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xp_logsFor those left behind, there are things still left to do. And one of those things involves the retelling of events which need to be shared, no matter how one might wish it weren't so.
The door was already open a crack and Alison opened it further, just enough to slip inside before closing it gently again, stealing the sound from the hinges and the click of the closing carefully. She'd been in to visit every day, though so far each time Anika had been out, her breathing either even and regular from deep sleep - or unsteady from whatever nightmares plagued her rest.
Still, Alison made a point of sitting beside the bedside - if nothing else, it meant Anika would know she'd been there, would have a scent that might bring... what, Alison wasn't sure. But she hoped it would help, in one way or another. Somehow.
So she drifted towards the bed again, pulling the chair a bit and settling down, before taking a good look at the woman curled up on it.
Anika's visible injuries were healing over, down to angry scars at this point. She was still ghost-pale, her delicate features drawn with pain. As Alison sat down, she shifted on the bed, a whimper escaping her. Reddened blue eyes opened and fixed on Alison, a certain bleary defiance there for a moment before recognition hit.
"Alison." Her voice was low, ragged, all her still-healing throat could manage.
"Hey," was the low murmur in reply, Alison pitching her voice just above a whisper, as though that might soothe Anika somehow, keep from hurting her further. "You don't have to talk if it hurts." The ragged sound hurt to hear, almost literally so, and Alison edged close to the bed by reflex, moving the chair carefully as she did so.
Anika made a noise that might have been assent, or something else entirely. "Doesn't matter..." Ravaged voice or no, the utter desolation in the reply was plain as day. "Everything hurts. Doesn't matter..."
There were things you could never make better. Time did, and sometimes people did - but still over time. Always over time. And the sorrow at seeing Anika like this blended easily with sharp grief, something Alison knew Anika would pick up on, regardless of how well she might try to hide it from her. Reaching out was instinctive, something Alison probably couldn't have stopped even if she'd wanted to. But there were no platitudes offered, no promises that it would get better.
The gentle pressure on her hand didn't hurt. Not that much, at least. "Smell like burnt roses," Anika whispered. "'S new..." At least she didn't smell like Mick's blood anymore. Not even a trace of it. She thought she would have started screaming if she'd had to smell Mick's blood again. Bad enough that she could smell Nathan's pain anytime anyone opened the door.
"I..." Trying to put things into words was difficult, but she had to at least try. "I know there's nothing to be said to make things better. I wish I could do that, somehow. I’m sad." A small, woefully inadequate list of things, to try and help identify the scent for Anika, somehow - her voice reflected that knowing, over the last words.
"Think the scents are all out of joint," Anika muttered. "Roses... shouldn't be roses." Flowers meant something good, or at least they always had. Even burnt flowers. Bittersweet?
"Why not?" Anika was talking to her, which was more than what she'd done with most people, from all reports she'd heard so far. Thinking now and not staring at the ceiling with that hopeless look, even though it still lurked in her eyes and in her every move, nonetheless.
Anika gave a tiny, cracked laugh. "Why not. Why not? Flowers for the dead. Fits." She curled more tightly in on herself, although she didn't let go of Alison's hand. "Lots and lots of flowers. No lilies, though. Hate lilies. Stink."
She was glad Anika was alive. She wished the others were as well, but taking one's blessing where one could, Alison was not afraid to admit it was so - and to hold on in return, literally so while still being careful to not hurt the feral. "No lilies," she agreed, peaceably. She couldn't have cared less about lilies, right at that moment. She stretched out the other hand - not grasping or holding with this one, just resting it near.
"Everything stinks." It would have been a wail if there'd been any real volume behind it. "Too bright, too loud, too sharp." She wasn't sure whether she was talking about everything around her, or everything inside her head. Or both.
She could make the sound go away - but it would come back anyway, the moment she had to leave. And would, she knew from experience, only make the return all the sharper and more painful for it. But they could perhaps move Anika to a room on the second or third floor, as soon as constant medical monitoring was no longer required. And while she would be surprised if it weren't already planned for, Alison determined that she would ask, anyway. The lights could be dimmed though. And it wouldn't be enough to make her worry, despite the overwhelming abundance of metal in the medlab still make her... uneasy now and then. She was reluctant to let go of Anika's hand, however. "I can dim the lights at least, if you want." It was so very little, seemed to be so pathetic in light of everything else.
Tears were running silently down Anika's cheeks. "Okay. Not all the way off. Don't like the dark. Don't know what I want... being so stupid." Her slender shoulders jerked in a suppressed sob. "Can't have what I really want..."
"Well," Alison murmured, as she turned the light down. "You've got your very own personal nightlight here for now." And she was, indeed, radiating a soft warm glow as she came back towards Anika, the lights dimmed enough for the radiance to show. She didn't even bother with the chair this time, sitting on the side of the bed, bringing up both legs to curl up a touch precariously on the edge, reaching out to catch Anika's hand in her own again. "I know. I'm sorry..." That she was still seeing brief flashed of that day, every now and then, held no importance to her in the face of Anika's grief.
The soft glow was weirdly soothing, and Alison was trying to keep her voice soft, too. Anika took a deep, shaky breath, holding tightly to Alison's hand. "I saw," she said wretchedly. "Tim, and then Mick... and I couldn't get to either of them. Tim just fell. And there were too many between me and Mick..." She should never have left his side. Never let herself slide even a little into that berserk rage, whatever kind of odds they'd been facing.
"They were still there when I got through," was the quiet reply, after a moment of silence. The light was warming with no variation to it, a simple steady and soft shine. "They even took Nathan down and I-" her voice hitched over that, but Alison continued, steadily - the first time she'd gone through the retelling of that moment without being blankly matter of fact.
Anika's hand tightened on hers again. "I know Nathan went down," she said forlornly, when Alison paused for a moment. "I can smell him. Hurting. Is he..." She trailed off, not sure she wanted to know. If he wasn't going to be all right, if she was going to lose him, too...
"He's going to be fine." Absolute certainty shone through - Nathan had too much to be fine for, not to be, really. "Physically and mentally. It won' t happen right away, but it will." She faded at that though, the light dimming briefly before resuming its steady glow. Anika had asked her question just as Alison had finished telling her about how everything had stopped, when Nathan had activated the Trojan Horse. What she was left with telling her she wasn't sure she could do. Even though she had to.
Anika was staring at their joined hands, not meeting Alison's eyes. "Part of me thinks that if you don't tell me," she rasped, "then it won't be real. I'll wake up and he'll be sitting right there, ready to kick my ass like he promised..." More helpless tears, and she closed her eyes, trying to hold back a sob.
There were tears of her own falling silently as well, Alison realized, the warm wetness on her own cheeks sinking into her awareness. Slowly, she shifted, curling up on her side on the bed next to the smaller woman, in the way children do when imparting secrets of great importance. "He was glad you were still alive. I didn't know for sure at the time, but I told him you were." She went on, speaking softly, the glow about her never fading as she told Anika of Mick's last moments.
The door was already open a crack and Alison opened it further, just enough to slip inside before closing it gently again, stealing the sound from the hinges and the click of the closing carefully. She'd been in to visit every day, though so far each time Anika had been out, her breathing either even and regular from deep sleep - or unsteady from whatever nightmares plagued her rest.
Still, Alison made a point of sitting beside the bedside - if nothing else, it meant Anika would know she'd been there, would have a scent that might bring... what, Alison wasn't sure. But she hoped it would help, in one way or another. Somehow.
So she drifted towards the bed again, pulling the chair a bit and settling down, before taking a good look at the woman curled up on it.
Anika's visible injuries were healing over, down to angry scars at this point. She was still ghost-pale, her delicate features drawn with pain. As Alison sat down, she shifted on the bed, a whimper escaping her. Reddened blue eyes opened and fixed on Alison, a certain bleary defiance there for a moment before recognition hit.
"Alison." Her voice was low, ragged, all her still-healing throat could manage.
"Hey," was the low murmur in reply, Alison pitching her voice just above a whisper, as though that might soothe Anika somehow, keep from hurting her further. "You don't have to talk if it hurts." The ragged sound hurt to hear, almost literally so, and Alison edged close to the bed by reflex, moving the chair carefully as she did so.
Anika made a noise that might have been assent, or something else entirely. "Doesn't matter..." Ravaged voice or no, the utter desolation in the reply was plain as day. "Everything hurts. Doesn't matter..."
There were things you could never make better. Time did, and sometimes people did - but still over time. Always over time. And the sorrow at seeing Anika like this blended easily with sharp grief, something Alison knew Anika would pick up on, regardless of how well she might try to hide it from her. Reaching out was instinctive, something Alison probably couldn't have stopped even if she'd wanted to. But there were no platitudes offered, no promises that it would get better.
The gentle pressure on her hand didn't hurt. Not that much, at least. "Smell like burnt roses," Anika whispered. "'S new..." At least she didn't smell like Mick's blood anymore. Not even a trace of it. She thought she would have started screaming if she'd had to smell Mick's blood again. Bad enough that she could smell Nathan's pain anytime anyone opened the door.
"I..." Trying to put things into words was difficult, but she had to at least try. "I know there's nothing to be said to make things better. I wish I could do that, somehow. I’m sad." A small, woefully inadequate list of things, to try and help identify the scent for Anika, somehow - her voice reflected that knowing, over the last words.
"Think the scents are all out of joint," Anika muttered. "Roses... shouldn't be roses." Flowers meant something good, or at least they always had. Even burnt flowers. Bittersweet?
"Why not?" Anika was talking to her, which was more than what she'd done with most people, from all reports she'd heard so far. Thinking now and not staring at the ceiling with that hopeless look, even though it still lurked in her eyes and in her every move, nonetheless.
Anika gave a tiny, cracked laugh. "Why not. Why not? Flowers for the dead. Fits." She curled more tightly in on herself, although she didn't let go of Alison's hand. "Lots and lots of flowers. No lilies, though. Hate lilies. Stink."
She was glad Anika was alive. She wished the others were as well, but taking one's blessing where one could, Alison was not afraid to admit it was so - and to hold on in return, literally so while still being careful to not hurt the feral. "No lilies," she agreed, peaceably. She couldn't have cared less about lilies, right at that moment. She stretched out the other hand - not grasping or holding with this one, just resting it near.
"Everything stinks." It would have been a wail if there'd been any real volume behind it. "Too bright, too loud, too sharp." She wasn't sure whether she was talking about everything around her, or everything inside her head. Or both.
She could make the sound go away - but it would come back anyway, the moment she had to leave. And would, she knew from experience, only make the return all the sharper and more painful for it. But they could perhaps move Anika to a room on the second or third floor, as soon as constant medical monitoring was no longer required. And while she would be surprised if it weren't already planned for, Alison determined that she would ask, anyway. The lights could be dimmed though. And it wouldn't be enough to make her worry, despite the overwhelming abundance of metal in the medlab still make her... uneasy now and then. She was reluctant to let go of Anika's hand, however. "I can dim the lights at least, if you want." It was so very little, seemed to be so pathetic in light of everything else.
Tears were running silently down Anika's cheeks. "Okay. Not all the way off. Don't like the dark. Don't know what I want... being so stupid." Her slender shoulders jerked in a suppressed sob. "Can't have what I really want..."
"Well," Alison murmured, as she turned the light down. "You've got your very own personal nightlight here for now." And she was, indeed, radiating a soft warm glow as she came back towards Anika, the lights dimmed enough for the radiance to show. She didn't even bother with the chair this time, sitting on the side of the bed, bringing up both legs to curl up a touch precariously on the edge, reaching out to catch Anika's hand in her own again. "I know. I'm sorry..." That she was still seeing brief flashed of that day, every now and then, held no importance to her in the face of Anika's grief.
The soft glow was weirdly soothing, and Alison was trying to keep her voice soft, too. Anika took a deep, shaky breath, holding tightly to Alison's hand. "I saw," she said wretchedly. "Tim, and then Mick... and I couldn't get to either of them. Tim just fell. And there were too many between me and Mick..." She should never have left his side. Never let herself slide even a little into that berserk rage, whatever kind of odds they'd been facing.
"They were still there when I got through," was the quiet reply, after a moment of silence. The light was warming with no variation to it, a simple steady and soft shine. "They even took Nathan down and I-" her voice hitched over that, but Alison continued, steadily - the first time she'd gone through the retelling of that moment without being blankly matter of fact.
Anika's hand tightened on hers again. "I know Nathan went down," she said forlornly, when Alison paused for a moment. "I can smell him. Hurting. Is he..." She trailed off, not sure she wanted to know. If he wasn't going to be all right, if she was going to lose him, too...
"He's going to be fine." Absolute certainty shone through - Nathan had too much to be fine for, not to be, really. "Physically and mentally. It won' t happen right away, but it will." She faded at that though, the light dimming briefly before resuming its steady glow. Anika had asked her question just as Alison had finished telling her about how everything had stopped, when Nathan had activated the Trojan Horse. What she was left with telling her she wasn't sure she could do. Even though she had to.
Anika was staring at their joined hands, not meeting Alison's eyes. "Part of me thinks that if you don't tell me," she rasped, "then it won't be real. I'll wake up and he'll be sitting right there, ready to kick my ass like he promised..." More helpless tears, and she closed her eyes, trying to hold back a sob.
There were tears of her own falling silently as well, Alison realized, the warm wetness on her own cheeks sinking into her awareness. Slowly, she shifted, curling up on her side on the bed next to the smaller woman, in the way children do when imparting secrets of great importance. "He was glad you were still alive. I didn't know for sure at the time, but I told him you were." She went on, speaking softly, the glow about her never fading as she told Anika of Mick's last moments.
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