Chapter Text
"Repeat that."
"Water levels in the lake are lower than normal. By about 22 inches." Clara sighs, "You were right, but-"
Valeria doesn't let her finish. "Pandora's Box must have triggered something, interacted with the power under that lake."
"You know more than me. But again, Valeria, I think there will be problems with the gods. Neither the Society nor the Underground can match them. Not that I'm concerned with their well-being, just that, with no even opposition, they may not be so easily distracted. Their attention may turn skyward to us."
"The others?"
"All alive still, but they've disappeared to lick their wounds. Hope is not pleased with this turn of events, but when is she? She still thinks she's going to save the world."
Valeria rolls her eyes, shaking her head. It didn't surprise her. "Keep observing. Both the lake and the gods. I need to know as soon as that lake dries up."
"Of course, but if I may..." Clara trails off.Valeria glares at her, but it's not serious. Clara knows by now she is one of a very few people Valeria will listen to, "I don't know how it's done” Clara continues, “but we need to stop showing up over Helios so often. Someone is going to come up here who's not me and cause problems."
There's no response to her suggestion; Valeria simply looks back down at the papers in front of her. Clara gets the message and takes that as her cue to leave, sliding down the cable from the sky island to Helios proper, and leaving Valeria alone with her thoughts once again.
It would not be long before the island disappeared again. What used to be a family vacation home off the southern coast was ripped up by rift magic — a phenomenon Valeria still did not fully understand, though her research brought her closer every day. Shifting between realities was a new experience, but the magic itself was not completely unstable nor unpredictable. In truth, Valeria could not control the intermittent disappearance and reappearance of the rift island, not yet anyway, but Clara did not need to know that.
Ten minutes. Ten minutes every 48 hours was what her time on Helios was reduced to. It was barely enough time for Clara to get in and out. Statistically, there was little possibility for anyone else to show up. Still, the possibility was there, and something in the back of her mind hoped...
The zip of a pulley grinding against cable shakes her out of her thoughts. Clara? No, Clara had her number, would have told her if she was returning. Had someone actually managed to get to the island? Valeria grabs her SMG, a precaution, and ascends the stairs to the large balcony and then the rooftop. Already the wind was picking up. Just a few seconds later the pulley reaches the end of the cable, bringing with it the loud clang of metal hitting metal and the low thud of a body hitting the ground. No, not just a body.
Montague.
Valeria keeps low against the wall, peeking out just enough to keep the man in sight. He is slow to rise, his clothes dirty, possibly stained with blood, and his hair is a rumpled mess. By now he had regained his footing, standing on unsteady feet and slowly moving towards the house. The house whose roof Valeria was currently perching on. Before she could move though, Montague's steps falter and he falls to his hands and knees. Here he stays, rising only to fully kneel, looking around as if seeing the place for the first time. Could he be looking for her? Assessing for threats? No. Valeria sets her gun down and stands, taking one last look at Montague on the ground below before descending. There was no threat here. Not to him, not to her.
It takes a few minutes before Valeria is back on the ground floor, yet as she approaches the entryway closest to Montague, she finds he has barely moved. All he has managed is to turn slightly, focusing on the courtyard in front of him and the covered patio beyond that. Closer now, she could see he looked worse than she initially thought. His breathing was ragged, like he ran a great deal before landing here. Small crystals of diamond still cling to him, some growing larger while others vanish and reappear beyond his control. Trailing from his right ear, the only side of his face she can see, is blood.
"Montague?" His name slips from between her lips, but the rest of her questions remain unspoken. What happened to you? Why did you come here?
His reaction, or rather complete lack of one, is not what Valeria expects. His years of thievery honed his senses, Montague once told her, especially his hearing, and while she hadn't exactly whispered his name, she didn't think the wind was strong enough to drown her out either.
Valeria takes a few steps forward, closer, her heels clicking against the floor. Still, nothing. Was he purposefully ignoring her? Was he just that out of it? There's no mistake, this definitely is Montague. Closer now, but not close enough to reach out and touch him, Valeria calls his name again.
This time, he moves. Montague whips his head around, turning his body over his left to look completely behind him. His eyes are wide, recognition and relief flashing through a half-second later.
"Valeria." There was something in the way he said her name, something besides the mixture of shock and disbelief and relief, that sounded... off for lack of a better word.
Then he collapsed.
There was no time to wonder further. Valeria is moving before her mind can catch up, acting on instinct. The first thing to come to mind is to check his pulse, which, thankfully, is still beating strong. So he's alive at least. Before she can do much else, a now familiar hum joins the sound of the wind whipping. There's not much time left, anywhere between a few minutes and ten, until the island disappears. Looking down at Montague's unconscious body, Valeria knows there is no way she is getting him off the island. Not safely, and not without her also leaving the island, and leaving the island now? She'd be stuck on Helios again. There's only one choice here. Two steps forward, one step back.
She shrugs off her dress, leaving the garment draped across a chair; it would be easier to move around in just the catsuit. Kneeling next to Montague, Valeria could better see the extent of his injuries. The diamond he fought so hard to maintain had vanished when he lost consciousness, revealing bruises along his neck and a small gash on one of his arms — a bullet graze? Another bruise on his forehead, and double checking confirmed it was blood that trailed from his ear down his jaw. She runs a hand through his hair, a small attempt to tame the mess, then hooks her arms under his. Lifting his upper body off the ground takes effort, and Valeria is both grateful Montague was not awake to see this and wishing he would wake up so she doesn't have to do it. Dragging him requires even more effort, and progress is slow but, bit by bit, she moves him inside. Originally, she planned to bring him to the couch but just getting him to the floor next to it was a chore. It is here that she gives up, deems the task done well enough as she places one of the couch pillows on the ground under his head.
Valeria leaves him there, returning with several damp paper towels to clean off the worst of the dirt and blood. The air around her is electric with magical energy, something Valeria barely notices with how often she's experienced rifting now. One moment, the house glows with warm afternoon sunlight, the next, it is awash in the pale light of stars and nearby galaxies. Both peaceful and educational, a refuge from the chaos of Helios where she could do her research alone and without distraction. Well... Valeria thinks, looking down at Montague and wiping at the blood on his jaw, not alone for much longer.
It's good they're stuck in space somewhere. No need to watch for threats, and no one to see her—them, like this. It was almost unthinkable to see Montague so fragile, so vulnerable. He always presented himself as unbreakable, like the diamond he controlled, and she was aloof to the near extreme. It was better to not have attachments, for both herself and others. After all, those that play with fire get burned. And yet, here they are, neither keeping up with their public facades. Valeria huffs, frustrated. At him? Herself? This whole situation? She doesn't know.
"Sarai la mia morte," He can't hear her, but she tells him anyway, slipping into her native language. She can't exactly hide behind the language barrier; French had its similarities. He's put together the meaning of her words before, even if not completely accurate, and she's done the same with his words. It's comforting; the words come easier this way. "mio ladretto."
How long Montague would be out cold was anyone's guess; better to spend the time being productive and she needs to clear her head. To think about anything else. Valeria's on her feet, disposing of the trash and walking the short distance to the nook she calls a library. It is smaller than the one in her home, but serves its purpose well enough, and she is able to keep an eye on Montague from her desk — not that she was doing so.
The book she'd been studying before her last meeting with Clara was still waiting for her, a loose piece of paper stuck between the pages Valeria left off on. Tales of magic on an island unknown to her. An island she couldn't find anywhere on a map, which led to theories. What the book described sounded eerily similar to the magic that broke out on Helios, and one thing Valeria knew for certain was that she had never seen, nor heard of this book, before the rifts appeared. The existence of other universes was something she never had a solid opinion on, but the more she discovers, the more likely it seems true.
It was difficult tracking time out in space. Space was always moving, light always constant; the only assurance was an analogue clock hanging on the wall. It faithfully marched on, regardless of the island's location, and it was the first thing she checked when Montague began to wake.
Ten hours. He was not yet fully awake but stirred fitfully; as if fighting to remain unconscious. It is a fight he would lose eventually. Valeria pauses her reading, watching him carefully for any sudden movements. Part of her wants to get closer, to be near when he came to in a place both familiar and not. The more logical side of her calls that a bad idea. There is no way for her to know how Montague would react to any of this. If the situation were different, if he had shown up healthy and of sound mind, he would have- he would have...
He would have been shocked. Attempt to hide it, but Valeria knows his tells, would see it in his eyes, and once he got over that, he would pull her into his arms and refuse to let go. And she would let him.
Valeria settles for a middle ground. With her book carefully marked for later, she rises and collects her dress from where it lay. Slipping it back on brings a small comfort, softness and warmth, while she leans back against the desk watching, waiting.
Sometime later, twenty minutes as reported by the clock on the wall, Montague wakes up. At first, the change is barely noticeable from the fits he'd been having, but the sound of him groaning grabs her attention immediately. She watches the small movement of his head turning back and forth, taking in his surroundings. Then suddenly, he goes still. Waiting is the safest bet. Valeria couldn't be certain that he remembered getting here, nor seeing her, yet still there is that part of her that wants to be close.
She forces herself to stay put; to be a silent observer. Slowly, using an arm to keep steady, Montague sits up and gets a better look at the room around him. The first time his eyes pass over her, it's like he doesn't see her at all. It isn't until his second look that he registers her.
"Val-" He starts, then immediately stops. His surprise at seeing her quickly morphs into something akin to panic, then haphazard blankness. He tries again, this time managing to say her full name. His eyes are wide, alertness replacing confusion as his focus turns away from her and towards himself.
Fuck it. Valeria crosses the room, kneeling next to Montague, Something's wrong. She didn't expect a happy reunion, but Montague's demeanor was off. He didn't look any worse than when he first arrived. None of his outward injuries appeared to be bothering him either. Anything internal was beyond her, so the only thing left was his power, but no, he retained that as well. A small patch of diamond covers his right arm, where the bullet had grazed him.
"What's wrong?" Valeria quietly asks, trying not to startle him, but he doesn't react at all. Like he doesn't know she's there, despite having clearly seen her approach him. "Montague?" She calls, louder this time.
That breaks the spell. His head snaps up, turning to look over his left shoulder, but Valeria is not there. If he turned a little further, he might see her out of the corner of his eye; however, Valeria does not give him that chance. Instead, she places a hand on his shoulder, her touch feather light, to guide him. As soon as he registers her touch, he turns around and finally, he is facing her, worry still etched into his face.
So she asks again, two words, short and to the point. The longer she goes without an answer, the more Valeria's thoughts race and if there was one thing she hated most, it was helplessness.
"I- I can't-" He stutters. Valeria's not sure if it’s uncertainty, if the issue is that unnerving, or some horrid combination of both. She hangs on in the silence until he forces the rest out, "I can't hear."
"What?"
All thoughts come to a screeching halt. Only that question remains. A few seconds later, her brain catches up and she realizes, dumbly, that he did not hear her. All she can do is look at him, hope he understands her question, and wait. Montague simply shakes his head.
"No. I mean, I can but not well," he explains, then raises his hand to his head. Starting with his left side, Montague snaps his fingers next to his ear. Valeria watches in silence as he repeats the gesture several times before doing the same with his right ear. With his test done, Montague taps his finger against his right ear, then slashes the air next to him. "Not at all."
Oh. There it is; the missing piece to her puzzle. The pieces fall into place and everything makes sense now. Why he didn't pick up on the subtle sound of footsteps. Why he didn't initially react to her calling his name. Why, when he did finally register her voice, he always looked to his left.
"So then, you can-"
"Yes," he says before she can finish the thought. "From the left."
Montague lapses into silence and Valeria does the same. What do you even say to this? I'm sorry? She's still trying to pull the right words together when Montague pulls her into his arms, holding her like his life depends on it. It's not what she expected, but neither has anything else that happened today. She wraps her arms around him, making sure her head rests on his left shoulder. Her touch is light but constant, fingers tracing nonexistent patterns along his back.
"Maybe it's only temporary," she says after a moment. Words that are meant to console, but what if it wasn't? What good is hope if it is only false? "We'll figure it out."
We. Not you. One simple word, and Valeria knows. That "no attachments" rule had been broken long ago, and although she's followed it ever since, he would always be an exception. Her efforts to disentangle herself from him were halfhearted, pathetic might be the word Clara would use, but she doesn't care.
She feels his arms tighten around her, trying to pull her closer before he relaxes. Valeria shifts her legs, untucking them so that she could be closer. Any further and one would have to pull the other on top of them. Eventually, though, he pulls away, sitting up properly but refusing to let her go completely. He still holds onto her shoulders, as if she would somehow disappear or dart away if he broke contact. His face is slightly red, the pale light glinting off the tear-streaks under his eyes.
"I am so glad I found you."
Valeria says nothing, but that part of her, ignored and silenced over the last few days, has finally broken free. She smiles. A wish answered. Happiness mixed with the sorrow and pain. That he found her, whether by pure chance or purposefully, was enough.
She pulls him back into her and this time Montague shifts so that his legs rest on top of hers. If they weren't sitting on the cold, hardwood floor she would lay with him. The thought of moving to the couch doesn't even cross her mind with how focused she is on him and what's happened. Her heart only cares that he's alive. For now, this is enough.
The rest they would talk about later.