Later that night, Callum was roused by an unexpected sound. His first instinct was to check the alert lines but he had barely gotten up when he recognized the sound as badly suppressed sobbing.
He walked to the fire place, stoking the embers and adding more wood. Rayla was facing away from him, laying on her side.
"Are you okay?", he asked into the night.
"'Okay' people don' sob, you dunce", came the tearful reply.
He sat next to her cot, placing a hand on her shoulder.
"I can go out, see if I can find that herb you've been showing me if the pain's keeping you up"
She waved him off. "It's not that"
"Then", he sighed, "you'll have to talk to me so we can figure out what 'it' is"
"I dunno how.", she said quietly, turning over, "I tried and just made things worse. I know it's not your fault and that all that's happened is a mess but..." She palmed her eyes and sniffled.
For a moment, Callum just looked at her. Dark rings around her eyes made her seem extremely tired, had she slept at all? Were they from crying?
"I'm snifflin' again", she groaned, still wiping her eyes, "I really suck at this."
He reached over to the clothing rack and handed her the sleeve of his clean jacket which she used to dry her face. And, to blow her nose, which he didn't appreciate one bit.
"I... don' really know how to put this in a way that won't make you laugh", she mumbled, "so I'll just say it. I'm sad cause you didn'...", she fumbled for words.
She threw the jacket on the floor, "This is so frustratin'! I can knock out people three times my size - but this? This is so hard! I really...", she took a deep breath and then burst out, "I really wanted you to... like... me! As more than a friend!"
He blinked and quavered, "Ah."
She clasped her hands over her face, "I guess I was bein' pretty stupid."
Following an impulse he couldn't explain, he ran a hand along her uninjured arm. For the first time since he'd known her, he wasn't touching her with the intent of getting her attention, to greet her or just to hug, so he paid full attention to his touch.
Her skin was like marble, denser and somehow more solid feeling than any human he'd ever touched. She was cool to the touch - not cold, just not nearly as warm as one would expect. His fingertips trailed bumps, bruises, scars and a light fuzz of thin white hair.
"I'm sorry...", he started quietly.
"What for?"
"I… do kinda feel something similar, you know? It's just that, as you said, it's difficult to put that out there. It almost feels like you're walking off the ledge of friendship to just go into free fall and you can just hope you fall somewhere soft and warm."
She stared at him, dumbfounded, then burst out laughing. She started wheezing before having a chance to calm down, transitioning to shallow coughing.
"You'll never be a poet", she said, extending her injured arm to ruffle his hair, which, once again, he didn't appreciate, "but the metaphor's good."
"I guess", he said, combing his hair, "So, uh… what… happens now?"
She was not really listening, putting up a hand, "Shh. I think I heard a line."
One of the alert lines jingled in the distance, louder this time.
The bells were followed by a surprised curse, an angry growl and a gut wrenching wet impact.