#comf!

[just-horrible-things]

‘Verse: Resistance Story: Unlikely Salvation, co-author @whump-sprite Timeline: Arc 4, Ariadne is established with the Resistance

Scars, pt2 [ First | Prev | Next ]

So many marks. She almost stops when she's done scrawling ink across her upper body. She already looks crazy enough. 

It doesn't feel right to stop halfway.

Taryn didn't stop.

She wants to see the awful truth of it.

She peels her pants off and sits there on the floor in her underwear. 

Just one line round her thigh on the right. She remembers too clearly the break in the middle of the femur, one of the worst, one of the first Alex fixed. 

One line doesn't feel like enough for the way her leg jutted sickeningly to the side. She widens it with the marker until the broad, jagged band feels more proportionate to the agony. 

Then her shin, and her ankle, and her foot, discarding boots and socks. The foot is difficult. She remembers it as an undifferentiated mass of swelling and pain, not as individual breaks. 

There are tears in her eyes, and they spill down her cheeks as she squints angrily at her own foot.

Behind her the door clicks open. Ariadne bolts for cover before she even realises she is moving. 

"... Ari?" Alex is afraid for her. She can almost hear him reaching for his gun. "Here," she croaks from behind the desk, "I'm okay." "Ari, why are your clothes…"

She hears his feet on the carpet. 

"Don't–!" she protests. "Don't, don't look at me." His tone gentles. "Okay," he says. "Ari, are you hurt?" "No. I promise I'm not." Her cheeks are hot. "I'm okay, I promise, nothing happened, it's – just me, being stupid, on my own." "You're not stupid."

Ari looks down at the crazy paving of her skin, the marker clutched in her hand. 

"What happened? Can I come round there and hug you? I can close my eyes if you really want…" Ari buries her face in her knees. "No," she mumbles, "s'fine. You… can look."

There’s a beat of silence.

"Oh," Alex says. "Oh, Ari." "Told you it was stupid," she tells her knees. 

Alex crouches beside her, and she can't bring herself to look at him but she leans towards him for a hug. He puts his arms around her and holds tight. A little sob slips out before she can catch it.

"Sometimes I feel like it never happened," she confesses. "Like I… made it up." "It was real," Alex answers, quiet but certain. "I don't… I don't even think I have them all right, I don't remember…" "I'm here," he promises.

Ari nods against his body. Another sob shakes her shoulders, then another. Alex's hand finds the back of her head, holding her close. 

She takes a deep breath and holds it, trying to get herself back under control. 

Alex’s careful fingers find the marker clutched in her hand. He tugs gently, and with effort Ari uncurls her grip to let him take it from her. 

"May I?"

She looks, and sees him holding the marker by her foot, tip close to her skin. 

She nods, just hesitantly, against his shoulder.

The sensations are more acute, with the pen in Alex's hand. The gentle pressure sends goosebumps across her skin. The ink is wet for a second behind the pen.

She can barely breathe as she watches the black lines form their ugly web across her foot. She looks up, and watches Alex's face instead. 

He's concentrating, and something in his careful, solemn focus makes Ari cry again.

"Should I stop?" Ari shakes her head, biting her lip. "No." 

So he doesn't. 

His hand cups the back of her ankle to lift her foot. Ari leans against his chest as Alex draws the marker ever so gently across her sole. He uses it like a paintbrush, like he'll damage it – or Ari – if he presses too hard. 

One foot, then the other. She is and isn't surprised that he remembers all the breaks. A line across Ari's hip that she missed. A continuation of the line up the back of her ribs where she couldn't quite reach. 

He ends with her hands in his, turning them over with just as much care as when they were shattered and he was healing them. 

Then he wraps his arms round Ari and hugs her tight again, because she is sobbing. 

"I'm sorry," she sniffles. "You don't have anything to be sorry for." "I… thought I was over it, I want to be over it." "Ari, love, none of us are 'over it'." The faintest hint of reproach with the sympathy. "Yeah," she agrees, and swallows the but. But what happened to you wasn't your fault."You don't have to ever be 'over it'. Tare hurt you really, really badly." She did. But… 

Ari doesn't want to argue. And… she does know better, she does. She wants Alex to hold her, and it's okay to want that, and he is holding her, and she's okay. 

She hugs him tight round his ribs, and buries her face in his shirt. 

"I love you," she says. "I love you so much." "I love you too," Alex answers. "Ari, did… something happen?" "No," Ari mumbles. "Nothing happened." "Okay," Alex says, and rubs her back.

"... Do you think I'm crazy?" "I was… a bit surprised." There's a smile in his voice. Ari snort-laughs into his shirt. "You think I'm crazy." "I don't think you're crazy. You're just… covered in marker. You can be sane and covered in marker." "I just… wanted to see it, I guess." Ari sighs. "It's probably stupid, I just… I dunno." "You don't have to explain yourself to me." Ari tips her face up to check his, and Alex presses a soft kiss to her forehead. "I love you," she repeats in surrender. 

Sheltered there in his arms, Ari lets her eyes follow the black lines across her skin as Alex plays with her hair. So many lines. So much pain and fear, reduced to simple marks. Mapped out.

It feels… better? 

Alex rests his chin on the top of her head, and Ari hums wordless appreciation.

"It was… really, really bad," she says softly. "Yeah," Alex agrees. "Yeah, it was." A deep breath in judders like a sob. She holds it for a few seconds, and lets it out slowly. "You're… sure it's okay that I'm, mh, –" "I'm sure it's okay," he tells her firmly. 

It's everything she needs to hear. 

She cries for a little while, there on the floor with him. Alex holds her until the tears stop. 

"You're getting cold," he says, stroking a hand over her goosebumped, black-striped arm. "Yeah," Ari hums. "Do you… wanna put your clothes back on?" "Mh, yeah." Alex laughs a little, and gives her one last squeeze before letting go. 

As she starts pulling her pants on, Ari hesitates. "Wait," she says, "I… wanna take pictures." Alex gives her a confused look, but he says "Okay."

And when Ari is having difficulty lining her phone up with her limbs, he takes it out of her hand.

They take photos of her arms and legs and both sides of her hands. Ari stands up and Alex takes full length pictures of her front and back. 

"What are you going to do with them?" he asks. "I don't know," Ari confesses. "Delete them, probably. Maybe… look at them, a bit." He doesn’t look like he gets it, but he nods anyway. "D'you… want to wash that off now? You don't have to, I just thought…" "Yeah," Ari agrees. "Yeah, I think that's a good idea."

Alex comes with her by unspoken agreement. Ari runs the water hot, and sighs with contentment as it washes over cold skin. Alex squirts shower gel into his palm, and takes one of Ariadne's hands ever so gently. 

He's still handling her like she's breakable – and maybe she is. 

His thumbs spread the soap across her skin, then he begins carefully to rub at the first of the rings round her index finger. The ink clings stubbornly, but gentle, persistent attention lifts it slowly to leave the skin clean. Unscarred.

More tears mingle with the shower water on Ari's cheeks as Alex moves on to the next mark. 

When a little sob slips out, he looks up from her hand with concern. "Ari, what's wrong?" "Don't stop," she says, voice thick with tears. "Okay," he says, "I won't." "Thank you, Alex." "It's okay,” he assures her. “We're okay." Ari doesn’t feel okay. But she nods.

Line by line, Alex washes the marks, the not-scars from her skin. It takes a long time. There are so many. Line by line, the memories of pain vanish under his hands. 

Ari sits down in the shower tray with her back to the wall, and Alex washes her feet then plants kisses on the ends of her toes to make her laugh. 

When he tries to wash her thighs, she has to kiss him, pulling him still half-dressed under the water with her. He makes a playful sound of surprise, and kisses back. 

When he washes the marks from her ribs, it makes her giggle and he kisses her again. 

Tears forgotten, Ari is more than happy to help Alex out of the rest of his clothes, and they end up a tangle of limbs and kisses and soap and warm water, absorbed in each other like there’s nothing else in the world.

"I'm okay," Ari promises, almost giddy with the knowledge that it's true. "I'm okay, we're okay." "I'm better than okay," Alex grins. "Okay," she agrees breathlessly. "Better than okay. I love you."

[Next]

[secretwhumplair]

Comfort prompt I

Whumpee has learned to sleep curled up uncomfortably tight, to warm and protect themself as best as they can, but now, safe with caretaker, they gradually, night by night, unfurl back into their natural sleeping position.

Caretaker almost cried when they saw whumpee curled up all frightened, and now they almost cry again when they see whumpee back in their preferred sleeping position.

[just-horrible-things]

‘Verse: Resistance Story: Unlikely Salvation, co-author @whump-sprite Timeline: Arc 2, Alex and Ari are getting used to living together

Ariadne Burns Herself, pt2 [First | Pt1 | Next]

Ariadne wobbles as she bends down to lace up her boots, and when she straightens she takes a moment to brace herself against the door before she opens it. “Are you okay?” Alex asks, without even hesitating. An ordinary thing to ask the person you live with.

More and more he sees her this way – human, fallible, even ordinary – before he sees his interrogator in her.

“Is something wrong?” He expects to hear I’m fine, always the first words out of her mouth when he’s worried. She’s like that – stubborn, defensive, sometimes foolish. Instead she bites her lip a little as she looks back at him. “Not sure,” she admits. “Not feeling too good.” “Maybe you should stay home,” Alex suggests. The careless turn of phrase makes his heart ache a little. This place isn’t a home. But it is what it is. “Mmh,” she hums, “it’s not that bad. I’ll be fine.” – there it is – “If it gets worse I can bow out.”

Alex worries, but he can’t argue with her. She leaves, and he has to put it out of mind and get himself something to eat before he has to leave as well.

It’s working, at the moment. Between the two of them they’re earning enough to be able to think about luxuries, not just necessities. The new apartment is tiny but it’s clean and everything works. Ariadne even fixed the dripping tap. Alex thinks he might miss it when they next move on.

When he gets home in the evening, he finds Ariadne flopped across the couch with her boots and jacket still on. She looks half asleep, reacting only groggily to Alex’s arrival. Stray strands of hair are plastered to her face by sweat.

“You look terrible,” Alex says, and winces immediately. That was rude, he should be more careful. “I feel terrible,” Ariadne groans. “I know, you told me so…” Alex hangs up his coat and joins her on the couch. He reaches to put a hand to her forehead, but hesitates. “May I?” “Sure.” “Fuck, you’re burning up.” Her skin is damp under his fingers. 

It’s weird, touching her. She touches him sometimes, mostly when he asks her to. He doesn’t touch her, hasn’t since she needed healing every day. Alex withdraws his hand uneasily.

“Yeah…” Ariadne sighs raggedly. “I can tell. Guess I have… the flu or something.” Her words are very slightly slurred, but it doesn’t sound like her nose is blocked. “Okay.” Alex fidgets at the edge of his sleeves, worried. “Let’s take it easy,” he suggests carefully. “Are you hungry? Shall I get pizza?” She hums an agreeable sound, but she looks like she’s falling back asleep.

Alex orders pepperoni – her usual favourite – and makes her a hot tea in case her throat is sore. She smiles groggily at him and it helps to settle his nerves. So she’s sick, that’s okay. Alex knows how to help. He puts the TV on and flicks through the channels, settling on some dumb office show that at least makes them both laugh.

When pizza arrives, Ariadne seems eager enough to eat, but she only manages one slice. She fumbles the box trying to close it, and Alex has to catch it for her. He watches worriedly as she struggles out of her jacket and then flops down sideways, limbs akimbo, head hanging off the end of the couch.

“Are you… okay?” “I’m sorry,” she mumbles. “What for?” “I’ll feel better in the morning,” she promises, sounding anxious. “I’m fine, I can still work.” “... I don’t think you can work,” Alex tells her gently. Incongruously, she flinches. “I’m sorry,” she repeats. “It’s okay,” Alex tries to assure her. “It doesn’t matter, it’s okay.”

She groans, rolls half onto her back – kind of pushing Alex’s legs out of the way in the process – and puts both hands over her face. Her head is still unsupported, nearly upside down.

“That... doesn’t look comfortable,” Alex ventures after a second. “S’not.” “Do you want a hand up?” She holds one hand out in his general direction, and he takes it. She’s heavy, barely cooperating, and she hisses through her teeth as Alex pulls her up. His eyes widen. “Are you hurt?” “Head’s killing me,” she mumbles. “I’ll get you a painkiller,” he offers. She blinks at him, wounded and vulnerable. “Thank you…” “It’s no problem.”

He gets her a glass of water too, and she drains it in one go. Alex sits beside her with an arm over the back of the sofa, and gestures her in close. She doesn’t hesitate to tuck herself against his side, and with a little magic in his fingertips Alex puts his hands carefully to her head to start working on her headache. He can’t heal a fever, but he can treat the symptoms.

Ariadne melts under the soothing touch, smiling a surprised, bleary smile up at Alex, and Alex smiles back.

He’s kind of shocked that she’s allowing this. It’s nice to be able to help.

It’s not long before her eyes slip closed and her breathing evens out. They could be any two ordinary people, Alex thinks. This could be a safehouse. Ariadne could be a witch. She could be a friend. She’s a hot coal against his ribs, radiating heat into him, but she looks comfortable enough, trusting and relaxed as she leans against Alex and he leans against her in turn. She’ll be okay. Alex will make sure she’s okay.

The office comedy ends and the TV rolls onto adverts and then some soap opera. The characters all have pristine, immaculately decorated kitchens, and they fight about painting fences, hiring a gardener, whether to buy an electric car, and which brand of soy milk is in the fridge.

Not for the first time, Alex wonders whether anyone actually lives like that, or if it’s all just a pretty, petty fiction for the television.

“Hey,” he nudges Ariadne eventually, “let’s go to bed?” “Mmnnh…?” She blinks heavy eyelids, almost comically confused. “Let’s go to bed,” Alex repeats, “You’ll be more comfortable.” “Mnh,” she grunts again, this time in the tone of an agreement.

Alex takes her clammy, burning hands in his, and tries to guide her to her feet. “I ffeel… really bad,” she confesses, right before her knees buckle and she half-falls half-slides off the edge of the couch to wind up sitting on the floor. If Alex weren’t still holding her hands she’d probably fall further. “... dizzy…” “That’s okay,” Alex soothes, “Take it slow, you can lean on me.”

He crouches down to help her, and she immediately leans into his support. Deeply concerned, Alex holds her shoulders steady, waiting for the dizziness to subside. 

When her head stops nodding and she looks up at Alex, there’s a kind of dazed incomprehension in her eyes. “Alex…?” To his surprise, she lets out a little sob. “It’s me,” he assures her, “just me.” Her fever must have climbed while she dozed. Alex should have noticed. “I’m sorry,” Ariadne sniffles. “What for?” “I hurt you,” she says miserably. “What? No, you didn’t, you just fell off the couch.” Tears fall from her eyes as she blinks up at Alex. There’s a little crease in her brow, highlighted by the sheen of sweat, but the fever leaves her expression slack and bewildered. “I hurt you…” she repeats less certainly. “You didn’t hurt me,” Alex repeats, “I’m –”

He stops. Sudden realisation is cold and prickles on his skin.

“I, I mean. What hurt are you talking about?” Ariadne’s head tilts to the side. “I hurt you a lot,” she says. Alex swallows, and takes a deep breath. “We shouldn’t talk about this now,” he tells her firmly. “You’re sick, and I’m okay. You need to rest.” She nods her head groggily. “Help me help you to bed?” “.... okay.” “Not too fast now, stop if you feel faint…”

Alex shifts and slides his arms underneath hers to help her up. When he tries to lift, though, she cries out -- a sharp, cracking yelp that can’t be mistaken for anything but pain. 

Alex lets go at once and she flinches from him.

“Ariadne? Are you hurt?” Wide, dazed eyes stare at him, scared.

Alex holds out a hand, palm up like he used to to offer healing. After a second of hesitation, Ariadne puts her hand into his. 

Alex reaches his magic across the skin contact. She can’t be seriously hurt, can’t be dying of anything or he’d have felt it sooner, despite the noise of the fever – wouldn’t he? His magic spreads out through her body and – there, he feels it. The deep burn on the inside of her upper arm.

The bottom drops out of Alex’s stomach. His own arm itches in sympathy, where the scars are.

How–

Carefully he settles onto his knees in front of her. He sets her right hand back in her lap, and takes her left arm instead, pulling it towards him so he can lay a hand directly over the burn. She frowns in worried confusion, but she doesn’t flinch or try to stop him.

Underneath her sleeve is the unmistakable shape of a dressing. She was hiding this from Alex. 

Alex’s magic picks out five distinct stripes of burn. Just like his. He feels queasy. Thankfully the infection hasn’t had time to spread far. It won’t be complicated to drive it out.

But as he starts to heal, Ariadne’s face crumples. “Don’t,” she whimpers, trying to pull away. Alex keeps a firm hold on her wrist. “Shh,” he soothes her. “I’m not gonna hurt you, I’m healing you.” He can scarcely breathe – and it’s not from overextending, he has plenty of magic. 

More tears track silently down Ariadne’s fever-flushed cheeks, but she holds still and lets Alex work.

Once he’s done, he tries again to help her to her feet, and this time there are no unpleasant surprises. Ariadne leans heavily on Alex as he leads her to her bed and helps her to lie down. He’s not about to undress her. She can sleep in her clothes. But he does adjust the covers for her, and he sits on the edge of the bed beside her to help her arrange her limbs.

She sobs miserably into the mattress, and Alex means to slide the pillow under her head but somehow he ends up pulling her into his lap instead. She curls into the human contact, hugging his knee and burying her face into the angle between his leg and her own arm. 

It’s ... surreal. Uncomfortable. Unnatural.

But very tentatively he puts a hand on her back and starts to stroke gentle circles. She clings to him and sobs openly, lost as a child.

“I… I miss my mom,” she sniffles. “Hey,” Alex tells her gently. “I got you.” “I can’t go home. She’d… hate me.” More sobbing. “Why don’t you hate me, Alex?” “I don’t,” he promises, heart heavy. “I really, really don’t.” “Why? Why not?” He doesn’t have an answer. He has never been able to give her the answers she demands. “I don’t know,” he says helplessly. “It’s okay to hate me,” she mumbles into his leg. “It’s okay, I don’t mind. You… should. You should hate me, I’m evil.”

Alex doesn’t know what to say. His chest is tight. He wants to push her away, but he also wants to comfort her and take care of her and somehow make things alright, make her alright again.

“I’m… I’m a bad person and I like to hurt people,” she stumbles onwards. “And… and I thought it was okay because it, because they were bad people, monsters, but,” her voice is breaking badly now, “you’re not, you’re not and you never were. You’re better than me. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

“Please,” says Alex, his own voice almost as thready as hers. “Don’t apologize. I-I don’t know what to do with it.” “I’m sorry,” she repeats. Alex winces. He doesn’t know what to say. Ariadne – his interrogator – sobs in his lap, clinging tightly to his knee, and Alex doesn’t know what to do with any of it.

“It’s not right,” he swallows, “but… nothing is right.” “I’m so sorry,” she says again. “I’ll do better, I swear.” Alex rubs her back again, hoping that it will somehow comfort her, hoping that the comfort will stop her talking.

It seems to work.

But she’s still crying, so Alex pulls her further into his lap, laying back against the pillows with her on top. She is a ragdoll, heavy and warm on his chest. Physically it’s not uncomfortable. If she were anyone else it might be nice.

He tries to focus on the small things that have made the last few months bearable. The times she’s been kind to him. The small but growing cache of savings under the floorboards. The new sweater he bought last week. The t-shirts he really likes. The stack of chocolate bars in the cupboard. Things he and Ariadne have worked towards together.

He tries not to think about what she did to him before. 

He tries not to think about how miserable she is now, or how her misery makes desperate, tight anxiety twist in his gut.

She must have done it to herself. 

There is no other way it could have happened. Why? How did Alex not notice? Is this his fault, for making her feel this way? Will she blame him? Did… she think he would want this?

She’s still crying, soft and vulnerable and nothing like Interrogator. There are tears on Alex’s cheeks too. He rubs her back, and she closes her eyes. Gradually her tears slow and her sniffling gets quieter… and as she relaxes so does Alex.

He doesn’t know what she is to him. She is a fellow human being, her weight on his chest just the same as anyone else he’s ever held. She is sick and scared and miserable. She trusts him enough to fall asleep in his arms.

They can deal with… all of this in the morning. Once her fever gets better. Alex doesn’t have to figure out what he feels now. 

He looks at his bed – unmade and cold on the other side of the room, and he exhales. On top of him Ariadne’s back rises and falls, slow and shallow and steady, with her breath.. Alex shifts the pillows beneath his shoulders to get more comfortable, and he closes his eyes.

It’s a long time before he’s able to sleep.

[Next]

[just-horrible-things]

‘Verse: Resistance Story: Unlikely Salvation, co-author @whump-sprite Timeline: Arc 5, Ariadne has been rescued from interrogation

Home Again, pt2 [ First | Prev | tbc ]

The place Anders takes her looks abandoned. Ariadne is steered between rusting girders and across an expanse of cracked concrete, with Anders’ steady support at her side and his magic helping to take her weight. 

They approach a shadowed doorway that seems to lead only further into the darkened warehouse. An invisible door opens at Anders’ touch, and he helps Ari across the threshold, through the illusion of dust and shadow and into a brightly lit hallway. It’s warm inside, and the air hums with muffled voices, nearby conversations heard through walls and distance.

How many people are living here? 

Hope and fear tangle together in an indecipherable knot.

They head for a door that looks just like all the others. Anders points it out to Ari and she nods. She can make it that far. They’re almost there when the door flies open. "Anders?" Alex is saying as he steps out, then – "Ari."

Alex.

Alex with tousled hair and deep hollows under his eyes and colour – real, healthy colour in his cheeks. 

He reaches out, worried and delighted and relieved and scared and horrified all at once, and Ari tries to go to him, lets go of Reyan's arm to step forwards –

– and gray darkness presses in from the edges of the world and she is falling –

– and Alex catches her –

– and for a second she doesn't know him, there is only pain and her own voice yelling –

– and then his magic washes across her back as cold, beautiful relief, spreading from his hands until it covers the whole of her body. 

Ari goes limp as a doll in Alex's arms, feeling nothing at all. No pain. No fear. Breathing in the smell of him, familiar as breath itself.

"Alex," she breathes.

He's okay.

He's okay and so is she. 

"I got you," he's saying, voice choked with tears. "I got you, Ari.” “I love you,” she tells him, with all the desperation of months of believing she’d never be able to tell him again. “Alex, I love you.” “I love you,” he repeats back to her. “So, so much.” “Are you – okay?” she falters. He looks okay. She has to check. “I am now,” he smiles.

She adores him. She wants this moment to last forever. She cannot imagine anything better than this. 

But it can’t last forever. Alex moves her, half-carrying her, across the room, and the sheer effort of moving is a stark reminder of everything that is wrong. How broken she is. How afraid. How much work it will be to put her back together. How much magic she’s going to suck out of Alex. 

“I–” she stutters as he pulls her down on top of him onto the couch, “I-I’m sorry, Alex – I’m so sorry –” A hand cups the back of her head to pull her in close, but Ari pulls back. She feels filthy, unworthy, contaminated by everything that has happened. “You have nothing to be sorry for,” Alex tells her, worried. “But – I –”

Looking into his worried blue eyes, the words die on her tongue.

She cannot tell Alex that she is pathetic for crawling at the enemy’s feet. That she is undeserving of love, why, because they ripped intel out of her? She can’t do that to him, never in a million years.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Reyan repeats firmly, as if he could hear her thoughts. Ariadne bites her lip. “Okay,” she agrees quietly. She gives in to the gentle, insistent pressure of Alex’s hand, and lets him pull her down onto his shoulder.

“Anders, can you give us some space?” Alex asks. “Be careful,” Reyan warns him. But he leaves them alone. Ari whimpers into Alex’s neck, anxious.

“Where do you want me to start?” He’s already started. Ari can feel his magic seeping through her. But he must be holding back. “Don’t – do-on’t hurt yourself…” she whispers. God, she wants his magic so badly but this is so much, she’s scared. “I won’t,” Alex assures her. “I promised Anders I wouldn’t. But I have plenty of magic. What would you like me to fix first?” “U-uh,” she wavers, “mh… I-I…” Everything, but she cannot ask for that. “I don’t know. I’m – I’m sorry, I don’t know.” “It’s okay,” he shushes her, “don’t worry.”

She is selfish, letting Alex spend himself on her. Not even arguing. Wanting him to do it. Not even trying to be brave. He strokes the side of her face tenderly but it makes her cry again because his hand is warm. His hands are never warm, and soon it’s going to be cold again.

But he said don’t worry. It’d be so much easier to follow that instruction than to resist. Ari closes her eyes and breathes out, and tries to relax. She kisses the skin of his neck softly, and doesn’t protest as he moves both hands back to her back and begins to work in earnest.

There’s a kind of a strange itch to it, as the numbing begins to wear off. Pain, her constant companion, is creeping back in everywhere that he isn’t touching – every wound, every broken bone. Ari would never be as ungrateful as to say as much to Alex but she feels an awful kind of despair at its return, after those few moments of beautiful respite.

She buries her face harder into Alex’s shoulder, and tries not to think about crying into that one guy’s leg, or the way that Dev would snatch their hands away from her when she was delirious enough to try and seek comfort even from them.

“Am I hurting you?” Alex asks. “No,” she answers plainly. She can’t explain everything that’s swirling around in her skull, and he doesn’t ask her to.

His hands and his magic work downwards ever so gradually from the nape of Ari’s neck. And ever so gradually she begins to relax despite everything that she feels. When he reaches the base of her shoulder blades, Alex sits up a little and shifts Ari across his lap so that he can reach the rest of her more easily. Ari makes a small sound of protest and he hesitates. “Is this okay?” he checks. “Does it hurt?” “Can’t kiss you like this,” she mumbles, miming kissing the couch cushion instead. Alex laughs – just a thready, surprised laugh, but he laughs – and it heals a little of the deep ache inside Ari’s heart.

She’s very tired, and Alex is working slowly, carefully. He’s not just shoving magic into her as fast as he can, which is reassuring. She means to watch him, but it feels so good and she starts to fall asleep in the safety of his lap. When he takes one of her broken hands carefully between his, she stirs a little but she doesn’t startle.

There’s a pang of guilt as he starts healing that too. And it’s worse for the fact that she doesn’t try to stop him.

He said don’t worry. He said he wouldn’t hurt himself, he promised.

Uneasily, she lets him do it.

She wants so much to have a hand that works, to cling to Alex, to clean herself, to lift a glass of water.

He takes Dev’s carefully tied splints off one by one, and asks her to move her fingers, and warns her – apologetic – against trying anything too difficult just yet. He coughs a little, talking, and Ari sees blood on his lips and he grimaces guiltily.

“I’m stopping,” he says, before she can get a word out, “I promise. I’m okay.” He’s not okay. He’s not okay and it’s Ariadne’s fault and she doesn’t know how to argue with him. Her eyes are hot. “I’m done,” he promises again. “Okay? I’ll just hold you, no more magic.” Ari nods, teary, and mumbles, “please.”

“Let’s go lie down,” Alex offers. “I’ll show you where I’m sleeping. Can you walk at all?” “If you help me,” she nods. “I can carry you?”. “I… think walking’s easier.”

So he helps her up, putting her arm around him to support her like Dev has done for – days? weeks? Ariadne can feel Reyan’s magic still, not taking her weight any more but reinforcing the splints, cushioning her limbs. “It’s not far,” Alex promises as he leads her to the bedroom.

It feels good to flop down full length on the bed – the only way she can be comfortable really, much better than the couch. Her back hurts so much less now – relief and worry tangle inseparably – but she still wouldn’t want to lie on it.

It feels better when Alex lies down beside her. Safe. Home. “I love you,” she whispers, wondering at her luck in making it back to him. “I love you too. More magic tonight, okay?” Ari hums uncertainly. “If, if it’s okay for you,” she allows. “C’mere,” Alex says, snuggling closer. Yes, please. She never wants him to let go of her again.

But when she rests her head on his chest she can hear the wheeze in his lungs.

“I’m, you don’t have to rush,” she tells him sadly. “I’m, I made it this far…” “And you don’t deserve to hurt for one more second.” She doesn’t know how to tell him how much it hurts that she is hurting him. How the rattle in his breath eats away at the joy of having him back in her arms. “S’better now you’re here,” she tries. “Even if, i-if you didn’t heal at all, it’s better. Easier. I need you.” Not your magic. You.

She doesn’t mean to cry on him, but she can’t help it. Alex strokes her hair, careful over the dense knots. This is everything she needs. Everything she’s needed for so long. It hurts. She doesn’t deserve it. But she needs it, she wants it so badly.

“I love you,” she repeats, the one thing she is sure is true and right and good. The one thing she is sure she can say to Alex without hurting him. “I love you,” hoarse and wobbly through overwhelmed tears. “I love you.”

[just-horrible-things]

‘Verse: Resistance Story: Unlikely Salvation, co-author @whump-sprite Timeline: Arc 3, Ariadne is on probation with the Resistance

Traitor, pt4 [ First | Prev | Next : Arc 4 ]

Alex pulls up a chair right next to Ariadne, and carefully puts his arms around her. “It’s okay,” he tells her gently. “You made a mistake. We all do.” She is speechless, wide eyes bloodshot from crying. Alex hesitates, then he tentatively lifts her shoulders from the table and leans her against himself instead. She is ragdoll-floppy, shivering in his arms. “I…” she tries, “I’m sorry. ... m’not supposed to …” A sob shakes her shoulders. “Not supposed to what?” “To… still care. To… um… to… hesitate…”  Alex waits patiently as she struggles with the words. That guy very clearly doesn’t care about her. But it seems like a bad time to say it.

“Reyan trusted me,” she continues, “and I… ...I’m supposed to know better…” “Now you know. It’s okay.” Alex tucks her head closer against his collarbone. “Caring is impossible to control.” She snivels, and there are more little sobs. “‘m so fucking useless, Alex.” “No you’re not. You do so much for us. I said, we all make mistakes.” No one died this time. They were lucky. People died when Alex gave up a safehouse. To her. And somehow Anders and Taryn and Daniel have forgiven that. Her hesitation seems like a small thing in comparison.

“I can just go,” she suggests, “f’it’s better. Get out of the way. People’d stop talking about you...” Alex blinks at her, shocked. “That would break my fucking heart.” “... okay. M’sorry.” Very hesitantly, she puts her arms around Alex’s middle. He hugs her back, not as fiercely as he’d like to, mindful of her poor head. And when she doesn’t object, he pulls her carefully into his lap. It’s not comfortable, on the hard-backed chairs, but it’s worth it. One hand slides up her back and into her hair, exploring until his fingers find the lump where the fed hit her. He can feel her pulse in the swelling. And Anders used mind magic on her. She must be hurting so much. 

He lets numbing magic flow from his fingers, stroking it across her scalp. She leans her head into his touch and makes a quiet, helpless sound that breaks Alex’s heart. She’d never let herself make a sound like that if she could help it. “Relax,” he tells her. “Keep your head there. I can do this for a while, it won’t drain me.” There’s not much lasting damage for him to heal. He will, of course. But she doesn’t need to know that right now. It’s not enough to drain him either, and she doesn’t need to worry about it. Mostly what she needs is numbing for the pain. “Thank you,” she murmurs. She sounds exhausted and unhappy. But miraculously she does start to relax. Her breathing evens out. The shivering diminishes and stops. 

He hated being mad at her.

Alex waits a good long while before he asks her anything more. He has to adjust his position to alleviate pins and needles. She shifts with him, helping him out. “Did you really give Anders permission to do that?” Alex asks carefully. “Yes.” No hesitation. “He said Kerril said I’d been… uh, in league… planning it… I just wanted him to know I never meant to.” She sounds so miserable. “Wanted him to know none of it was fake. I faltered and I didn’t trust my orders and I should have and I’m a fuckup but I didn’t lie to you, I didn’t mean to betray you.” Alex squeezes her tightly. Her breath is all shuddery again, threatening to break apart into more sobs. “I heard that too,” he tells her. “I couldn’t believe it but…. yeah. Just… come here. You’re not a fuckup. I’ve got you.” She clings to his clothes, and he rubs circles on her back until she starts to calm down again.

“Shall we move to the couch,” he suggests. “I want to hold you properly.” “Okay,” she agrees softly. He doesn’t have to take as much of her weight this time as he did a few hours ago. But neither of them are in any hurry to let go of each other. When they get to the couch he flops back on the cushions, pulling her down on top of him. One hand supporting her head again to make sure it isn’t jolted. She sighs in exhausted relief as she tucks her legs in against his, and he smiles tiredly.

“If you could do the head thing,” she says, “You could look at anything, I wouldn’t mind. No secrets.” “This is all I can do to your head,” he uses a stronger pulse of numbing magic, “And I like it that way.” She sniffles and nuzzles in close. “You’re very good to me.” “Anders hates doing that,” Alex tries to tell her. “Oh.” She doesn’t sound surprised.  He sighs softly. “You can ask me anything though. No secrets here either.” And saying it, he realises that it’s true. He trusts her with anything. He didn’t think he doubted her loyalty before - until this whole mess. But Anders has been in her head now and seen it. The proof eases a knot of doubt that Alex didn’t realise he was still carrying.

Ariadne is quiet for a long while, and Alex starts to think she is falling asleep. She’s warm and heavy in his arms and he’s so, so glad to have her back. He’s starting to doze himself when she speaks. “Are you okay?” “Hm? Like, at the moment? Yeah. Generally? You know I’m a mess.” “Oh,” she says mournfully, and he hugs her a little closer. “I’m glad you’re not hurt.” “Me too,” he agrees. She makes a soft hum, sad but amused. Alex thinks about going to bed. But this is too nice. She’s calm and she’s not crying any more. He doesn’t want to disrupt that. They can just stay here for a while, it won’t be the first time.

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