it's hard to say it
Character: Serena Hamilton
Summary: Her voice betrays her. Again.
She is a born survivor.
She has lived through the hell of her childhood, the hell of a mother who could not have been more demonic, through the pain of a life she would not have chosen if she had had the choice. She has always fought her way through any mess she has seen and she will live through this hell as well. Her fists are clenched by her side, her uniform is still stained with blood – with the blood of a comrade, of a friend, with blood she has shed.
Her hazy blue eyes finally reach the slumped figure on the bed and she feels like punching a wall or smashing her own head against the table. This is her fault because she has not been fast enough to stop him from attacking the killer after his sister has been defeated – she has only been able to minimise the damage and a missing hand is nothing compared to death or so they have told her. She does not think so because he needs his hands. He is an alchemist and alchemists need their hands to work. What if her action has destroyed his career, his abilities?
"You think too much," his sister says, pale and bruised but Jade is a survivor too and those nasty bruises will fade away, the broken rib will heal and she will be whole again. Phil will not be whole again. He will be forever missing his hand.
"It's where I have a voice," she replies, wondering whether Jade will ever understand how terrible it is when the own voice is a constant traitor, when words are difficult to form, when easy sentences are more dangerous than an entire battalion of Briggs-men.
He sits up, the stump of his arm hidden under the blankets. "I don't blame you," he says with a smile. "You did what you had to do, Serena. It's the difference between a child and a queen."
"Don't call me a queen," she says because words are often easy when she speaks with him.
"They all have named you queen, queen of the oceans, Serena," he says amused, patting the space next to him with his right hand, the hand he still had. "There may be people taller than you, greater and purer, but you are still the loveliest."
"You are making me sick, old sap," his sister says, grabs her coat and heads for the door. "I will be back in the morning. Serena, please try to sleep a little bit as well."
She nods, knowing that she will not close a single eye that night. She has so many words inside her head, words she cannot speak because her tongue is too heavy. Her fingers find his and she squeezes his hand. She wants to tell him that she has not aimed properly, that she has intended to take Scar's hand and not his but her voice fails her all over again.
He still seems to notice her pleading gaze and presses a kiss onto her forehead. "It is okay," he says because he has always known her best and he knows the words she cannot speak because she has been kept from talking for so long. He knows that she is a silent woman, someone who rarely speaks when it is not necessary.
And he carefully rubs the blood, his blood from her cheek.