I am EARLY! WOOOO! I havent been able to be early in a WHILE!
Which is an amazing feat because WorldCon was EXHAUSTING and I actually feel like I have already died and am now a ghost haunting the living world... WorldCon was amazing though, I am so glad I went, I got to speak to so many cool people and go to such interesting panels and learned awesome things!
I worked really hard on this chapter to get it out on time so please be nice, and if you have any questions or if anything doesn't make sense please don't hesitate to ask!
.
.
.
.
.
Damian stared at the floor of his room. The panic and the adrenaline had subsided, leaving nothing behind. He was a mere husk of a person, only able to eat and sleep and move, if he didn't think too hard about it.
He felt nothing. He was nothing.
Anya had…
She saved him.
She saved him, and it didn't matter, because the bullet might as well have hit him instead, with how empty he felt.
The press conference was just a faraway memory, and everything else that followed it was a nightmare.
Afterwards, Damian had only a vague recollection of standing, of being helped up and escorted to his room, steered to safety. Meanwhile, Bond followed him, with Anya's blood streaked into his fur by Damian's own hands.
People probably had questions about the dog. Why was he there? Why was he following Damian? Why wouldn't he leave him alone? But Damian didn't have the energy to answer them. He couldn't even summon the words.
At some point, Damian remembered taking a shower, after being dragged in by something with sharp teeth and hot breath pulling at the edge of his sleeve. He remembered seeing the water turn pink.
It was hard to tell how much time had passed, when he felt like he was underwater, drowning and drowning with no way to come up for air. Even when his friends tried to talk to him, he couldn't lift his head up long enough before he started drowning again.
Boss, are you coming?
Where? Where would he go? There was nothing left for him.
Anya's family tried to call you. They said you can wait with them if you want.
Despair crushed him, forcing the air from his lungs, because how could he face them? How could he face them, knowing it was all his own fault? Knowing that Anya would be better off without him?
If only… things had been different. If only he had talked to her before everything. If only he had followed the evacuation sooner. If only he had hired more personal guards, instead of distributing them through the security checkpoints. If only he was shot instead.
Even if Anya didn't die, the guilt still consumed Damian, enough that it had stolen his voice too.
He wished Bond had stayed with him, but at some point, the dog had left of his own accord, no longer marred by Anya's blood. He parted from Damian with a soft lick to his hands, and Damian held back from running his hands through the dog's soft fur.
So, he was alone. Wondering how he could possibly function at all without knowing for sure what had happened to the one person who mattered more to him than anyone else.
"I really messed up," he rasped, burying his face in his hands. Not that anyone would hear him, outside of the silence that smothered his own head.
How could this have happened? How could he have got it all so wrong? Damian should have known that his own press conference would be a prime target. He should have known that the people who didn't trust him would try to attack. He should have predicted their moves, he should have prepared for the worst, he should have picked a venue that didn't have windows, he should have given Anya a chance to explain herself earlier (even though looking at her was heartbreakingly painful), he should have coordinated with his security team better, he should have done more to protect her, he should have tried harder to take up his responsibility from the start, he should have given her a personal security team, he should have been a better son, maybe then he wouldn't have been discarded, maybe then he wouldn't have been targeted, maybe then Anya wouldn't have gotten hurt, maybe if he wasn't such a failure she wouldn't have had to take his place as an experiment and then none of them would even be in this situation in the first place -
"I can't take this," Damian groaned to himself. "Not again."
Because hadn't he already been here so many times before? His mind was already an expert in spiralling, and he didn't know how to stop it by himself, because in the past it was always Anya that helped him grounded him, anchored him, and doing it all himself felt like an impossible task.
He rolled over in his bed and planted his face into his pillow. How was he supposed to face her at all if he couldn't even get his thoughts under control? If he just let himself spiral and spiral, then there was no way he could even see her without making her ill and inducing a psychic headache. He needed to pull himself together.
How on earth did other people do this?!
Damian thought back to the other times that he had spiralled, and Anya wasn't around…
… but it was still her mother or father that helped him through, and the thought just made his stomach turn all over again because how could he face them knowing what he put their daughter through - ?
Breathe, came Loid's calm voice in Damian's mind, startling him enough that he jolted, and had to catch himself on the edge of the bed before he fell off of it entirely.
Right. Just… focus on something else. Focus on breathing. Try to let the thoughts pass…
But then he wondered if he was doing it wrong, if his mind was just broken, and maybe it wasn't even worth trying…
A ringing phone interrupted his thoughts, and it took Damian several long seconds to realise that it was his. He struck out a hand to the bedside table, and fumbled for the small object, before picking it up.
He didn't recognise the number.
Damian accepted the call, and held the receiver to his ear.
"Who is this?"
"Is that any way to greet your mother?"
"Mother?" Damian exclaimed, partially in disbelief, but mostly in plain surprise. "It's been a while."
That's an understatement, Damian thought to himself, as he pulled himself up on the bed, sitting upright. He honestly couldn't remember the last time that she had called, or the last time that he had heard her voice.
Damian's confusion fell out of his mouth:
"What do you want?"
He regretted it immediately, knowing how callous it sounded.
"What do I want? Honestly, Damian, do I really need to explain it to you?"
The sharpness of her voice cut into him, and already Damian felt himself clamming up. As was so typical every time he was around his own family.
But then, she sighed into the receiver, almost forlorn, and Damian found himself wondering if he had perhaps had the wrong idea.
"I was worried about you, of course."
Something in Damian's chest ached. The child inside him raised his head.
"You were?"
"Of course I was! I've been trying to call the school, but nobody in that admin office is picking up! Your pictures are all over the news - an attempted assassination! It's awful! Please tell me, are you safe? Are you unharmed?"
"I'm…"
Damian's chest ached, and his hand hovered over his heart, feeling the agonising emptiness of it.
How was he supposed to answer that?
Every hour of my life is torture. I try to breathe, but I can't because I feel empty. My heart has been ripped out and thrown at the wall and I don't know if I'll survive. I wish the bullet hit me instead like it should have. And now she's survived and I don't know if I will ever be able to look her in the eyes again. Too much has happened. I don't know how to process or overcome it. I wish I knew what to do. I wish it was all over already. I wish I was dead. I already feel dead. I don't want to feel anything anymore. But I can't feel anything anyway because my heart is GONE and I'm just hollow inside. I am nothing. I am made of nothing. I am -
"I'm fine," he said, though the words scraped at his dry throat.
But Anya's not. Again, the guilt gnawed in his chest. And it's all my fault.
"When are you coming home?"
Damian drew his brows together. "I never said I would be going home."
"Oh," said his mother, surprised. "Since the school is closing, I just assumed…"
You assumed wrong, he wanted to say, and barely held himself back. He should have known that he wouldn't be able to have a restrained conversation like this. But he also couldn't tell his mother the truth - that Demetrius' telepathy was a problem for him, that he no longer felt like he could go home, or that there was anything left for him there. Truthfully, his home was somewhere else… but that was off-limits to him now.
"I have responsibilities… as an Imperial Scholar," said Damian lamely. It was only half-true, but hopefully she didn't have to know that. He had only just barely regained his status after his suspension.
And it occurred to him then: did his mother know about his suspension?
She must have known, surely. The school would have obligated to report the incident to his parents, but he never heard anything from his mother, or from Demetrius for that matter. And Damian wasn't going to make the mistake of trying to talk to his father again anytime soon.
So if she was told about that - was she not worried about him, then? What changed? Why would it matter now?
"What about your responsibilities to the estate? To your family?"
Damian wanted to say what are you talking about?, but he kept his mouth shut. The request did sound familiar though, almost as though he had heard those words before…
She must have heard the confusion in his pause, because she went on to explain:
"Jeeves said that he had passed on my request a few months ago, and yet I have heard nothing from you. There are matters that you must attend to at the estate."
The estate. Why was it always about the estate? She hadn't even mentioned Demetrius - was he okay? How was he doing after Donovan's arrest? After he was questioned by the police? Their last conversation was so strange, but Damian hadn't even had time to follow up on any of it, and it made him resent the entire situation even more. Why did his family have to be so fractured? So impossibly broken? Why couldn't they ever just talk - like normal families did? Why couldn't she ask about his day, or how he found exams, or if he was okay after watching his girlfriend, the love of his life, take a bullet for him?
She had to know, right? His father knew about Anya. So why hadn't she said anything yet? Why did she call if it wasn't to check if he was okay?
"I really don't have time for this," Damian said honestly, unable to hold back his exhaustion. "What's so important at the estate that you can't take care of it yourself?"
"Really, Damian. Is that any way to speak to your mother?"
Her tone was measured, even, but it was just enough for Damian's inner child to retreat.
"Sorry," he mumbled.
"But if you must know, there are only some things that the head of the household is permitted to do."
"Really? Like What?" Damian was growing more and more confused. 'Head of the household?' 'Permitted?' He wondered what era his mother lived in. "You mean you can't do whatever you want?"
"Well, there is the small matter of things like… approving renovations, redecorating, household projects, staffing costs… Things that require, well," she sighed, almost conceding defeat. "A budget."
Hollow eyes flashed in his mind: Everyone wants something from you. No. Exceptions.
Damian put his father's face immediately to the back of his mind. He already knew that thinking about his father wouldn't get him anywhere good, or useful. He tried to reconcile it in his mind, but no matter how he thought about it, there was only one conclusion that made any sense at all.
"You want money from me?"
"Oh come now, saying it like that is so gauche," Her voice was hurried, embarrassed. I'm only informing you that you have responsibilities to your family…"
Exhaustion caught up to him once again, and Damian realised that he really didn't want to continue the conversation.
"Fine. Okay. Fine. I'll talk to Jeeves."
"That's my boy. I hope you come home soon."
At the last second before Damian ended the call, he stopped himself.
"Wait," he gasped out, hoping that his mother hadn't hung up the call yet. "How's Demetrius?"
"He's fine of course," said his mother in a somewhat clipped tone. "How else would he be?"
And then the dial tone rang, and Damian stared at his phone, wondering what had just happened.
Again, his father's words rang in his mind. Damian had assumed his father had been referring to everyone that was not a Desmond, but it had never occurred to him to cast the net wider.
For the first time, he wondered if there were more to his father's words than he had originally thought.
But he didn't have time to ponder it, because two sandy-blond heads leaned into view in his room.
"Hey Boss!" said Ewen, and when he saw the phone in Damian's hand, he stilled. "Oh sorry, did I interrupt something?"
Damian shook his head silently and tore his eyes away from the blank screen, regarding Ewen carefully. He was being so casual, clearly trying not to tiptoe around him like they usually did. Both he and Emile had been checking in constantly.
It was so strange. All day, they continued to check in on him, even bringing snacks, though Damian couldn't stomach any of them. Almost as if…
… they weren't leaving him alone.
Damian tucked his shaking hands into his pockets, hoping that neither of them spotted it.
"Come on, we're going to be late," said Ewen, grabbing his elbow and pulling Damian to his feet, and Damian's mind spun both from the sudden movement and from his confusion.
Late for what? He wanted to ask, but Ewen and Emile both seemed so determined that Damian wondered if they had told him earlier, and he had just forgotten what they were taking him to. In which case, maybe it would seem rude to look like he forgot…
Wordlessly, he followed Ewen and Emile to the door of the Cecile Hall Boys' Dormitory, where it looked like a figure was waiting for them…
"There you are! Come on, we're going to be late," Becky's haughty voice reached him before he had even registered that she was there, and Damian blinked, finally allowing himself to take in everything that was in front of him.
Becky stood with her hair tied back in a ponytail, wearing a simple knee-length skirt and white shirt. It looked like she had changed out of her school uniform, and after a moment, Damian noticed that she was holding a large bag, and a bouquet of flowers tucked into her elbow.
He hadn't even noticed that both Emile and Ewen were also out of school uniform.
Damian looked down at himself. He had a vague memory of gravitating towards the shower at some point, washing off all the grime, and then mechanically changing into something comfortable, but he was surprised that he hadn't even been aware of it.
"Where…"
It was the first word he had spoken aloud in their presence and the three whipped towards him.
"Where are we going?"
"You didn't tell him?" Becky glared at the boys, and sighed. "We're seeing Anya. Obviously."
The words turned Damian to stone.
I can't, Damian panicked. I can't go. I can't see her. I can't face her.
Every muscle in his body trembled, and he tried to control his breathing, to keep himself in check, but his mind was already spiralling, bouncing between every fear and every anxiety that had plagued him for the last ten hours, and the main fear that drowned them all:
She's better off without me.
Shame washed over him, dragging him to a dark place where there was no possibility that Anya would ever speak to him ever again.
"You guys go ahead," he managed, although his voice sounded more strangled than he thought it would. "I'm not going."
There was a stony silence, in which Damian wondered if he had just committed a mortal offence, with the incendiary glare that Becky gave him.
"You're… what?"
"Becky-" Ewen tried to intercept her, but nothing could stop the force of Becky Blackbell.
"You're not going?" Becky screeched, and automatically Damian took a step back. "Are you out of your mind?"
"I-" Damian began, before his voice disappeared, stolen by his shame and despair in the face of Becky's wrath.
She stepped forward, a lioness on the prowl.
"I don't know what your fight was about, but you owe her one Desmond, and the least you can do is visit your girlfriend after she literally took a bullet that was meant for you!"
"Becky, that's enough," said Ewen, and he grabbed Becky's elbow, the one not carrying the bouquet.
"Come on, let's go," said Emile, his hand on her back steering her away.
"How dare you! He needs some sense knocked into him!"
"Not now," said the boys, and together they climbed into the back of Bill's gigantic car. He didn't even know that Bill could drive.
Bill gave Damian a short wave, and Damian didn't have the energy to raise his hand to wave back, but he watched them leave, feeling more empty than he had ever been.
Becky had to remember not to crush the flowers in her arms with all the rage that coursed through her.
"I don't believe you guys," she hissed, and just barely managed to resist crossing her arms. Mustn't damage the flowers…
"Just leave him for a bit," Ewen sighed. "He'll come round in his own time."
"That's always the way with Bossman," Emile added.
Becky gritted her teeth and hmphed, but she knew that she couldn't let herself stay angry for long. If they were on their way to see Anya, then she wanted to make sure that her anger was under control, so she wouldn't hurt her unintentionally…
"So it looks like they're still fighting then?" Bill asked quietly, while he navigated the way to the hospital, and Ewen sighed.
"Looks like it."
"Shh," Becky opened one of her eyes. "I'm trying to concentrate."
"Aren't you curious, though?"
"It's not our business," she said through gritted teeth, but it was obvious even to the boys that wasn't how Becky truly felt.
Out of the corner of her eye, she noted Emile staring out of the window, not saying anything. It wasn't like him to not join in Ewen's rambling.
Thankfully, the boys didn't pry any further in the twenty minutes it took to get to Berlint General Hospital, and Becky took the lead as she registered their names at the visitor's desk, and they followed her through the corridors, all the way to Room 207.
Becky held her hand to the door, and hesitated, thinking of when she had last seen Anya. Thinking of how awful she looked, and that she never wanted to see her best friend that way again. What if Anya was even worse? What if her surgery had actually been unsuccessful? What if her parents had just invited them over to see her as a final goodbye? What if this was the last time that Becky would ever see her best friend? She couldn't lose her best friend, her sister, she couldn't lose anyone else… Not again…
"I'll do it," Emile volunteered, and rapped on the door with the backs of his knuckles. "Can we come in?"
Quick footsteps approached from the other side of the door, and they soon met with the face of Anya's father.
"Oh," he looked momentarily surprised to see them. "That was fast. You're here to see Anya?"
"Is she awake?" asked Bill.
"She's asleep just now, but you're welcome to wait in the room with her," said Loid quietly, in an effort to not wake her. "I had been meaning to go to the shop downstairs and get some more coffee. Can I leave her to you?"
"Of course!" Becky felt her face flush. "We'll take care of her!"
Loid smiled. "Anya's lucky to have friends like you. Come on in then," he bustled them inside, and closed the door behind him.
Becky let herself in, and the moment her eyes rested on Anya's sleeping figure, tears sprang to her eyes, and her legs wobbled.
The last time she saw Anya, she was bleeding out on a stage, and Becky had no idea just how much she was trying to hold herself together until she would see her best friend again. Up until that moment, she didn't want to let herself hope that Anya had really survived, but seeing her breathing, seeing her alive, seeing her in a hospital with her father, filled Becky with emotions that she couldn't even begin to describe.
The bandages on Anya's neck were visible beneath the collar of her hospital gown, and the heart monitor beeped quietly, showing a heart rate that was normal, and constant, and alive.
Her lips trembled, and tears gathered in the corners of her eyes.
You're okay…
A large, warm hand rested on her shoulders, and Becky knew without looking that it was Bill, trying to comfort her.
"I'm fine," she choked, and straightened her posture.
Ewen and Emile had seated themselves on the chairs at the foot of Anya's bed, and Becly motioned for Bill to take the last chair, while she sat on the edge of the mattress.
It was surreal, to see her best friend as if she were only asleep, and Becky couldn't quite bring herself to tear her eyes away.
She reached for Anya's hand, and it startled her to feel just how cold she was. Becky rubbed her thumb over her friends' taped knuckles, noting the cannula that had been inserted into Anya's vein.
For a moment, she thought she saw her own mother's hand, thin and pale and lifeless, and Becky's heart caught in her chest, and her eyes stung with the threat of tears.
You're alive, right? The words were trapped in her chest, and the sudden force of emotion startled her. You're okay, right?
But of course, Anya didn't answer, and Becky raised her gaze, seeing her pale face, peaceful in what she fervently hoped was just a deep sleep. The rise and fall of her chest was shallow, but it was there, and Becky didn't want to look away, in case it stopped altogether.
Then something shimmered on the skin of Anya's arms, something opalescent in the sunlight, and Becky's heart dropped.
Shit. Shit shit shit! She had completely forgotten about Anya's scars! Had any of the boys noticed yet?
She looked back, and nearly slid off the bed in relief when it turned out that they were facing each other, talking quietly, and Becky used their distractions to quickly throw an extra blanket over Anya's shoulders and chest, covering up her arms in the process, using the moment to pretend to fuss over her.
She muttered to herself as she went: "I'll just tuck that in there! Hope it's warmer for you… oh and I brought flowers, I'll put them here to the side…"
"Did you ever find out, Becky?" said Ewen, and Becky jolted.
"Find out what?" she squeaked, only to be greeted with a flat stare from Ewen and Emile, while Bill pretended to find something interesting on the ceiling.
"You know," said Ewen quietly. "Why did Anya and Damian have such a big fight?"
Becky blinked. "You're still going on about that?"
"Well…" Ewen looked over guiltily to Emile.
"We were just saying that there's no way that Damian wouldn't have visited Anya with us if he weren't still angry. So it must mean that whatever Anya did before, was really bad, if he won't even come to visit her."
"Well, that's because he's a coward!" she huffed, crossing both arms over her chest. "Anya saved him! So he should be grateful!"
"Maybe he is! But they had been fighting, and obviously you can't just erase that!" blurted Emile.
"Did she cheat on him, or something?" said Ewen.
"What!" Becky gasped, aghast. "How dare you!"
But after seeing the boys' confused looks, she took pity on them. She supposed that just because the situation had changed, didn't mean that it had all gone away…
"Do you seriously think Anya has the capacity to do that? It took her years to figure out that she was even in love with him. I seriously doubt that she would jeopardise that. Plus, it would take her ages to figure out if she even liked anybody else!"
"So what did she do that's so bad that Bossman won't come and see her?" Emile said, and from the strain on his tone, it was clear that he was starting to get a little desperate. "Did she sell him out? Did she lie about something big?"
At this point, Bill leaned forward, and everyone else quietened immediately, waiting for him to speak.
"It certainly is difficult to think of anything that Damian would despise, that Anya is capable of doing. No matter which way you look at it, something doesn't add up."
Becky tensed. She did not like where this was going. But how could she salvage the situation? How could she get them to change the subject naturally, without looking suspicious…?
Just then, a shiver went down her spine, and Becky knew immediately that they had all crossed a line.
She turned, and realised with dread that Anya had her eyes open, and had probably been listening to them the entire time.
I'm so glad you're awake, Becky wanted to say, and at the same time, she gulped, knowing that they had all been caught.
"How much of that did you hear?" said Becky. She wouldn't even try to pretend to change the subject, since Anya would just know anyway.
Anya's eyes stayed on hers, unmoving, but the beginnings of tears started to gather at her waterline.
"Enough."
Becky gulped, and behind her, Emile and Ewen exchanged a dubious glance.
"Sorry," they both said, and Ewen continued: "It's just that, there's been so much going on recently, it's been so hard on Bossman, and it's not like we can help him figure it out.
"Please can you just tell us what happened?" Emile pleaded, surprising all of them. "We're dying over here."
Anya chewed her lip in silence.
"I knew it!" Becky said in a shaky voice. "So Damian must be overreacting right? It can't be that bad?"
"It's not Damian's fault," Anya said, her voice hoarse and small. "He has every right to hate me right now."
"But…" Becky looked around, seeing the unsure and uncertain looks on everyone else's faces. "That can't be true, because didn't you just save his life? What could have possibly happened to make him like this?"
"Did you cheat on him?" Ewen blurted.
Anya's eyes widened in shock.
"No!"
"Did you try to steal his money?"
"What! No!" Anya blanched, if anything even more horrified by that accusation.
"He said you betrayed him! But you can't have done that right? So what happened?"
What happened?
The words struck Anya in her heart. Slowly, Anya passed her gaze over everyone, slowly taking in all their expressions, all their thoughts.
She lowered her gaze, unable to look any of them in the eyes from the wave of guilt that had crashed over her.
"I did betray him. It's all my fault."
But how could she get them to understand, without revealing each and every one of her family's secrets? Anya knew that her secrets were hurting people, but this was too much to bear. The fact that her secrets created cracks in her friendship with everyone, created cracks in their faith, it was too much.
This should never have happened. What kind of person was she, to keep everyone in the dark for so long? She had seen what that had done to Damian, and to Becky. Was it really fair to do that to everyone else too?
Because Ewen and Emile loved Damian, and no matter what Becky said, Anya knew that she cared about him, too. It was clear to see just how worried they were, and how scared they were that her relationship with Damian would stay broken forever.
Even so, she couldn't tell them the full truth. There was too much at stake.
But maybe…
She could tell them a part of the truth. Enough for them to understand why Damian was hurt, why they had unintentionally created fissures between friends.
"It's my fault that Damian's father got arrested."
With her eyes averted, Anya still noticed Becky stiffen, could feel the thoughts in her mind: Was it linked to the lab? Was it because Damian's father was linked to it all? He basically orchestrated her childhood trauma…
Anya wished she could explain it all to Becky, but she was surprised at how far she had come on her own. Maybe one day, she could explain the whole story, without it all being so confusing.
But for now, she could only offer a tiny version of the truth. Anya turned it all over in her mind, trying to find the piece of the puzzle that would fit best. A piece of the truth that could bridge the gap between them all:
"I found a key piece of evidence and handed it to authorities," Anya said quietly, feeling the collective gasp from everyone else suck all the air from the atmosphere.
"Oh, no," Emile breathed, and he covered his face with his hands.
"You're kidding me," Ewen leaned back in his chair, defeated. "No wonder…"
Even Bill looked troubled, and he pinched the bridge of his nose. "That's not good."
"But… You had good reason to…" said Becky, before she clammed up immediately, her eyes darting between Anya and the boys.
Anya tightened the blanket around her, suddenly feeling more exposed than ever before, and she squirmed under the collective gaze of everyone else in the room. A part of her was glad that they had visited, of course she was, but she was naive to think that everything else that had come before could be so easily forgotten. Of course the boys had not forgotten, of course they were curious, of course they still wanted to understand, and of course Anya should have known that her secrets were continuing to hurt her friends.
Is this what the rest of her life would be like? Hurting them, trying to heal, and hurting all over again?
She couldn't reveal any more truths without exposing her mother and father. She couldn't even reveal much more about herself, because now Damian was tied into that, too. His father was the Investor, and he himself was a failed experiment. It wasn't Anya's place to reveal any of that, and nor did she want to. The disappointment on her friends' faces was already painful enough.
It was suffocating, to the extent that she was grateful when a nurse entered the room, interrupting them.
"It's time for your medication," she explained to Anya, and turned to her friends expectantly.
Becky, ever the socialite, picked up the hint. "Then we'll head off. But I'll come back to see you soon, okay?"
"Okay," said Anya quietly, already too tired to feel anything but relief..
Becky patted her hand before leaving with Bill, but Ewen and emile stayed behind, their shoulders stiff and their posture awkward.
The nurse prepared the materials on a table at the wall, with her back respectfully turned away, and Anya regarded the two boys carefully.
She opened and closed her mouth, wondering how to say it. The dryness of her mouth intensified, exacerbated by her fraying nerves.
"Damian didn't want to come, did he?"
Both boys looked guilty, and Anya's heart immediately dropped, but she tried not to show the sadness on her face.
"It's alright," she tried to interject before they could apologise to her on his behalf. "Could you… just let him know that I'm okay?"
And that I'm waiting for him? She wanted to add, but knew better than to add that particular weight to their shoulders. They were already carrying enough.
Emile nodded sharply, and shoved his hands into his pockets, avoiding eye contact with her. Questions burned in his mind, simmering below the surface, and Anya tried to pull her mind away from their urgency, but a few slipped through:
I want to thank her for saving him - but dammit how did she know? How did she know what was going to happen? How did she get there in time? How did she stop it from happening?
Anya's hand tightened in the sheets around her, and she turned to Eween, who was staring at her with an impossible array of emotions playing across his face.
The nurse connected Anya's cannula to the new IV drip. "Dr Hahn passed on that your tolerance has increased, so I've changed the analgesic to something more potent. Let me know tomorrow how you feel, okay?"
"Okay, thank you," Anya said quietly, and watched the nurse leave. And still, Ewen and Emile could quite move from her bedside.
"This is going to put me to sleep pretty soon," Anya explained. "Was there something else you wanted to ask me?"
It was Ewen that stepped forward, and spoke, his voice wobbling with restrained emotion:
"Bossman… Damian is our friend," Ewen started, and though he kept his fists clenched at his sides, he raised his head to meet Anya's gaze. "We've seen him on his worst days, and even on his best day, he was never happier than when he was with you. So, I don't care what you did, but you have to fix it, because if you don't…"
Ewen shook his head, and even Emile's discomfort made it clear that neither of them even wanted to think about it. They knew, even without knowing all of the details, that if Anya and Damian didn't resolve things now, then Damian would never recover. And he would never be the same again.
"Just fix it, Forger," said Emile, swallowing hard. "Please."
Anya nodded, showing them that she understood.
"I will."
Bill followed close behind Becky, and when he saw that the boys had stayed behind to have a word with Anya, he used the chance to get Becky's attention.
"I was wondering," he started, and Becky turned to him.
"What is it?"
Bill didn't know quite how to say it, but he supposed that there was no other way except to be direct.
"Why did you have a bomb with you?"
Becky stiffened, and she looked away from him immediately, pretending to find something interesting down the corridor.
"It was… just a science project!"
Bill regarded her carefully, not looking away, and he watched Becky squirm under his gaze. In front of anyone else, she would have been more confident in her assertion, she would have said it in a way that others would never dare to question.
But in front of him, Becky was different. She was quieter, more thoughtful, she allowed herself to be reflective and silly and so many other sides that she rarely let anyone else see. And in front of him, when it was just the two of them, with no one else to impress, Becky's lying skills were not up to their usual standards.
"Does it have anything to do with the project your father has you working on?"
Normally, he would have kept his questions to himself, knowing that it wasn't any of his business, but it was a different matter altogether if his girlfriend knew how to make a bomb.
Becky's eyes widened, as if she had just been handed a compass leading her to treasure, and she lit up, seizing onto his proffered explanation.
"Yes! That's it! That's exactly it!" Becky exclaimed with a winning smile. "You know he has me leading that new project, and honestly, it's been such a challenge. We're looking into using new technology to diversify the manufacturing, but like I've told you before, the engineers are always pushing back, they think that it can't be done…"
So you thought you'd practise in the school? Bill wanted to ask, but he let Becky talk as they walked slowly back down the corridors. Slow enough that Emile and Eween would be able to catch up quickly once they had finished their business, and parted ways with Anya.
Bill honestly didn't know what to think about the whole thing. Wasn't Becky an Imperial Scholar? Which meant that she knew the potential consequences, and yet to think she was capable of making something as dangerous as an explosive on school grounds…
Even worse, when Bill thought back on it, Becky wasn't even the one who threw it.
So, how did Alice know about it?
And…
Why did it smell so much like burnt peanuts?
.
.
.
.
.
.
I worked especially hard on this chapter because I knew that I wouldn't be able to post for a couple of weeks: next week is my hen do party, my sister is my maid of honour and has arranged the whole thing as a surprise, so I have no idea what's going to happen. I only know the date and nothing else, so I'm pretty nervous about it lmao
Next chapter: (Damian's POV)
Saturday 31st August