Why wasn't it over?
Consciousness was coming back to him, and he couldn't help but fight it. He didn't want to wake up this time. He wanted to fade away into nothingness, but something kept pulling him back, prolonging his departure.
Everything in his head was too scrambled to comprehend it. People had been around him, he'd been moved, someone had found him. Desperation settled deep within his gut like a millstone, and no matter how hard he tried, he could feel himself drifting back to the world. He could feel his body getting better.
Anyone else would've appreciated the miracle, but all he wanted to do was weep. He didn't want to fight any longer, and no one ever seemed to give him the choice to give up, especially when he wanted to. Were he able, he would've willingly clawed his hands at the dirt, trying to dig his own grave in the earth beneath him. Maybe then he could finally be forgotten. Maybe then, his infamy would finally fade and everything that followed him would reach an end with him.
And yet, instead, the world finally began to come back into focus.
Cold air bit as his skin. He could feel it pinch at his face, and his hands. A cool breeze brushed down his arm, but it felt like the rest of him had been covered. Warm and wooly, something like a blanket rested against his bare skin, wrapping around him.
Someone had clothed him - at least, partially. The last thing he could really remember was throwing his clothes onto the ground as the fever reached its peak, and if someone had stumbled upon him, of course they'd cover him up in this weather - and for decency's sake. His boots had been returned to his feet as well, and it felt like his socks were glued to his skin.
How long had it been since he'd collapsed? How long had he been... here?
Slowly, he opened his eyes, taking in the shadows of the canopy of trees above him.
It was dark, and he couldn't see much around him, but it didn't appear that he'd gone very far from where he was last. It still smelled of the same pines and firs, and the same dying leaves. He could still hear the same crickets chirping faintly in the night, singing the same familiar song, over and over.
His fever had broken, hadn't it?
He took in a slow, deliberate breath. His body was still full of pain, and it ached from not having moved for who knew how long, but the throbbing, nearly-blinding pain in his head was gone, and he only realized after a moment that he was looking out at the world with both eyes instead of one.
So, the swelling in his face had gone down. It had to have been at least a few days, then.
Tucking his arms up to his sides, James began to force himself upright. He was content to move slowly, assessing the situation as much as he could before anything escalated. And for all he knew, someone was watching him with a gun trained on him, ready to shoot if he so much as got to his feet.
He waited a moment in silence as his eyes adjusted to the dark. He couldn't see anything for what felt like a few minutes, and when he could finally make out shadows and shapes in the dark, he dared to look around.
He'd only turned his head to the side before he froze, staring at the silhouette of a person, leaned up against a tree.
They were facing him.
He couldn't make out their features, but they seemed to be around his size.
James waited for them to speak first.
For a moment, it looked like they shifted about in place. In doing this, there was a sharp, nearly inaudible inhale from them. A few seconds passed before anything else happened.
“Hey,” their voice gently broke the silence. “What’s up?”
The inhale almost sounded pained. From what he could decipher, the speaker sounded like a woman. Her tone was calm, but concerned - not carrying the underlying threats he might've expected at first. But that didn't mean they weren't there just because he didn't hear them.
Still... something about her voice felt oddly familiar.
"...Who are you?" he asked after a long silence.
He was met with a lengthy silence of her own before she shifted again.
"Tori," she said gently. "From four years ago."
James stared at her, his mind working slowly.
It took him no time to remember her, but he couldn't be sure it was her until he saw her face.
He furrowed his brows, trying to see the woman in the dark.
"Come closer," he said.
Soon he found her knelt a few feet away, her hands visible in her lap.
"I dunno if this is close enough," she mumbled. "Just let me know if I'm making you uncomfortable."
James stared at her, a pained mix of feelings stirring in his gut.
Part of him didn't want it to be her. If it really was Tori, he had no idea how to face her. It'd been years since they'd seen each other, and he'd never said goodbye. When he left, it was in the middle of the night.
He'd told Jeremy he was leaving, but he hadn't told Tori.
What did she think of him, now?
"What do you see?" she asked.
James squinted into the darkness.
Was it really her? How on earth did she find him? Had it all been by chance?
"I can't... see you," he said quietly.
Something in his gut told him this had to be her. No one else in his life knew about her. Who could be pretending? He swallowed, still unable to shake the feeling of dread in his gut.
A quiet chuckle. "I don't know why I asked that. I know you're blind at night," she sighed. "I have some matches in my bag we can use for light..." She rustled about at her side for a moment, then grew quiet.
"When you're ready for it, I'll strike it on three," she said.
For a moment, James couldn't help but feel like he'd done something wrong for her to be so careful and apprehensive. Somehow, it felt like she was going out of her way not to scare him. He didn't want to know what happened before all of this, in his feverish state. Everything he could remember was a blur, and he couldn't pick out how much of it was real, imagined, or dreamed. He hoped he hadn't done anything to hurt her or make her think he'd lash out, but that felt like too much to hope for.
He decided to assume the worst.
"Okay," he said, his voice small in the back of his throat.
After a second's hesitation, she counted to three, and he heard the strike of a match. The flame quickly fizzled to life and illuminated a tattooed hand that reached out to a wick, igniting a small candle lamp. Lifting the candle as the flame grew, the woman's face finally came into view.
It felt like the forest went silent when he met her eyes.
Her hair was shorter. Much shorter. It'd been cut choppily, but close to her skin. Short bangs hung over her forehead, partially shadowing her dark eyes that regarded him with a sadness that cut right through him. Dark circles were under her eyes, and she looked wearied, more than that of someone who'd merely stayed up all night. It was the look of someone who had spent days watching over him, and the reality of just how long he'd been out with a fever began to sink in more and more as he looked at her.
A smile pulled at the corners of her lips, but it was pained. Forced. Her lips were dark, like they'd been stained, and there were piercings above her lips, and the shine of more piercings on her ears.
It felt like he was looking at a different person, and yet, her eyes were undeniable.
Guilt began to crawl up his throat like a snake, winding around his vocal cords.
The same gaze. The same tattoos. The same raspy voice.
It was Tori, but he didn't want it to be.
He didn't want her to see him like this. He didn't want her to see him at all. He didn't want to think about having to explain everything - reliving everything. He didn't want to think at all. He didn't want to admit to her that he wasn't happy to see her, or that merely making eye contact with her made him want to crawl out of his own skin. It wasn't for any fault that she had done - in fact, she'd done nothing wrong.
In his story, she'd been the hero. He'd been the one that left.
It was the same, horrible, twisted pattern. Over and over.
He didn't want to repeat it. And yet, here he was again.
Quickly breaking eye contact, James looked down at her hand, staring at the light as it flickered over her skin.
She was trembling. Just barely, but she was trembling.
Either she was that exhausted, or she was afraid. Or it was both. And both were because of him.
He knew he couldn't let the silence that followed continue to carry between the two of them like an ocean. He had to reach across it, even if he didn't want to. He wondered how many times Tori had had this conversation, or how many different ways it'd gone wrong, when he wasn't in his right mind. How many people had he spoken to that had really been her? How many things had she heard?
Forcing his face to keep from frowning, he looked up once again.
"You look exhausted," he said.
"Well..." she huffed to herself. Her initial amusement grew somber as she shifted her gaze, scanning him head to toe. "It's hard running from people, y'know. It wears you out, can't trust no one..." she drifted off, watching her hand.
"You're still running?" he asked, his brows pinching together.
He knew he shouldn't have been surprised. He supposed he'd just hoped...
Her head perked up ever so slightly. Silence drew out, as if she'd been taken aback by the question. She looked to his face, her eyes filled with a mix of confusion and shock.
"I am," she said hesitantly. She opened her mouth to say something, but then shut it. Her gaze was hard fixed on him. Her free hand lifted from her side, but she paused.
He stared at her hand, briefly met her eyes, and then reached out to meet it with his. He held it gingerly, not sure what she'd been reaching for. But it did confirm something for him.
If he'd had any remaining doubts, they were gone now.
This was really Tori. This was real.
When he looked up from their hands to her face, she seemed stunned. Perhaps he shouldn't have touched her.
Gently pulling away, he rested his hand back at his side.
"Sorry," he muttered, looking down at the ground. "I'm... sorry to hear that."
A cold sensation formed on his forehead, her hand gently cupping it.
Ah. She meant to check for a fever.
The embarassment he felt was dulled, but it still stung as he sat there, still, waiting for her to pull away.
Her hand had begun to tremble more than before. She drew her hand away.
"Tiberius, look at me," she pleaded.
The tone of her voice cut through him, just like the look she'd first given him. He looked up even though he didn't want to.
When he met her eyes, she was tearing up.
He swallowed again, feeling his mouth pull again, and this time he let it form into a frown.
"Are you... okay?" he asked, forcing the question out.
Her wide and watery eyes searched his. Expression growing contorted with a variety of emotions, she began to lean forward toward him. Before he could react, she swept him into a hug, gently holding him close.
"I forgot to ask, sorry," she squeaked into his good shoulder. "You see me?" she cried.
James wasn't sure what he'd been expecting.
Four years ago, he'd left her without a word. In the dead of night he'd disappeared with the silent agreement between him and Jeremy that he should go. They all knew it was for the best. Tori knew it was for the best, but they knew she would object regardless, and to avoid a painful conversation, James had taken the coward's route. Ever since, he expected never to see her again, and he'd hoped she would go on to live something of a normal life without the burden of his problems pulling her in.
He didn't know what she'd been up to these past four years. From the looks of it, she'd gone out of her way to change her apperance, if at the very least in hopes to deter any recognition based on her posters. She had better prospects in that regard, being a criminal with less attention, and a far smaller bounty than his own.
They lived in a world where mages took precedence, and all Tori was wanted for was aiding them... alongside manslaughter. But the latter by now was fading from memory, and James knew the guilds were preoccupied with other matters besides tracking down an accomplice.
It pained him to know she was still running. It pained him to see her again.
He'd expected that, perhaps, she'd be angry. Maybe that would come later, after the relief. But the last thing he'd expected was a hug.
After too many seconds of sitting still, he finally brought his arms to wrap around her back, pulling her in gently.
Something inside of him stirred beneath the heavy numbness in his chest. But he couldn't access it.
From everything she'd said, it seemed she remembered him just as vividly as he remembered her. She remembered his aversion to touch. His poor eyesight. She embraced him with the passion of someone seeing an old friend, even though they'd only travelled together for, at most, two weeks. He'd thought that, maybe, after four years, she would have stopped caring, or maybe her feelings about him had changed. Plenty of new rumors about him had floated about in the past few years, and he wouldn't blame her if she felt she'd been deceived, tricked into believing he was something he wasn't.
But... she hadn't said anything about that.
She was just relieved to see him. To see him, as he could only assume, finally in his right mind. Or, at least, coherent enough to have a real conversation. One without hallucinations or half-muttered words.
He rested his head over her shoulder, letting her hug him tightly. He couldn't help but feel disconnected from the moment, like he wasn't really there.
"Yes," he finally said beside her ear. "I see you."
She grew weak in his arms, but still she clung to him.
"I didn't even realize your fever had broken. I must have been confusing the hell out of you," she muttered, chuckling through the tears she'd been dropping on him.
"I'm sure I did plenty of that to you as well," he said softly. "Don't worry about it."
“Ok.” Her voice was weak like her grip.
Eventually, she pulled away, bending forward to press her eyes into her sleeve and dry them.
When she next moved, she lifted her head to search his face again. When her gaze met his, the sadness had seeped back into her eyes. She promptly looked down into the leaves beneath them.
“Whoever it was…” she started to speak, but stopped herself. She cleared her throat, intentionally keeping quiet. Then she restarted, her volume lower. “It’s last watch and Jeremy’s tryin’ to sleep.” A puff of air left her nostrils as her head shook lightly.
Ah. Jeremy. So, they were still together. It appeared that had worked out, at least.
“Anyway, I assume whoever it was that you’re running from was the one that did you in,” she said, twirling a leaf by the stem between her fingertips as she spoke. “It was… not a desirable state to be in, to say the least. Especially sick.” She spoke candidly, and seemed to be avoiding excessive detail.
“You don’t have to worry about explaining anything, by the way.” She briefly give him a weak smile, then looked back down to the leaf she was fidgeting with. “We haven’t moved far from where we found you. Jeremy has been going out surveying and keeping watch while I took care of you.”
She drew quiet, the leaf still spinning in her fingers, and James found himself staring at it.
She was giving him an out before she even heard what happened. In different words, she was telling him she was content to help him without anything in return. She didn't even seem to be concerned if she and Jeremy were in any danger. He almost wanted to tell her she ought to be more careful than to blindly trust him. His feelings didn't matter if their collective safety was an issue. She had no assurance that they were secure, especially if they had hardly moved him from where he'd been before.
And yet, instead of berating her - he found himself too much a coward to challenge her.
She said he didn't have to say anything, and somehow it was a relief.
It meant that maybe - just maybe - if she didn't know much, it'd be easier to detach himself later.
He would thank her for her help. He would do everything he could to not be a burden. He would leave again, without a trace, and hopefully, this time, she'd finally give up on him. Maybe if he left a second time, she wouldn't so stubbornly hold on. Maybe she could let go and live a life of her own, not having to worry about him anymore.
Again, his response was delayed as he sat there, his chest exposed. The blanket that had been laid over him had slid down into his lap, and now he felt the night's chill crawling on his skin. Being upright made him realize how lightheaded he was, and he had a feeling that if he were to get to his feet to quickly, that he'd just as promptly fall over.
"How long has it been?" he decided to ask. It'd be best to get this out of the way, now.
"Since you found me?" he added.
"It's been about a week," she said softly, unmoving.
He hummed.
"That's... a long time," James said.
He couldn't help but look down at his side. Formerly, it'd been a wound so deep he didn't think he would recover. At present, though, it was as if it'd healed miraculously fast. Even a week was not enough for this.
Brows pinching together, he tilted his head to the side, remembering the pain that used to be there. Lifting his hand, he touched the back of his head, feeling over a thick scab that he'd sworn was a large gash. It would've needed staples, or something of the sort. No one had that kind of resource out here.
So how did it...?
Squinting into the darkness, James found himself in a fog of confusion.
"Did something happen?" he asked, before realizing that the question was far too vague.
"I--I mean," he tried again, before Tori could reply. "It's just... my head..."
His hand fell back into his lap as he struggled to formulate a full coherent sentence.
"Why am I not dead?"
Hm. Perhaps that was too straight-forward. Well. Too late now.
“Well…” Tori drifted off. “It’s— Actually, I can just show you.” Her hand came into view in front of him, her fingers twiddling about to get his attention. “Can I set my hand here?” Her hand hovered over his stomach, waiting.
James hesitated.
"I... sure," he said, not sure what to expect.
Her cold hand rested gently over a large bruise on his stomach that still had yet to dissipate. For a short time, nothing happened.
Then there was a gentle glow that began to permeate her hand. It was as if she was hiding a light beneath her palm, but instead the light seemed to be emanating from within it. The chill of her hand began to fade, easing into another sensation. It was warm and gentle, akin to the midday sun of spring, softening and melting away the biting chill in the air around them.
James knew what it was the moment he felt it.
She was a healing mage. All this time, she was a mage, and had magic of her own.
When a muscle in her hand twitched, her palm slowly lifted from his belly, uncovering the bruise. It hadn't changed significantly in size, but even in the candlelight, the colors had shifted from greens and yellows to more of a brown.
It suddenly began to dawn on him just how much energy Tori must've spent on bringing him back from the brink of death.
It had been days. A week. Sleepless nights weren't the only thing gnawing away at her; the exhaustion that hung to heavily from her eyes was because she'd been giving all of her energy to him. That was the only reason he was awake, the only reason he was alive, the only reason he was functional and speaking to her right now.
Like thorns, the truth stung as he realized Tori had given so much just to save him; more than he could ever return. And even more painful: she'd hurt herself in the process.
He knew what an over-extended healer looked like.
The guilt that clung to him grew heavier, twisting around his throat even tighter. If Tori hadn't found him, she wouldn't have been pushed to spend so much of herself like this. Gods, he wished she hadn't found him. He desperately wished she never found him.
So many questions swirled in his mind as he looked up to meet her eyes, but none of them came to his mouth. Silence grew between them like a mountain, and he couldn't help but wonder if she was waiting for his reaction before she said another word. It occured to him that he'd been staring, but still, his tongue was glued to the roof of his mouth.
Ripping it away like bark and tree sap, he forced himself to swallow.
"You're a healer," he finally managed to say, his voice no louder than a whisper.
She hummed, giving him a slow nod as she did. "I'm sure you have questions." She passed a glance to somewhere behind him momentarily, then her tired gaze returned. "Some may need to wait until morning, but I can explain."
James's brows pinched together.
"Why don't we talk more after you've rested?" he said quietly. "It can wait."
"I suppose so," she whispered.
Her hand moved to her bag at her side and pulled out a canteen. "Well, if you need water at any point... here's mine." She set it down between them. "There's a small creek nearby," she said with a pointed glance his way. "So if you're thirsty, drink."
He nodded, and with a slow motion, picked up the canteen, taking a drink without announcement or protest.
Tori simply sat as he drank, and the water was cool against his throat. It made the cold in the air pinch deeper, but it also soothed his throat - which he hadn't even realized was so dry. He tried to drink slowly so as not to drown himself, but his body ached for hydration.
Disciplining himself, he pulled the canteen away, deciding to wait a few minutes for the water to settle before drinking more. Quietly, he screwed the lid shut and briefly met Tori's eyes.
"Thank you," he said softly.
Not really wanting to hear any prodding remarks, he quickly added: "How long before Jeremy's up and you get to rest?"
"We agreed on dawn," she said. “It shouldn’t be too far off from now. I could see the moon a bit before you woke up, but now it’s probably close to setting.”
James hummed slightly, looking down at the space between them.
"And... Elliot," he said slowly. "Is he alright?"
“We’ve both been taking care of him. He shouldn’t be too far off right now, since Jeremy’s asleep….” She looked around slowly, searching. “He still doesn’t like Jeremy much, but normally he’ll come over at some point while he’s away or asleep…”
James stared off into the forest.
"I guess we'll find out in the morning," he said loosely.
He had a feeling he should've shown more concern based on Tori's initial reaction. Her eyebrows pinched together and she cocked her brow, like she hadn't expected him to be so relaxed about Elliot possibly being missing.
"I only mean that... it's not like I can get up and find him at the moment," he said by way of explanation, giving her a partial truth to disguise a more painful one.
He really didn't know if he wanted to dote on Elliot at the moment, especially after how he'd treated the poor horse the last week or two before he'd finally succumbed to the fever. Normally, he took care of Elliot before even himself. But James hadn't been able to manage that. He'd hardly been able to manage travel.
Normally, he never pushed Elliot past his limits, but this time... he'd pushed him hard.
Elliot had never been nervous around him before, but for the first time since Elliot was a foal, he'd been wary of James.
"And I don't want to wake Jeremy by calling him. As long as Elliot's around," he continued. "I'm not worried."
“Ah, you’re right,” Tori said with a nod. “I doubt he went far, anyway.”
James let a small silence pass, but in the few seconds, he could feel the tension between them.
He could feel all of Tori's worrry. All of the questions. The weight of all of the weariness she'd carried the past week on his behalf, and the feeling that he at least owed her the truth, even if she couldn't bring herself to say it.
It was only a few seconds, but it ate away at him.
"I think I'm going to lie back down," he said quietly. "It still hurts to move."
It wasn't far from the truth, but it was an excuse. One he knew he was using, and glad for as an escape.
Before Tori could respond, he already put his words to action, and he slowly began to lower himself until he once again was flat on the ground, back against the blanket. He pulled the blanket back over himself to hide from the chill, and from Tori's prying eyes.
He could see her mouth partially agape in the flickering lamp-light, like she'd been on the cusp of saying something, but he'd acted before she could. Even though she looked mildly annoyed, he decided to speak again.
"I'm still really drained," he said. And it wasn't hard to sell it, because he was. "Do you mind if I go back to sleep?"
The question was really only a courtesy. He felt bad that Tori was going to have to push through the last hour of exhaustion until Jeremy woke up, but he didn't think he could endure another hour of conversation.
“There’s no need to explain,” she said, straightening her back from the slouch she had. She had a tired smile. “You need to rest. I don’t expect you to stay up with me, so sleep whenever you need to, alright?”
She paused for a moment, as if she’d remembered something, then continued. “If I’m asleep when you next wake up, I warned Jeremy a couple days back or so to not bother you too much because we didn’t want you to feel threatened at all or attempt to run.“ She stopped herself, thinking on what she said for a second. “Not that we won’t let you leave, but… hallucinations and running don’t seem like the greatest of combinations,” she released a huff of amusement, perhaps trying to lighten the mood.
It didn't really work, but he appreciated that she tried.
“I’ll let him know that your fever is lifted when we switch out later,” she said. She sounded like she was wearing herself out just by speaking. “I just thought I’d let you know. Don’t hesitate to call on him if you need help with anything.”
She quietly shifted back to her spot at the tree, candle in hand, pulling her blanket into her lap with her free hand.
“I’ll let you sleep now. Goodnight.”
James briefly met her eyes, but closed them and looked away, unable to hold eye contact.
He'd only been awake a few minutes and he could already see how even when Tori wasn't healing him, he was leeching her energy. He hated that it was so. He hated that she felt like she had to appease him, and walk on eggshells around him. He hated that all he had to offer was this.
"Goodnight," he said faintly, turning his head away. And he could hear the puff of breath as Tori blew the candle out, and the light behind his eyelids faded to darkness.
Tori shuffled away eventually, finally leaving James to himself, with all of the things they both left unsaid.
When he finally began to drift off to sleep, he pushed those thoughts deep down.
He wished he didn't have to wake up from this.
He wished he didn't have to face her again.
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