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A scream (not yours) and something in the air changes. Stops.
Not the pain, nerves and muscle and wires exposed to the salty air and sand, burning and raw. The sheen of silver across your arm stops writhing and feasting, slides to the ground, inert.
Blood flows hot from your gaping wounds, stains the blue shreds of your suit black, no longer consumed as fast as it oozes out. Dribbles down to the sand, already red with Elyise's. Too late for her, she's gone. A partially-devoured corpse on the shore, like so many others.
You saved her as best you could, the only way you could. A slow, agonizing death for her if you hadn't acted. But if you'd waited just a little— No, no way to know they would suddenly stop. You wanted the same just moments ago when her heart stopped and they turned their full attention to you. Wrestle with your conscience later.
What stopped the nanovores?
A whimper behind you.
Riley stands nearby, stiff, frozen in place. Face unreadable behind her Sidestep mask. Arms outstretched, hands splayed like she's holding something. Holding something back?
She can't be—
Another whimper on the exhale of slow deliberate breath, shivering with effort you can't see, can't even begin to imagine.
She is.
"Get the containment units down here now! And everyone else out!" you bark into the comm on your collar. "The nanovores are… stopped. I don't know for how long. Get them down here now!"
Shifting sand of someone approaching, creak of gears fighting tiny grains, heavy hand on your shoulder. Chen, still sealed in his armor. Not that you expected otherwise, can't take any chances.
"What is… Is she—?"
"Yeah…" You swallow, unable to take your eyes off her. "Can you show the teams where to go? I should stay with her. I can't influence… whatever it is she's doing."
"Yes. Give us as much warning as you can if it looks like she's going to—"
"She won't. She's got this." You hope your confidence isn't misplaced. She hasn't let you down yet, always surprises you with success against the odds. "And do what you can to keep the media back until this is over."
A curt "yes, sir" and a habitual sketchy half-salute, then Chen's armor thuds its way up the hill to the cordon.
Nothing to do but keep her safe and secure. You hate feeling this helpless.
She sways, joints locked, and you grab her shoulders. Steady her.
"C'mon Ry," you murmur. "You got this. I got you."
If she hears you, there's no indication. She can't feel your thoughts, so you give them freely. Tell her quietly that you're there, you've got her. How good and strong and amazing she is. That she can do this. Maybe she can hear your voice, even just peripherally. Maybe it helps. Hopefully it doesn't hurt.
She can't really argue back and deflect, for once. Just has to take the praise. You wish she would more often. How someone so capable can be so maddeningly self-deprecating is beyond you.
A flurry of activity emerges around you as other heroes, vigilantes, emergency crews come in and evacuate survivors. Steel and Sentinel have directing everyone in-hand, you're vaguely aware of them through your earpiece. Your sole concern right now is keeping Riley going.
One medic tries to pull you away for treatment and you shrug them off. You're not leaving her, damn sure not letting them move her either. No way to know what can break the spell she's woven. They apply antiseptic to your wounds—grit your teeth through the burn, can't disturb her— and wrap your arms as you continue to hold her steady. It's enough to keep you from losing too much blood until you can get proper treatment.
Not until it's finished.
Heavy labored breaths through her mask. How much longer can she hold them? You've doomed everyone you brought in if you've bet wrong on this one, but if anyone is stubborn enough to see this through… Your grip on her tightens, like you could pass your strength to her.
"Just a bit more, you're doing so good."
The CNBR units finally get to the beach. Some have containment units to hold the nanovores, keep them inert and harmless. Samples to study later. Fire will deal with the rest. The plan was drilled into you.
"Can you guide them inside the cages?" you ask, forehead pressed to hers. Catch a scent of fresh iron, blood? Nosebleed? She'd kill you if you peeled her mask off in front of everyone to check. And you really can't do anything to ruin her concentration.
A press back against your head, a nod? Has she heard you this whole time?
A silvery cloud moves across the ground towards the crews. Slow, deliberate, controlled, not a ravenous advancement like before. You watch out of the corner of your eye as it slides into the container. Again and again she leads groups of them into the containers until none remain to be filled.
Her legs give out and you swear, keep hold of her shoulders, sink to your knees with her. Keep her upright, keep talking. Beg her to hang on just a little bit more.
The scents of oil, gasoline, and other chemicals fill the air, drowning out salt and iron. A roar of flames around them as the containment crews use napalm to burn out the rest of the microscopic menace threatening the city. Reports come in through your earpiece as crews eliminate them.
Riley shivers like a leaf in your hands and you pray it's just the effort of maintaining control. After what feels like hours, a round of all clears sound through the comms.
It's over. Somehow. All thanks to her.
The tension leaks out of her body all at once and she pitches forward soundlessly into your shoulder. You scoop her up, cradle her close to your chest. Light as a feather even without your mods, all bone and sinew beneath the padded coat. Still breathing, thank god, and easier than before. Hopefully she's only exhausted.
You scan the area, spot a Rangers van waiting at the edge of the beach. Order the driver not to move until you say so. You haven't forgotten the last time you tried sending her unconscious to hospital. She never made it there, slipped away from the ambulance. Punched you when you saw her the next day. Threatened that you'd never see her again if you tried it a second time.
You'll give her a little time to wake up first. But if she doesn't or gets worse, you'll have to make that call. Better to risk disappearing than dead.
You lay her down across the seat in the back. Close the door. Peel back her mask, now in the privacy of the vehicle. A blistering swear escapes you. Her normally tan complexion is ashen, wan. Dried blood on the lower half of her face clings to the nanoweave as you carefully pull it free. You dig through the large first aid kit for water and gauze. Gently wash the blood from her face. At least the nosebleed has already stopped.
She moans under your ministrations, silver eyes fluttering open. She immediately flies upright, almost knocking into your head, eyes rolling like a startled horse. "Where…?"
"Back of the van." You keep your voice calm, level, grab her shoulders, try to lay her back down. Only half successfully. "The windows are tinted. We're not on our way to the hospital."
Yet.
"Did we…?"
" You did. It's over. You saved the city, Ry."
She falls back against the seat, limp with exhaustion and relief. Closes her eyes again, face pinched tight. The next words out of her mouth are no surprise.
"My head really hurts."
You run a hand through her sweat-stiff buzzcut, curve around to cup her cheek. Her color is still terribly pale. "You had a pretty bad nosebleed. You should get scanned at the hospital."
She groans her protest. Loudly. "It happens sometimes. I just want to go home."
"It happens sometimes?" You struggle to keep an edge out of your voice. She doesn't need an argument right now, but this is the first you've heard of it.
She flinches, doesn't answer. Stubborn idiot.
"Ry, we'll pay—"
"No. You don't get it."
"Riley—"
"I can't."
"Please—"
"No."
"You need to—"
"Go home, you're right."
"Mierda. Eres idiota tan testaruda…" You drag a hand down your face. If it wasn't for your own injuries, you could just take her to your place for monitoring. But your mods are compromised, exposed, dangerous to yourself and others. No way around you going to the hospital.
"It's just a migraine." Pleading, pathetic insistence. "I'll be fine."
"Riley, if you've got a—"
"If I go to a hospital, you will never see me again. And there will be nothing you can do to stop it." The tone of voice gives you pause. Not a threat, but ominous all the same. Like it's inevitable. Why, though?
Not the time to dig into it.
"Jesus, Riley. You'd really rather just—" You pause. Dying isn't something you even want to consider. "Suffer through it at home?"
"Yes. Please?"
You swear again. "Fine. Where do you live?" If you can at least get that much, you can send someone to check in on her. Anathema would do it in a heartbeat. Probably get in the least amount of trouble with her.
"Fifth and Seaton." Her eyes flash open and she winces. She throws an arm over them as a strangled growl slips out. "Fuck you."
You're not sorry, not really. Maybe it was a low blow finally getting that out of her when she's half-conscious, but better than the alternative if she gets worse and no one can find her. You press your lips to her forehead, the closest you'll get to apologizing for that.
You tell the driver where to go. If memory serves, you'll have about half an hour to make her see reason.
You probably can't, but damned if you won't try.