Probabilities bubble up from the depths of the Bottomless Pit. They rise to the surface under the crush of enormous pressure, deformed and knocking into each other. Forming and reforming as they merge and pop.
Down the corridors of the VIRGIL, one instance of Charlie Dresden – bruised and bloodied, but still alive – stumbles into another instance of Marion Straker – bloodied, broken, but with a fire in her eyes that could scorch him to ashes.
The bubbles ripple as they merge.
Charlie drops to his knees at Marion's side, immediately looking for the most immediate damage he could fix.
She bats his hands away.
"We need to get the bleeding staunched," he explains, patiently.
She gives a bitter laugh. It feels like broken glass rattles in it.
He manages to catch her hands in his, to stop her from loosing more blood by flailing at him, at least.
"Who did this to you?" he asks.
She stops struggling and fixes him with her eyes. It burns.
Down to his very soul, if such a thing exists.
"You're not my Charlie," she says instead.
This time, he gives a bitter chuckle. "I'm no one's Charlie, love."
Her gaze doesn't spare him for a moment. "My Charlie is dead."
He swallows the tension her words caused. He shouldn't be surprised.
He nods.
"My Marion's dead, too. We lost her when we brought the Entity aboard," he explains. His voice is calm, his grip is firm, and eventually, Marion shifts her gaze from his eyes to the tip of his nose. Somehow, it keeps burning.
"Will you let me help, now?"
She nods.
He tears a few strips off his shirt, enough to take care of the deepest wounds. They're clean and deep, with the precision of a scalpel.
He says nothing.
They sit there in silence, holding bloody hands for a while. Most of the blood is their own. Most of it.
Eventually, Marion breaks the silence. Her voice is barely audible. "I killed you."
He doesn't say anything.
"I'm sorry," she whispers into the dark.
"I'm sure you had your reasons," he assures, despite the tension closing in his throat.
She shakes her head.
He tries to rub her arms in reassurance, but realizes that would hurt her injuries.
Charlie contemplates for a moment how to handle this, while Marion gathers her own thoughts. Eventually, he settles against the wall behind him and tries to pull Marion against him.
She doesn't budge.
"I killed you," she insists.
"And I killed Marcus," he says with a shrug. "We've all got blood on our hands here."
He can feel her shudder.
And then, the weight of her is pressed against his chest, shivering slightly.
"Did he do this?" Charlie asks, not sure what to do with his hands now.
"Marcus was a puppet," she says. She sounds tired. More tired than before.
She takes a deep breath, her lungs hitching on the intake, and he can feel it in his own chest. It hurts just to think about it.
He wraps his arms around her. Gently.
There's not much else he can do.