To Be Free (18 page)

After locking the door behind
her, I gratefully strip off the suit that's been burned to halfway
up my biceps, the charred remains crackling dangerously with every
movement. Once out of the confines, I slip off my boxers and slip
into the near-scalding water, lowering myself in gently with the
smallest hiss of pain to show for it. When I recline against the
tub I let out a sigh of relief, tipping my head back and closing my
eyes.

My arms are still blackened,
red with the lingering burns from my first use of my gift. I
shudder at the memory of the power I felt, as if I held the world
in my hands and could save or destroy this world with a single
sweep of my hand. They throb in pain in the water, but I take the
pain and roll with it. I lick my dry lips and clear my mind as much
as I can, willing my body to relax and melt into the warm embrace
of the liquid.

It's maybe
ten minutes later I hear a small
Quinn?

The sound brings me from my
languid stupor, straightening slightly and straining my ear for the
sound. A minute later it comes again, a little more panicked, and I
call to my companion and melt back into the blissfully warm liquid
I've submerged myself into. Small, uneven footsteps make their way
over to the door leading to his room, and cautiously open, allowing
some of the steam to escape.

The man that walks in already
looks a little rested, eyes no longer unfocused, just cloudy with
the lingering effects of the drugs and his abilities. He shuts the
door quietly behind him, looking at me and blinking tiredly. His
dark hair is dishevelled and practically unsalvageable, but he
still smiles a small smile at me, his witch eyes mirroring the
emotion.

“
Where are
we?” he asks quietly, his voice hoarse. Walking quietly, he reaches
the edge of the tub and sits on the tiled ground, resting his
forearms against the lip of the ceramic tub and looking quizzically
at me. I don't think the idea even occurred to him that I'm
completely naked here.

He's that tired... that's kind
of cute.

I get him caught up, informing
him about the women living here and what he's missed. He listens
attentively, his eyes no longer glazed over with that red haze and
showing hints of normalcy. Once I finish, we sit in amicable
silence, he with his eyes closed and I looking to the ceiling.

“
Are you
feeling better?” I question, and he nods, smiling against his arms
as he cracks an eye open to look at me.

“
All thanks
to you,” he replies, laughing lightly. His cheeks are flushed with
the lingering clutches of his fever, and I lift a hand from the
water to push his hair from his face, a trail of water my legacy.
Seb leans into the touch, humming contentedly. “Um, not to break
the moment or anything, Quinn, but shouldn't it bother you that I'm
sitting beside you while you're technically in the
nude?”

Okay, maybe not as
fever-delirious as I originally thought. After all, he's got a good
head on his shoulders.

“
I figure
you're feeling shitty enough as it is, so you won't try anything,”
I shoot back casually, and he snorts in disbelief, punctuating his
sentiment with a yawn before kissing my wrist lightly, smile on his
lips.

“
I'm sorry,”
I blurt, and the smile melts right off. It's amazing how quickly a
person can go from point A to point B, really. “I made you do all
those things, and look where that got us – you're half-dead on your
feet and I'm finding it increasingly difficult to hold on to my
consciousness. I can't even begin to imagine how much harder it is
for you to control time than it is for me to manipulate the
elements that make up storms; and I've been really, really
selfish-”

It's at this point that he
scoffs loudly, effectively cutting me off and rolling his eyes.
Resting his cheek on his forearms and giving me a Look, Seb stops
me from rambling any more.

“
I've already
figured out that I don't like hearing you talk badly about
yourself,” he states bluntly, “and I don't need the
reminder.”

He then sits up on his knees,
catching my gaze fully and refusing to allow me the chance to
escape his next words that cut through me and bleed me dry.

“
I'm the one
who dragged you into this mess; I prolonged your death sentence by
forcing you to stand at my side even though I was a fucking
dickhead and practically insufferable. You stood by my side
even though I treated you like
shit
,” he presses, emphasizing those last
words by pressing his index finger to my breastbone when each
leaves his lips, “and you've never complained other than that one
time, but I understand why you did it. My point, Quinn, is that
we're in this together, come hell or high water, and you've seen me
at my worst and still chose to stay by my side.”

One of his hands has risen to
my face, and with a smile he pushes my drying fringe from my
eyes.

“
You're not
selfish,” Seb whispers, leaning in to press a chaste kiss to my
cheek. “Trust me; between the two of us I've been far more selfish
than you. I still love you, you know, and I'm grateful to you. I
doubt I'll ever be able to make it up to you.”

I close my eyes, leaning the
side of my head against his and finding his free hand with my right
one, lacing our fingers together. The movement is painful, the
abused skin of my hand protesting greatly, but I bear the pain for
the sake of contact with him. To his credit, he doesn't apply
pressure, but instead rubs small circles on my hand with his
fingers.

“
You don't
have to,” I tell him, and he nods. “This is enough.”

For yet another while we remain
this way, until I break the silence with a small laugh that makes
him pull his head away just enough for us to lock eyes.

“
They think
we're lovers, by the way,” I inform him, and his face takes on
comical attributes – his pupils become practically nonexistent, his
mouth opens in a silent protest and his face flushes a curious
shade of red. “You're not helping our case, what with you being
completely at ease around me when I'm, in every sense of the word,
stark
naked
.”

For a moment Seb splutters,
unable to voice his thoughts coherently and making me laugh. The
water's a bit too cool for my liking by now, but it's worth it to
see the look on his face when he decides he's had enough, releasing
my hand and flicking me off without another word. The only thing he
shoots at me as he shakily walks back to the bedroom is for me to
hurry my ass up so he can clean up too, almost slamming the door
behind him.

Sobering up, I finish washing
up in the lukewarm water and step out, draining it as I towel
myself dry. Once I tie it around my waist I walk over to the folded
clothes sitting innocently on the white marble counter top, lifting
the grey short-sleeved shirt to the soft lighting offered by the
bulbs hanging over my head. The large mirror over the white
porcelain sink spits my travel-weary face back at me, and I ignore
my double in favour of pulling the shirt over my head and pressing
down the creases. Once that's done I don the boxers and
loose-fitting pants, and the dark brown knitwear button-up
following suit. Leaving the buttons alone, I make good use of the
toothbrush set out for me and slip into the bedroom.

Seb's leaning by the window,
arms crossed as he glances out beyond the frosted glass with a
wistful expression over his features. He doesn't acknowledge my
presence any more than that, and I pause just by the doorway,
hesitating.

“
Do you want
me to draw the bath for you?” I question softly, as if anything
other than a whisper in this room will turn around and attack me.
For a moment it's just silence that answers my inquiry, the light
blue walls painted with evening shadows that darkens the room only
slightly.

Then, it's a small nod that
informs me of his wishes, so once I let the water run and the steam
starts rising again, I linger at the doorway again and regard him
curiously.

He still hasn't moved, arms
crossed over his chest as he stares beyond what I can see, towards
something that only his mind can make sense of. When I walk
carefully towards him and place a hesitant hand on his shoulder,
Nine doesn't offer any physical reaction.

“
What's on
your mind, love?” I ask, and I see his lips twitch into a small
smile for a moment, his semi-tense posture relaxing. I take it as a
good sign, and continue. “Did what I said earlier bother you that
much?”

“
No, it's
nothing like that.” Sighing, he shifts his uncanny gaze onto me and
offers me a small smile. “I'm just thinking of the future, is
all.”

“
Like
what?”

Shrugging a shoulder, he looks
to the ground between us as he slips my hand from his shoulder and
holds it in both of his, playing with the digits.

“
What's going
to happen if we make it across the border,” he admits, turning my
palm up and drawing small circles and lines along my palm. “If
we'll make it across in the first place, or if one of us will die
along the way – or both, who knows? If we'll stay together, or
drift apart... I've a slight fear that the only thing keeping us
together is the journey, and once we reach our destination we'll
just go our own ways.”

I sigh in turn, the distant
sound of water running lost to me as I look down to the weak man in
front of me. He won't meet my gaze, and is acting as a scolded
child, as if he's done me wrong.

“
...sure,
there's a lot of shit I need to sort through in my head,” I admit,
scratching the back of my neck with my free hand and looking away.
He looks up at me, concern written on his face. “My misgivings
about Kenny's death and my involvement in his capture; how I used
my ex-wife to survive, and played with her heart as if it was
nothing; the fact that I've got blood on my hands I'll never rid
myself of, and seen things I'll always have nightmares of; and of
course, the elephant in the room: the depths of what I feel for
you, and to what extent.”

Cupping the side of his face
with my hand, I lock eyes with him.

Nodding, the man leans into the
touch of comfort, and I kiss his forehead.

“
In truth, I
don't know if we'll stay together or drift apart,” I admit, and he
takes a shaky breath, nodding as he closes his eyes. “Just remember
that, at this moment in time, I love you.”

“
Just promise
me something,” he starts, eyes fluttering open so our gazes lock
again. They look unnaturally wet, but he doesn't waver or show any
more distress than that. “If we do drift apart, let me know you're
never coming back if you don't plan on it, and please let those
last moments we share mean something. Don't let it mean
nothing.”

Kissing the lip he's biting, I
nod my assent.

“
Don't let
what we had mean nothing at all in the end,” he repeats, a whisper
this time, and I briefly kiss him again, silently agreeing to his
requests.

Hands fall from bodies and lips
drift apart, and with a parting smile the broken man I've known
perhaps a little over two weeks walks into the bathroom and shuts
the door, leaving me to sigh heavily and lean against the wall a
moment before I slide to the floor, lean my head back against the
wall, and retreat to a world in my mind where everything is the way
I'd want it to be and things weren't complicated.

• Don’t Go
  Spoiling the Ending, Now
  

SEBASTIAN

I
have a
dream that night, curled up in a bed with the lingering fingers of
my fever clutching stubbornly to my being. It's raining heavily, a
real downpour that's soaking everything in its path as it follows
the will of gravity, and I stand within the rainfall beside a
nameless man who's staring up at the sky as if it holds all the
answers. His blond hair is darkened with the liquid trailing down,
and his eyes have slipped shut, his expression the epitome of
pain.

The expression of a man who's
faced death and has had to let go of the one thing he held dearest,
and could never even hope to recover.

Somehow I know his eyes are the
warmest of olive hues, and the complexion of his skin hints at a
European descent. He's wearing a simple hooded sleeveless he's kept
unzipped, a green gem hanging around his neck over the beige
turtleneck beneath his sleeveless. His hands rest limply by his
sides, fingers curling on the rim of his shorts, and he smiles into
the darkness of the downpour.

“
So that's
what that is,” he muses, tacking a dry laugh to the statement
afterwards. He has an accent I can't exactly pinpoint, and as he
speaks the wind shifts around us uneasily, bringing with it the
smell of leaves and damp earth. “If only I'd known before, maybe I
could've saved him...”

With that small train of
thought the man's gone, hands tightening into fists and his lower
lip being trapped between a set of slightly crooked teeth. A name
leaves those lips, the whisper of a prayer that, without a doubt,
has tumbled past them on many occasions, the same way Quinn's left
mine. I know that expression, the emotion of being so utterly and
helplessly alone in the world and feeling yourself come apart at
the seams for it – the name of your beloved being the only thing
somehow keeping you together, stumbling past your defenses and
reminding you that you have to keep fighting, and keep hoping.

Then, the unspoken apology,
louder than the highest shout yet as soundless as the night.