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Once again Kyrie found herself struggling to pick up the pieces. By now this was a rinse and repeat routine for her, over and over till the feeling of loss was like the shadow at her back. First her parents, then Credo and now- well not quite.She had long since changed out of her bloody clothes, scrubbed her skin until it was red, aching and raw but even now, days later when she closed her eyes Nero was all she could see. Bloodied and broken, curled up on the garage floor as he clutched the tattered stump of his arm. His eyes that had once been so bright and alive had been greyish and vacant, like something more than his arm had been taken from him. Despite all that- and to his doctors surprise- Nero was alive, his breathing slow and steady as he laid unconscious in the hospital bed.
Kyrie gave his hand a loving squeeze as she leaned forward in her chair. The hospital room itself was nice enough, clean and minimalist, tucked away in a quiet corner of the ward to give them privacy. Or perhaps to keep him out of sight, out of mind as though they thought he’d never wake. Kyrie didn’t think too hard on that, she refused to. Seeing him like this, peaceful and still, reminded her of that afternoon she’d found him in the living room, his form spilling over the sides of the armchair as he dozed quietly. More than anything she wanted to rewind the clock and sink back into the life they had carved out with each other. Safe and familiar, whole. But it was all out of reach and she had never felt so far from home.
She knew she had to be strong, to support him in all the ways she could, but she was only human and there was only so much she could give. Unworthy was a word that often popped into her mind in moments like this. Nero deserved a partner who had a strength like his own, someone who could stand by his side proud and tall, and equal. Kyrie couldn’t fight hordes of demons, least of all make it look effortless like Trish or Lady. The best she could do was to stand back and stay out of the way. She had mentioned once, just in passing, that it might have been a good idea to learn how to defend herself, as at least then she wouldn’t be such a terrible burden. But of course Nero’s face had scrunched up, all squished and dismissive at the idea. Probably as a matter of pride; and that he thought she was perfect as she was. And yet as she sat there holding his hand, pressing her fingertips against the steady beat of his pulse she couldn’t help but think of all her failings, all the what ifs. Doubt clawed its way into her heart as tangled vines inched up her throat, strangling her from within.
Kyrie’s strength wasn’t loud or brash, like a fist to the face or a knee to the groin. It was quiet and demure, felt like barely enough to scrape by. It would have been so easy to crumble apart, to tear at the seams like a badly sewn sweater, not even worth the material it was made from. And yet there she was, still holding on with her light shining as bright as ever. All kind smiles and caring touches; the closest thing to an angel one could find in a world as dark as this.
As much as she wanted to stay Kyrie knew that she couldn’t, school would be over soon and the thought of the orphans, their children, coming back to an empty home made her heart wrench. She knew Nero wouldn’t blame her, that if he could he would’ve shooed her off with a flick of his hand and an easy smile. He was good like that, too good really. But it was one of those things that was far easier said than done, she might have decided that she had to leave but getting her body to comply was another matter entirely. For as long as she could remember there had always been a magnetism between them, a pull that had her reaching out for him whenever he was close. She couldn’t deny it, not when her worries rushed forward again, eager to shove her resolve aside until doubt, fear and loss swirled to the forefront of her mind. What if he never woke up? What if she never saw his smile again? She couldn’t cope with that, surely that would be the straw that broke the camel's back. She slumped forward in her seat, her hands slipping from his as she raised them to cover her face.Tears pricked her eyes as she pulled in ragged breaths, shaky in and out, just enough to keep the sobs at bay. She’d done well to make it this far without crying, she was sort of impressed in a cynical kind of way. Kyrie the crybaby, that’s what people used to call her.
And then he stirred.
At first Kyrie thought it was just wishful thinking, that her ears were playing tricks on her but there was no mistaking the sound of shuffling bed sheets, a pained groan. Like he was awake but didn’t want to be. Dropping her hands she surged forward in her seat and reached out for him, only letting herself exhale when skin met skin. Oh God she loved this man, far more than she could ever say.
“Nero.” She murmured, quiet and reverent, like his name was the highest form of praise.
Groggily he scanned her face, his brows knitting together as he no doubt noticed the state she was in, all red eyes and unkempt hair. He parted his lips to speak, the words on the tip of his tongue, only to swallow them like a fistful of gravel. He scrunched his eyes, hard, and winched. Like he didn’t have the strength to follow through, like they were words that shouldn’t be said. He finally, finally, gave her hand a weak squeeze and Kyrie’s heart almost leapt out of her chest there and then. If talk was cheap then his touch was priceless. She smiled, soft and in earnest,for the first time in days and for his eyes only.
“Kyrie.” He rasped, his voice sore and scratchy from disuse. His gaze didn’t wander from her, like he was scared she would vanish. “You okay?”
Ah of course, she shouldn’t have expected any less. Wiping her eyes off with the sleeve of her sweater she shook her head, her necklace tinkling softly with the motion. Nero stiffened and with a pained “oof” leaned forward, like he realised this wasn’t in fact some fucked up fever dream, that he really had lost an arm. It must have been so much to take in, stifling and overwhelming. He would have no doubt climbed out of bed if Kyrie hadn’t been there, anchoring him, keeping him grounded and safe in their little moment. Just like old times. She was simple, so earthy and real that she had a way of making demons and hell seem like fairy tales, so far from his reality.
“I’m fine, silly.” She pressed a reassuring kiss to his knuckles, then to his fingertips, one by one. Only when the tension had left his shoulders did she continue. “Just rest, I’m here. Always will be.”
He nodded and gingerly laid back down. There was nothing else to be said. He was her strength and she his, they would deal with whatever came next as they always did: together.