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***
When she heard the news, Sarah’s legs gave way beneath her. Shooting pains raced up her thighs as her knees collided with the tiled floor. The phone slid from her grip, clattering to the ceramic, as her arms fell limp by her side. A distant, unimportant voice on the end of the line squawked faintly. The blood drained from her face and pooled in her stomach, where it congealed into a sick sensation. Her heart raced, drumming loudly in her ears. Her chest heaved. She closed her eyes, calling on her years of training to fend off her impending panic attack. The world swam around her at high speed as Sarah’s processing speed for stimuli stuttered.
She’s still alive. She nearly died, but she’s still alive. She could have died.
Sarah grabbed fistfuls of her hair and rocked forward until the vertex of her head met earth. Her whole body trembled uncontrollably as she sobbed. A garbled scream ripped free of her throat, splashing the blue sky outside with lightning and drowning the birdsong with thunder.
*
“A motorcycle accident,” Tally struggled to shape her mouth around the words.
“Yes,” Sarah nodded, carefully monitoring Tally’s features.
“And…and it was bad?” Tally’s orbs were swimming with tears when they rolled up to meet Sarah’s.
She believes me. Damn you, Batan.
“Very bad,” Sarah’s own eyes filled with excess moisture. A twist in her gut signalled her guilt, “she’s lucky to be alive.”
Tally clamped the edge of the kitchen table with her hands, steadying herself. The chair scraped as Sarah stood up and rounded the table. She encircled Tally’s seated upper body with her arms from behind, pressing her nose and lips into her hair. As Tally’s tears splashed onto her bare forearms, Sarah tightened her embrace, whispering meaningless comforts into her scalp.
*
“Multiple burst fractures along the thoracic vertebrae, five fractured ribs, a collapsed lung, now reinflated, of course. She’s broken her collar-bone, right femur, and left wrist, a dislocated shoulder, ongoing internal bleeding, lacerations to the back and extensive contusions across the body,” Raelle reported, slumped on their living room couch, clutching a full, cold cup of coffee.
Tally had gone dangerously pale. “I need some air.” She rose and left the room quickly.
Sarah relocated, perching on the edge of the couch next to Raelle. She removed the rejected coffee and set it down on the table gently. She exhaled slowly as she placed a comforting hand on Raelle’s knee. “Thank you so much Raelle,” Sarah forced a tight-lipped smile.
Raelle stared at her hand before blinking up at Sarah with despair in her eyes. “If she would only let the other Fixers assist,” Raelle pleaded with frustration, “this doesn’t need to be so hard.”
Sarah continued to apply pressure to Raelle’s knee. “She wouldn’t trust anyone else, Raelle, you know that,” Sarah’s sad smile reappeared. “We’re just so lucky she has you.”
“Some motorcycle accident,” Raelle narrowed her eyes at Sarah.
Sarah lifted her hand from Raelle’s knee and stood up. “I best check on Tally,” she murmured, avoiding the woman’s scrutiny.
A car crunched the gravel on the driveway as headlights eerily lit the opposite side of the room. Raelle pushed herself up from the couch gingerly, Sarah turning to catch her forearm and assist. Raelle sighed heavily, giving up her line in inquiry.
“That’ll be Scyl,” she motioned to the door and Sarah guided her to it.
Sarah helped Raelle into her jacket and unlatched the front door. Scylla stepped in toward Raelle instantly, wrapping a supporting pair of arms around her wife.
“It must be bad,” Scylla whispered over Raelle’s shoulder to Sarah, whose face must have provided sufficient response. “Let’s get you home,” Scylla began to lead Raelle to the car.
“I’ll be back tomorrow,” Raelle remembered suddenly, “for the next stage of treatment.”
Sarah softened at the young woman’s courage, which outshone the stupidity of her statement. “Raelle, you and I both know you need longer to rest and recuperate before trying again,” Sarah resurrected her tight smile. “Anyway, she only gets back tomorrow.”
“The day after then,” Raelle tightened her arm around Scylla’s neck.
Sarah waited for the pair to leave, waving half-heartedly as they drove away. She closed the door gently and turned into the house to find Tally.
*
The next day, when the transport fixers left, Sarah made a beeline for the bathroom and released the sparse contents of her stomach, mostly wine from the night before, into the toilet. She clutched at the sink, sloshing water from the tap into her open mouth to rinse the acid away. She gripped the porcelain and pushed herself up, glaring at herself in the mirror. The bile climbed her throat as she remembered their last conversation.
“I’ve got to do this, Sare,” Nicte snapped.
“No, you don’t, you don’t owe the army a thing,” Sarah barked.
“Sare,” Nicte had cupped her face, softening her tone, “I’m not doing this for the army. Don’t tell Tally, please. And if anything happens, you’ll… protect her, for me.”
Nicte was barely recognisable. Her face was swollen and blackened by bruising. The superficial damage had clearly not been on Raelle’s priority list and for good reason. Nicte’s body was distorted, unnaturally taut in places as the woman undoubtedly was trying to lock into the least painful position possible. As a result, she was curled onto her left side but with her right shoulder drawn back behind her. Tears could not be distinguished from the sweat that coated her features. Her eyes were empty, as if the fever had driven her soul into the recesses of her mind.
Despite Tally’s best efforts, Nicte remained unresponsive. Sarah paused at the door to their bedroom, resting her forehead against the jamb as she called on some measure of strength from the goddess.
“Nic,” Tally begged repeatedly between strangled breaths.
Sarah eventually pushed off the doorframe and entered the room. The stench of bodily fluids masked loosely by antiseptic burned her nose and throat. Tally sat on the edge of her seat, her upper body spilling over onto the bed next to Nicte. Sarah dropped her fingers to weakly caress Tally’s spine. Recognising her presence, Tally leaned her head into Sarah’s stomach and squeezed the backs of her thighs. It was all Sarah could do to stroke Tally’s hair while she cried.
Sarah turned her attention to Nicte once more. She gulped, willing her oesophagus to remain one directional. “Tally, I think you should go, love,” Sarah’s voice sounded distant, unfamiliar, “she’s heavily sedated and will likely sleep through the night.”
Tally looked up at Sarah, her face red, blotchy and glistening with fresh tears. She searched Sarah for comfort, support, optimism. From somewhere, Sarah concocted a shaky smile, wiping the tears from Tally’s cheeks. “She’s safe now, Tally, I have her, you take the spare room, I know you have a big day at Fort Salem tomorrow,” Sarah assured her.
Tally shook her head, “I’m not going tomorrow, I-”
“Tally,” Sarah interrupted, “the last thing Nicte would want is you missing out on something you’ve been working towards for so long.” Tally looked unconvinced so Sarah continued, “I’ll be with her, the whole time, I promise.”
Tally nodded slowly, eventually rising from her seat and exiting the room. Sarah breathed a sigh of relief. A prickly feeling slid down her spine and she instinctively snapped to Nicte. She gasped, collapsing into the seat Tally had vacated and placed her chin on the bed. Nicte’s bloodshot eyes pleaded with her lazily, a faint whimper falling through her loosely parted lips.
“Oh, Nic,” Sarah bawled, her spread hands shaking as they stopped an inch short of contact with Nicte, like the two women were oppositely charged.
She dug her hands into her own scalp instead and screamed silently into the mattress. Behind her eyelids, Sarah was plagued by twisted imaginations of the circumstances that led to Nicte’s current condition.
I should never have let you go.
*
Tally looked terrible when Sarah forced her out the door the next morning. Abigail had kindly agreed to pick her up, saving her the drive given her distracted state. Sarah leaned against the shut door, sliding down to a seated position, her arms gathered around her shins. She hadn’t been there long when she heard a strange garbled noise.
Moving slowly at first towards the source, Sarah picked up speed as she realised it was coming from Nicte’s room. Worse still, it was coming from Nicte. Crimson blood erupted from her mouth in cough-driven spurts. Sarah panicked, pulling Nicte roughly to her side in an attempt to clear her airway. Nicte’s eyes were wide with fear, she was still choking. The doorbell rang and Sarah yelled for help as loud as she could.
A flustered Raelle raced into the room, launching herself onto the bed and thumping Nicte square in the back. As a pathway for air opened up, Nicte released a bloodcurdling scream at the pain Raelle’s intervention had caused. She began to thrash to free herself from their grip.
“I need to start, straight away,” Raelle locked eyes with Sarah, “she needs to stop moving.”
Sarah immediately subdued Nicte into a sleep, watching her eyelids and face twitch at the pain still torturing her.
“Sarah,” Raelle warned, “sleep is not going to assist throughout this process. I need to re-break the bones first and… ” Raelle’s face warned of the devastation to come.
“You can't mean…” Sarah’s lip quivered, unable to form a full question.
Raelle nodded. Sarah took a shaky breath, positioning both hands on Nicte’s body. She issued a seed that immobilised her. She met Raelle’s gaze with a swallow, indicating for her to start. She began muttering under her breath. The first crack of a bone caused Nicte’s eyes to snap open, pained and dancing around their sockets in search of explanation. Sarah apologised in excess of a thousand times for the twenty-six minutes that Raelle worked. Nicte's eyes stayed locked on Sarah's for every last moment of it; clinging through her distorted haze for a reason to survive this torture.
When she was finished, Raelle slumped back on the pillows next to Nicte, her chest heaving. Sarah released Nicte, whose jaw slackened and eyes wandered, unfocussed. Sarah pushed back her sweat-soaked hair from her face, pressing her lips to her forehead. Nicte’s features were now much more discernible as her own.
“I got all the bone-work done,” Raelle’s breathing was still heavy, “I made a start on the surface-work but I’m spent Sarah,” she admitted.
Sarah shook her head, willing the tears to rattle back into their ducts. “Thank you, Raelle, I cannot express how grateful we are. Take the spare room to rest, only Tally used it last night.”
Raelle slid from the bed and ambled away. Sarah took her place, curling behind Nicte who had started to tremble. She drew a gentle arm around her, whispering incoherent apologies into the nape of her neck. They drifted into a restless sleep at Sarah’s behest.
*
“Sare,” Nicte rattled, her shoulder twitching against Sarah's chest.
Sarah launched herself to position above Nicte, with the aim of securing a better view. “Nic,” she smiled, relieved.
“Well that wasn’t what I meant,” Nicte informed her quietly.
“What?...” Sarah recoiled, concerned.
“When I said I wanted to try sensation play,” she smirked.
Sarah laughed maniacally, unable to restrain her relief as it bubbled forth in waves.
“You look like shit,” Nicte remarked, wincing as she adjusted her position.
“I?” Sarah’s voice rose, “have you seen yourself?”
“Don’t need to,” Nicte mumbled, scrunching up her nose, “I can smell myself.”
Sarah smiled fondly at the brave woman before her. “Can I interest you in a bath?” she breathed, tracing the outline of bruises that still tracked down Nicte’s neck. Nicte’s eyes softened to the point of vulnerability and she nodded. “I’ll be right back,” Sarah whispered.
Sarah ran their standalone bath, filling the tub with epsom salts and lavender. She set out a large bath towel on the floor along the side. Rolling up her sleeves, she tested the water and isolated the hot, letting a splash of cold finish the job. Sarah passed Raelle’s bedroom door and, seeing she was unconscious, closed it gently before continuing.
“You ready?” Sarah’s voice was soft as she prompted Nicte out of the light sleep she had drifted away into. Nicte groaned but nodded. “I’m going to undress you here, okay?”
She expected a witty retort but, instead, Nicte seemed to have switched into a much more delicate, exposed condition. She nodded again. Sarah retrieved a pair of scissors from the drawer. Her deft fingers gently lifted Nicte’s shirt and sliced the material with ease - from top to bottom and then at the shoulders.. She pushed the fabric aside, exposing Nicte’s chest and abdomen. She was covered in dried blood from semi-healed lacerations. It bothered Sarah, but she wouldn’t show that. Sliding her hands beneath her back, Sarah unclasped Nicte’s bra, pulling it off over her front. She set it aside, moving to her belt and trouser buttons. Once undone, Sarah pulled off her underwear, trousers and socks in one.
Even after Raelle’s extensive fixing, the evidence of extensive damage decorated Nicte’s body. The days without food and exercise had hollowed-out normally healthy expanses of her form. Sarah placed one knee on the bed, gathering Nicte into her arms before drawing her up to her chest. Sarah made her way down the hall patiently, Nicte’s face buried in the crook of her neck. On entering the dimly lit bathroom, she lowered Nicte into the bath, letting her feet test the temperature before committing. She tucked a towel over the end before resting her head back against it, running her fingers through her greying tresses.
Sarah picked up the natural sponge and began soaking and squeezing portions of warm water over Nicte’s exposed skin. Nicte hissed from time to time as Sarah passed cautiously over wounds. Taking an arm at a time, Sarah worshipped Nicte’s skin, massaging every inch with her own hands. She rose, unbuttoning her own shirt and stripping down. She carefully supported Nicte forwards before stepping into the bath behind her. Wrapping her arms and legs around her, she pulled Nicte into a sideways position lying on her chest. They rested, while Sarah slowly traced Nicte’s now-healed spine up and down.
Sarah’s mind drifted back to the phone call.
“Nicte Batan’s negotiations with the remaining Spree leaders were unsuccessful. They took her hostage a number of days ago. Our source only managed to get word to us this morning. We have now extracted her. Sarah,” Anacostia’s voice had been strained, “Sarah, the things they’ve done to her, it’s… she’s… not good. I think we got to her just in time.”
Sarah pressed a firm kiss to the top of her head, closing her eyes and losing herself to the day Nicte had left.
“…and if anything happens, you’ll… protect her, for me,” Nicte had urged her.
“She’ll never forgive me if anything happens to you,” Sarah begged.
“Nothing is going to happen to me, Sare. And if it does, just tell her I came off my bike or something cool like that,” Nicte had smiled, “she hates that thing already.”
*
Sarah broke free of her thoughts to find the water lukewarm. Extracting herself from the tub, she donned her own robe and collected a limp and drowsy Nicte, temporarily leaning against the outer edge of the bath while she bundled her in a towel. As they traversed the corridor, Raelle stepped from her room, offering Sarah a sad but knowing smile.
Sarah lay Nicte down, patting the towel across her damp skin. Once satisfied Nicte was dry enough to avoid a chill, she climbed into the bed next to her, pulling her half on top of her. She interlocked their limbs and breathed easier for the first time that week. Tally would have to know the details eventually, she knew that. But, for now, she was content to bask in the presence of the woman beside her.
*
Sarah awoke to the scuffling of a not-so-subtle Tally Craven in their room. She smiled broadly at the ceiling, stretching out her fingers without a word. Tally found them, and the length of her naked body pressed into the spare side of Sarah. She snuggled into Sarah, bridging an arm and leg over her to find Nicte. Nicte and Tally hummed their approval at finding each other in unison, nuzzling deeper into Sarah’s neck and chest.
Sarah inhaled effortlessly against the weight of her loves, completely at peace once more.
***