In which Karma panics, and Heathcliff is there, for better or worse.
no, I don't mind the smoke, but your tears make me choke - Hindenburg Lover (Anson Seabra)
o0o0o
Heathcliff nearly drops Wuthering Heights when she bolts awake in bed with no warning. Her hands claw at herself frantically, searching for a blade that's not buried in her chest, for the blood not spilling from her unsplit throat.
He moves almost unconsciously and she lashes out, eyes feral and haunted. Stumbling back, he grabs onto the chair for support, staring at the wild animal trembling under the covers.
She knows it's him, doesn't she? Surely she doesn't think she's still asleep, surely she doesn't think he's a figment of her nightmares-
It comes as a sudden haunting chill, the realization that perhaps he was a figment of her nightmares, this time hurting-
He shuts down the thought before it can finish, slams the doors shut before he sees what he doesn't want to. Swallowing down the strange, suffocating ice in his throat, he wanders closer again.
Are you okay? Should I go away?
But he can help her, right? He slowly approaches her as she's curled up in a tiny ball of hurt-
And for a moment, he's a child again, peering through a tiny crack in the bedroom door at the woman huddled in a ball on the floor, rocking back and forth slowly in the dark.
He'll do better this time, right? He can help this time, right?
Slowly, he sinks to one knee at her side; their eyes meet for a split second, and he very nearly balks at the bitterness seething in those eyes, saturated too bright, especially as tears swim in their depths. No, he doesn't mind the smoke, not when he was the one who set it all ablaze, but he can't tell anymore if the catharsis was worth it.
Without warning, she grabs fistfuls of his jacket, burying her face against his shoulder as she breaks down, keeping him close but at a distance as something in her lungs tingles and burns; it's quiet save for her muffled cries. She still can't hear a heartbeat in there.
Moving slowly, he comes to sit on the bed next to her and pulls her closer, robotically patting her on the head and back like a machine, but she can't bring herself to care; she tells herself, has told herself, over and over that this is better than being alone, but the nightmares haven't gotten better, only worse since she left the real world. If this is what being alive means, then she doesn't want it, but there's nothing else left for her.
How did he do it? How did he just...turn it off? She would turn off all the lights in that instant if it meant not having to see the blood.
This is all his fault, she thinks bitterly, sitting there cradled in his arms. His fault.
It's convenient, being able to blame him for everything. Somewhere in the dark recesses of her mind, she knows that there are choices that he never made for her, but the logical part of her has been silenced since she made her decision; whatever's left can't help but heap all of the blame on his shoulders.
o0o0o
The next morning, all he can do is wait while she trudges to the bathroom and shuts the door behind her, shoulders heavy with exhaustion. He wanders downstairs, tries to at least order coffee or something to make her feel better, but the NPC innkeeper doesn't bat an eye, and he's forced to admit defeat in that regard.
As far as he can tell, he is a manifestation of her emotions; his presence was her wish and so he came to her. If she wanted him here, then wouldn't she want him to help? Why can't he help?
The quiet click of the bathroom door alerts him to her presence, and she steps out looking perfectly ready for the day; as they face each other, he's reminded of yet another reason why he was so fascinated by her peculiar brand of strength. Her eyes are red, but no more than normal—virtual avatars don't show bloodshot, puffy eyes anyways. Her back is straight, shoulders strong. There isn't a wrinkle in her clothes, of course, and her hair is tightly bound in twin braids again.
Nothing for him to do, except make the bitter exhaustion in her eyes go away, but he doesn't know how.
Her gaze slides away, as if disappointed, and that disappointment crushes his windpipe in skeletal hands; strange, he didn't think he needed to breathe in here.
"Let's go coffee," she finally says in a decidedly neutral tone, tugging lightly on her gloves as she turns to leave. He follows; what else is he supposed to do?
o0o0o
Arun is a bustling hub of activity on New Year's Eve. There's a huge holographic clock on display in the shade of the World Tree. People are partying and probably will be well into the morning, and fireworks are going off constantly (with muffled noise, thankfully) in patterns that would be impossible to replicate in real life. Sparkles and light streak overhead as fairies race, shouts and laughter mingling in the air.
"Hey."
Heathcliff looks down at her when she tugs at his sleeve, pointing towards a low stage where a group of Pookas are performing. People are already frolicking about in the square to whatever rhythm they please, not necessarily the song's.
"You owe me at least one dance from the party I missed last year," she reminds him with a wicked grin before pulling him towards the music.
"Are you planning on sleeping at all tonight?" he quips, letting her lead. This much, he can do for her.
Her nose scrunches up in that way that heralds a dry quip, and then she grins and declares, "Nope!"
After several more dances than he promised, not that he minds too much, Karma is invited to participate in a few duels by a guild that she worked with once, which she accepts enthusiastically. She then proceeds to thoroughly thrash everyone who comes her way, not that he's surprised much. After all, it's her PvP prowess that kept her alive tonight one year ago.
Still undefeated, she bows out to take a break. She disappears for a few minutes, then returns with two steaming mugs of hot chocolate, wordlessly handing one of them to him as she sits down. White swirls drift from their hot drinks, spiralling higher and higher until they fade away, and Karma watches snowflakes melt into her drink along with the marshmallows with an innocent curiosity as the heat counters tick down.
As they sip at their drinks, she goes over spells with him, practicing pronunciation, giggling when she tries to go too fast and jumbles the words, but the foreign syllables soon fall from her lips with ease. When they finish their drinks, she invites (read: commands) him to dance with her again, this time in a much different way.
He has to admit, between the openness of the sky and his lack of a shield, he doesn't stand a chance against Karma in a duel. She took that flight system by the throat and made it her own, moving with just as much grace as she did on the ground in Aincrad. It's so typical of her, to simply make the most of what she has and then make more. Make lemonade out of lemons, is that how it goes?
He supposes in the real world, there was nothing there in the first place. Or there was just too much missing. Maybe he overestimated her.
When the clock strikes twelve, Karma cheers and whoops with everyone else, soaring under the veil of stars. Spells fly harmlessly in the safe zone, and she joins in with a well rehearsed incantation, releasing an enormous fiery dragon that snaps its jaws shut before exploding into cinders, raining down light and smoke like fireworks. Her MP bar completely depleted, she laughs and laughs and laughs until her wings give out, and she falls comfortably into his arms.
Maybe this is okay anyways, he thinks to himself when she makes no move to get up and he makes no move to put her down. Maybe things don't have to change, ever.
BZZZT.
Confusion sweeps across Arun. Spells fizzle, cheering dies down, and sparkles stop streaking across the sky as fairies everywhere pause, static rippling through the sky. Karma shifts, and Heathcliff sets her down wordlessly.
The giant holographic words saying 'Happy New Year' are suddenly replaced by the words 'System Announcement'.
Dread surges through Karma in a nauseating chill as she stares up at the words with everyone else, her hand gripping Heathcliff's arm like a lifeline. She remembers all too well the last time anything like this happened, over two years ago; the identity of the man standing next to her at this moment is a real stroke of irony.
This time, there are no red-hooded GM figures or blood dripping from red 'emergency' hexagons in the sky, instead a cool automated female voice.
"The server will be down on January first from one o'clock AM to one o'clock PM for maintenance. We apologize for the abrupt notice. Players are asked to log out ten minutes in advance. Those still logged in will be forcibly logged out at that time."
All the figurative blood drains from her face, and she doesn't hear the voice repeat the instructions or everyone exclaiming protests angrily; it's like she's back in Aincrad, but not remotely in the way she wished. The Town of Beginnings is blanketed in a thick, suffocating atmosphere of horror and dread as Kayaba Akihiko pronounces all of their lives forfeit to his game.
Her lips form the words but she can't get them out. Heathcliff steadies her as she sways on the spot, starting to breathe heavily as a few players start logging out, resigned to the order, but she can't. It's not just that she's afraid of the consequences of her actions, as cowardly as it is.
There's just nothing waiting for her there to salvage.
It's like she's hearing her own voice speaking from another body.
"They must've found out somehow." She shivers like a wind-blown leaf, frail and helpless. "Why else would they...all of a sudden...I can't…"
The clock has reappeared, now counting up towards the moment when everything she has will come crashing down.
Again.
"Don't make me go back there," she sobs, sinking to her knees with a strangled cry as her tears freeze into ice on her face. Some part of her knows that she shouldn't be panicking like a headless chicken, that she should be stronger than this, but that part of her that was strong is buried deep in the memories she left behind in Aincrad. No matter how many times she's tried to relive those memories with him, recreating the day-to-day whimsy of another time, that strength, the will to fight for something more, has thus far eluded her.
A hand suddenly grasps hers, ice cold but unyielding, and Heathcliff kneels in front of her, eyes steely. "Come on."
Barely watching where they're flying, she can't do much but simply let him lead her for once. Her heart beats frantically in its cage as she darts glances at the enormous clock every few seconds. There isn't much time left. What can he do? Will it be enough?
(When did she start doubting him?)
When they land, he hides her in an alcove made by the enormous twisting roots of the World Tree. Blinking away a thin film of tears, she sinks bonelessly to the frozen ground and watches in detached, resigned bewilderment as he starts manipulating a menu, something she's never seen him do in this world. He talks as he works, with more determination than she's heard from him at all since they reunited.
"You were right," he says, without missing a beat in his frantic typing, eyes flickering through pages and pages of holographic code that Karma can't make heads or tails of. "This world is plagiarized. The Cardinal system, the data that your avatar is partially built off of...It's all from Sword Art Online." Dozens of windows open; somehow, he knows exactly which one to find. "Which means I still have admin privileges."
He hits enter and waves a hand, and everything vanishes. The world goes quiet, and when she can no longer resist the urge, Karma glances at her watch. Her hand is trembling almost too much to read the numbers, but eventually, they solidify:
1:01.
She's still here.
In a hospital, the doctors and the government officials hold their breaths, but if they thought they could dictate her actions, they were damn wrong.
Slowly, her heart rate begins to fall, and when he grasps her gloved hands gently, thumbs trailing comfortingly along the ridges of her knuckles, the tremors ease. The fireworks have gone silent, and Arun has gone to sleep. All that's left to light the sky are the stars and the moon, a few lonely beams filtering through the gaps in the roots to give them a little bit of luminescence.
Without the gut-wrenching terror of moments past, she has the mindspace to be confused, and she stares down at their hands, hers limp in his grasp.
"Weren't you the one who wanted me to go back to the real world once?" she asks finally. She remembers every word of that conversation; she hasn't been able to stop hearing them since it happened.
Outside, GMs and administrators fly by, completely ignoring them. The moon paints his hair a bright, shining silver, but when he lowers his head, his eyes lose that light.
"I didn't know," Heathcliff says at last, and neither of them are quite sure what he's referring to. "But if the real world hurts that badly...I won't make you go back."
By some instinct, she jerks her hands out of his grasp, fingers curling stiff and unsteady as she stares at him like a cornered wild animal. Except, she likes her corner, likes it more than the rest of that blank empty world, and he's letting her stay there. He has all the power in the world to force her out, and she's not sure if she should trust him with that kind of power again. Not when he abused it so brutally before.
But still, what else is there?
Suddenly, an administrator flies into view without warning; in a split second, she finds herself huddling in his arms, drawing shallow breaths, unable to bear looking up. When did she get so weak? She thought he would make her strong again (but in truth, his strength was just a sham too, wasn't it?).
After what feels like several eternities, Heathcliff squeezes her shoulders. "They're gone."
It's all she can do to just nod, one hand gripping her necklace like a vise.
Once, they'd talked in passing about what would happen if it came to this. If the people in the real world dared to interfere with them, if their time ran out.
And now it never will.
No one is ever going to take her away. No one is coming for her. If they do, he'll protect her.
He'll protect her.
A quiet sob is muffled in his robes, and she presses closer, in some twisted form of denial. Stupid, stupid guilt writhes in her stomach as he smooths down her hair, rubs her back comfortingly without a single sound of complaint; god, she wants nothing more than to be able to trust him-
But as he said once, it's human nature to want more than they can ever have.
He doesn't protest when she can't bring herself to move at all, unable to look up, unable to meet his gaze for fear that he'll see what's in hers, until the sun starts to rise, dawning on a new day, the start of a new year, spent in fear.
Of what, she can't pin down with only one answer.
o0o0o
convinced there is no way out, my world is turned upside down; my sense of direction's been gone for so long - Same Old War (Our Last Night)
I'm a time bomb that's ticking away, still you're holding my hand - Don't Forget Me (Nathan Wagner)
Little bit of a POV shift this time too :D Honestly, the last part of the last chapter was written last minute mainly to ease the story into Heathcliff's POV, instead of just jumping straight to basically half a chapter done in his POV, although I still liked how that part last chapter turned out. He'll have a few more POV segments in the future too.
So I let him keep his admin privileges, since he was able to give them to Kirito in canon, so I figured he should be able to use them himself. He just doesn't in canon because he doesn't care, but in here, it's different.
And I believe this is called 'enabling', or something? He's letting her continue to run away from the consequences of her actions and from what she really needs, for both their own selfishness (and of course, he knows if she returned to the real world, chances are that they would never see each other again). He knows what it's like to need to escape from the real world, but that doesn't mean either of them should've done what they did.
Short chapter, but it was the best stopping point, I felt like. It's always nice to end on such a miserable note ;)