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March 7th didn't remember much about her earlier life.
Sometimes she caught herself wondering what it had been like. It wasn't an usual occurrence—the thought unbidden, uncalled for in the middle of a sleepless night. Even so, the moment it was there her mind focused on it a bit too much, and she found herself trying to imagine what it had been like.
Had she had friends? Probably, right? Dr Welt had said something on the matter on figments of her personality remaining the same. And if she was surrounded by people she loved and who she hoped, loved her back, then what was the chance it hadn't been the same back there?
Had she had a family, little siblings who had looked up to her? Or had she been the younger sister to some amazing people, trying to make her own steps in the world while learning from the others' mistakes?
And most of all, though not the most important issue…
Had she loved?
Had she had someone who loved her back, a person that had shared intimate moments, kisses and deep conversations with her? Someone who she trusted deeply, who moved her heart in a new, different way—a different depth, even—and she had felt okay sharing her favorite meals with?
That particular matter nagged at her right then and there, as insistent as her pacing around the pristine, carpeted floor. The cadenced sound of her steps gave her some sense of peace, a wanted respite from the other doubts and thoughts that crowded her mind.
If anyone else asked what she was thinking about, or offered some support to the girl due to what she was probably enduring, they wouldn't have imagined that her thoughts circled around the issue of love. Not when there was a lot more happening out there, beyond the door that stood on the other wall.
Beyond the door that had been closed in front of her with a sense of finality, a hindrance she couldn't trespass then.
Yet it was better to think of love than to ponder over things she couldn't meddle, matters she couldn't help with. The fact that the one who had provoked such reflection needed help—not hers, as she didn't master the art of healing.
The fact that Stelle, her sweet Stelle, laid on a bed in the Sick Room and was being cared for by none other than Dr Welt.
March stopped for a second as the vision, or a figment of recollection about what had happened, assaulted her again. Hands curling into fists, she saw one more time what had transpired, the way the other woman had jumped in front of her in order to take a hit meant for her.
The way Stelle had winced in pain, refusing to scream despite the fact that she had already taken other, less important blows.
How Stelle had crumbled on March's feet, for a few seconds too stunned, hurt and lightheaded to move.
The archer had gasped, her heart twisting within her chest. An indescribable feeling took her over, the sensation of plunging into a dark abyss replacing rational thought, worry, everything, really. She had bent down to aid Stelle, to take her out of the monster's way, anger and tears rushing into her eyes.
Then, the moment she had stood in front of the Trailblazer, she launched a volley of arrows that hit their target without mercy, Ice lacing each and every single hit in an intensity that was new.
It had solved the problem, true. More than halting the beast it had ultimately defeated it, giving her, Stelle and Dan Heng the respite they needed. Every since they got to Belabog it had been one thing after the other and they hadn't had the time to run back to the Astral Express even for resting.
Somehow the moment March had taken another look at Stelle, she knew the only alternative they had was to do so right then and there.
Hence they had made their careful way back. Stelle had stirred at some point, attempted to deny their aid and need for help on healing—asking why they hadn't gone to Nat instead of returning to the train. She had had yet to see the severity of her wounds, or to come to terms with how deep and worrisome they were. Although Stelle had tried to insist on walking, March was adamant she would remain in her arms.
Then Dr Welt took a cursory look at the wounded trailblazer, asked them to hurry to the Sick Room and shunned March from the room after giving his patient a concerned glance.
It had been the confirmation that the archer needed. Or at the very least, that her mind clung to in order to spiral down.
Worrying wouldn't solve a thing and she knew, however, which was why she ended up wondering about the feelings she had experienced when Stelle was hurt.
If she had had such significant bonds before.
If she had loved, and if whatever she was sensing right then and there could be called as such.
Her steps remained the one sound in that hallway. Such absence of stimuli allowed her to keep a steady rhythm instead of falling to the chaos of her thoughts, the erratic heartbeat that still took her over. The one which quickened whenever she recalled Stelle, bleeding in her arms, trying to argue that she was fine and they shouldn't give up then. That they would lose track of their enemy if they actually pulled back.
That she was used to taking hits, and would have taken others if that meant March was safe and sound.
The words had stung. They had made tears well in her eyes, the smile which accompanied them a sweet promise that was scary instead of reassuring. Maybe it wouldn't have been that bad if someone else had said it.
Maybe it wouldn't be that worrisome, if someone she didn't love offered that sort of unasked protection.
She was dimly aware of the anguish which slowly took hold of her. A shadow that was cast over thoughts and feelings, ultimately stopping her earlier trail of thought.
Eventually making her anxiety halt, her feet stop, and her eyes brighten with tears one more time.
She was unable to tell when the memory of that moment had overcome reality. Or how long she had been pacing outside of the infirmary, the Sick Room as she had called it so many times ago. So many times she had been there, mostly due to some minor injury that needed little attention.
It was something else, being on the outside of that door and having to wait, and breathe, and get her act together since she was fretting over the one being treated.
How much longer would it take until Dr Welt left? Until she heard a sound that wasn’t shifting, an anguished cry or the other that pierced her heart like nothing had ever done before?
How much longer until she was given answers, allowed her mind to rest knowing that her recklessness hadn’t put Stelle in terrible danger?
She should have been more careful, taken the fight more seriously. Maybe put some more distance between her and the monster, so she could have had a clearer shot and not placed herself in such open danger. Used as she was to shield others, it was another thing altogether to be shielded. By the person she had found in unusual circumstances.
The woman she has slowly but surely started liking, more than just as a fellow trailblazer out in the wide, open space. And if her response to that accident wasn’t telling as to how she felt about Stelle, then she wasn’t sure what would be.
Love, a different kind of care, tugged in her heart. She had heard that romantic love was sweet, a warm sensation that would make her soar, see life in different hues. Yet the emotion that flooded her right then and there, twisted by the darkness of worry and the uncertainty of the future, was stifling, piercing, and dark.
The thought that she had just discovered love, and perhaps lost the one who had awakened it in her, stronger than anything else.
Standing still in the middle of the hallway, face pale and the usually bright, pink-and-blue eyes dimmed with fear, she looked more like a ghoul than a living soul. As if she were the one in pain, suffering from something internal instead of the wound which had taken down Stelle. Although without that sacrifice, she would have been the one within that room—and perhaps the fight would have had a distinct outcome—she couldn’t help but wonder if their victory hadn’t been a bittersweet one.
If by putting herself in front of March, Stelle hadn’t sacrificed too much indeed.
She was almost breathless by that thought and would have agonized for a lot longer if the door beside her hadn’t been soundlessly swung open. She would have heard it anyway, attuned as she was to the Sick Room and any shift occurring in it. Swiftly March turned around, just in time to see a tired-looking Dr Welt emerge from the dimly lit place.
Their gazes met, and he didn’t need any words in order to know what answers wanted, needed , more than anything in the world.
“She is stable.”
Those words hung in the hallway, in March’s mind and heart. It gave her enough respite so that the worst lines of thoughts were laid to rest. A bit of the darkness that had clung to her, eradicated by the promise in them.
It was enough so that the archer could allow herself not to hear whatever else the doctor had to say. Although he went on talking, she nodded here and there without really paying attention, instead trying to (not so subtly) crane her neck around him in order to take a small peek inside the room.
Yet there was nothing but a still gloom behind the man. No sound came from it, at least nothing that March could hear underneath Welt’s voice. Her heart quickened again and her eyes widened despite what little else she had absorbed from his explanation: something something about blood loss making Stelle weak, or the location of the wound being important, almost hitting a vital organ—
Then she could take that no more. The knowing and not knowing, the absence of sound. The lack of sight, and even more so the myriad of emotions which swirled within March’s head and heart—that demanded her to see Stelle instead of just standing there and nodding.
She made to go left, then ducked right when the sudden motion took Welt by surprise. Vowing to apologize later, the woman went into the dark room and bolted towards the single mattress that was occupied right there, somehow knowing which of the three ones it would be.
Candlelight fell on Stelle’s pale face, glowed silver as it fell on her hair. There was no trace of pain on her expression, something that filled March with relief. Nor did she catch any glimpse of the dread that had been there during their battle, contorted the face of the woman she loved into something scary, ultimately afraid.
In a sense, it was good to watch her resting. Her chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, slower than the cadence of March’s breath or her earlier, methodical steps in the hallway. She was covered by a thin linen sheet, one that obscured the wounds that had certainly been dressed by Dr Welt. It was better that way: March wasn’t sure she was up to the task of confronting what her carelessness had caused just yet.
For a few moments, just seeing Stelle was enough. Hearing her breath, standing by the side of her bed, was exactly what March had wanted, even if she was aware they weren’t alone. Dr Welt remained behind her, a shadow that understood the value of silence and didn't try to either stop them or explain something more.
A shadow that left them alone a few minutes later, after briefly squeezing March’s shoulder and telling her to take care of their patient.
It was then that March collapsed on the chair that had been placed beside that one mattress. Eyes stinging, heart in turmoil since she wasn’t sure if Stelle would ever wake up, she finally allowed herself to cry.
Even if it was quiet, so as to not disturb the woman who deserved rest. The woman who had saved her, and who meant so much to her.
Even if it was brief, interrupted only by a moment of self-awareness before more tears flowed again.
March couldn’t recall if she had ever cried like that, or felt so much for someone else. Although she and Stelle hadn’t met that long ago, there was a bond between them that was undeniable. That bond tugged in her heart, offered a few fearsome thoughts instead of aid.
March couldn’t recall if she had ever been that desperate, or pleaded for an unconscious one’s forgiveness. Her words were broken and mumbled. They came through parted lips and an almost broken heart, mostly because she didn’t know what else to do.
Mostly because she was sure—
Through closed eyes and the haze of her pain she failed to note other changes to the world around her, the small room which had become her own Universe at that moment. The fact that someone saw her, albeit briefly, and struggled against aching muscles and a foggy mind in order to reach forward. Until a hand closed feebly around the one that shielded her face as she cried, she wasn’t aware of anything else but her misery.
Then warmth flooded March from that touch, and she looked up in surprise.
Tearful eyes made it tough to distinguish what made an amber light which was shining back at her. A blink, and she saw the ghost of a smile playing on a pale face, unfocused amber irises trying their hardest to stay trained on her. The fingers that clung to her own almost slipped away, tired as Stelle was in order to hold that connection for too long.
March acted before that could be severed, however. Catching Stelle’s hand on her own, she cupped it and rubbed slow, tender circled on the back, the palm. The inside of the wrist, where her middle and index fingers felt an answering pulse.
For a moment they reveled in that. In the certainty that they hadn’t been left with nothing after a mission gone bad. That they had each other then, and would have each other for who knew how long.
As Stelle closed her eyes and allowed herself to rest, March let herself weep once more, scoot her chair closer to the bed and lay her cheek on the mattress, too.
Her tears were of joy, of the love that was slowly but surely overtaking worriness, stress, guilt. They intensified and turned into a smile once the hand she was still holding moved away, gradually made its way to March’s hair and cosseted it.
“I’m… so glad you are… okay.” Stelle’s voice was coarse, small. Barely a whisper, but filled with an intensity that was stronger than everything else.
It surely filled the archer’s heart with an even stronger feeling, relief dissipating any lingering shadows that could make that moment anything other than sweet.
“Me too, Stelle. Me too.”
Nothing more was said. Nothing more needed to be said, not at that moment. The two women just let themselves stay in peace, enjoyed the closeness and the warmth they got from each other as well.
In the dim lights of the still room, they fell asleep with smiles on their faces and the comforting lull of love blossoming in their hearts.