Work Text:
Hermit sunk the brush into her long, light blue locks, letting the bristles slide gently through her green-tinged hair, which colored her already colorful light blue strands even more. Every movement was measured, methodical, like a sequence of commands executed with the utmost precision. But it wasn’t just a habit: it was a small ritual, an intimate moment of calm before going to bed.
The soft light of the bedroom she shared with her Weisz created a warm and reassuring atmosphere. The reflection in the rabbit-shaped mirror he had given her gave her a familiar image, but there was always that strange, almost imperceptible sensation when she looked at herself for too long. A shadow behind her eyes, a scar that couldn’t be seen, but that existed all the same.
She lowered her gaze for a moment, observing her hands. Artificial hands, perfect in their structure. And yet, every now and then, she seemed to still feel something that shouldn’t be there.
Like an echo of the past.
She shook her head, shaking off that thought.
Weisz was still out.
He had promised her that before going to sleep they would finish watching that vintage TV series that they were so passionate about, so as to pass the time and in the meantime have some ordinary cuddles between lovebirds, which they needed so much given the long days always spent on the needles.
She placed the brush delicately on the nightstand and crossed her arms, glancing at the closed door. How long was that blond still taking? Their bed was already made, the covers pulled up carefully, a habit he would never have had without her. She imagined him still in their garage used as a laboratory, his brow furrowed as he lost himself in gears and schemes, unaware of the hours that were passing.
A sigh escaped her lips.
Not that she minded. After all, that was exactly what she liked about him. That stubbornness of hers, that unbridled passion for mechanics, that obstinacy in wanting to fix everything, as if the entire world were just a mass of circuits to be put back in order.
But tonight was strange.
There was something in the air.
And that same air even seemed strangely heavy.
Too heavy.
She turned back to the mirror, picking up the brush again. She ran her fingers through her hair, smoothing it once more, enjoying the familiar sensation. A small gesture of normality.
Then—
The darkness exploded around her.
A dull thud, almost a sharp click, and the light went out abruptly.
The blue girl remained still, the brush still clutched between her fingers.
The silence became absolute.
Her pupils instantly adjusted to the darkness, scanning the room for an anomaly, a signal that would tell her what had happened.
A drop in energy?
A temporary glitch?
But something didn’t add up.
The air was different.
Colder.
More… suffocating.
It was as if the walls themselves had moved a few centimeters closer, compressing the space around her. A visceral, primal sensation.
Her hand moved on its own, searching for the switch of the bedside lamp. Click. Nothing. She tried again. Click. Still nothing.
Her heartbeat increased in pace, ready to pump blood through her veins even if they were not human.
She turned toward the door, but the room seemed even smaller now.
Or maybe it was just an illusion.
The echo of a breath.
Behind her.
Hermit stiffened, his muscles tense like steel cords.
It couldn’t be.
She was alone.
She knew it.
And yet…
An invisible pressure crept across her synthetic skin, a shiver she shouldn’t have felt. She never wanted to feel. Her mind worked at an impossible speed, analyzing data, searching for a rational explanation. But there wasn’t one.
The air was thick with something familiar.
A smell.
Metallic.
Stale.
Years old.
The darkness seemed to grow thicker, heavier, as if it had a consistency of its own.
Hermit felt his breath hitch in an imperceptible tremor.
Was it a suggestion? A glitch in his systems?
Or…
She wasn’t in her room anymore.
In their room.
A visceral horror twisted in her stomach as the cold of the floor seeped into her feet.
She wasn’t on Norma anymore.
She wasn’t in the present anymore.
She wasn’t even on Edens Zero.
She knew exactly where she was.
Her mind was betraying her. Or maybe not.
Hermit whirled around.
The darkness did not lift.
Weisz's old little room that had been their little refuge was truly gone.
In its place, a long gray corridor, bare, filthy, without windows. The walls were cold and sterile, not even illuminated by some artificial light, a place that is nowhere and everywhere at the same time. The floor was smooth, completely dirty, and every breath she took
it seemed to bounce off the air like an echo without origin.
The iron heart beat with an inexplicable fury.
No.
No, no, no.
It wasn't real.
It couldn't be.
She had run away from there
This doesn't make sense.
She and Weisz had killed him.
And in the other universes he had never touched her again.
How could this be?
Why isn't she at home?
Why was she here?
She was still wearing her pink nightwear as she had at home. Yet when she took a step back, the cold of the floor bit her through the thin fabric of her socks. And when she raised a hand, her fingers trembled slightly, stiff with a terror she shouldn't have felt.
The labs.
She was back in the labs.
Dr. Muller's.
The robot spun around, her throat tightening in an invisible grip. There had to be an explanation. A glitch in her code? A glitch in her perception system?
Her hands ran to touch her synthetic skin, searching for a point of reference, some tangible proof that she was still herself, still in the present. But there was no confirmation.
Only the cold, only the silence.
Then, the footsteps.
Slow.
Heavy.
Each sound echoed with an unnatural precision, as if the air itself amplified it, as if the walls around her were tighter, closer than she remembered.
Hermit held his breath.
It was an illusion.
It had to be.
But reality shattered the moment she saw him.
Muller.
The shadow of his figure lengthened on the grayish walls as he advanced with a sick calm, a crooked smile painted on his lips. His once-pristine lab coat was rumpled and dirty, with yellow stains at the edges of the sleeves. His eyes, small and eager, shone with sickly excitement. His mustache was dirty, his hair greasy.
Hermit felt panic tighten in her throat like a noose.
No.
No, he wasn’t there.
He was dead.
He was dead, and she was free.
And yet, there he was.
His gaze dug into her synthetic skin, his gnarled fingers moving like claws ready to close in on her.
“Oh, there you are, you beloved scrap metal…”
His voice.
The voice she should never hear again.
“You’ve finally come back to me.”
Hermit leapt back, but his legs felt like lead. The corridor stretched out endlessly behind her, but her movements were slow, awkward, as if she were immersed in a dense, suffocating substance.
She couldn't breathe.
The air seemed to be missing.
"There's no point in running away, you know." Muller advanced, one step after another, without haste, with the confidence of someone who knew he had already won. "We still have so much work to do, my dear."
The blue girl clenched her fists. A glimmer of rationality tried to impose itself in her mind.
It was a hallucination.
It had to be.
But the floor was so cold under her feet.
The air smelled of disinfectant and oxidized metal.
The heavy pounding of that sick man's footsteps filled every space in her mind.
It was real.
It was. real.
"Go away." His voice was more of a whisper than an order, strangled by anguish.
Muller tilted his head, his expression changing to something more amused, almost affectionate.
“Oh, junk… so long.”
His long, tapered fingers reached out for her.
And then they grabbed her.
The heat of his hands was sickening, his old, calloused fingers tightening around her wrist with unbearable force. He pulled her toward him with a snap, and Hermit felt a wave of panic explode in her chest.
She could feel it.
The grip was real.
She was back there.
She was a prisoner again.
No. No. NO.
Her breath hitched in a strangled sob as she tried to wriggle free, but her arms wouldn’t respond, her legs wouldn’t move. Muller smiled at her, his eyes shining with morbid pleasure as he watched her struggle.
“Stop struggling.” His voice softened, a mockery of tenderness that made her shiver. “You know you can’t run from me.”
His hand moved, touching her face.
And Hermit screamed.
A scream that exploded in the room, piercing, inhuman, a cry of pure terror that reverberated like a shockwave.
She was struggling, her hands trying to tear away a grip that wasn’t there, her body shaking uncontrollably. Muller was there. She could feel him. His hands touching her, squeezing her. His foul breath sliding across her synthetic skin like a rusty blade.
Her mind was trapped.
“NO! NO! LET ME GO! LET ME GO!”
Weisz woke with a start.
His heart sank as reality hit him, and it took a second too long for his brain to comprehend what was happening.
Hermit squirmed beside him in bed, her eyes wide but completely empty, her lips trembling, her breathing frantic and broken by uncontrolled sobs. His hands flailed in the void as if she was trying to defend herself from an invisible enemy.
The boy immediately grabbed her shoulders, trying not to squeeze her too hard.
“Hermit! Hey! It’s me! It’s me!”
But she didn’t hear him.
She writhed in his arms, her voice shrill and broken by something primal. Pure panic.
“PLEASE! PLEASE DON’T! DON’T!”
“Please, come to your senses! You’re home, You’re home!”
Every scream she made was a knife in his chest.
Weisz had seen her like this before. In Foresta, when they came face to face with her past. And, since they started sharing the same bed, it had happened that sometimes she had nightmares or cried in her sleep.
But something this explosive was too strong for even him to handle.
Sure, she knew Hermit had his own traumas. She knew what he had been through, even if they never talked about it too much, except for the bare minimum she had thought fit to tell him. But this? This was something else.
She was completely out of her mind.
As if she were… somewhere else.
“Hermit! Please, look at me! It’s me, Weisz!”
He caressed her face, trying to lock her gaze with his. But she didn’t see him.
She was suffocating in her own nightmare.
His heart was pounding in his chest, adrenaline roaring in his veins. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know how to help her.
And then the door banged open.
Weisz whirled around, his blood almost freezing in his veins as he saw Sibir burst into the room with her gun pointed and her beloved bird Poyo still on her shoulder.
“WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING?!”
Her eyes widened at the sight of Hermit, still in a panic.
Then, behind him, Irma, Weisz's mother.
The blonde woman was wrapped in only a bathrobe, her hair still ruffled from sleep, her face distorted with worry.
"What's this mess?! Weisz, Hermit, are you okay?!"
"NO, FUCK!" he shouted, still trying to hold Hermit still, who continued to struggle with the strength of someone who was fighting for his life.
Sibir looked around frantically, the gun still clutched in his hands. "Is there anyone home?!"
"NO!"
"THEN WHAT'S HAPPENING?!"
Hermit was sobbing, his fingers clawing at the sheets, his nails digging into Weisz's skin as he desperately tried to free himself from her "grip".
She couldn't recognize him.
And having all those people around didn’t help.
She was terrified.
She was stuck.
Weisz turned to her mother, her face distorted with anguish. “Mommy! Help me hold her still!”
Irma didn’t hesitate for a second.
She quickly moved closer and, with surprising gentleness, took Hermit’s hands in hers.
“Shh… it’s okay, baby.”
But Hermit wouldn’t calm down.
He was still panicking, his lips moving in disjointed words, his thin body tense with tension, struggling to break free from the light grip.
Sibir lowered the gun, her brow furrowed. “We have to wake her up.”
Weisz nodded frantically, then leaned over Hermit and, without thinking twice, pressed her forehead to his.
“Hermit, please…”
Her breath was hot against his cold skin.
“You’re safe. I’m here. You’re with me. You’re home.”
The words were a desperate whisper.
“He’s gone. You’re not there. You’re with me.”
Hermit trembled again.
Then her breathing began to slow.
Her eyes, wide in the void, finally focused on him.
He could feel her struggle stop, her body becoming less rigid in his arms.
And finally, the first real sign of sanity: a strangled sob.
Hermit’s eyes filled with tears, her mouth opening in a ragged breath.
And then she collapsed against his chest.
Weisz held her immediately, running a hand through her hair.
“Hey… hey…”
Hermit clung to him, fists clenched against the fabric of his shirt.
Irma stroked his head gently, while Sibir ran a hand over her head, her breathing still labored.
“Fuck, guys… you gave me a heart attack.”
Weisz didn’t answer.
He was too busy holding onto his Hermit.
The girl’s breathing, though still irregular, was slowly starting to even out. She was leaning against the blond’s chest, her hands clenched into fists on the fabric of his shirt, as if letting go would mean she’d be sucked back into that never-ending nightmare.
Weisz didn’t stop stroking her light blue hair, his movements gentle and steady, as he tried to instill confidence in her with every caress. His own mind was a chaos of emotions; fear, anger, helplessness. He had never seen Hermit so vulnerable that he could barely calm her, and knowing that she was so torn apart by a past she couldn't change burned inside him like a hot iron.
Irma leaned over the bed, whispering softly to Hermit. "You're safe, dear. We're all here. No one will hurt you.»
Sibir, who had put the gun on the nightstand, was massaging his face with one hand, still shaken. He didn't know how to handle the situation; his first reaction had been to fight a non-existent threat, but now he was facing a pain that he couldn't hit or push away with force.
6 months ago, when the blond returned to Norma with her from his trip to Edens Zero, Weisz had mentioned to both him and Irma, that Hermit had had "problems" with humans, and that living with them was not easy for her despite the experience with the crew and him having helped her. But the blond boy's mouth tightened on the details, and neither Sibir nor they had ever dared to ask so as not to upset her, preferring only to get to know the Hermit that was now, not if her deep wounds.
«Guys... how about we go down to the kitchen?» suggested Irma with a soft voice. “A nice cup of chamomile tea will do us good.”
Weisz nodded slowly.
“How about that?” he asked, looking at Hermit’s still pale, tear-stained face.
She didn’t answer, but the slight tilt of her head was enough. She wasn’t going to leave him. Not now. Not after what she’d seen, what she’d heard.
Weisz moved carefully, keeping an arm around Hermit to steady her as they got out of bed. She followed him obediently, glued to his side, her head down as if the world around her was still too big, too dangerous to let go.
The blonde woman led the way, while Sibir remained a few steps behind, her tough gangster protective instincts still on high, her watchful eyes checking every corner of the house as they descended the stairs.
The hallway to the kitchen was dark, lit only by the dim nightlight filtering through the window. Every creak in the floorboards seemed amplified, a reminder of the fragility of the moment that had just passed.
Weisz sat Hermit down on one of the kitchen chairs, and quickly grabbed a yellow blanket from the couch.
“Hold it tight, okay?” he said, wrapping it gently around her shoulders.
She immediately tightened it, as if that simple piece of cloth could protect her from all harm.
Irma filled a kettle with water and put it on the stove, her movements calm and precise, her face marked by maternal concern. “Hermit, honey, what do you want in your chamomile tea? Honey? Sugar?”
The robot looked up slightly, her pupils still dilated with fear. “Just… just a little honey, please.” Her voice was a broken whisper, but it was a start.
The blond boy sat down next to her, still keeping one hand on hers. Sibir positioned herself against the counter, crossing her arms in mock indifference while her beloved parrot Payo was still on her shoulder, looking at her best friend and trying to calm her girlfriend, still shaken by what had happened.
“Don’t worry, Hermit. Whatever it was, I won’t let it happen again.”
The pale blue girl looked down, a slight tremor still present in her hands.
“It was so… real.”
The blond leaned a little closer, the warmth of his presence trying to chase away the chill that enveloped her. “I know… but it wasn’t true. You were here, with me. In our room. No one will hurt you.”
Irma turned with three steaming mugs, placing one in front of each of them before taking hers. The sweet scent of chamomile filled the room, a small bubble of tranquility in an otherwise tormented night.
Hermit lifted the cup with both hands, seeking comfort in the warmth it radiated. She brought the cup to her lips, sipping slowly, the sweet taste of honey caressing her palate.
Silence fell over the kitchen, broken only by the ticking of the clock and the soft sips of hot drinks. It was a thick silence, full of unasked questions, unasked fears.
Weisz never took her eyes off Hermit, her thumb tracing small circles on the back of his hand. It was a subtle caress, a constant reminder of his presence.
After a while, Hermit spoke, her voice still shaking. “I thought I… I was back there. In the labs. He was there, Weisz. I felt him. I felt his hands on me.”
The blond boy closed his eyes, fighting the impotent rage that burned inside him. “I will never let him hurt you again. Ever.”
Irma reached out, stroking her shoulder. “You’ve come a long way, Hermit. This… this is just a stumbling block. But you’re not alone. You never will be.”
Hermit nodded weakly, a thread of tears still in his eyes. But for the first time since they’d woken up, it seemed like the grip of the past had loosened a little.
Sibir finished his chamomile tea with a loud swig, setting the cup down with an exaggerated clang. “Anyway, anyone who tries to come in here will have to deal with me. And believe me, it’s not a good day for make me angry.»
Hermit couldn’t help but smile, just perceptibly. Weisz, feeling that slight change in her, held her tighter.
«We’re all here, you’re not alone. Don’t worry. »
In the warm dim light of the kitchen, surrounded by those people...those humans who loved her, Hermit finally found some breathing space. She still held the cup in her hands, letting the heat of the ceramic warm her fingers. The trembling had subsided, she felt safe now, but inside her her heart was still beating too fast, as if her body hadn’t yet understood that it was out of danger.
Weisz was next to her, his arm resting on the back of the chair, always ready to hold her if she needed it as usual. Irma sat on the other side of the table, her face marked by a maternal worry, despite not being her daughter, while Sibir, leaning on the counter, watched her with millimetric attention, his jaw clenched.
A long silence filled the kitchen, thick as the steam rising from their cups.
The blue girl knew they were waiting.
She knew Weisz had only hinted, but never divulged what had happened.
And she knew none of the three would insist if she had decided to remain silent, but… she didn’t want to escape this reality anymore.
Not tonight.
Not after what had happened.
She breathed in slowly, trying to gather the courage to give voice to something she had always kept buried.
“In the dream… I was there.” Her voice was thin, as if she feared that saying those words would actually take her back.
Weisz stiffened slightly, but said nothing. He didn’t want to interrupt her.
Hermit looked down at the golden surface of the chamomile tea. “I was… locked in the underground bunker of the laboratories. The one he kept me in for two years.”
Irma held her breath. Sibir straightened, her brow furrowed. Weisz closed his eyes, his leg under the table moving nervously.
Hermit ran a hand over his arm, as if trying to chase away the cold that was enveloping her. “The lights went out suddenly… just like they used to. When he wanted to play with me.”
A shiver ran down her spine, and the blond immediately squeezed her hand, a silent gesture to remind her that he was there.
Hermit swallowed. “In the dream… I felt his hands on me. I could hear his voice. He said… he said I was a masterpiece.” His throat tightened on that last word, as if even saying it was an affront to his existence.
Irma raised a hand to her mouth, her eyes shining.
Sibir, on the other hand, moved away from the counter with an expression they had never seen on his face. He looked… shocked. Shocked and furious.
“That bastard…” he muttered, his voice low, full of venom.
Hermit nodded slightly, not looking at him. “He told me I wasn’t like the others. That I was special. But that wasn’t a compliment. It just meant he could do whatever he wanted to me.”
The cup shook in his hands.
“He could turn me off whenever he wanted. He could open me up, take me apart, try anything he could think of on me. Every object inserted, every slap, every punch, and every kick. What if I was in pain? He laughed. He said I was just scrap metal. That I wasn’t real.”
Irma closed her eyes for a second, as if she needed to catch her breath.
Sibir had turned away, his fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles were bruised against his dark skin.
Weisz bit the inside of his cheek, feeling a wave of poisonous anger rising inside him, but he didn’t let it show. He had already given that bastard his boot, and right now, Hermit needed security, not outbursts of rage.
She lowered her head, her voice almost a whisper. “As much as I’ve come to understand my own worth, sometimes I wonder… if he was right. If I’m really just… junk.”
Weisz didn’t let her finish her sentence.
He leaned in, resting his forehead against hers, just as he had before. “Don’t you ever say that again.”
Hermit looked up, surprised by the firmness in her voice.
Weisz looked straight into her eyes, his gaze filled with an anger that wasn’t for her, but for everything she’d been through. “You’re real, Hermit. You’re more real than anyone I know.”
Irma nodded immediately, her voice cracking with emotion. “It doesn’t matter what that monster did to you. You’re alive, Hermit. And you’re family.”
Sibir slammed her fist on the counter, making everyone flinch. “That bastard deserved to suffer more. If I had had it under my hands…” She stopped, gritting her teeth. There were not enough words to express what she felt.
Hermit looked at him, surprised. “Sibir…”
He crossed his arms, his face tense. “What? You thought I didn’t care? That I could hear something like that and stay calm?!”
Hermit hesitated. She hadn’t expected such a reaction from him.
Sibir snorted,running a hand over his smooth head. “You… you’re one of the toughest people I know. And knowing that bastard did all this to you… damn, it drives me crazy!”
He turned to Weisz, pointing a finger at him. “Tell me you at least killed him in the most painful way possible.”
Weisz smiled crookedly, though there was no joy in it. “Let’s just say he didn’t die well.”
Sibir nodded, satisfied. Then he turned back to Hermit.
“Listen to me, Hermit. I don’t know what you’ve been through, and I don’t want to know, but I know you’re here. You’re alive. And if you ever feel like junk again, then I’m going to punch Weisz because he’s failing as a boyfriend, okay?”
“HEY!”
“You gotta treat your girlfriend right, you moron!”
Hermit watched them bicker for a moment, surprised. Then, unexpectedly, she let out a soft, almost incredulous laugh.
“You… you are such idiots.”
Sibir shrugged. “Maybe. But at least we are idiots who care about you, especially the blond one.”
Irma stood up and walked over to Hermit, gently squeezing her hand in both of hers. “What we mean, honey, is that you are not alone. You never were, even if it felt that way sometimes.”
Weisz moved even closer, putting an arm around her shoulders. “And you never will be. I promise.”
Hermit felt the weight in his chest ease, at least a little.
He was still afraid. Maybe he always would be.
But as she looked at Weisz, Irma, and Sibir around her, feeling the warmth of their hands, she realized something.
She was not alone anymore.
Those humans would never hurt her.
And maybe, just maybe, she could sleep that night without the terror of waking up in that bunker again.
She looked at the kitchen with her big blue eyes, and she felt that she was still wrapped in a tense silence, but this time it wasn't the same as before. It wasn't a silence full of fear or uncertainty. It was a silence full of emotions, of unsaid words, of understanding, almost compassion.
Hermit felt exhausted. Talking had drained every last bit of energy out of her, and yet, inside her, something seemed lighter. Not much, but enough to be able to breathe without feeling the crushing weight of those memories.
Irma touched her cheek with a motherly gesture, her thumb caressing the synthetic skin as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "You've already fought so much, sweetheart. And it's a huge step for you to be here with us. No one expects you to heal in a day, take your time."
Hermit looked down, feeling a lump tighten in her throat. She didn’t even know why, but the words made her feel strangely warm.
Sibir leaned her hip against the table, shaking her head. “Irma’s right. And anyway, I’ll tell you right now, if you think you can keep us out of this, you’re sorely mistaken. From now on, every time Muller or one of those humans tries to force their way into your head, I’ll be there. And I’ll punch them.”
Hermit let out a huff of laughter, the first genuine one since she’d come down to the kitchen. “You know he’s not alive anymore, right?”
Sibir shrugged. “Doesn’t mean I can’t punch his ghost.”
Weisz snorted, giving him a light shove on the shoulder. “Yeah, yeah, great strategist of the afterlife.”
Sibir smirked. “Hey, if you can’t handle this stuff, at least let me handle it.”
Hermit watched them banter as if it were just another night, and for a moment he allowed himself the luxury of pretending it was.
Irma squeezed her hand again. “Come on, dear. Let us take you to bed.”
Hermit turned to Weisz, a little hesitant.
He looked into her eyes, understanding her silent need to be with him. He didn’t say anything, just stood up and squeezed her hand firmly, pulling her gently from her chair.
“Let’s go.”
---
The walk to their room was slow, each step muffled by the carpet that covered the hallway floor. Hermit never let go of Weisz’s hand, holding it tightly, as if it were his only point of stability in the darkness.
When they entered, the room was immersed in a reassuring dimness. The lights were dim, the air was still warm from the warmth of the blankets.
Weisz closed the door behind him with a soft, silent movement. Then he turned to her, watching her carefully.
“A little better?”
Hermit nodded slowly, but didn’t look at him.
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Look… If you don’t want to sleep, we can stay awake. You don’t have to force yourself.”
She shook her head. “No… I want to try to sleep. Just…”
Weisz took her hands in his. “Just what?”
The pale blue girl hesitated, then stepped forward and leaned against his chest, burying her face in the fabric of his shirt.
The blond remained still for a second, then wrapped his arms around her back, holding her close softly.
“Thank you,” she murmured against him.
Weisz looked down, confused. “For what?”
Hermit was silent for a moment, then raised her face to look into his eyes. “For always being there.”
Weisz opened his mouth, but she stopped him before he could speak.
“And also…” he took a deep breath, as if he needed the courage to finish the sentence. “For going through this. I know how hard it is for you.”
Hermit tensed slightly, surprised.
The robot looked down, her fingers clutching the fabric of his shirt. “I know you hate seeing me like this. I know it makes you angry that you can’t undo what happened to me. And… part of me feels guilty about it.”
Weisz clenched his jaw. “Hermit…”
She shook her head. “Let me finish.”
He paused, allowing her to continue.
“For so long, I was afraid of all humans. I thought they were all like him. And yet, even with you… I had doubts. I know it’s not fair. I know you’re not like him. And yet, at the beginning of our story, a part of me was afraid anyway. And I’m sorry.”
Weisz felt her heart tighten in her chest.
“…you don’t have to feel guilty about this, and you know it.”
She looked up at him, her eyes full of conflicting emotions.
Weisz raised a hand and gently stroked her cheek, his thumb grazing the synthetic skin with infinite gentleness. “They hurt you. They made you believe that no one was worthy of your trust. If you had doubts about me, the crew, or my family, it’s not your fault. It’s not because you thought I was like him… it’s because he taught you to fear everyone.”
Hermit looked down.
Weisz continued, her voice softer. “And you know what? It doesn’t matter if we’re together now and living under the same roof, if you need time to trust me completely… I’ll wait. Even for life.”
Hermit looked at him, surprised.
He smiled softly, his usual cheeky but loving expression. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Hermit bit her lip, then hugged him again, holding him tighter.
Weisz lifted her off the floor a little, carrying her toward the bed. “Come on, let’s get some sleep.”
They lay down together, he with his arm around her, she snuggled up against him as if he were the only safe place in the universe.
“If it happens again…” Hermit whispered.
“I’ll be here.” he answered, without hesitation.
Hermit closed her eyes, letting Weisz’s warmth and breath rock her tenderly.
And for the first time in a long time, the dark no longer scared her.
____