Where was she?
That was what he kept asking himself as he weaved through the crowds of elves coming from outside, each searching for their own loved ones. He just kept looking for those familiar brown eyes, muttering apologies as he bumped into others.
They'd taken shifts on trying to calm the distraught parents, helping to locate missing children or families.
Keefe had been on the last shift.
He hadn't found any of the children the parents had been asking for desperately.
His fingers trembled as he passed a mother wailing for her child. Her husband, a hand wrapped around her shoulders, kept asking the people skirting around them if they knew of a little girl with blond hair and cyan eyes. Their emotions were overwhelming, almost as much so as Sophie's, waves of grief and worry.
Keefe kept walking.
He'd known when they'd gone to the world's nations that this was a last resort, that it would affect a lot of families. The greater good, he'd told to himself. But every time he saw a grandmother or mother or father trying to escape the cave to go back for their children, he wondered if they could have figured out another way.
Here they were, in the safest place possible, but still in the greatest danger of losing the people they loved. Was it even a the best possible decision to do this? To separate families, even accidentally?
Forkle had told them there would be consequences. Sophie had told Keefe of her own doubts that this was the right thing to do. It would cause too much pain for families, too much pressure for the children who really just needed security.
Some people would be left behind.
Would it have been better if they'd just let the Neverseen take the Lost Cities? To let them win?
Keefe jumped as a hand grabbed his shoulder. He turned around, confronted by a woman who looked a bit wild. "Where is she?" She cried. "Give her to me!"
Keefe backed away, trying to get away from her. "I—I don't have her—"
The woman yanked her hand from him as if she'd been burnt. "You did this," she hissed, whipping around to disappear into the crowd.
He stared at where she'd disappeared.
You did this.
"Keefe?"
He turned again, hope rising when he saw the familiar faces of Edaline and Grady. His heart sank when he realized she wasn't behind them. It was strange, because it honestly wouldn't have made sense, since she had been with the other girls, not her parents. He was relieved to see them safe though. He didn't know what he would have told Sophie if he couldn't find them.
"Hey," he gave Edaline a quick hug and shook Grady's hand a bit awkwardly. "Glad you guys are here."
"It's a bit hectic," Grady said.
"You have no idea." Keefe ran a hand through his hair. "We've been trying to get them to calm down, but too many are missing family members. It doesn't help that we're in a place that the Council has strictly forbidden us to come to," he took a deep breath, forcing down the bile rising in his throat. "Too many of them are panicking."
"Panic feeds panic," Grady murmured. "Is there anything we can do?"
"Nothing besides looking for kids. But I've been on a shift since four this morning and I didn't find one." He rubbed the bridge of his nose.
They were silent for a long moment, and Keefe could feel Edaline and Grady watching him. He glanced up at them in time to see them exchange a look.
He decided not to mention it, and instead asked, a bit desperately, "Have you seen Sophie?"
Grady frowned. "She's not here?"
Keefe shook his head, hope well and truly crushed. "I haven't seen her since," he faltered. "It's been a while."
Four weeks, six days, and twelve hours.
That was how long it had been.
God, he missed her.
So much.
Edaline sighed. Her eyes held the shadows that Keefe recognized. Worry, pain. He saw it every morning in his eyes, when he happened to glance at the mirrors set up in the hygiene rooms. He'd seen it for the past four weeks, the tiny hopeful light slowly dying every night when he realized she was still gone.
He didn't like seeing the light swallowed in Edaline's eyes. He reached out and gave her hand a brief squeeze. "She'll be here," he told them, with more conviction than he felt. He motioned for them to follow him to where the Dizznees had settled down with Keefe's friends in clumps around them.
All the while, he tried to convince himself of the same.
She'll be here.
***
"What does he look like?" He asked, pulling the pencil from behind his ear. He held one of his journals, repurposed to track missing children.
Over three hundred names in his journal alone, and some parents hadn't even bothered to come to the stations.
He'd made a system. There were three columns across a page, one for their full name, one for their description, and a final tiny column to mark whether they'd been found.
That column was empty.
"Black hair," the father said. He inhaled deeply. The dirty bandage around his chest expanded as he breathed. "His eyes look like mine."
Keefe looked up, meeting sorrowful navy blue eyes. He glanced down back at his notepad, noting how many children had been marked with dark blue eyes. He wished he had his pencils, and time, so he could draw the eyes.
He nodded though, telling the father quietly, "We'll notify you if we find him."
He had used to say when. He'd started saying if about two weeks in, when they had found no children.
The father nodded, slowly turning and limping away.
Tiredly, Keefe set the journal on the table he'd been assigned to. Across the cave, he saw Tam idly twirling his own pencil as he stared at the wall. Another of Keefe's journals sat open on the table in front of him, smaller because of the missing pages Keefe had hurriedly ripped from it to tuck under his cot's mattress.
And then there was Fitz, at the next table further away than all the tables from Keefe, where he had an old sketchbook Keefe had found in his bag.
The only sketchbooks Keefe had hidden away were the gold and the brown ones.
He couldn't bring himself to rip the pages he had of happy memories with her. Besides, there was enough paper. For now.
Rising from his seat, he dropped the pencil onto the table with a clatter and slammed the journal shut. Jensi, Keefe thought he remembered from the volunteer list, was due to relieve him soon.
Keefe slipped through the crowd, heading towards where he had left his belongings next to the others'. Their cots had been set up in a semicircle, and Keefe's was pressed against the wall. Cots were one of the few things they had an abundance of.
There were too many empty ones.
In their group, there were four empty cots. Biana's, Marella's, Maruca's, and Sophie's.
Almost every night, when everyone else was asleep, Keefe would lean against the wall and stare at those cots, in particular, the one closest to his. He almost imagined he could see her tossing and turning, rumpling the blankets that were not there.
She was not there.
Keefe couldn't remember how they had assigned cots. One day, they had just gone to sleep, and the next, there was an empty one next to his. And next to Fitz's, and next to Linh's and next to Dex's.
Further off from their circle of friends, the Ruewens, Dizznees, and Vackers made their little encampment. The Dizznees had two missing cots.
One for Kesler, and the second for...
Rex.
The other triplets weren't cheerful anymore. Throughout the time they'd been there, they'd grown less and less hopeful. They'd stopped looking through the crowds the week before, though Juline still waited by the entrance for hours everyday. Sometimes, Edaline was able to coax her away, to eat something, to sleep a bit, to cheer her other children.
Dex was really the only one she still listened to.
Keefe watched now as Dex took his mother's arm gently, leading her away from the entrance where the setting sun cast shadows across the narrow gap. Juline felt numb when she passed. It was always the same for her. In the twins, there was rage. In Dex, there was a mix of worry and guilt.
But she always felt numb.
Keefe wondered if that was what he would feel like if he stopped his work for long enough to think about the last time he'd seen her.
He wondered if that was how he looked in the deep hours of night when he stared at her empty cot.
Did he look that forlorn? That hopeless?
He slid down against the wall as the others trickled over to their group. Eventually, Dex came over and briefly squeezed Keefe's shoulder. "Grady and Edaline said that they were going to go out looking for her tomorrow. They said they leave at five, if you wanted to come."
"Thanks," Keefe whispered faintly.
Dex nodded, his own eyes as tired and red as Keefe knew his was.
He sometimes didn't realize when he was crying. He guessed that was probably because of the numbness that took over at night.
"Maybe we could all go out looking," said Linh hopefully.
Tam shook his head, his arm wrapped around her shoulders tightening around her. "They only let out a certain amount of people. Grady's a Mesmer, so he'll get out easy. Edaline too, because of Grady. And Keefe has his thing." He shrugged, glancing over at Keefe. "What do you guys even call it now?"
"The Thing," Keefe replied. "If we give it a real name it makes it real." He frowned slightly as he felt his heart race, a knot of emotions forming in his gut—the worry in the air from his friends, his own guilt, the parents grief and anger and—
Tam was talking again,
"You've used it before."
"Could've been a nightmare."
"No, it was definitely real."
"Coulda fooled me," Keefe muttered as he rested his arms on his knees, pressing his forehead against his forearms. He tried to slow his heart, breathing deeply.
Someone nudged him.
"Go away, Ro."
She nudged him again.
"Seriously?"
"Stop sulking."
"I'm not."
"Yes, you are."
"No, I'm not!" He stood up abruptly, wondering why the instinct to scream out a word to get her to stop forever was coming up his throat. His hand flew to his throat, squeezing so hard that he couldn't breathe.
Fitz jumped to his feet. "Keefe?"
He held out his free hand, gesturing for them to stay back. He felt lightheaded. Turning away, he pressed his forehead to the cool gray stone of the cave, letting his hand drop to his side.
His chest heaved.
The guilt festered.
"Dex," he whispered. "Where's the ability restrictor?"
There was a stunned silence.
Then, finally, "What?"
"I need..." he trailed off. "I need something that will stop me if I get out of control." He turned, keeping his head low so they wouldn't see the tears. "The thing... you made Sophie," he felt the wash of guilt from him and almost regretted bringing it up. But he forged ahead. "I need you to make another one."
"Keefe—"
"Stop," he whispered. "Please. I can't do it. There's too many people, there's—" he forced back the wave of panic. "You have to, or I'll hurt someone. Seriously, please."
He waited a long moment, then glanced up. Dex ran a hand through his hair, eyes red and worried. A sad sort of anger on his face. "Okay."
***
It hurt like hell.
It wasn't a circlet, like Sophie's had been. His went around his throat, a thin band of gold fit perfectly to him. It made it hard to speak, but Keefe thought it helped. Helped him keep his mouth shut.
This one worked, he knew. He actually couldn't feel any emotions. When he ushered kids who hadn't manifested yet to the outdoors when it was their turn, he didn't feel anything.
But it did hurt. His throat was always sore, and sometimes, most times, it felt like there was a fire burning inside it. Other times, spikes trailing down the inside of his esophagus.
Edaline had tried to convince him that it wasn't needed. That he wouldn't hurt anyone. She'd tried to convince him to take it off, but Keefe had only shook his head, trying not to flinch when the movement caused more pain, and gently took her hands off his shoulders.
Grady seemed to understand, though he too looked concerned whenever Keefe touched his neck gingerly.
It did what was needed. And if that meant Keefe couldn't do much besides nibble on his food, and take slow sips of his water, then so be it.
It was fine anyway. The food could go to somehow who actually needed it.
One time though, about three days into it, when he went to rise from his bed in the morning, he stumbled, falling to his knees. His vision spun, and he wasn't sure whether that was from lack of food or lack of air.
"Whoa!" A hand grabbed him, saving him from a face plant into the metal rings of Dex's cot. Another voice, a worried one, said, "Is he okay?"
"No, not really," Keefe thought woozily. "Thanks for asking though."
"Dex. You have to take it off him."
"No." Keefe said, voice scratchy though the restrictor. It squeezed against his throat when he tried to talk again. "No, he can't."
"Keefe—"
He lurched away from them, grabbing the cot to support him. His eyes closed, and he let his head rest against the scratchy blanket.
After a long moment, he heard a deep sigh, and two sets of footsteps padding away. Keefe turned, collapsing onto the ground, legs stretched in front of him.
And he slept, but his dreams were restless.
In the back of his mind, in a nearly-conscious pocket, he wondered if they would always be like that.
Updated: 7-31-2022
A/N: and Keefe stressing is back! Did you miss his Sad Boi Hours™️?
Sometimes I don't like writing about characters giving up, especially Keefe since he obviously has made a lot of mistakes and sometimes I border on writing him almost toxic and unable to do anything without Sophie, but this I feel like made enough sense since he's surrounded by a lot of emotion and he's under a lot of pressure. It makes sense that he would freak out and revert back to being terrified to speak or use his abilities. I'm hoping to let him get himself out of it, for himself, and not for Sophie, becasue Keefe needs to be more independent in that sense, since it seems like the only person he listens to, or lets talk him out of things is Sophie. I want Keefe to want this, not just becasue Sophie wants it, y'know? If that makes sense.
Well.
See ya next time!
Question: what is your order at Dutch Bros or Starbucks or any other coffee or smoothie shop?
Mind is some type of Rebel or a Golden Eagle from Dutch, and at basically any other coffee shop, I get an iced vanilla latte.