo​ @beccaplaying​ @holographic-carmen​ @hdlynn @jaime1110​ @10-96dispatcher @talesfromtheguild​ @marydjarin​ @ahopelessromanticwritersworld​ @buckstaposition​ @build-a-bucky​ @phoenixhalliwell​ @voteforpedropascal​ @knittingqueen13 @mrsparknuts​ @pinkzsugar​ @dornish-queen​ @roxypeanut​ @skdubbs​ @lannister-slings-and-arrows​

Bonus: the AMAZING @thehiddenmystical​ made this art on my request:

I surveyed the carnage. The Tao Tei had come over the ridge like a battleship on legs, decimating the bandits, tearing them limb from limb, its reptilian eyes somehow seeing everywhere at once. Its huge jaws rent flesh from bone in scant seconds, and the stench of death, emptied bowels and blood hung in the misty air. I had never longed for a dream to end more in my entire life.

Tovar moved towards the ridge and without thinking I grabbed his arm.

He snarled at me. “What?”

“What are you doing? There could be more.”

He looked me up and down, his face black with a scowl. “I think you know more than you are letting on, princesa.” The word was absolutely not a compliment.

“Fine,” I yelled into his face. “Die, then. It’s only a dream anyway! You aren’t even real.”

Tovar froze, and six feet away, so did William.

They shared a look I couldn’t read. I shoved the crude lid back into the water canteen and tried to scan William’s face.

“What?” I demanded, finally snapping. “Look at me! I’m killing monsters and bandits wearing jeans and a summer t-shirt! In the middle of a desert! With two, what, I don’t know, mercenaries straight out of an action film! What else could this be but a dream?”

I was full on yelling by the time I’d finished, the ends of the words petering out as I screamed myself hoarse.

William held his hands up, palm out, walking toward me slowly like you would with someone who is very likely to brutally stab you in the face with a butter knife. “Your first time in battle? It can muddy things. It happened to boys training in the mercenary guild with me. Taking a life can weigh heavy on your mind.”

Tovar watched us avidly with his big, dark eyes, saying nothing.

“And please, stop yelling. It might attract more of those…. Creatures.”

“Well it doesn’t matter!” I yelled, one hundred and fifty percent done with all this nonsense. I wanted to wake up, watch crappy breakfast television and go to work, hang out with Emma, write applications for funding, maybe do an interview on the radio, catch the tube home, think about updating my profile on OK!Cupid. “It doesn’t matter because-hmmmpf!”

Somehow, Tovar had crept up behind me and shoved a hand over my mouth. I thought about biting him but I didn’t dare. Who knew where those hands had been.

“If you don’t shut your mouth, so help me God, I will shut it for you,” he hissed into my ear. 

The half-octave drop of his voice and the hard press of his armoured body against my back made me feel things I should absolutely not have been feeling.  But hey. Dream-me isn’t always in charge of all her facilities.

“Am I making myself clear?” Tovar ground out, his beard tickling my ear.

I nodded. It seemed the sensible thing to do.

He dragged me closer to his armoured body and I shivered, half in fear, half in… something else. “Listen carefully. We are going to leave this razed camp and find another. By that time it will likely be nightfall. You can come with us now and we will do our best to keep one another safe, or I will turn you loose and leave you to whatever beasts - four and two-legged roam these desert lands.”

I looked over at William. He made the universal palms-up I don’t know gesture. “We’ve no quarrel with you, miss. If you wish to strike out alone….”

For the first time since I’d woken up in this world of blood and guts and desert scrubland, I entertained the fear that maybe this wasn’t a dream.

My knees started to tremble, the little rabbit of terror scrambling up and down my spine relentlessly. Heat swept up through my body, and I recognised it as a precursor to fainting. Again? I was never usually given to cases of the vapours, but I suppose finding that you’ve somehow ended up very very far from home can do that to a normally level-headed person.

“I’m-” I started to say against Tovar’s hand, and then I knew nothing else.

**********

"Do you believe she knows something about this creature we killed?"

"Hard to say. Perhaps dehydration has addled her mind."

I opened one eye and listened as Tovar pontificated about how I might be insane.

It was late, the sun, blisteringly red, setting on the horizon in a blur of crimson, orange and gold. 

A fire crackled in the centre of our little camp, and the sound of rushing water made me sit up, rubbing my sore head.

"Ah, you're awake. Are you feeling better?"

I glanced over at William where he sat idly turning a spit over the fire. Something that had once had fur rotated at the whim of his hand. He looked… clean. The scent of rosemary soap hung in the air. His hair curled, damp.

"A bit. I think. Where are we?"

"You slept most of the day as we rode. We're travelling north."

I blinked away sleep, the scent of roasting meat making my stomach growl greedily. "Where…. Where's Tovar?"

William inclined his head to the left. "Washing in the stream."

At his words I noticed the surprisingly neat pile of armour, furs, fabric and weapons in front of the wall of scrub. I felt a furious blush creep up my neck, and glanced at William to see if he had noticed, but he was occupied with carving a sliver of meat and checking it for readiness.

At the very edge of my hearing there was a soft melody in Spanish. Soulful, barely there, and the possibility that it could be Tovar making the sounds that pulled on my heartstrings gave me pause.

"Tovar!" William called out. "Time to eat."

"Is she awake?" he demanded, grumpy as ever, husky-edge voice carrying over the scrub.

"Yes, she is," I called back.

"Forgive my companion, miss," William muttered. "He only thought to check if he should dress before joining us for our meal. We’re not used to accommodating a lady."

Heat at the instant image of Tovar unclothed flared low in my belly, but before I could quell it, the irritable Spaniard rounded the scrub, dressed in breeches and an untucked black tunic, unlaced at the neck. He had scooped his hair back in a que, and washed his beard. It hung damply, curling around his jaw. The scent of lemon oil unfurled towards me on the evening air, jolting me from gazing at him. Lemon oil, like in my dreams.

This was not a dream. 

And I was suddenly overcome by the intense urge to scream until I vomited, and then curl up into a ball and cry myself dry and hollow.

Thanking my lovely beta, @rzrcrst​ !