Chapter Text
Tik-tok. The hours pass by as you watch the clock on the wall. You and Roman stand guard as the outbreak of crime continues for the third day. You clutched the guitar in your hand, and you could hear Roman pace on the floor above you, his footstep heavy as he checked and double-checked each floor. His heavy footsteps found their way through the staircase leading down to the basement where you are hiding.
“I don't think looters will dig a hole in the wall to sneak past you; get up here,” he commanded, his voice strained. He’s been grumpy the whole week, and you do everything to stay on his good side.
You placed the guitar down gently and followed him upstairs; he handed you the crowbar. “Up on the second floor,” he ordered.
“Okay,” you said as you turned around to do as he asked, but he suddenly pulled your arm sharply, and you nearly winced.
“Stay vigilant. If anything moves, call me,” he said before letting you go. His eyes lingered on you as you slowly turned away and climbed up. It's not a surprise that he cares for everyone, but after his last fight with Marko, a little fear of him settles deep in your mind.
You climb upstairs and guard the holes in the wall, you’ve meant to fix that if ever Marko could salvage enough materials for it. You also plan on reinforcing the door to add more protection for you and your friends. You sat on the side and watched outside; you swear, if you listened hard enough, you could hear gunshots from the distance. You look up at the sky; it's filled with stars, and if you imagine hard enough and drown your surroundings out, you could pretend that none of this is real. Once you open your eyes, you’ll be back at home with your family. It's been so long since you’ve seen them—since you’ve seen your younger brother—but at least you’re glad he’s safe now.
You’re watching the distance when a door slammed open downstairs, followed by Roman’s shouting. You clutched the crowbar and headed downstairs to see a band of looters—three of them—fighting off Roman. The one in front was a burly old man with a knife in his hand, and the two behind him were lanky, probably barely eighteen, and looking scared. You almost pity them; they probably just wanted some food and medicine, but stealing is never the way to do it. Roman fought off their old man, disarming him. His training in the militia really comes in handy at times like this. The two boys are on the side, waiting for their opportunity to step in, watching Roman closely. You saw one of them step up, and your next action surprised you.
“Roman!” You shouted as you charged toward one of them, distracting the old man to help Roman. You swung the crowbar, unintentionally missing the kid and creating an opening for them to attack you. One of them swings a punch and hits you right in the eye, making you lose your balance and collapse on the floor. You hear Roman grunt as he pushes the old man and steps between you and the kids. You look up at his back as he fights those two, beating them down, when a huge shadowy figure appears on the left, swinging a knife at Roman.
“Look out!” You pointed.
Roman dodged in time, broke his arm, and kicked the knife your way. He punched him in the face and picked up your crowbar. Roman swung, hitting him in the sides. And when he knew he couldn’t win, he took his sons out of your shelter and disappeared in the night.
Roman caught his breath. The crowbar clattered on the floor, and he turned to you. “What are you doing?” He asked, irritation evident in his voice.
"I.. was trying to help you,” you said.
Roman clicked his tongue. He took some water from the supplies and wet a clean towel. He kneeled beside you as he cleaned your wound. “That was stupid. You know nothing when it comes to fighting, why would you do that?! These people are killers, they won't care that you’re a defenseless woman.”
“Two of them are boys,” you defended them.
“And yet one manages to give you a black eye.” Roman sighed. He cradled your busted face and said, "Don't do that ever again.”
“I'm fine,” you said as you tried to stand up. His hand gripped your arm to help you up. “I mean, you’re here, so I'm fine.”
Roman looked at you. His eyes were hard, cold, and conflicted. “You know I would die for you, right?”
That took you off guard. You stared at him blankly as you felt the rush of blood on your cheeks. You know he cares, you’ve always known. But his declaration still comes as a shock to you. And then a realization hits: it's true that under normal circumstances, the best course of action was to hide, to leave it to him because you know he’s the best fighter you’ve ever known. To trust him to protect you. But with that inner strength for you to step up, you now understand it.
“And you know I would kill for you,” you said. You feel your heart thudding in your chest, and the rush of blood on your cheeks stains it redder than you like. Roman looked at you, his eyes softening.
“You should rest for a while,” he said.
“I’ll rest if you rest,” you retorted, making him crack a smile.
“Let’s wait for Marko to be back, and I hope he brought a lot of useful stuff,” he said as he helped you to the armchair.
The two of you stayed awake the whole night until Marko came back early in the morning with his haul from the semi-detached house a few blocks from your shelter.
“I found plenty of really fine stuff. What a night!” Marko exclaimed as he came back early in the morning. He looked at you, seeing the black eye, then at Roman.
“We got raided,” you informed him before he assumed the worst. Marko nodded, and we continued our day.