‘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]