Chapter Text
As the moon dipped below the horizon, the bunker had an unusual air of stillness.
The dimly lit corridors and common rooms were almost empty, and only occasional murmurs and the rumble of machinery could be heard. The majority of the Turkish soldiers had retreated to their quarters for rest after a long shift of hard labour, and the other survivors were tucked away in quiet corners reading, contemplating or sleeping. Even Rana and Felix had swapped their usual, loud board game session for calm moments of solitude. Almost all activity had ceased for the night, except for Sylvie and Ines, who found themselves in a small, isolated room at the far end of the underground complex with one more task to complete.
The older woman sat on a wooden stool at a desk; her hollowed features softened by the soft warm glow of candlelight. Ines was busy setting up her makeshift tattooing equipment, which consisted of a mismatched array of supplies she had stumbled across whilst scavenging from a local house a couple of weeks prior. Whoever lived there must have been in the process of learning, as a beginners guide had been conveniently left out. Whilst she had been practising on herself in her free time, she had never given someone else a tattoo before. However, when Sylvie had approached her with a request, the younger woman couldn’t say no.
"Are you sure about this?" Ines asked, glancing up at Sylvie with a mixture of excitement and anxiety. "I've never done this to someone else before, you know."
Sylvie shrugged and gave her a typical, nonchalant expression. "I trust you," she said simply. "Besides, I've probably been through worse pain."
Ines giggled nervously then took a deep breath, trying to steady her shaky hands. She had spent a copious amount of time planning the tattoo over the past few days. The older woman had requested a simple design consisting of a series of different numbers and letters and Ines wanted to get it right – or at least as close to right as possible, she was no artist.
Sylvie rolled up her sleeve, exposing her muscular forearm. The skin there was pale and roughened from previous years of service and the harshness of more recent events. Ines carefully cleaned the area with a damp cloth, her touch gentle and precise.
"You know this is gonna sting a bit," Ines warned with laughter, raising her eyebrows at the older woman as she continued to wipe the skin.
Sylvie nodded, a small grin appearing on her face as her eyes met Ines'. "I know, just do it."
Ines took another deep breath, picked up the tattoo gun and began. The first prick of the needle made Sylvie's muscles contort and tense, but she didn't flinch. Ines worked methodically, her face strained with a concentration that was deep and focused.
"What do all these numbers mean?" Ines asked casually after a while, the steady hum of the needle filling the silence.
Sylvie's gaze dropped to her hand that lay limp on the desk. "It's a reminder," she said simply, her voice level. "A reminder of Henri. This was his army number."
“Oh that’s a nice idea,” Ines replied, trying to not let any surprise show in her voice. Even during their most heartfelt conversations, Henri was a name Sylvie rarely brought up. “Do you miss him?”
The older woman sighed and fidgeted in her seat slightly.
“Yes,” she said after a short pause. “But I’m sure everyone here has people they miss.”
Ines nodded thoughtfully.
“But he died before the sun thing didn’t he? That must make it worse, right?”
Sylvie’s muscles suddenly tensed, and Ines drew the tattoo gun away with a gasp.
“What do you want me to say Ines?” The older woman exclaimed, the increased volume in her voice cracking the air like a whip.
“I- I just was asking?” Ines stammered, retreating with her hands raised defensively.
“Yeah well-“
Sylvie's facial features then softened and she dropped her shoulders with an exhausted sigh. “Sorry, you were just being kind. I get it.”
Ines watched silently and cautiously as the older woman readjusted in her seat.
“You know, I was going to kill myself after he died, that's why I was on that plane.” Sylvie finally spoke. “It's hard, but I’m still here.”
“I’m sorry.” Ines placed her fingers upon the older woman’s hand for a moment, hesitantly stroking the pale digits. Sylvie smiled, but Ines noticed how it didn’t quite reach her eyes. She then gestured to Ines to continue with the tattoo.
“You had a boyfriend too, yes? Do you miss him?” Sylvie questioned, changing the subject and turning to face the younger woman with a look of mild curiosity.
Ines paused for a moment and let the buzzing of the needle fill the silence.
“Yeah, I had a boyfriend, but nothing was real.” She sighed, leaving Sylvie looking confused.
“I mean, it was a real relationship and everything, but it was just for likes and quick fucks. He was hot, but he didn’t like me. Everything was fake.”
Sylvie opened her mouth to speak, but she wasn’t sure what to say, so she just raised her eyebrows in response.
“He cheated on me before the world went to shit, so I don’t really miss him.” Ines finished with a shrug.
“He sounds very fake.” Sylvie stated sympathetically, studying the younger woman’s face.
“Yeah, it’s just how it is on social media, everything is fake. I don’t actually look like how I do in those photos.” Ines responded.
Her mind drifted to a different time, one where not only her livelihood was based on the opinions of others, but so was her worth. Opinions ranged from being about her relationships to the way she dressed, and to every tiny detail on her body. She was young when she started online, too young. The yearn for validation from strangers became ingrained in her very being – but it wasn’t like that held any significance now. “The better I looked, the more popular I became. I only got invited to DJ at events because people knew my name, but it none of it was real.”
“That sounds like it was tough.” Sylvie said thoughtfully. The older woman’s mind retraced its steps back to a starry sky in Bulgaria. She remembered how Ines confessed her struggle with an eating disorder and how it left her physically ill and weakened. Sylvie knew she wasn’t that much older than Ines, but her world seemed so incredibly far away from what she was used to. It sounded superficial and suffocating, and Sylvie could only sympathise with what that must have been like for the younger woman.
Ines smiled shyly at the older woman’s validation, momentarily drawing her eyes away from the work at hand. “There is one way I can cope with it.”
“I thought you stopped doing that.” Sylvie responded, a tone of confusion and concern creeping into her voice. Her mind yet again raced back to their previous conversations.
Images of toilet bowls, scales and hospitals intruded Ines’ thoughts for a moment before she regained composure.
“I have, I promise, I’m better now. I do think about it sometimes, but trying not to die is more important.” The younger woman admitted, tilting her head as she spoke. The pair shared a small sympathetic smile before bringing their focus back to Sylvie’s forearm.
Quiet minutes stretched on as the tattoo slowly took shape. Ines worked with a determined look upon her face, her tongue sticking out slightly as she focussed on the more precise areas. Sylvie's face remained nonchalant, but silent communication passed between them with every glance. She had almost finished the last digit when the tattoo gun made a loud crunching sound and the needle’s movements fizzled out.
“Shit. The gun is jammed.” Ines complained, leaning back in her chair and wiping sweat from her brow as she inspected the gadget.
“Let me look.” Sylvie instructed, reaching out a tattooed arm to take a closer look at the device. After a minute of contemplating she shook her head and let out an exasperated sigh.
“This is beyond me. Take it to Horst or Felix tomorrow, I’m sure they’ll help you fix it.”
“But your tattoo, I didn’t finish the last number.”
“I think I will survive a day with the eight looking like a three.” Sylvie smirked. Ines giggled and they bumped their knees together as they laughed.
“Thank you for this.” Sylvie praised, pulling up her sleeve once again to reveal the inked design, “it’s just what I wanted.”
Ines simply shrugged. Inside however, pride rose in her chest from the older woman’s validation.
“Thanks for trusting me.”