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Sage winces, hobbling into the med-bay while clutching at the walls for dear life. She’s exhausted. Her head is spinning, and the world feels like it’s inside of a washing machine— it’s spinning around and around and Sage is tumbling about in it.
“Skye?” She calls softly, grasping at the light switch.
There is no answer, and Sage’s head seems to pound harder. The fingers that are so desperately squeezing her upper arm seem to falter, twitching uselessly and quivering, unable to stop the flow of blood no longer. She swallows. There is a copper taste in her saliva.
Gross.
The healer limps to one of the clean, pristine, neat beds and collapses upon it, sighing in relief and straining to bring her legs up and over. She almost feels bad for creating such a horrid mess on the white sheets. Almost. Sage would end up cleaning them anyway.
Her breathing becomes laboured, it’s a wonder that didn’t happen earlier. Sage reaches over to a drawer and swings it open, exposing a lone needle and thread that Sage wasn’t even sure was sanitised, she never usually uses these needles.
Said needle shines brightly in the light, well, before Sage lifts her hand up from the knife wound and shakily attempts to thread the needle. Obviously, it’s a no-go. There was nothing she could do. With the little energy Sage had left, healing herself would only fix a very, very small part of her wounds right before she passed out. Which probably would result in bleeding out and dying.
How unfortunate. She was going to die either way, and her body would take up to a week to finally revive itself. It was an incredibly painful and tedious process, really.
All of a sudden, Sage is struck by a wave of even more exhaustion and lays her arms down over her stomach. She feels sick, tired. She wants to sleep. The gash on her arm hurts even more, her sprained (possibly broken) ankle feels so sore and Sage just wishes that she didn’t even have a foot. It hurt so much.
Just as the healer is about to succumb to an endless sleep, the door slams open and a certain purple-eyed woman stops in her tracks, staring at Sage in shock.
“Reyna?” Sage whispers drowsily. Reyna doesn’t answer. Instead, she manoeuvres herself besides the bed Sage is laying on, and takes the needle and thread held limply in her bloodied hands.
“What happened to you, love?” The Empress is threading the needle with ease, calloused but deft and gentle fingers easing Sage’s arm to a more convenient position, beginning to stitch the gash tenderly.
“Mm. Got hurt,” is the reply to Reyna’s question.
“Care to elaborate?” How can Reyna sound so caring yet so mean at the same time? Sage wants to cry.
“Solo mission. Lots of fighting. Wasn’t careful enough.”
“I can see that, corazón.” The needle stings, Sage realises. She squirms and tries to inch away from the offending sharp object.
“Stay still. I’ll be quick,” Reyna mutters, eyebrows pinching together.
“I am tired. Want to sleep.”
“No. Not yet.”
Sage starts to grumble; the blood loss is getting to her head. She’s so delirious. The bright, white light up above her head looks like the sun, and the healer swears she’s floating into heaven. Maybe that explains why Reyna is beside her right now, talking to her so soothingly and calmly. Is she a figment of her imagination, too?
The world fades to black. It’s finally quiet.
“Sage.”
No answer.
“Sage, open your eyes.”
More grumbles. Incoherent mumbling and swatting at her own face. It feels dirty, itchy.
Her eyes flutter open, and she’s greeted with the concerned eyes of the older woman.
“Does it still hurt, Ying?” She sounds genuinely concerned, and it makes Sage’s heart swoon.
“No. You stitched it well. Thank you,” she responds slowly. The world doesn’t feel like a washing machine anymore.
“Skye arrived and dealt with your foot. You need to take your meds later, too. Also, she says not to heal yourself until you’ve eaten a few meals and drank a lot of water. Understand?” Reyna speaks quickly, and Sage assumes she’s relieved to have all that information out so she no longer needs to remember all of it.
“Yes, Zyanya. Thank you.”
There’s a short moment of silence between the two of them. Until Reyna decides to lean closer to Sage.
“Why did you need to go on a solo mission?” She inquires.
“Curiosity killed the cat, dear.”
“And satisfaction brought it back, no?”
Ha-ha. Very funny. It brings a small smile onto Sage’s face.
“I needed to get information. Classified information. Sending in teams would have been riskier, four less agents to be detected.”
Reyna is frowning.
“Unfortunately, as you can see, I failed. I didn’t get anything out of it besides many injuries. They expected me to be there. I was not careful enough.”
Reyna’s frown grows deeper.
“Do not speak to Brimstone about this. I know what you’re thinking.”
Reyna huffs and leans her head on her palm. Signature Empress’ sign of annoyance. How very charming. In response, Sage shuffles her body awkwardly to the edge of the bed and cranes her neck to land a short, sweet kiss on the other’s cheek.
“Sulking is not a good look on you,” she notes.
“And bandages are not a good look on you, darling,” Reyna shot back.
A sigh.
“Please do not worry. I’m fine.” Another kiss, this time on Reyna’s forehead.
“Do we really need to argue about this? You are not fine. If I did not follow your blood tracks here then I would not have found you.”
“Really, Zyanya, do not worry so much. Wrinkles are appearing on your forehead.”
Sage lays back down with a quiet “oomph” and wriggles under the covers, dragging them up to her chin gently. A small, longing gaze at Reyna and a shift over to the right. An offering.
So Reyna takes it.
She stands up to seat herself besides Sage on this single-person bed, and combs her fingers through messy, matted, long hair.
“Be more careful next time,” she instructs. The duelist shuffles down under the covers, her body pressing against Sage’s, and tilts her head to face Reyna’s.
A kiss is pressed against her lips.
Short, sweet, loving.