The Fateful Heart 2

Evaline hadn't experienced pain in this way. She had felt pain, of course, if it were inevitable. And she endured it.

But this pain? This torturous pain? This was always reversible. She had always undone it because it was within her power to do so, and she always came out unscathed.

How could James endure this? So much, for so long?

She waited, and waited, desperately begging for it to go away with each passing tear and heaving breath. And it did. It finally did. Slowly, it started to subside.

Evaline eased the tension in her body a little bit, lifted her head and taking in an unsteady deep breath that hitched in her wet throat. The tears were still coming, unstoppable, but slower. Each tear drop felt heavy and full, and it needed gravity to pull its weight down.

She finally opened her eyes to see the wall in front of her and how her hands were paled and holding on to the edge with a death grip. Hesitating, she eased the tension, and slowly, so slowly, let go and let her arms fall to her side.

The feelings were numbing down, now.

But was it for James? Could he ever really let the pain subside?

She didn't know what to say. The steam filled the air between them, hanging around them like the silence in the room.

He had apologized.

But he did nothing wrong. She needed to convince herself that he did nothing wrong. This wasn't his fault.

"I'm sorry," she finally said quietly before her throat closed up.

I'm sorry for seeing this intrusive memory.

And I'm sorry that this happened to you.

He was holding his breath, with his mouth and nose underwater. James couldn't hear what she said through the sloshing of water in his ears. He didn't respond.

Evaline just needed time.

She couldn't make this about herself. This was James's memory, not hers.

"I'm sorry that happened to you," she sloppily attempted again with a shaky breath, deciding to reiterate.

"You didn't deserve..."

That.

James's head bobbed in the water, and he caught her words as his ears came up, but he couldn't find anything to grab onto and tie himself down to the earth so he couldn't float away again. He wished he didn't feel so far away.

It was only lingering now. An ache on her lower back, a ghostly feeling on her leg, the remnants of a headache.

"You didn't deserve that," Evaline finished softly, wiping away her eyes. "You don't deserve any of that. Any of this pain. I'm so... sorry."

James closed his eyes, and he tried to latch onto her words. The meaning behind them didn't set in, but if he focused hard enough, he could feel like they were concrete. If he could hold onto them, maybe he could return.

She was sorry.

He didn't know why she was sorry. She had no reason to be. If anything, he was sorry. Sorry for putting her through that.

He forced words out of his mouth.

"I didn't mean to do that," he whispered, his voice hollow. "I didn't mean for you to see."

Evaline swallowed hard as the rest of the feelings faded away, but a tiny part lingered. It always did. Lingering, for a while, reminding her of what she saw. She didn't mind it, usually. But this? This, she did mind. She couldn't remember ever seeing a memory by accident. And no one would ever purposefully choose to remember a memory with so much pain. It was the first time this had ever happened to her.

"It wasn't your fault," she said, quick to his defense. "I should have expected this could happen. I shouldn't have touched. I thought I could..."

What? Magically take away his trauma?

She sadly looked down and finally turned, just a little, so she could see James. See how he was handling this. He had sunk into the water, but he didn't appear to be as affected as she was. At least, outwardly.

She remembered their conversation weeks ago about how he expressed himself outwardly shouldn't matter as long as he was able to say it with words. But if he was unable to do either, what was she supposed to think?

"I understand now," she said quietly, trying to meet his eyes, even if she didn't want to.

"I didn't want you to," he said, still sitting with his head the only thing above water. "I just wanted to... I was trying. I didn't think that would happen. I didn't know that could happen on accident."

Evaline didn't know what to say or who to blame. Was there any need to blame? It wasn't their fault. It was an accident on both their parts. Neither of them knew this would happen.

"I didn't either," she admitted softly, looking down into the water.

There was still a lot she didn't know about her powers.

She wished her parents taught her like they were supposed to.

James closed his eyes tightly and took in a deep breath. His chest still felt tight, but if he breathed in and out slowly, he could get air again. The steam still felt like it was swirling in his mind, but he could manage it a little more now.

"I... I don't want that to happen again," he said, still with his eyes shut. He was trying so hard just to focus on calming down. Not wasting time. "But I do still need help... cleaning. And I don't know how much more time we have, but I want to have time to rewrap everything and dry off. If... if maybe, you could use a washcloth, then we can avoid an accident like that again. Unless if it works through cloth too."

Evaline forced her body to relax, releasing the tension she didn't realize she had built up and then letting her back lean along the edge as the water lapped around her skin. Her fingers were starting to prune for being in the water too long, and although she normally was decent at keeping track of time short-term, she had no idea how long they had been in this hut. The memory James shared seemed to jumble everything in her head.

"Yes. Of course," she responded quietly, and then it dawned on her: James didn't understand the mechanics of the memory magic outside of the fundamentals.

Maybe it would help to explain it out loud? So she could understand what happened too?

She took a deep breath then looked up and reached for a new washcloth before slowly wading back to James.

"It happened because we were both thinking about it," she said. "You were thinking about the memory, and I was... naturally, I was wondering what happened. Trying to empathize. Wanting to understand... which, I guess, is the same if this were done on purpose. You, thinking about a specific memory. Me, trying to establish a connection to you and see what you see. But—and this is just what I think—it also happened because we... trust each other. So the barrier is lower, so to speak."

She took her time to drench the cloth in the water and scrub it with his soap.

"You don't have to do anything to avoid it. I'll just... I'll be more mindful, next time. Next time I touch you. But it'll be fine if I use the washcloth, or some other barrier. I think. That's just what I think. I never actually—well, I never had a reason to test this."

The cloth was full of suds, and she hesitantly looked up at James, wondering if he was getting any of this or if this was even making sense.

"But... we don't have to talk about this anymore. We can move on. I'm ready when you are."

James nodded slowly, taking in the information. They both had to be thinking about it and trust each other for it to work. That made enough sense to him.

"Alright."

He wanted to correct her though. On one small thing, not that it mattered.

"I wasn't trying to think about it, though," he said quietly. "It sort of just... happened."

And that was all he wanted to say.

He took in another breath and forced himself to clear his head. He stood up again and turned to her, this time with a hardened resolve. He was going to keep a clear head. He was going to finish cleaning everything, and get out, and wrap the wounds, hide it away under his shirt again, and it would be fine.

He grabbed his own cloth again and turned his back to her, starting on his arms. Despite sitting in the bath for a half-hour or so - he was only estimating - weeks of travel and walking under the desert sun left his skin feeling pasted with sweat, dirt, and grime. He wanted it washed off. So he started scrubbing. Carefully.

"Thank you, by the way," he said softly. "For doing this."

Now that Evaline had a clearer head, she could begin to understand the context of the memory James accidentally shared. That must have been the first day or so. The first day he got caught by Butch. He didn't even recognize Reed at the time, and he didn't have any other injuries aside from his head and leg. Nothing on his chest. The branding must have been one of the first things to happen to him.

She tried not to look at his chest wounds when he stood up. She couldn't even begin to understand how many more painful memories he had that he didn't—and will not—share with her.

James turned so his back was facing her again, and she couldn't help but look down at the branding again, the pain and sorrow wrapping her heart.

She didn't think James wanted to keep hearing how sorry she was for him, and how he didn't deserve any of this pain.

Evaline stood up, letting the water drip from her body as she met James's height. She hovered the washcloth over his back and then wrung it out, letting the soapy water run down his back first.

"I'm glad to help," she said gently. "Anything you need."

James worked his way up his arm. Over the scar Nathan healed, and up to a tender arch that curved from his elbow, traveling up his bicep, and back down from his shoulder. That wound was scabbed over, and after sitting in the water for so long, the scab looked soft. Likely to pull off if he tugged on it too much, so he gingerly scrubbed around it.

He had to ignore the feeling of water dripping down his back, trying to prepare himself better this time.

He was desperate to change the subject. Get his mind onto something else. Anything. He jumped to the first thing he could come up with.

"Back in the army," he said, still scrubbing. "They taught us first aid. Things to do in case of emergency. Last-minute options to save your life or someone else's. I never went far enough to become a medic, but I did consider it, for a time. I used to think I had the stomach for it..."

He paused, but only for a moment.

"But I was too enchanted with the idea of being some sort of hero. Not that I did, of course. But I wanted to prove everyone wrong and make something of myself."

He moved on to his other arm.

"Whatever that means."

Evaline wrung the washcloth dry, and warm soapy water dripped down his back. James started to open up about his army days, which caught her by surprise. The only personal thing he mentioned about the army was that he enlisted and that he regretted his time there, but he never brought up any personal stories.

She wanted to start rubbing his back, but didn't want to interrupt his train of thought since she knew he would tense up.

Instead, she drenched the washcloth again with the water and soap, waiting for him to finish.

When he did, she lifted the washcloth out of the water, leaving a trail of sudsy water behind her.

"A lot of people want to be a hero," she said slowly, carefully, not wanting to say the wrong thing. "What does that mean to you?"

She then gently started to scrub his back, starting at the top.