#☓ Puppets on Strings {Threads} | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

deathsplaything · 9 months

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A Puppet on Strings || Alistair & Zofia

Location: Streets of Oldtown Timing: December 8th, evening Parties: Alistair (@deathsplaything) & Zofia (@zofiawithaz) Summary: Zofia goes out to kill someone she swears is her captor, but Alistair stops her before she goes too far.

She had them pinned against the wall. To the odd passersby it would probably look like a lovers embrace. Except for the fact that Zofia’s teeth were firmly planted in the man’s neck, and his gurgled, whispered pleas.

It looked just like him.

Just like him.

She’d been minding her own business, getting herself a damn drink and then there he was. Next to her at the bar, talkingtalkingtalking, offering to buy her a drink with that same smile- that same smug grin that had leered down at her as he dug and carved for answers she didn’t have and wouldn’t give. Talking, taunting, sitting next to her.

She wished he’d been the one she killed when she escaped. But this was her chance. This was it- he was so foolish, following her outside, letting her get close, going into an alley with her. She didn’t care if it hurt, if the blood burned- she’d bite him anyway just because she could. She’d sunk her teeth in deep, surprised to find his blood didn’t burn. So she drank. Drank and tried to fill the Sofie sized void in her chest. The one that still thought of Cassius, of her clan of everything that came before.

Then her jaw opened. And she was pulled away.

She snarled, confused as to just the fuck was happening. Zofia went to launch herself back at him, but she felt stuck. Like a spider’s delicate webs had stuck to her limbs and were controlling her.

Like a puppet.

She felt like she was restrained again. Like she was back there. Had this all been a cruel dream? A joke? Had she never escaped to begin with? Fuck that, fuck all of that- she let out a scream, frantic to be free of the trap.

____________

He had been walking home from making the bank deposit, something he didn’t do often, but Alistair had insisted after Melody had to tend to her daughter at home who wasn’t feeling well. So with Brutus in hand, he was simply walking home. The sun had already gone down and the bank was just about to close as he arrived. He had almost gotten home when he heard it. With his hearing better because of his loss of sight, he heard whimpering, and not the kind one wanted to hear. Not the good kind.

Using Brutus to see, he almost groaned aloud when he saw her. It was Zofia. Of course it was Zofia. He had to think quickly if he wanted to stop her from killing the man. He hesitated, and for a moment he wondered if he should stop her. No, he had to act. Closing his eyes, he channeled into the magic around him, feeling the surge hit him as soon as he tapped into it. Alistair put a hand out in front of him, and threads of a pale green smoke began to encompass Zofia, attaching to her body like threads. This magic wouldn’t last long, but enough to yank her away from the man. He pulled his hand back, and it yanked her away. The as soon as it had been cast, the magic disappeared. Alistair opened his eyes. He felt his own energy dissipate.

“You can’t just kill people because you feel like it.” He called out to her, arms crossed over his chest. “And you’re going to get yourself into more trouble if you keep doing that.” He wagged a finger at her, advancing closer like a viper about to strike. The man had long since crumpled to the ground. Alive, but barely. “Dammit, Zofia. I took a chance on you and this is what you do with your time?”

__________

Him.

She knew him. But he wasn’t from before, he was from after. Why was he here? Maybe it wasn’t a dream- she had gotten out, she was free. Emotions spiraled as she kept chanting the four letter word to herself in her mind: free.

He was… scolding her? Why was he scolding her, she wasn’t a child. She was easily six times older than he was and he was wagging his finger at her like she was a naughty child with her hand in the cookie jar. “You knew what I was when you took a chance. And I can kill people if I feel like it when they-“

A groan sounded from the other end of the alley, and Zofia’s focus shifted back to the man on the ground. It was almost done, she could finish this. The vampire shifted, ready to strike again.

But then she saw the man’s blood streaked face. She really saw it.

And it wasn’t her captor.

It was someone else entirely. Someone who had the same eyes, perhaps, the same smile…but other than those small details, there was no real resemblance. Her mind had been prepared to condemn him to death for a sin he hadn’t committed. Her eyes widened, and she stared at what she’d done. She pressed bloodstained fingertips to her mouth in horror.

“Fix it.” She whispered, frantic eyes darting to the blind man and his dog. “I have to fix it. I’ll fix it- you should go. You should go, it’s not safe. Bad things are out this time of night.” She clearly wasn’t having a sane enough day to be around people, and she didn’t want to hurt someone who’d done her the kindness of offering her shelter.

________

As Alistair held Brutus’s harness a little tighter, he waited. Thankfully, Brutus wouldn’t let harm befall him, but he wasn’t sure if the dog would have time to register it. “Take him to get help and then meet me at the flat. We have things to discuss.” His tone indicated that this wasn’t up for debate. This was a demand. “Don’t make me have to do that again.” He then spoke in a quieter, more desperate tone. It was strange that he was so hard-pressed about controlling the undead and raising the dead when he easily sacrificed people to save someone else. But even still, it was his line in the sand he didn’t like to cross.

“I can’t fix this mistake. The best you can do is get him to a hospital and leave him there.” He turned around to leave, shaking his head. “Come on, Brutus.” He murmured to his dog, who began to guide him back toward home. Whether she would join him there remained to be seen. As he walked home, he couldn’t help but feel even more idiotic than before. A vampire was going through something, and he let her into his home. Alistair always knew his inability to leave people to struggle would do him in, but not this quickly. She needed real help, and he couldn’t give it. He didn’t know anyone that would be equipped to help her. Then again, he was sure the therapists in Wicked’s Rest had seen some serious shit.

He needed answers from her that she hadn’t been willing to give in the past. But now, now that Alistair knew she was killing people? He had to do something. He just hoped it didn’t have to be in the form of her as a sacrifice. “Don’t be a fool,” he muttered to himself as he walked. No, he couldn’t do nothing. Not anymore.

Time passed Zofia in a blur. Her mind registered the words he said, at least partially. Dropping a man at the hospital unexplained wasn’t usually an easy task, but when his neck looked as though a hungry animal had gone in for a taste it made things more difficult. She’d made quick work of it, quick as she could. Moving quickly enough so that no one would pay too much notice to ‘the Samaritan dropping off the man’. The blood soaked Samaritan who’d been responsible for the whole affair.

She left the hospital and made her way through the darkened alleys of town, trying to get her head on straight. It had looked just like him. Sounded like him. It was him, it had to have been- and yet it wasn’t. She should have known the instant his blood touched her tongue and she’d gone unscathed. And yet she’d just gorged herself. Zofia pressed herself flat against a cold concrete wall, willing her thoughts to still. And what if he had deserved it. If he had been a terrible person. She ought to have finished the job- it was a waste that she hadn’t finished eating, what was she doing ?!

She was of two minds. One that felt remorse, and one that regretted the interruption. The interruption… How had she stopped, she wondered? Alistair. His words in the alley suddenly clicked into place. Turning on her hell, she changed directions, heading to his flat.

She stood outside the door for ages, trying to decide if she’d knock. Cursing under her breath, she rapped her knuckles against the door and waited.

_______________________________________

After waiting for what felt like years, Alistair finally heard a soft knock at the door. Yep, that was definitely her. He got off the couch and walked across the flat to open the front door wide enough to let her in. “Start talking.” He insisted as he shut the door behind the footsteps of those who had walked into the flat. His tone wasn’t angry, though it was tense. He was withholding judgment until she told her story. He did not explain his power or that he controlled her.

In the center of the living room, the rug had been pulled away to reveal a spell circle. It was nothing special, just a large sigil drawn in white paint on the hardwood floor. “I won’t use it if you don’t give me a reason to.” He explained, knowing it would be the first thing Zofia would notice. “I’m sure you have questions for me as well.” He spoke with a huff as he sat on the sofa, Brutus lying down at his feet. He said nothing, only waiting for her to start talking.

—————————————

Zofia barely walked into the flat. She crossed the threshold, but lingered near the door. She wasn’t about to allow herself to be trapped, not again. And the tension in the air made her feel like the cage was swinging overhead, just waiting for her to step on the trigger.

Then she saw the sigil. She didn’t know what it meant, or what exactly it would do, but she figured she probably didn’t want to find out. Her eyes tracked him as he made his way to the sofa, sitting with Brutus at his feet. He was probably watching from the dogs perspective, making certain she wasn’t about to strike.

She stood in silence, trying to find the words to explain herself. She wasn’t certain where to begin. Zofia swallowed, eyeing the door, debating whether it would be better for her to just flee. “I thought he was someone else. He was someone else- the same face. It was him, and then it wasn’t.” She knew she wasn’t making sense, but rational thought had long since parted ways with her.

“He was sitting there pretending he hadn’t stood there with that smug grin for months- because he didn’t- but I thought it was him. I thought he was there, taunting me. I should have known, the blood wasn’t right. It wasn’t right, it wasn’t him.” She leaned back against the wall, the pressure of it there doing little to soothe the mounting hysteria. Zofia kept wiping her hand against her coat, willing it to be cleansed of the blood that stained it. “I just…. I was like a puppet… How?”

______________

Before he could stop it, a frustrated noise escaped Alistair’s lips. “That’s not an answer.” He growled. “Who is this man you thought he was? What did they do to you?” He knew he was pressing into something that shouldn’t be pressed, but he was frustrated. “I can’t do shit if you give me nothing to work with!” He threw his hands up, then slapped his thighs as he brought his hands back down. He let out a long, frustrated sigh. “Something happened to you. You went missing long enough for your clothes to be in tatters. Start there, what happened?”

Alistair felt like he was trying to grab hold of air the way he was getting fistfuls of nothing from her non-answers. “Who is him?” He asked again, this time in a much calmer voice. “Sit on the couch with me. Take a deep breath.” He patted the empty seat beside him. He wasn’t going to get anywhere by getting angry with her. If anything, that would drive her right out of the flat and back into the night. He wasn’t about to have her hurt another person.

When she began to get sidetracked by asking him about how she had been controlled, he felt his frustration rising again. “I’ll explain that later. After you tell me what caused you to attack that man.” Alistair raised a brow, silent and expectant. Brutus, meanwhile, seemed to be perfectly content at his owner’s feet, eyes closed as he snored softly. He couldn’t help but envy his dog, sleeping soundly through what was easily the most frustrating thing he had dealt with all month, and he dealt with a lot.

The more her panic grew, the greater Alistair’s frustration seemed to get. She knew she wasn’t helping him to understand, not with the fragments that her mind kept circling like a starved vulture. Zofia sunk her teeth into her lip, trying to distract herself from her racing thoughts with anything. And then his tone shifted. Calm. Coaxing. She eyed his hand as he patted the empty spot beside him.

Zofia slowly inched closer, until she was perched on the far edge of the sofa, keeping a healthy space between them. She figured from where she was, she’d only need a few steps to make it to the door. Or, if it went horribly wrong, she could try to go out the window. She sat still, breathing to center herself rather than out of necessity.

“I don’t know who they are. I don’t have a name.” She sighed, rubbing at her face. The dog was asleep, so she didn’t need to worry about him seeing her streaked with a strangers blood and deciding she looked like a monster and that he should find a stake.

“You know about vampires.” Her voice was hollow. As though she could give nothing but the facts of the matter. “So I assume you know about clans. I was part of one in France. Someone has been hunting us for years. I didn’t realize…” she paused, shaking her head. “I was a foolish young thing. You’re impervious to illness, to age… you cheat death and see empires rise and fall. You sit in the lap of luxury and enjoy, never wanting, never hungry, no need to hunt, to fight to survive. And you don’t see the curtain falling.”

“They killed my sire and her husband about sixty or so years ago.” She closed her eyes. “They were like parents to me. I didn’t realize we had been in any danger until they didn’t come back. Henri- one of the other members of our little family, he and I ran for another ten years. We didn’t know if there was anyone left other than us, and if there were they’d probably gone into hiding. And then Henri vanished… I assumed they got him. I haven’t seen him in half a century.”

“I was here in town. I had a life here, I was safe here. I had a new family here I had love.” Her voice wobbled. She smothered the sliver of Sofie that cried out as her story was told. Zofia continued, her voice carefully neutral. “In the summer, they found me. I suppose there are still others they’re chasing, others more dangerous than little Sofie DuPont.” She spat the name out. Like it had betrayed her. Like the kindness and trusting nature of that woman had been her downfall. “So they took me. And I sat alone underground, in the dark for months. They tried to get answers and I didn’t have any. They thought I was holding out. So they kept trying… new methods. Of getting me to talk. One day they made a mistake, and I got out. I took their numbers down by one when I left. I thought it only fair.”

__________

In truth, Alistair didn’t know all that much about vampires. Just the basics: they were real, drank blood, and didn’t like the sun very much. He didn’t bother to explain this to Zofia but attempted to keep up all the same. This clan was a family, then. A family that had been hunted to extinction. He frowned as he took in the new information, head dipping as he processed it all. He didn’t interrupt her as she told her story. It tugged at his heartstrings and left him wanting to take her hand in reassurance. But who’s reassurance? He lifted his hand and slowly drifted it toward the direction of her voice and found it good enough when it landed on her shoulder.

Sofie Du Pont was a new name that she used in malice. It differed from the name she had introduced herself with, Zofia Kowalska. “So this old you, this Sofie Du Pont.” He began, keeping his hand stead on her shoulder. “She was hunted along with the rest of her clan.” He began to repeat the facts back at her to ensure he was getting it all right. “And she was captured and tortured for information. Information she didn’t have.” His frown deepened, and he shifted his weight as he let his hand drop to hers. “Sofie Du Pont died then, didn’t she? That old life she had, it was lost with her innocence.”

He knew what it was like to be hated for what he was. He hadn’t been hunted for sport, but he could understand it to a fraction. “Zofia Kowalska, your real name, then.” He deduced as he crossed one leg over the other. He focused on the sound of Brutus’s breathing momentarily before continuing. “So this person you attacked, you kept saying he was this guy he wasn’t. Your tormentor?” His voice was quiet, as if he feared saying the wrong thing. “I can’t say for certain if these hunters are still around. I’m sure you did a number on them.” He frowned, knowing that housing her could spell trouble for him in the long term. But he’d never turned someone away before. He always helped. “I’ll keep you as safe as I can here. Look into someone to do some basic protection magic around here.”

Alistair sighed, realizing it was his turn to explain things. “I told you before that I wield magic.” He began, shifting his body in the direction of Zofia’s voice. “I’m a necromancer.” There, he had said it. No going back now. “Death magic, if you will. And since you are dead, I can control you if I need to. Because I saw you killing someone, I used it to get you off of him. It's not a big ritual. That comes with sigils.” He gestured vaguely at the ground, referring to the spell circle he had drawn out on the floor. The paint was raised, undoubtedly so that he could feel where everything was. “What I did back in the ally was a very temporary spell. The more complexities I put into it, the more effective it can become.” He removed his glasses, revealing the burn scars covering the top half of his face. “The glasses I wear are enchanted. They hide the sacrifice I gave to heal someone.” He didn’t mention that it hadn’t worked. “The way I use necromancy is to heal people. But like all magic, it comes with a big price tag.” He put his hands out before him, tipping them like a scale. “To heal someone,” he raised one hand higher than the other, “another must take on their wounds.” He lofted the other hand high. “Balance must be maintained. Necromancy is all about balance. To bring someone back from death, another must die.” He fell silent, waiting for her to say something. “Now we know each other better.”

————————————————————-

Her eyes opened as the weight of a hand settled on her shoulder. She flinched in surprise, but she didn’t pull away. It was like having a tether for a boat in a storm so it didn’t drift off and get dragged out to sea. “They were French, I lived in France for the most part… I was a new thing. I thought a new name fit.” Her eyes settled shut when his hand found hers, recounting the end of her story. Zofia let out a ragged breath, leaning back into the cushion of the couch, wishing it would magically open up and swallow her whole. “She did. She’s still in here I think… like a ghost in a haunted house. She drifts through sometimes. But I can’t be her anymore.”

“My birth name, yes.” She confirmed. They sat in silence a beat before he continued. As he spoke, Zofia’s heart ached in her chest. The gentleness is what broke her. She sniffled, pulling herself away from comfort she did not deserve. “It wasn’t him.” Guilt dripped from her words. “I thought it was him, but it wasn’t… it was so real though- I.” She crossed her arms tightly across her chest. “He looked like who I assumed was the leader of the operation.” Her voice was void of expression as she fought to keep herself stead, hastily swiping at tears before they could fall. “I only got out because they’d only left one behind to guard. They didn’t think I was a threat. If it had been more than one. I’d likely be making my eternal resting place on the inside of some bastard's vacuum cleaner.”

Her eyes darted over at his offer and she shook her head. “I’m more trouble than I’m worth. I may too by on occasion, but I will not stay long enough to bring trouble to your door. You don’t want to deal with these people.”

Zofia watched carefully as he explained his side of the story. Her heart ached a little as he half explained what had happened to his eyes. She hoped that whatever he’d saved for the cost of his sight, that the price had been worth it. “Could you have borrowed from me?” She asked, unsure of how it worked. “To fix him? Or no, because I’m not alive, technically.”

____________________

Alistair thought for a moment. It was easy to separate the person he was before he lost Mikael from the person he was after he lost him. After all, it had been defined by more than just losing him. The loss of his sight had defined it, and as a result, a loss of the career he had left his family for. “I get it,” he spoke, voice almost a whisper with how quiet it was. He didn’t talk about this stuff. Not even Melody knew much about his time before Mikael. All of it was just too painful for him. What he’d lost, the treatment given to him by his parents, all of it. “She’ll always be there, even if you don’t want her to be. She’s who you are, even if you don’t want to see it. She’s still you, but she’s been molded by trauma.”

“No,” Alistair spoke as she recounted the man she had attacked. “He wasn’t. You have to learn not to trust your own mind for a little bit.” He frowned, crossing his arms over his chest. “I had a partner. We were together for eight years. Not the point. Point is, he got taken one night by a deranged psycho who wanted the family secrets. He got hurt, and I couldn’t save him. I kept seeing the man who hurt him all over the place, but it was never him. I was so hung up on finding him that I lost myself for a bit. Took a while to pick up the pieces.” He blinked, eyes glancing over in her general direction. “It’s okay to take a while to pick up the pieces, Zofia.” His voice was gentle. He didn’t know if she would be receptive to his words, but he had to try at least to appeal to the part of her that wasn’t driven mad by bloodlust.

“I know I don’t have to help you, and I know the dangers. But I took you in, I don’t intend on casting you out just because a spooky bad guy is after you.” Alistair waved a hand, the notion itself ridiculous to him. “If you’ll let me, I’m here to help. It’s kinda what I do.”

He frowned as she asked if he could have fixed him. “No, when they’re that hurt, it takes a one-to-one comparison. If he were human, I’d need to use a human sacrifice. If he were a fae, I’d need a fae. So on and so on.” He took a moment, adjusting his position in his seat. “In the shop, I have a back room. I heal people there. Some don’t know the extent of the damage they do to someone else to heal them. Others do and just don’t care. I take the bad people and use them as sacrifices for the more mundane healings. When it’s more complex, things get dicey. Sometimes, I get lucky, and I have the correct species. Sometimes, I don’t. Sometimes people die anyway when a spell doesn’t go right.” He pointed at his eyes when he referenced a spell not going right. He slid his sunglasses back onto his face after pointing to himself. “I’m not letting you leave just because you don’t think you’re worth saving. I think you’re worth saving, which must count for something.”

‘I understand’ always felt like one of those things people said to be kind, but they didn’t really understand. Not this time, though. Zofia didn’t know what had happened to him in his life to know what it was like to be haunted by the ghost of who he’d been before, but he described it well enough to know it wasn’t just an attempt to make her feel better. The more he talked, the more pieces of his puzzle began to fall into place. She couldn’t imagine losing a partner in that fashion. But she knew what it was like to lose people she cared for. Knew that one day or eight years or half a century later, while it might become less sharp with time, that pain never really went away. Not fully. And there were still days where it hurt as badly as the day it had torn her heart apart.

Slowly she began to unwind from herself, to come out of the corner of the sofa she’d tucked herself into. She didn’t know if this was magic too. He could control her if he wanted to, and she supposed that ought to make her angry. Angry enough to lash out at him. But then the image of an innocent man’s bloodied face appearing from the haze she had been in crept across her mind. Zofia could deal with being controlled a little, she supposed. If only to protect her from herself.

She blinked, looking at him in surprise. “You just. Have a stock of bad people on hand? For healing purposes? What determines a bad person?” A soft, crazed giggle erupted. “If you didn’t know my story would I be bad? I’m certainly not good.” Her mind trailed to the handful of lookalikes she’d drained out of hunger and some half crazed attempt to get a message across. That was just her need for blood tangling with the pain that Cassius had seemed to move on without looking for a way to help her. And she still didn’t feel guilty about it. She didn’t feel much of anything about it, and she knew she ought to.

Worth saving. Those words rattled something deep inside her. “Why?” She asked, her voice unsteady and thick. “What makes me worth saving?”

_________

Pulling a face, Alistair shook his head at her words. “I wouldn’t call it a stockpile. One at a time, really.” It was strange to talk about the truth of what he did. If the wrong person found out, surely he’d be run out of town or worse. He then thought for a long moment, frowning. “The people I deal with don’t have redeeming qualities.” He spoke bluntly as he got more comfortable in his seat. He didn’t seem to know how to sit properly in a seat without splaying his legs out and leaning back with an arm against the back of the couch. “They’re werewolves that constantly kill, vampires that have lost themselves in their bloodlust.” He raised a brow, expression pointed. “You haven’t lost yourself to it. You’re just…” he waved his hands in the air as he tried to devise a way to put it. “Just a touch traumatized.” He gave a wry smile, knowing it wasn’t an elegant way of putting it. But he was never one for elegance, anyway.

“What makes you worth saving?” He questioned back at her. He thought for a moment, wondering if there was a way not to say what he felt deep in his gut. “What makes you worth saving isn’t about you.” He confessed, knowing he was helping her for purely selfish reasons. “I helped you because no one was there when I needed help.” There, he had put it out into the open. She could either accept that or she couldn’t. Either way, he had spoken his truth. “Despite everything against her, I recognize someone who survived and crawled her way back out from six feet under.” His words were gentle as if he were afraid of spooking her. “So yes, you’re someone worth saving. You just may not see it. May not want to see it. And that’s okay. It’s something to work towards as you try to get yourself back on your feet.”

She wondered if he’d still say the same thing if he knew about the handful of Cassius look-alikes she’d left strewn about town. Zofia doubted he’d be able to find a way to call that redeemable. The first few days of freedom had been difficult. She’d been on edge. She still heard people that weren’t there, still felt eyes on her no matter where she went. Some primal part of herself told her to drink, and some scorned, betrayed part of herself told her to make a point. She shifted, uncomfortable as her train of thought led her to question what exactly about her was redeemable. She took the thought and stuffed it far away in a dark corner of her mind to address it some other time.

And yet there he was, continuing to talk and taking that box that she’d hastily tucked away in the shadows of her mind and shining a spotlight on it. She let out a long, heavy sigh as she studied him. He’d clearly been through the darkness before. He seemed to have come out the other side in tact. The ghost that haunted her thoughts reached toward that, hoping beyond hope that it wasn’t too late to turn back from the ledge she’d found herself at the top of. “If I found them,” She started slowly. “And I was certain I was right. Would you still stop me from finishing it?” From putting the damn nightmare to an end. Maybe then she could rest easier. Maybe then she could rebuild with the confidence that she wouldn’t have to burn the rest of the world down to protect what was hers.

____________________________________________________________________________

The necromancer fell silent for a long moment, expression unchanging as he digested the information that Zofia had given him. “I know you’re a vampire. I know you need blood to live.” He began, mulling the idea like a sommelier tasting a good wine. “But you don’t need to kill ‘em to do it, do you?” Alistair was trying to prove a point. “You can choose to fight what you’ve become or can’t. In which case, I feel a need to step in.” He decided honesty would be the best choice of action in this situation. He didn’t know what she could do, and maybe he was a complete idiot for taking the woman under his wing. He was projecting his shit onto someone who couldn’t even distinguish real life from her demons. “Fuck.” He muttered to himself as he made the revelation.

“You tell me everything else you’ve done. Going to have more than just those hunters showin’ up on the bloody door.” Alistair grumbled to himself as he stood up to start pacing around. He was a fool for pitying someone he should’ve walked away from. She’d have more than just the slayers that wronged her in the first place if she didn’t begin to clean up her act. “Make an effort to stop yourself from killing innocent people like you did tonight. And you’ll tell me who else you’ve been killing while at it. Otherwise, you get the fuck out of my flat, and you never come back. Do you understand me?” He raised a finger toward where he thought she may have been, but it was a bit off the mark, pointing to the right of her instead of directly at her.

He took a second to realize what he had just said and relaxed. “Sorry, I’m just. I’ve had a long day.” Of course, Alistair had a long day. Today was the anniversary of Mikael’s death. He didn’t talk about it. He never talked about it. Not even to Melody. “It’s a bad day for me. Memories of things best left to forget, you understand.” He fell back onto the couch, having half a mind to march to his room and hide for the rest of the night. “But I need you to understand that killing people won’t fix your problems. Killing the right people might, but you’re still going to have the same trauma. You might think it’ll fix you, but it won’t.” He swallowed, eyes a million miles away. “Trust me.”

—————————————————————

Zofia thought this must be how cornered animals felt. As he spoke, his ire seemed to grow. Moving as quiet as she could, she got back up off the couch and took several steps back to position herself in front of a window. He demanded the truth. Honesty. And yet he’d already said that the kind of beasts he kept caged away were ones that had lost themselves to bloodlust. If she told him the truth, there was a high chance she wound up puppeted into walking down to his shop and sitting herself down in his back room, waiting for some more deserving soul to have her life force siphoned away to heal their own. She’d go right back to being trapped.

But he asked her to trust him.

She hadn’t been able to trust anyone in so long. Not even herself. Some part of her still wanted to believe that maybe she could trust something. Even if it was a total stranger who’s dog seemed to like her for some inexplicable reason.

“I couldn’t drink from hunters if I wanted to,” she muttered, eyes flicking around the space as she weighed her options. Out the window? Tell the truth? Risk the magic sigil on the floor? “Their blood is like acid to us.” Zofia didn’t know why she was explaining all this. Maybe she was just stalling for time. She understood having bad days, bad months, bad years- bad moments full of bad memories she’d love to leave behind in the dirt. But would rehashing them make any of this better? Would telling him what she’d done make either of their bad memories quiet down for a moment? Her eyes settled on Brutus, faithfully sat next to Alistair. Was she really about to tell him what she’d done because she trusted the dog? The vampire sighed. Maybe she had lost her mind. She pressed her back to the glass of the window, prepared to shove herself out it at the first sign of danger.

“Three dead.” She said quietly. “If you think my state of mind is poor now, it was worse a few weeks ago. I’d been left for dead and I thought someone would have come looking for me but he-“ she swallowed, realizing there were so many missing puzzle pieces for him. “I had someone, before. They moved on in the months I was gone. They said they looked, said they’d tried, but they replaced me.” A chill crept into her voice, her eyes downcast. “I came back, and he’d moved on. And I…” she shook her head, not wanting to elaborate. “They looked like him. They weren’t. They never could be. No more dead after the hunter when I escaped and those three.” She held her breath, waiting to see if she’d have to run.

_______

There was a long stretch of silence after Zofia told him the truth. He looked over to the window, able to see her outline because of the street lights that shone through, casting her silhouette. He could see light and shadow–Not well, but he could. He took a deep breath. In through the nose, out through the mouth. It was a lot of information to swallow. “This man that you…” he trailed off, that wasn’t a good way to put it. Start over. “This man, is he in trouble? Do you think you’re capable of killing him?” Alistair needed to know the answer. He needed to know if he was boarding a serial killer or not.

“Three,” he whispered, rubbing a hand over his face and shaking his head. Three was a lot. Hell, one was a lot, but he wasn’t about to admit that when he had a sizable portfolio of injured or dead people, all in the name of fixing someone else. “Three’s a lot, Zofia,” Alistair murmured, still rubbing a hand over his face as he took in the details. He lifted his head skyward, staring up at the ceiling for a long time. He said nothing, only stood there, lost in thought.

“I’m not innocent from killin’ people neither, but that doesn’t… that was in malice, not survival.” Alsitair's shoulders slumped, and his head turned back toward her as he continued to digest. “I’m not gonna make you one of my victims.” He spoke, deciding he needed to get that out of the way before he continued. “I’m not going to control you again unless you try to kill me or someone else important to me. Or another innocent.” He tilted his head side to side as if weighing his options. “Don’t. Make me regret helping you.” He finally said, voice serious. “Get help. Serious help. Talk to a therapist about what happened to you. Don’t tell them the vampire and murder details, but fuckin’ talk to someone. Because the more you bottle this shit up, the worse it will get for you.” His eyes were wide as he stared into space. “I…” he trailed off again, pursing his lips as he struggled to get out the words. “I’ll help you. But you have to help yourself, too.”“No.” The answer came out surprisingly easy. Even if she wanted to hurt Cassius, he had an Elder Vampire who’d destroy her before she could so much as touch a hair in his head. But she didn’t. She’d been scratching at her own hand like a tragic character from a Shakespeare play, wishing she could find a way to turn back the clock and take it back, or find some way to absolve herself of that sin. “No.”

She watched him as he processed the information. Tried to determine if his breathing had changed, if he’d shifted, if his fingers had moved in any meaningful way. She waited. And waited. And then he said the words she needed to hear.

Zofia’s tightly coiled nerves loosened a touch, slouching against the window. “I won’t hurt you.” She didn’t have the energy to sound offended or hurt at the implication that she’d aim for him. If they hadn’t met the way they had, it would have been possible that she’d set her sights on him for a midnight snack. But since she’d been back, he was one of the few glimmers of light she’d found. Him and that dog who sat and watched them both. They’d been kind. She needed that, after so long in the dark. She didn’t want to risk the little twinkle of light going away.

“Okay.” It came out just above a whisper. She’d agree. If only to keep the speck of light.

“Right,” Alistair spoke, un-crossing his arms over his chest and shuffling his weight from foot to foot. He could sense her mounting distress and unease. This man she spoke of wasn’t in danger so he could rest easy. “Come here,” he said, voice soft. He held his arms out, knowing that the last thing Zofia needed right now was to be pushed away further. He wouldn’t hurt her, and he wanted to show her that.

She’d agreed to go and see someone, someone that wasn’t him. He couldn’t help her like that. He wasn’t put together. He couldn’t even get to see a counselor, but he wasn’t about to tell her that. She’d see him as a hypocrite and not do what he told her to. His arms remained outstretched, and for a moment, he thought about dropping them. But if his hunch was correct, he expected her to reciprocate the hug he offered her.

Zofia stared at him. He was standing there, arms outstretched. His voice was gentle. Her eyes strayed to the sigil on the floor. She took a hesitant step toward him. He didn’t move to activate it. She took another step toward him. He made no move to control her.

Trust me. The words rattled around in her chest before lodging itself somewhere behind her collarbone. She kept taking quiet steps toward him until she was a foot away. She didn’t move, didn’t breathe- waiting one second longer to see if he’d change his mind, to see if the little light would snuff itself out.

He stayed, arms outstretched.

Zofia stepped into the embrace, still poised to run at the first sign of a change of heart. It still didn’t come. She wrapped her arms around him, trying to settle into the feeling of letting herself be comforted again. The two words that had settled behind her collarbone felt warm. Like the truth. Like the right choice, for now at least. So she stayed, and trusted him.

——-

Alistair began to channel magic into his grasp as soon as she embraced him. The tendrils, like smoke, began to converge towards Zofia. He could do it. All he had to do was cast. He swallowed, pushing Zofia away with a frown. “Step out of the circle,” he warned her in a broken voice. “And you should…” he frowned, quickly stepping out of the spell circle. ”You should probably find somewhere to live that isn’t with a necromancer that could control you.”

His eyes flickered back and forth as he tried to get his head on straight. He didn’t want to control her, and every nerve ending in his body was screaming to cast that spell. “You have forty-eight hours to collect your things and find somewhere else to live.” Alistair gritted his teeth as he spoke, running a hand over his mouth. “I’m sorry, but it’s… it’s for the best.” He paced back and forth through the apartment, realizing he could be making a big mistake by not holding her back.

“I’m sorry, Zofia. You deserve to be in the care of someone who doesn’t have the potential to control your every move. I’m not good to be around. I didn’t think this through, and it’s on me.” He groaned, warring with the thoughts in his head. “If you need sanctuary at the shop, let me know. But I don’t think that you living here is a good idea.”

She was forced back, whatever brief comfort she’d found in being held quickly fizzling out like a candle in a rain storm. There it was. There it was. She smiled a bitter, sad thing. He’d witnessed the monster and no matter how many arrows the beast had in it’s hide, he was prepared to fire another volley at its heart. At her.

Zofia moved out of the circle.”Save your apologies.” She didn’t bother to put any energy behind the statement. The words tasted bitter as they fell from her mouth. “I’ll be gone tonight. Won’t have to worry about whether or not the big bad beastie is lurking in your guest room any longer.

The corner of her mouth ticked, and she stood up taller. “I don’t need to be in anyone’s care.” She hurried to the guest room and threw what little she had into a bag. She walked back out into the space, taking a good look at the man. He’d do it, wouldn’t he? Control her. And what then? She’d be trapped again. A different sort of trapped, but trapped nonetheless. And she had promised herself that she would not let herself be trapped again.

“I hope you have a nice, long life, Alistair.” She said, anger coloring the edges of her voice. “Lovely meeting you Brutus.” She nodded to the dog. At least the dog had liked her. Before the necromancer could change his mind, she got out of the apartment as quick as she could. When she’d finally put a good amount of distance between herself and the flat, she let out a frustrated scream. Starting over, yet again.

#A Puppet on Strings #threads #zofiawithaz

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ohmyeyesmyeyes · 2 months

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hide the sun - n. mackinnon

summary: there are some things nathan mackinnon can't cope very well with in life. one of them happens to be mia in hospital, and needless to say it's a whirlwind when it comes true. (f!oc!soccer player)

warnings: swearing, details of injury (stitches, concussion, temporary amnesia etc), mentions of vomiting, mentions of anxiety, brief mention of the pandemic, mentions of sports psychologists, mention of painkillers/hospitals/doctors, mentions of routines/small rituals, angst

word count: 13.8k (sheesh)

< a/n: this is for demi (the legend herself) @wyattjohnston as part of the summer fic exchange2k24! i hope you enjoy it! also a massive thank you for organising such a wholesome event in this little community!! >

Nate had lost count on how many times he’d had to dive into the nearest bathroom to empty the contents of his stomach in the last few hours. It seemed like every time he got close to stepping inside the hospital room his brain would play over what happened in his head and he’d relive it all again – as if once wasn’t enough. Only, his imagination was crueller than reality because the outcome would always be…Mia not conscious and talking in the hospital bed.

All is well, he had to keep reminding himself of that or the fine thread holding everything in check would spontaneously snap and he’d be inconsolable.

He’d gone through a lot in his life, but nothing had ever come close to him experiencing this level of fear before. And that in itself was a terrifying notion, because that fear was rooted in someone else’s well being. His happiness and his peace were attached to the woman in the hospital bed, not to himself, and he found that both profoundly moving and disturbing at the same time.

He flushed the toilet once more, stomach muscles aching, and shut his eyes, his head lolling against the wall behind him.

He was well aware he was being a dick. Perhaps the biggest prick he’d ever been before in his entire life. And he was being all of that to the person he was wholeheartedly, irrevocably, hilariously in love with, too. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever be able to forgive himself let alone ask for forgiveness from her.

He was still shaking and cold, and every time he shut his eyes that scene was played on repeat: the ball flying through the air, Mia jumping up to head it away but instead getting a sharp elbow to the temple (one Nate could safely say rivalled even Jacob Trouba’s weaponry) and going down cold. Nate knew it was bad just from the way she’d fallen – limbs loose, like a puppeteer had surrendered control of the strings – he’d had enough practice in his own field, and he hadn’t ever anticipated her also being on the receiving end of such a blow before.

Of course, it had been her teammates first, frantic expressions on their faces as someone waved over the physios, and then the physios had waved over the paramedics and–

Nate inhaled a shuddering breath, a hand kneading away the pain in his chest. He’d never been one to admit he suffered with anxiety before, sure, he got them in bouts occasionally, but he’d never had it on this scale. Yet, another terrifying thing.

And to top all of that off, the guilt flowing through his veins was astronomical. He could feel it crushing his head from inside his skull, squeezing his heart and constricting his lungs and he just wanted to curl up somewhere and sob everything out of his system. Then, and only then would he be able to stomach the thought of seeing her: when he’d comprehended everything.

“Fucking dick, what are you doing?” He groaned into his hands, wiping away unshed tears and taking another shaky breath, this one making his chin wobble.

He was needed, he was painfully aware of that. Painfully. It scorched his insides and his consciousness didn’t hold back the self-belittling remarks in his head, but he couldn’t peel himself up from the floor. He wasn’t entirely sure he’d be able to stand safely on his own legs, and he wasn’t entirely sure his stomach was strong enough just yet.

His phone buzzed in the pocket of his jeans, and in an attempt to take it out of his pocket it clattered to the floor, victim to his trembling hands.

He blinked once, twice, three times to clear the blurriness of his eyes, and read over the words on his screen. He wasn’t entirely sure whether it was the shortness and cryptic tone of the message that had him finding strength from somewhere to haul himself onto his feet, or whether he was just intrinsically waiting for something to get him moving.

All anyone had been told so far was that she was in a stable condition – still unconscious – and that any scans that had been done so far had been as clear as they could be, that being no internal bleeding or haemorrhaging or anything that could have possibly resulted from getting hit in the temple and then bashing your head on the floor. A concussion was inevitable, and even thinking about it, Nate knew it wasn’t going to be a merciful one.

Nevertheless, he managed to pocket his phone, a damp hand on the wall of the cubicle keeping him steady until he could unlock the door without wanting to immediately dive back in and hide until Mia was given the all-clear.

He wasn’t even sure he knew what he was doing or where he was going when he was following the overhead signs, but he somehow ended up in the hallway. There were benches in the corridor, settled just outside Mia’s room, and he stopped as he rounded the corner.

There was a crowd of people significantly larger than when he’d initially run away to the toilets, and one quick glance at people’s faces told him they were teammates. It wasn’t the entire team, just a few close friends and the team physio – enough to mean a queue would have to be formed when she wakes up, what with some of her family members already in there.

And if he was being completely honest, Nate wasn’t sure what to expect as he slowly walked towards them. They’d taken up all the seats on the bench and a few people were sitting on the floor against the wall, but no one was talking. In fact, everyone appeared to be looking straight forwards at the same spot on the wall, but there was nothing there.

It was Milly who saw him first. She offered a tight smile and waved at him, and when he got close enough, just about to lower himself down on the floor next to her, she spoke.

“The doctor came out around two minutes ago.” She whispered, and Nate felt all the air in his lungs freeze.

He didn’t say anything for a few seconds, the sharp pain in his chest rendering him immobile. Of course he wanted to know if she was okay, but what if she wasn’t? That was the question that his mind kept repeating on a loop, and if that was the case then these few seconds he’d use to gather himself meant they’d be the last few seconds where he was ignorant to that piece of information.

He swallowed, unable to look at Milly, and instead turned his attention to the spot on the wall in front of him that everyone else seemed to be focused on.

“She’s awake.”

“Is she oka–” His throat was horrendously dry and his voice was scratchy, but it was Milly’s gentle hand on his forearm that had him shutting up.

“She’s okay.”

Nate nodded, not even noticing Milly had rescinded her touch, and instead inhaled deeply, nodding absent-mindedly.

“She’s been assessed, her memory’s a little bit patchy from the last couple of days but there’s no concern. Her family’s in there now.” She paused, and even out of the corner of his eye he could tell she was clearly hesitant in saying something to him. Everyone seemed to have looked at him like that since the minute he’d walked through the hospital doors, and he was starting to find it rather irritating. It felt awfully similar to impatience, like every time he caught someone looking at him with pity, wanting to say something but ultimately deciding not to (probably because they didn’t know how he’d react), he just wanted to yell – like when you get stuck behind a slow walker and you’re behind schedule in the airport.

He blinked hard, once, twice, before using the heel of his palm to quickly wipe his eyes. He hadn’t even noticed the water welling up until the wall in front of him had become a blurred mess of blocked colours: red, green, blue, white.

“Are you gonna go in?” Milly asked finally, and he was at least glad she made no comment on his tears.

He shook his head, not entirely trusting himself to speak without his voice cracking or wavering, or a complete breakdown – he’d be lying to himself immensely if he denied that wasn’t on the cards.

“Can’t.” He croaked, pulling his knees up to his chest, as best as he could given his height, “I’m not family, they won’t let me in.”

Milly considered his words for a moment before frowning, “Who won’t let you in?”

“Doctors. I’m not family, so…They don’t want to overwhelm her.”

“That’s shit—”

“They told me to come back in the morning, but I’m not sure I can leave.” He whispered, his hand massaging the tender spot in his chest as he fought another onslaught of watery eyes.

He felt like it might be a bit of an overreaction to cry at the knowledge she was okay, but he couldn’t quite get a handle on anything. It was a combination of stress, worry and fear that just spiralled his emotions out of his own control, like someone else was fiddling with the joystick of a controller somewhere. Yet, even knowing the root of it all, the mere thought of straying more than a corridor away from the door to Mia’s hospital room was…incomprehensibly daunting.

It almost sent him down another path of panic, he could feel the grips of it begin to claw at his heart rate and the clamminess of his palms again when he even so much as thought about it.

No, he physically couldn’t bring himself to leave, at least not yet.

He’d at least give it another think when her parents walk out with a real update instead of the formal crap the doctors had spewed him earlier: some vague nonsense about her being stable but unable to tell quite the extent of the damage just yet, and if they knew they certainly couldn’t tell him because he wasn’t her husband.

If only he’d lied initially. He’d probably think about that for the rest of his life.

Milly hummed, pulling out her phone. If the circumstances had been different Nate probably would have been able to stop himself peeking over at what she was doing, but he was so despondent and distracted in his own head, those horrified replays still flickering on a loop in the back of his mind, that he couldn’t bring himself to be nosey for once.

“That’s not right,” Milly muttered under her breath, scrolling down several pages of text, “They should let you in, you know? There’s no laws against it, it’s just been cracked down on during the Pandemic.”

“Huh?” Nate tilted his head, his nose running slightly. Now that the worst of his tears had gently fizzled away, his eyelids were heavy and his eyes were burning with fatigue. In fact, he could feel the exhaustion settle into his bones, and he knew that in about an hour he could be asleep on the hospital floor, even with those fluorescent lights shining in his face.

“They should let you in.” Milly repeated, pushing herself up and walking over to the nearest desk before Nate could even think about responding.

He kept his mouth shut, watching her talk to the receptionist from afar, not able to hear the exact words over all the hubbub, but getting the general gist of it when Milly half-turned to point at him. He couldn’t help it when his mouth flattened into a straight line and his eyes awkwardly averted themselves…before immediately flicking back over to the conversing pair, slightly afraid he’d miss something yet shaking in his shoes at the thought of a shaking head of denial.

Milly patted the counter, before wandering back over to the group of them all, teammates sitting up straighter in their chairs and against the wall, eager eyes fixed on their captain, anticipation shimmering in their eyes.

Nate swallowed nervously, his hands still shaking and stomach still rolling. He was sure he looked as pale as he felt, as sickly as he felt. Milly’s avoidance of his stare was unnerving.

“I think I’m gonna go.” Milly came to a standstill in front of Nate, her expression unreadable, and before Nate could even stutter out an urgent ‘why?’, someone down the line beat him to it.

“It’s getting late, and we know she’s okay.” Milly paused, not quite knowing what to say, “I don’t want to overwhelm her, and we’re not gonna see her tonight, anyway.”

Nate blinked, jaw ticking, and when he looked back up, the corridor was nearly deserted. Milly was hovering near him, watching as the last body filed around the corner, shoulders slumped as she disappeared from view, before turning to him, “They said the doctors would be less likely to let anyone in if there was a massive group of people outside the room. I don’t know it’s gonna help your chances now, but…”

Nate felt his jaw drop before he registered what he was doing, quickly clamping it shut with a grateful nod of his head, “Thank you.”

She shrugged, “It’s nothing.”

“You can stay, too, y’know–”

“Oh, no. I appreciate the offer, but if me not being here is the difference between you getting to see her or not, I’d rather not risk it.” She breathed a laugh, “Besides, I’ve got kids waiting for me at home.”

He nodded absently, and Milly had the strangest sense that he wasn’t completely there. He was inside his head, eyes a little bit unfocused as he looked in her general direction; his knee was bouncing, whether he’d noticed that or not she couldn’t tell – but she knew none of that would disappear immediately. At least, not until he’d be granted permission to enter the room and see her for himself.

And for that reason, she chose not to offer any words of comfort – they’d fall on deaf ears. Instead, she did something she’d been working up the courage to ask him for a while now..

“Um, this isn’t the right time to be asking this, I’m well aware, but you wouldn’t happen to know any sports psychologists I could get in touch with, would you?”

For a harrowing and humiliating moment, Milly thought she’d just have to turn around, that the slight furrow of his brow as he stared relentlessly at that spot on the wall was just because she interrupted a comforting silence, but five seconds passed before she realised he was thinking.

His fingers fumbled with his phone as he removed it from a pocket, and she started, heart hammering in her chest when it slipped in his grip, before he caught it and switched it on.

“I know a few, actually. I have a few numbers if you want me to send them to you?”

She nodded, “Yes please.”

“Do you have a preference as to whether it’s a guy or–”

“No.”

She passed him her phone, watching as he typed in her phone number, still watching when her own phone lit up with three notifications of contacts he’d shared with her. When he passed her own phone back to her his eyes looked less troubled. They’d cleared up, less red than they had been, and he’d clearly been glad for a distraction.

“Thank you.” She breathed, managing a smile, “Hey, you can sit on the bench now everyone’s gone.”

Nate nodded, but made no move to get up. He wasn’t entirely sure why but the thought of sitting on the chairs instead of the floor felt way too real – it’d just solidify the reason that he had a right to sit there because of someone in one of the rooms, and his very bones felt heavier at that thought.

Milly grinned, “She’ll be fine.”

He said nothing to that, just gestured half-heartedly at the floor, “It’s cosier here.”

***

Mia had never been so achy and sore without exactly remembering what she’d done to feel those consequences. Everything hurt: her legs, her hips, her arms, her ribs, her head – gosh, her head! It felt like she’d been laid underneath a pneumatic drill and lived to tell the tale. Her nerve endings were on fire, mostly throughout her entire body and the sheer strength of the pain rendered her…well, she was so exhausted she couldn’t really cope with being awake for longer than a minute or so.

Her eyelids would get hot and droopy, and despite how hard she tried to keep herself awake, for her parent’s reassurances, the screaming agony in her head sent her eyes rolling and she succumbed to a brief period of sleep. Still, she didn’t feel a single ounce better having napped at all. If anything, each time she opened her eyes it felt as though the pain magnified for a brief second, like her body forgot it had been pumped with painkillers and she was just experiencing all the pain she possibly could.

That wasn’t even including the odd patches of her memory, though that she learnt through what she’d been told. Apparently this game wasn’t the one they’d won by a landslide – that had in fact been a month ago, yet she could still remember going to the grocery store three days ago and even though she was pretty sure something was missing from the hospital room, she couldn’t quite find the words for it and when she’d rather blearily croaked that concern she’d been thrown a quick ‘don’t think too much right now, honey’.

But she had seen the shared glance between her parents right before she passed out for the umpteenth time.

Needless to say, she did wake up with the answer right at the front of her brain – it felt remarkably like finding a pair of sunglasses you’d forgotten you owned.

“Whe–” Her eyebrows knitted together and she peeled her eyes open to…an empty chair. Followed by an empty room.

She shut her eyes, able to still picture the blank screened-TV on the back wall, the shuttered blinds to the windows on her right and the lone lamp on at the end of the room. She’s never had a concussion before, and with the way she was feeling right now she didn’t have any plans of ever having one again, at least if it was up to her.

She had no idea how Nate functioned.

Nate. She tried to sit herself up properly in bed, the thing she’d been on the precipice of remembering flashing to the forefront of her mind, but all the motion did was send her stomach rolling, and before she could even think, her hands found the cardboard bowl laid on her lap, like someone had put it there in anticipation of this very moment, and heaved into the bowl. The pressure in her head sent a blinding pain from the temple with the bandage over it, right through her brain to her ear on the other side and all behind her eyes. She almost passed out again right there; she could feel the blood drain from her face and the familiar whooshing feeling as though her consciousness had fallen through her body and into the mattress beneath her. Her vision went black, spotty around the edges, but for some reason she could hear the sound of a door opening and closing, the rushed footsteps that only seemed to get louder and the hushed, reassuring voice in her ear as a warm hand helped lower her back against the pillows.

She knew just from the slight cloud of familiar aftershave that billowed around her exactly who it was. She might not be able to do much, think much or remember much at that moment, but Mia could recognise familiarity. It was like muscle memory, except her brain could decode it easily.

She kept her eyes shut and screwed up, willing the dizziness away – it gripped at the base of her throat and if she could compare the sensation to anything else, it was remarkably similar to how she imagined falling through a dark abyss whilst being unrolled from being tangled in some kind of tape. The scrunching up of her eyes, however, pulled awkwardly at something stuck to her temple; it sent a sharp stab of pain right across her cheekbone and into her hairline, and before she could even register what it was her fingers had found a padded sheet taped across the side of her face.

A band-aid.

Once the dizziness had subsided, she slowly peeled her eyes open, millimetre by millimetre, as if she was afraid something might jump out at her if she ripped them open too quickly.

Nate was sitting looking very awkward in the chair closest to the bed, one of his hands holding the cardboard bowl on Mia’s lap and the other gently tugging her hand away from her bandage.

She could see there was a brief moment when she looked at him that something had changed, a window shattered somewhere perhaps. He looked like he’d been through the wringer: hair messed up (very uncharacteristic), cheeks somehow even paler than usual, eyes red, hands shaking, and fearful.

She couldn’t say for certain why he felt the latter but she could read it in his face, in his body language. She’d never seen him look so not-okay and put-together before.

In hindsight, it was not only cruel to do what she did next, but given the events of the day and how completely naive she was to other people’s experience of what happened, it most definitely was not the best idea:

“Are you a doctor?” She mumbled blearily. Mia was never really that great at pretending to do anything, whether it was a little white lie or something just to rile someone up, but there wasn’t much pretending about how tired she was or how confused she was in that moment; the blinking and the blank stare were all real, and in Nate’s eyes, borderline apocalyptic.

See, he’d been informed of her condition and spotty memory, but no one could say for certain just what was ‘in’ and what was ‘out’ because there were so many inconsistencies and no one had really wanted to poke around where there were gaps in case it just caused more frustration than hope, so this four word question? Completely believable.

He saw Mia laid in bed, and taking into consideration what he’d previously been told, he figured it made sense. That didn’t mean to say his face didn’t drop further or his stomach didn’t plummet to the floor below or he didn’t feel the familiar twang of bile rising or the world didn’t just flip on its axis.

His entire relationship flashed before his eyes: four years, a dog, a house, two cars, dates, holidays, vacations, inside jokes, and it all crumbled at his feet with a simple question.

He’d run through it in his head, the possibility that she might not remember him quite yet, and it was understandable. He wasn’t mad at all, in fact he was all too willing to take a step back and let her recover in a more familiar environment where he was potentially isolated from her and everything he knew, but that had only been a possibility. Now it was looking like a reality and the only thing he felt was panic. There were alarms blaring in his head, loud protests, screaming, yelling, tears.

And somehow all he could do was blink the tears back and create some space between himself and her bed. Emotionally he wasn’t sure how to proceed but he could physically feel an invisible hand pushing him back against the chair, away from her.

He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. His eyes seemed well up of their own accord, and before he could even excuse himself from the room she spoke again.

“I was just kidding.”

He blinked, his arms freezing from where he’d gone to push himself out of the chair, and he couldn’t really bring himself to move other than to drag his blurry eyes over to Mia, his jaw clenched and his guard still up just in case she still got it wrong.

He sniffled, inhaling through his nose, and not daring to ask if she was sure. But despite looking as though she’d been hit by a bus: a band-aid stuck right over her temple with stitches hidden underneath the plastic; purple eye bags; slow, lethargic blinking; an empty stare – Mia managed to look guilty. The corners of her mouth were pulled down, and her eyes were wide, almost like she couldn’t quite believe she’d pulled it off herself.

And if he was being honest, Nate probably would have still had a hard time believing she actually did remember him if it wasn’t for her hand. It wasn’t something specific, but she’d placed it on his knee in a hurry when he’d made to push himself out of the chair, almost as if the prospect of him leaving wasn’t something to be desired.

She was just as scared as he was.

Nate sniffled once more, allowing himself to settle into the chair and scoot forward again. The tears hadn’t disappeared, nor had the trembling, but his heart had eased up slightly once the realisation that, no, she hadn’t lost her memory of him had sunk in.

Then, and only then, he managed to speak, “You’re such a meanie.” It was more of a broken croak that had to be deciphered than something more intelligible than he would have liked, but after she winced at the volume of his voice already he found himself glad he sounded as broken as he felt.

She tried to smile, but her eyes fluttered shut of their own accord part way through the action, and she sighed, clearly completely drained, before rubbing her closed fist in a circle over her chest.

Sorry.

He shook his head despite the futility of it, and instead took the rather chilly, limp hand still resting on his knee into his grasp, leaning further forward so he was pretty much level with her. He allowed himself to breathe for a second, probably the first time he’d managed to do so since it had happened, and even though the tightness in his test remained, even though he still felt pretty emotional, he could at least look at her – like he’d done so many times in his life already – and know she was okay.

Up close, he could see the plaster on her temple was darker in the centre and peeling at the edges slightly from where they’d pressed it into her hair, and on the other end he could see where someone – Mia herself – had started to pick at the edge, most likely out of curiosity. There was bruising along her cheekbone, and he knew from when he’d walked into the room in the first place that she had some other bruising on her jaw on the other side of her face from where she’d smacked into the grass.

That wasn’t even mentioning the dislocated shoulder, which, for now, was secured in a sling.

He was almost scared to touch her, not quite sure what would hurt or what wouldn’t, and before he could even deliberate any of that she was blinking again. Awake. She inhaled through her nose, wincing when her shoulder moved fractionally with the effort, and came to slowly. It was as though she was surveying the room for the first time again: her eyes were curious but not wide and she squinted at the light emanating from the little lamp, and Nate had to wait patiently for her to sweep her gaze around to him.

He tried a tight smile, his hands still clutching her free one in a warm embrace, and he could see the cogs benign to turn in her mind as she remembered when he’d come in. She eyed him sceptically, but this time (before his mind could run away from him) she gave him a lazy side-eye of sorts.

He breathed a laugh at the expression on her face, reaching over to smooth some of her hair down. He made sure to be gentle, not pulling on the hair too hard or pressing down on her head – rather just let it float back over to the right side of her parting, watching it fall as he did. He wasn’t quite sure what Mia had been expecting though because when he pulled back a little bit her mouth was pressed into a tight line.

“What?” He breathed a laugh, leaning forward on his palm to flick away more stray strands of hair. It seemed the closer he got the more he noticed that no one had taken particular care in brushing said strays out of her face, because he knew, even from looking at the way her nose kept twitching, that the tickling was intolerable.

“When can we go home?”

Nate swallowed, unable to look her in the eye as he shrugged. Nobody had told him anything. Her parents had left and told him as much as they could but they couldn’t say anything apart from the fact that she was okay – in fact, nobody even knew he was in here. His (almost) in-laws had gone to the cafeteria, running on nothing but coffee, and there hadn’t been anyone else really around when Nate heard the tell-tale sounds of…yeah. Needless to say he hadn’t really thought twice about bursting into the room to help her. She wouldn’t have if the situation was reversed, though from experience she did tend to lie to the medical professionals and just say they were married, something that had rather inconveniently slipped his mind in his panic-fueled state.

“I don’t know.” He whispered, if the quietness of his voice could even be considered such a thing. A fairy-whisper, perhaps: delicate, blink and you’ll miss it kind thing, “You’re on stroke watch, sweetheart, I don’t think it’ll be for another day or two.”

Her eyes shut again, and if it wasn’t for the tick in her jaw, Nate would have guessed she’d just fallen unconscious again.

“Are you okay?” He’d said them before he could stop himself. They’d been on the very tip of his tongue all day nearly, and his will had worn so low that he’d just given up and given in.

In all honesty, he wasn’t expecting much of a reply. Mainly because he knew concussions were hell on earth, especially fresh ones as bad as this, but also because she’d been poked, prodded, sewn up, and asked things already. She must be sick of it all, but…he had to know.

She kept her eyes shut but her free shoulder shrugged as best as it could, “Hurts.” She mouthed.

Nate nodded, resisting the insurmountable urge to squeeze her hand and take all the pain from her, “Tap my hand twice for yes and once for no, ‘kay?”

The corners of her mouth twitched upwards briefly, and he couldn’t help himself when he dropped a quick kiss on the back of her hand – though he couldn’t say for sure if it was supposed to help her more or help him more.

Tap-tap.

“Do you need me to do anything? Get anything for you?”

She seemed to think about it for a second before pointing at something on the far end of the room and tapping his palm once.

He frowned. Lamp, no?

“Lamp off?” He thought out loud, pushing himself out of his chair eagerly when she tapped his palm twice again.

The thought of using the torch on his phone didn’t really occur to him when he was blindly trying to make his way back to his seat, and much to Mia’s dark amusement he walked into the end of the bed and tripped over the legs of two chairs on his way back.

“Anything else?”

Tap.

He waved his hand in the dark near where he guessed her arm to still be held up, and dragged his fingers up her forearm to interlock their hands like before.

“Is the dark better?”

Tap-tap.

He sighed. It wasn’t because he was fed up – not one of those sighs – or because he was relieved, per se. It almost felt like an instinct or a habit, like when he gets into bed and manages to find a comfy position, or when he steps out onto the ice first thing in the morning when no one else is around. It was a sigh of satisfaction, yet he didn’t feel at all satisfied by anything. Sure, he was happy that he’d adjusted something to Mia’s liking, but there was so much more he wanted to know.

Where did she hurt? How much did it hurt? Did she remember last night? Is she gonna recover in time for the play-offs?

They weren’t yes or no answers, and the last thing he wanted was to bother her. She needed the peace and quiet and the dark and cold and someone to make sure she wasn’t going to stroke like someone had off-handedly said in the hallway. Nate knew he wasn’t the only person who could give her that, but he was glad it was him sitting there holding her hand and listening intently to the sound of her breathing and the rustling of her pillow.

It sounds crazy, he knows that, but he was horrified. Less than fifteen minutes ago he was so sure something life-changing had happened that meant he wouldn’t be allowed here. He knew head injuries were unpredictable, and he knew he should be somewhat irritated for the stunt she pulled earlier, asking if he was a doctor, but he couldn’t find it within himself to be so. That one interaction had alleviated the worries and concerns he’d had – the ones that were driving him to the brink of panic attacks pretty much – more than any words anyone had spoken to him over the entirety of the night so far.

It meant Mia was still Mia, and even though she might have changed, she was still the same person. And he was going to sit with her in the dark, holding her hand, pretending he was now okay, for as long as he was allowed–

“Are you okay?”

Even in the dark his eyes turned to look at where they knew she was. He was speechless for a few seconds having thought she was asleep and stuck so far in his own head that he hadn’t even considered the alternative.

He just hummed, which earned him a meaningful tap on the palm.

No.

“It was just scary for a minute, but I’m okay now.” Then he shook his head, almost-scoffing, “I should be asking you that.”

There was a half-hearted sigh, “Been better.”

***

Mia was sick and tired of the injuries after two days at home, bed-bound by a rather strict blonde that had a penchant for frowning and putting his hands on his hips when she suggested getting up and moving around. In all fairness, she could see where he was coming from, but in her defence she needed to know she was capable of a quick lap around the house, headaches and shoulder pains be damned.

To have gone from training numerous hours per week – per day, in fact – to suddenly not being able to cope with being in a sunlit house in a room that wasn’t the bathroom or the bedroom. She was going stir crazy, and boredom was going to be her demise, she knew it. She could feel it atrophying her soul already and she wasn’t sure how much longer she could take being holed up in bed, not allowed to use screens or read or think.

Doctor’s orders.

Although, having said all of that, Mia did find herself waking up from a nap she didn’t remember succumbing to most of the time. She must have slept on and off all day for two days, but it felt like she’d not even shut her eyes for an entire week. And the pain, oh, the pain.

Her shoulder ached each time she so much as tensed something, though that was the least of it: the dislocation hadn’t been too ugly – quickly put back in, no soft-tissue damage. Didn’t stop it hurting, though. The biggest issue, Mia couldn’t quite get a hold of. She couldn’t decipher what was the concussion, what was the temple laceration or what was the bump on the head from the ground. Somewhere along the lines, all the pain blurred into one and it just felt like her head was splitting open from the inside.

The door creaked open gently, firstly with a soft pop, like the familiar noise of when Barney would push it open with his muzzle and the handle would click out of its place, before a familiar soft pat-pat of paws could be heard vaguely padding across the carpet. It if wasn’t for Nate’s strict rule-abiding of orders (he did right, to be honest), the sound of Barney preparing himself to jump onto the bed wouldn’t have been heard. In fact, if it wasn’t for the noise of the door clicking open, Mia probably wouldn’t have blinked awake again.

It was dark outside, the lights from the garden shining through under the blackout blinds. It wasn’t bright enough to trigger anymore headaches or a potential migraine, what with the bouncing agony from her bruises and bumps doing enough already, but it was enough to cast a sliver of dull light across the bedspread.

Mia reached out blindly, patting the duvet next to her, already anticipating the soft bark of acknowledgement before the toffee spaniel had made his way into her personal space, his nose pressed against her thigh as he laid out right next to her. She ran a loving hand through his fur.

Nate hadn’t let Barney in the room without him watching, mostly because he was a little unsure as to whether the newly-trained dog would adhere to the ‘calm’ rule he’d hoped to implement somehow, and Mia had commented on it, a quick ‘he’s a dog, they have senses for this kind of thing’, and all Nate did was sigh and watch on with a worried gaze. Needless to say, Barney hadn’t barked in her face excitedly or run across the bed or unintentionally nudged anything he shouldn’t have done, and Mia couldn’t quite tell if he was in the room now because Nate had let him upstairs or if it was just a happy accident.

Barney sniffed, and Mia paused, holding her breath in the darkness. At the same time, Barney’s ears flopped and the steps creaked, before an unmissable hiss of, “Barney?” could be heard from further down the hallway.

She felt her eyes shut again, sleep begging to reach out and pull her under again – it was the dog, he was just so warm and cuddly she was practically being lulled back to sleep with his rhythmic breathing – but she resisted, instead focusing on the hand woven into his fur until Nate inevitably noticed the crack in the door.

He didn’t say anything when he opened the door even further, didn’t say anything when he crept around to his side of the bed before pulling himself onto the mattress, the covers dipping with his weight. Barney looked up at him, and Mia felt rather than saw his hand also go to pet the dog between them.

She lifted her hand, before briefly ticking his arm to let him know she was awake, and cracked her eyes open.

He was in his pyjamas, clearly already having showered. He’d taken to using the spare bathroom instead of the en-suite, completely adamant on not wanting to disturb Mia even though she’d told him she wouldn’t mind, and Mia knew, probably better than most people, that it was difficult to change Nate’s mind when he’d already decided what he was gonna do.

“Did Barney wake you up?” He whispered, pushing himself further into the bedding. Mia could feel the warmth radiating off his skin, could smell the shower gel and shampoo he liked. He’d literally just gotten out of the shower.

If she had more energy she would have turned to look at him: there was something about post-shower Nathan MacKinnon that Mia found downright irresistible. In four years, she still hadn’t managed to figure out what it was, but it definitely had something to do with the flushed cheeks, damp hair and untamed curls.

As much as he tried to tidy it with gel, Nate couldn’t escape the fact that his hair could be wild, and in the last couple of years it had only gotten worse.

“No, I was already awake.” She whispered, the force of trying to talk still putting more pressure on her bumps and cuts. Whenever she spoke out loud it felt like her eyes were going to pop out of her head and her ears were going to bleed. It wasn’t the most comfortable feeling in the world.

She turned her head in his direction, just able to make out the silhouette of his side profile: crooked nose, damp Prince hair, philtrum, mouth, chin. She couldn’t turn her head too much to the side, the lump around the back of her head making getting comfy even against a pillow difficult, yet the slight movement, slight rustle of the sheets had him almost instantly turning towards her. That was something she’d noticed that had changed: he seemed to jump at anything she did, whether it be to reach a hand out to grab her water bottle or simply turn to look at him.

She could imagine the wide eyed gaze as he scanned her face for signs of pain until he relaxed when he realised that all it was was shuffling. The alarm bells were still ringing.

There was a brief pause, and Mia took her hand out of Barney’s fur to poke Nate in the ribs. He jumped at the contact, still unused to the darkness, and grabbed her hand to stop her doing it again, breathing a soft, amused laugh, “Liar.”

“I was gonna wake up soon anyway.”

“You hungry?”

“Yeah.”

Mia felt herself relax under his touch, his fingers playing with hers, finding their way in the dark across the back of her hands right around to her palms before straightening her fingers and placing a delicate yet hurried kiss to the back of her hand. She didn’t even have enough time to query exactly what it was he was about to do before he’d pushed himself up off the bed, Barney sitting attentively, and placed his hands on his hips leisurely.

“You want anything specific?” Nate asked, absent-mindedly placing his leg on the bed to stretch out his hamstring.

“What did you have?”

“Chicken and chorizo pasta.”

“Can I have some of that, please? It sounds so good right now.”

There was a muffled sound, crossed between a sarcastic scoff and a snort of laughter, “No. You absolutely cannot have it right now–”

“No–”

“Yeah, we’re gonna do your dressing first. C’mon.”

Mia groaned, pulling the duvet back up to her chin to give her some protection before Nate would undoubtedly just rip it off her and pick her up, like he had the past four times he’d changed her dressing. The first time she did it there was little resistance from her end, mostly because she had no idea that cleaning the wound was going to be that nauseating, but also because she literally couldn’t be bothered trying to resist a hockey player that boarded men twice her size on a regular basis.

Now, though? Not only did she despise the entire process, but she couldn’t deny the fact that being difficult was rather amusing for her – mostly because of how Nate handled it, because he handles it. She’s never heard him talk so much yet so calmly all whilst trying to scoop her up without simultaneously accidentally hurting her.

“-five seconds and it’ll be done until tomorrow, and if you think about it–” he made his way around to Mia’s side of the bed and she felt her face screw up in dread almost automatically when he began trying to tug at the duvet she’d gripped as tightly as she could, “-if you really think about it, the food is kind of like a reward, and it’s better to get it done now rather than spend the next, like, forty minutes worrying about it–” he sighed, cutting himself off and staring at the scene in front of him. Mia knew him well enough to know stillness and silence meant he was thinking.

“What are you–Put me down.” Mia watched as Barney scurried off the bed, the duvet disappearing under him as Nate managed to force his arms underneath her body to lift her up, duvet and all.

“Never.” He breathed in her ear before laughing like a Disney villain, managing to somehow look down at his feet to make sure he didn’t trip and cause another trip to the ER, and no matter how much she moaned and groaned, Nate didn’t put her down until he’d made it to the bathroom and placed her ever-so-gently on top of the lid of the toilet.

It was cold against the plastic, much colder than the sanctuary of the bed with a dog cuddled up to her side, and Mia shivered in her shorts and t-shirt, goosebumps arising on her skin – something that didn’t exactly go unnoticed by Nate. He took one look at her shivering and opened the bathroom blinds to let in some dull, natural light before turning around and grabbing a sweatshirt from the pile of clothes on the floor he hadn’t had chance to tidy away, what with the hustle and bustle of trying to look after everyone (not that he minded; in fact, Nate loved looking after Mia, even though he’d never voice it, but the circumstances surrounding the situation were a little too shitty for his liking), and tossed it to her.

What he really wanted to do was tell her to lift her arms over her head, but he knew coddling someone who already hated people doing things for them would only make the irritation worse, and instead reached for the basket of supplies he’d been given from the hospital, along with the set of instructions and the bowl for Mia as a ‘just in case’...the last thing anyone wanted, including Barney, was a repeat of the first time he’d done this.

He could still picture it so clearly in his head.

When he turned back around, trying to read the pamphlet by moonlight and garden-light, Mia had her eyes closed and was running her fingers through her hair, wincing each time she accidentally pulled a knot.

He couldn’t help watching her for a moment, almost mesmerised that someone could power through that amount of pain administered by themselves. Gosh, he loved her to smithereens.

“You ready?” He propped himself on the edge of the bathtub, back hunched over slightly to get himself eye-level with the plaster stuck to her temple. It was thick, most likely incredibly uncomfortable, and half-stuck in her hair. It was the only way the stitches into her hairline would be protected when she was laid down, or doing anything, really.

She nodded, and he kept his eyes fixated on her side profile, eager to drink in any possible changes in her expression that meant she was uncomfortable with anything he did. Sometimes it was a miniscule scrunch of her brows, other times it was an involuntary wince displayed by her mouth. He’d noticed her breathing changed when she was in pain too, which was a rather odd thing to come to recognise – watching someone you cared about hurt was one thing, but to watch them be in pain so constantly that you can recognise the little things? It was strange.

“I’m so hungry.” Was all she said, scooping her hair to the other side as he leant forwards to start to pick at one of the edges. It didn’t take much. He wasn’t even sure if Mia was aware she was doing it, but there was one edge right above her cheekbone that had been so obviously picked at that all he really had to do was grab onto the corner and slowly and cautiously pull. He kept one palm on the side of her head at all times, ensuring her hair remained out of the stickiness, his eyes darting from what he was doing to her face every few seconds.

Once he’d removed the plaster completely he folded it in half, balancing it on the side of the bath before doing something he’d not been able to do yet: dampen a clean washcloth with water, and gently dab the stitches.

Mia’s face contorted almost immediately, the corners of her eyes crinkled and her mouth pulled up at the corners in a grimace, but she held still, keeping her gaze level and forward, hands clutching the bowl on her lap.

“Let me know if you want me to take a break or if I’m pressing too hard, okay?” Nate murmured softly, still dabbing at the wound.

He was never really one to be able to stomach the sight of wounds – at games he didn’t really have a choice, but at least then he could avert his eyes when he saw something that made his stomach turn and his head spin. This time was a little bit different, in fact, this entire situation was completely different because it was one thing thinking about it and another thing doing it for Mia. He had to do this, partly because he wasn’t about to let Mia do it herself, but mostly because he didn’t trust anyone else not to press too hard or to take as much care in the job as he did. It wasn’t a lot, but he made sure he did it right and softly.

It was the absolute least he could do after sneaking away for an hour here and there to practise. Mel Landeskog had offered to come over and keep watch when he wasn’t there, and the entire time he was gone he’d been anxiously checking his phone a hundred times a minute, waiting for a heart-stopping message to come through, and he hadn't managed to tear himself away again. The guilt was one thing, but the anxiety just ate him up from the inside.

Tomorrow he decided he’d just work out in the bedroom – at least it’d give Mia something to watch when the TV was off-limits.

“You’re doing great.” Mia sighed, peeling open the eye closest to him and shooting an amused glance in his direction. She was exhausted, but she still managed to find the effort bother to ease his concerns, “I think tomorrow…” She trailed off, silently hissing when Nate dabbed the laceration once more.

“Sorry.” He cringed, putting the washcloth down.

“It’s fine. Tomorrow I wanna move downstairs.” She got out, relaxing once she’d taken note of the put away cloth, and turned her body towards him.

He wasn’t quite sure what he was doing with his face but it was clearly something that warranted Mia to start spouting words so quickly he wasn’t entirely sure she was able to do with that bad of a concussion, “The curtains in the front room can stay shut but I kind of want to slowly let myself get used to some light again, and I won’t watch TV or anything.”

He swallowed, going to pick up the dry washcloth, “What’s wrong with staying in bed?”

She rolled her eyes, “It’s shit, I feel like I’m missing out on what’s going on.”

Nate tilted his head curiously, “Nothing’s going on, though. Are you trying to tell me you’ve got FOMO from staying in the bedroom?”

“Yeah. I feel like our living room is, like, the life of this house. Everything happens downstairs.” She reasoned, returning back to her usual position when he raised the washcloth.

“Everything, huh?” He breathed, slowly wiping away the beads of water on her stitches, and those that had escaped and ran down to her jaw, “Guess that means you’ll have to camp out on the couch then. Can't have you miss anything, can we?”

Mia rolled her eyes, and Nate smirked to himself, pleased that she was clearly well enough to tolerate a bit of humour. It was the most alive she’d looked since it happened: she had more colour in her cheeks, something he’d even noticed through the constant darkness; her awake periods were longer than her asleep periods, and she was speaking more. Granted, that was an improvement from that very morning, but she was getting better at a quicker rate than he’d anticipated. Every hour seemed to ease the tightness in his chest, at least until he remembered–

Yep. There it is. The painful twinge of guilt that always seemed to strike him when he least expected it.

He swallowed anxiously, suddenly aware of a breeze against his torso and the faint tugging of his cotton shirt. The distance from where he was sitting on the edge of the bath to the toilet seat where Mia was sitting wasn’t a large one by any means, but it was still tricky enough for him to sit on the very edge to ensure he wasn’t stretching – it was why he had to look down at the culprit, half-expecting it to be Barney slobbering everywhere, and was pleasantly surprised to find a familiar hand trying to get his attention.

He pulled his own hand away from Mia’s head, placing the cloth on the side of the bath once he was satisfied the stitches were dry again before turning back to Mia to give her his full attention. She hadn’t bothered to turn her head, but was instead looking at him out of the corner of her eye, brow narrowed and a slightly suspicious look on her face.

“What?” He asked, automatically wiping at his cheek, expecting a streak of dirt to follow on his palm. Nothing.

Mia just blinked, “Are you okay? You kind of spaced out for a bit then.”

“Spaced out?” He echoed, shaking his head.

Mia hummed, something subtly changing in her expression, “Away with the fairies.”

“Haven’t heard that one in a while.” He raised his brows before letting them drop. He wondered briefly if she was buying his ‘chill’ persona at that moment, hidden in the dark with no real way of knowing what face he was pulling. His back was to the light so he knew he was mostly shrouded in darkness – protected from an observant eye.

The same observant eye that clearly didn’t let up, no matter how splotchy her memory or how much pain she was in, because he heard her tilt her head at him, he heard her brain call him a ‘liar’ and he heard her breathe an internal sigh.

“I’m fine.” He said, shrugging his shoulders. The action felt pathetic, like something a stroppy teenager might do after getting scolded.

Her silence said everything and nothing at the same time.

“I am. I guess I’m just coming to terms with the fact that this is how awful you must feel when I’m in your position after a game.” He mumbled it, but Mia still managed to pick his words out pretty easily – as well as the blatant pretence he immediately then displayed when he turned his attention purposefully to the basket at his feet, bending to pick up a tub of vaseline before taking the lid off and washing his hands once more.

She knew enough to know that when he acted nonchalant after admitting something was bothering him, no matter how little a thing it might seem, that sometimes he just needed that extra little dose of reassurance.

“At least you can understand why I banned you from getting head injuries, then.” She answered, turning herself so she was facing forwards once more, allowing him access to the stitches.

Nate paused, an uncertain ‘meh’ falling out of his mouth, which earned him an incredibly sharp look, “I mean I can, but now I could probably guess you get why I can’t promise you anything because most of these head injuries come from other people.” He was met with silence but he could feel the irritation practically emanating off Mia. Whenever he was right in situations where they’d had small disagreements here and there, usually about some pedantic aspect like this one, she always went dead-silent when he brought up something true. It wasn’t necessarily that she hadn’t thought of it, because the chances were that she had and it was that thing that drove her crazy, but it was knowing what she was asking was completely out of anyone’s control.

“Oh, and for the record,” Nate started, carefully spreading the vaseline against her skin and fighting the uncomfortable tingling in his toes when he ran his finger over the stitches, “I’m also banning you from getting head injuries.”

“I can try.”

He grinned, “‘S all I ask.”

“Me too.”

***

Mia wasn’t sure how long he’d been doing his little…routine.

Every time he left a room she was in, whether it was to go to another room to pick something up and bring it back or to leave the house entirely, he’d started doing some odd things. First he’d watch her – this, she noticed him doing out of the corner of her eye – like he was giving her a once-over with a pair of X-Ray goggles, no matter how far away from her he was. Then, he’d pretend to look for something, a tissue, maybe, that just happened to be within a five foot radius of where she was sitting, and he used that ploy as an excuse to ‘walk by’ and plant a very quick kiss on the top of her head.

It might not seem odd to anyone else, but it was odd to Mia, mostly because Nate was never really the type to do stuff like that, much less when he was simply leaving the room. He might have done it if she was busy with something and he was off to the gym for an hour or two, but never for simple things. He just wasn’t that type of person.

At first she’d thought nothing of it. Maybe he just liked having her downstairs instead of shut up in the bedroom in the dark all day? That was certainly plausible.

But then each time he did it, the action seemed to become more noticeable. Like when you hear something irritating in the background – a bird or a screechy voice – and then when you try to block it out your ears seem completely intent on honing in on that one singular thing until it becomes so glaringly obvious and unignorable that you just can’t stand it anymore. The only difference was that Mia could tolerate it, she could definitely tolerate it, in fact she welcomed it. Not only was it a rare and casual display of affection, but it was rare that they’d both be off work for this length of time and be in the house together.

It was usually an impossible juggle of calendars and flights.

Then, because she’d noticed his little routine, she waited for it. There were a couple of times where he’d carried it out before he even announced he was leaving, a couple of times where he said where he was going first, and then – most interestingly – there were several occasions where he’d stepped out of the room, not said anything, frozen a step out of the doorway and come striding back in with intent and purpose before kissing her on the mouth or cheek depending on what she was doing. It was like he physically couldn’t stomach the thought of not completing his ritual.

It was remarkably similar to his behaviour on game days: he had a minute by minute schedule and order to do things so deeply ingrained in his mind that completing one thing slightly differently would throw everything off completely. He’d obsess over one thing and he wouldn’t be able to focus properly until he’d done it ‘right’, or he’d take it as a sign something bad was going to happen.

One time he’d almost burnt the chicken in the oven and managed to assume that because he’d eaten burnt chicken (Mia had argued that it was charred nicely – properly done) that his pregame coffee wouldn’t have the same effect and he’d accidentally let his bowels go on the ice, and he’d be worrying about it for the entire game.

There was also the habit he’d taken to performing on Mia’s matchdays, at least when he was there to do it. He’d wake up around the same time Mia did and he insisted on filling her water bottle ready to go and he insisted on seeing her out the door (a kiss accompanied with a rather humorous but altogether fond, “kill ‘em”). If she was being completely honest, Mia found more familiarity in his behaviour this time around with her pre-game thing.

“Alright, come on.” It was Nate’s voice as he threw his car keys up and down, the metal jangling as he somehow materialised right in front of Mia, holding a hand out for her to grab.

She paused, staring for a moment before following his arm to his face, raising a confused eyebrow.

Come on? Come on where? As far as she was aware they didn’t have any plans, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to have plans considering her brain detested any kind of light brighter than a golden, dim one you might find in a lamp – and that wasn’t even mentioning noise. Anything louder than Barney’s huffing was a no-go if she wanted to have a headache-free day, and that very much included talking.

Nate had never been so quiet around her before, and she couldn’t deny the fact that it was amusing to watch him go to talk before remembering he had to whisper. He’d open his mouth and make a noise, the first sound in a word, and immediately clamp his mouth shut and hunch his shoulders, almost wincing for Mia.

“Hospital.” Nate murmured softly, splaying his palm to encourage her to take it, and Mia’s mind went blank.

It must have showed on her face because Nate swallowed, the smile on his face diminishing, a rather helpless, “Remember? Your stitches are getting taken out today.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Mia blinked, the lie shockingly falling out of her mouth before she could catch it, “And today is…”

“Wednesday.” Whatever trace of a smile was left on his face that hadn’t already been wiped was completely gone, replaced by concerned brows and a flat line of a mouth.

“Yeah.” Mia didn’t say anything else, mostly out of fear of stressing him out even more, but partly because she wasn’t sure what else could be said.

She reached for his waiting hand, the warmth from his skin seeping into hers, and it was only as she’d stood up – perhaps a little too quickly because the blood rushed to her head – that she could recognise the look on his face was a little more familiar. He was still getting used to the usual worries of watching someone else heal.

“Confusion and brain fog is pretty normal, y’know?” He framed it like a question, but they both knew he was reassuring the little voice in both their heads that screamed something deeper was clearly wrong. Mia just nodded, accepting the baseball cap, eye mask and sunshades he’d just handed her, trying her best not to wobble when he ever-so-carefully tucked a loose lock of hair behind her ear.

There was something about his close proximity that she’d had to endure within the last few days that subtly changed something for her – maybe it was the vulnerability of this entire ordeal; she’d reached a new level of Nate having to look after her considering the fact that she was almost fully dependent on him. In her eyes a switch had been flicked somewhere, and their relationship had just rocketed upwards in intensity. Every little glance he’d snuck at her, even if it was just to check to see if she was okay, and every little thoughtful gesture he’d carried out, all combined with the closer proximity and steady, reassuring hand made her feel a little woozy in a completely different way.

It was why she hurriedly put the cap on so she wouldn’t have to look at him, because she knew what those damned pale blue eyes were doing, and also why she didn’t bother asking about the eye mask, although the use of that became abundantly clear when she climbed into the car.

He wanted to hide the sun for her.

***

“What about your memory? Has any of that changed for you yet, or do you still have those same holes we identified earlier?”

Mia winced, taking the hand offered to her and squeezed, determined not to look like she was in too much pain. The doctor that was removing her stitches was doing an alright job (she thought at least, she couldn’t say she was an expert), but there was something almost nauseating about the tugging she could feel on the side of her head, especially with how sore and tender her temple already was.

And the questions weren’t helping, not at all.

She inhaled through her nose, fighting to keep her voice even, “Some of it’s changed, I guess.” Nate squeezed back three times, “I can remember more of that morning and the lead up days, but I still have moments where I…it’s brain fog, I guess.”

“Oh, yes,” the doctor voiced, and the lack of shock and concern in their voice almost had Mia raising a celebratory fist, “that’s understandable and expected, just as long as it wasn’t anything too important or too obvious?”

“No, I just forgot what day it was.”

The doctor let out a low chuckle, “I think we’ve all been there. There’s nothing like showing up for work on your off-day because you’d been so busy you forgot to check the date. It’s both a blessing and a curse.”

“Tell me about it.” Mia muttered under her breath, almost deaf to the low laughs from both sides of her as she kept her eyes screwed shut. The blinds in the room were all open, and to top that off the doctor had one of those head torches on, the light glaring even through her closed eyelids. It kept bouncing around her vision as they moved their head, presumably to look at the tray to their right and then to look back at Mia’s head and so on, and she could feel the familiar niggle of something start to prick at the back of her head.

“Okay, stitches are out. Just one moment and I’ll shut the blinds for you.” She felt her own shoulders deflate of their own accord, the tension quite literally seeping out of her once she heard the wheel of the office chair followed by the pair of footsteps walking towards the windows.

It was only when the room appeared to be enveloped in darkness that she opened her eyes. Nate had the stitch-care pamphlet in his hand again, a pen in the pocket of his shirt, and even as the doctor was explaining the next steps for care he wasn’t opting to write much down. Mia half suspected he’d already done extensive research and memorised the care leaflets anyway, but he was always gonna be drinking in information from someone more qualified than what his laptop told him.

The grip he had on her hand had loosened, and the more she looked at him, Mia could see that it was his shoulders that seemed to be tense. It almost looked as though her uncomfortability had been passed directly to him because he was sitting pinstraight in the chair pulled up and he looked so dead serious Mia felt the urge to poke him in the ribs. Let him know he needed to chill a bit more.

It wasn’t anything the doctor was saying, in fact, it couldn’t have been anything the doctor was saying because that body language and that stern, rather timid look on his face didn’t let up, not even three hours later when Mia had curled up on the couch and Nate had taken residence wedged at the other end with a bowl of food – Mia’s to be precise. He’d given her too much and she couldn’t finish it without thinking it was all gonna come back up later, so he’d hoovered up the last of it.

He still looked on edge about something.

So she poked him with her foot, toes meeting a solid thigh.

He chewed, the muscles in his jaw working as his neck snapped to look at her. There was a slight crack in his demeanour then, that brief moment where he thought she was getting his attention for the worst kind of reason, but it had dissolved before she could dwell on it too much.

“Why are you being weird?” She asked, tilting her head and faking an overly suspicious glance that had him freezing right where he was.

His eyes darted across her face, seemingly searching for something to grab on to, but when he came up with nothing he finished his mouthful and shook his head, fiercely denying her accusation.

“I’m not being weird.” He mumbled, a crease between his brows.

Mia pulled a face, “You’re being so weird.”

“How am I being weird?”

Mia gaped, eyes darting to his bowl when his hand trembled and his fork clinked against the porcelain. That one little weakness was enough proof because he blinked at his hand before almost comically turning towards Mia, his cheeks a little red.

“That for one.” Mia pointed out, “And that thing you do when you leave the room, what’s that about? And you were being super weird at the doctor's appointment the other day.”

He huffed a laugh, still staring at her incredulously, “Aren’t you chatty today?”

“I feel so much better.”

“Can tell, you haven’t shut up.”

“I’ve got, like, two weeks of talking to get out of my system, don’t I?” She paused, taking a breath, “Even so, you haven’t answered my question.” Another foot poke.

He hesitated, before ultimately deciding to put his bowl on the coffee table in front of them. Mia watched every move carefully, a hint of foreboding settling in her bones as he reached over to mute the TV. She thought breaching the topic of Nate’s weirdness wouldn’t bring this level of wracked nerves, or this unreached height of seriousness – there wasn’t anything she was aware of that warranted him to do all of those things and then also turn to face her.

“Okay, so, you know how you couldn’t remember stuff after the head injuries, and then you said you could remember stuff at the hospital?”

Mia nodded, cemented in her spot, unable to say anything.

“How much do you remember of the night before?”

Mia had seen movies like this: whenever a character asked a question of that gravity with that grave, worried expression on their face, there was always a catastrophic confession coming next.

The difference between those kinds of movie scenes and this one was that Mia remembered the night before. And none of what she remembered would require this level of…solemnity. At all. Absolutely none of it.

She came home from work, they both talked about their days, a movie with dinner, then bedtime. Nothing spectacular.

“Everything.” She said, and this time it was her turn to frown, “Why?”

Nate inhaled, scratching his chin unsurely, before looking her straight in the eye, and with a completely flat voice spat out – with conviction – “I think we’re fighting.”

Mia waited for a moment, just the one, thinking maybe he’d say he was joking or he’d take it back, and when it became clear he wasn’t going to, she laughed.

He had to be joking.

And the fact that he let out a few breaths of laughter himself made her think that he was, but all of that came to a grinding halt when he shut up and instead patted her shin sympathetically, no trace of amusement on his face whatsoever.

“I’m being serious, sweetheart.”

Mia sighed, the aching in her head returning. The headaches from the concussion had started to subside lately, and the stitches on her temple were healing nicely, it was just the bump that still ached from time to time, from where she’d fallen on the ground. The lump was still there, it was a bit more stubborn than her shoulder and everything else.

“You think we’re fighting or you know?”

He shrugged, “You told me about LA and we–we fought.”

“About LA?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s not how I remember it.”

“How do you remember it?”

***

“What did you say?”

Nate froze, the blood in his body going cold at what Mia had just said, and so offhandedly, too. Like it wasn’t this big thing that could change things. Mia had her back to him, licking some honey sauce off a finger before putting on the oven gloves and placing the tray in the oven.

“I told them I’d think about it but I’m gonna say no.” Mia practically rolled her eyes.

In what world would she have said yes? Really. She couldn’t even begin to picture a new life in LA, and for that the answer she’d given them on the phone then and there was a sure ‘no’. She knew without even having to talk to anyone else or think too much about it to know what she was going to do. It had really been that easy.

And, rather naively, Mia had assumed Nate would also have known that.

Only, when she spun on her heel after shutting the oven door, Nate had a strange look on his face: he’d come from a full day of training in the gym so naturally he looked a little haggard anyway – pink cheeks, tired eyes – but that didn’t explain the deep furrow between his brows or the fractional tilt of his head or the unpursed mouth. No, that all equated to confusion, Mia had seen him wear that exact face before. And in this case, his confusion pertained to that of her own loyalty.

He breathed a short laugh, a ‘huh’, and Mia put one hand on her hip, raising a brow.

“Why?” His voice was tentative, but there was a hint of curiosity that Mia dreaded to wonder the cause of.

“Does it matter?” She heard her voice waver, pitch higher and her metaphorical hackles raise in defence.

She’d never felt that before with Nate.

He shrugged, moving to sit on an island stool, hands clasped together in front of him, forearms pressed against the marble. His hair looked blonder in the harsh lighting, almost blinding, and when he looked up to speak Mia had to avert her eyes, “Not necessarily,” there was a ‘but’ coming, Mia could sense it, “but what were the conditions?”

Mia shrugged, “Three years to start and a bit more money.”

“How much more?”

Mia felt her eyes widen, “Not a lot. Why are you so interested in this?”

“Because you’re my girlfriend and I love you and I want to know where your head’s at.” He blurted it all out after one miniscule moment of hesitation, it couldn’t have been more than half a second, and if it weren’t for the way his hands fell flat against the marble in a display of clear honesty, Mia might have thought he had an ulterior motive.

His contract only had one season left, too. It was a pretty damn odd time for two athletes in Colorado, especially when both of their futures were kind of up in the air. It went without saying that Nate wanted to stay and Mia wanted to stay, but there was also that incredibly slim chance that neither of them did, and they were both a little too afraid to even broach the subject of what would happen if someone got to stay and the other didn’t.

And whether she realised it or not, the ‘can I think about it?’ that had fallen from her mouth when she’d first gotten the LA call – even despite knowing the answer already – had been because of that. She needed a contingency, she needed to go to Colorado with proof that she was wanted elsewhere if she wanted to fight to stay.

And if it weren’t for his hands then, Mia would have stayed at her own side of the counter. Instead, she made her way around to him, pulled her own stool out next to his and twisted her body so she was facing him, her knees knocking gently against the side of his thigh.

“I want to stay in Colorado. I love it here, I have my family, I have my friends, teammates, a dog, you. I have an entire life and the last thing I’d want is to leave it all behind for more money in LA. We’re not exactly short of it in the first place, and it’s not my priority.” She said, as firmly and as gently as she could muster. There was a lull, Nate looking at her carefully, chewing the inside of his lip.

His eyes were darting across the planes of her face as though he was searching for hints of something he’d never find. It was only when she stuck her tongue out at him that he leant on his elbow, his head pointed in her direction.

“And your priority is…”

“Me, I guess. I want to be happy.”

He nodded, “And you’re happy here?”

Mia smiled, “I’m happy here. In Colorado. In this house. In this kitchen. On this chair. With you.”

It was almost as though the smile on his own face was there without ever really being known to him; the corners of his mouth were turned down but his face was smiling, as though the blush on his cheeks had frozen the rest of him.

“With me?”

“I’m surprised too.”

***

“Yeah, and then you didn’t talk to me for the rest of the night and you left without saying goodbye and the next time I see you you’re on a hospital bed.” He threw his arms up in a questioning manner, a deeply confused half-smile, half-scowl as Mia recoiled, having severe difficulty in trying to understand his perspective.

“I didn’t ignore you, okay? We were watching a movie and I was tired.”

Nate spluttered, briefly turning away before turning back to face Mia, who was now grinning like she knew something he didn’t, “What about in the morning?”

“Easy explanation.” Mia shrugged, “I told Iona about the LA offer and she called me at six in the morning to get me into the office to finalise contract terms with Colorado.”

Nate opened his mouth, about to say something before he stopped. He was about to ask why he wasn’t woken up, but at that exact moment his brain seemed to digest the latter half of what was said.

Finalise contract terms with Colorado.

And then he was talking without his brain really knowing what he was saying, “Wait, you finalised a contract with Colorado?”

Mia nodded, “Yeah. It’s pretty much the same deal as what LA offered.”

“How similar?”

Mia raised a mischievous brow, and Nate knew what was going to be said next was about to blow his mind. When she looked at him like that, something was gonna happen, and he felt his heart quicken for an entirely different reason than what he’d become used to lately – anticipation. The good kind.

“Five years and a little bit more per annum than what LA offered.”

He blinked. Heart beat six times before he found the breath in his lungs and the voice in his throat, “Five years?” His voice wavered completely against his will, it came out all breathy and mushy, and he wasn’t in control of his own bodily reactions to the load of relief that had cleared itself from his shoulders, not even when he felt his eyes begin to prick with emotion again.

Mia’s smile diminished at his reaction, it didn’t disappear, but the edges were a little softer, more understanding, perhaps. She’d been through a lot lately: hospital appointments, days in bed in pain, meetings with her people, recovery plans, and the one thing she’d been able to rely on this entire time was the big softie sitting right in front of her, getting uncharacteristically emotional at the prospect of her signing on for another five years.

And Mia knew how his mind worked. He’d probably been preparing himself for some part of his life to change, whether it be him moving out of state or Mia moving out of state – so much so that he probably hadn’t been able to let himself even think about both of them staying. There had been a countdown in his head for months.

“Yeah.” She answered, reaching out to grab his forearm. Somewhere in the midst of the clarification conversation he’d turned to sit straight, limbs locked against his torso and hands placed neatly in his lap. She pulled the nearest forearm over to her, using as much of her strength as she could possibly muster, listening to the aching of her shoulder and patting him to get the message across, and he turned his head to look at her again, a watery smile on his face as he lifted his shoulder up and tugged her into his side.

“I’m proud of you, y’know?” He pressed his forehead to the corner of hers, incredibly mindful of any soreness that he knew to still persist, and slumped against the cushions of the couch so he was more laid, legs sprawled out on the floor in front of him.

Mia rolled her eyes fondly, comfortably adjusting herself in his embrace. Even with a short sleeved t-shirt he was warm – kind of like a massive human teddy bear. Always a great hugger, something she’d actually missed the last couple of weeks, “I haven't signed the contract yet, I was a bit preoccupied after the match.”

She felt him pull away, and when she turned to look at him, his eyes had cleared, that familiar bright blue almost dazzling in the light, and he wore an expression of chagrin, “Hey, I know we talked about it earlier, but you’re really not allowed to get a head concussion again, ever. That shit’s way too scary.”

Mia just levelled him with a knowing expression and he read it easily, muttering a heartfelt, “Congratulations, honey. You’re stuck with me for another five years.”

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