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[longwillows]

reach out?

the smell of fresh water in dry desert air. the feeling of cautious curiosity. a place as dangerous as it is resplendent.

c

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[merged]

[ An apology slips from Kalmiya's mouth, and Sharon is blindsided by how familiar it feels, like someone pressing on an old bruise, dragging her back into a childhood steeped with shame. It clashes hard against the Kalmiya she knows—the woman who radiates chaotic sunlight and wonder, impossible to overlook or quiet.

And Sleep tried to take that. Tried to grind it down—to grind Kal down.

All Sharon can manage is a faint shake of her head, rejecting the apology before it fully settles, pulling back just enough to look the older woman in her silver eyes. She can't say the words out loud, but the message hums through the tether binding them: you have nothing to be sorry for. Kalmiya didn't harm Sharon. She didn't harm Arthur. That blame rests upon a being convinced she can win by breaking them apart, by inflicting pain, by turning them into islands through fear and loneliness. ]

[pointedlook]

[ Shame shudders and drips from her lips, joining the pounding downpour of the storm whipping within. It's reflexive, a habit fought like a war, but just as easy to fall back on; a smoker picking up cigarettes again. The cherry red tip of the burning ash catches on Sharon, unearthing the familiar scorch marks.

Somewhere, he feels the flinty anger over the people that left those scars on them both. But, he can't erase the past, none of them can. All they can do is continue to move forward, one foot in front of the other. So he shoves the roil of fury aside–it doesn't have a place in this scene–and despite their lacking connection, he follows the bits and pieces of Kalmiya he knows like a string through a maze. ]

No apologizing; I'd do this all over again, even knowing the outcome. [ What's a little psychic pain between friends? ] You took a mace to a deity and she decided she didn't like it. I think you might've shaken her a bit. Gods or whatever don't enjoy being reminded they can bruise.

[longwillows]

[Though Sharon tries to meet her gaze, Kalmiya can only bear to hold eye contact for a fraction of a second before her head bows; flinching away instinctively from being so seen, and still silent outside of the violent hitch of her breathing. The wash of shame seeping from her leaves behind a concentrate of something baser, potent dregs of a fear she may never truly shake. Panic, rage, anguish—none were without consequence. They did not always precede an eruption of her holy light. But they always, always meant being left alone.

She doesn't say it again, but still the Murmur cradles the distant sound of the young Savior of Sanctuary, praying to be free of a weight she couldn't entirely understand: I'm sorry.

Tightly she clutches to Sharon's coat, claw tips snagging the heavy winter fabric. Even tighter is her grasp on their tethers, a castaway seeking a lifeline in a maelstrom. Cords braided from their words—the insistence that she's not alone, and she won't be alone, made manifest in the weak tendrils of warmth that anchor her to each of them.

She holds, and holds, and holds. Ash and ozone mingle at the back of her nose. It takes a long moment to find her voice again, her throat squeezed shut as her body braces for a punishment that isn't coming. It's a thin sound, drawn by the tension she can't let go of as she weeps.] I wasn't...even aiming for her. I just wanted to help him...

[Spiteful as Kalmiya can be, her defiance of Sleep was nothing so petty. Something deep, something righteous brought her up onto that pedestal; she's no big damn hero, but she can't stand to see someone emptied of their very self like that.]

[merged]

[ A distant flare of fury ripples along Arthur's end of the tether, a dangerous spark that he crushes down almost immediately. Like sand thrown over a beach fire just before dawn. The heat is still there beneath the surface, glowing, capable of roaring back to life with the right provocation, but he keeps it buried. He stays focused, handling the situation like a goddamn professional.

When Kalmiya cannot meet her gaze, Sharon glances to Arthur instead, searching, uncertain. All she wants is to make this better, and there's no way to do that. No magic words to fix it. No gesture that'll undo what's been done. All she can offer is her presence. To stay. To be here. To remind Kalmiya that she is not alone. And that feels so painfully useless.

Kalmiya's grip tightens on the tether, and Sharon gently gathers it, cradling it the same way she had wrapped her arms around Kalmiya moments before. She is careful with it, protective of the newly reforged thread between them. As futile as simply being here feels, it is clearly what Kalmiya needs. She needs them. She needs the connection. She needs to be reminded, over and over, that she is not alone. Sharon reaches up and brushes a tear from Kalmiya's cheek, never urging her to look up, offering instead a whisper along the tether that it's okay.

The tears, the shame. Even the pain. It's okay. ]

Sounds like it might be the same thing in her eyes. [ The realization settles quickly, turning into fresh purpose—an adjustment to a goal on her list. ] You didn't do anything wrong. It just means we'll have to be smarter about how we help him from here on out.