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The “two or three days” drive Sigrun had asked hopefully of Tuuri had turned into a week; the days blended together for Lalli, filled with scouting under green-gray skies, returning to report, and sleeping beneath Tuuri’s bunk when he could. The only thing that broke through the blur of slowly changing scenery and melting snow, was Emil.
At every mealtime, Lalli would take his bowl of almost-tasteless hot goop that Mikkel had concocted, and slink off a few hundred feet from the tank, away from the rest of the crew. He'd perch upon the sturdiest thing he'd find-- a rock, a stump, a log-- and take scant mouthfuls of the goop.
One day, he noticed Emil was also sitting away from the rest of the crew, about halfway between them and himself. Lalli wondered if perhaps Sigrun had chewed him out over something, and Emil was perhaps sulking, thus he'd chosen to sit separate from everyone else. Made sense. Either that, or he was just being weird. That also made sense.
Lalli had shrugged it off, and had gone back to taking meager bites of lumpy goop.
But the next mealtime came around, and Lalli noticed, from his distant perch, that Emil was eating away from the crew again. This time with his back against a tree, in close proximity to the fallen log Lalli had perched upon. Without needing to turn around, he could almost feel Emil glancing at him every now and then as they ate.
Lalli wasn't stupid. He knew now what Emil was doing... and something about it made a tiny sun-spot grow within Lalli’s chest.
Lalli had secretly felt terrible about throwing the hot bowl soup in Emil's face a few days before. He recalled seeing the shock on Emil's face that was mixed with what looked like hurt, before Lalli stormed off to hide behind a more distant tree.
When Tuuri had calmed him down and brought him back into the tank, he'd walked past the Swede who was leaned against the wall, and noticed he'd cleaned himself thoroughly of the thrown soup. His hair even seemed to sparkle, but perhaps that was just his imagination...
Allowing himself one vulnerable moment, Lalli had stopped and looked up into Emil's face, with an expression of silent, anxious apology-- but Emil's expression remained cool and stony, gazing straight ahead, almost looking right through him. Lalli had then grabbed his hood, yanking it up over his head and face as he slunk past Emil, to hide the fact that his eyes had screwed up, and his chin was tight and coming close to quivering; that was it, he'd thought, he'd lost the only friend he'd ever had-- Emil hated him now.
But now Emil was deliberately separating himself from the rest of the crew once a day, just to sit near Lalli while they ate. Emil finally sat with him one day, back to back on a large boulder. The two sat facing away from each other, saying nothing to each other, slurping Mikkel's lumpy soup. Emil was so close that Lalli could faintly feel his body heat against his back. Lalli silently enjoyed that warmth.
Warmth. That was Emil. Everything about the Swede was warm, friendly, and sunny. Even his incessant chattering in a tongue Lalli couldn’t understand-- warm, somehow. Lalli had never really met anyone like him before. And the blond boy's warmth continued to spread to Lalli himself, creating that comforting, alien sun-spot that burgeoned inside his chest whenever he paid him attention, or spoke to him. He was relieved to have his... “sort-of” friend back.
If he was ever gone in the first place, Lalli wondered.
Because now Lalli knew from the repeated gesture of eating with each other, that Emil did not hate him. The warm spot stayed hung in his chest like a star, glowing soft heat with every meal, though he couldn't bring himself to attempt to communicate an apology again. He'd felt so ashamed when Emil didn't meet his gaze in the tank, he didn't have the courage, or mental energy to try again. He wasn’t used to any of this. Apologies. Friendships. Feelings. Caring.
So he settled for eating back to back with Emil, in silence. It seemed Emil settled for it, too.
Day by day, as they made their way to Odense, the cargo hold in the back of the tank filled with more books, creating tall stacks. Sigrun was proud, Tuuri excited, Mikkel silently pleased.
Lalli was tired from leading the tank, scouting, and scanning for threats of trolls and beasts; Emil was just there, near him more often now, babbling to him in Swedish while knowing he couldn't understand him, a touch on the shoulder here and there.
And Lalli was grateful for that babbling, although he could only “Mrrh” or cock his head in response.
It was an overcast day, and the melting snow made muddy, slushy puddles wherever they stepped.
The building was long, four stories tall, and had rows and rows of windows. A few of the windows were broken, and the roof had caved in in one spot. Above the double doors, Emil read the word “Hotel.” It wasn't as big as some of the other hotels they'd seen in bigger cities, but the number of windows and floors gave Emil some anxiety. There'd be plenty of places for something to hide in there if it had become infested, though with the state the hotel was in, he had hopes that it wouldn’t be a good place for trolls to nest. Perhaps the biggest danger would be rotted floorboards that could give way...
It wasn't even circled on the map as a hot-spot for books, but Sigrun saw it, and told Tuuri to pull over. They'd had so much luck with random houses and stores they'd crossed on their way to Odense, that Sigrun was becoming more and more willing to check any place that wasn't completely dilapidated.
Emil glanced at Lalli, who stood at his right, scrutinizing the hotel.
“Alright, guys! All ready to go? What does our little scout think of this one?” Sigrun spoke more to Emil than to Lalli. “Any baddies detected, or are we all clear?”
Emil nudged Lalli, who turned his gaze to the cleanser. He noted that Lalli looked hesitant, and... were his eyes glowing?! No, Emil shook his head. Must be the sunlight hitting the scout’s silver eyes a certain way. But that look of hesitance...
“Lalli? Okay?”
“Mmmmrrr...”
Emil groaned.
“Sigrun, I think Lalli doesn’t like this place. I think maybe we should--”
“Oh, surely nothing we haven’t dealt with before! A few trolls, maybe a couple beasties. Can’t be anything too big, this place is crumbling from the look of the roof! Like I told you before, crap building! May have a couple of lone stragglers, but there wouldn’t be any nests in a place like this. We can handle the few that might come crawling out.” She patted her dagger.
Mikkel cleared his throat.
“Sigrun, with all due respect--”
“And respect is certainly due, mutineer!” She crowed happily. Mikkel closed his eyes, serenely abiding the interruption.
“Ahem. As I was about to say, if Lalli is signaling that this place may be unsafe, it would be wise to pay attention to him. We’ve been very lucky in finding the amount of books we’ve collected these past few weeks, and I have noticed you’ve become less cautious about the buildings you have chosen to search--”
“Mikkel. Look at the size of this place-- all these rooms, and probably a nice, big lobby. Wouldn’t you think there’d be some books left behind in a place like this? It’d be stupid to pass it by! And look at the state of the place! Roof caved in, broken windows. It’s falling apart, and I’d bet you my seat in Valhalla that there isn’t anything in there me and my right-hand warrior can’t handle quickly. Whatever is in there the little twig is worried about, is small and manageable.”
Mikkel sighed, and placidly looked at Lalli and Emil.
“You’re the captain.”
“And don’t you forget it.” She gave him a too-hard pat on his broad shoulder.
“I will be waiting with my medic’s bag.”
“Pessimist.”
“Mmh, I prefer realist.”
Sigrun turned and sidled up to Emil. “Boys! Are we ready to go?”
Emil gave a lopsided, hesitant smile that earned him a friendly punch on the shoulder from Sigrun. Lalli continued staring at the hotel, an unreadable expression on his face. Approaching the front doors, Emil wondered if explosives would be needed to blow them open. But Sigrun turned the knob, and found that the doors were unlocked, and Emil swallowed his disappointment.
They entered the first floor lobby. It was obviously a nice place pre-rash; the lobby was large, with marble floors, and high ceilings with ornate crown molding-- now marred with black mold and water damage. The dark green wall paper looked damp, and was peeling from the walls. The reception desk on the far side of the room was made of dark wood, and had a marble counter top. Papers and an old-world computer sat on the counter top, all also showing signs of water damage. A grand staircase with an ornate banister was to the left of the desk, leading to the upper floors.
Emil looked up, and saw that the cave in of the roof they’d spied outside was directly above the center of the lobby. Looking up, he could see straight through several floors above them, and up into the overcast sky. Years of rain and snow had rotted through the roof, through all three floors overhead, and down to the lobby where they stood, the elements staining and decomposing the once stately room, and everything in it.
As Sigrun strode to the desk, Emil noticed that there was a fountain about 10 feet to their right. It was made of white marble, like the floor, and had three tiers; in all, it was taller than Emil. The bottom reservoir that was fixed to the floor was large and deep, almost big enough to wade in, and the three tiers that ascended the column from the center of the reservoir were smaller and smaller in size as they reached the top. The bottom reservoir was filled to the brim with dark, dirty water. No doubt from all the rain and debris that had poured in from the roof over the years.
Arranged in a circle around the fountain, were plushly upholstered armchairs and couches. And on the wall directly behind the fountain was a fireplace, and a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf-- absolutely filled with books!
“Sigrun!” Emil ran to the bookshelf, pushing a chair out of the way. “Look at all of these!”
Sigrun abandoned the desk and followed Emil, skirting around the fountain to the bookshelf.
“Hmmm, remember that book you broke in Copenhagen? I’ll bet it’s the same deal with all of these. This entire room is crawling with mold and wetness.”
“I told you, I didn’t break it! It was already broken!” He pulled a hardcover book from the shelf, and opened it.
Sigrun laughed heartily when the decomposed pages disintegrated upon contact with air, and burst into a grimy, dusty cloud in the Swede’s face.
Sigrun slapped Emil’s back as he grumbled, and wiped the dust from his face with the sleeve of his jacket. He spit grainy pieces of paper from his mouth into the murky water of the fountain.
“Told ya so, pretty guy!”
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” He spit more dust into the fountain, and wiped his eyes.
He was shaking the dust out of his hair, and then carefully rearranging it to his liking, when there was a noise upstairs-- a thump, and a dragging sound. His immediate reaction (aside from his guts seizing and twisting) was to look for Lalli. The scout was by the grand staircase, gazing up the steps. Emil went to his side.
Before he could speak, Sigrun put a hand on Emil’s shoulder and moved him aside.
“I’ll go up and see what kind of grossling we’re dealing with, and take care of it. I doubt there’s more than one or two. And when I’m done kicking troll butt, I’ll search some of the rooms for Swede-proof books.”
She began up the stairs as Emil glared after her. “And you two can stay down here in case things go south. Maybe check the little office behind the desk, see what you can find. I’ll yell if I need any help.”
After she turned the corner on the first landing, Emil turned to Lalli.
“Well, let’s check the office out. The door’s been shut all these years, so things might be dry in there.”
This earned Emil a confused look and a tilt of the head, but Lalli followed him around the desk.
It was unlocked, and Emil opened it cautiously, waiting for something terrible to jump out and ravage them both. He relaxed his tensed muscles once he saw that all the office contained was a work desk covered in papers, and a telephone. There was a set of shelves on the far wall that contained folders of paperwork.
“No books,” he said to Lalli, and turned to face him. The scout was looking out from the office into the lobby, narrowing his silver eyes.
“Lalli?”
“Mmrr...”
A noise. A thudding, banging noise coming from the lobby. Emil’s heart skipped a beat and then began pounding, and he went rigid. His hand first went to his rifle on his back-- but, no. No gunshots unless necessary. He moved his hand to his dagger at his hip, and hesitantly left the office. Lalli followed.
While Emil hesitated behind the safety of the reception desk, Lalli continued to the center of the lobby. He seemed drawn toward the seating area around the fountain and fireplace. Emil watched with apprehension as Lalli crept closer and closer, past the fountain, stopping in front of the fireplace.
There was more thudding, muffled, coming from somewhere within the wall above the fireplace. A small rain of soot and debris came down the flue, and sprinkled into the fire pit. Lalli’s hand went to his hip, and pulled his dagger from its sheath. Emil had nervous hopes of it being nesting birds disturbing the build up of soot far up in the chimney, but he’d learned that Lalli was like a bloodhound when it came to sensing trolls and other sorts of danger.
He unsheathed his dagger, too. Looking up through the caved-in ceiling, he thought of calling for Sigrun; just as he opened his mouth, he heard scuffling and banging far above his head. Through the three-story tunnel, he heard Sigrun’s voice call down “Got one, boys! Almost got the drop on me in the hallway, but he’s not a threat anymore! There’s another one that ran off, but I’ll have him in a minute-- just a little guy, no problem!”
Just as her running footsteps could be heard above, fading as she pursued the troll further down the third-story hallway, Emil watched in alarm as a large amount of soot and ash burst in a black cloud from the fireplace. Lalli coughed and covered his face, but stood fast.
Then came the tentacle. Emil’s eyes bulged. The tentacle was as thick and as long as Lalli’s entire body, curling out from inside the fireplace. It was followed by another tentacle, just as thick and as long. Emil swore he saw what looked like talons or spikes at the tips of those monstrous appendages.
“LALLI!”
The scout finished wiping the soot from his eyes, and saw the source of Emil’s terror-- his face fell into an uncharacteristic expression of gaping shock at the spiked tentacles, then quickly changed to a narrowing of his eyes, and a snarl. He raised his dagger, ready for battle.
Emil didn’t have time to be impressed; whatever monster was emerging from the fireplace had to be huge, if the size of those tentacles were anything to go by. He sprinted to Lalli.
“Lalli, let’s leave!” He grabbed the scout by the shoulders, but was answered with an elbow to the chest. More footsteps and thumps were heard upstairs. He looked behind them, toward the ceiling.
“SIGRUN!”
“I’m okay, boys! Got the second one cornered! No worries!”
“NO! WE NEED-- OOOF!”
Before he could finish his frantic distress call to their captain, a force stronger than ten men had hit both him and Lalli. Emil was sprawled flat on his back, Lalli curled on his side, hissing in pain.
Emil shook off the dazed feeling, and looked up to see what had sent them flying.
The two tentacles that had slithered out from the fireplace had just been a pre-show of the entire monster. The body of the troll resembled that of a giant slug. It’s flat, sinewy body was covered in sharp barbs, all along its back. Its infected green eyes stood out on stalks, and there were four tentacles in all-- two in the front, two in the back, all with deadly spikes at their ends. It had a mouth that opened vertically, splitting its face between its stalked eyes; it’s teeth were as long as Emil’s fingers, and it snapped them dangerously close to Lalli’s leg.
Lalli made the first strike with his dagger, stabbing it right into one of its stalked eyes. The thing screeched, and swept its left tentacle, walloping Lalli right in the gut. The strength of the hit sent Lalli sliding across the marble floor, stopping several feet behind Emil, curling his waifish form into fetal position with his hands clutching his stomach.
“Lalli!” Emil could see that his friend was struggling to breathe. The hit to the gut had winded him. But that was the least of their worries-- the Slug Troll had completely vacated its home in the fireplace, and was crawling toward them. Each of its clawed tentacles made a sharp clacking sound with each crawling step it took, and it glared at Lalli, the little mage who had obliterated one of its eyes.
Emil wasn’t letting it get to his friend. No way.
Gun? Dagger? My compact flamethrower? He was itching to use that last one.
He grabbed his dagger first. One good stab to its brain should take it down, he thought. He stalked quickly to where the troll was advancing on Lalli’s prone, gasping form. Raising his dagger high above his head, he tried to imagine where this thing’s brain would be-- right between its stalked eyes? That should take it down.
Just as Emil brought his dagger down, the Slug Troll whipped around, setting its sights on the cleanser. Seeming to know exactly what Emil meant to do, it let out a screech and lunged.
Emil found himself on his back, the reeking, rotting thing that had come from the fireplace right on top of him. Sharp teeth gnashing near his face, sludge-like drool dripping into his hair and down his nose. The Slug Troll was heavy, crushing the breath from his lungs. He tried to gasp. He tried to move his arms so as to use his dagger, but it was no use. Its front tentacles were wrapped around his upper body, rendering him immobile.
He closed his eyes, and said a silent goodbye to Lalli. A silent goodbye to everyone on the mission. He knew was going to die.
Just as Emil had accepted his impending death, the Slug Troll reared its head back, but not to eviscerate his defenseless form. Blood spurted in high, angry streams from just behind the troll’s head, and it uncoiled its tentacles from around Emil’s body.
Emil sat up, eyes wide.
Lalli was on top of the troll, straddling its thorned back, fury in his silver eyes. His dagger was raised, ready to stab the grotesque creature again. The Slug Troll flailed, and rolled. Lalli was thrown, and wound up on the floor once more, but was quickly on his feet again. He crouched cat-like on a puddle of the troll’s blood, dagger at the ready.
The wounded troll extended one clawed tentacle, and slapped the dagger right from Lalli’s hand. Lalli bared his teeth, and lunged for his dagger. Emil watched in horror as the troll took the opportunity to wrap that tentacle around Lalli’s body. It began to drag Lalli closer.
Flamethrower! Emil thought with a mixture of excitement and vengeance. He grabbed it from its place on his belt, gleefully acknowledging that the small cannister at his hip was full of fuel that would propel with great force through the short tube and send a spray of beautiful fire out of the nozzle, and approached the troll that was about to annihilate his friend.
Flames danced in his eyes as he placed his finger on the trigger, and in his passionate rapture at being about to set this monster alight, he barely noticed Lalli grab his dagger from the blood-smeared floor, and begin to hack at the tentacle.
Lalli saw Emil aiming his flamethrower at the Slug Troll, and shook his head frantically.
“I’ve got it, stupid!” Though Lalli was all too aware that Emil couldn’t understand a word he’d just said. Lalli was pulled close enough, that he finally had a clear shot at its brain.
Emil squeezed the trigger lever, and a stream of fuel-fed fire burst from the nozzle.
The troll was immediately set alight, and it let out a low wail. It let go of Lalli, who scrambled away from the burning grossling, and stood up.
Emil stood proudly as it flailed, his blue eyes wide, almost delirious with exhilaration and pride.
“I had it, stupid,” Lalli muttered darkly, as he watched Emil’s weird, stupid grin. The troll’s flaming tentacles flailed about in obvious fury and pain.
They thought they were watching the troll die.
What they didn’t expect was for the flaming creature to lunge straight at Emil.
Even with its entire body blazing, it wrapped all four of its sinewy limbs around Emil, as Lalli watched in despair and terror. Both the troll and Emil fell backward into the large bottom reservoir of the fountain with a splash. The flames were immediately extinguished with a hiss, and Lalli could see Emil’s sunny blond hair sink beneath the troll’s charred body and the filthy, dark water. The only thing visible of Emil were his legs, hanging over the ledge of the fountain.
Leaping onto the ledge of the fountain, Lalli wasted no time hacking at the tentacles that were wrapped around his friend. They were thick and muscular, and Lalli had to use all of his strength to even make a slice.
Emil twisted and struggled in the trolls grips that pinned him underwater. The claws at the end of the troll’s tentacles made shallow punctures in his sides, but he couldn’t scream. His lungs were aching for air.
He kicked, and he tried to push the tentacles away from his body; at first, he thought he’d been successful-- the tentacles released!
He was able to surface for air, and he took one wonderful breath.
Then a tentacle wrapped about one of his legs, and he was pulled back down into the murky water again.
Beneath the cloudy pool, another tentacle wrapped around his other leg, and then an arm, until each of Emil’s limbs were now hugged by a tentacle. One on each leg, one on each arm, now holding him face down in the pool.
The troll was losing strength, but its tentacles encircled and constricted on his limbs like giant pythons, rendering him unable to struggle. He tried to raise his head above water again, but was unable.
Air. He needed air...
Lalli hacked and sliced frantically. He couldn’t even see Emil through the dark water, except for Emil’s legs from mid-calves down that hung out over the ledge of the pool. He could tell by the position of his legs that he was being held face down. No chance to raise his head up to get a breath of air. Each of his friend’s legs had a tentacle winding around them. He began sawing madly at the charred tentacle that was around the Emil’s left leg.
Emil felt one tentacle release his left leg. Lalli. He could tell Lalli was working as hard as he could to free him. But he recognized that he wouldn’t be able to save him in time. He was strapped face down, his head completely submerged in water. His deprived lungs ached as if they were on fire, and he fought the reflex to inhale. He’d need to take a breath soon, whether it was of air or water. He felt his right leg also become free of the tentacle’s coils. But all he could do was kick lethargically. His arms were still tightly bound.
His consciousness slipping, he thought of his comfortable childhood home, Sofia serving him his favorite foods. Cakes with strawberries. He thought of playing hair salon with his little cousins. He thought of his days in public school, where failure and shame plagued him no matter what he did. Wishing he had friends. His father who was never home. Joining the cleansers, and feeling every cell and nerve in his body come alive every time he set a fire or detonated an explosive. The mess on his shirt when he first met his crew mates.
Everyone in the tank who made him feel useful and wanted.
He closed his eyes. He thought of Lalli, and was ultimately unable to stop himself from taking a deep inhale of dirty water...
Lalli pulled the last tentacle away from Emil's arm. When he had Emil free from any troll parts, he leaned into the fountain; pressing his torso against Emil's back, he grabbed the limp boy under the arms, and around his chest. Stronger than he looked, Lalli heaved backwards, and pulled him from the fountain, until he had Emil laid facedown on the marble floor.
“Emil! Emil!” He placed a hand on Emil's back, and shook his soaked form. Emil stayed motionless.
Wake up, you stupid Swede! You weren't even under that long!
Wrapping his arms beneath Emil's chest once again, he pulled up from the floor, and turned him over until his head rested face-up in the crook of Lalli's left arm. His back reclined across Lalli's knees, his lower half lying in the filthy puddle of water and troll blood on the floor. With his other hand, he swept locks of blond hair, heavy and darkened with dirty water, away from Emil's face.
“Emil?!”
Emil's eyes were closed, and his mouth was slightly open.
Lalli felt a wave of despair and panic when he saw that Emil’s lips were tinged blue, and his face was deathly white. With his teeth, he pulled the glove off of his right hand, and lightly slapped Emil's cheek... Lalli could feel that he was cold. He moved his face close to Emil's nose and mouth, to see if he could feel an exhale of breath; when that failed, he ripped Emil's jacket open. He lowered his head until his ear was pressed against the unconscious boy's chest, and listened in quiet desperation.
Lalli's stomach turned to ice. He couldn't hear a heartbeat. No, no, no. He moved his ear to another spot on Emil's chest, listening again for the telltale thumps of life... But there was nothing but silence beneath the soaked, black sweater covering Emil's motionless chest. He pulled away, and gazed down at the face he'd once dreamed of waking him from a long sleep in the tank, and the warm little sun-spot that had hung in his chest since the day he ate his meal back to back on a rock with Emil went out.
The little Swede was dead in his arms.
“SIGRUN!!!”
It was the first time he’d ever called her by name.
No sooner than Lalli had screamed her name, the sound of Sigrun's boots were thundering across the floor above them, and down the staircase. As she hit the floor of the lobby, she took one look at Emil’s limp form lying across the Finn’s lap, and ran to the entrance.
“MIKKEL! GET IN HERE! NOW!”
Lalli never looked up from Emil; he gazed at his friend’s motionless face as he cradled his sopping body, willing a flutter of blond eyelashes, a twitch of his mouth. He remembered how Emil's eyes would dart to the sides when something gave him cause to feel insecure or unsure of himself. How blue those eyes were. The way his mouth would pout, or quirk to the side. How he’d smooth and preen his hair. His haughtiness, at times. How his nose would wrinkle when indignant, and how he'd tilt his head back when bragging. Every expression he could suddenly recall while staring at Emil's frozen features, all unique to him.
And he’d never see them again.
He wanted to cry, and he would, but... after years of loss and hardship, after years of anger and annoyance being the only emotions he allowed himself to express, he wasn’t sure if he knew how to anymore. But his heart was bleeding inside.
He barely registered the heavy footsteps approaching while in reverie of everything he could remember about the vain and overly-friendly Swede who'd punched his shoulder one too many times.
“Lalli? Lalli!” Mikkel's voice.
“Is drowned,” Lalli answered with what little Swedish he had, never looking up from Emil. “Dead.”
There was nothing else said as Mikkel knelt and took Emil’s limp form from Lalli's arms, though it seemed Lalli was reluctant to let go of Emil. Lalli’s spindly fingers lingered on Emil’s still form as the Dane pulled his sodden body away.
Mikkel laid him flat on his back on the floor. Lalli watched as Mikkel leaned over Emil, first putting an ear close to his nose and mouth, and then against his chest, listening as Lalli had.
Mikkel grimaced and flung the sides of Emil's jacket as far open as he could. Then he placed one hand over his other on Emil's chest, and began pressing downward over and over again.
Lalli felt a pair of hands on his shoulders.
“C'mon twig, let's move back while Mikkel--” Lalli shoved Sigrun's arms away with a growl, and got up of his own accord, crouching back down a few feet away with his back against the fountain littered with butchered troll parts. He watched from there as Mikkel stopped pushing on Emil's chest, and tilted the Swede's head back, pinching his nose and covering his open mouth with his own. Emil's chest and belly rose and fell with each rush of air Mikkel breathed into him.
“Anything?” Sigrun asked, when Mikkel paused to listen for a heartbeat again.
Mikkel's only answer was to resume pushing on Emil's chest with violent, measured compressions. The huge Danish man was panting from exertion, beads of sweat rolling down the sides of his reddened face. Emil's body rocked slightly with every shove. One of Emil’s gloved hands was extended toward Lalli, palm down, fingertips touching the floor-- almost as if reaching for him.
Lalli recalled waking up after their first attempt at raiding a building for books, looking from under Tuuri's bunk, and seeing Emil's hand very close to his own. As if he'd been reaching for him in his sleep, seeking reassurance after the trolls, the blood, the smoke, and vomiting.
“I had it, stupid...” he whispered, as he closed his eyes.
“O-okay?” Emil wondered. “I'm dreaming, I guess?”
He was in a white, shimmery place. It was bright. There wasn't much of anything, just whiteness of the gleaming, almost iridescent fog; vague shapes and shadows beyond that. He turned around and around, looking for anyone. Anything. There were tall, blurry shapes in the distance-- trees, he realized. A few buildings nearer to himself, just as blurry. He felt as if he should feel nervous, but he didn't. He hadn't felt so peaceful in a dream in such a long time. He felt neither anxiety, nor fear. He was simply curious, and felt like seeing what or whoever was around.
He listened for any sound. He realized he heard a high, tinkling voice chattering.
“Tuuri?”
He began walking toward the familiar voice. A large, square shape came into view, still barely anything but a shadow. Closer, and with a tilt of his head, and he recognized it as the tank. Tuuri's voice was coming from inside.
“...I don't know, one of them is obviously hurt.”
Another voice was murmuring within the tank alongside hers.
“Should we go out and see? They've been in there awhile.” That was Reynir's voice. And Emil could understand him.
“No! We'd be in trouble with both Sigrun and Mikkel, you know that.”
Emil raised a fist and tried knocking on the door of the tank, then stopped quickly. His fist felt as if it hadn't made contact with anything, just air. He looked at his own fist, perplexed. He could see himself just fine, just not much else. Huh...
“Hey, Tuuri? It's Emil,” he called to the shadowy door.
No answer. But Tuuri and Reynir continued their nervous conversation.
“I hope they're okay,” said Reynir. “I heard Sigrun yell. Do you think it's her that's hurt?”
“No, I don't think so. I saw her come to the doorway of the hotel when she screamed for Mikkel. She looked okay. It's either Lalli or Emil...”
Tuuri sounded very worried.
“Hotel? Me?... Lalli...” The very recent memory of the showdown in the hotel lobby with the troll burst through the peaceful haze of his mind. He recalled Lalli about to have a bite taken out of him, and running to save him; the rest was muddy. “Did I faint during the fight? That's so embarrassing!... I need to wake up, and make sure Lalli is okay.”
He whirled his head around toward the expansive, blocky shadow he assumed to be the hotel, and was surprised to see a glowing figure making its way toward him. He squinted through the tendrils of sparkling fog, and saw that it looked to be an animal of some sort, glowing a fiery orange-red. As it padded closer, Emil immediately thought of the filament of a light bulb-- the outlines of the animal were all he could see, and they strobed and burgeoned with the intense light as if made of electricity.
The animal was finally a couple strides away from him, and Emil could see that it was a cat. A big one, with a long tail, and tufts of fur on its ears and face. He could feel the cat's urging him to follow it somewhere in his mind. “Alright,” Emil told it, thinking perhaps if he followed it, he'd wake up all the sooner to check on Lalli.
Emil tacitly followed the big glowing cat from where it had come-- the hotel; they entered, and Emil saw vague figures, almost too misty and blurry to make out their features. That sort of looked like Sigrun, with her red hair visible through the white fog, standing off to the left. Emil squinted-- was that Lalli sitting on the floor against the fountain, with those scrawny legs pulled up to his chest? He started toward Lalli’s figure, but the glowing cat turned and stopped him. In his mind, the cat beckoned him to look at the floor, slightly to his right. There, Emil saw the blurred, but unmistakable hulking figure of Mikkel hunched over something.
A body was laid out on the marble floor. Mikkel was hunched over a body.
“Get in,” the cat said.
“Get in?”
“Yes,” the cat seemed to almost plead. “Get back in your body.”
“B-but--”
“Please.”
Emil squinted at the body, and made out long blond locks, a round face; and that was his uniform, the jacket open wide. “What the?!... That's me?”
Emil looked at himself. No... his body.
It was strange looking at himself from outside his body. Stranger still, knowing that he was dead. Mikkel wouldn’t be working so hard to revive him if he were merely injured. No wonder he couldn’t get Tuuri and Reynir to answer him when he knocked at the tank. No wonder his fist never made contact with the tank in the first place. He recalled the misty, dreamy look of the entire world he’d wandered about in, and how everyone was merely watery and gauzy shadows of themselves, and he realized that must be what the afterlife is like immediately after death.
And he wanted to go back, not just because the fiery cat was begging him to, but because he didn't particularly enjoy not being able to interact with anyone, and not being able to see even the most mundane things-- trees, buildings-- clearly.
And he didn’t want to leave his friends. Most of all Lalli.
He didn’t want to leave any of them. Those five people in the tank had become more of a family to him than he’d ever known. This mission had given him what he’d always yearned for-- a family. Whether they returned the sentiment was something often on his mind, but now wasn’t the time to think on it.
So he approached his prone body, ignoring Mikkel’s almost violent administrations, and focused on getting back inside it. He nearly panicked when it didn’t work.
“Feel yourself merging with your physical body,” said the fiery cat. “Focus on melding with it. Unite with it. Close your eyes, and focus. Think of being alive.”
Emil closed his eyes, and leaned toward his physical body. He instinctively thought of his life before death. His childhood home. His nanny. His father who was never home, and made him feel unloved and unimportant. Eating dinner alone night after night. His awful experience at public school, and how the kids there made him feel like an idiot. How he’d always felt unwanted, and useless. The insecurity, the anxiety, the awkwardness. Feeling insecure about his weight. The inexplicable excitement of seeing the cleanser poster, and feeling for once in his life that he could do something important. Joining the cleansers and losing the weight, and finally feeling good about himself. Joining this expedition, and finding an unexpected family. Finding Lalli.
He leaned further, and the misty world, the distant and echoey voices of his teammates disappeared.
Then everything went black.
Emil coughed and sputtered. Mikkel leaned away in surprise at first, then gently pushed Emil’s body until he was lying on his side, water pouring from his mouth.
“YES!” Yelled Sigrun, throwing her hands in the air.
Mikkel kept one hand on Emil’s shoulder as the young Swede continued coughing up water. Mikkel’s eyes were wide, an uncharacteristic look of shock on his normally placid face.
“I... thought for sure we had lost him,” Mikkel said softly, awe in his voice. “He was not responding. Just seconds ago, I could not get a heartbeat.”
Nobody noticed Lalli softly smiling as he gazed at Emil, wiping a bit of blood from his nose with his sleeve, never moving from his spot with his back against the base of the fountain.
“Don’t question it, Mikkel! You got our little viking back! They really knew what they were doing when they sent you with us on this mission.” Sigrun’s face was one of excited joy as she approached the gasping, sputtering boy.
“Give him some room, Sigrun. He needs to breathe,” said Mikkel.
“What, do you think I’ll suck up all the air in the room?”
Emil rolled back over onto his back with a groan, his eyes half closed. He coughed a few more times, and then passed out.
“Emil! What is this?!” Sigrun panicked. “Why?!--”
“No, no. That is normal,” Mikkel reassured her. “He has been through a lot physically, to put it lightly. I expected him to pass out. He’s fine.”
Sigrun sighed, half in alarm, half in relief. “Well, let’s get him back to the tank. He can recover in his bunk. A blood and water soaked floor is no place for an injured soldier to recuperate.”
“Agreed,” Mikkel rumbled, and gently picked Emil up. He cradled his head in one arm, his legs hanging limply over his other. Not unlike the way Lalli had held him immediately after he’d drowned.
“C’mon, twig.” Sigrun motioned to Lalli, an almost tender smile on her face.
Lalli stood, and followed the captain and the medic carrying his friend, doing his best to hide his nosebleed behind his sleeve. Nobody would know he’d sent his Luonto to guide Emil’s soul back to his body. Despite his exhaustion caused by overextending himself and the nosebleed, he was smiling more than he’d ever smiled in his entire life.
Once inside the tank, Tuuri let out an alarmed squeal. Reynir gaped, his big innocent eyes full of sad distress.
“What happened to Emil?!” Tuuri cried upon seeing his unconscious form in Mikkel’s arms. “Is he...”
“No,” Mikkel said. “He’s alive. I do not know how, but he is. Help me get his bed ready. He needs to rest.”
Tuuri hurried to the bunks, and turned down Emil’s bed. Mikkel gently laid Emil in his bunk, and covered him with a blanket. He retrieved his medic’s bag, and procured a stethoscope. He pressed the bell to Emil’s chest, and listened intently.
“His heart sounds good. That is surprising, considering."
“What happened?!” Tuuri asked, either to Mikkel or Lalli. Lalli crawled beneath Emil’s bed instead of Tuuri’s, and stayed silent. He kept his sleeve to his nose.
Sigrun beckoned Tuuri to the office. Reynir followed. Tuuri listened in anxious silence as Sigrun relayed the events of their excursion in the hotel, beginning to end.
Tuuri remained silent until Sigrun was done, and then she gasped-- “Emil drowned? He died? Like died, died?!”
“Sure did. And my right-hand warrior would have stayed dead were it not for our resident medic. He brought him back. Looks like Emil’s spot in Valhalla will have to remain empty for just awhile longer... Oh, little fuzzy-head, don’t cry. He’s fine now.”
“He died!” Tuuri’s voice sounding as indignant as it could as it wobbled. “Or... almost, but still!”
Through her tears, she relayed in Icelandic to Reynir exactly what Sigrun had told her. His gentle face displayed astonishment and distress.
“Is Lalli okay,” he asked. “He just... I mean, I guess... that he just seems a little more attached to Emil than anyone else. Should we check on him, maybe?”
“I don’t know,” Tuuri sniffled. “Lalli isn’t one to know emotions, even if he’s feeling one. Even with something like this. He did crawl under Emil’s bed instead of mine.”
Reynir nodded with quiet empathy for Lalli. He tentatively pulled Tuuri into a hug, who accepted and wept into his slender shoulder.
“Oh, Emil...”
“I don’t get why you’re crying, fuzzy-head. He’s alive. He’s fine now,” said Sigrun, ignoring the raging look Tuuri gave her from Reynir’s shoulder. “If he’d stayed dead, I could understand the tears, but this is just silly. He’ll probably laugh at you for crying over him when he wakes up.”
“If he wakes up.” Mikkel retorted, entering the office with a grim look conflating his usual unaffected expression.
“What do you mean?!” Sigrun snapped as if he’d just insulted her.
Mikkel sighed. “He was not breathing, and his heart had stopped beating, for quite some time. The risk of brain damage, or not waking up at all, is a very real possibility. And if he does wake up, pneumonia will be a real danger, as well. His heartbeat is surprisingly strong and steady. So that is encouraging. But I will not lie to you-- he is not out of the woods yet.”
After another round of tears from Tuuri, Mikkel started dinner. Though no one was hungry. Mikkel himself kept going inside the tank to check on Emil. More than once, he caught Lalli sleepily peeking out from under Emil’s bunk, studying Mikkel’s ministrations and reactions to the boy’s condition.
Emil's chest hurt like crazy. His eyes were barely open, everything was a blur, but one thing was for certain-- the pain in his chest was killing him.
He couldn't help but to let out a moan. As soon as he did, a blurry face appeared above his. A round face, with fuzzy, silver hair.
“EEE! HE'S AWAKE!”
“Tuuri?--”
But she'd already run from the bunks. Emil groaned again as he tried to sit up, then realized that that was a bad idea, and laid back down flat on his back. Hell, it hurt...
Emil's vision began to sharpen as he gazed around the empty bunks, but it wasn’t long before he was greeted with the sight of Tuuri leading Mikkel, Sigrun, and Reynir into the room. Even Kitty was slinking into the room, eyes bright and happy. He was confused to see them all smiling fondly, and wearing looks of relief on their faces.
Was I hurt that badly? Emil wondered.
Tuuri reached his bedside first, there would have been no stopping her. She leaned down over him, and kissed his cheek. Then she laid her cheek against his forehead, while petting his hair for a few moments. Emil could hear her sniffling, and could have sworn he felt wet droplets land on his face. When she leaned away again, there were sparkling tracks of tears weaving their way down her plump cheeks.
Emil blushed, deeply moved by the gesture and her tears. He smiled bashfully back at her. Tuuri wiped the tears that had fallen on Emil’s face off with her sleeve, then wiped her own eyes and moved so that Sigrun could approach Emil's bedside.
“There's my right-hand warrior! We thought we’d lost you there for a minute.” She ruffled his hair, and held his gaze for just a bit longer than normal. Despite her broad smile, her eyes were tired and soft.
“So, you have decided to join us amongst the living again,” Mikkel rumbled gently. Emil was touched once again, as Mikkel rarely smiled unless he was being smug or glib, but seemed to be making an exception just for him. The smile reached his heavy-lidded eyes which held what looked to be genuine affection.
“What do you mean you thought you’d lost me?” Emil scanned everyone’s faces. Tuuri was still sniffling and wiping tears from her cheeks. “What happened? Ugh, and why does my chest hurt?...”
“That is my fault,” said Mikkel. “I sort of had to press on it. A lot.”
“A LOT, a lot!” Sigrun stressed. “You don’t remember?! Did you knock your head, too?”
Emil shook his head. “I remember going into the hotel, and then...”
Mikkel nodded, eyes closed. “It is common for drowning victims to suffer something akin to short-term amnesia once they have been revived.”
“What do you mean ‘drowning victim’?!” Emil’s eyes blew wide, mouth falling open.
“You... you drowned, Emil.” Tuuri’s voice cracked.
“I... but we were...”
And then it all came rushing back. The Slug Troll that came from the fireplace. The teeth about to rip Lalli to shreds. The desperate fight for their lives that ended with Emil spraying the troll with fire, only to find himself in its flaming coils, and falling into the black, filthy pool of the fountain. Being held face-down underwater, desperate to breathe, knowing he was going to die...
“I drowned.”
“Yes, you did, my little viking!” Sigrun’s voice sounded a mix of pride and regret. “I was so focused on the two little grosslings upstairs, I didn’t hear what was going on down in the lobby... But thankfully Lalli dismembered the bastard, and pulled you out of the water. And luckily Mikkel had enough medic training to know how to bring you back with his chest-pushing thing.”
“It is called Cardiopulmonary resuscitation, Sigrun.”
“Right. Sorry it hurts. But Mikkel had to get your ticker going again, buddy.” Sigrun gave Emil’s chest a very gentle rub. Emil gave a tired smile at the realization that Sigrun could be tender and almost motherly when she wanted to be. His cheeks dusted a light pink again at the show of gentle affection.
He swore if he blushed any more, his face would permanently stay pink.
“I am sorry,” Mikkel said. “But it will likely hurt for a few weeks. And I believe I felt one of your ribs crack when I was administering the compressions. So you will need to stay in bed for some time.”
Emil looked around, a sudden panic rising in his aching chest. “Where is Lalli? Is he okay?”
“He’s fine. He’s out scouting and hunting,” Tuuri said. “But he should be back soon.”
“Oh. Okay... Good.” Emil pretended to be satisfied with that answer, but was secretly kind of wounded that Lalli wasn’t at his bedside with everyone else. “Um, how long was I out?”
“Almost two days. It’s morning now.” Tuuri’s voice became thick with emotion again, and she looked like she wanted to hug him again, but hung back behind Mikkel. “We... we weren’t sure you were going to wake up at all.”
“Don’t cry again,” Sigrun chided her.
“I’m trying!”
“That’s all she’s been doing since Mikkel carried you into the tank,” Sigrun half-whispered to Emil. Something tender lit in Emil’s heart at that knowledge, and he suppressed a pleased smile.
“You’ll need to stay in bed for awhile,” Mikkel repeated. “We need to make sure you don’t develop pneumonia from having all of that water in your lungs.”
Emil nodded numbly, both at the realization that he’d essentially died, and that Lalli wasn’t there at his bedside.
“I will need all of you to leave the bunks. He needs space and rest, for the time being. And now that he's awake, I believe you all have chores to attend to. Emil, I’m going to check your lungs again.”
There was one last tearful hug around his neck from Tuuri, along with another kiss on his cheek, which caused Emil to radiate with a fond blush again; he’d always been on friendly terms with her, but he hadn’t expected his almost dying to elicit tears and such affection from the little Finn. He wasn’t used to doting and tenderness. But despite the blushing, Emil was relishing feeling so cared about. And so unexpectedly. Tuuri genuinely would have missed him, and that realization made his throat become strangely tight. So instead of bidding her goodnight and risking letting her hear his voice crack, he reached up and gave her cheek a gentle touch, and smiled sheepishly at her, hoping she wouldn’t notice the spreading of pink on his cheeks.
Reynir finally defeated his own bashfulness and followed Tuuri’s example of a hug around his neck. Emil was surprised, but didn’t blush this time. They hadn’t started off on the best terms, but Emil grinned at the awkward boy’s nervous display of affection. He tentatively patted the Icelander on the back until he pulled away.
Kitty jumped up on his cot, and nuzzled his face. He gave her a grateful scratch behind her ears, and then she bounded off after Tuuri and Reynir.
With one last fond ruffle of his blond hair (which Emil promptly set back into place), Sigrun left Emil alone with Mikkel.
“Pull up your shirt.” Mikkel announced. Emil did as he was asked-- and then realized he was in his pajamas!
“Who undressed me?! Did you change my clothes?!”
“It had to be done,” Mikkel said with an amused smile. “We couldn’t keep you in that wet, filthy uniform.”
Emil blushed fiercely at the thought of the big Dane undressing him, and then putting him into his pajamas. But he then chanced a look down at his chest, and all the indignity faded away as he saw the state of his body.
He had some shallow puncture wounds along his sides from the Slug Troll’s talons. They were each covered with small squares of medical tape and gauze. They stung a bit, but nothing hurt as much as his bruised chest. His sternum was positively black and blue.
“Cough,” Mikkel instructed, with the bell of the stethoscope placed on Emil’s chest. “Again... Now inhale deeply... And exhale... Again... Again...”
“Well?”
“Hmm. Definitively some minor congestion of the lungs. That’s to be expected. You coughed up a lot of very filthy water. Now just breathe normally so I can listen to your heart.”
Emil did as he was told, once again. He breathed softly, in and out, as the medic held the bell over his heart.
“And?” He asked the medic, after a few moments.
“It’s beating.”
“Very funny.”
“Your heart is surprisingly strong and steady, despite what I had to do to it. That’s not my main cause for concern. I’m more worried about the fluid in your lungs.”
“Well, what can we do about that?”
“For now, nothing much. Watch for fever, or worsening congestion. Rest, and sleep as much as you can. And I fortunately have a decent supply of antibiotics on hand. I’ll give you some before you go back to sleep.”
“Okay,” Emil said a bit glumly. “Do you know when Lalli might be back?”
“I’ve no idea. But soon.” Mikkel regarded Emil for a moment. “He has slept under your bunk, instead of Tuuri’s, the last two nights.”
“Really?”
Mikkel nodded.
It was a small comfort to Emil, though not the same as having him there by his bedside. He understood his scouting duties were of great importance, and he knew he was being selfish. But... after the warm welcome he’d received from the rest of the crew upon waking, he’d have been a hundred times more moved by even a fraction of that from Lalli.
And he had died, after all. With a chance of him never waking up at all, or developing pneumonia if he were to wake. Was Lalli not worried or distraught over him? It seemed the whole crew had practically shirked their own duties to stand vigil by his bedside...
But no, he was being selfish again, and he knew it.
He was deeply humbled and moved by the rest of the crew’s rare displays of affections just for him. Especially from Tuuri. I mean, tears? Tuuri crying? For me? And the hugging and hair stroking? The little kisses on his cheek? He’d had no idea he meant anything to her, not to that degree. He was still blushing from the idea that his death would have caused her such a degree of grief. It warmed his self-conscious heart to know she was that fond of him. Maybe Lalli wasn’t his only friend...
And he’d seen expressions on their faces he’d never seen before, and loving gestures administered to him that his own parents had never been moved to display on his account. He really did finally have a family, not just co-workers...
But the greediness, the neediness he felt at wanting the same from Lalli-- even just a fraction of it-- was there, and it was bothering him.
Mikkel came back with two small bottles, and handed him a large white pill with a cup of water.
“Take this please. This will help fight any infection in your lungs.”
Mikkel helped him sit up slightly, and Emil did as he was told. The pill was big, and he coughed a bit as he swallowed it.
“Easy now,” said Mikkel, patting Emil’s back. “Ready for the second?”
“The second?” He asked, uneasily.
“A painkiller. For your chest.”
“Aha. Yes, please.” That one was much smaller, and easier to swallow. He finished the cool cup of water along with it.
Mikkel helped him back into lying down flat, and Emil was once again surprised by the large Dane giving his head a gentle pat. Emil smiled weakly.
“Maybe I should die more often.”
“Now, none of that,” though it came out harsher than Mikkel had probably meant it to. “You scared the lot of us. And I never want to see that look on Lalli’s face again.”
“What?”
Mikkel sighed and sat on the edge of Emil’s bunk, and Emil felt it sink with the Dane’s weight.
“It may not be for me to say. But given your not-so-well hidden disappointment at Lalli not being here when you regained consciousness, perhaps you should know that when I entered the hotel...”
Mikkel hesitated for a moment.
“Mikkel...”
“I found Lalli cradling your undeniably lifeless body in his arms. And when I questioned him about your status, he refused to look up from your face. He didn’t want to hand you over to me. He simply resumed staring at your face, as if willing you to come back to life. It looked very much like he’d have liked to have gone with you. I had to take your body from him myself.”
“Oh.”
“His scouting duties are imperative to our mission and our safety, and his hunting is providing us with better food rations. But Sigrun had to order him to go. He did not leave of his own volition. He wanted to stay under your bunk.” He gave a wry chuckle. “Tuuri had to pull him out.”
“I didn’t know that...”
“And now you do.”
“Yeah...” Emil gave a sleepy chuckle and went to fix his hair, but stopped halfway through, his fingers tangled in his sunny blond locks.
“I believe those painkillers are beginning to work. Please get some rest. If you're to beat the infection in your lungs, you must get as much sleep as you can. And Lalli will be back soon, and I can almost assure you, he’ll be under your bunk when you wake up.”
Emil woke, fuzzy and in pain. But this time his memory of the whole ordeal was still intact. The fuzziness was most likely from the painkillers Mikkel had given him-- it was a pleasant feeling. But the aching in his chest beneath those deep purple and black bruises brought him right out of the lovely haze.
He could tell it was daytime; sunlight filtered through the open doors of the tank, shafting between the rooms, and he could hear chattering outside the tank. It sounded as if Reynir was helping with laundry while Mikkel made lunch.
He knew it was a long-shot, but slowly-- mindful of his injuries-- he leaned over the side of his bunk to peer beneath it.
No Lalli. Just rumpled sheets and a pillow.
Disappointed, but not surprised, Emil eased back up onto the bunk. If he ever wished for the large, comfy bed he grew up sleeping in, it was now. These thin, hard cots were not good for recuperating soldiers. He’d spent time sleeping on thin bed-rolls in tents during his time with the cleansers. But he was never injured during that time. At least, not like this.
Emil listened to the indiscernible chatter outside the tank, the voices of his crew mates speaking to one another, and considered what Mikkel had told him the night before. About finding Lalli cradling his body on the floor, his reluctance to hand him over to Mikkel. Mikkel’s comment about how it looked very much as if Lalli would have liked to follow him in death. How Sigrun had to order him to scout and hunt instead of staying under Emil’s bunk.
He felt a rush of deep affection for Lalli, considering that everything Mikkel told him was true. But Mikkel wasn’t a liar, at least not when it came to things like that. It seemed to Emil that Mikkel had even been hesitant to tell him such things, but had done so when he’d sensed his hurt and disappointment.
In his time in that hazy after-life, he’d have loved to have seen Lalli’s reaction to his temporary death. To see for himself the affection and attachment the Finn supposedly had displayed.
I’m just being selfish. Self-absorbed. Why should I want-- NEED-- to see that, feel that from Lalli?
I’m a brat. No wonder I can’t keep friends longer than a few months.
That was Emil’s father talking, and he knew it.
He’d never known much affection at home, save for Sofia calling him sweetheart and overfeeding him. Though he’d long suspected the hefty paycheck from Emil’s father kept her treating Emil so softly, despite him being such an insufferable brat.
And it was why he’d blushingly soaked up all the tears and affection from Tuuri and the rest of the crew. The tenderness, the tears-- all for him. He had a new appreciation for Tuuri. He’d never expected anything like that. He’d never expected to mean anything to anyone. Not that much. Not like that.
But, I mean, Mikkel said... but wait, I’m Lalli’s friend, Lalli’s not MY friend. If anything, I annoy the guy. I think. Always touching him, babbling at him when I know he can’t understand a word of it. If he could speak to me, he’d probably tell me to shut up and piss off. So why the despondent reaction to my death? Why was he sleeping beneath my bunk, instead of Tuuri’s? Could it be that despite the language barrier, and my being so annoying, Lalli has come to see me as a friend? Did Lalli HAVE friends? Tuuri made it sound as if he didn’t. Maybe Lalli wasn’t used to having friends; maybe because of his demeanor, nobody had ever bothered to try, put off by his prickliness and the walls he put up without ever having to say a word. But maybe... maybe I got through to him. Maybe he returns the fondness I feel for him.
Or maybe he has just grown to tolerate me.
A figure appeared at the door of the bunk-room, and Emil lifted his head up. It was Tuuri, smiling and eyes shining.
“Oh, Emil!”
Emil smiled back, unable to stop himself from blushing at the memory of her mushy shows of affection.
“Hey, Tuuri.”
Tuuri sniffled, eyes brightening more.
“I’m sorry, I just...” She sniffled, and wiped at her round cheeks. “Mikkel said the antibiotics seem to be working. I’ve been so worried. We all have, but I’ve just been so anxious!”
“Oh, Tuuri. It’s okay.” Emil was secretly reveling in the caring regard from the girl. This was nice. He could get used to this.
“Mikkel is working on lunch, so he sent me to change the bandages on your ribs.” She held up the medic’s bag. “If that’s okay.”
“Oh.” He blushed for a different reason. But it needed done. “Sure.”
Tuuri came and sat on the edge of Emil’s cot, blushing some herself.
“You’ll need to take your shirt off. Er, sorry.”
“Yeah, no. That’s... that’s fine.
Emil sat up some, groaning as he did. Tuuri looked as if she wanted to reach behind him to help him up, but embarrassment got the better of her, and she refrained. Only when he lifted his pajama top up (Tuuri gasped, the first she’d seen of his severely bruised sternum, and said something in harsh Finnish, most likely a swear), did he have trouble. Lifting his arms to get his shirt completely off was proving difficult, and his head and arms were caught in the garment.
“Here, Emil...”
He felt Tuuri’s hands gently lift the neck of the shirt from over his head, and then the sleeves from his arms. Once the shirt was deposited on the side of the cot, Emil struggled to lay back down, and this time Tuuri placed her hand at the back of his head, guiding him back down to his pillow.
He thanked her, breathless from the simple exertion.
“Sshh. You’re hurt, and have a broken rib. You shouldn’t feel bad for needing help.”
She began to take bandages and tape from the medic’s bag, and also procured a small dark bottle-- disinfectant, she explained. She removed the gauze and tape from the puncture wounds on his sides, and hissed through her teeth.
“Oh, Emil...”
The puncture wounds weren’t nearly as bad of a sight as his bruised chest, but they were nasty ones. They went deep, and the edges of them were tinged with red, a sign of infection. Tuuri set about applying the disinfectant on the wounds, then covered them with clean gauze and secured them with medical tape.
“There. All finished.”
“Thanks again, Tuuri.” Emil gave her a warm smile. She looked as if she were about to cry again. Selfishly, Emil sort of wished she would. If Lalli couldn’t be the one to lavish attention and affection on him because of his near-death, then he’d gladly take all he could get from Tuuri. He felt very warmly toward the girl after all this. He felt ashamed to want that, but the craving was there.
Tuuri sighed and cleared her throat.
“It’s just, when Mikkel carried you in. You weren’t moving. You were so still. Nobody would tell me what had happened right away, and then... they said you were dead. Or that you had been. They said we almost lost you. Mikkel said your heart stopped for a long time.”
There were the tears Emil had selfishly craved. Not sobbing, not gasping, just silent drops escaping her gray eyes, and dripping down her plump cheeks.
“Well, it’s beating now,” Emil said, and emboldened by her own show of vulnerability, and possibly his inhibitions being lowered by the painkillers, he took Tuuri’s hand, and placed it gently on the left side of his black and blue chest. “Feel it?”
Tuuri blushed deeply and nodded, before leaning forward to nuzzle her face into his hair.
“We, um... we love you, you know.”
Emil’s eyes went wide at the admission, and he couldn’t say whether or not some moisture escaped.
“Most of us would never say it, but we do. I know I do. Back home in Keuruu, all I had was Onni and Lalli. Our parents and grandma are gone. I’d say I’m closest to Onni, but Lalli-- well, he’s my cousin, so of course I love him... But I didn’t spend much time with him back home, and I'm getting to know him more now on this mission than I ever did back home. With our parents and grandma gone, we’re not as much of a family anymore. We stay close together, Onni henpecking and fretting even when he doesn’t need to, and Lalli slipping off into the woods beyond the walls, sometimes for days. But I’ve always wished for things to go back to the way things were when our parents and grandma were alive. I know it can’t happen...”
Emil watched the regret and despair slowly growing in her big gray eyes, as more tears trickled down her face.
“But this crew has become the next best thing. I agreed to come because I wanted to see the world beyond Keuruu, to find adventure. And I got my wish. But I got another wish of mine granted, too. I found a new family. I haven’t felt this close to a group of people in a long time. I love all of you.”
“Tuuri.” Emil didn’t know what to say.
“And losing one of you would break my heart. I’m sorry I never expressed this to you before. I was almost too late.”
“Well, you’re not.” He kept her hand pressed to his heart where she could feel it beating.
“No, we got lucky. Somehow. I know Mikkel brought you back, but it was almost like magic.”
There was a comfortable, warm silence between them then, as she sat on the side of his bunk, his hand over hers feeling his battered heart thump.
“Family, huh?” Emil asked fondly.
“Family,” Tuuri responded tearfully.
The intimate moment between the cleanser and the skald was broken when Mikkel called for Tuuri from outside the tank. It was time to dish out whatever lumpy stew Mikkel had boiling in the pot, and with Lalli having been hunting, there may be some actual meat (though Emil hoped this time whatever poor creature the scout had caught had at least not been thrown in, fur and all).
Tuuri promised to bring Emil a bowl of stew, and then left.
Emil stayed as still as possible on his back, his torso hurting too much to move to a different position. Even putting his shirt back on was too much for him at the moment, so he left it where it lay to his side. His bruised chest seemed to deepen in color every time he peered down at it, and the puncture wounds stung every time he inhaled.
Family.
Emil mused on it. He thought of losing any member of their crew (even Reynir), and it made his stomach quake.
He thought of losing Lalli. It made him want to vomit. Or die.
It made him want Lalli in the room with him, right there, right that very moment. This was a dangerous mission, and any one of them could meet a violent end out here in the silent world at any time. What had happened to Emil was proof of that. Lalli dying was a real possibility out here, and he felt an urgent need to see him, perhaps touch him. That is, if Lalli wouldn't hiss and scratch his face off.
A figure appeared in the door of the bunkroom again, and this time, it wasn’t Tuuri.
It was Lalli.
And he was holding a bowl of stew.
Lalli first took in the sorry state of Emil’s chest, and the gauze alongside his ribcage, with an expression of modest distress and gloom that Emil had never seen in his sharp, silver eyes.
Then his eyes drifted to meet Emil’s.
Emil didn’t know what to say-- he’d been wanting Lalli’s company throughout the last two days so badly it left him with aches that were different than the ones on his chest and ribs.
And although he knew Lalli’s duties were important, couldn’t he have spared a moment, a minute, to come sit by his bunk? Knowing he slept beneath it somehow wasn’t enough. Especially after the heartfelt care he’d received from the rest of the crew, especially from Tuuri. Why had it taken him so long, when he wanted so little?
He knew he was being selfish. A selfish brat. That was him, his dad knew it. Emil knew it.
So he just gave Lalli a cool look, and a smile that wasn’t really a smile. He didn’t say a word.
Lalli was the first to speak.
In sparse, broken Swedish, he said “ I bring the food.”
“Oh, good. Thanks.” Emil’s reply held the same coolness he’d expressed with his eyes.
Emil attempted to sit up, straining and hissing at the pain. Lalli put the bowl of food on the floor near the bed, and went to help. He placed a slender hand at the back of Emil’s head, and another on his upper back.
“You don’t have to.”
“I... want.”
“Well, I’m sitting now,” he said tersely. “ So, thank you.”
Lalli picked up the wooden bowl full of steaming stew, and carefully placed it in Emil’s hands.
Then he sat on the floor next to Emil’s bunk, seeming to want to watch him eat. Emil petulantly stirred the stew with the wooden spoon, not taking a bite. His eyes kept flitting to Lalli, whose own silver eyes never left Emil’s face.
Emil sighed, his ribs protesting.
“I’ll eat. See? Eating. Syönti.” And he took a bite. It was good, this time. The broth was thick, and there was some sort of meat. He couldn’t help but to smile a bit at the taste.
“You... It good?”
Emil sighed, and placed the bowl down into his lap, the spoon clacking against the side of the bowl.
“Yes, good. You, uh... hunted? Metsästys? You know-- caught food?”
Lalli tilted his head as if he hadn’t understood the sentence, but then it seemed the words registered.
“Rabbit.”
“Ah. I like it.”
“Mmrr.”
Then there was silence, though a less chilly one; Emil sat with the bowl in his lap, Lalli at his side on the floor, watching Emil as if he were afraid he’d disappear. It may have been Emil’s imagination, but it almost looked as if Lalli wanted to come up onto the bunk with Emil. All of Emil’s indignation and anger dissipated at that, and he carefully shifted his body closer to the wall to make room.
Lalli questioned with his eyes, and Emil made a gesture with a tilt of his head and a smile.
The little mage gracefully climbed from the floor, and onto the empty space made for him on Emil’s bunk. He crossed his willowy legs, and hugged his arms around himself; it was the first time Emil had seen Lalli look... vulnerable? The Finn’s eyes were unsure and sad.
Emil’s battered heart melted.
“Lalli, I’m okay.” He hoped he understood. He pointed to himself. “Me. Okay. Kunnossa.”
Lalli nodded, then his gaze went once again to the hand-print bruises, black, blue, and angry red. The patches of gauze on along his ribs.
“You... feeling of pain?” Lalli quietly asked in broken Swedish.
Emil laughed. “Yeah, I have to admit. It hurts.”
Another gloomy nod from Lalli.
And then the Finn reached up to Emil’s head with willowy arms and graceful fingers, and fixed his hair. Much like the night on the train, after their terrifying ordeal with the troll.
If Emil’s heart could have melted anymore, it would have been a pool of liquid inside his chest.
“Thank you, Lalli.”
“Mmhr.”
Emil could see that there was something Lalli would like to express, something he’d like to know or say-- but didn’t have the Swedish to articulate it. But Emil was going to try, anyway.
“Lalli... you okay?” He pointed at Lalli, who was still curled into himself about a foot away from Emil.
“Me... okay?”
“Yeah, you seem...” Emil then imitated Lalli’s facial expression and mirrored his body language.
That earned him something of a light snarl, a curl of his lip, and a harsh wrinkling of his brows.
Broken Swedish, and bits of Finnish came darting from his tight mouth, as he sat up straight and leaned toward Emil with a hurt intensity.
“You! Emil, you!... Drowned. Were dead. Kuollut. You. Dead.” Lalli’s silver eyes were blown wide, and held a horror within them that could only come from grief and loss. It was strange to see that on him.
Emil couldn’t laugh at that. From what the rest of the crew had told him, Lalli had cradled his dead body, almost unwilling to give him over to Mikkel. He’d slept under his bunk. Emil had checked, Lalli’s blankets and pillow were still under there.
He couldn’t say anything positive, he couldn’t comfort Lalli (had anyone ever comforted Lalli?...)
He’d died in his arms.
And Emil knew it had apparently had quite the effect on him. What could he say? What could he do?
“Lalli... Yes, I died. I know what you saw. What you had to do to pull me out of the fountain, that you saw everything.” Emil knew this was mostly coming out as Swedish babble to Lalli, but he felt moved to say it. “I know you saw me dead. I know... everyone else told me.”
Lalli must have gleaned enough of what Emil was saying, because his hands were squeezing and wringing the bottom of his shirt the more Emil talked, and his eyes screwed shut.
Then Lalli took a breath, and spoke in stunted Swedish.
“Back in Keuruu... a lot. Very much death. Lot of loss. Everyone gone.”
“I know...”
“To lose you. To see you dead...” Lalli’s eyes closed again, more gently this time, as if remembering the horrid scene.
“Lalli...” Emil breathed out his name as if it were a prayer.
Emil was touched. Maybe Lalli really did see him as a friend, not just a crew-mate that would fade away after the mission was over. Like Tuuri said-- family. Did Lalli feel that way?
Emil said his name again, and Lalli opened his eyes to regard Emil.
“Lalli, look. I’m right here. See? Me? Here.”
Blasting past memories of socially awkward situations, saying the wrong things, and rejections, Emil slowly reached for Lalli. He carefully placed a hand on Lalli’s forearm. Lalli regarded the touch with an unreadable expression for a moment, then put one of his own slender hands on Emil’s wrist.
“See?”
Lalli seemed to hesitate at something, Emil couldn’t guess what, and then Lalli curled his hand around Emil’s wrist. Lalli’s index and middle finger applied pressure to Emil’s wrist just below his thumb. It took Emil a moment to figure out what he was doing, but when he did, he grinned.
“Are you feeling my pulse?”
Lalli blushed, and averted his eyes.
“No, no, Lalli! It’s okay!”
“No heartbeat.” Was all Lalli said, haunted.
He thought back to his interaction with Tuuri, who was certainly more emotionally open, but now that he’d gotten this far with Lalli...
Emil set the bowl of stew on the floor next to the bunk.
Then Emil shifted, and Lalli seemed reluctant to let go of his wrist. Emil whispered assurances to him, to just wait a moment; Emil reclined back down on his bunk, and gestured for Lalli to follow him. Lalli hesitated at the invitation, looked even reluctant as he hovered over Emil, but he finally did as Emil suggested.
Lalli lowered himself until he was laid side by side with Emil; Emil on his back closest to the wall, Lalli curled on his side, facing the Swede. The small bunk allowed for no space between them, bodies and limbs gently pressed against the other’s.
Emil turned his head, so he was almost nose-to-nose with the Finn. He expected Lalli to recoil at the intimacy-- this was the closest they’d ever been physically (at least, not counting Lalli cradling Emil’s dead body). But where he expected a wrinkled nose, or narrowed eyes, or a growl... he found wide, sad, silver eyes.
He felt Lalli’s soft breaths on his face. They smelled like fresh, warm wind.
Silver eyes stared into his blue ones, asking a wordless question “What is this for?”
“Come here,” Emil said gently, though nervous. Lalli hesitated. “No, it’s okay! Come.”
He deftly reached his arm around Lalli’s thin shoulders, and carefully guided Lalli over, until his head lay on Emil’s bruised chest. Silver hair splayed over his sternum and jagged strands tickled his collarbone. It hurt a bit to have the weight of Lalli’s head on his bruises, but it felt wonderful at the same time.
“Can you hear it?” Emil asked. “Uh... V-voitko kuulla sen?”
Lalli was still for a moment, shifting his head a bit so that his ear pressed more directly to Emil’s chest.
When he finally spoke, it was soft.
”Your heart.”
”Yeah, it’s beating. See? Kunnossa.”
Lalli let out a "mhhrr" that sounded like a contented cat. The ba-thump, ba-thump, ba-thump of Emil’s heartbeat was reassuring and comforting.
Emil felt Lalli’s shoulders and arms relax more onto his torso, as the memories of finding nothing but silence beneath his friend’s soaked shirt slowly become replaced with the very sound of Emil’s life, as he listened to his heart continue to faithfully thump beneath his ear, all the chambers filling and the strong valves slamming open and shut, creating those soothing thumps.
“I’m still here, Lalli.” Emil stroked the silvery hair on his chest. “O-olen... täällä?”
There was a small huff of breath that Emil felt on his chest as Lalli laughed.
”Did I say that right?” He knew his Finnish was scant and probably badly pronounced.
”Said right. Bad pronouncing.” Lalli lifted his head so that his chin rested on Emil’s left pectoral, and gazed at him with a mysterious mixture of amusement and… fondness. It gave Emil shivers. He truly wasn’t used to that look from Lalli. Tuuri was enough of a surprise, not to mention the others. But a look of such fondness from the prickly little mage, and the fact that it was for him.
Emil had always wished for friends. For real friends. The ones he made as a child didn’t stick around very long, and he was aware that it was his fault. He was spoiled, sheltered, and haughty. He had a habit of yelling and sulking when he didn’t get his way. His father being cold and uninterested didn’t help his attitude. Perhaps he could forgive himself for being the way he was when he was younger…
And if people like Mikkel, Sigrun, Reynir, and Tuuri could like him… could love him, as Tuuri had whispered. Could feel so much sorrow at the thought of losing him, could treat him with so much care and affection upon his being revived. How it made him feel. Feeling wanted. Feeling loved.
And he shivered at the thought of feeling such a thing from Lalli. The boy he’d give anything to know better. The boy he’d love to call his best friend. The boy he’d touched, annoyed, punched on the shoulder, blabbered at in a language he couldn’t understand, the boy he’d pestered… perhaps too much…
”Emil.”
”Yeah?”
“Kiitos.”
“‘Kiitos?’... Oh, ‘thank you’!” Emil giggled. “You’re welcome. But for what?”
Lalli’s eyes went serious and distant. “For much. For... trying. I don’t much... want for friends. They don’t... work. But you try. You stay.”
Emil glowed from the inside out.
Lalli continued. “And for... this.” There, he put a graceful hand over Emil’s heart. “For...” Lalli searched for his Swedish, and settled on what he could recall. “For this. For no dying. For... coming back.”
“Oh, Lalli. I didn’t do that. Thank Mikkel, he was the one who saved me. And thank yourself, you killed the troll and pulled me out of the water. I wouldn’t be here without you.”
Lalli smiled a secret smile. Emil nearly asked, but let it remain a mystery.
“And kiitos. For letting me...” Lalli gestured at Emil’s chest.
Emil blushed. “I just... I just wanted you to know that I’m still really here. I didn’t stay dead. I wanted you to hear it.”
He wasn’t sure Lalli understood all of it, but by the Finn’s soft expression, he got the full meaning.
Then Lalli surprised Emil again. “Can I... more?”
“More?”
Lalli’s eyes held an unbelievable amount of vulnerability as he looked into Emil’s, then slowly made to lower his head back to Emil’s chest. Emil realized Lalli wanted to listen to his heartbeat a bit longer. Emil’s entire being flooded with warmth and tenderness, not something he’d ever assumed he’d feel because of something Lalli wanted from him.
“Of course you can! As long as you like!”
Lalli gave a happy ‘mmhhr’, and once again rested his head over Emil’s heart, laying his own small body halfway over Emil’s sturdier form. Emil could feel Lalli’s fragile ribs expand in and out against his own, and could also faintly feel the Finn’s heart softly thudding against his abdomen. Lalli’s breaths ghosted across his chest.
They were both as content as two young boys who faced death and danger every day could be. It was a moment Emil drank in, and wished for more of. That little sun-spot in Lalli’s chest that had turned to ice as he’d cradled Emil’s motionless, sopping form was glowing warm again, burgeoning with the fire he’d often associated with the Swede.
Before long, the thumping sound of the Swede’s beating heart had lulled the little mage to sleep, as Emil himself began to drift off.
But not before wrapping one arm around Lalli’s thin shoulder, pressing him closer, enjoying the feeling of being needed.
And possibly cherished, if that wasn’t asking too much from Lalli.
Emil drifted off to sleep with that hope playing soft possibilities and assurances in his mind.
Emil was asleep and dreaming when the little mage, eyes still closed, whispered something into Emil’s bruised chest.
“Minä Rakastan Sinua.”