When I open my eyes, I find that I'm alone. The room is small and dim, cluttered though it looks as though someone tried to straighten up recently. Some of the dust on the weathered shelves is freshly disturbed, and the floor is swept.
Wood, instead of tile, is something I'm not very familiar with. My body hurts, though truly everything hurts, I feel as though I've been hit by one of these monstrous vehicles and it returned to back over me again in the night.
I touch my painful side and flinch, not wanting to look at the cuts. I don't wish to see what is festering in my wounds after all the movement of the past two days and sleeping on this less-than-clean bed. I try not to outwardly groan at the discomfort as I scoot to the edge of the bed; as if on cue the door opens I see the elderly woman bustling in what I wouldn't have given for a healer to come through that door.
"Oh! You're awake." She doesn't sound all too surprised, I imagine she heard me stir. Her arms are full of clothes and various items in a small basket, a bucket tucked in one arm that sloshes gently as she waddles towards me.
Her body is more heavy set than I remembered, though I was so exhausted this morning I don't even recall the day of the week.
"Unfortunately." I sigh, rubbing my eye with the back of my hand. "Good.... afternoon?"
"Evening." She corrects. "You slept through lunch; Verando asked that I let you sleep if you would do it." She sets the clothes on the bed and dunks one of the rags in the clean water. "I've been told you have some injuries?"
My nose wrinkles at the thought of this insistent woman cleaning anything on my body.
"These are some creams that are good for healing, it's been too long to stitch it. Might as well let me have a look."
Reluctantly, I reach for the zipper of my suit and find that my arm on the scratched side is much too stiff to be of good use.
Abuela helps me out of my clothes, the lycra clings to the unwrapped, untreated injury in an offensive way that burns and stings as it's peeled away. The puncture in my shoulder and the road rash across my back leave an intricate tapestry of what a fight with a feline could look like.
Her breath doesn't catch as Verando's did, she doesn't look too surprised by what she finds. "These look infected." She comments as she warns me with her eyes before dragging the rag across the road rash.
It's nearly enough to take my breath away with the discomfort and I shut my eyes tightly as I try to think of anything else.
"There's a bit of dinner for you when we're finished here. You need to rest until this infection dies down, there are antibiotics that Soli's people can put you on. I'll give you something to bring the fever down and take some of the pain away for now. These on your side need to stay wrapped."
She might as well be speaking another language for all that I'm listening to her. My eyes wander around the room as I try to shift my attention. The big fluffy gauze she pulls out of her assortment of bandages looks excessive, but I am impressed with the stark cleanliness. I haven't seen much as far as healing in this new world.
The cream she applies burns like hellfire at first but then begins to make the area feel numb, taking away the initial discomfort. She applies the flat bandage, then gauze, and then a tape-like substance that keeps it firmly pressed to my body, the same is applied to my shoulder. To my relief, she leaves the rash uncovered as it's painful to even touch, let alone have a bandage on it.
As I stand, she pulls me out of my suit and hands me an oversized t-shirt and some loose, soft pants that she refers to as 'sweats.' I step into them and while they're relatively comfortable, they are none too flattering.
I turn from side to side, trying to get a look at them in the murky floor-length mirror but find the movement too much for my ailing side and opt to accept I won't be winning any best-dressed awards. Pulling on the oversized shirt, I tug at it as if hoping it will fall kinder to my shape yet I just look as though I drowned in fabric.
The dark colors wash out my olive skin, finding my pale tones and sucking out all color.
She chuckles at my expression and I pull my lips together in embarrassment that my distaste has come through so clearly. "Come on. Let's get your meds."
Stepping into the kitchen, I fiddle with the hem of the shirt as she hands me a glass of water, and I'm met with the smell of sulfur. "Thank you for the care." My eyes travel around, searching for my companion in the tiny house.
She sets a plate in front of me and hands me the pills. I eye them suspiciously before swallowing them down with a large gulp of the drink. Keeping my opinion to myself, it's hard not to marvel at the simplicity of the treatment options in today's times. My injuries feel significantly better, I try not to rush through my dinner of stir-fried vegetables.
"De nada, Nicolas." She tells me warmly, gesturing with her eyes towards the front door. "He's outside."
"Gracias." I try, though she chuckles at my slaughtering of her language. Romanian might take some hints from romance languages but the accent made things a challenge. I quickly make my way outside, hesitating on the makeshift porch as I watch my bare feet on the harsh wood surface.
The uninviting asphalt, shimmering with heatwaves, makes for an inviting terrain for my tender feet.
With the lack of sun, I gaze around the expanse quietly and easily and spot the man I'm looking for. The gray hair is a dead giveaway, maybe Eddie is on to something with the color change yet I couldn't imagine my warlord with any other color, let alone none. His feral locks are one of my favorite attributes of his.
The ball bounces whimsically across the pavement, the taller man surrounded by the flurry of at least ten children running around him as if they were trying to collect the ball, but I begin to note they are on teams.
Makeshift goals are established on either side of the barren turf, consisting of buckets and large orange cones. As much as I'd expect him to be a formidable force and an unfair advantage, the children seem to be quite capable of keeping the ball away from him.
The tightening feeling in my chest returns, making me reach for my throat as if the very thought is strangling me.
Children.
The reoccurring miss in my life. Why couldn't I escape it? Everywhere I looked, there it was. Instead of a horrible ache, it almost angered me, zapping my joy of watching the man I love enjoy himself in such a harsh climate.
I could feel the fingers of resentment, clawing away at the back of my mind as if it was somehow his fault for my almost feelings of loss. How dare he have lived before me, created a handful of progeny, and seemingly cared for them so little? As it crosses my mind, it seems so silly, and I can't help but laugh at myself, shaking my head.
"Very mature, Nic." It wasn't him I resented; it was the experience shared with him by so many others.
I lower myself into a chair on the porch to watch, almost jumping out of my skin as it sways backward under my weight. My surprised yelp, a pairing of fear and pain, shocks Verando enough to notice me and beckon him over.
The children carry on without him as he jogs over to meet me. The coughing begins as soon as he steps onto the porch and I know that I've saved him more than I've hindered him. The chair innocently rocks as I shuffle to stand and find that I'm instead trapped in it, gently cradling me like a newborn in its capable clutches.
Abuela appears in the doorway with some water, handing him the glass, which he graciously accepts. I try not to look obvious that I'm stuck as I attempt to straighten in the sarcastic piece of furniture.
She smiles at me, "How do you like the rocking chair?"
"Oh, it's lovely." I attempt, folding my hands in my lap and surrendering to the soothing the chair insists on my person. This seems to please her and she takes Verando's glass from him as he catches his breath. Between the remnants of pneumonia and the haze, I'm surprised he lasted any amount of time at all. I wait for her to leave, not wanting an audience. "What were you playing?"
"Football. I suppose in the States, they call it 'soccer'."
"How strange? Football seems pretty... accurate?" I tilt my head, playing off my unfortunate hostage situation with my seat.
Verando shrugs back in response. "Why did you yell? Are you alright?"
I nod, unwilling to admit my predicament quite yet. "Just saw something." He makes a face, not looking very convinced, as he pries into my situation, and I narrow my eyes at him. "My wounds hurt, alright? Happy now?" That should get him off my trail.
His expression turns sympathetic, and he stands behind me, leaning down to kiss below my ear.
"No healers in this century, hmm?"
"No." I practically spit. "I hope humanity is satisfied."
He chuckles, placing his warm hands on my shoulders. "I promise you, they never are. Does this hurt?"
I think it over, having to make the conscious decision to look for pain with the pills I've taken. "Not particularly."
His hands slide to the base of my neck, resting over the top of the taut muscles of my shoulders. Deliberately, he works his thumbs into the muscles alongside my spine, moving up into my neck.
I sigh, tilting my head down in appreciation. "Who are you?"
The retort of a scoff makes me chuckle.
This feels so normal, a relationship rather than a contract. "Can I ask you something?"
"Sorry, I'm happily married." He is my 'Randy.' My funny, witty, charming Randy. "Though I must say, my husband never dresses like this. You just might be able to tempt me."
Playing along with the delusion that we are actually wed helps me to forget any ill wish I held against him. I hide the smile it gives me and fold my legs up into the chair to soak in the massage.
"You flatter me. I feel like I'm dressed to be sold at the market." Sensing that that might not be the right thing to say to someone who was sold, I quickly jumped into my concerns. I need to talk about this, I need to stop hiding this from him because I'm failing miserably at it.
"It's not so much an ask as a share," I warn him, wanting to assure him that there was a method behind my madness. "I've been a bit moody lately." I feel him hesitate and roll my eyes at him. "Alright, I've been moody. A lot has been going on! I'm just... struggling with the fact that you have so many children."
His hands slow, and I reach back to rest one of mine over his, insisting he not pull away from what he fears the most: emotion. Raw, unchecked emotions that don't give him time to concoct the perfect rebuttal and strategy.
"It's not the number of partners, I've seen you with Rhea and now Soli; frankly it's upsetting to me that you're so unimpressed by them more than that you were with them. You should be nicer to Soli, but that's not for me to say. It's the experience? It's having such a deep connection with someone; even Penelope got what she wanted in the end and-"
I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. This sounds as if a child means more to me than he does. I scramble to get out of my chair and curse as I flail. Much as he looks like he'd like to laugh, I'm spared the shame as he helps me up, his expression guarded. I place my hands on his forearms, grounding him here, refusing to let him retreat.
After my lack of grace and delay, I need to get to the point. "I wouldn't trade you for anything; this is worth more to me than any baby or child. I just... I want to share that with you. I want my own that I don't have to give back. I want a little pale-haired girl who looks just like her daddy."
Verando's expression changed; he exhaled, and he knew who had started all this. "Rowan."
I flinch but refuse to allow myself the courtesy that I denied him. "I was in love with the idea of Rowan, and I do -love- Rowan. I want my own, Randy. Penelope getting pregnant helped me realize it, but it hasn't gone away. Would you ever... consider... that?"
I glance up at him, trying not to be too amused that he looks terrified. In any other instance, I would find humor in the ridiculousness of a man who would look death in the face but shy away from emotion.
But in both cases, much of our relationship had been spent dancing around this fear. We both fell short in this instance; neither of us wanted to be hurt, and neither of us wanted to know the truth when the lie was so sweet.
His fingers twitch, sliding to take my hands in his. "I don't believe that's possible for us?" Part of me thinks that, indeed, anything is possible with mechanical limbs so readily available. Surely they've thought of a way for a man to have a baby? But, I feel that suggestion might tread too close to his breaking point.
"Well. You were in the foster system, to some extent? Would you consider adopting or-?"
"Do you think it's fair?" He interjects. "With the danger in our lives, with how the world needs you so desperately. With my past finding us at every turn, is it fair? Nic, I was fairly young when most of my children were born, and Rowan was a... surprise."
He chooses his words carefully.
"Could you put a child through what we go through? If one of us is killed, that's it, darling. That child loses both of their parents."
I feel it catch in my throat, and I want to pull away, but instead, I throw my arms around his waist and bury my cheek into the material of his shirt. He slowly strokes his fingers through my hair as I wait for the emotion to come, and yet, this was the answer I knew I'd get.
Where I expected agony, my body offers only acceptance. An answer. It wasn't a no; it wasn't what I was expecting; it was a love for our child and his want to keep them safe.
Perhaps I just needed to prove to myself that he would love it, even if that love were for something that might never be. I needed to talk about it, acknowledge that it could exist, and put our reality to bed.
"I understand if you're upset with me." His words bring me out of my cloud of inner peace, and I realize he's been in turmoil while I've been processing the relief. I stretch up on my toes and kiss the corner of his mouth.
"No, I'm not upset with you. I think I've decided I like you just a bit more. It hurts, but I needed to talk to you about it. I've been so afraid of what you'll say; finally, it feels so good to know." I surprise myself with a relieved laugh.
"Hmmm... well, perhaps work on your opening statement in the future, yeah? I think I about had a heart attack."
My snicker turns into actual laughter, and it pleases me that it's enough to dimple his cheek and make him laugh. What has devastated me for so long has finally begun to rise off my shoulders. While it's not gone, it's not fixed, and it's not remedied, it's shouldered between us, making it all the more bearable.
My mind drifts to Tyler and my duties there, and I know I will have plenty to keep me occupied until this resurfaces. I kiss his chest, listening to the steady heartbeat as he presses his lips to the top of my head. "Is that all?"
I nod, trailing my finger over his pectoral as ache is replaced with burning desire. "For now. Unless you want to discuss sexual tactics because my body looks atrocious, but I really would love to ride-"
He clears his throat, and I hear the tread of footsteps approaching.
"Sorry for interrupting," Soli grumbles. "What the hell happened to my bar?"