Chapter Text
Farley POV
By the time the setting sun’s light begins to slant in, I’ve been sitting still for hours. Back straight, rifle perched on my legs, I keep watch at the lookout at the notch’s back entry.
Its door is small, well-hidden and not optimal for a fast and safe evacuation of the twenty-odd people currently residing in the notch. It’ll have to make do, of course, like all Scarlet Guard safe houses as well as our equipment.
To be honest, I don’t expect infiltration from here. The exit isn’t even watched 24/7; on top of Farrah muting any sounds we might produce, a watch patrolling the grounds is considered enough.
I am the one to consider that, obviously. I chose to be here. Alone. Huddled deep in the silence Farrah sinks over the woods because I had the faint hope that if no sounds surround me, then my mind will stay quiet as well.
It works, almost. I’m used to emptying my head when I wait and wait. Part of the job on an operative. It can be meditative or giving me space to concentrate, to look ahead and plan.
The latter is what leads me askew. I can’t think without seeing the dead family from yesterday. Can’t see them without reviving the sight of my dead family four years ago. And I can’t remember my family without –
I grab the rifle tighter and take several deep breaths. I thought I’ve seen enough dead bodies but they always get at you. As I can’t help the foreboding fear the slaughtered little baby caused me.
In a way, I was glad for Mare freaking out. She gave me all the reason to stay calm myself and act swift- and safely.
Mare cuddled into Cal as a result, we all saw it. I told him about the raid we’d witnessed, to look after Mare when she avoided Shade and Kilorn. Seems like the prince had more success.
It was all that I could do for her. Have an eye on the team. Encourage them to help each other. Care for their needs. Basically, still barking orders.
This morning was the same. Overseeing and preparing, walking the grounds with my not-quite-smirk, not-quite-frown expression on my face. The hunters must be setting out by now, searching game in the twilight forest to find us food for tomorrow. Housekeeping, hunting and training, that’s what fills this day both calm and on edge. No one is in haste for another operation but it’ll arrive soon enough. Our ragtag group cannot afford to be idle for long.
When I couldn’t take it anymore, when I had to stop playing pretend that I was alright, I took the chance to come here.
Today’s dinner must be cooking right now and I can almost smell it, taste it on my tongue. Suddenly, the hunger is upon me and waking absurd fantasies regarding our dinner. I chew on my lips. Kilorn jokes that you can only be hungry or sick but he has no idea how literally I feel these ways lately. I crave food. I can’t look at it. I …
There’s a change of air against the back of my neck. I rise and get in stance although I know there shouldn’t be an enemy behind me –
Someone whistles right beside my ear and covers my eyes. A cry escapes my throat and I ram my elbow behind me, my other hand reaching for the assailant but I grab into nothing because they’re gone, invisible even as I spin on my heels.
They – no, he – is already on my other side, and on another yet again. The corners of my mouth twitch. I put down the rifle and I move with him, yet I merely catch glimpses of his shadow and the grin on his face. I must be wearing the same on mine.
I know this game, our personal sparring that is both a dance and a duel. I try to anticipate and fight him, he jumps away. If he wants to attack me, he risks my superior fighting skills while I can only guess where he will be by grasping the patterns of his movements. I shift and duck, enjoying the exertion as much as the taunting touches he leaves on me.
He prides himself on always catching me in the end.
And I long to be found.
Finally, my instincts scream at me to step forward to my left. He has to be there and as fast as lighting, my arm extends to grab him at the chest.
Instead, my hand is pushed back and I startle as Shade jumps forward another yard at the last moment. I bite back another squeal, to protect my pride but also because he stops my stumbling by gathering me in an embrace, hugging me close.
The bastard.
We pant at the contact, the end of our battle. Inches from each other, we breathe the same air.
“Cheat,” I sneer after a few seconds. He chuckles. I pull at his shirt and choke his laughter with a kiss.
He leans into it greedily. His hands reach up, over the curve of my spine to my shoulder blades. For a second, his fingertips tickle the back of my neck.
I moan and let my mouth travel along his jawline. “Make me forget,” I murmur between kisses.
When his hold tightens, I believe he’s going to give in, touching me until I know nothing but the present and the intimacy between us.
Instead he grows tense. He pulls away, not breaking our embrace but drawing back so much we can stare at each other.
I tense as well, if only not to reveal my turmoil. We’d be perfectly serious, if not for our hugging; grave comrades, if not for his thumb brushing my cheek.
“I should’ve come with you,” he says.
I shake my head ever-so-slightly – it offers me the chance to break eye contact. “You were limping again. Your ankle – “
“A limp doesn’t matter to me.”
His gaze catches mine again. I know he means his teleporting, as I know being able to teleport isn’t the same as being in perfect health. I also know that Shade is right, we need him now that Harrick has made clear, even without saying it out loud, that he won’t join our operations again.
I am aware of all that but what I focus on is how similar we are, Shade and I. Both we are raised by the responsibility the cause gives us, both we feel its weight.
He is my partner, my equal, in all regards.
I’m intensely aware of my palms on his waist, the warmth and shape of his body. Of his breathing.
I clear my throat, evading his eyes. “I’m okay,” I say, shaking my head to get a tress of hair out of my face. “You should look after Mare” – he winces – “or Harrick, or Ada.”
The mention of his sister has scored a hit, obviously, he’s tried and failed to talk to her. But he recovers quickly and I realize he’s done all of that already. Shade Barrow knows to how to care for his comrades, in many regards.
Because he is a better friend than I am.
“I’ve come to you,” he says, and there it is again, his yearning, his desire. For me. I feel his touch on my shoulders but more than that, it speaks of the depth of what he feels for me – and I for him.
Shade means more to me than anyone else in the last years.
I haven’t let anyone else get this close to me. I did what I had to, became who I had to be. For survival, to go on, to make a few victories, how little they were.
It’s not enough any longer.
I’m not enough.
I recognize it. I'll have to pry my heart open. I have change, once more, for him, for –
I swallow, as if to keep in all I need to tell him, what I haven’t told anybody. I don’t even know where to start.
I look up. “Shade,” I begin carefully. Sadness and hesitation swing in my voice.
Suddenly, he startles. He lifts his hands to cup my face, making it impossible for me to turn my eyes away. “Don’t try this, Diana,” he grumbles. “We’re not just friends and you fucking know it."
I realize he misunderstood and it’s my fault. Too often, I’ve played it cool and aloof. The need to reply increases. His stare would be enough to claim my full attention, even without his hands framing my face.
Almost. Heat rushes to my head in further embarrassment. I want to give in and reassure and kiss him and get on, but as his words reverberate through my mind, my thoughts speed back to the suspicions plaguing me, to the question I both want answered and to run from.
As I open my mouth to agree, no reply but only laughter escapes. Not just friends.
If only, Shade, if only.
Do you have any idea how much more we are – could be?
Even as he frowns at me, I merely laugh harder, so hard it shakes me and I can only squint at him. I grab him tighter, bringing us chest to chest, leaning my head into his hands.
He falls in eventually, seemingly without noticing the obscure meaning behind my laughter, only the ridiculousness of his claim.
We’re not just friends and so I kiss him, hungrily, my desire for him quickly replacing my former wish for food.
That wish comes and goes so fast these days.
When we have to catch breath and our laughter dies down, I brush over his neck, my thumb caressing his cheek with its faint stubble. I lift an eyebrow. “Not good taste to dismiss the importance of friendship, Barrow,” I tease him.
He snorts. Well, who am I to talk? He has more and closer friends than me. “I’d never,” Shade insists, playfully, and our faces soften in tandem. “We are friends, after all,” he concedes, but puts a finger on my lips before I can retort.
“We became friends and now we’re something else on top,” he says, like he wants to go on. But he hesitates, looking puzzled.
I wait for him, holding my breath. I am – not expecting him to share my suspicions, no. Just dying to hear how he defines us.
He swallows. “We’ve been comrades, friends, and now … we’re in love.”
I haven’t guessed how much this admission, this little word, would shake me with its truth. My heart races and so does his, as I can feel with one hand on his chest and another on his neck.
“Yes,” I breathe, almost inaudibly, before I kiss him in confirmation.
The world sways. Darkness falls; whether I open or close my eyes, I can only make out moving flashes of colour. I stop trying quickly. I hold on to Shade instead because I begin to understand what’s going on here, he’s teleporting us somewhere. I’d curse at him if I didn’t fear losing my breath or throwing up if I did.
It goes on and on and even with my weakness when it comes to jumping, I grasp we’re covering a longer distance. I just want it to stop and return to feeling nothing and nobody but Shade – until it suddenly does end.
It’s like dropping out of the sky and while I’m afraid of the fall for the fraction of a second, there comes no pain – as the moment I sense my surroundings again, I lie on a huge, soft bed with Shade propping himself up above me.
I blink wildly, gasping. Shade grins, even as my fingers bore into his arms as if I still fear losing contact to earth.
He bends forward to kiss my brow. “You didn’t think I’d keep making you sick, did you?” he murmurs, helping me up as he sits up on his haunches.
“What?” I say tonelessly before I realize: No nausea rising up my throat after teleporting for once. My hand lifts to me stomach nonetheless, out of reflex, as my head spins to take stock of my new surroundings. A huge room, both lavish and neglected, used – or rather out of use – and very dusty.
I look at Shade. “You’ve trained?”
He nods and I have to bite my lips. I wish he was really right about not giving me nausea anymore. In all regards.
Shade doesn’t let go of my hand even once we’ve risen from the bed. He holds it up, leading me like I was a Silver lady and he my dancing partner. I’d chuckle if the gesture wasn’t so entrancingly charming, to both him and me.
He brings me to the other end of the room and bids me sit at a small table covered with a white cloth – besides the bed sheets, the only furniture that appears truly clean in here.
His palms press on my shoulders in reassurance because I can’t stop glimpsing around, in every corner. It gets at me how uncanny the place is. I expect Maven’s sentinels to appear, or an old Silver hiding in the abandoned house.
The image of a lone Silver reminds me of the time I encountered one before, in the night that resulted in the scar on my face, and Shade and I –
Inadvertently, I seek Shade’s eyes at the memory and as if he can read my thoughts, he blushes along with me.
“You don’t have to worry, Dee, I’ve scouted the manor for a while,” he says. He’s rounding the table, flattening the cloth to fight his irresistible nervousness. Slowly, a smile spreads over his face and the next time he reaches me, he whispers in my ear, “for now, this is our palace.”
Shade pulls candles out of his backpack and I follow him with my eyes as he lights and places them around us. “Unfortunately, there’s no electricity,” he says. “No running water either.”
As yet, the sunset lasts, casting a bright orange light from the windows. The sun and the flames array Shade in a warm halo belying his name.
Hadn’t he told me to stay seated, I’d be too transfixed to move either way. He’s so beautiful. I long to stay in this dream he turned this evening into. Forget the bloodshed of the morning and hide with him from the world and the future.
But that is only a dream.
I laugh in rejoice when he presents the food he took from the notch. Damn, I might’ve ignored it for a while, but I’m still hungry. The air is filled with the smells of spices and cooked venison, decorated with mushrooms and vegetables, all served on the same wrappers they were brought in here.
“I got the table here, but it would’ve taken too long to search for and clean the silver plates,” Shades apologizes as he sits down opposite me.
I shake my head and squeeze his hand. “No matter. It’s better this way.”
“The food has gotten cold enough already?” he teases.
I shrug, smiling back at him. I can’t wait to eat, to enjoy, devour, this dinner and not giving my unpredictable stomach a chance to change its mind on the food.
I eat careful and slowly for the same reason, taking my fill but not more. Food alone can’t sate me either way. During the meal, our fingers find each other over the table to play and tangle, and our gazes do the same.
The candlelight becomes him. It reveals new colours in his sable hair, hues of dark brass and bronze, and brings out the warm tones of his brown skin as well as the elegant lines of his face.
Does my face disclose my yearning as much as his?
In my ears, the ring of our laughter, the sound of his voice, shift into a kind of music that is both enticing and existing only for us.
When our makeshift plates are empty, I rise from my chair and go to Shade’s. He twists in his seat and I sit down on his lap. I kiss him, tasting him as much as the residues of the delicious meal. His hands go to my hips, my fingers dig into his back. For a while. It’s not easy, but I pull away and get up, smirking.
He grins back. “Time to clean up.” He understands the game well enough, the procrastination of lust. We remove the traces of our dinner, even carry away the table.
Whenever our eyes meet, it pierces like a knife.
Whenever we touch, by accident, it is electrifying.
The draw between us grows stronger by the second. When we’re done cleaning up, there’s only us, the candles, and the bed. I stand before him, letting the last of our things drop into his bag without looking. I have only eyes for him.
“Well,” I begin, having no mind for further words.
He doesn’t need any. He smiles with his hands on my waist, and in the next moment he pins me against the wall, kissing me.
I feel his fingers on the naked skin of my waist; so fast has he found his way under my shirt. When we gasp for breath, I use the second of pause to spin us around, pinning Shade against the wall around the corner.
His laughter tingles between our tongues. I moan as his fingertips press deeper into the muscled flesh on my back; I love it when he touches me there.
In a frenzy, always keeping in touch with some body part or other, we step away from the corner, shedding out shirts and loosening our belts as we inch for the bed. It’s like both a dance and a duel – like the sparring fight we had before – and neither, just us, Shade and me.
When the backs of my legs tackle the high bed, I fall behind, holding on only by my hands on Shade’s waistband. He doesn’t let me down. He takes my wrists and pulls me forward, then heaves me up by my hips.
I yelp. Only them do we fall on the foot of the bed. I want him closer, caressing his spine and butt and kissing his neck but first he props himself up by his elbows, then he presses his palm on my stomach, between my ribs.
My eyes widen, locking with his.
Does he guess?
His gaze is intense and questioning like mine. I breathe against the weight of his hand and he feels it, I can see. My cheeks heat as the colour deepens in his. It’s strangely intimate, enthralling. The moment lasts long and even though the unsettling question returns to my mind, I cherish every second of t.
“You’re both soft and strong,” he marvels softly. Finally, he removes his hand and lets it glide over my sides to slowly shove off my rousers.
I smile as I sit up to unclasp my bra. “Thanks for the compliment,” I reply before I let my fingers wander over his chest in return. “I’m sure,” I say with certain awe, “that many people told you how beautiful you are, too.”
From the corners of my eyes, I glimpse his face as I kiss him. His smile is shy and precious. “They weren’t you,” he whispers, very quietly.
He goes down on me, not even alluding to penetration or mentioning condoms – as if that’s not safe enough. I want to cackle. I should say, “no need for concern, it’s already too late.”
I’ve seen it, how his expression wavered when he leaned atop me, just before he made that compliment. Instead I surrender to the pleasure he gives me. I follow suit, using only my hands and mouth to make him come.
It’s easier this way, on this evening we grant ourselves to forget our fears, be they small or large, private or shared by our allies.
“I’d like to sleep here,” I admit eventually, knowing we should return to our duties at the notch. But I’m tired and this night so perfect. Shade has to feel the same as his longing expression is enough of an answer.
I put my shirt back on for warmth as he extinguishes the candles, every one but the last which goes out right when we lie down in a hug, he behind me and pressing a kiss on the back of my neck as we snuggle in the blankets.
I ignore how sensitive my breasts are to his touch, switching from treat to discomfort and back again from one second to another. Just as I ignore how I change from energized to exhausted, hungry to nauseous, generally.
The biggest cowards are those who lie to themselves.
He wakes me with a pat on my shoulder and a kiss on my chin. Or did I dream that? A yawn escapes my throat and I blink furiously against the candle on the nightstand he’s lit again. Shade’s gaze is warmer than it.
I moan against the lingering sleepiness and sit up. Then it’s no longer just sleepiness – my sight wavers and my sense of balance shatters as the nausea rises.
I jump up despite it and rush to the adjacent bathroom. There might be no running water but a drain is a drain. I bend over and retch.
Shade follows. He gathers my hair out of my face and draws circles over my back. It’s soothing, even when the heaving stops. His palm stays on the small of my back as I get up carefully.
He hands me a bottle of water and I drink gratefully, rinsing my mouth and flushing the sink with it.
My heart still beats too fast. Delicately, I hold on to his arms.
The corners of his mouth twitch. He lifts his head to kiss my brow, waits, and kisses me on the mouth. Blood rushes to my head. I can’t taste nice and l feel a lick of shame over throwing up – part of – our dinner.
He doesn’t care about that. He cares about me.
I hug him tight. “I love you.”
The words spill out by themselves. I’m shocked by them as I know they’re true.
Shade is similarly aghast. And yet, mixed with his startlement is this innate determination of his. I’ve seen this face on him often – and often, I am a cause of it. Sometimes, he seems surprised by it himself, by how far he’s come and how far he could go. It bespeaks both his innocence and commitment and it’s drawn me to him from the moment we met.
He cups my head in his hands. “I love you too, Diana,” he says.
His tenderness is piercing. I bury my face in his chest so he can’t see my quivering lip. Why do I even want to hide it though – because I’m used to bottle up my emotions?
That bottle began to fracture the moment we met, too. In truth, I want more. Crave more. More than quick fucks in the shadows of days and nights filled with planning, fighting, running.
I want a life.
I look up to his eyes and wish to find his earnest, loving gaze on me every time I fall asleep or wake up, without fearing it’ll be the last time. I imagine the last evening wasn’t a dream or an escape but our real future where we can cook together in a safe place we’ve made our own, along with our family.
I close my eyes, resisting the temptation to kiss him into oblivion. The time for forgetting and evasion is over. If I want to bring about a different world, I can’t run away from myself.
Shade’s lips brush my temple as I move. I shake my head ever so slightly and lead him back to the bed where we sit down. I don’t look at him. I clench and unclench my fists, breathing heavily.
“I’ve missed my period,” I say. Silence. No answer but a choked breath.
“It should’ve come around the time of the Sun Shooting,” I continue. “I didn’t even notice until weeks later. And then …” I grimace. “Well, if I was too stressed out to notice, maybe I was too stressed out for my period as well.” I suppress a cackle, blindly searching for Shade’s hand. I can feel his fast pulse.
Quietly, I go on. “But there’s still … nothing, after two months.” I clear my throat and finally turn to Shade. “You know what that could mean?”
I frown at him yet my hand squeezes his. Waves of emotions flicker over his face but he tries so hard to stay calm. Just like me. He swallows. “You … might be pregnant.”
“Might,” I insist. He nods reluctantly.
I fall back on the bed, balling my fists against my eyes. Shade lies down beside me. His touch, his presence, always so tender and soothing when we are together. So soft as if daunted and yet exactly what I need.
I know a different side of him as well though: when we stand side by side, watching our backs before the enemy.
His voice is a similar kind of caress. “Is that what you want?” It’s a whisper filled with understanding and the wish to understand more yet. I yearn him to. I’ve let him in and don’t want him to let go.
“I couldn’t have a child at the notch,” I say in a decidedly neutral voice. “Nor care for one. We don’t have …” I sigh. “My mother almost died of a fever after my sister was born. It was mere luck we could get medicine in time.” I glance at Shade.
“The notch was never an option to stay at forever,” he says slowly. But his voice lifts at the end of the sentence. Slightly, yet the hint of a question nonetheless. His thumb brushes over the back of my hand.
I know. I know what I didn’t say, what I haven’t denied. No “I don’t want a child”, and he realized that.
I didn’t want to get pregnant. I don’t want to be afraid for a baby.
I’ve ignored the signs, brushed off my suspicions because I wanted them to be false.
But that are also the only “nos” in my mind.
I’m not sure.
Maybe not.
I can’t be certain.
I’ve wished not to be pregnant in the first place because that would be the easiest way. Yet if I accept it – just for a second, just a little bit – to be true … I feel a small surge of protectiveness. My palm glides from my ribs over my abdomen to my though. I look at the candle flame burning low.
If I bled right now, be it my belated period or an early miscarriage, I’d feel both relief and loss.
Shade inches closer to me. His gaze earths me. “What happened to your mother and sister?” he asks, tucking a curl behind my ear. He already knows about my father who’s cold and uncaring toward me and everyone else. There is still so much to tell him.
I swallow. “They died,” I reply tonelessly. I close my eyes and the light of the candle flame still burns on my eyelids.
When I open my eyes, the candle has gone out.
“Shade. I don’t want to lose anyone else.”
“I know,” he murmurs. He holds me tighter. “And I’m with you, Diana.”