[trigger warning: reference to aphobia, slavery (a part of canon, but it's not really discussed in canon past that one episode)]
Luna had lost count of the number of people whose hair she'd held back in the last month the way she did so for Raven now. Sometimes, she still felt the echo of tangled, sweat-soaked strands when she closed her hands around empty space; or inhaled clean air, only to be assaulted by a pungent, sour stench.
Luna breathed out, retrieving some of the locks that had fallen free from Raven's ponytail, coaxing them into safer territory.
No-one had done this for her when she'd needed it, not until they'd finally reached Nyko.
She could remember, in her weaker moments, yearning for Derrick, expecting to feel his fingers through her hair, his touch on her skin, soothing. The way he'd done for her all those years ago. A little vomit had never phased him. He hadn't even blinked that one time she'd thrown up on his shoes.
(not her most dignified moment)
That sickness had been her fault. Her mistake.
And so was this.
Chagrin washed over Luna, not for the first time, at having forgotten to check for toxic algae. It was one of the first things Nyko had taught her when she was in his care. Such a careless mistake.
She knew better.
Luna would have shrugged it off if she was the only one sick, but Raven had been affected as well.
What if this triggered a seizure?
Worse: what if this sickness hastened her death?
(once again, she'd done more harm than good)
Luna pursed her lips, guiding Raven's ponytail out of danger as she fell deeper into the bucket.
She'd protested her interference the first two times, had attempted - somewhat awkwardly - to duck away from Luna's touch. Now she gave into the inevitable aid, too distracted by the effort not to choke up a lung it seemed.
"I thought I'd reached the bottom when it comes to humiliating moments," Raven groaned during a ceasefire. "But this takes the cake."
Luna resisted the urge to stroke her hair - or worse, her back - knowing when not to push her luck. "Believe me when I say I've seen worse."
Much worse.
By the time they'd left Floukru, the oil rig had resembled nothing of the sanctuary it had once claimed to be. The stench of decay and bodily fluids had choked the air and, by the end, there'd been no-one left who was well enough to clean away the mess that continued to accumulate.
Luna would never forget that smell. The way it had intermingled with the foul odor of death and spoiled fish.
Her home had disappeared long before she'd been forced to leave it behind.
Luna still didn't know where she'd been planning on going that day on the dock. There was nowhere to go. Nowhere to return to.
All that remained of anywhere was death.
She'd just known she couldn't stay here. In the hands of people who'd first seen her as a weapon, and now saw her only as a tool.
Except for Raven, it seemed. She didn't appear to see her that way.
(or perhaps Luna was simply clinging to the only illusion that remained available to her)
"Gah," Raven spat, fingers tightening around the bucket. "Sorry about this."
Her lips drew up, fighting against the heaviness in her chest. "You've got nothing to apologize for."
"Debatable."
Luna could feel Raven sagging under her hand, suspected she'd reached the end of her strength. That, or her hip was bothering her.
Well familiar with just how exhausting throwing up could be, she placed her free hand on Raven's shoulder, pressuring her towards the bed. "Sit down for a moment. There's no need to stay standing when that bucket's portable."
"I'm fine."
"Well, I'd much prefer to relocate to the bed for a bit. My feet are starting to ache."
Along with every other part of her.
"Why didn't you say something?" It was almost comical how quickly Raven moved - nearly tripping Luna with the force of her momentum as she whirled past her to sit down.
She hid a smile, taking a seat beside Raven's slumped form on the bed. "I'm alright." She ignored the sag of her eyelids and the persistent pounding in her head. "Though you look like you could use a nap."
Raven ignored this very pointed suggestion, glancing at the bucket on her lap with a grimace. "We might never be able to see each other again after this. I'm not sure my pride could take it."
Luna chuckled. "Your pride will survive. Adria threw up in my hair once. When she was six." And again, three weeks ago. But she couldn't think about that and still keep the smile firmly fastened on her face. "You could never do anything to top that."
Her words only drew a groan. "Never say never. You know I can't resist a challenge."
No longer needing effort to keep her smile alive, Luna laughed.
Raven's lips lifted faintly. "You have a nice laugh." Her eyes widened a second later. "I mean- it's fine. You know, as laughs go. It's certainly not bad. I just tend to notice people's laughs. Not yours in particular. Except for now. Because you laughed."
Luna bit her lip, cheeks hurting with the effort to keep her amusement in check. She was adorable. "Thankyou, Raven." She resisted the urge to reach out and squeeze her thigh. "You have a nice laugh, too. Though I don't hear it nearly enough."
She'd also never seen her stumble over her words quite like this before. But Luna was familiar with how off-kilter being sick could make you, especially if dehydration entered into the mix.
She should get her some water. . .
Raven shrugged, looking away - though not before Luna caught a faint flush to her cheeks. She was uncomfortable with compliments. It only increased Luna's desire to give her more of them. "Well, there's not really much to laugh about these days, is there?"
"No." Her mirth dampened. "There isn't."
For a split second, she felt guilty for laughing. For feeling any trace of joy in this woman's presence when her clan couldn't. When Derrick couldn't.
When Adria couldn't.
How could she laugh when they were gone?
But Luna had dealt with a similar guilt after her brother's death. She knew how to ignore its claws.
That guilt served no-one.
And no amount of keeping her lips sealed and her laughter locked inside would bring them back. Would bring anyone back.
Dead was dead.
And the past couldn't be changed.
Luna was torn from her darkening thoughts when Raven's face lost its color. In the next instant, she was jerking forward once more, sides heaving.
Luna sprang into action, moving close and leaning over her. As one hand reached for Raven's ponytail, the other automatically went to her back. A reflex. Born of far too many past experiences.
Raven didn't flinch from the contact, though - was perhaps too consumed with the task at hand - and after a moment Luna gave into that overwhelming craving inside her, running her hand over Raven's back in a soothing rhythm. Muscles eased under her touch and she felt her own give in response.
Luna murmured something comforting.
Realized only a second later that it was in Trigedasleng.
A comfort for the dead.
She sealed her lips and did her best to keep the past inside after that.
Felt it pressing at her teeth nonetheless, begging to get out.
Swallowing down a sudden rush of bile, Luna heaved an extra blanket over the old man beside her, arms trembling with the effort. "Is that better?"
Zeke's eyelids fluttered open. Shut. Finally, a weak nod was given. "Girl. . . sick?"
"No, Adria's fine."
Thank the spirits.
She'd recovered a week ago, and shown no signs of illness since. No re-emergence of symptoms. She was perfectly well.
Luna no longer had to fear for her.
A great comfort when she still had so many others to fear for. So many to lose.
"Strong."
"Yes. Yes, she is."
Stronger than she should ever have had a need to be.
"I'll be back to check on you in a moment," Luna promised, already wondering how she was going to make it the six feet over to her next patient.
A frail hand on hers halted her rise. "You. Sick. Lie down." The grip contained more strength than she'd predicted.
Luna found a smile, squeezed his hand. It was freezing. "Do I look sick to you, Zikaia?"
She was banking on the fact that he had barely to open his eyes since she'd come over.
Zeke rebelled against this, cracking a lid. "Like week-old fish. Rotted. Bah."
Luna snorted, adjusting the blanket to cover his top half more firmly. "This is why you don't have a wife. Never tell a woman she looks like rotted fish."
"And smell too."
She narrowed her eyes.
He somehow managed a shrug. "It. . . truth. You. Yuck. Lie down."
Charming.
"Besides. . . don't. Need wife. Have. You."
"Me?"
"Mm." He grunted. "You. Make good. Wife - Marry. Me."
"I'm honored." Luna suppressed a smile. "But there's one small problem. . . you hate dolphins. And I'm afraid Adria would never forgive me if I married someone who hated dolphins."
This did not dissuade him. "I. More important. Than her. And. Prettier."
Luna's eye roll was cut off by a cough that sent a shooting pain down her chest, into her stomach. She clutched her ribs.
Zeke tsked. "You. Sick. Lie down."
"I'm alright." Her eyes traveled to the canvas of bodies around them, all the people she had yet to tend to. . .
There were others like her still well enough to help, but not nearly enough.
Luna's clan needed her. . .
"I make. Good husband."
Shaking her head, she turned back to Zeke, not quite able to conceal her amusement.
"I feel the need to point out that I'm young enough to be your granddaughter - possibly great-granddaughter." She scrutinized him. . . "Or more accurately great-great-granddaughter."
Zeke scowled. "In spirit. You are much older. Than me. Centuries. You. . . ancient. Your soul. Has wrinkles."
Luna somehow managed to pull her exhausted lips into a teasing smile. "Maybe. But at least I still have all my hair - and teeth."
His mouth fell open. "Too. Far."
That managed to tug a real smile from her, however fleeting, but a cough in the distance drew her attention. Frowning, Luna peered at the young boy, lying feebly in amongst the ocean of bodies.
Gilly.
Six-years-old. No family.
He needed her.
"Marriage. Scare you."
The statement startled her focus back onto Zeke. "What?"
"Marriage. Scare you."
She stared at him in disbelief. "Because I won't marry you?"
Clearly, this sickness had the unfortunate side-effect of expanding his ego to unfathomable proportions.
"Because you not. Marry. Him. The slave."
Luna tensed, a shot of anger pooling in her belly.
Her people had little respect for those they considered weak - and in their eyes, a slave could be nothing else. Derrick had broken his chains long before she'd met him, even before she'd broken her own, but there were some who would never let him forget their existence. Thankfully, not very many of them had found their way to Floukru.
Zeke was one such person, though.
He was from an older generation - one even more demanding of strength, devoid of compassion.
But Zeke wasn't entirely beholden to their people's beliefs, or else he wouldn't be here. He simply had a habit of conjuring the most insulting thing he could find about a person and hurling it at them, whether he liked them or not, respected them or not.
It was how he communicated.
(how he hid the fact that he cared)
He'd done it to Luna more times than she could count.
But she would not tolerate him doing it to Derrick.
Especially now.
"I've told you not to call him that." It took far too much effort to keep her voice calm. Firm. To not crack down the middle.
He tilted his chin. "Derrick."
Luna swallowed.
Breathed in to keep her chest from splitting apart.
No-one but Adria had spoken that name to her since his death - murder - as though they were afraid the mere utterance would be enough to break her.
Zeke had no such fear.
Luna looked down, busying herself with sorting through the herbs in her hands. "I don't want to marry anyone."
Be with anyone.
And Derrick had understood that.
Derrick had known the limits of what she could give him.
Derrick had known everything.
"Mm. Marriage. Scare you."
"It's alright not to want something. It doesn't mean you're scared. I would think you'd understand that."
From the conversations they'd had, she suspected Zeke didn't experience romantic or sexual attraction, nor a desire for sex. Something that was frowned upon in a society that depended so heavily on reproduction.
It had made him an outcast in his own clan. Something that she suspected had bred a great deal of bitterness and spite in him over time.
Clan was everything to their people.
Community. Belonging.
If you didn't fit. . .
Weren't accepted. . .
Well, there was a reason permanent exile was considered the worst form of punishment. Worse even than death.
Their world rejected the very essence of who Zeke was. Detested it. Detested him. Even if none in his clan had known the truth. . . Zeke had known.
He'd never belonged.
Luna could well understand what that was like.
And she knew it was the reason he'd eventually left. That he would have done so much sooner, if Floukru had existed.
('I've been waiting my entire life for you to come along, girl. You certainly took your damn time. Don't expect me to thank you for turning up late.'
'I'm a third your age. I could hardly have been expected to get here sooner.'
'And now you're calling me old! Don't they teach respect in that silly school of yours?'
If Titus was here, he might have a heart attack on the spot to hear someone speak so irreverently of the sacred nightblood process.
Luna hummed. 'They do. . . I'm afraid it never took. At least not with me.'
A snort. 'No surprise there. You're more insolent than a seagull.'
'I like seagulls.'
He scoffed. 'It figures. No wonder that girl of yours loves dolphins. She's inherited your bad taste. Next thing you'll say is you like raccoons.'
Luna opened her mouth-
'No.' He held up a hand. 'Don't speak. I need to go on living with you after this.'
She narrowed her eyes, mouth reluctantly closing once more.
Zeke was cranky and anti-social at the best of times, had never really adjusted to being a part of Floukru. He liked the location, the escape from mainland conflict. Loved the sea almost as much as she did.
But he hated people.
Kept to himself most days. Suffered Luna's presence when she forced him to come out and partake in meals, or sit beside her as she weaved. They rarely spoke except to exchange barbs - something that at least seemed to give him a small element of pleasure - but she'd grown used to his company. And his conversations.
No-one else had ever been so irreverent with Luna in her life. Her blood and status had never fazed Zeke. It seemed to afford her no difference in his eyes. No deference. Or respect.
She liked that.
Zeke shook his head, turning away. 'Someone needs to teach that girl proper taste. She's got no hope with only you and that lovesick fool to give her direction.' He nodded to himself. 'You'll bring her to me in the mornings from now on. After breakfast. I'll put her right.'
Luna stared. She loved Adria far too much to inflict such torture on her. 'Zeke-'
'I won't take any objections. It's final. She needs a proper education.'
In what?
Snark?
Disrespect?
Cheek?
Adria already had all three aplenty.
Luna sighed, knowing this was one argument she couldn't win, and followed after Zeke's retreating back. He had a tendency to go out at this time and harass the returning fishers - without her there as a buffer, Floukru might very well experience its first homicide.)
Zeke coughed, drawing her back from the memory as he shook his head. "I. Not want. Marriage. . . Happy. Alone." He pointed at Luna and her heart clenched at the way the limb wavered, nearly falling back down. "You scared. Coward. Always run."
She pursed her lips. God, she hated that word. Something he was very much aware of. And no doubt, the reason he used it. Often. "Well, there's nothing to want anymore, is there? Derrick's dead."
And she refused to speak on it any further.
Zeke sighed, the fight seeming to leave him as his arm lost its battle, dropping. Hand landing on top of hers, he gave it a pat, softening some of the tension there. "You. So. Open. But not. With your. Heart."
Well, that was certainly a new one. In the past, she'd often been criticized for being too open with her heart. Feeling too much. Loving too much. It had frustrated Lexa to no ends - to say nothing of Titus.
But Zeke did like to be contrary.
"Scared. Little girl."
Luna turned to him, narrowing her eyes.
"I'm not the one who fled their clan and escaped to the sea after one of the women in their village proposed to them."
"She have. Five. Dead husbands. I. Reason. To be. Scared."
Well, she could grant him that.
"You have. No. Dead husbands. Marry me."
She rolled her eyes. "I'll tell you what, you get better. And maybe I'll consider it."
"Only. If you. Wash first. . . . much stink."
Wincing as a cramp seized her stomach, Luna covered the action with a scoff. "I do live for our conversations, Zeke."
"If we. Marry. You have them. All the time." He waggled his eyebrows and she snorted.
Well, if that wasn't a stellar selling point. . .
"An incredibly tempting offer." Given his relentlessness, Luna decided it was time to deploy her trump card - though she hated to use it. "But you should know this is all a moot point. Technically, I'm already married."
"Bah. To the Flame." His lip curled derisively. "Doesn't. Count."
Luna couldn't keep back a smile, amusement rising in her chest. "I can assure you that to the rest of our people it very much does."
He waved that away, the weakness of the gesture freezing her smile. "Their. Opinion. Not. Count. . . Only. Mine."
Luna wished that was true.
Even among many of her clan, such an opinion would be an anomaly. They may have broken away from their people to forge a new life - a life of peace - but the beliefs ingrained into their old one were hard to shake. And this was one such belief.
At eleven, every novitiate underwent a ceremony tying their spirit to the Flame. Marriage, in general terms, was forbidden for all nightbloods - their hearts could only ever be for their people - so the Fleimkepas had crafted a ritual to cement that commitment.
It was one of their more beautiful ceremonies. Free of death - if not of blood. And utterly binding.
There was no divorcing the Flame. No wedding another.
Not that it mattered.
She valued her freedom far too much to bind herself to anyone.
To give herself away.
Luna knew that marriage had ceased to be about ownership generations ago but there was still something. . . caging about it. About romantic relationships in general. She'd seen the power that people handed over to others during the course of them - and handed over gladly. Nothing about that appealed to her, even if so many other aspects did.
Since escaping the chains of her youth, there was only one person who she'd ever wanted to risk that with - but circumstance had prevented it.
Her blood had prevented it.
With Derrick, it wasn't the fear of any chains that had held her back. But something far worse. Something she could never let come to pass.
No, marriage didn't scare her. But too many other things did.
"You. Don't care. What people. Think," Zeke's voice was ragged, "Break. Rules."
He wasn't wrong.
And Luna couldn't deny that there was a small part of her that derived a certain amount of pleasure imagining the conniptions Titus would most assuredly experience in the afterlife if she was to turn her back on yet another sacred tradition and bind her spirit to another. To someone of flesh and blood.
That alone would almost make it worth it.
Luna managed to work her lips into a light smile. "I think that's something you'll have to take up with the Flame. And the spirits."
The Flame.
She couldn't help but be amused by the fact that, after almost twelve years of being married to the thing, she'd only glimpsed it for the first time weeks ago.
Had never considered that the Flame could even be corporeal, let alone a solid object so small it could fit in her hand. All her life, the Flame had been an abstract, spiritual thing. As tangible as a god.
(and, in her case, just as feared)
"I will have. Words. With them. . . Set them. Straight."
"I'm sure you will." Forcing another smile, Luna squeezed Zeke's hand. "Now get some rest. I'll be back soon."
"Don't." His eyes widened slightly. "Back. Lie down."
Luna understood now that the conversation had just been a stalling tactic. A tool to make her rest. Force her to stay.
Swallowing, she ignored the protest, wrenching herself up.
When the sickness had returned, Luna had given orders for all healthy members of Floukru to sequester themselves in the rooms at the far end of the main building. If it was simply food poisoning - the most likely and hoped for culprit - this would achieve nothing. But if it was not. . .
She had never heard of a food-born illness that came and went. They had all recovered - quickly too - as though no sickness had laid siege to them in the first place. For a week, they'd been well.
And now this.
During her sixth year of life, a plague had swept through Polis, killing hundreds and departing with more than one nightblood child. They had acted too late to halt the spread.
Luna hoped she had acted soon enough to halt this one.
"Luna?"
She glanced towards the door in confusion, mouth parting as Adria stumbled haltingly into the room.
She had wanted to stay with her and the other volunteers - had begged and pleaded - but that was a permission Luna refused to grant. In the end, a gentle reminder that someone needed to watch over Reed, hold him, comfort him, had swayed her.
What was she doing here?
"Adria?"
"I. . . Reed. . ." Adria's face sapped of color, her features slackening as her body sagged.
Luna caught her before she fell.
She caught her.
And felt the strength of her hope crumble as they both crashed to the floor.
'What can I do to drive away
Remembrance from my eyes? for they have seen. . .'
- What can I do to drive away, The Poetical Works of John Keats
