Hell is empty and all the devils are here.
My body is weak, exhaustion pulling at my eyes, but I manage to keep them open.
My now short hair kisses my cheeks and I wish I could bring a hand to move it out of my face, but they lay bound on the table.
"You're awake."
I startle at the sound and focus on Archer as much as I can, my bruised cheek scrapes against the metal table I'm strapped to.
My shoulder blades scream at the movement, my neck stiffening.
He leans forward against the wall, his bruised face, and arms on show. The rope wrapped around him tightening painfully with the movement. He sits on the floor, blood thick in his hair, darkening the strands to an auburn.
"Are you okay?" I whisper back, throat aching.
He shakes his head, looking at me incredulously, "Holland." He whispers, "I don't care about me right now."
"Archer." I whisper and he looks at me. He tries to hide it, but I can see the pain in his eyes. "I'm made of some tough stuff; it's going to take more than a few wounds to kill me."
His eyes linger on my back, the pain in the honeyed depths unmistakable. He tries to smirk, his bloodied brow lifting, "You're too stubborn to die."
I scoff a tired laugh, my eyes closing. "Exactly."
I breathe out slowly, exhaustion pulling at me once more before I force my eyes open to look at him, my gaze travelling over his body. Bruises and blood seeming to materialise everywhere my eyes travel.
"What did they do to you?" It comes out as a whisper but in the silence of the room it's not hard for him to catch.
"Are you worried about me, Sarge?" His lips lift in a smirk, the sight odd with the split lip, but still my stomach dips.
"No." I let my lips form the words but by the way his eyes wrinkle at the corners, he knows the truth.
"Liar." He breathes the word, head falling back to rest against the wall, his eyes closing before they open once more and scan my wounds.
My eyes flicker over his face as his continue their exploration of my injuries. My shoulders ache with pain when I move my face slightly to check the rest of his body from my spot, sweeping over his bloodied shirt.
My eyes start to close.
"Sarge?" His voice is quiet, almost begging. "Keep your eyes on me."
I flick my attention to him, humming, my voice soft. "Okay."
Even as I try, my eyes beg to close, to shut off.
"Holland."
Again I look to him, blinking.
"I'm sorry." He whispers, the words rough.
The words have me keeps my my eyes open, "You aren't the one carving me up." The words come out slowly, the act of speaking too much.
He doesn't reply, letting the silence linger. The ropes stretch against his skin as he scoots further away from the wall he was leaning against.
"For not being able to stop her."
I look at the ropes bound tightly around him, "What could you do, glare her to death?"
He shakes his head, mirth evident in his facial expression despite the situation we're in.
"If you hadn't followed me, I'd probably be here alone." I whisper into the following silence.
He's silent for a few seconds. "I'm glad you're not alone."
My eyes flicker to his, "Me too."
I can see Archer scooting closer but with every wince that overcomes his face my own heart follows.
"Don't."
He stops. "Sarge-"
"You're hurt, you need to rest." I continue.
"I'm hurt! You are lying on a metal table, bound with your blood pooling around you and you're worried about me?!" He hisses.
"Yes, so get over it and relax." I try to adjust on the table but only pain meets my efforts. "How long has it been?" I ask quietly. The days all blend together, feeling like it had only been one long nightmare.
"About a week, maybe more. I go off her change of outfits." He huffs, and it brings a smile to my lips despite the circumstances. "She reopens your wounds with each visit."
I flinch, "I figured."
"I'm kind of glad you're never awake when she comes in, you don't feel it as much."
My eyes find his. "Silver lining."
He flashes me a small sincere smile.
"We're going to get out of here." I say.
"The guards change every four hours." He whispers back.
So, six guards a day. That's excessive.
I glance over at Archer, but he's not staring at me, his gaze focused on the door across from us.
"How long has it been since the last one?" I reply, my eye narrowing in thought.
"Judging by the lack of footsteps, I'd say two hours." He turns and watches me.
"What time does the guard come with the food?"
"When the guards swap over for the fifth time, the new guard brings the food before going to his post." Archer says before nodding his head at the door. "This is only the third guard today."
"Hmm." I hum and relax against the table, wincing as my wounds bark in pain.
It doesn't last long before Archer speaks again.
"So, Holland? Tell me something about you I don't know." I can hear the smile in his voice as he says my name and I roll my eyes.
I stare over at Archer with a 'really' face and he just shrugs his shoulders at me.
"What? It's a valid question." He says.
"I never wanted to be an Agent, I only joined because situations forced me to."
He pauses. A thoughtful look on his face.
"What would you have done if you weren't an Agent?"
I blink, the thought never crossing my mind before. "I'd never really thought about it to be honest. Being an Agent didn't really seem to be something I could just leave."
"But you did." Archer says, "You did leave."
I shake my head, "Not truly. I knew I would always be back. I just needed answers first."
"Answers?"
I breathe out roughly, my eyes finding Archer's. "Samael told me Lilac was killed by Jedrik Molotov. She wasn't."
His eyes widen and flash to the door for a second, "The same Molotov-"
I nod.
"How do you know she wasn't?"
"Because I found Jedrik Molotov and forced the truth out of him."
Archer silence plays on my mind for the few seconds he lets it dwell.
"Is he still alive?" He finally replies and I look back at him, not realising I'd been lost in focus, staring at the wall.
"No."
"Good."
His eyes bounce between both of mine, and he rests back against the wall, "I'm glad he's dead."
"Me too." I whisper.
I hum, melting against the table as exhaustion pulls me under, yet I want to keep talking.
"An artist." I whisper into the room.
"What?" Archer replies.
"I think I would have liked to be an artist." I add on, finding Archer's eyes. "There's so much beauty in it, it's so different from the destruction of our world. I think it'd be good for me."
He smiles, the sight caressing my heart. "You could still do it."
"Maybe." I blink away the moisture in my eyes, "Tell me about Clay, what was he like growing up?"
"He was a pain in the ass." Archer chuckles out, "but the best man you'd ever want on your side."
I smile at the words.
"He didn't have a good relationship with Director growing up, so he spent a lot of the time with the team, he made us a family. He made us who we are today."
"Cleo told me Samael wanted him to be leader, but he chose you."
"He asked me to be the leader, yeah. But I took it on one condition. That he be joint leader. He was always meant to be the one in control, he's perfect for the role. But he never likes to do anything Director expects of him."
"He had the biggest fight with Director when he chose to focus on intelligence rather than weapons training." He smiles as if recalling the memory. "He was so happy when he won that fight."
"What do you think you would have done if you weren't an Agent?"
Archer blinks, as if he didn't expect me to ask him and he smiles at me, "I haven't actually thought about it. This life was all I saw for myself."
"It's a hard question to know the answer to, huh." I taunt softly, resting my head against the table.
He laughs, "Yeah, I guess it is."
My eyes slide slowly shut as exhaustion sweeps over me.
"Holland?"
I him, slowly opening my eyes to stare down at Archer, his eyes not focused on me.
"Why were you really avoiding me?"
I swallow, throat tightening, silence stretching on. Archer finally turns to look at me, his hazel eyes connecting to my brown ones and I finally reply.
"Because-" I pause, my eyes finally closing. "I didn't need to fall in love with you."