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“Go.”
“Yes ma’am.”
It had been quiet, until it wasn’t.
Cold, until it wasn’t.
Searing, burning pain, tearing up flesh and making his vision white out, until it wasn’t.
Alex Keller had walked into that building, on her command, and he had left a part of him, beyond the damaged leg.
It’s easy for his mind to wander back to that horrid place. The seconds before the explosives - a split second of recognition and an attempt to flee, before his ears were ringing, lungs screaming, and legs failing underneath him. Bleeding and afraid, convinced he would die there.
For a moment, he’d wished that the explosion itself had just finished him off.
Alex glances up, blinking off the memory as if it’s nothing but a bad dream.
The past is the past, he’s healing from his injuries, and he’s alive. It’s part of the job, and he will simply keep going, until it feels like his current disjointed, terrifying position is normal again. It hurts a lot, not just physically, but he will move on.
It hurts a hell of a lot more knowing that Farah hasn’t visited once.
But she’s busy. He knows that. There’s no malice in her decision, nothing personal, but an irrational part of him worries that something will be different. That when he does see her again, and he will, that they won’t be how they were. The thought of losing that is millions times worse than losing a limb, because at least he did that for her.
Despite everything, not a single part of him can regret his decision. That’s something he will maintain.
Pushing himself to a standing position, he uses his bed frame for support, then reaches for one of the crutches balanced against his bedside table.
He doesn’t exactly need them anymore to balance, but it makes it way fucking easier, and he’s learned that it’s better to not do things for the sake of proving he can. That’s how he usually ends up having to call somebody to help. And sure, everybody is lovely to him, but he hates the pitying looks and careful handling, as if he’s not a soldier.
So he uses the crutch, and he grabs his clothes that he’d set aside the night before, and he gets dressed with relative ease. Which is good. It’s a sign that he’s adjusting.
That’s what he has to keep reminding himself, because Alex is a horribly stubborn person when it comes to his own needs, and this entire ordeal has essentially shoved in his face that he needs to take care of himself and listen to his body.
That’s not exactly something he’d wanted to hear, ever.
Just as he’s sitting down again to take a minute, since it still takes a lot out of him to work around these changes, he hears footsteps outside his door.
His ears ring as he tries to focus into the silence.
Then, a gentle knock. Almost as if the person on the other side doesn’t know whether they’re allowed, or even want to enter.
“Come in,” he says, running a hand through his hair, and the door is gingerly pushed open.
Farah stands in the doorway, and he feels any resolve left in him crumble.
They stare at each other in silence for a moment.
“Farah.”
Alex tries to keep his voice even, but he can’t help the emotion that slips into it.
Where have you been?
I needed you.
I missed you.
I love you.
“Alex.’” She replies, sounding breathless, and her eyes are clouded with tears already. There’s a pang in Alex’s chest.
“How are you?”
She’s trying so desperately to hold herself together, it’s agonising to watch. Her face is set in a way that’s practically begging tears not to fall, fists clenched at her sides.
He smiles. Then gestures for her to come to him.
Farah does.
She walks over to his bed, and when he tugs her down to his level by her hands, she doesn’t run from it.
Alex brushes the hair out of her face and wipes the tears from her eyes.
Farah pulls him into a tight embrace.
It almost hurts, but he wraps his arms around her, closing his eyes, and then she relaxes slightly, her shoulders beginning to shake.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, “I should have come sooner.”
Her body stutters with restrained sobs.
“I was just- I thought that I would be stronger. But you’re alive, and you’re actually here.”
Humming, Alex holds her closer.
“I’m here.”
There’s a pause as those words wash over them both, holding onto each other as if one would slip away again.
They’re both alive, and that’s a blessing in itself.
“I didn’t think you’d want to see my face again.” Farah says, calmer now, but hesitant and pulling back.
Alex wants to pull her in and kiss her until she understands how much he’d give her in a heartbeat.
“I told you to give me the order, you did as I asked. I don’t regret it.” Alex reaches for her hand. He squeezes it lightly, and she shakes her head.
“You could’ve been killed.”
He would. Happily. Over and over again.
“I wasn’t.” He chooses to say. Then, after a moment, “Can’t get rid of me that easily.”
Farah breathes a laugh, and cups his hand in her own. Part of her is still desperately trying to register that the man in front of her is real - alive, and she hadn’t sent him to his death.
He was injured for her, and that’s heavy enough guilt to drive her away for the past few months.
“Are you doing any better? After the injuries.” She looks into his eyes, searching and concerned.
“I’m adjusting,” he shrugs, then nods at his residual limb, “This is taking some getting used to, but I’ll manage. You know that.”
Farah nods.
“Do you want to… talk about it?” Her voice is uncertain, but the worry in her face is clear. Not pity, she respects him too much. Just concern.
Alex doesn’t know how to respond.
“About what?” He says, dumbly.
“Being injured. It’s not easy to deal with. I know you, you’re not going to tell anybody if it’s weighing on you.” Farah watches him carefully, checking that she’s not overstepping.
She’s too good for him, really.
Alex forces a chuckle, then considers it, and that’s all it takes.
Just to consider talking about it tears the memory; back up, sucking him into it, and suddenly, he’s back in that warehouse, and the explosives are about to go off. He’s running, but he knows it’s futile.
His ears are ringing, and there’s a burning sensation in a limb that no longer exists.
He can smell gunpowder, burning, the metallic scent of blood. His vision blurs, and every nerve ending is on fire.
“Alex?” A gentle voice breaks through, and Farah is with him again.
He blinks back at her, disoriented, heart still racing in his chest, and makes a questioning noise.
“You were off somewhere else,” she rubs her thumb across his hand in small circles, glancing down at it, “You’re safe, with me.”
Alex nods, again, dumbly. Those words alone bring the tension out of his posture that’s been lingering for months.
“We don’t have to talk about it, or anything you don’t want to. But I’m here when you do.” She presses one hand to his chest, feeling his heart thundering underneath, making Alex scramble for an excuse.
“I’m tired, I’m sorry. I didn’t sleep all that great.”
She doesn’t believe him, and he knows that, but she doesn’t call him on it.
Instead, she bends over to slip off her boots, then shuffles back on his bed to rest against his pillows and pulls Alex to join her.
His head ends up resting in her lap, her arms draped over his shoulders, and they stay that way for a while, until the rising and falling of Alex’s chest reaches a normal rhythm.
He’s in his room, and Farah is holding him. Time has moved since that incident he was sure would kill him, and things feel right.
She traces a finger across his face, over the lines of his features, and he closes his eyes. It’s almost too calm, but he’s not about to let himself ruin another good thing by anticipating its destruction.
Farah hums quietly. Alex swears he could call this home.
“Alex.” She says gently.
He opens his eyes, and she smiles, expression overflowing with love.
“I don’t think you’ve ever been so quiet for so long.”
Alex makes an offended sound, turning around and playfully shoving her, before settling back into her arms.
“First you’re saying you missed me, then you’re saying I talk too much, make up your mind!”
She laughs, a sound that he has missed every day since he last heard it.
“I didn’t say you talk too much, I said you’re being quiet. It’s unsettling.”
“Okay! I’ll fill in the silence then.” He says, crossing his arms, and she raises an eyebrow.
Then he realises he doesn’t have all that much to talk about, considering most of his time is currently spent in his room or with medical staff, and draws a blank.
“Go on?”
“Give me a moment, genius takes time.”
Farah can’t help but roll her eyes at that, tapping his forehead.
“Is that what you’re calling it?”
Alex gives a quick nod, just as he manages to dig up something he’s been meaning to ask.
“You killed Barkov, didn’t you? One of the soldiers mentioned it.”
She pauses for a second, but makes a sound of confirmation.
They’ve avoided talking about pasts, mutually, simply sharing stories, acknowledging and validating the other, then moving on, leaving it unearthed but untouched. Regardless, Alex knows what that man has done to her, and he knows that it must’ve been a lot to kill him herself.
“I did, yes.”
“What was it like?”
Farah’s face is a confusing mixture of emotions, but Alex had anticipated that. He reaches up to brush across her jaw, and she puts a hand over his.
“Satisfying. It’d been something he deserved for a long time, but,” she furrows her eyebrows, searching for words, “Not as clean cut of an ending as it seemed at the time.”
Glancing down at Alex, she sighs.
“But it felt good. To see him scared of me.”
“Damn right. He was long overdue for his karma.”
“And we stopped him. You let me do that.” Her voice is soft.
Thank you.
“Anytime, Commander.”
Alex is quiet for a while, before he takes in a breath.
He feels braver now, but it’s still terrifying. Especially when every inch of him wants to deny anything happened at all.
“With the… injuries and all,” he begins, and Farah listens intently, squeezing his hand, “It’s not so bad now. I mean- hurts a bit every now and then, but that’s not really the worst part.”
Frustratingly, the words for whatever he’s dealing with has slipped his mind. He knows that the doctors have mentioned it more than once, but he’d pushed it away, unwilling to admit he was struggling at all.
Now, with his Commander seeing through him, it seems pointless to lie to himself, or her.
“The memories. They’re so vivid.”
There’s a shaking to his words.
“Sometimes I think they’re worse than it was when it happened.”
Farah’s face falls, because she knows all too well how that feels.
“It was a traumatic injury, Alex. It’ll take time to process it all.”
She shifts, and he sits up, turning to face her.
“Talking helps, but so does time. You have to heal mentally as well.”
“I know.” He becomes quiet again, pulling himself inward.
“I just thought I wasn’t the kind of person, you know?”
He looks so utterly lost in that moment that Farah can only pull him into her, combing fingers through his hair.
If she could take it all away from him, she would, but she knows firsthand that war is war, and no matter how much you love somebody, it won’t save them. Especially not from themself.
“I know. I did too. You’re allowed to hurt.”
“It’s like… the memory is just there, waiting to be ripped up again, and then I’m in that room again, and everything is white and burning and I’m in agony.” He runs a hand over his face, accidentally touching a tear on his cheek.
That snaps him out of it for a moment, because what is he doing?
He should be grateful he’s alive at all, there are people much worse off, and really, he hasn’t got it all that bad. So what is he still so upset over?
“Don’t run from it, it’s okay.” Farah smiles sadly, and he tries to fight it anyway.
Part of her wishes that she’d never sent him there, but more than anything, she wishes that it’d never been necessary.
“You’ve dealt with so much, and you did it alone. It’s okay to cry.”
The dam breaks; he’s not able to stop the flood of tears, silent, but making his body shake with each breath in. It’d taken longer to come out, but it’s been a long week, and Farah being here after all this time has just set everything on overdrive.
He feels so weak. All of those emotions he’d been trying to bury, all coming to the surface. Feeling safe in Farah’s company is both a blessing and a curse; there’s nowhere to hide from his feelings, no way to push everything down, when she already makes him feel so whole.
“You’re doing so well Alex. Breathe.”
He does, and he holds onto her tightly, as if she’s breathing itself, and to let go would bring him back to choking in gunpowder poisoned buildings.
Farah rubs circles into his back.
She bites back her own tears, frustration and guilt pushed aside for now, because he needs somebody, and as much as it hurts to see him so upset, that’s something she can deal with later.
“You’re safe.” She repeats; her voice is something for him to hold onto, letting it keep him in the present. Everything Farah does seems to be strategic, grounding him.
They stay like that for a while, until Alex calms down, and Farah goes back to tangling her fingers in his hair, wordlessly pressing a kiss to the top of his head.
“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, uncertain, “You came to see me and ended up having to comfort me.”
Farah shakes her head.
“So did you.” She sighs, looking down at him.
“I think we both needed it.”
Alex stares up at her, blindsided, as always, by how much affection he holds for this woman, and nods.
“I missed you.”
“I missed you too.” There’s that same barely restrained emotion in her voice.
I’m sorry.
I love you.
Alex just smiles. She smiles back.
That exhausted part of him is once again able to believe that they’re going to be just fine.