they seem desperate for loving but baby im not @linedbycaro - Tumblr Blog

✸ TRITWWISIYTSTICS ⤷ chapter vii. someone once told me it would never stop.

read on ao3.

masterlist: here.

cw: heavy angst, disassociation, mentions of past trauma/loss, non-sexual intimacy, everyone is going through it, grief & mourning, stress-induced visions/hallucinations (extremely brief), violence, the grief of leaving your home and coming to terms with you never coming back, accidental child acquisition, off-screen death, love transcending.

note: this one’s queued, which means i’m away for now. if you need me, i’ll be back soon. i’d still love to know what you think. while anon’s off, my messages are open, and i’ll answer the moment i return. thank you for being here with me. i love you, endlessly.

the first mistake was assuming violence shied away from daylight.

blood was uncaring of holiday or happiness, and azzi should’ve known better than to speak her joy aloud. once the world understood that you were finding ground, it would recolonize. steal it out from under you.

it had been days of uneventfulness, of peace, since that night in the woods. something had been renewed inside of her, some wounded slip of her personhood beginning to braid itself back together. with the release of azzi’s confession—the truth of needing paige having been loosed into the world—came the return of old emotions that she no longer thought herself capable of. the first was desire, true and unfiltered.

the night after she’d woken in a parallel of paige, her body twisted and trapped in a dream. she felt no urge to escape, no urge to fight. it was only disorienting in the sense that she had no instruction to give her body when it was overwhelmed by pleasure.

and paige—paige had been there, had rolled over to urge her to sleep, only to find her wet. paige, who had tucked her fingers inside her, then added her tongue. paige, with her strong hand holding azzi’s body down, with the way she’d glanced up at azzi—mouth gleaming, teeth slick, eyes black with necessity.

it felt like a vast, endless dream. it felt as though azzi’s life was newly over, and then remapped into this state of bliss. the hands of darkness could no longer touch her, could no longer drag her down.

and on this night, she had had the dream again. and the dream had been simple: paige's hands on her hips, the heat of her mouth, the slow unraveling that came with her inability to do anything other than finish azzi. finish finish finish.. but something was wrong with the light, too red, too urgent, and azzi stumbled—wanted to leave.

she woke to rocking, to paige's hands on her shoulders, shaking her from a slumber that had been warm and wanting. back and forth, her body went, pushed by these hands she had come to know and need. for a moment, still sleep-thick and disoriented, azzi thought they were about to make love. the urgency in paige's grip felt like desire, and she smiled, reaching up in a haze to pull her closer.

but then. then she saw paige's face.

paige’s face: pale and drawn tight with an expression that made azzi’s stomach harden and pulse, her eyes too blue and her hair tumbling down around her shoulders with distress. all of that blonde, white fire coming down to brush azzi’s face with a displaced tenderness.

terror, her mind told her. she’s scared.

"get up." paige's voice was low and controlled in a way that meant she was fighting not to yell. "azzi, i need you to get up right now."

the day was newly breaking, pink streaking the blue-ish vein of the early morning like blood through water. paige cupped her face, nails digging, and the world tilted. azzi understood more, then.

she sat up, green nightgown freshly twisting around her thighs, the lace patchwork catching on the sheets they'd only just broken in. through the window, morning light began to pour, golden and generous. the sky was darker now, that particular blue that winter gifted moments before it turned cruel.

"paige, i—what—" azzi shifted, on all fours now, blinking sleep from her gaze as she struggled to calibrate. “what’s wrong?”

but paige was already moving.

for a moment, azzi sat back on her haunches, seeing someone else. this was not the woman who had kissed her temple that morning, who had pushed off a line of dirt from her shoulder while making breakfast. nor was this the woman whose body she had kneaded into delicacy. this was someone else entirely, someone harder and older and precisely violent.

this was her woman, as what she was: a soldier.

paige abandoned her momentarily, attention redirected, moving through the room as though she was clearing a building, checking sight lines, calculating trajectories. she ducked out of their bedroom, walking quickly toward the front door, where she pulled her rifle from where it leaned against the wall. then, she was back in the room, eyes slightly wild as she checked the chamber with practiced movements. azzi could see the whites. then she was at the dresser, yanking open drawers, throwing clothes onto the bed.

“put these on. now.”

azzi's body obeyed before her mind caught up, survival ingrained as instinct. she stood, nightgown riding higher, exposing the long brown length of her thighs. the lace at the hem had torn sometime in the night, caught on paige's hip bone, maybe, or on the desperation of their wanting. she pulled the flannel over her head, the green one from the market, and it smelled so much like earth that azzi briefly wondered if this was what a corpse recalled when asked about burial.

her blood was flowing now, her heart pumping her into a more active agency. she wondered what paige had seen or heard, if this was perhaps the onset of a post-traumatic episode that she would have to go along with before she could get her to calm down. but instinctually, azzi knew that this was not that, that she was the one stuck elsewhere.

the process continued. paige was talking, but azzi couldn't hear her. this was language dismantled and of no use. the world had gone strange and muffled, like she was underwater. she watched paige's mouth move—attack, weapons, supplies, three minutes, we have to go—but the words dissolved before they could reach her.

azzi stumbled in place, on the ground now. no, she wanted to tell her. no, this is not us. this is not happening to us. but it was as if her tongue had swollen, her mouth had closed. she could feel her desire to speak against her gums, sweet and dense like cream. she could feel it curdling with dread, with the onset of her own terror.

she pulled on the dark pants, fingers fumbling with the button. again, she tripped over her own feet, falling against paige and then lurching backward as if controlled by strings. everything felt slow, dreamlike, unreal.

her tumble into paige made the other woman realize her again, made her turn and stretch out a hand that azzi bucked from like a child, confused but aware of the presence of danger.

through the window, she could see the garden. the kale was still growing, dark green and stubborn. a deer had wandered in, its body dappled with morning sun as it bent to eat. its jaw worked peacefully. methodically. azzi felt her body go slack, felt love flood her in the time of apocalypse.

then its head lifted. turned.

azzi's hands stilled, arranged at the hem of her shirt, right where it spilled over the rim of her pants.

the left side of the deer's face was gone. there was no wound. its skin was untorn by a predator, nor split by the catch of a wire, but it was wrong. the flesh had grown over itself in thick, ropy ridges that appeared nearly like tree bark, grey-brown and textured. the eye socket was empty but not hollow, filled with something fibrous and pale, reaching outward like roots seeking soil. and then above, an antler fractured into too many points, splintering off at odd angles, bits of it curling back into the skull.

azzi could not look away. for one instant, they were intensely connected. it gazed at her with its one good eye, mutilations reflected in the creeping glisten of azzi’s own. the other side of the buck’s face was still beautiful. brown and soft and alive.

it went back to eating the kale.

azzi felt something cold and foreign slide down her spine, a pooling at the base. she touched her throat. she'd heard rumors from vendors at the market, the ones who’d come by on travel. there’d been whisperings about animals found in the eastern woods, with bodies performing acts bodies shouldn't do. incorrect growth. incorrect change.. but she'd dismissed it as hysteria, as the kind of folklore that sprang up when people were scared and desperate for explanations.

but here it was. in her garden.

eating her kale with half a face.

briefly, the world filtered in.

"azzi." paige's voice behind her, desperate. "sweetheart, i need you—"

"the deer," azzi whispered. "paige, look at the deer."

paige crossed to the window and looked out. azzi watched her face go very still, her limbs following. she was registering this new threat, cataloging it.

"how long has it been like that?" paige asked quietly.

"i don't know. i wouldn’t know. i've never—" azzi's voice collapsed.. "what's happening to them? paige?"

paige turned, mind sensitive to azzi’s distress.

"i don't know, baby. but we can't stay here to find out." she grabbed her shoulders again, harder this time, and azzi watched her mouth form words: baby. baby, look at me. we have to go.

the world had gone out again.

azzi shifted, moving past her, feet bare on the cool, wooden floor, her body only animal and knowing.

down the hallway. past the kitchen where they'd eaten breakfast the morning before, where paige had fed her a sticky slice of peach with her fingers, smile tired but bright. past the photograph of two girls, forever young in black and white, who didn't know yet that planes could fall from the sky.

her hand was on the doorknob of inês's room, unopened in months.

the key was still on its nail, gathering dust like a relic. azzi grabbed it, her hands shaking so forcefully that it took three tries to fit it into the lock. the click of it was brutalist.

behind her, she could hear paige in the hallway, then the kitchen, moving with an efficiency that neared violence. the far-off soundtrack of erasure: jars being swept into a bag, the thunk of dried meat hitting canvas, the tick of ammunition being counted.

the door swung open.

the smell hit her first: morning glories and decay and the particular emptiness of a room where someone once stopped breathing, had struggled to live. the bed was still made. hospital corners because azzi couldn't bear to leave it unmade, even after she'd burned the sheets. books were still stacked on the nightstand, spines uncracked and embroidered with golden lettering, some untranslated because inês wanted her mind to have something other than grief as an occupant. there they were, waiting for hands that would never once return.

the window was open just a crack—azzi had done that, months ago, thinking the room needed to breathe, that it would heal her sister-mother-child—and a triangle of late autumn air moved the curtains like breath.

she forced her eyes to the side, felt the shudder of pain. the jewelry box sat on the dresser, small and wooden and heavy with what remained of a girl who azzi had aged past, of a girl strong enough to crawl—body half-eaten—to find her again.

azzi glided, half-incontinent by anguish, and slid a hand over the top. picked it up and pressed it to her sternum. belatedly, she realized she could see the lace of her nightgown still visible beneath the flannel, having never taken it off when she changed, fragile and torn, and she thought distantly that she looked insane. that she was insane. any sane person would have already been running.

but inês was in this box. all that was left of her. and azzi would slit her wrists, her throat, and run dry before she left her behind again.

"azzi." paige was in the doorway, breathless, pack slung over her shoulder and rifle across her back. she looked at azzi—hips twisted, jewelry box clutched like a talisman against her chest, standing in the room she'd locked herself out of for months with her eyes dark and far—and something in her face cracked open.

it wasn’t a break, just a settling. a bone aligning after months of being set wrong.

the realization hit her with the force of a boulder crushed into a skull: oh. i’m in love with her.

paige felt something in her chest unlatch. something heavy that she’d kept locked since the bridge, since the moment she'd learned that loving people meant watching them fall. she'd thought it would never open it again.

but here was azzi, prying it wide with her bare hands without even knowing she’d done it at all.

and for one second, paige discarded her militance.

she was only paige, practically inflamed with anxiety and trying to temper its strength for the sake of the woman she couldn’t continue to live without.

"okay," she said softly. she shifted off the pack and stepped into the room. azzi felt her hands come to her hair, looping it into a soft bun at the nape of her neck. “okay, baby.”

she pressed a kiss to azzi’s skin, felt it burning, felt the prick of salt at her waterline.

then again, louder, conflict-oriented: "azzi, baby, i need you to listen to me. i know this is hard, and i know—i know that right now you don’t understand, and sweetheart, i—i promise i will explain later, okay? promise. when we have time. but we don’t have time right now, and i just—i just need you to work with me, okay? so i can make us safe.”

slowly, azzi’s head tilted. up. then down. paige let out a wet noise, nose against the top of her spin. she pressed a kiss there, then lowered a hand so that she could hold one of azzi’s.

“good girl. here’s what i need you to do: grab whatever else you need. doesn’t matter what it is. your supplies, memories, whatever. just fill a bag with what you think you can carry. thirty seconds."

she let go.

azzi's hands moved on their own. inês's sweater, the grey one she'd been wearing when she died. a photograph from the nightstand. her mother's necklace from the drawer, the gold chain tangled and tarnished but still recognizable as love.

twenty seconds.

she turned back to the room one last time. tried to memorize it. the way the light fell across the floorboards. the indent in the pillow where a head would never rest again. the thick sweetness of flowers that weren’t really there, just her mind playing tricks, just grief pretending to be haunting.

part of her held a phantom belief—we will be back, we will be here again—but she knew. she knew she was dying, always dying. this was dying; it was gone.

azzi’s throat clenched, and she blindly fumbled behind herself as she exited, slamming the door closed. she spun, tugging open the linen closet and shoving every single strand of medicine she could find, every bit of healing. she had a bag in her hand; paige must’ve put it there.

over and over, she did this—throwing open cabinets and doors, gutting them of memory and resources, stripping her life down to what she could carry and what would weigh her down. she returned to the bedroom, reached aimlessly for the sheets.

"azzi, we're out of time." silence. “i gave you forty-five.”

paige felt her ribs crack in three places. “i’m so sorry, baby.”

paige's hand on her elbow, pulling her back into the hallway. azzi didn't resist. let herself be led. let the door swing shut behind her, unlocked this time because what did it matter? what was there left to protect?

they were moving through the cabin now, and azzi watched it all pass like she was watching a film, tugged along like a boat to shore.

paige's hands grabbing the medical bag from its hook. the kitchen counter where they'd fucked two nights ago, azzi pressed back against the wood while paige's mouth did terrible, necessary things. the front door, hanging open to let in the light and the acrid odor that azzi's brain still hadn't processed as smoke.

she was surveying this world as a spirit, barely aware as paige secured her bag across her back and pushed her out.

outside, now.

the earth was still beautiful.

still bathed in winter’s approaching glory, rich with light that would’ve made any photographer weep, any painter go mad trying to capture it. the trees were burning with color—red and gold and orange—parts of it dying, and for a disorienting moment, azzi thought it was the trees that were on fire, that autumn itself had self-immolated.

then she saw the smoke rising from the commune, a large dark cloud that throbbed from grey into black.

paige's hand tightened around her wrist, pulling her forward. her voice in her ear, words finally breaking through the underwater feeling: stay low. stay close. don't look back.

but azzi was already looking back.

at the cabin with its a-frame reaching toward heaven. at the garden where a deer still grazed, ignorant and doomed. at the porch that wrapped around the house like lovers' arms. at the little window of the room where she'd finally learned to sleep again, where paige had taught her that touch was comfort, that there was nothing wrong with wanting to need.

at the life she'd built and then built again, slaughtered for a third time.

they were moving fast now, paige half-dragging her into the tree line. how much she loved her, to drag her like this. the jewelry box dug into azzi's ribs where she'd shoved it into her shirt for safekeeping. she was unsure of why she hadn’t put it in the bag. she could feel its sharp corners, could feel inês pressed against her heart; this was the only thing that felt real.

everything else was slow motion and silence, pure imagination.

paige's hair catching the light as she ran.

the rifle bouncing against her back.

the trees slurring past in streaks of gold and green.

briefly, azzi thought of the cow, how paige dragged it this way so that she would not see the shot. through the head, and to the brain. immediate.

and now, they were walking the same path. this path, the one unwinding beneath azzi's feet, walked a hundred times. she knew every root and rise, but now it appeared strange, exotic, like she was traveling along the make of someone else's life.

they passed the clearing where azzi had found paige in the dark, the log where they'd sat after finding kit, where paige had told her about her loss, where azzi knew she would love her now and after. all of it dissolving behind them, unable to be kept.

in the distance, a harsher litany. another truth that azzi's brain was unable to categorize as violence, as gunfire. screaming that could have been wind or birds or the death throes of civilization, again, always, again.

her mind was recumbent, a fortress hardened to protect her, to keep her stable. if it faltered, she would break.

paige was saying something, her voice exigent and near, but azzi couldn't hear it over the roaring in her ears. she watched paige's mouth move—almost there, just a little further, you're doing so good, baby—but the words felt like they belonged to someone else. some other version of herself who knew nothing of what it was to run, who wasn't abandoning, who could settle, who wasn't—

they passed kit's house. the glass walls refracted the morning sun, the door hanging wide and blackened like an abscess.

silence, still, and then the world slammed back in.

sound returned like cancer: the crack-crack-crack of gunfire from the commune, shrieking that was definitely human and plagued with death, paige's breath harsh and rhythmic beside her, her own pulse suddenly deafening in her ears.

she stopped moving, stockstill. "kit."

"azzi—" paige's hand bore down, trying to drive her forward.

"kit." louder now, voice returning. "paige, she's in there. i know she is. her mother—paige, i haven't seen them in days, i haven't checked—"

"we don't have time." paige's voice was hard, martial, a voice that had ordered soldiers into fire. "baby, we have to go now, we can't—"

but azzi was already wrenching her arm free, refusing to war with who she knew she was, already turning toward that house with its open door and see-through body and its miserable silence. her feet were crossing ground before her mind could stop them, running toward the child instead of away from the assault because she knew what it was to be left, and behind her, she heard paige let out a coarse intonation that was half curse and half resignation.

then the crackling of leaves, the snap of twigs. footsteps. paige following.

always following.

the house was exactly as it always was: beautiful and exposed, light blazing through every surface, nowhere to hide. azzi's feet pounded up the wooden steps—still barefoot, she realized distantly, she'd never put on shoes—and then she was through the door, into the main room where kit usually played.

empty.

"kit?" her voice cracked on the name. "kit, are you here?"

nothing. azzi tried again.

“katharine? katharine. sweetheart, can you hear me?”

then, far off, a small sound. movement.

the kitchen.

azzi ran. halted.

kit was sitting at the kitchen table, small and impossibly thin, wearing a dirty pink tee and baby blue cotton shorts that were too big for her. her curls were matted, unbrushed. there was a bowl in front of her—empty except for a film of something that might have been soup, days old—and her hands were folded neatly in her lap like she'd been sitting there all this time, waiting for someone to tell her what to do next.

behind her, on the floor by the stove, was a shape loosely covered with a black blanket.

azzi's medical training catalogued it immediately: the stillness of it, the particular way the fabric draped, the smell underneath the staleness of the house. rot, early stages, maybe three days. maybe four.

kit's mother. bile rose.

"hello, sweetheart." azzi's voice came out steady somehow, bedside manner always persevering, careful of further spooking a frightened child. she knelt in front of kit, knees cracking, hands tender on her small shoulders. she could feel a scab beneath one finger. "my beautiful girl. it's azzi. can you hear me?"

kit's eyes focused slowly, like she was surfacing from somewhere deep. when she spoke, her voice was small and confused:

"mommy's—mommy’s sleeping. i tried to wake her up, but she won't—she keeps sleeping."

"i know, baby." azzi pulled kit into her arms, lifted her easily, felt how light she was, how the bones of her spine protruded like bird wings. she slid a hand slowly up kit’s spine, curled it into her hair, and gently directed her to lie on her shoulder. "i know. but we need to go now, okay? we can’t stay here anymore. we need to get you somewhere safe."

"but mommy—"

"—would want you to be safe." azzi straightened, kit in her arms, thin legs wrapping automatically around her waist. "she'd want me to take care of you."

paige appeared in the doorway, rifle raised, eyes scanning the room for threats. azzi saw the moment she registered the body, when she registered the choice azzi had made. when she saw kit, something in her face went white. the resemblance was still there—the curls, the eyes, the ghost of drew in every feature—but despite the pain, she didn't look away.

"azzi, let’s go," she said quietly. "now."

azzi nodded, adjusting kit's weight in her arms. she stood a while longer, hand still rubbing the girl’s back.

“you have to be brave, katharine. can you do that for me, sweetheart?”

she felt kit bury her face into her neck, eyes clenching shut, felt the defeated nod. azzi barely swallowed the sob that was evolving as she realized she could see her ribs through her tee. three days, maybe more, of a seven-year-old trying to take care of herself while her mother's body cooled on the kitchen floor.

azzi closed her eyes, let out a breath, then opened them again. she began to back away, never turning, unwilling to brave the chance that kit might lift her head and see her mother’s corpse again. she navigated like this all the way through, trusting paige to keep her course steady.

once out, they were moving again, back onto the path. kit was heavier than azzi expected, or maybe azzi was just weaker than she thought. the jewelry box dug into her ribs with every step. with kit pressed against her chest, azzi thought distantly that she was trying to carry too much.

that something would have to break.

azzi paused for only a fraction of a second, adjusted, and reached a hand out to deposit the box into paige’s hands. paige took the ashes and slid them into her pack.

moving, again.

paige was ahead of them now, rifle up, scanning the tree line with the focus of someone who knew how to kill and would do it without hesitation if it meant keeping them safe. she moved like water, like wind.

they were almost to the rendezvous point—wherever that was, azzi didn't know, was only following paige blindly—when paige suddenly stopped and held up a hand, fingers stagnant. the universal signal for stop.

azzi froze. kit whimpered against her neck, and she pressed a kiss to the top of her head. it seemed as though the woods held their breath.

then: voices. male. multiple and coming from the direction they'd been heading.

paige turned slightly, looking over her shoulder to where azzi stood with kit, her face a mask of calculation. she pointed to a dense thicket of undergrowth, then at azzi, mimed being quiet. the message was clear: hide, don't move, don't make a sound.

azzi nodded and stepped toward the thicket as quickly as she could while carrying another body. the thorns caught at her shirt, tore new holes in the fabric. she pressed herself down into the earth, curling her body around kit’s like a shell, like she could make them both invisible through will alone.

paige stayed on the path, gun ready, placing herself between them and whatever was coming, no thought to her own risk.

the voices got louder. closer. azzi could make out words now: should be supply caches—word of an old commune doctor living out here somewhere—big cabin—worth checking—

her blood went cold.

they were looking for her. for her house. for whatever resources she'd stockpiled.

through the branches, azzi watched three strangers emerge onto the path. they were armed, stinking, and bloodied, motions imbued with the loose confidence of people who knew there was no law left to stop them.

raiders.

mercenaries with no contracts, who hit settlements like their ex-commune, who killed anyone who resisted, who took everything, and burned what couldn't be borne.

one of them stopped, sniffing the air. "y’all smell that?"

the accent was rough, sticky around the edges. texas, azz would guess.

"i can’t smell jack shit. sinuses are fucked. goddamn allergies."

'’s smoke. fresh. something's burning."

"could be our boys at the commune, coming the other way."

a grunt of acknowledgment.

“yeah.” he unslung his rifle. “could be someone else. could be someone trying to get away."

paige hadn't reacted once during their conversation, but at this last bit, she shifted minutely. just to the side, then back to motionless, right on the path. azzi realized with dawning horror that she was letting them see her. that she was choosing to be seen, drawing their attention away from where azzi and kit were curled tightly into one another, slick in the soil.

"well, shit," one of the men said, grinning. "look what we got here."

paige said nothing, eyes like flint. just adjusted her grip around her rifle.

"you lost, sweetheart?" the man took a step closer, head cocking. in her spot, azzi grew tenser and tenser, muscles cramping with the rigor of her alarm. "this ain't a safe place for a girl to be wandering alone."

still, paige held her silence. but azzi could see the tension in her shoulders, could see her body settling into a stance that was relaxed but ready. coiled. waiting.

"cat got your tongue?" another step. "that's alright. we can think of better uses for that mouth."

the other men laughed.

paige smiled then. it was the coldest stretch of teeth azzi had ever seen.

"you should leave," paige said, quiet and calm. "no reason to go about all this."

the men laughed harder, snorted. "oh, she's got some fire. i like that."

"last chance," paige said.

the first man raised his hand, flashed the metal of his pistol. "listen, bitch—"

paige moved.

it was faster than azzi could track. one moment she was standing still, the next her gun was up and firing—a muted pop-pop—and the man was dropping, and then she was stepping sideways, low, firing again, and the second went down clutching his throat.

the third got a shot off. it went wide, chewing bark from a tree six feet from where azzi and kit were hiding. kit screamed, and azzi pressed her hand over the girl’s mouth, heart hammering so hard she thought it might fracture her chest.

paige pivoted, fired once more, and the man crumpled.

silence.

three bodies on the path, still twitching. blood soaked into the fallen leaves, oozing thickly, turning them a darker shade of red.

paige stood over them, rifle still raised, breathing hard. she checked each body systematically, making sure they were dead, and when one man let out a half-hearted rattle, she unloaded another bullet into his head. it was only when she turned that azzi saw the suppressor on the muzzle, the reason for the quiet of the shots. she hadn’t even seen her put it on.

she watched as paige walked to where the two of them were concealed and held out her hand.

"come on," she said. her voice was flat. she wasn't even shaking. "need to keep moving."

azzi stared up at her. her eyes darted back and forth as she took in the woman who’d begged her to call her sweetheart, who'd learned to braid her hair so she could rest sometimes, who'd held her through every twisted inch of her nightmares.

at the soldier who'd just killed three men in less than ten seconds without breaking a sweat.

"azzi." paige's voice was firmer now. "we gotta go. there will be more."

azzi took her hand, let herself be dragged back into the light.

when paige tried to let go, she clutched at her, intertwined their fingers.

“thank you,” she whispered. “for not leaving me behind.”

paige softened, disconnecting them so that she could settle a hand around azzi’s jaw, leading her forward so that their foreheads pressed against each other.

“baby, how could i ever leave you behind?” her hand slid down to kit’s back, stroking softly. “we’re family.”

azzi felt the tears flood, and she pressed harder into paige. she felt her breath across her face as she spoke again, the words soaking past the skin, down into the blood.

“you’re my family.”

they parted, paige pressing a lingering kiss to azzi’s forehead, and checked over themselves, ensuring everything was re-secured.

they ran.

azzi never looked back again.

azzi had no idea how much distance they’d covered before paige decided they couldn’t push any further. it had to be a large portion; the moon had risen, a white ouroboros. she could see paige’s body trembling with exhaustion, and the onset of hunger, and azzi’s arms were beginning to go numb with carrying kit, her hips unused to this new weight.

as if the universe heard, the trees gaped open to reveal a sagging structure—half-barn, half-cabin, all abandoned—with ribs of its roof showing through like a carcass. paige guided them inside wordlessly.

the air was uncomfortably cool and smelled thickly of dust, but the walls stood. they both agreed that that was enough. paige swept the grounds for danger, checking every aperture, before she signaled azzi to lay kit on the warped floorboards. azzi obeyed, settling down her pack and rummaging through the depths, careful to keep the girl balanced on her lap. she finally found what she’d been searching for.

inês's sweater, woollen and deserted.

azzi bent, folding it into a thick rectangle and assuring it was placed on a stable spot on the floor, and then tenderly unlatched kit’s grip from around her neck. she watched the fabric dip under the girl’s head, settling into its new role as pillow. kit sighed, body deflating, folding into herself as though she’d been waiting years for permission to sleep.

azzi stayed crouched for a moment, drawing strands of hair back from kit’s sallow cheeks, making a mental note to ask paige to scout somewhere they could attempt a bath for her. for themselves. finally, she stood, the air in her throat fat and curdled. she staggered toward the back of the room where the wall had split open, moonlight slanting in through a jagged crack. she pressed both hands into the torn wood and leaned her forehead against it.

then, she bit down hard on the inside of her cheek, gagged on blood and salt, and finally opened her mouth.

the first scream tore out of her, raw and unsutured. she buried it into her sleeve, muffled herself against the skin and cloth, but still the sound filled the room, an animal keening, the sound of a body realizing it had been hollowed out. the second scream was eternal, could’ve fallen into a third.

she was screaming for so many things: for the house they’d left burning, for the kale in the garden—her garden—, for the deer surely dead by now, for the ashes now hidden in paige’s pack. she screamed because she was not going back, because there was no back to go to.

she didn’t hear paige cross the room, but then there were hands on her shoulders, solid, dragging her upright into an embrace she began to fight before crumpling into. paige wrapped around her from behind, pinning her against her chest, her strength closer to a barricade than a comfort until azzi’s body broke.

she sobbed into paige’s shirt, ugly, shuddering, snotting, like something being wrung out. paige tightened her hold, nose buried in azzi’s hair, murmuring,

“i’ve got you. shh, i’ve got you, azzi.”

azzi’s nails caught in the fabric of paige’s sleeve, clinging hard enough to bruise. indenting and indenting. paige swayed her instinctively, rocking them both until her own control faltered, until her breath caught jagged in her throat. a single sob tore loose, then another, muffled against the top of azzi’s head.

“i know,” paige sobbed. “i know. i know, baby.”

for a moment, there was no soldier, no doctor. just the two of them. women speaking, women sobbing into each other’s shoulders, their grief overlapped with no boundaries, history and future mingling in the hollow of that ruined room.

“i saw them,” paige finally rasped, voice cracking. she pulled back enough to cup azzi’s face, thumbs brushing at damp cheeks. azzi gazed up at her from under clustered lashes, tears like diamonds on the ends. “the raiders. i was going to let you sleep in, go to the market. thought i’d pick up flour, a little fruit. but when i got close—”

her jaw spasmed, and she pressed her eyes shut, working to steady herself. azzi cooed quietly, smoothing the baby hair at her neck.

“they were already there. fire everywhere. people—people we knew—cut down with no thought.” paige swallowed and clenched azzi tighter. “i wasn’t going to let it reach you. i swear to god, i wasn’t. i couldn’t.”

azzi’s breathing slowed, evened out, but her voice came out dull and small.

“so, what now? what’s our plan?”

paige guided her down to sit, arranging her like clay in her lap, then pulled a map from the breast pocket of her hunter’s jacket. it was creased and slightly yellowed, scrawled with markings that looked like child’s play, but azzi knew to be routes. paige spread it across their knees. her finger traced the lines: rivers, then the long sweep of coast.

she tapped the space once, then twice, heavy both times.

“there,” she said. “one of the last ports still running. i was headed that way when i found you. planned to get on a boat. leave the country. start over.” she looked at azzi, eyes wet, mouth set hard. “and that’s where i’m going now. but,” she glanced back toward kit, curled on the floor, then returned to azzi, “i’m not going it alone. we’ll take her, go together.”

the word together sounded like a vow, like a wound.

paige scanned azzi’s face, added quietly,

“If you want.”

azzi nodded, even though she felt pitted, pillaged. scraped clean. it felt like her head belonged to someone else.

she couldn’t picture the sea. couldn’t picture anything past the fire in her ears. but paige’s voice was steady, and that steadiness was all she had left.

she squeezed paige’s hands, pressed a kiss to the middle of her throat.

“how could i not want? if we can get out, if we can stop running, if i can be safe with you—i’ll do it. whatever it takes.”

azzi felt paige shiver, knew she was crying. she lifted her hands, kissed paige’s knuckles, and hummed in sympathy.

“you need to sleep.” paige shook her head, fear finding her once again. azzi leaned forward, kissed her until she felt paige gasp wetly into her mouth, swept her tongue in, and tried to swallow her. she pulled back, surer now. “it's okay. you can rest, paige.”

she slid off of paige’s lap, led her through a choreography that ended with them reversed, paige now curled into the cradle of azzi’s thighs. azzi stared into the dark, watched kit breathe.

“you can rest, baby. it's just me.”

eventually, azzi moved them.

they settled on the floorboards, the three of them stationed in a fragile constellation. kit was between them, the smallest spoon, small body curled into azzi’s chest, ribs sharp under her shirt. then, azzi, in the middle, a half-moon, wrapped around her.

and finally, paige.

she lay on the outskirt, closest to the door—she’d insisted—rifle within reach. one arm bent protectively over azzi and kit, defensive even in sleep.

azzi couldn’t settle, eyes unable to close. she pressed a thoughtless kiss to kit’s curls, smiling sadly at the discovery of a cowlick, then shifted her gaze to the single cracked window in the far wall. outside, the night was fathomless, window panes cloudy, the moon a blurred coin. she stared and stared, a headache settling in.

and for one long, impossible moment—she saw inês. standing in the dark beyond the glass, hair loose, skin pale as if lit from within. watching without a smile, refusing to condemn, just present.

azzi blinked, raising herself on her elbow, but the figure dissolved into mist, into exhaustion. she let her body fall back to the boards, too tired to weep anymore.

her throat ached raw from screaming. her chest ached raw from love.

she felt paige’s hand re-adjust on her hip, felt the warm puff of her exhale as she said,

“azzi, sleep. ‘s okay.”

azzi closed her eyes, tried her hardest. nothing, then,

“love you.”

two words, and she wanted to dissolve all over again. she wanted to open her mouth, return the sentiment that she felt burning in every single cell of her body. but she never got the chance.

this was all her body had needed, the permission that had to be given for her to be released.

she went under, submarine.

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