The medical aftermath was less fun than the obtaining of my various cuts and bruises. Elliot and I are in the Medbay, comparing notes of anything we might have learned about the Rose Company while she tapes me up. We hear faint sounds of Cosette giving her report on what happened as Elliot dabs at the cuts on my face. Her hands are shaking. So are mine.
"Tired?" She asks.
"No."
"Neither am I. To wired to be tired, but also fucking exhausted." She says, putting the white bandage over the cut on the left.
She pulls a hoodie over my shoulders as soon as my face is adequately medicalized. She pulls me into a hug, and I cling to her and crumble. While I sob myself into a puddle, she slowly shrinks, until I hold not Dragon in my arms but Elliot, the 5'3" girl who generally just needs a hug. She's exhausted, from the fights and the transformations.
We stay there for a while, just feeling the beating of our hearts and knowing we're both OK. I pull back first, scrubbing my face with the sleeve of the hoodie.
Then we hear Siren yelling into her phone. "The fuck do you mean you won't investigate⁈ This is clearly a Rose Company attack! My children were threatened! One of them was kidnapped! We just got them back!"
We hobble into the room together and collapse into chairs across the table from her. She has both a full write up of everything that happened and all the available information of the Rose Company. She continues yelling.
"No, you're going to send someone- don't you ever fucking cut me off like that again do you understand me⁈ Send Catacomb. I want extra protection for my city and my children goddamnit!"
Me and Elliot glance at each other. Hell yeah; Catacomb's sick as fuck. Catacomb, Laelia Aeron, is a badass, darkness controlling, half skull mask wearing, 5'7", 28-year-old caffeine addict with the tendency to overwork herself. She currently lives in Rome, screwing around with archaeology and occasionally summoning the dead.
Cosette slams the phone on the table and takes a deep breath, leaning back in her chair. "Laelia is coming tomorrow, and I think I just made some new kid cry." She says, exhausted. She grins across the table at us. "I'm glad you're both safe." She glances down at her watch. "Oh hell. It's 4. We should probably sleep, take the day off tomorrow guys, I'll call in sick."
We nod, struggling us out of our chairs and hobbling down the hallway, turning off lights behind us as we went. Elliot an I go into her room. I put my glasses on her bedside table. We flop onto the bed, curling around each other, Elliot being my source of warmth and myself as her source of cold.
"Night Elliot, love you."
Night Florence, love you too."
I smile, and we crash. We don't remember our dreams.
⧪ ⧪ ⧪
The next morning, sunlight through the high windows and soft breathing rouses me. I turn my head on the pillow and look over at Elliot lying next to me. She's curled into my side, her legs coiled around my right one. I roll over and hold her closer. She blinks awake, exhausted, despite the hours of sleep we just got. She sits up and stretches, her joints pop and click.
"Go get dressed." She says, slipping out of bed and retrieving a sweater from her dresser. I sit up, body aching. I swing my legs out of bed, hissing as I slowly stand. I slip my glasses on. I leave the room, crossing the hall to my actual room. I shower and put on clothes that are not bloodstained. I stuff my phone in my pocket and stagger down the hallway back to the kitchen.
Cosette is cooking. Elliot has a mug in her hands as she slumps against the table; she's half asleep. "This is... disgustingly domestic."
Elliot looks up. "Cos' making eggs."
