all my life

“Okay, okay,” she’s so glad for her hair being tied and regretting that she can’t run her hand through it in a single moment to take a breath in. Instead she’s left pushing back at sweat starting to pearl at her forehead with the back of her hand, better not get any dirt on fingers that are going to be touching an open wounds. Pretty sure doctors had to wear gloves for these health reasons, but this is no hospital and again, she salutes and at the same time curses his actual refusal to have this be done by a professional. Although, she should have called someone, the owner of the shop, she had a feeling even Anna would know what to do in this situation. 

But no, deep breath, needle in hand already.  The gap that the wound had left honestly looked too big for the needle if you asked her, but who was she to judge what was put in a first aid kit. She’ll question later, herself of course, why this kit itself was so well prepared in such an odd way. It’s almost as if it was put together for something more than just a few burns. They do handle knives and such in the kitchen though, so maybe there’s nothing to question. But she’s seen fucking pincers in there, who needs that? Who would get anything stuck in their bodies to need a pincer to pull it out? A hand pulling the gap closer together after she’s gotten the needle and thread ready and she’s throwing a quick glance up at him. She’s glad he’s awake now at least, looks like ice isn’t just to cool bruises but perhaps to make the wounded a bit more aware. Either way, she’s glad it woke him up, shows he’s at least alive. 

Even if it’s horrifying because he’s going to be conscious enough to feel the first pinch of the needle in his skin. “Here goes, don’t lose your teeth, meaning don’t close your mouth, actually put something in your mouth, I’ve heard people have bitten chunk of their lips from pain before so you never know.” She would have done that, except she’s reminded of her father’s anecdote just as she was already at the task and she’d already sewed her first line and going for the second. Now, there was truly no going back, she was doing this. Literally, puncturing through thick bleeding flesh and tying it together to the part that had been dissociated from it. God, gross. She’s not going to eat meat without thinking about this for awhile. 

He couldn't help but chuckle at her words. Of course, his whole body seemed to burn down in flame at the gesture and he was aware he shouldn't be moving at all, considering the beginner he had for a nurse on a night like this, but the chortles still left his lips. « Stop talking. » He finally said, exhausted. He wasn't one to order around, but her tension was getting to him and that was something he currently didn't need in addition of everything. « Not the first time... » He let the sentence drag, not really realizing if it was making any sense at all.

He seemed to remember her seeing him covered in bruises. She should know it was the kind of things he would get himself into on a regular basis. Maybe she thought he was some sort of fucked up kid, fighting in the streets ? Isn't it what he is though ? A voice whispered in his brain and it sounded strangely like his father hissing at him in anger. He closed his eyes a second, refusing to fall back into the haze he just left. For this same reason, he opened them right back and stared at the girl's face above him.

At the same very moment, he felt the needle digging in his flesh. The pain was nothing compared to his ribs, so he didn't move a single atom of his being. He kept staring at her. Her noticing him or not didn't matter. Because of her dark skin, she was the least painful things for his headache to look at. And also she was beautiful. Fear was obvious on her face, that was an experience she wasn't even close to forget, he guessed. But determination was there, in the flex of her eyebrows and the firm line of her pinched lips. Her hair tied in a high ponytail, keeping her eyes free of observing, for a second she seemed to know what she was doing, and hilarity grew on him again. He tried to stop it but his shoulders shook a bit.

Sure, he had tried to hit on her, more than once, since she had popped up in the cafe. The boss had refused to tell him where she came from, just threatened him to smash his head with a baseball bat if Isaac ever tried to convince her to join the comrads. Isaac enjoyed living a bit too much to call his bluff, so he had deemed that questionning the girl herself was a better plan. Not that he had ever had the chance to apply it, since everytime she saw him, she was accidently pouring a hot drink on him and was left a shy muttering mess, impossible to have a casual chat with.

But at this moment, away from mugs and plates, she seemed like someone different and it tugged something in his chest. She was so close to him, and yet, he could be anyone to her, it didn't matter to her that it was him, he had been reduced to the gash on his forehead and maybe that was for the better.

All he could do was staying afloat. Being aware of someone else's presence, on the pain throbbing pretty much everywhere in his body, on the peak of pain on some parts of his body from time to time, like a very very cold wave jumping unexpectedly at him.

Taps repeated on his cheek. He groaned. He was not out. He was there, hanging as much as he could, and it truly wasn't much. His eyes had closed again or so he suspected since all he could see was black. Or maybe he had gotten blind. Well, he would have got it coming.

He remembered how his father used to run his fingers in his son's hair when he was tucking him in bed. He suddenly missed it. He had put them in a corner of his mind. Reaching for the memories of a giggling little sister, a scolding mother and a joyous father. Of screeching tires on a snowy road and flames licking the gas and provoking burns on the skin. Flesh showing and blackening under the heat. And death. Not a drop of blood because scorching fire. Burning at the stake, like witches.

He only ever pulled his family out of the corner of his mind when he was badly hurt. Probably because he had nothing better to do than suffer already. His regrets at not seeing this punch or this kick coming were mixed with guilt of not being there when his father had lost control of the car, of letting his family spinning down an abrupt road. All he could do was imagine the best as he could the screams of his younger sister, the prayers his mother had probably thought, the remorse his father had to have felt as he was driving his family into hell.

He had stopped believing in God the very moment he had seen the scorched corpse of his sister, her teddy bear melted on her bones, proof she had been holding it to the end. He was not angry at God. He just understood he never existed. He had felt sorry for his mother to have been wrong her whole life, but he knew the truth now. The sky was empty of divnity, only full of unreplied promises and prayers.

That was a lot of questions and he was having troubles to remember what she was supposed to do. He should be able to, he had himself had the rôle of the carer, but somehow, he had found himself in the position of the wounded more often and right now, thinking too hard was too difficult. He felt a flash of pain on his temples and he groaned, oblivious to the burn of alcohol on the open wounds.

Get a grip. He felt stupid but he resented her for not knowing what to do, for forcing him to lead the situation. He was tired of taking small breathes because of his aching ribs and his left arm felt numb, starting from the painful wrist he had felt a little earlier. Get a grip.

« I'm an acquired taste. » He muttered before pinching his lips together, the nausea back, pulling on his stomach violently. That was commotion symptoms all right. Where the fuck was Luke ? Once the urge to throw up rolled away, ready to attack at the slightest sign of weakness, he kept on talking. His jaw was hurting but the heaviness of his head was starting to worry him, and the thought of Marco crossed his mind, Marco the Great with a kidney from someone else. Marco the Great who was now sitting in a chair all day. Marco the Great with the quiet presence hiding a fire once burning all around. Isaac wasn't ready to become a legend told to the young comrads yet.

« Let's say me bleeding everywhere after you cleaned up is my revenge for the spilled coffee on my sexy shirts. »

He suddenly noticed he could open his eyes, that blood was running in his eyes anymore. It was still running, but along his temple to his ear, making everything like her breathing a bit muffled. « Keep on disinfecting. Once it's done, get ice or anything really cold. One for my ribs, the other to numb the pain where you're going to-- » Despite knowing that she would have to do it anyways, he worried that the next words would make her run away. « To saw the skin back together. »

Through the exhaustion, he still looked for her eyes, trying to make eye contact. Trying to reach to her, bring her some bravery, overcoming his own irritation by doing so. « You can do this, Candide. »

“Are you seriously telling me to move in with you, in this situation?” She feels out of sort, but it does not mean that she’s dumbed down or something like that. She’ll leave that precious trait to Candide, she wears it super great too. Proudly even. Anna kind of envies her on that aspect, she’s proud of everything. Even the littlest accomplishment and here Anna is, crying over a pregnancy. She’s starting to wonder what Candide would do which has her scowling even more even if she’s leaning her cheek against one of his hands.

There’s something to be said about the man though, he knew how to calm her down. Not with the words, no. She liked that he kept his hands on her skin, where she could feel them. She’d never known she was this sensitive to physical contact until they actually started officially dating. Which is odd to think about even now. Most of the times, dating for her was more like, chasing after someone unattainable until she eventually got hurt and left.

She only noticed that the tears had somewhat stopped when they started rolling again but this time followed by a little laugh of her own. “You’re happy about this, you actually want this?”

This is the reason of them doubling over and she’s not even gong to complain about them. This is also what she realized as she stopped questioning and just let him do the talking for once. It’s not as if she expected him to refuse the idea, or tell her to get rid of it. God no, she’d never expect that of him. As closed off as the man seemed. He’s not cruel. But still, it’s a weight she didn’t even know she had silently sliding off her shoulders. She can believe that one, the one where she’s not alone, she can, if it’s him she knows she can.

He had to bite down a smile as he heard her protest at the idea of moving in. There was the independant and rebellious woman he knew. Not that the tears and the break down was making her less herself, but the scowl and the contradiction, that was nearly what she was made of.

Though, he knew better than trying to force her to do anything, because that would mostly made her exactly do what he would rather not see her do. Caressing the back of her hands with his thumbs, he got up, pulling her with him. He dropped her hands and tried, once again, to wipe the tears away.

« You can keep your place, if you need it. We could use the money saved from stopping to pay the rent, though. But I'd rather keep the baby, and you since you're pregnant, at my place. There's no mold growing on the ceiling. » He deadpanned.

He was surprised his tongue wasn't having cramps, at this point. These were really long sentences, he was uttering. He cleared his throat and slipped his fingers into the mass of her red hair, with a delight he hid. He had always loved her hair, she probably knew, but she never called him on it and he was grateful to be spared the embarrassment. After all, he was also quiet on her horrible singing, wasn't he ?

Hearing her laughing, even that weak laughter, relaxed him nearly instantly. 'You're happy about this.' At these words, he had none to reply. He just let himself crack his self-control a bit more and smiled. It was such a big smile, he could feel the muscles in his cheeks stretching. As he let out a quiet laugh, the air hit his teeth and refreshing his mouth. He actually felt on fire.

With contempt, he knew that this answer could be short and clear.

To her, bearing a child had never been in the equation, because she’d been doomed with the curse of never getting one decent man. So what would be the point? Perpetuate the generation of heartbreakers that she’s dated in her life? No thanks, she’ll gladly pass. But up until the day she got the results of the test, she hadn't’ realized that it was just that–bitterness at giving up control over her body, emotion for someone else.

The fear of just how much she would have to sacrifice in order to bear a child. Out of love, or anything really. But here it is, an accident. An actual fucking accident, of course it would be an accident. She’s certain the both of them would have never jumped in with the idea of having a child.

Is it really going to be okay? It always seems so easy when Marco says those things. Maybe because he never actually says those things. He’s usually the more cynical one of the two of them isn’t he? Maybe that’s why instead of pushing away the hold she just stays still in it, burying her face and tears against his shoulders. God this is pathetic, is it already happening? The entire loss of everything she’s worked so hard to keep tight under her grip.

Emotions bubbling over as she fought to speak through the ring enclosing the words in her throat, “How are we gonna deal with a baby? We’re not even stable, I fucking live in a rundown apartment that can go without any water for an entire week.” How is this going to be just fine? It’s already a miracle if she remembers to feed herself, or do the laundry. So a baby, a fucking baby?

He felt like the acceptance of his comfort was the first success. And something inside sighed in relief too. He had been so afraid she would propose to get an abortion. He actually had been afraid. Was it this, to be a parent ? Being afraid at any possible harm that could come the way of your child ? Was is doubts ? Shy steps ?

He pulled away, oh so gently, and cupped her face in between his hands. Tears still streaming down her face, red nose and unhappy scowl, all of it was being carved in his memory. The best of his days started on this weeping face. He wiped what tears he could reach with his thumbs out of her face.

« Well, it seems we can rule out your flat as a possibility to raise this child, so it leaves my place. Which has constant hot water, as you've already noticed. » He knew he probably should more serious about all of her doubts, but they seemed so trivial compared to the happiness bubbling uncontrollably in his throat, threatening to choke him. He would have never thought that joy could hurt, too.

« I can do the laundry and I can even feed you. I've been doing it since you invaded my place, haven't I ? » It was a lot of words, for him and it felt out of character even for himself. That might freak her out a bit more. « Though, you've survived just fine on your own 'till now, so I don't think you need to worry. You're not alone in this, Anna. »

She even had to apologize later on. After a few hours of calming down and Thomas rubbing her back a few times because the altercation had brought over a wave of nausea she had no idea of the source of. So they’d put it on her being sick and she’d even been given a day off by the boss himself. She just had to collect herself and get back into a right state before coming back to work. That was it. Although she might have lied to Marco about it, she couldn’t understand why she did that too.

Told him it was a few days off to get things settled for her mother who was moving out. Which wasn’t a real lie, just that her mother was settled days before she told the lie. That was weeks ago though and the symptoms didn’t die, not at all. How did she figure she had to go see a doctor? Her mother barging in one morning and her having to run to the loo as soon as she opened the door.

Mothers knew well, or more like they knew everything. Hers didn’t forget to mention that Anna might be more than a little sick and getting a diagnostic to prove her theory would prove a good idea so she did. While thinking that this was crazy, it wouldn’t prove true, it couldn’t be true. Until it was. Like a cold shower during winter, that was how soaked she felt when the news came to her.

In retrospect, her mother should have stopped her when she told her she wanted to go to work. She still had a day off, because the moodswings weren’t wearing off. Moodswings that were apparently due to something other than a disease, god she’d wished it was just a disease. But her mother didn’t stop her and nobody could stop her in her way down the office of the cause of all of this.

Right, she didn’t get herself pregnant all by herself, of course. It wasn’t like she was asked any permission either. She couldn’t even remember when they’d had unprotected sex for God sake. Three months in, three months in and she was feeling it now! For Christ’s sake she could strangle herself for this slip up, but first, first she had to strangle him first.

Marco who wouldn’t even look up form his work when she barged in, probably expecting someone else. Which was fine, logical. But she was way off over her head and there was no telling what she could do the next moment. Hell even she as aware that she was about to cause quite a scene, so she closed the odor behind her before marching forth to his desk and dropping the folder she’d been holding.

“I’m fucking pregnant, asshole!” That was not how she wanted to voice it out, but that was how it came out and there was no way she could take it back now. God now she felt like crying for having uttered the word and thus made it even more real than when the doctor had been the one announcing it. Yeah, she was so close to tearing it up. No helping it, it was tight in her throat and ready to spill past her cheeks.

“Oh my god, I’m pregnant, Marco.” She repeated the words, hands over her mouth as she let her weight fall into a crouch. The weight of the doubling of the reality of it too heavy on her shoulders for her to stand still as she mumbled it again.

Marco rarely took the time to look back on his life. He didn't have this kind of time, never let himself have it. What good would it be ? There was nothing he could change, nevermind how he would have liked it. Maybe he would have protected his body better the day he had been beaten so harshly he lost both his kidneys. Maybe he would have found more patience to deal with his alcoholic father. Maybe he would have kept contact with the wife of his dead kidney donor. But he did none of those.

But these words « I'm fucking pregnant, asshole ! » made something clicked in his brain. Despite the lack of grace in the announcement, there was a knot which has been cut in his chest, a weight he never noticed before.

The fact he never went back on his youth and past... He had never noticed there were things he was still wishing for, an idea of his future he hadn't let go of. To be honest, he wasn't that old, nearly forty was still an acceptable age to have a child. But the life he had had. Was there a legacy he could have passed unto his hypothetical children ? He never had to think about it.

But here it was, in all her glory, which wasn't much, crouching on the floor, bending under the weight of a future none of them really thought about, apparently.

He could see her despair, it was burning his eyes to his brain, it was being printed in his long-term memory, an image he would never quite get rid off, and it got worse as he couldn't yet move to comfort her, because her despair echoed emptily in him. Her despair could only be measured to the joy, overwhelming, choking growing, heating up in chest. Something so big, a feeling so intense, he forgot to breathe for a whole minute.

The party had been a reason to live, nevermind how blank his life has become once he was stuck in a café, organizing the strikes. Anna, somehow, grew to be a reason to get up in the morning, let it be to stop her horrible singing when she was cooking breakfast. But this. This was more than a reason. A child, it was redemption. And it burnt his tongue as he let out a weak « Oh my God. » Him, the atheist, spitting on Heaven as much as Hell.

Slowly, he finally kneeled towards her and took her hands in his. He had no words. He didn't know he should thank her or try to comfort her, he didn't know how the same news could bring out a forgotten happiness of him and tear bitter hidden tears of her. He pulled her into his arms, knowing he could be pushed away in a blink, she wouldn't hesitate.

She scoffed, not because the remark didn’t sting, it did. It sat there and even the burn of the drag of her cigarette did not help dissipate it. It stung and stayed but she could only scoff and then let out a short snicker that was more of a dry amused yet lacking in humour sound. A choking sound that she immediately subdued with another drag of her cigarette.Your man. Right, as if he’d ever been that.

Honestly, she didn’t even let herself be engulfed in this–whatever it was Isaac and her are or more accurately were–to end up here. In the back as always, while the guy was still out there laughing, with another girl, showing that she never truly deserved it. So she could be the problem, maybe she was the problem. She never really wanted to blame anyone else but herself. She fell, bruised and then life went on. But at this point, she wasn’t even sure if she could just think about it like that, because it stung.

Once, twice, three times were good, but when the failures just kept happening again and again, it felt like the seed of cancer being put in her blood to never be erased. It made her feel as if she’d only fail until finally the disease that was her need for love took her last breath. It made her sad to think about it that way, made her take more out of the cigarette between her lips, quickly ending now.

“Yeah, but well,” The reason why it made her sad was because despite it all, Anna had a desire to know what love really felt like when it didn’t just hurt. She still believed in this world there was someone out there who’d take the broken pieces and discard them as if she’d never fallen. As if all this time she’d just barely touched the ground, she still believed in love, she didn’t want to lose that. “I’m sure not all of it hurt, I mean, or else some people wouldn’t still be together even after years right?”

Her mother wasn’t a good model for this belief of her,s or anyone around her, not even herself. But there weren’t just movies, there were also customers who came, old together, still together–looking just as much into each other as if they were younger than they were. She wanted that, was it os bad to wish for that kind of happiness?

“Even if it isn’t love, forget love, but even with just a simple relationship based on trust and or physical attraction, seriously, not all of it has to be painful, right?” She didn’t even know why she was asking him, sounding like she needed him to tell her she was right. That hope wasn’t to be given up yet, as if he had to care for this too. But she was straightening from the wall and turning to face him, feeling little now that she was resting her answer on him. Uncaring that it might not matter to him, even if it was just a lie, she’d still want him to at least not tell her she was wrong. So far, everyone had done nothing but prove to her that statement, she just needed one right lie. “Right?” So she asked again, waiting, shifting from foot to foot.

His remark had her frantically biting on her bottom lip, it had been a stupid question. Of course he wouldn’t have come here if the hospital was the option, of course. There she went again, not knowing anything about everything. But now wasn’t the time for that, because he didn’t want her to call the hospital, so it meant–he started giving out directions and yeah, she must have guessed just as much.

She would have to take care of this. The wounds, the bruises, the broken skin and the blood. God the blood, she took in a deep breath, trying to not lose a singe thing of what he was telling her to get or do. But her hands wouldn’t stop shaking and she had no time to actually still them while she was still there in front of him and seeing the sight of him broken as if beyond repair. But he spoke as if he’d been torn apart and put back together so many times that it didn’t matter anymore how painful it was. That all that mattered was the putting together one.

That was what mattered, Candide chanted to herself quickly going back into the kitchen to get everything. Bucket of warm water, first aid kit, ice and tissue hanging on the edge of the bucket–tons of tissues, one after the other she was putting them at his feet. She only found herself stopping from trembling when it was all there and his voice was drifting while she was kneeling in front of him. Without thinking she reached out to get a hold of his shoulders, shaking him lightly. She wasn’t sure, bu she could bet that him falling unconscious wouldn’t be a good thing at all.

“Hey, stay with me, or I’ll be so rough with it you’ll feel the burn for months.” A threat was quite softened by the worry in her voice, but she was calmer now. She had to do this so she was calmer, opening the first aid kit and getting out the alcohol, cotton balls damp with them she leaned up, going for the face first. Gentle with her touch against the few cuts she found, corner of his eyes. “So this is how it looks like before you turn purple and black.” Making small chat while taking care of a wound was something her father did often with her when she was little, it might help, it might not, but she’d try anything to not let him fall asleep.

He groaned when she shook him, feeling like an earthquake just happened. But groaning was obviously as painful. But he had nearly fell asleep. He couldn't remember when she was gone, but she was here with the aid kit and that meant she had to have gotten up to get it and he couldn't remember when she did. This is bad.

He hadn't thought much of her who kept talking, he wasn't feeling grateful either. His brain couldn't handle such feelings right now. He could only focus on the words and the meaning and on the reply. He winced as the alcohol cleanse his wounds and kept himself from flinching away. It was burning, nearly bringing tears to his eyes and she wasn't sewing yet. He couldn't suffer too loudly or she would lose it, she would give up and call emergency and he didn't have the strength to stop her.

« Usually, it doesn't involve so much blood. » He pronounced with difficulty. He threw a glance to her face but she was too busy on her actions to notice it. It was probably the street light from behind her, but she weirdly seemed to shine, a bit like an angel and he knew he would keep this image a long time with him and he felt stupid. « But don't I look hot with all that blood, right ? » He bragged, chortling before hissing in pain as his ribs reminded him of their aching existence. « Did you bring ice ? Frozen peas ? A steak ? »

At this point he wasn't choosey. Damn, he could even settle for frozen shrimps as long as it could put to sleep the pain of his ribs. Afterwards, bandaged correctly and under painkillers for a few weeks, they should mend by themselves.

“Yeah, just because I’m a girl and I get that you’re an oldie and I happen to be younger but it does not mean you can just nickname me something as weak as that.” A pull of the cigarette and a puff while she turned away from him, she went out to have a break and she was now going to have to handle another presence until the end of it. Just great. But somehow, it was better than having to stay inside of the cafe witnessing Candide steadily stealing what was hers.

Another pull of her cigarette, no, stupid Anna, he never was hers and Candide, that little empty headed girl couldn’t steal a thing if it was in front of her. She had to unleash it somewhere else, the burn of the cigarette helped a lot in relaxing the stiffness of her shoulders and spine, so that after a few more puffs she was ready to fill in the silence again. It was always easy for her to fall right back on her feet no matter how strong the blow was.

But then her question came and the air moved a bit.

« Girlie might be weak and yet, one of them got your man. » He let out, matter-of-factly. He wasn't dumb nor blind. It was obvious for whoever spent enough time to look away from their cup of coffee that a love triangle drama was happening in the café, and the joke was on Anna. He didn't have a lot to say about the new waitress. Didn't know her, didn't care either. But he openly disliked Abrams and could only question how he happened to prefer this girl to the one standing beside him.

But truly, the snarky comment was what left his mouth because he couldn't really reply something wise or comforting to her question. He didn't know how to do that. He didn't know about love, not really. He had had women, girlfriends even and one close enough to nearly be called his, and that had been probably love, but was it stupid ? He had been beaten up by the police, lost his kidneys and for a while his pride and she had left along everything. But the damn transplantation had been more painful than her departure.

Because whereas she would not care even a tiny bit about the damage she would cause on someone else, she did care for her friend painful sound and the way he was now holding his finger in his mouth so that she hurriedly stepped in the kitchen. 

“What are you doing?!” Her father would often tell her that when she was liek that, worrywart and caring, she sounded and acted exactly like her mother. She wouldn’t know what the woman was like, since she’d died giving birth to her. “Are you okay?” She was not done, far from it, her fingers reaching over to get a hold of his wrist to hold it up and observe the damage for herself, was this even how you were supposed to treat a burn, casually put it in your mouth? That was just Thomas, just doing things clumsily or not but still doing them anyway.

Like that one time she urged him to climb a tree with her and he didn’t look enthusiastic, but because it was hard for him to say no to her ( a fact she knew and used to her advantage at times she could not lie ) he’d gone all the way up but hadn’t been able to reach her level before tightly gripping the branch he was on and swearing that he was going to pass out. The memory brought a quiet snicker out of her. 

But soon tough joined the fight. He wasn't unused to contact. Candide was surprisingly easy with physical interaction, hand on his arm or shoulder nudge after he gently mocked her. But that was Rory and that was burning more than the actual wound. It was like his heart was now beating in his hand and she was crushing it in her grip on him. He couldn't say if he disliked it.

« I'm fine. » He said, belatedly, letting her hold him. Before he could return the embrace though, she was already out of reach. She could never be caught, not then, not now and even less when she left. She ahd changed so much. Was she wearing a dress the last time he had seen her ? He remembered something green, emerald green, but maybe it was just in his mind because back in the day, it was her favorite color.

And it hit him, quite suddenly, that this was Rory but maybe it wasn't his Rory. Because people changed, didn't they ? They were someone and then, they were themselves but with a bit of someone else in add. Was she still taking midnight walks ? And the cold tabacco he smelled when she hugged gim, was she her cigarettes or did she just stand close to someone smoking ? Could she still count to ten in Chinese ? Was she still awkwardly pretty when she was crying ?

She had left him with so many memories and for a long time, he hadn't known what to do. When there was no one to tell about the lady with the cats a couple of streets down his parents' home. When Sally Hawking finally kissed him.  He had everything of her past her and nothing of the present her and it was a bit suffocating.

A bit like remembering only a few words from a his favorite song he used to sing all day long before.

Go figure, she was definitely her mother’s daughter in that aspect. Not that she hated it, it brought her good moments. She liked to think that the good moments were worth the pain afterwards when the bastards left her and she had to rethink of what to do with the pieces of her left behind them. Truth was she never picked them up, she let them rot and refused to be a stitched up doll, so that all the broken part of herself were still scattered across her universe.

It was also a reason why she’d taken this habit, smoking. Despite the cold and the thumping ache in her chest that went lower to her stomach curling around her like a vicious grip until she felt a presence and heard a voice and startled. It was Marco and it looked like he’d been here before her. But more importantly, why had he deigned to even talk to her? Marco barely spoke to anyone when it didn’t concern a strike, or another possible attack.

She also made sure to not have anything to do with him as well if it did not concern him helping them or giving them directions. So that she didn’t react at first and just literally took the steps that’d draw her closer to him at first, even if she was stiff in the action. Her eyebrows furrowing in mild concern, she wanted to ask, be blunt about it but at the same time she just wanted her damn cigarette to finally burn down her throat.

At her words, he hesitated between an annoyed groan and a light snicker, but he finally opted for rising his eyebrow, obviously mocking her. « If you say so, girlie. » It wasn't like such a young woman was about to tell him what he could do or not. She had breasts and for all he have heard from Isaac, a vagina, which made her girlie enough for him to comfort him in his nickname for her.

He could remember the first time she had walked into the café. He never knew if she was coming for the anarchism or for the job. He hadn't even heard her voice. She had come into the café, had shaken her fire hair, snobbing pretty much everyone. She had stood in front of the counter like a soldier ready for duty, but with the slight attitude of the young people who hadn't left teenage totally yet, the quiet certainty the world was hers. And for a short moment, he had thought so, too.

It had been only a couple of months later, she had come to him to get her first mission. First time they had exchanged more than 'Coffee ?' 'Please.' without even looking at each other anymore. He had been like the wallpaper, just part of the decoration. But when she had asked, he had regained materiality and an existence worth her attention. He remembered smiling at this.

That had given her the push for it she would admit. That and the fact that she finally could handle the one customer who she lost the most coffee on. That probably benefited them both. So she was in what people would call heaven at the moment, more than satisfied as she put away the last garbage bag and went back in the kitchen. That was when she hard movement and at first she assumed it was someone who hadn’t read the sign that said that they were close, it was rather dark. So Candide made her way out of it to tell them so, and usher them gently out of the shop but it was no customer.

There was a smell that came with the person who was now sitting in a chair, slumping would best describe it and kept mumbling but the only word Candide had to catch was bleeding, to know this was no ordinary trespassing. Plus she would recognize this voice anywhere, from hearing a lot not from registering what he sounded like. Besides he sounded nothing like his usual self, that might be due to all the blood—all the blood that she was now staring at from where it was at his feet and where it came from on his body with an horrified expression downing on her face.

She knew he always came back with bruises, but never questioned and they were mostly healing, she never actually came in contact or this close to seeing someone bleed out in front of her. God, was this really happening? Yes it was and she was this close to panicking but it seemed that wouldn’t do any good at the moment. So she hurried next to the chair ,trying to touch but not knowing if she should so her hands just hovering in the air.

"It’s Candide," She spoke, remembering that he probably had noticed that but too late, she wanted him to be sure at least and then she was focusing on his face her hands settling for reaching towards that part of his body, it looked less painful at the moment, "What the fucking hell happened to you?" Well duh, Candide wasn’t it quite obvious? But she really had no idea what to do at the moment, the steady tone of her voice did not betray it but if she could scream at the moment, she’d give in immediately so.

He didn't want to ask her that kind of help. She didn't seem to have what it needed to dig a needle into a man's living flesh but he didn't seem to have much choice at this very moment. With a gigantic effort and a painful groan he straightened up on his chair. His head started to spin and he pursed his lips to not throw up. Once it was gone he tried to get his mind as clear as possible.

« You are going the aid kit in the kitchen. Some ice and some tissue. Bucket of warm water. » He tried to remember if anything else was needed but despite the fogginess of his mind, he suspected Luke would keep everything useful near the aid kit, if not in it so he dropped his effort and forced his eyes to stay open.

He wished someone experimented was here and he really couldn't understand why no one was here. Someone was always here to welcome him after a strike. Maybe something happened. Probably related to Rory, if Luke was gone. Sleep. Get a grip, Isaac. Would it be a bad idea to lay his head on the table ? It was feeling so heavy, his neck was bending under its weight.