right back to you

DEIMOS

The beast shook his head; the starlit goddess hadn’t been furious or ignited, irritated perhaps at Jigano, but most of them felt that in one way or another at any given time. It hadn’t been Amalia’s fault she hadn’t stopped Ronin. None of them had. It wasn’t her burden to carry, and temples could be fixed. Sanctuaries and shrines could be repaired. They couldn’t immediately replace the Shield (even if it had worked once before; luck slipping away).

Thereafter though, he snorted, a great sigh billowing forth, undulating along breaths and stunned regards. Why she was surprised at his notions, intended sojourns, or anything along such lines was a wonder in itself – hadn’t he done it before? He’d searched and followed Fae lines and tethers when she and Kiada had been abducted, when he’d craved naught more than violence for the sacrifices rendered. Hadn’t he helped to carve a damned tunnel from her bakery to the prison, in case they couldn’t get her out of shackles and chains? Hadn’t they promised one another, amongst books and dust? The Sword had never forgotten such a conviction. So he slipped it between them now, again and again, ricochets and echoes, whispers in the shade and dusk, in the hallowed moonlight puncturing through windows and doors. “Yes,” a pause, an answer for both goddess and fiend. “I will always try to save you.” Maybe the rest didn’t need to be said; perhaps it will spark a memory, of all those days lost into the woven nature of time, when they might’ve had a space to breathe.

He pressed her against his chest again, inhaled sharply, exhaled slowly, meandering and mulling, taking in what he could have now, what he could cherish in those granules of seconds and minutes. Fleeting; everything felt so fleeting. Yes, I can, proud and potent and strong, enough to carry her for eternity, to the ends of the earth if she wished, craved, yearned for it. But you can always shift.

i'm in the mood to dissolve in the sky

meet me where the falling stars live

i will wait for you

You don't need to save me would be an easy retort; I don't need saving equally so. But neither rises to her lips, and her mental voice remains free of argument. She is too spent to fight him anymore, too bolstered by the faith of him and her goddess. Sometimes she does need to be saved; sometimes he must be the one to save her. Next time is my turn, she promises, almost a laugh, something like humor under the earnest tone. One day it will be her saving him, giving back even a little of all that he has offered her.

The promise to carry her, stubborn and proud, earns another burst of amused warmth. Of course he can, and of course he will; she is the one who has to allow it, to accept that she cannot to it all on her own merit, her own strength. Okay, she says silently into their bond, exhaling the last of her resistance, her denial. But only because you insist.

Then, slipping into the form of the otter (if she must be a burden, at least she can be a lesser one) Amalia settles deep into her lover's embrace, steeling her fragile patchwork heart for the onslaught of facing the world.

day and night

DEIMOS

Oh, sometimes she didn’t need his help at all, and he was aware of it – how she’d saved herself amongst the Fae, how she’d cultivated a successful negotiation with the Merciless without their ridiculous influences bombarding through bakery basements, how time after time she’d survived on faith, tenacity, and prosperity. It didn’t mean he wouldn’t try in some capacity, that she wouldn’t have to snarl at him from time to time, afraid, uncertain, and apprehensive of everything spiraling, ricocheting, around them. Because he’d been immersed and embedded into those nuances in too many instances to count, in the pinnacles and shards of death (and because she had too). Hopefully there will not be one he smirked and snickered in return; but such was a damning notion, there’d be some day, some hour, where everything would be too close to call (like before, before, before, echoes of inadequacies).

Then she accepted, a massive step forward from the reaches and screeches of their prior refrains; his hands were open and wide, arms strong and tenacious, grasping hold all the more, tucking her back into his embrace. One palm went to the doorknob, twisting and turning, as they crossed over the infirmary threshold, embarked away from haunting decibels and shadows.

(FIN)

i'm in the mood to dissolve in the sky