You and Me

It was warm and bright and she was oh-so-cozy, she simply did not want to get up, even if the sunlight was trying its hardest to pry her eyes open with its intensity.

Wait.

That couldn't be right.

Her room was deep in the cavernous gullet of a mountain. There was no sunlight to be had in her chamber, let alone any of the others for that matter. She peeped open an eye, blinking blearily around, just as something warm scuttled gently across her shoulder and arm. Ash sighed deeply with a groan, sat up and—

She froze.

This wasn't her room. This wasn't her home. This wasn't Yamatai.

It was a bedroom. An actual, physical bedroom. Inside a house or an apartment. Or so she assumed. She was still processing the fact that she was in a bed, with fresh clean sheets, ones that didn't smell like they've been in a cave for several decades, nor did any of the surrounding furniture seem to have endured the same decades-old treatment of wear and tear—

"For someone who strains herself to the point of exhaustion, you certainly sleep like the dead at times."

Ash's blood ran cold as ice at the voice. She whirled, belated realizing she wasn't alone and found herself staring at…at Allen.

But he's gone, she thought with a lump growing in her throat. I sent him away, he's gone, this can't be right—

His smile faltered and he reached to cup her face and it felt so warm, so real, she was almost fooled in believing he was actually there.

"What—what the hell is this?"

His smile fell away completely, his silvery-grey eyes searching her face. "What do you mean?"

"You're dead. You died, I tried—I tried to help you, but I don't—I don't know—"

Allen frowned, head tilting, concern building up slowly across his face. His other hand sought hers and held on tight, especially when she jerked away on reflex.

"Ash, breathe. We're not on Yamatai anymore. Himiko is dead, for good. We escaped." He managed another smile and leaned closer, as though he was about to tell her a secret. "We're in a villa in Italy right now, in case you forgot. We've been here for a few weeks, in fact."

His hand squeezed hers reassuringly and the tension knotted along her shoulders and back eased as she swept her gaze around them. It looked well used and lived in, and there, by the wooden bureau, there were two well-worn traveling packs. From the plaster walls painted in warm earthy tones to the wooden shutters along the windows and the great stone fireplace, it felt right with what he said and yet…

Doubt was a treacherous little creature and it wormed its way into her mind, refusing to release its deadly little claws from her thoughts as it hissed away in her ears.

She gripped at the sheets and the comforter beneath her hands, felt the softness of the material and could smell the freshness of the detergent and Allen…

She met his expectant gaze, his quiet smile, his patience with a hesitant smile of her own.

"Bad dreams?" He inquired gently and she nodded.

"I guess so," she said quietly replied, tracing her eyes over his features. She leaned closer toward Allen, but halted when her center of gravity shifted so dramatically, she flopped over on her side instead. He laughed and helped her up, a hand to her back and the other on her belly.

Her very distended and pregnant belly.

She gaped in disbelief.

"Easy, Ash, you don't want to stress yourself too much. You're due any day now."

"I…wait, what?"

He chuckled and her breathe hitched tightly in her chest when he rubbed his hand gently over her belly.

"You're nine months along, Ash. We would have kept traveling, but the doctors said you can't keep doing that, so we decided to settle for a little until the baby was born. Don't you remember?"

"I…I don't…understand, I…"

She stared helplessly between Allen and her belly.

This isn't what happened, this is…wrong, it's wrong. This can't be right, the werewolves came and I had to send him away—this can't be right—

Her frantic thoughts came to a grinding halt at a hand along her cheek again, and it calmed her down, chased away her worries…

"Ash…it's okay. Listen to me. You're okay."

She had to force a breath past the lump that was once again taking up residence in her throat. The nightmare that had been most of her life on Yamatai seemed like a distant dream, it was fading so quickly now. He scooted closer and pulled her into a warm embrace. She shuddered pleasantly and closed her eyes, reveling in the invasion of his scent, his warmth, his presence.

"You and me, we're okay, Ash. We made it. I promise."

A bad dream, that's all it was, it was just a bad dream…

Her eyes snapped open and she blinked several times when Allen began to cough and his hold on her grew slack. Her concern came back tenfold when he suddenly slumped heavily against her, his breathing laboured.

"Allen? Are you okay?"

The light in the room snuffed out the moment she pulled away and something wet and hot to the touch with a sharp metallic stench was spreading across her front. Panic began to grip her tight and refused to let go as she pulled Allen away at arm's length. She froze almost as soon as she had him at arm's length and saw his ashen grey complexion, the blood staining his lips and his front, the glazed look in his eyes. His lips moved, but no noise issued out. A few tears leaked from his eyes.

"Allen!"

They were no longer in the rustic villa in Italy. There was no warm sunshine, there was no comfy bed, there was no great stone fireplace. It was cold and unwelcoming and she actually shivered, feeling it worm its way down deep into her bones.

They were surrounded by lacquered pillars with peeling crimson paint, faded hardwood floors, tallow candles burning dimly and the stink of blood was heavy in the air. It was Himiko's throne room, she would recognize it anywhere. Glowing eyes in the dark filled with hate were encroaching upon them while gleaming fangs caught glints of light from the candles as they pressed in from all sides.

Don't not again I can't do this again stop it just stop it don't hurt him just stop—

The werewolves charged. She grabbed Allen and held him tight, tried not to gag at the alarming amount of blood she could feel soaking her through, how much she could smell.

"Hold your breath and close your eyes," was all she managed to say before everything around them exploded in scorching heat and blinding light, howls of rage deafening to her ears.

When the fires died and all sound ceased, she opened her eyes and let out a shuddering breath. It was still cold, she realized. Her arms were empty, her belly flat, she was alone in the throne room and all she had left to hold onto were fistfuls of ash and dust.

OoOoOoOoOoO

She awoke drenched in a cold sweat, shaking uncontrollably, her throat raw and sore, her eyes hot and itchy and leaking with tears. Every breath she drew made her retch. Every retch made every breath a struggle, but she forced each of them down until her hands stopped shaking, until she could stop crying, until the wretched feeling of absolute powerlessness had faded, but not really. It would never truly fade.

Even when she kept telling herself, it was just a dream, it wasn't real, it did little to console her, because she knew it wasn't really just a dream. Even when she reached for the faded, threadbare remnant of her sash, mismatched and patchwork-repaired with bits of her and bits of him, it wasn't enough to soothe her. Even when she touched the gold coin dangling at her throat, to remind herself that she still had it, she felt no calm in her restless mind at all.

When she was awake, she could toil away to the bone and lose herself in whatever menial and tedious task she was working on. But when she was asleep, those prickly memories were there, lurking, waiting to spring up, waiting to strike and make her feel like shit all over again. Even if it was a dream, it was still a trap designed to ensnare her, to hurt her, to remind her of what a complete and utter fuckup she was, of what a hopeless case that she was, of how useless she had been. Every reminder of what had happened was like a thorn in her heart and her lungs, making every beat torture and every breath agony.

Even years, decades, millennia later she felt the guilt and self-hatred clawing away at her insides without mercy as reminders of her failure. Even with all this time that has passed, he was the first constant in her memory. She could still remember with perfect, damning clarity the night she'd lost him. The night she'd sent him away, most likely to his death. If he had lived, he would have come back. He would have.

She was a failure, a broken mess that had fooled herself into believing that was worth fixing. She had let him fool her into believing that there was something in her worth fixing, and that all the pieces were there, they only needed to be put back together.

She was so very tired of fooling herself.

Stupid, she thought to herself. Stupid of you to think a monster could actually have a happy ending. Stupid of you to think you could actually leave this fucking place. Stupid of you to give yourself away to someone and not keep anything left for yourself and now look at you. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

Ash stumbled out of her room, passing by relics and artefacts and things she once cared about, but the years have worn her away. She barely paid it all any mind, until her pawed foot struck a bottle lying on the ground. Liquid sloshed about inside and she paused as it rolled a few feet away from her before coming to an abrupt halt. She followed it and picked it up, weighing it. It was nearly full. She popped the cork and took a long draft from it, the familiar scalding bitterness of moonshine hitting her tongue in waves before slithering down to settle warmly in her belly.

No matter how much she drank, it was never enough to send her into blissful ignorance, to make her forget. It couldn't do the job, no matter how much alcohol there was. She might as well drink water, for all the good it did her.

Ash continued on her trek, skittering past broken skulls and smashed bones and brittle dead flower petals that she had no heart left in her to clean up. She hasn't seen another soul wash up on Yamatai in decades. Why bother in keeping her home clean when it no longer felt like a home and more like a tomb?

She collapsed against the wall, beneath the array of skulls that hung above her head, and next to the massive skull that once belong to her beloved Báthory. She sat there in silence for a time, finishing off the bottle of moonshine and when it was done, she rolled it away without ceremony. It clanked against several other bottles lying haplessly on the ground, some empty and others not. Ash had half a mind to get up and grab another bottle, but her limbs were lead weights and she wasn't ready to move again. Instead she leaned against Báthory's skull. She could still smell the stench of her living flesh being cooked. Or was it just her mind playing tricks on her again?

I'm never going to leave this island, she told herself and she believed it, because it was true. I'll waste away on this godforsaken shithole, just like the rest of them. This place is nothing but a tomb. At the very least I can choose where I'll draw my final breath. It's the one last "fuck you" I can send to Himiko when I finally die.

Ash finally managed to gather enough strength to roll herself to her feet, but only long enough to locate another full bottle of moonshine. Then she was back to leaning against Báthory's quiet and empty skull. She raised the bottle in a mocking salute to the darkness, ignoring the way her vision blurred, how wet her cheeks were becoming, or how cracked and broken her voice sounded.

It made no difference to her. Not anymore.

"You and me, Himiko. It's just you and me left. Salud, you fucking bitch."

OoOoOoOoOoO

Note: There's a lot I wish I could say, but I can't because spoilers, except…

Ash is broken and it's not the 'I can't live without so-and-so' kind of broken, she doesn't function like that. It's more along the lines of the crushing agony of failure and the heap of self-loathing that's been bottled up and repackaged as that nasty concoction called survivor's guilt. She is caustic and bitter and angry, and above all, she's tired.

Years of living in isolation and convincing herself that everything bad that's ever happened to her is her fault and hers alone tends to skew perspective, and frankly, she's about two steps away from biting a silver bullet.

Ash isn't a happy person and she won't be for a long time. It was like that for a long time, even before Allen arrived, and it's only inflated since his untimely departure.

Also, I saw this prompt and decided that I should share in the pain: "Imagine your OTP sleeping together. Person A wakes up and reaches over to snuggle closer to Person B. The bed is cold and empty and as Person A sits up, they remember that Person B has been dead…last night had been a dream. Person A then begins to cry."