A/N : Post-FIN, so obviously lots and lots of spoilers (and angst). Trying so many new things in this. New fandom, new writing style, new subject/feelings... let me know if I fail somewhere, hm? Also, ANY input on grammar or spelling or anything having to do with the English language would be greatly appreciated, as I only aim to improve.
WARNING : This story implies a past consensual sexual relationship between two women. If that's not your cup of tea, you can look away now. kthxbai
Disclaimer : Nothing in this story belongs to me. It's all the property of Universal Studios and Pacific Renaissance Pictures Ltd. I don't own any of the beautiful New Zealand landscape either.
It's late at night, a few days after it happened (you still can't bring yourself to think of it into words, much less speak of it) and you're sitting on the ground of the small camp you made, alternatively staring between the fire and the saddlebags where you know her ashes are carefully packed (and merely thinking the words her ashes almost brings bile to your mouth but it's an improvement from the first night when you actually threw up after thinking it) and wondering if you should bring them to Amphipolis, to put hem next to Lyceus and Cyrene or if you should try to find Eve first. The thought of her learning her mother's fate from anyone else sickens you even more than the thought of having to tell her.
You've been staring in the fire for a few minutes, caught in the aching numbness that spreads over you whenever you think of her when he appears out of thin air and sits next to you. His thigh touches yours and it's surprisingly warm under the leather. He stares into the fire with you for a few minutes, neither of you speaking, and then he clumsily starts to say that she will always be remembered as a hero, that her sacrifice was for the greater good, that she died the way she would have wanted, a sword in her hands and a whole army in front of her, saving thousands of souls...
There was a time you would have been amused at the God of War doing anything clumsy, long long ago when you were a young fresh-faced village girl with her head full of dreams and hopes, but right now his words anger you, white-hot fury flashing through you and while it's a change from utter despair or from not feeling anything at all, you still want him to stop because how dare he talk bout her death as if it was a good thing?
You whip your head around to tell him to shut up, or maybe to punch him in the jaw, you're not sure, when your eyes meet his and whatever you were going to do flees out of your mind, because in his eyes you see pain which would have been too deep and overwhelming to understand if you didn't know it was reflected in yours. And then it's like something inside you that had been stretched too tight snaps, and you want to feel something, anything other than sick or lost or numb, you want to reach inside him and take hold of his pain, pull it out and wrap yourself in it to forget your own, so you roughly grab his neck and kiss him.
He kisses you back and it's not gentle or sweet or romantic. It's lips and teeth and tongues pushing and biting and fighting and it's perfect because you don't want gentle or sweet or romantic, you want to pour everything you can't put into words into this, all the despair and confusion and anger at her for leaving you, so you do and you know that he does the same.
And then he pushes you down onto your back and you let him, you even reach up and take his shirt off because you don't know if you're going to regret this but right now it's making you feel better, and also because you know that he was a part of her, a part that you could never understand but which was real and a small part of you thinks that it's a little tiny bit like having her back.
He's rough and almost brutal and nothing like Perdicus' gentle caresses but that's good because Perdicus wasn't anything like her, but then again he's not her either. You're not gentle either, you're aggressive and frantic and you claw at every part of him you can reach and as the pressure builds up your thrusts become more erratic until finally you throw your head back and shout her name as you find release, tears running down your cheeks, but you know he doesn't mind because a few moments later he buries his face in your neck and does the same, sweat glistening on his temples.
He rolls off of you and puts his arms around you and as you lean back into his chest you can't believe you're actually cuddling with him, of all people, but you put it out of your mind because he's warm and solid and you need this.
You both stare into the fire and he lightly traces circles on your stomach with his fingertips and your throat closes up because she used to do the same, after. But at the same time you feel a jolt of something, you're not completely sure what but you think maybe for the first time since she left you thought about her with fondness instead of despair or anger. It's not much and it probably won't last long, but for now, it's enough.