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She can still taste the salt in her mouth.
Every time Kima closes her eyes, she sees blue. Endless endless blue that stretches and stretches and pulls. It tugs at her feet, her legs, her hips, her waist, her arms; swallows her head and pours salt into her throat. She keeps her eyes closed for as long as she can bear before she thinks she might actually be drowning again and opens them, searching for anything that isn’t blue.
Allura’s room in the castle, thank the Gods, has light brown walls. The red curtains are firmly closed to stop the silver blue of moonlight from getting in and the fire casts an orange-yellow light over everything. She’ll never tell him but Kima has never been more grateful to know the privilege that belongs to Percy; the day she thanks him for the white bed sheets over the blue blanket roll she owns will be the day she puts flowers on his grave or just never.
But seeing golds and browns doesn’t take the taste of salt out from under her tongue and between her teeth and on the roof of her mouth.
Kima rolls over, moving Allura’s arm and draping it across her midsection as she tucks against Allura’s side. There’s a pause where Kima thinks that maybe Allura is asleep but she feels the fall of Allura’s chest as she barely audibly sighs.
“I’m sorry.” Allura’s voice wobbles, exhaustion and distress creeping in through the little cracks. All Kima can do is take Allura’s hand and stick to her side.
“It’s not your fault, Allie.”
Allura sniffs and it occurs to Kima that Allura’s head has been turned away from her so she could hide the tears on her face. They both thought the other was sleeping and yet they’ve both been staring at the walls in silence.
“Hey, come on. It’s not your fault and you know that.” Kima shifts and sits up so she’s on her knees. She gently nudges Allura’s chin and forces her to look at her. “It’s not your fault,” she repeats again, holding the eye contact to tell Allura how much she means it.
Allura nods as best she can with Kima’s hand under her chin. “Okay.” She squeezes Kima’s other hand and smiles, if a little weakly, but it will do.
Kima settles back down on the bed and both women shift until they’re comfortable, still holding hands.
Kima looks up to the ceiling and watches the shadows of flames flicker and dance around the cracks in the stone work, absently running her thumb over Allura’s knuckles.
“What are you thinking about?” Allura asks quietly.
Kima doesn’t know how to answer that. She’s thinking a lot of things: about Thordak, about Raishan, about Keyleth, about Scanlan, about Emon, about the future.
The fire crackles, the wind whistles through the small gap under the door and the few holes by the window. Outside, a guard patrol switches over and someone laughs.
“I can still taste salt,” Kima responds eventually.
Allura sighs again but she sounds better this time, like she’s found a little bit of peace out in that endless sea.
“Me too.”