carry your heart
"i carry your heart with me (i carry it in
my heart) i am never without it (anywhere
i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing, my darling)
i fear
no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) i want
no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you…"
Her first attempt at answering the ringing ARCUS is met with nothing but thin air. The second attempt knocks something off her table that her sleep-addled mind thinks isn't breakable but can't be totally sure, and the third attempt finally finds the device in a groggy Alisa's hands.
Small victories. They mattered, especially at this time of night.
"… H'lo?"
Silence.
"Hello?" the blonde repeats, more awake now, the possibility of having her time wasted rousing both its ugly head and her dormant ire.
Alisa thinks she hears breathing, quiet and erratic, and she sets her jaw, determined to reply politely one final time. If it's a wrong number that's embarrassed to have misdialed, fine, she can live with that. If this is a prank call – well, may Aidios grant Her eternal mercy on the receiving eardrums.
(Not that it would be enough).
"Hello? Is someone there?" she says, her teeth not quite yet grinding, and then –
"… Hey."
Like a match going out in a rainstorm, all her exhaustion vanishes into nothing.
"Rean?"
"Yeah," the familiar voice says, sounding both completely drained and utterly sheepish all at once. "Sorry for calling you at this hour. I… know it's late."
"N-No, it's fine," Alisa lies – not because it isn't late (because it certainly is and they both know it) but because neither one is in the business of inconveniencing the other if they can possibly help it, and if Rean's calling now then he's doing it for a reason. "What's up?"
She hears him breathe again, the rhythm still off and irregular from what she knows, and it sounds like he shudders a little before he answers. "Nothing, I think."
"… Nothing?" And left unspoken, you think?
The sound of a curse bitten back. "No, not nothing – I mean, it's something, but I shouldn't have called you for it, at least not at this time – "
Rean continues on for a few more moments, the verbal equivalent of a runaway freight train, and Alisa pushes her way past the babble (another warning sign, another smoke signal, because he doesn't babble) and tries to cut her way to the heart of the matter.
"What's wrong, Rean?" she interrupts quietly, showing neither mercy nor restraint.
(After all, the shortest distance between two points will always be a straight line).
He stumbles and comes up short, once, then twice, and Alisa bites down the urge to ask if he's been taking lessons from Machias.
"I just… I wanted to make sure you were there," he finally answers, and she pulls the ARCUS away from her ear and stares at it for a second, wondering if she misheard.
"Uh… yeah?" Alisa says slowly, wondering what was going on and why he was acting so strangely, and for a second or two an old fear seizes hold and takes reign.
She allows it.
"Wait, something didn't happen, did it?" the blonde asks, urgency coloring every word. "Are you all right? Is Millium all right? Is Altina? Did your last operation – "
"Yes! I mean, yeah, I'm – I'm fine, Alisa. We're all fine. It's not a mission gone wrong or anything, I promise," he hastens to assure her, and it's the first time he's sounded remotely like Rean since she answered his call.
She sags against her pillow in utter relief, crimson eyes closing in a fleeting moment of catharsis. "Oh. Okay."
Hardly world-shattering, but not everything had to be. As far as she was concerned, sometimes short and simple worked.
(Now, if only Erebonia could take that lesson to heart).
"But wait," Alisa continues, the respite for both of them now past, "if that's the case, then why…?"
The quiet is back again, all-consuming and unnerving. She waits.
As always, she waits.
"… I had a dream."
She idly watches the seconds tick away on the clock. "A dream?"
"Yeah." He pauses, as if to steel himself for what's to come. "It's… it'll sound stupid, but…"
"The Ashen Chevalier, stupid? Never," she teases, trying to lighten the atmosphere at least a little.
"Maybe just a bit. I can't even recall what happened, not exactly. I just remember that… you were there."
Normally, the idea of her popping up in one of Rean's dreams would have either made her blush or embarrassed her to no end. Possibly (probably) both.
The way he was talking right now? Not this time.
"You were there," Rean repeats, breathless and shaky, "and then… and then you weren't."
… What?
"That's when I woke up, and I just… I had to be sure," he explains needlessly, every syllable sounding raw and jagged; the sting of cold air on an open wound.
"… I – "
"Like I said, stupid. I'm sorry. Go back to sleep, Alisa," Rean apologizes hastily, and before she can say anything else he ends the call, leaving only dead air and a deafening silence in his wake.
She lies there in the dark for a few seconds (one, two, three), her slow, even breathing the only sound within the stillness.
Her hand reaches out.
Rean sets the ARCUS down onto his bunk with unsteady fingers, his knees against his chest as he tries mightily to center himself, to remember what his teacher had told him about the link between the warrior's mind and the warrior's body and apply it to his rapidly beating heart.
He's failing miserably, but he supposes that's sort of fitting. It's not as if he's unacquainted with failure (and the concept is forever colored azure in his soul), in spite of what his title and awards might say.
He wasn't lying. He didn't recall much. But what's there is all too clear in the swirling vortex of his mind's eye; he can see Alisa. He can hear combat.
And in a moment of horror that he bears witness to and perpetrates at the same time, he is the Ogre.
Just like that, it ends with neither a bang nor a whimper; just a single flash of steel.
The swordsman still doesn't know what happened. He just remembers bolting up and feeling like his world had been irrevocably changed – almost like he was still alive, and she wasn't.
His fingers had been dialing before he could think about it.
Exhaling roughly, he turns his gaze toward the window and the inky night sky outside, and wonders if grabbing some water and going for a walk might do him some good, messed up sleeping patterns or no.
His ARCUS goes off, and because old habits die hard Rean answers without a second thought.
"H-Hello, Rean Schwarzer speaking – "
"Shut up. All right, Rean," Alisa breaks in, sounding as agitated as he's ever heard her (and he's aware that's saying a lot), "let's get this out of the way; under no circumstances are you ever again allowed to call me, drop a bomb like that, and then hang up. Are we clear?"
He recognizes the worry cloaked as anger, and like an old dance he immediately replies as he had so many times before.
"Alisa – "
"Are. We. Clear?" she demands fiercely, her voice carrying with it vivid, familiar images of vibrant hair and eyes the color of fire, and suddenly the darkened horizon doesn't feel so foreboding and oppressive anymore.
He is Rean, she is Alisa, and this is simply what they do.
"Clear," he replies in something that was almost a laugh, his hand going to the back of his head in reflex.
Again, old habits.
"Good. Honestly, Rean," the archer huffs, now sounding as relieved as he feels, "I forgive you this time, but try to be more considerate in the future, all right?"
"Hey," he protests, stretching out more comfortably on his bunk, "I already apologized for calling so late – "
"Oh, like I care about the time!" she snaps, though with no real heat behind it. "You can't make me worry like that and then just drop the subject, got it?"
"Okay," he placates, and if they were face to face he knows his hands would have been warding her off right about now. "I get it, I get it – "
"Do you?" she challenges, and he knows that she's smirking without remorse.
"I do. I really do."
"Then next time at least be ready to – I dunno, talk about it first, or something!" Alisa continues, and it's comfortable now because this is ground they've covered many times before; well worn, but hallowed nonetheless.
"Message received, loud and clear. I'm sorry for worrying you, Alisa."
"You'd better be." She remains silent for a few heartbeats after that, and he wonders if she's finished.
"Rean?"
"Yeah?"
"… I'm still here."
He stiffens.
"I am. I promise," she whispers, no trace of vexation to be found, and he thinks of a red uniform and an orbal bow. He thinks of a lacrosse stick and a furious sprint down the Thors field. He thinks of a quiet night under the skies of Nord, he thinks of a stolen moment within Valimar, and he thinks of their lips meeting inside an empty dorm (forever their first).
He thinks of her – only of her – and all he sees is gold.
"Okay," he murmurs reverently, almost like a prayer. "Okay."
"I'm not leaving you, you know. Not now, not ever."
Rean swallows hard, forcing the lump in his throat downward. "I know."
"A-And besides, why are you the one even worrying about this? Isn't the Ashen Chevalier public enemy number one for anyone who wants to target the Empire? If anything, our situations should be flipped!"
It's an obvious ploy, a transparent attempt at cheering him up, but he has to admit; it's one with a good point. "Hard to disagree with that, I guess."
"Exactly. So forget about all that bad stuff and just concentrate on – "
"You?" Rean finishes playfully, relishing in her stifled snicker.
"Not even close to what I was going to say, but sure. Whatever floats your boat."
"All right then," he says, reclining against his bunk's headboard, "That actually sounds like a pretty good plan to me. How was your day, Alisa?"
She giggles, and the swordsman raises his eyebrows. "What's so funny?"
"Nothing, it's just – you seriously want to hear about how I spent yesterday?"
"I do," he admits warmly, the confession coming from his lips as easily as a kiss. "I absolutely do. I want to hear everything."
"… And you really don't care that eighty percent of it was paperwork and sales conferences?"
"Not in the slightest. Like I said; everything."
"Sure. Just remember, you asked for it," she gives in with an affectionate laugh (he knows she's blushing right now, because he knows her as well as he knows himself) and he settles in to listen, all of her words treasures with value beyond compare.
Alisa thinks Rean nods off somewhere after her first coffee break but before her daily escape for lunch, and she smiles one final time, whispering 'I love you' as she ends the call and lets her head rest on her pillow.
She can't see him, of course. But as she shuts her eyes, she can't help but think that he's smiling, too.
"… here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)"
– E.E Cummings
AN: I don't think I've ever started and finished a story a day after submitting another one. First time for everything, I guess.
I had originally planned another M/E fic at some point (I have a weakness, shut up) and didn't mean to pen this one so soon - or at all, actually. Truth be told, it didn't even exist in my head until a few hours ago, but have you ever felt the sudden, inexplicable urge to write something and it won't go away until you start (and in this case, finish?)
This was it for me, kind of like Burn was at the tail-end of 2016. I can't explain why. Maybe it's reading what people think is coming in Sen IV, I don't know. What I do know? Sometimes, you just gotta sit down and write.
I remember employing a starker writing style for the days that must happen and brought it back for this piece; it didn't feel right doing it the way I normally would. I just hope it still works!