[ for a while, it's quiet, rarity in the silence and the serenity that's all a facade for what's really there, for the war that lives inside. the fall of ash that eventually showers over his body again, it always does, as if any distance he finds away from it will never be enough. he only wonders who long it'll take to cover him up too, burying him with the rest of the bodies at stronghold, the last of the envoys falling into his fated grave.
he closes his eyes, letting it fall against the lids, until he can't even see the faint glow of the light from beyond them.
but then he can feel the light shift of mattress, a slight weight sitting close to his side and he exhales a breath, the sigh blowing away some of the ash from his face. of course she's here, like she's been the only one who could reach in and pull him out, and even with eyes still closed, he reaches out, fingers brushing to her thigh, knuckles giving a lazy graze, a voiceless nudge for her to curl into bed with him, to give him someplace out of the ash to rest his head. ]
Clara — [ he whispers her name like a sigh, like relief, that she'd somehow come back to him even after all he'd said to her.
when his eyes blink open, there's no ash, no hazy gaze of gray, his fingers brushing against a different thigh, the blur shifting away to find a different woman sitting upon his bed. it's not the first time he's woken up to find her there (find her making space in an empty room) but somehow he's still surprised, even if he can remember why she'd come here in the first place.
he curls his fingers inward to his palm, reeling his hand back slowly as he swallows, avoiding any attention to the gesture or the name that left his lips. ] ... hey. You're back.
[ one, two, one, two. the counting was like a lullaby, making heavy marta's eyelids in a way no story has since her arrival on this station. perhaps she'd already been half-dozing when he had begun to reach out, for she doesn't realize until those knuckles brush against her thigh, pulling her back to the present.
there's less than a handful of seconds between that touch and the sighing of that name, but for the duration of them it had seemed like a lifetime — and yet still not nearly long enough to even begin to decipher her emotions in that time.
when his eyes fix on her, seeing her, she looks away as if to grant him the privacy she couldn't just a few moments prior. ]
Where else would I be? You called me, remember?
[ he had called, needing her (or so it'd seemed) — of course she'd answer. it's as simple as that.
reaching for her kit, she motions for him to turn with her free hand. ]
[ there's a guilt in the moment, either from muttering another name after he had apparently called her in for her help, or for the fact that he'd let such a private honesty slip from his lips and be so exposed, like he'd let her in on a secret he hadn't been prepared to spill. more than likely, it's something of both, a swirl of awkwardness that carries more weight than any extended moment he'd stood in front of her naked from head to toe.
he's glad for the distraction when she suggests him to turn around, only taking a moment to nod before he spins his body to rest on his belly, turning his head to rest his cheek against the pillow, facing to the wall rather than towards her, like it could offer a moment to compose himself again. ]
Guess I passed out. You know how it goes — all these girls always walking in on me. Really ruins the sleep cycle.
[ easier to go back to joking, even if there isn't the same edge of playfulness as there had been earlier in his bantering teases. ]
[ on his stomach like he is, she's left to take a seat in the space carved out on the bed by his torso, hovering just close enough to begin the careful work of cleaning up and removing those stitches. the wound is red and angry, not unlike the first time she'd seen it, but it's nothing she's sure some antibiotic cream won't take care of in due time. overall it's an issue far easier to tackle than the other one at hand, glaring in the way it isn't something visible or tangible, but still just as annoyingly present in the small space between them.
the problem is, marta's certain this isn't something for her to address. she had always suspected something had happened to him the night of christmas; how else to explain his complete shift in demeanor from that morning over their game of go to the late evening as he stumbled into the silent infirmary? she had had her theories, in the few moments she allowed herself to ponder over someone else's problems (problems he clearly didn't want to discuss) but never had she thought that at the crux of it would be a woman. one of their own, even. ]
Maybe next time consider locking the door.
[ but he slips back into that sardonic wit like a comfortable sweater, and marta knows any window of opportunity she had to ask about it has closed. she's curious, but she doesn't pry, so she keeps working and working and working on the one pain of his she knows how to treat. ]
[ even without looking at her, he can feel the way she eases into the steps of tending his wound like an old routine, like her hands are capable of moving all on their own, with ease and carefulness. it's just grazes of her fingertips at his back as she cleans him up but it's almost relaxing, especially when he lays down like this, already having slumbered easily just minutes ago.
but he isn't falling asleep this time, not with the nagging press in his mind over the name he'd uttered out loud, one that she doesn't seem to be asking about, even if he has a feeling she's likely casting her own thoughts and assumptions about it silently in her own mind. ]
Then what happens when I really am lying on my shower floor dying and I need you to rush in to save me?
[ not actually a likely scenario, he assumes, but it's another attempt to keep playing with the dangling string of sarcasm he still has left in the conversation.
but a sigh leaves his lips, heavy that he almost feels his body sinking against the mattress, and maybe it's in that, with his eyes safe away from her gaze that he almost feels compelled to be honest — not about clara; he doubts he could really choke out anything about his relationship with her, because he knows it comes paired with the weight of the deal he's made, something that he doesn't have any intention on bringing up to anyone. but maybe he could at least answer what she did ask about. ]
The ... day the Envoys died — [ he'd told her about it. on new years day. ] I still dream about it. Sometimes even when I'm awake. I can ... still see the ash from the explosions, falling over me like snow. I'd feel it on my skin, inhale it like it's still burning. And I just ... I lose myself in it. Like I'm back there and I ... I wait for it to bury me with the rest of them.
[ even now, his mouth feels dry, and he runs his tongue across his lips to wet them. ]
When I woke up from a long sleep a few months ago, it was supposed to be a temporary side effect — disorientation, visual and auditory hallucinations, low-grade amnesia. And it stopped for a while, but ... they came back recently. The nightmares. Sometimes it's harder to pull out. Last night, I had to really shake out of it. Must've ripped the stitches.
[ the quiet that follows his heavy sigh feels finite, and so she doesn't dare to ruin it with a sardonic response, content instead to let her work speak for her. she doesn't expect to hear him speak again, let alone in such a soul-baring way.
she keeps quiet, and yet her hands stutter, faltering only once as he speaks a truth so close to home she wonders if part of his envoy skills isn't seeing right through her. when silence settles between them again, she finds it isn't too difficult to think of what to say. ]
I think the worst thing about nightmares is that each time you have them, it always feels like the first time.
[ cruel enough for a mind to remind you of your pain, but to make you relive it each time like tearing open a new wound on flesh already so littered with barely-healed scars... marta knows how toxic guilt can be. how feeling like being the one to survive is meant to be a curse to carry the memory of those who left before you — for you — like an emptiness that just won't fill.
how many nights has she spent waking up to the memory of harlan's soulless eyes staring back at her? how many more has kovacs had remember so many more?
work done, she sits back a bit to give him some room. still, she has to keep busy, works on cleaning up and putting things away so it doesn't feel like she's reaching in, tearing out her own haphazard stitches to speak of a memory she won't let herself forget. ]
Before I came here... I lost someone too. [ the corner of her lips twitch, even as her vision blurs. ] A dear friend.
[ she looks up from her hands, follows the line of his spine up to the back of his head. she wonders what his expression looks like now. if it's in any way a mirror of hers. ]
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no subject
he closes his eyes, letting it fall against the lids, until he can't even see the faint glow of the light from beyond them.
but then he can feel the light shift of mattress, a slight weight sitting close to his side and he exhales a breath, the sigh blowing away some of the ash from his face. of course she's here, like she's been the only one who could reach in and pull him out, and even with eyes still closed, he reaches out, fingers brushing to her thigh, knuckles giving a lazy graze, a voiceless nudge for her to curl into bed with him, to give him someplace out of the ash to rest his head. ]
Clara — [ he whispers her name like a sigh, like relief, that she'd somehow come back to him even after all he'd said to her.
when his eyes blink open, there's no ash, no hazy gaze of gray, his fingers brushing against a different thigh, the blur shifting away to find a different woman sitting upon his bed. it's not the first time he's woken up to find her there (find her making space in an empty room) but somehow he's still surprised, even if he can remember why she'd come here in the first place.
he curls his fingers inward to his palm, reeling his hand back slowly as he swallows, avoiding any attention to the gesture or the name that left his lips. ] ... hey. You're back.
no subject
there's less than a handful of seconds between that touch and the sighing of that name, but for the duration of them it had seemed like a lifetime — and yet still not nearly long enough to even begin to decipher her emotions in that time.
when his eyes fix on her, seeing her, she looks away as if to grant him the privacy she couldn't just a few moments prior. ]
Where else would I be? You called me, remember?
[ he had called, needing her (or so it'd seemed) — of course she'd answer. it's as simple as that.
reaching for her kit, she motions for him to turn with her free hand. ]
Come on then. Show me your back.
no subject
he's glad for the distraction when she suggests him to turn around, only taking a moment to nod before he spins his body to rest on his belly, turning his head to rest his cheek against the pillow, facing to the wall rather than towards her, like it could offer a moment to compose himself again. ]
Guess I passed out. You know how it goes — all these girls always walking in on me. Really ruins the sleep cycle.
[ easier to go back to joking, even if there isn't the same edge of playfulness as there had been earlier in his bantering teases. ]
no subject
the problem is, marta's certain this isn't something for her to address. she had always suspected something had happened to him the night of christmas; how else to explain his complete shift in demeanor from that morning over their game of go to the late evening as he stumbled into the silent infirmary? she had had her theories, in the few moments she allowed herself to ponder over someone else's problems (problems he clearly didn't want to discuss) but never had she thought that at the crux of it would be a woman. one of their own, even. ]
Maybe next time consider locking the door.
[ but he slips back into that sardonic wit like a comfortable sweater, and marta knows any window of opportunity she had to ask about it has closed. she's curious, but she doesn't pry, so she keeps working and working and working on the one pain of his she knows how to treat. ]
no subject
but he isn't falling asleep this time, not with the nagging press in his mind over the name he'd uttered out loud, one that she doesn't seem to be asking about, even if he has a feeling she's likely casting her own thoughts and assumptions about it silently in her own mind. ]
Then what happens when I really am lying on my shower floor dying and I need you to rush in to save me?
[ not actually a likely scenario, he assumes, but it's another attempt to keep playing with the dangling string of sarcasm he still has left in the conversation.
but a sigh leaves his lips, heavy that he almost feels his body sinking against the mattress, and maybe it's in that, with his eyes safe away from her gaze that he almost feels compelled to be honest — not about clara; he doubts he could really choke out anything about his relationship with her, because he knows it comes paired with the weight of the deal he's made, something that he doesn't have any intention on bringing up to anyone. but maybe he could at least answer what she did ask about. ]
The ... day the Envoys died — [ he'd told her about it. on new years day. ] I still dream about it. Sometimes even when I'm awake. I can ... still see the ash from the explosions, falling over me like snow. I'd feel it on my skin, inhale it like it's still burning. And I just ... I lose myself in it. Like I'm back there and I ... I wait for it to bury me with the rest of them.
[ even now, his mouth feels dry, and he runs his tongue across his lips to wet them. ]
When I woke up from a long sleep a few months ago, it was supposed to be a temporary side effect — disorientation, visual and auditory hallucinations, low-grade amnesia. And it stopped for a while, but ... they came back recently. The nightmares. Sometimes it's harder to pull out. Last night, I had to really shake out of it. Must've ripped the stitches.
no subject
she keeps quiet, and yet her hands stutter, faltering only once as he speaks a truth so close to home she wonders if part of his envoy skills isn't seeing right through her. when silence settles between them again, she finds it isn't too difficult to think of what to say. ]
I think the worst thing about nightmares is that each time you have them, it always feels like the first time.
[ cruel enough for a mind to remind you of your pain, but to make you relive it each time like tearing open a new wound on flesh already so littered with barely-healed scars... marta knows how toxic guilt can be. how feeling like being the one to survive is meant to be a curse to carry the memory of those who left before you — for you — like an emptiness that just won't fill.
how many nights has she spent waking up to the memory of harlan's soulless eyes staring back at her? how many more has kovacs had remember so many more?
work done, she sits back a bit to give him some room. still, she has to keep busy, works on cleaning up and putting things away so it doesn't feel like she's reaching in, tearing out her own haphazard stitches to speak of a memory she won't let herself forget. ]
Before I came here... I lost someone too. [ the corner of her lips twitch, even as her vision blurs. ] A dear friend.
[ she looks up from her hands, follows the line of his spine up to the back of his head. she wonders what his expression looks like now. if it's in any way a mirror of hers. ]
It's... hard. Being the one left behind.