Since the attack on Vale, there was no shortage of work to be done when it came to rebuilding. Several residential districts had come to ruin, the shelters were filling quickly, and transport out of the area was slow and complicated. Several trains and shuttles had been indefinitely shut down, and it hurt Summer to know that the suffering, for many of them, was only just beginning.
“I can’t look on and do nothing for them,” She’d confessed to Winter one night, as she’d woken restlessly beside her, paced the apartment a few times, downed a few cups of coffee, “I want to help them connect with their families, at the very least…”
Even if it was not as efficient or far-reaching in scope as the work Winter was able to do through her company, if she could help one more person, it was worth it.
She spent several evenings a week using her semblance to spirit the lost to their distant relatives without cost, and on most other nights, she trained her spirit to endure the strain.
Deep down, she knew there were other reasons she was driving herself into the ground.
Am I using this crisis to avoid my own? Summer felt her heart ache with guilt at the idea. It was a silent, unsaid thing, not unlike…
…not unlike how her and Winter seemed to avoid sleeping in the bed.
It was too frequent to be an accident, and while Winter had recovered peacefully there, the haunt of what had happened there seemed to linger in ways that made the moments where the lights dimmed seem all too suffocating.
All too often, they’d settle in to bed, and a certain tension would reach out-
-and one, or both of them would remember a movie they had been meaning to watch, and the other would acquiesce easily, and they’d fall asleep in some awful contortion on the couch together.
That place, that energy that seemed to linger…
…it was something that followed them both with its noose of guilt.
Summer knew that Winter hadn’t been in control-she knew that wasn’t her. That night…so much had happened, and she’d been away for so long, and she was used to-to making amends where she believed they needed to be made.
It was a response cultivated out of acquiescing to the very woman who’d imposed herself upon her, time and again, for the sake of the safety of those closest to her, and she only realized in retrospect that she’d been drawn into that familiar pattern once again as she stole Winter’s face and body-forced her into horrors untold, for so long, without Summer knowing.
So she had seized upon the opportunity to busy herself, to try to keep from thinking about it-
-and on some level, she knew that Winter was trying to do the same.
After a particularly long night, Summer came home to Winter, so up to her ears in remedial reports that she’d fallen asleep at her desk.
With a heartening smile, she slipped off her boots and cloak, padding softly across the floor towards her, easing a hand at either collapsed shoulder to massage her awake gently.
“Hey, love…” Summer stroked the back of a finger against Winter’s cool cheek, stroking baby hairs behind her ears, “…have you been here long? Working so hard…” She leaned over, pressing the most tender, gentle kiss to her brow, “…can we sit and talk? I just-want to hear about your day…”
She wanted to have courage, and bring it up, for both of their sakes: but what if Winter hadn’t said anything because she was not yet ready?
For Summer…the nightmare had begun in the bedroom, and passed over by the time they’d faced Cinder.
She’d said nothing of the many emails, dating back months, that had wound up in Winter’s business mail she’d been managing. From…other women, following up on invitations. With picture attachments.
That…dated it all, somewhat, to at least a month and a half, and it turned her stomach to know that she’d been unaware, even if the mission were noble.
But…she would play it by ear, and would wait.
Another lifetime, if need be.
She still worried that the Maiden warmth in her fingers would remind her of something else.
I can’t stand that bed anymore.
It was no longer a place of rest. That she’d managed to recover at all while trapped beneath those sheets was a marvel in itself. Winter attributed that to a sort of ‘shock’; the dust hadn’t settled. Nothing had settled.
It wasn’t just what she’d--been forced to do that night. Of course, Winter was sickened to death at the memories. Of course, her self loathing had revived and nearly drew her to old habits, nearly cast aside her second chance. Of course she was haunted by it. Summer had barely been able to consent--if she’d ever consented at all--and Winter herself had been emotionally and physically compromised.
When she thought about it, really let herself roll that night over in her memories, they were foggy. Half formed. Winter had been there as an observer, as a prisoner, while Cinder had...fucking, piloted her body like a fleshy suit of armor. It was disgusting.
But it was more than that, really. Summer’s apprehension toward that bed was more rooted in what she believed to be something she felt responsible for; not being around, not noticing Winter’s decline, when really--how was Summer supposed to know? Winter hadn’t had any idea, either. She didn’t blame Summer at all; the blame lay with Cinder, and Cinder lay dead in the ground.
It had been hellish. Night after night after night of horrific dreams, hounding her with sharp red nails and flame. Using her body, in Summer’s form or in her own. Depraved, horrible things that hammered at her sense of reality. Months of this, before the dramatic increase of it. Winter could not be blamed for not wanting to be near the same place it had always happened in, so she took every opportunity to sleep on the couch, or at her desk.
Places where physical intimacy had been fun, a dance between the two of them--where Winter had discovered more and more about herself, and more about Summer, too.
“--Mm--” She awoke beneath Summer’s warm touch, and felt not a trace of fear. “--Oh, God. Oh, I’ll pay for this in the morning...”
She sat up and her spine gave a very satisfying pop. Winter sighed in relief and looked up toward Summer, scooting backward and spinning the chair a little to offer her lap as a seat instead.
“Hello, darling,” Winter crooned. “Come here, come here. Nothing I’d like more.”
