A/N: Ugh. This one gave me a bit of trouble, so hopefully it's okay...:,-/
Oh yeah, did some minor editing to the previous chapters. Not too important, but meh. Just putting it out there.
The Good Thing That Hurts
3: Warmth
Vader exhaled with relief when she finally got the door to click open. She hadn't been standing out all that long, but she was very worried for the man whose arm was slung across her shoulder. He had ceased moaning a while back, and his wheezy breathing was becoming progressively shallower.
The platinum haired woman pushed open the door with a foot. On accident, more force than necessary had been applied, and it slammed loudly. The man flinched and she winced, stuttering an apology. "S-sorry."
He gave no indication of hearing her. Vader quickly dragged him inside and kicked the door back shut; albeit a bit gentler. No flinch this time.
The sofa was close at hand, so that was where Vader laid him. She was a whirl of energy after that; fetching blankets, boiling water in the kettle and grabbing the first aid kit. Once boiled, the water went into a hot water bottle, which she placed on his chest. Following this was many layers of blankets. He buried his face under these. Vader then migrated upstairs, to her bedroom, for any random article of clothing that she could use to further warm her unconscious guest. When she came back down, her arms were full. She set the pile of clothes next to the couch so she could check on how the man was faring. Vader probed his fingers and toes first. If he was frost bitten, those areas would be affected the worst.
His eyelids fluttered at the contact. A low, indecipherable groaning sound came from his slightly parted lips and he shifted slightly.
She shushed him gently and covered him back up.
No frost bite. That was good; if a little odd...
As she watched the man's pale face twitch every so often in his sleep, Vader frowned.
Where had he come from? The plain white scrubs he wore pointed to some sort of medical institution. A runaway patient perhaps?
Absently, Vader scratched at her arm.
Whatever the case, she could ask him when he woke up. Hopefully, he would be willing to divulge information...
She spared a quick glance at the clothing pile she'd brought down and winced. There were so many articles of clothing on it. Too much, in fact. What was more; they were mainly dresses and skirts.
She flushed.
These things happened when you rushed.
"... Oops."
She gathered the unwanted items and took them back upstairs to be replaced with more socks, mittens and coats.
The cold was gone completely; replaced by a comforting, toasty warmth.
Had he died?
As he sluggishly stirred back into the conscious world, he registered the numerous aches and pains of his body. And the familiar heavy, burning of the shackles around his neck and wrists. A low groan escaped him.
Damn it.
Slowly, he opened bleary blue eyes. After much blinking, his vision was much clearer and he could see his surroundings.
This wasn't the compound.
The walls were not bleached a hideous pure white. Instead, they were a very warm and inviting mocha, with the occasional hung photograph or painting to break the monotony. There was also a clear display with a moth pinned inside.
Its wings were beautiful for something so dead.
His eyes scanned the pictures on the walls intently, curiously. The paintings were nice, if a little disturbing. He stared blankly at one of a very stylized pair of cats with giant, grinning mouths and big teeth. The signature in the bottom right was a simple Z. Next, his gaze was directed towards one of the photographs. Three people- two females and a heavily scarred male whose arms were slung across each of their shoulders- were clustered together. The man and the girl on the left were both grinning widely. On the right of him, the pale woman with platinum hair's smile was more reserved and shy.
After lingering on that photograph for a while, his gaze trailed around some more. It rested on another photo, this one of two men nearly identical in appearance. One had a massive grin that seemed to split his face while the other wore a timid little smile with a few teeth peeping through. Somehow, he was reminded of the weird cat painting.
He craned his neck about to take in more of the room. There were a few more paintings and photos, as well as a finely carved end table nearby. A long wilted rose in a vase sat on it.
"Ah, you are finally awake. What a relief."
His head snapped towards the source of the unfamiliar voice.
Standing inside a doorway he hadn't noticed earlier, smiling gently, was the platinum haired woman from the photograph. She wore a cream coloured sweater that hugged her torso snugly, and a long grey skirt that gently brushed her ankles.
He couldn't help but stare.
Her smile grew a little wider at this. "What's the matter? Have you never seen a woman before?"
Truthfully, he had not. A girl on the other hand...
He shuddered.
The platinum haired woman's expression immediately became one of concern. "Are you alright? Are you cold? Uncomfortable? Hungry?"
On cue, his stomach growled and snarled like a thing possessed.
"Yes." He croaked, wincing straight afterwards. His throat was so dry...
He cleared his throat and tried again. "Yes. I'm starving." That was better. But he sounded so tired and weak...
A relieved smile settled on the woman's face. "Well, dinner will be ready soon, so you woke up at the perfect time. Would you like some water until then?"
He nodded vigorously. Water sounded perfect since he was so parched.
"Okay. I'll be back in a minute," said the woman, turning on her heel and passing back through the doorway. He stared after her and her swishing skirts until she disappeared from sight.
A long and relieved exhalation of air was released.
He had done it. He had successfully escaped the compound.
With a triumphant smile, he settled back into the couch.
Things were finally becoming better.
Not even a minute later, the platinum haired woman reentered the room, holding a glass of water. When offered, he took it gratefully, and chugged the liquid down quickly.
Surprisingly, he didn't choke on it.
"... Better?"
He offered the woman a quick nod. "Yes. Thanks."
"It is no problem," she smiled, taking the glass from him and putting it on the end table, next to the wilted rose. "You know, I was uncertain as to whether you would wake up or not."
His brow furrowed. "Why would you say that, Miss... Uh..."
"Eloha." She supplied. "But please, call me Vader."
"Vader..." It was odd, but he liked the sound of her name on his tongue.
Her voice snapped him out of his mild daze. "I was worried you may not wake up because when I found you in the snow three days ago, you were barely alive. You came down with a terrible fever shortly after. Thankfully, it seems to have gone now."
"..."
He had been unconscious for a whole three days? Damn, these shackles were more troublesome than he had originally thought.
He scowled and tugged at the one on his right wrist. Alpha was its name, if he recalled correctly.
Vader watched him silently. Her face was blank and her grey eyes unfathomable. "Do you mind if I ask what those are?" She eventually asked, gesturing at the glowing bands around his wrists and throat. Immediately, he ceased tugging at the Alpha shackle. "... I... I don't know," he said, lowering his eyes.
It wasn't technically a lie. He only knew the shackles had names, and that when they zapped him he felt drained. For what purpose they were put on him was a mystery. It wasn't as though he were a monster.
... Right?
Noting the sadness beginning to cloud his eyes, Vader decided to change the topic. "Ah, well... do you have a name?" She felt awkward right afterwards.
'Dunce. Of course he has a name.'
The man shrugged. "I've been called many things. Ugly. Shitstain. Garbage. Failure. Monster..."
Vader startled. "I... I beg your pardon?"
He shrugged apologetically. "Sorry. I don't actually think I have a single, fixed name." He gave her a tiny smile. It was sad.
"No... Don't be sorry. It is not your fault," said Vader. She rubbed at a sweater covered arm. "I'm sorry I brought it up."
The man shrugged. "It's not your fault." He echoed. "You didn't know."
Vader nodded, chewing at her lower lip. "... Would you like a name?" She asked hesitantly.
The man blinked, blue eyes wide and startled. "I... Yes. I'd like a name."
"Well then, how about..." Vader frowned with concentration. "Batter."
"Batter?" He repeated, cocking his head. The woman flushed, embarrassed. "Sorry. It's just, there's a code on your scrubs- BTR-4709 -and that is... Ah, I'm sorry. It just popped into my head. I can give you a different name if you wish."
"No," he said with a hasty head shake. "Batter sounds good."
Vader blinked in surprise. "Are you certain?"
He smiled back. "Yes. I don't mind."
Anything was better than monster...
The woman smiled warmly. "Well then, Batter, would you care to join me for dinner?" She extended a hand towards him. Batter grasped the appendage with no hesitation. Her small palm was deliciously warm in his own, larger one. "I would be delighted, Vader."
A/N: So, how terribly written was that?8,,-)
