Work Text:
The pounding crackles in the back of Imogen's head felt like dull lightning and thunder, but she knew it was just the beating of her own heart. It kept going, traitorous, quick quick quick , each beat feeling like they were stealing the ones that Laudna's slow heart wasn't taking.
They were on the airship, high over the Hellcatch, a few hours into their journey back to Jrusar. Imogen hadn’t spoken to anyone since boarding. She had just followed Ashton to one of the bunks below deck, where he had laid Laudna carefully, still wrapped in a blanket. Then she had sat beside her, her mind an open wreck, choruses of guilt and fury and grief radiating from her like fevered heat. It didn’t surprise her that nobody came and sat with her. Her thoughts were unbearable. She hoped they all would stay far away.
Chetney's footsteps were silent, but Imogen sensed his mind approaching from the narrow hallway. Please walk past, she thought, and wasn’t sure if she was projecting that loudly enough for him to hear it. Either way, he didn’t. He stopped right in front of the door, which was partially ajar. There was a soft tap, and then it pushed open.
“Imogen,” the old gnome said quietly.
She kept staring at the white sheet covering her best friend’s body. What do you want, Chet? she asked.
He kept answering out loud. “I brought you some water. And a pastry, Denalia’s been baking. You need to drink and eat something.”
I can’t. Her mouth tasted like dust and ash, and her throat was closed so tightly that even trying to sip some water sounded impossible.
“You have to,” Chetney replied matter-of-factly.
Leave me alone.
“No.”
More tears welled up, burning her eyes, feeling like half-salt, almost sticky from dehydration. Her shoulders shook silently. She didn’t want Chetney to be bringing her water, like…like he was Laudna and she had just had a nightmare. She never wanted anyone to bring her water again unless it was Laudna. She wanted Laudna. She wanted Laudna.
“I know. I know.”
She didn’t have the energy to think about how gently Chetney was speaking to her, didn’t even have the energy to fight against the soft voice insisting on calming the agonizing, furious grief in her heart. The handle of a tin cup touched her palm, and her fingers wrapped around it reflexively.
“I’d apologize for bringing a metal cup, but it’s what the kitchen had, and I didn’t want to take the time to carve you a better one,” Chetney told her.
Imogen laughed, but it came out sounding like a sob.
“I know. It’s awful.” She didn’t know if he was talking about the cup or everything else. “Just take a drink, Imogen. Just have some water.”
Why should I? she thought bitterly.
“Because you’re alive and we want you to stay that way. Come on.” He was sitting beside her on the bed suddenly, putting his small hand on her elbow, raising her hand up a few inches. It was easier, once he had started the movement, to lift it the rest of the way to her lips and numbly take a drink. The first swallow was so painful that she almost choked, but Chetney patted her back and said, “There you go, kid, you can do it.”
“Chet,” she managed to say out loud.
“More water,” he insisted.
“What’s the fucking point, Chet?”
“The point is that you need to drink water or you’ll get sick and die,” he said bluntly.
So what? It can’t be any fucking worse than this.
He continued to refuse to join the telepathic conversation. “That’s the thing, Imogen, is that you’re having the worst fucking day of your life right now. Everyone’s had a worst fucking day of their life. I’ve had several–I think you get one about every fifty years or so. And the thing about the worst fucking day of your life is that it doesn’t stop being the worst fucking day of your life because you’ve had some water and a snack. In fact, it’s easier to have the worst fucking day of your life when you have the energy to be miserable and the tears to cry.”
I don’t want it to be easier. It shouldn’t be easier.
“Oh, no, don’t get me wrong, it’s still gonna be the hardest thing you’ve ever done, getting through the worst fucking day of your life. But you are going to be miserable, and you are going to get through it, and you are going to drink the rest of that water and eat this ridiculous fucking pastry I brought you. Why don’t you get it over with?”
Whether she really understood his logic or not, Imogen couldn’t say, but she couldn’t argue with it anyway. She drank more of the water, and she took the jam-filled pastry that he handed her, and she marveled briefly that anything could possibly taste good and sweet when the world was so fucking empty and bitter.
There was a little crust of browned sugar on top of the pastry. It clung to Imogen’s lips. She washed it down with the rest of the water and burst into tears.
Chetney took the now-empty cup from her hands as her body lost whatever strength it had left and she began sliding down to the floor. He took her arm and tried to help her down. She resisted and grabbed at the bed, trying to keep herself up next to Laudna. “No, I can’t leave her, I can’t leave her,” she said hysterically.
But Chetney dragged her down to the ground anyway. “You’re not leaving her, Imogen, she’s still just a couple feet away. She’s right there, you’re right here.”
“I can’t leave her!” Imogen wailed. “She trusted me, and I couldn’t save her, I have to stay with her!”
“She does trust you, and you’re still going to save her,” Chetney said calmly. “You’re not going anywhere, we’re just sitting on the floor for a little while. She understands, Imogen, she knows.”
Imogen collapsed sideways onto the wooden ground, sobbing uncontrollably. She was sending out fresh shockwaves of pain, and felt Chetney’s mind flinch at the assault. But he didn’t pull away. He lifted her head up into his lap. She was bursting with electricity. Touching her probably felt like a mild but painful static shock, and still he didn’t pull away.
"That's it, cry it out," Chetney said, not unkindly. "Get all the shitty feelings out. That's exactly how it feels to lose somebody--everybody feels it, everybody knows it, and it's always the worst thing anybody has ever gone through, like it's the very first time there's ever been grief, every time. Brand fucking new. Every time. You've still got a chance, a good chance, that you'll get your Laudna back. We're gonna do everything we can. But right now, she isn't here, and you're scared and sad and it's the worst fucking day of your life, and it's gonna be the worst fucking day of your life no matter what anybody does. But you're not alone. You're not alone. And that's better."
...it is better, she acknowledged several minutes later, when her wracking sobs had died down to shaky little whimpers. She felt heavy. A faint thread of gratitude formed the words, Thank you, Chetney.
"Don't thank me." He put a handkerchief in her hand, and she blew her nose and wiped her tear-soaked cheeks.
She hadn't stopped crying, but her body was so deeply tired that it was growing still, and her head hurt so badly that it forced her tears to come silently. She could almost feel the edges of sleep coming to claim her, and she fought it, but it dug its claws into her like an angry cat. It wasn’t a peaceful sleep by any means. Still, there was some kind of bitter relief that came with unconsciousness.
Imogen heard whispering.
“...can carry her into the other room.”
“Everyone else?”
“Orym wanted to come check on her, but he’s been in and out. Fearne won’t let go of him.” Ashton sounded tired.
Imogen took a deep breath, planning on saying something like I’m awake or I don’t want to leave Laudna alone or Tell Orym not to worry about me , but all she managed was a few weak, quiet sobs.
“Oh. Hey,” Ashton said, so gently that it ached. They laid a hand on her shoulder. “Hey. Sorry to wake you.”
I have to stay with her , Imogen thought loudly, pushing it into both Ashton and Chetney’s heads. I don’t want her to be alone, she was alone for so long. It’s not fair. It’s not fair, don’t make me leave her alone.
“Imogen–” Ashton started.
“I’ll stay with her,” Chetney interrupted. “It’ll make everyone else feel better to all be in the same room, Imogen.”
“What about you?” Imogen whispered, at the same time as Ashton.
“Me? Oh, I’m fine. I’ve got work to do."
"Mm," Ashton said doubtfully. "You sure?"
"Yeah, I'm sure," replied Chetney.
It still felt wrong to leave Laudna, but...her main fear was that Laudna would come back and find herself alone. If Chetney stayed with her, it would be okay.
We're all thinking it, Ashton told her silently. We won't let her wake up alone. Promise. Out loud, he said, "Knock on the wall or just step outside and poke your head next door when you need a break, and I'll sit with her."
Imogen began to sit up, trembling with the effort.
"Nope," Ashton said swiftly. They scooped her up into their arms. "No, I've got you."
She shivered and didn't protest. Leaning her head against their upper arm, she noticed how tightly he was holding her, how close to his chest. Her lip quivered as she remembered how much she had shouted at him for not carrying Laudna right, for thinking about putting her in the portable hole. He had been carrying Laudna everywhere since then. She wondered, faintly guiltily, if that had shaken him up. She hadn't considered how awful it must be to carry a dead friend in their arms.
From the way Ashton sighed and gave her a gentle squeeze as they walked out into the hall, she hadn't done a very good job of keeping her thoughts under wraps there. "It's okay," he told her. "I've got you. C'mon, I've got you."
I'm sorry, she said. Another couple of tears dripped out and onto their arm, sliding across the smooth green skin and thin gold lines.
"No, shush, don't apologize. Stop that, none of it was your fault." He paused in the hallway in front of the door to the room next to the one she and Laudna and Chetney had been in. "I mean that, Imogen. None of it was your fault. Thull chose to kill her, not because of anything you did, but because she's awful and evil."
I leveled the building, pieces fell on her, what--what if-- She couldn't verbalize the horrible fear even inside her own mind.
"No," Ashton said firmly. "There was a sword through her chest . She wouldn't have survived that, whether or not a few pieces of bricks hit her. It's not your fault, and we're going to get her back. You hear me? We are not going to let this stand."
Imogen tried to nod. She curled into him, her face burying in their dusty, bloody vest, and she started shaking again with silent sobs.
Something caught in their breathing as well, but they didn't say anything else. He shouldered through the door, and then he was sitting down, but they still kind of held onto her as he let her lay down on the mattress. Imogen could feel warmth at her back--Fearne, breathing deeply. She could sense Orym and FCG in the room as well. Orym was sleeping and FCG was keeping sentry at the foot of the bed. Imogen kept crying.
Ashton ran a hand over her hair, a bit clumsily. She was still partially laying on top of him, her head on his chest and her knees pressed against the side of his legs. They were staying closer than they ever really had before. It once again sank in--Laudna was dead . Everyone was feeling the loss, was hurting, was wanting to be close to the rest of the group.
Imogen sniffled. "You're still all sandy," she mumbled.
Ashton hummed an acknowledgement. "'m used to it. Go back to sleep."
She moved her fingers, using a trace of magic to clean the dust from the sandstorm and...well, lots of different people's blood from the red and black fabric. She cleaned herself up a bit as well, then closed her exhausted, burning eyes.
Ashton’s heartbeat was slower than hers, but faster than Laudna’s. When Laudna had still had a heartbeat, of course–everyone’s was faster than hers, now. Though if they did manage to bring her back, maybe it would be like it never stopped. Maybe it had just…slowed way, way down. Days between beats instead of seconds.
Weirdly, the thought comforted her. She fell back asleep quickly.