"There you are."
"Ocheeva – " I skidded to a stop in the Sanctuary proper, panting to catch my breath as Luke stopped just behind. "Where's Lucien? What happe – "
The words died in my throat. I'd never grown close to the Argonian but since I'd healed her brother, since I'd killed the traitor, she'd treated me with some courtesy. Some small measure of respect.
Not now. Not in that stare, so full of cold fury it froze me in place. Only when I fell silent did she turn, beckoning me with the arch of a claw.
It was like when I'd first arrived again, when she'd demanded I address her as a superior. When I was nothing but an intruder. And feeling the eyes of others on me as we walked through the halls, I knew she wasn't alone in how she saw me now.
Servant. Prisoner. Outsider.
We stopped outside the door to Lucien's own room, rarely occupied given his usual home in Fort Farragut. Inside were shadowed shapes, lit by candles and dimming embers in the hearth. A form still on the bed, someone in the chair beside him. Vicente, and…
"You would do well to remember your place, healer." She spat the word. Like I was less for being what I was, less for not wanting more blood on my hands. "You should have been here long ago."
"I was – " Another glare stopped me short, made me choke on my words. I swallowed them back, brittle and sharp like glass, before dipping my head. Luke pressed his cold nose against my palm. "… Yes, ma'am."
She strode off. I kept my head down, watching out of the corner of my eye as Vicente stood to make his way out. He paused beside me, and I braced myself.
A gentle hand on my shoulder.
"It isn't lethal, Dust. With your work, he will be fine. I gave him one of your opiate potions for the pain. Thank you for coming."
Relief and anger and guilt all at once, bubbling over in a watery, shuddering laugh. "I didn't have much choice, did I?"
"No. But you would regardless."
He knew me well, almost better than I did myself. I blinked away tears, daring to look up now. "I'm not so sure you told the truth, about vampires not reading minds."
A small, kind smile. He inclined his head, then his gentle touch slid away as he left me, alone with no further distractions from what lay ahead.
Luke glanced back at me, red eyes wide, then into the silent chamber. Another take and he stepped inside, leading the way.
He was asleep, mercifully. Both for me and for him, I realized with a wince. One of my ointments covered ugly burns, melted and scorched flesh on his forearm, his neck and beneath his jaw, trailing down his bare chest. There one could almost make out the shape of his attempt to stop the flame, throwing his arm up in defense.
Thank the gods Vicente had the sense to give him something. He must have been in agony.
If I had been here –
No. No, I have every gods-damned right to live my life. I can't be everywhere at once. I squeezed tears free now, inhaling deep as I moved to gather what I needed. Fresh water, another jar of ointment, ingredients for a salve. Pushing away the guilt, letting the familiar scents take me to another place.
Another patient, Dust. Just another patient. I drew a deep breath, steeling myself. Get to work.
Luke curled up by the hearth as I did what I needed. Washing my hands first, then the film of moisture and sloughed off skin that was collecting on his wounds. Smoothing on another layer of ointment, preventing infection, then as that sunk in mixing up my salve. Wheat germ, aloe vera, the tiniest pinch of frost salts to soothe the lingering heat.
Running my hands over him, his sinewy arms, his chest dusted with dark hair and littered with scars. Seeing and trying not to see them, to remember which came from where. The harrada? The traitor?
Trying and failing not to remember touching him more sweetly, taunting or responding to his taunts. A hand on his chest, the other sliding into his hair. Lips on his jawline, peppering down his neck. Listening to his breathing after in his arms, soft and slow. Painfully bittersweet, enough to make my hands shake.
Just another patient.
"Dust."
I stiffened. His hand around my wrist stopped me, voice gentle and hoarse, eyes dazed. I almost didn't recognize him like that. I only knew his gaze as piercing, intense. A repressed shiver. I paused in my work, speaking softly.
"I'm here. Try to sleep, Lucien."
A grumble, low in his throat. He released my hand and, for a moment, I dared hope he'd obeyed the order. But his eyes flickered open again, refocusing on me. "Telaendril… said you were… out of the city."
"I had work for the guild." I kept my voice smooth, professional. Winding bandages first around his forearm, sealing my work against the devastated flesh. Once they're on him, I can heal him properly. That's it, focus. "How did this happen?"
"A Flame Atronach. Leaving… the Fort." He spoke slowly, brow furrowed, eyes closing. My potion was doing its work, leaving him numbed and sluggish. I took a breath to tell him not to fight it but he continued, fingers curling into a fist. "A stray, from the… gate. I dispatched it. It… engh…" A hiss as I tied off the bandage, smoothing it down. "Sithis… it exploded…"
That explained the burns, the pockmarked spots where fire salts must have sunk into his skin. "…You should try to sleep."
A grumble. "Slept for hours." His eyes met mine now, lips parted as he searched for words. "You drugged me."
His expression so befuddled, the accusation so blunt. I blinked, and before I knew it I was laughing – half indignant, half amused, and still trying to keep tears at bay. "I did no such thing." A deep breath, keeping the emotion that threatened out of my voice. "Vicente gave you one of my potions, for the pain."
"By proxy, then." A low laugh in his throat. "Nefarious, pet." Familiar, too familiar. Too close to how it had been, before I'd refused them. Too tempting to fall into the fantasy and laugh, taunt him right back, pretend…
"… I'm going to heal you, now. Give the balm a push."
I trailed my fingertips along the new bandages, letting my magicka well up. Heal, seal, encouraging vigour and energy as I felt my own sap away.
Tired. Gods, I was tired. The trek up and down the mountain, the necromancers, healing Astarill and now this. My head throbbed, pain carving in and sliding out. I wanted to sleep. I wanted to march off and keep hating him, I wanted things to go back to how they were…
"What happened?"
I woke from my thoughts to see him watching me, words sharp, eyes sharper. Focused on my chest – on my collarbone, the ugly wound there. I touched it gingerly, pulling up the neckline of my blouse to hide it.
"Lucien, you need to – "
"No," came the growl, eyes narrowing under slanted brows. He took my wrist again, less gently this time, sitting up with a snarl of pain as I winced. The other moved to my chest, carefully brushing the scarring over my breast with calloused fingertips.
"I'm fine. The guild sent me on work. There were necromancers. We handled it."
A hiss through his teeth. He lay back somewhat again, but his hand slid instead upwards – over my throat to my cheek, holding my gaze. A shivery thrill passed through me. I clenched my jaw to keep it from trembling.
Why is he…?
He's drugged. He's not thinking straight. You can't take it seriously. I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment, praying no tears came again. Just another patient.
"I had thought…" His murmur drew me out of my thoughts. I sniffled, trying to hide everything I'd been thinking. His voice deadpan, a sneer curling his lip. "They would send you to pick flowers."
I couldn't help it. A watery laugh burbled up, escaping me again. You can't do this, you know it's not like this anymore. "They did."
Your work is done. We slipped into silence again, only the low crackle of the fire and Luke's snores filling the room. You did your job. Go home, gods dammit, go -
"Necromancers."
I didn't pull away. "Yes."
A pause. A slow grin slithered onto his features, even as his eyes remained shut and his head tilted back, half dozing. "Did you try to seduce one?"
"Lucien!"
"Given your… history with them…"
"You're insufferable." Teasing, he was teasing me. Like before I'd made my choice, before my argument with him. I knew I should go, I knew staying would only make it hurt more when he was lucid again but…
His fingers curled against my cheek. "You fought them. Killed them."
I winced, remembering the look on the woman's face as my dagger found its mark. "… We didn't have much choice. They were killing hunters, unearthing graves. They would've killed us, too."
A soft rumble of a sigh. "You would kill for them." His voice was harder now, eyes narrowed. "But not for us."
I'd been expecting it, but it still hurt. I took his hand and lowered it back to his lap, looking away. "… If they told me to kill an innocent, I'd have refused. And you would, Lucien. Sooner or later."
"Innocent. All this time with us… and you still think there are innocents." A brief show of teeth in a sneer, a shake of his head before he regarded me neutrally again. "… Your mother said as much. That you could… never follow her footsteps."
My breath shuddered out. "… She was right." Remembering the gate outside again, the crimson glow and the quaking of it, remembering her blank eyes. "But I'm going to do what she said."
An arched brow. I let my shoulders slump even as I lifted my chin, willed strength into my voice. "I'm trapped because of who she was, what she did. But I'm going to try and make the best of it, in my own way." I dared meet his gaze then, jaw clenched. "… No matter what you think, Lucien."
"Dust…"
"I'll deliver the potions and I'll be here when the Family needs me, when you need me, but I'm still going to be me, do you understand?" It all flooded out at once, wavering in spite of myself. I sucked in a breath, clenched my hands. "I can't follow her footsteps, or yours, even if…"
Even if I'd loved them both, so dearly.
Gods dammit all. I loved this bastard, watching me now in silence with hooded eyes. More than romance, more than desire. I still did, even knowing how stupid it was. How inevitably doomed.
I couldn't change. Neither could he. But somehow, I still didn't want to move.
It began so soft I hardly heard it. Another soft chuckle, not sneering but genuine now. "Even in the face of death, you'd refuse to bend."
I felt a small smile curl, bittersweet. "… I don't want to die. I'll obey the tenets, do as I'm told. But there's not much point to living if my life isn't even mine, is there?"
"You want to heal. The guild. Your potions."
"Yes." My passion for alchemy, my desire to heal and create, I couldn't quell them. I didn't want to. But I pursed my lips, flickering my eyes back to his, up and down. "… But that doesn't mean I don't want this."
The fogginess in his eyes had faded, clear and sharp now as he gazed back. Slowly his fingertips found my arm, grazing up, sending warm ripples in their wake. From the ends of my hair down, tingling. They fell away and he sank back into the bed, eyes drifting shut as he rumbled. "You've done your work. You may go."
"What if…" Stupid, stupid, but couldn't I have both? "… What if I choose to stay?"
A single eye opened, the twitch of a smirk at the corner of his lip. "I am hardly in the condition to stop you, pet."
Warmth bloomed in me, fragile hope even knowing this couldn't possibly last. He wasn't thinking straight. But his eyes, holding mine as his fingers grazed my shoulder – his eyes were so clear now.
Coaxed down I relaxed against him, careful to mind the bandaged burns as I settled. Head against his chest, the crook of his arm nestling me in. Beneath the sharp, bitter scent of the salve I caught his own.
What had I once thought of myself? Like a moth to a flame. I came as close as I dared, but inevitably, I'd get burned, wings singed away. If I wanted freedom, this was a dangerous dance.
But maybe I could enjoy the warmth, just for a little while.
