Chapter 5: Can You Hear the Silence?

Summary: After ACOWAR, Cassian's first talk with Nesta after Hybern

Thanks for all the kindness I've received with these one-shots! I'm glad y'all are liking them.

Sometimes the days were a little too long, the sun was a little too hot, and the pain was a little too much to overcome. Too often, Cassian found himself deeply engrossed in the patterns of his sheets and the softness of his pillows. As if some weight had landed on his back and refused to release him from melancholy stripes and blues.

Sometimes the deep dark of night refused to be removed with the sun, refused to let go of the nightmarish twilight he found himself lying in. The silence around him swallowed his despair in the ticking of clocks and the rustling of pans in the kitchen. Even the steady thumping of his heart didn't seem loud enough to drown out the noise.

Even if Cassian somehow managed to get up, to get ready for the day ahead, sometimes, he didn't know the purpose- didn't see why it was important enough.

He'd sit with the rest of his family, eat breakfast, talk and laugh and joke and pretend that he wasn't dying inside. He'd fake the smile, he'd fake the pleasure, he'd fake the rigidness of his spine until some part of it was the truth. Until he could look in the mirror and see a bit of the spark light back in his eyes.

It was the only solace he could find.

He'd hear the screams of fallen soldiers, their moaning of pain, the last gulp of air as one his friends succumbed to the cold beyond. He'd hear it in Mor's laughter, Azriel's quiet shadows, Amren's snarky replies, and Rhys's dark comedy. He'd hear it in the whispers of the wind and in Cerridwen and Nuala's steady humming.

He couldn't get it out of his head.

The lies became the only solid ground he could stand on, rely on. He'd done it for years, decades even. And then one day he couldn't. Because she'd look at him, like she knew- knew he was a liar, a sham, a fake disguised as a warrior in battle armor.

He didn't want to lie to her.

Except he did. Every single day he refused to look at her, to talk to her, to share something with her was a day he pretended she didn't make his heart beat unsteadily. It rattled like his shaky breath.

And when the war was over and they could finally sit down without the weight of the world on their shoulders, he still felt the weight of his heart- bared the pain that he had one and others didn't. That he'd laugh and his comrades couldn't

Nesta wouldn't leave her room, wouldn't say hello to him or anyone, wouldn't grace them with her heated gazes and her callous attitude. She didn't make him forget. He almost hated her for it.

Except Cassian didn't think he could hate her at all. She was a part he couldn't let go, a string tied to each of their fingers, pulling them where the other went. Never leaving, never parting, never ceasing the rush that came from the company- the need for someone to understand.

Cassian would wait outside her bedroom when everyone had come and gone. He'd rest his forehead on the ingrained wood, rough and smooth. A strong barrier against the emotions that raged through him, threatening to overcome him and pounce.

He wanted to hear her voice. He didn't care if she was berating him, mocking him, or silently persisting in the corner of the room. He wanted to see her. Cassian didn't know what she felt. The death of her father and the death of her sanity wrapped in one blow of a sword.

He just wanted to be there for her. A selfishness that grew until it was a force to be reckoned with, for it was those feelings that he couldn't control. While his eyes were closed, he imagined her piercing eyes wild and brash, tendrils of flames alighting his blood in icy blues and deep reds.

She never opened the door. Not once. Even if Cassian was sure she could hear his breathing as much as he could hear hers. Their Heart beats a steady rhythm to calm the screaming of their secrecy.

She never opened the door.

Until one day she did.

He had stepped back when the door swung open. Stepped back and breathed her in. Eyes blown by the image of her, her presence. Nesta simply stared at him, face to face, eye to eye. Waiting for the wind to blow, for something to come out of his mouth.

"I just wanted to see if you needed anything." He said quietly, unsure.

"I don't."

It was a dismissal if he ever heard one, but like everything, Cassian tried his luck. He couldn't leave, when he'd just seen her. She wasn't a ghost, there one minute and gone the next. He wouldn't let her become one.

"Are you- are you doing okay?"

A stupid question, he wasn't even doing okay. He wanted to scold to himself for those very words.

"No."

"You know we all miss having you around. Feyre and Elain keep trying to talk to you. Even Amren seems bored."

Her eyes held no pain, no grief. They held no fond memories or happy thoughts. Just grey like the room around them.

"You know, they say war changes you."

The harsh, bitter ice of her eyes made his heart freeze over. Made him want to enclose his arms around her, to let the warmth seep through.

"I don't think you've changed at all."

Her quiet voice silenced the screaming, even if another started up again. Somewhere different, somewhere inside of him. His heart just kept thumping, louder and louder, until it was ringing in his ears. Until he could hear nothing else, but liar, liar, liar.

"You're still just the wolf. Always pretending and never getting anything but tears in your wings."

The stinging of his eyes burned far worse than the words she threw at him, worse than the angry purse of her lips or her defiant will.

"You're just grieving." He told her, he told himself. "You're just tired."

Nesta stared at him, blue turning to silver, lips red like the blood spilled on the ground before him. The blood that shattered into a million pieces of glass.

"Maybe, but you've been grieving your whole life."

The words a giant fist to the pit of his stomach, aching to hit again and again. It made sure he would never get up from the ground where he belonged. Low like gravel, dirt, and dust. The very edge of his being wanted to spring up and run- run from this mad woman who couldn't be tamed.

"Why do you care?" He spat with madness he thought he had trampled long ago.

"Because I'm a liar, too."

Soft like the pillow he didn't want to get up from, the comforter that tugged on his tired limbs, the brush of death on the battlefield he often fought on. Soft and comfortable and warm. Like a friend who felt his pain.

"Someday, we're going have to tell the truth."

But not today.

No, not today.

I'm not gonna lie, I've been in a really "what'd the point? Everything means nothing" mood, so this fic obviously wasn't very happy. I make no promises but maybe next time it'll be fluff. This actually has a companion to it that's happier so I'll get to it eventually.