Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Repeat that."

"Water levels in the lake are lower than normal. By about 22 inches." Clara sighs, "You were right, but-"

Valeria doesn't let her finish. "Pandora's Box must have triggered something, interacted with the power under that lake."

"You know more than me. But again, Valeria, I think there will be problems with the gods. Neither the Society nor the Underground can match them. Not that I'm concerned with their well-being, just that, with no even opposition, they may not be so easily distracted. Their attention may turn skyward to us."

"The others?"

"All alive still, but they've disappeared to lick their wounds. Hope is not pleased with this turn of events, but when is she? She still thinks she's going to save the world."

Valeria rolls her eyes, shaking her head. It didn't surprise her. "Keep observing. Both the lake and the gods. I need to know as soon as that lake dries up."

"Of course, but if I may..." Clara trails off.Valeria glares at her, but it's not serious. Clara knows by now she is one of a very few people Valeria will listen to, "I don't know how it's done” Clara continues, “but we need to stop showing up over Helios so often. Someone is going to come up here who's not me and cause problems."

There's no response to her suggestion; Valeria simply looks back down at the papers in front of her. Clara gets the message and takes that as her cue to leave, sliding down the cable from the sky island to Helios proper, and leaving Valeria alone with her thoughts once again.

It would not be long before the island disappeared again. What used to be a family vacation home off the southern coast was ripped up by rift magic — a phenomenon Valeria still did not fully understand, though her research brought her closer every day. Shifting between realities was a new experience, but the magic itself was not completely unstable nor unpredictable. In truth, Valeria could not control the intermittent disappearance and reappearance of the rift island, not yet anyway, but Clara did not need to know that.

Ten minutes. Ten minutes every 48 hours was what her time on Helios was reduced to. It was barely enough time for Clara to get in and out. Statistically, there was little possibility for anyone else to show up. Still, the possibility was there, and something in the back of her mind hoped...

The zip of a pulley grinding against cable shakes her out of her thoughts. Clara? No, Clara had her number, would have told her if she was returning. Had someone actually managed to get to the island? Valeria grabs her SMG, a precaution, and ascends the stairs to the large balcony and then the rooftop. Already the wind was picking up. Just a few seconds later the pulley reaches the end of the cable, bringing with it the loud clang of metal hitting metal and the low thud of a body hitting the ground. No, not just a body.

Montague.

Valeria keeps low against the wall, peeking out just enough to keep the man in sight. He is slow to rise, his clothes dirty, possibly stained with blood, and his hair is a rumpled mess. By now he had regained his footing, standing on unsteady feet and slowly moving towards the house. The house whose roof Valeria was currently perching on. Before she could move though, Montague's steps falter and he falls to his hands and knees. Here he stays, rising only to fully kneel, looking around as if seeing the place for the first time. Could he be looking for her? Assessing for threats? No. Valeria sets her gun down and stands, taking one last look at Montague on the ground below before descending. There was no threat here. Not to him, not to her.

It takes a few minutes before Valeria is back on the ground floor, yet as she approaches the entryway closest to Montague, she finds he has barely moved. All he has managed is to turn slightly, focusing on the courtyard in front of him and the covered patio beyond that. Closer now, she could see he looked worse than she initially thought. His breathing was ragged, like he ran a great deal before landing here. Small crystals of diamond still cling to him, some growing larger while others vanish and reappear beyond his control. Trailing from his right ear, the only side of his face she can see, is blood.

"Montague?" His name slips from between her lips, but the rest of her questions remain unspoken. What happened to you? Why did you come here?

His reaction, or rather complete lack of one, is not what Valeria expects. His years of thievery honed his senses, Montague once told her, especially his hearing, and while she hadn't exactly whispered his name, she didn't think the wind was strong enough to drown her out either.

Valeria takes a few steps forward, closer, her heels clicking against the floor. Still, nothing. Was he purposefully ignoring her? Was he just that out of it? There's no mistake, this definitely is Montague. Closer now, but not close enough to reach out and touch him, Valeria calls his name again.

This time, he moves. Montague whips his head around, turning his body over his left to look completely behind him. His eyes are wide, recognition and relief flashing through a half-second later.

"Valeria." There was something in the way he said her name, something besides the mixture of shock and disbelief and relief, that sounded... off for lack of a better word.

Then he collapsed.

There was no time to wonder further. Valeria is moving before her mind can catch up, acting on instinct. The first thing to come to mind is to check his pulse, which, thankfully, is still beating strong. So he's alive at least. Before she can do much else, a now familiar hum joins the sound of the wind whipping. There's not much time left, anywhere between a few minutes and ten, until the island disappears. Looking down at Montague's unconscious body, Valeria knows there is no way she is getting him off the island. Not safely, and not without her also leaving the island, and leaving the island now? She'd be stuck on Helios again. There's only one choice here. Two steps forward, one step back.

She shrugs off her dress, leaving the garment draped across a chair; it would be easier to move around in just the catsuit. Kneeling next to Montague, Valeria could better see the extent of his injuries. The diamond he fought so hard to maintain had vanished when he lost consciousness, revealing bruises along his neck and a small gash on one of his arms — a bullet graze? Another bruise on his forehead, and double checking confirmed it was blood that trailed from his ear down his jaw. She runs a hand through his hair, a small attempt to tame the mess, then hooks her arms under his. Lifting his upper body off the ground takes effort, and Valeria is both grateful Montague was not awake to see this and wishing he would wake up so she doesn't have to do it. Dragging him requires even more effort, and progress is slow but, bit by bit, she moves him inside. Originally, she planned to bring him to the couch but just getting him to the floor next to it was a chore. It is here that she gives up, deems the task done well enough as she places one of the couch pillows on the ground under his head.

Valeria leaves him there, returning with several damp paper towels to clean off the worst of the dirt and blood. The air around her is electric with magical energy, something Valeria barely notices with how often she's experienced rifting now. One moment, the house glows with warm afternoon sunlight, the next, it is awash in the pale light of stars and nearby galaxies. Both peaceful and educational, a refuge from the chaos of Helios where she could do her research alone and without distraction. Well... Valeria thinks, looking down at Montague and wiping at the blood on his jaw, not alone for much longer.

It's good they're stuck in space somewhere. No need to watch for threats, and no one to see her—them, like this. It was almost unthinkable to see Montague so fragile, so vulnerable. He always presented himself as unbreakable, like the diamond he controlled, and she was aloof to the near extreme. It was better to not have attachments, for both herself and others. After all, those that play with fire get burned. And yet, here they are, neither keeping up with their public facades. Valeria huffs, frustrated. At him? Herself? This whole situation? She doesn't know.

"Sarai la mia morte," He can't hear her, but she tells him anyway, slipping into her native language. She can't exactly hide behind the language barrier; French had its similarities. He's put together the meaning of her words before, even if not completely accurate, and she's done the same with his words. It's comforting; the words come easier this way. "mio ladretto."

How long Montague would be out cold was anyone's guess; better to spend the time being productive and she needs to clear her head. To think about anything else. Valeria's on her feet, disposing of the trash and walking the short distance to the nook she calls a library. It is smaller than the one in her home, but serves its purpose well enough, and she is able to keep an eye on Montague from her desk — not that she was doing so.

The book she'd been studying before her last meeting with Clara was still waiting for her, a loose piece of paper stuck between the pages Valeria left off on. Tales of magic on an island unknown to her. An island she couldn't find anywhere on a map, which led to theories. What the book described sounded eerily similar to the magic that broke out on Helios, and one thing Valeria knew for certain was that she had never seen, nor heard of this book, before the rifts appeared. The existence of other universes was something she never had a solid opinion on, but the more she discovers, the more likely it seems true.

It was difficult tracking time out in space. Space was always moving, light always constant; the only assurance was an analogue clock hanging on the wall. It faithfully marched on, regardless of the island's location, and it was the first thing she checked when Montague began to wake.

Ten hours. He was not yet fully awake but stirred fitfully; as if fighting to remain unconscious. It is a fight he would lose eventually. Valeria pauses her reading, watching him carefully for any sudden movements. Part of her wants to get closer, to be near when he came to in a place both familiar and not. The more logical side of her calls that a bad idea. There is no way for her to know how Montague would react to any of this. If the situation were different, if he had shown up healthy and of sound mind, he would have- he would have...

He would have been shocked. Attempt to hide it, but Valeria knows his tells, would see it in his eyes, and once he got over that, he would pull her into his arms and refuse to let go. And she would let him.

Valeria settles for a middle ground. With her book carefully marked for later, she rises and collects her dress from where it lay. Slipping it back on brings a small comfort, softness and warmth, while she leans back against the desk watching, waiting.

Sometime later, twenty minutes as reported by the clock on the wall, Montague wakes up. At first, the change is barely noticeable from the fits he'd been having, but the sound of him groaning grabs her attention immediately. She watches the small movement of his head turning back and forth, taking in his surroundings. Then suddenly, he goes still. Waiting is the safest bet. Valeria couldn't be certain that he remembered getting here, nor seeing her, yet still there is that part of her that wants to be close.

She forces herself to stay put; to be a silent observer. Slowly, using an arm to keep steady, Montague sits up and gets a better look at the room around him. The first time his eyes pass over her, it's like he doesn't see her at all. It isn't until his second look that he registers her.

"Val-" He starts, then immediately stops. His surprise at seeing her quickly morphs into something akin to panic, then haphazard blankness. He tries again, this time managing to say her full name. His eyes are wide, alertness replacing confusion as his focus turns away from her and towards himself.

Fuck it. Valeria crosses the room, kneeling next to Montague, Something's wrong. She didn't expect a happy reunion, but Montague's demeanor was off. He didn't look any worse than when he first arrived. None of his outward injuries appeared to be bothering him either. Anything internal was beyond her, so the only thing left was his power, but no, he retained that as well. A small patch of diamond covers his right arm, where the bullet had grazed him.

"What's wrong?" Valeria quietly asks, trying not to startle him, but he doesn't react at all. Like he doesn't know she's there, despite having clearly seen her approach him. "Montague?" She calls, louder this time.

That breaks the spell. His head snaps up, turning to look over his left shoulder, but Valeria is not there. If he turned a little further, he might see her out of the corner of his eye; however, Valeria does not give him that chance. Instead, she places a hand on his shoulder, her touch feather light, to guide him. As soon as he registers her touch, he turns around and finally, he is facing her, worry still etched into his face.

So she asks again, two words, short and to the point. The longer she goes without an answer, the more Valeria's thoughts race and if there was one thing she hated most, it was helplessness.

"I- I can't-" He stutters. Valeria's not sure if it’s uncertainty, if the issue is that unnerving, or some horrid combination of both. She hangs on in the silence until he forces the rest out, "I can't hear."

"What?"

All thoughts come to a screeching halt. Only that question remains. A few seconds later, her brain catches up and she realizes, dumbly, that he did not hear her. All she can do is look at him, hope he understands her question, and wait. Montague simply shakes his head.

"No. I mean, I can but not well," he explains, then raises his hand to his head. Starting with his left side, Montague snaps his fingers next to his ear. Valeria watches in silence as he repeats the gesture several times before doing the same with his right ear. With his test done, Montague taps his finger against his right ear, then slashes the air next to him. "Not at all."

Oh. There it is; the missing piece to her puzzle. The pieces fall into place and everything makes sense now. Why he didn't pick up on the subtle sound of footsteps. Why he didn't initially react to her calling his name. Why, when he did finally register her voice, he always looked to his left.

"So then, you can-"

"Yes," he says before she can finish the thought. "From the left."

Montague lapses into silence and Valeria does the same. What do you even say to this? I'm sorry? She's still trying to pull the right words together when Montague pulls her into his arms, holding her like his life depends on it. It's not what she expected, but neither has anything else that happened today. She wraps her arms around him, making sure her head rests on his left shoulder. Her touch is light but constant, fingers tracing nonexistent patterns along his back.

"Maybe it's only temporary," she says after a moment. Words that are meant to console, but what if it wasn't? What good is hope if it is only false? "We'll figure it out."

We. Not you. One simple word, and Valeria knows. That "no attachments" rule had been broken long ago, and although she's followed it ever since, he would always be an exception. Her efforts to disentangle herself from him were halfhearted, pathetic might be the word Clara would use, but she doesn't care.

She feels his arms tighten around her, trying to pull her closer before he relaxes. Valeria shifts her legs, untucking them so that she could be closer. Any further and one would have to pull the other on top of them. Eventually, though, he pulls away, sitting up properly but refusing to let her go completely. He still holds onto her shoulders, as if she would somehow disappear or dart away if he broke contact. His face is slightly red, the pale light glinting off the tear-streaks under his eyes.

"I am so glad I found you."

Valeria says nothing, but that part of her, ignored and silenced over the last few days, has finally broken free. She smiles. A wish answered. Happiness mixed with the sorrow and pain. That he found her, whether by pure chance or purposefully, was enough.

She pulls him back into her and this time Montague shifts so that his legs rest on top of hers. If they weren't sitting on the cold, hardwood floor she would lay with him. The thought of moving to the couch doesn't even cross her mind with how focused she is on him and what's happened. Her heart only cares that he's alive. For now, this is enough.

The rest they would talk about later.

Chapter Text

They decided not to talk about it further. Not until they had a clearer idea of whether Montague's deafness was permanent or not. If they're being realistic, he should see a doctor, but the soonest opportunity wouldn't be until they reappeared on Helios — another sixty hours. For now, all they can do is keep quiet and check his ear for any new blood.

It takes some time before Montague feels sure enough to try standing. Despite his nearly half-day long nap, he was still exhausted, and his legs burned with the soreness of muscles pushed too far for too long. Valeria can't be certain he doesn't have any head injuries — well, any aside from his hearing loss — but the absence of any apparent nausea or dizziness is a good sign. She doesn't explicitly offer help but sits ready, waiting to reach out the instant things turn bad. An aberrant response she'd long thought buried. The last time anyone needed her help was when Hope was still a kid unable to fully look out for herself; but this is different. It is the same instinct that forces her lips into a thin line and holds her attention entirely on him, but it rises from a different place in her heart.

As Montague stands, balance shaky but not stumbling, Valeria is reminded of a fawn, and the comparison would be cute if she was blind to the reason he struggled so. Her help is unneeded, but Montague does not go far, taking only the few steps required to get to the couch just behind them. He sits about as gracefully as he stood, falling into the couch with a sigh.

"Better." He says. Valeria barely hears him speak but doesn't miss the way he winces. She steps closer, half sitting, half leaning next to him on the arm of the couch.

"What's bothering you?"

Instead of speaking, Montague gestures to himself, as if to say 'everything'. Bruises are in full bloom, marring his pale skin with bursts of brown and purple. Several of the nicks and cuts have reopened, shedding small pinpricks of blood, and dirt still stubbornly clings to him despite her earlier efforts to clean his face.

"Will you take off your shirt?"

There's a hum that sounds like a 'What?' as Montague moves to sit up further. Whether his confusion is from the suddenness of her question or not hearing her, Valeria doesn't know, so she chooses the safe option and repeats herself, adding that she wants to check his other injuries. His arm, for one, still hasn't been properly treated. The couch shifts under his weight as Montague leans forward to remove his coat. That is the easy part.

Even with the loosest piece of clothing, Montague struggles. As he pulls his arms back to let the coat fall off, he abruptly stops, inhaling sharply. Valeria slides from her perch to stand in front of him, a silent off of help which Montague declines with a shake of his head. So she watches, waiting with a thinning patience while he adjusts his position until finally, he pulls the coat off and sets it down in a heap beside him. His vest comes off quicker; there's a lack of sleeves to pull his arms through and only a few buttons to undo, but Valeria already knows the long-sleeved collared shirt he still wears is going to be a problem.

"Here, let me help you." Valeria's crouched down before the words leave her lips, swatting his hands away from the buttons. She both loves and hates that its his favorite shirt he's wearing — she's had practice undoing these buttons in much more pleasant circumstances, the dark color hides the dirt and blood but she can still tell the shirt is ruined. She's halfway through before Montague can protest, stopping him with a pointed look before continuing, "I didn't let you pass out on my floor just so you can die on me now."

Although she spoke aloud, it was more thought than conversation. Still, Montague laughs at her words and Valeria is glad there is something to distract him from the pain. The last of the buttons are undone and Valeria pauses at the sight of red skin underneath.

You knew what you were getting into Val... Even now, with the shirt unbuttoned and the evidence of injuries staring her in the face, Valeria takes care in pulling the shirt off of him. First one sleeve, then the other, and the sight that greets her leaves her breathless in an awful way.

His skin is more red than pale. There are even more bruises dotted along his rib cage and a long cut in his side. The red which mars his chest arcs up to his shoulder and back down his left arm in jagged lines, as if his veins had been electrified. What the hell?

There's a rising need to swallow, to force her disgust back down into the pit of her stomach. Valeria manages, steeling herself with measured breaths and a hopefully convincing front of nonchalance. So focused on maintaining her own composure, Valeria almost misses Montague's reaction.

"Merde..." Montague throws his head back into the couch. The action is immediately followed by a hiss as he inevitably irritates his injuries and a few more words that Valeria recognizes as French and not much else. She hadn't considered that this might also be the first time he was seeing this.

There's a first-aid kit in the cellar. Why she didn't grab it earlier when he was unconscious, Valeria doesn't know. When she returns, kit in hand, Montague hasn't moved except to remove his shoes and socks. Instead of going back to the floor in front of him, she takes her place on the couch next to him, her legs tucked under her and the first-aid kit open on her lap.

As she looks him up and down once again, she can't help but ask, "What did all this?" as she tends to his arm. What happened when I was gone? follows, but she doesn't voice her second question. Montague looks at her, eyebrows furrowed, and Valeria belatedly realizes she's sitting to his right. Now that he's facing her more, she repeats herself, a little bit louder.

"Zeus." Comes his simple reply. As if he expects her to know exactly what he means. While Valeria is aware of the Olympians wreaking havoc, her knowledge is limited to what Clara tells her, and Clara doesn't have details on every skirmish.

"You fought him!?" It's the only conclusion she can come to.

Montague barks out a laugh that quickly turns into a cough, forcing Valeria to back away from his arm. A minute later and he's regained his breath, allowing her to resume cleaning the wound.

"Not voluntarily. He's incensed, looking for whatever and whoever is responsible and found us. Well, he found me, Oscar, and Nisha."

"All of this... is from one fight?" The marks — Valeria's not sure whether they're a burn or not — covering his left side... he'd been struck by lightning.

The graze on his arm is clean and bandaged, so Valeria moves her focus to the gash on his side. It's larger than the graze, but luckily nothing that would require stitching. While she works to disinfect the wound, Montague speaks.

"Three on one should be more than fair, but I suppose this is what I get for trying to fight an actual god."

"Stop. You said yourself you didn't have a choice. You should be glad you're alive."

"Are you?"

His question catches her off guard. Valeria can feel him staring at her, waiting for an answer. She looks up, meets his gaze. There's a moment of silence between them and, in that moment, all Valeria wants to do is kiss him.

"Yes." She says instead. It's better to keep herself restrained. Focus on him.

Montague drops the matter, at least temporarily, letting her fuss over him. Once his side is done, she turns her attention towards his face. With one hand she holds his face, her touch light yet guiding as she dabs at the cuts with her other hand. This close, she catches the fading scent of his cologne and again Valeria resists the urge to pull him closer.

She finishes by wiping away the dirt and blood that remained. Once satisfied with her work, Valeria discards the used cotton balls on the ground and cradles his face in her hands. He's recognizable again; already looking much healthier than when he first appeared, and his good looks shine through the cuts and scratches and bruises. Valeria cards her fingers through his hair, another attempt to get it to lay straight.

"Does it hurt?" She asks, gesturing to the branching marks on his body. He shakes his head in the negative but hovers his hand over a spot on his leg where she assumes was the spot he was struck.

"Just here. The rest is nothing."

So not a burn. Not entirely. Valeria places a hand on his chest, her fingers tracing the jagged lines. His skin is warm, a sharp contrast to how he usually feels against her. She continues following the lines as they climb up his shoulder until Montague grabs her hand with his own, freezing her in place.

For a second, Valeria worries that she's done something. That he tried downplaying the pain; but when she looks at him, it isn't physical pain she sees in his eyes. There's an intensity there, an emotion that Valeria refuses to name, and she can just tell that he wants to say something but won't. She's certain neither of them has moved, yet they are so close. Like always, her brain is moving faster than the rest of her, raising a flag that gets ignored. Valeria looks from his eyes to his lips and back. Her heart beats rapidly, and a voice in the back of her head screams this is a bad idea, even as she leans closer to him. As they draw closer still, Valeria's eyes flutter shut and that is the moment the flags finally register. She stops mere inches from him, opening her eyes and quickly looking downwards so as to not see his face.

"Let me get you a shirt." She says, more to the couch than to him. There's hardly a second before Valeria is up and heading to the bedroom. She doesn't have to look to know how utterly confused Montague is.

You left him to deal with the fallout of your mess. Hanging in the closet amidst tight fitting shirts, blouses, and coats of varying lengths was a solid gray dress shirt that was too big even for Valeria's tall frame. You don't get to pull that. Unbuttoning the shirt, Valeria collects it off the hanger and returns to the foyer, handing it to him.

"Is this... my shirt?"

"You left it at my house one night."

Montague struggles less with putting the shirt on, managing the buttons without her help. "I left it, or you took it?"

There's a lightness in the question; a teasing dig that has Valeria smirking in answer. As he finishes with the last button, Valeria decides to change the subject.

"You should probably eat something. We've been here for over half a day."

Montague says nothing in reply, but him standing up gives Valeria the answer she needs. This time he's much more sure on his feet, and Valeria leads the way to the kitchen. There's not as much stocked as she'd like, but she didn't plan on cooking a proper meal anyway. Not yet at least, not until she knows he can keep food down. For now, she offers him a glass of water and some bread, sitting across from him at the island counter with a glass of her own.

With less windows, the kitchen was darker than the rest of the main floor, but not enough to strain vision. The light of the stars reflects off the counter and Valeria busies herself counting the stars in the counter, occasionally looking up at Montague to check on him. He's not eating as fast as she thought he would, his mind elsewhere. She doesn't want to think about how long she's been awake, nor the research she hasn't done but, with a lull in conversation, that's inevitably where her thoughts go. Lists form almost subconsciously. Things that have been done, things still needing doing. What and what not to tell Clara. She's just given up on counting for the second time when Montague brings her out of her thoughts.

"So, this is where you've been this whole time?" He asks slowly, testing the waters. His hands tear small crumbs from what remains of the bread, a small distraction.

"Yes." She answers. "A few days after Pandora's Box opened, I gathered what I could and settled here. It's... familiar."

"You left me." The words are measured. Even. Devoid of tone. Not accusation, fact. "You left me down there, with no clue as to where you'd gone or if you were even alive. I spent days looking for you."

She would've preferred deep anger or sorrow. Valeria can't find a question in his words. She suspects saying anything right now would only make it worse, so she waits for him to continue. There's a long pause while Montague continues to break the bread into pieces, but eventually he pauses and looks up at her, staring into her as if that would give him the answers he needed.

"Were you going to tell me?"

"I don't know." That's the truth of it. He'd been a thief his whole life, was used to risk and danger, but nothing like what Valeria threw herself into. Had she known what would happen, she would have told him. Without a second thought. Anything to spare him from this. But hindsight is 20/20. She didn't, he suffered for it, and now they would both have to live with the consequences.

"Valeria." Montague grabs her hand, pulling her out of her thoughts, "I would have followed... I would have followed."

"You found your way here eventually." A poor response, given the circumstances. "I'm sorry."

Montague rises but doesn't let go of her hand. Instead, he walks around the island, standing beside her, pulling her hand towards him, silently asking her to come closer. It's barely two steps before they're standing face to face, only mere inches apart. When Montague next speaks it's only a whisper, like the matter is a secret. Only it's one she already knows.

"We're still partners, right?" He asks. The question brings with it a fierce pain stabbing her heart. Worry mixes with the pain, and she nods as fiercely as the pain within her. That eases the worry in his face, soothes the pain.

"Yes." Valeria says, "That is, if you still want." She's near certain of his answer, given the question he just asked and what nearly transpired earlier, but the doubt worms its way in anyway. An unfamiliar and entirely unwanted feeling. He could pin all of this on you; blame you for everything that's gone wrong these past few months. Was she responsible for it? Not directly... The technicality; however, doesn't matter.

"Yes. Of course."

It feels likes there's more he wants to say, but he gets stuck on those three words, repeating them several times before trailing off. He sits on the stool she had occupied not two minutes ago, stuck somewhere that isn't the present. She takes him into her arms, her head resting on top of his, easily able to kiss his hair while he whispers words she can't understand. Holding one another, they fall into a comfortable silence broken only by Montague's occasional whispers and the rustling of fabric as Valeria runs her hand across his back.

"Monti," He perks up at the nickname. It was one she had given him yet rarely used. "I can't hear you."

"I thought I lost you, Val." Montague stands, releasing one of her hands so that he can cup her cheek. His palm is cool to the touch, as he almost always is, but she leans into it, seeks it out. His touch is comforting, like a cool breeze on a summer day. "I love you."

His words are quiet, almost broken, yet deeply sincere. Her heart swells; finally, something was somewhat right again. Valeria takes his hand and pulls him towards her in another hug. "I love you too."

Usually Valeria was excellent at tracking the time but here, in his arms, time no longer mattered to her. They could've been standing there for an hour, but it was only minutes. This time when he pulls her in for a kiss, Valeria doesn't resist. It's everything that should have happened earlier; the relief in finally knowing, the assurance of still having each other. His lips are chapped, as they almost always are, but Valeria barely registers it. She's more focused on how he's kissing her, like she's the most precious thing in the world. He does not insist on deepening the kiss, it is intense in the pure love he pours into it. Each touch is deliberate, like a carefully written letter. His lips bring promises; his arms carry comfort. There is no need to rush; not here where they are alone together. No meetings to attend, no gods chasing them down.

She sighs when his lips heave hers. When she looks at him, his face has a slight flush which, for once, he can't blame on the cold. Her own cheeks are warm as well and, while Valeria doesn't want this moment to end, it has to.

"Are you done eating?" She asks.

"For the moment. What about you?"

Valeria shakes her head before he can clarify, "I ate earlier today, don't worry about me."

"Now that's impossible." He says with a smile.

Montague squeezes her hand before releasing it, turning to collect their dishes. once they're washed and placed in the drying rack, he returns to stand in front of her, asking what they should do now.

"Unlike you, I have not slept at all today. There are plenty of books to read; though I can't guarantee you will find any of them interesting. Or, you could sit outside and look at the stars and galaxies."

"While those both sound interesting, I would rather be with you, "ma chérie"

Valeria smiles, amused. "You're going to lay there the whole time I sleep?"

"Who knows? I could easily fall asleep beside you."

"Alright, follow me." She says, taking his hand in hers.

It's a short walk to her bedroom yet she does not let go of his hand until they reach it. Montague initially takes a seat on the edge of the bed, but rises again when he sees Valeria sit at the vanity.

"Allow me." He says, his hands resting on her shoulders. She looks at him, at his reflection, through the mirror and nods.

It was something he'd always done, these little acts of service, from the beginning of their relationship. His fingers work the clasps of her necklaces one by one with a deftness gained only through repetition. Valeria holds her hand against them, ready to catch each one as they come loose. While he moves to loosen her hair from the buns she put it in, Valeria begins cleaning the makeup off her face, keeping her movement to a minimum so as not to make his job more difficult. With the release of each hair tie, Montague spends a moment massaging her scalp where her hair had been pulled tight, then he's ruffling her hair until it falls in loose waves around her shoulders.

God she missed this. Him.

He offers her the bobby pins and hair ties he'd plucked out and Valeria takes them, putting them back where they belong and then standing. She gives him a 'thank you' before moving to her closet to undress. Out of the corner of her eye, Valeria spots Montague doing the same and, while she hangs her clothes, he sets his folded on top of a dresser. Dressed only in her underwear, she turns to face him and catches her first look at the injuries on his legs.

It could have been a lot worse, Valeria had to admit. There are still bruises running up and down both his legs, but that seems to be the extent of it. No major cuts, numerous scratches, or any other oddities.

"He really did a number on you, didn't he?" Valeria says. Only after she finishes her sentence does she look back up at him.

"I think the only person who got out of that fight without a scratch was Zeus." He's quick to turn the covers and she follows, climbing into bed opposite him.

Montague tries to pull her close, wrapping his arm under her, but Valeria falters. She's on his left side, but with all the injuries to his right, she's hesitant to disturb them. In the end, she settles with one arm under a pillow and the other resting on his chest, her hand feeling the steady beating of his heart. A firm reminder that he is alive, here with her. She rests her head on the pillow next to him, almost tucked into the crook of his neck, close enough to pick up on the lingering scent of his cologne.

"Goodnight Val." She hears him whisper. He has no clue what time it actually is, but out here, the whole day may as well be night. As she closes her eyes, listening to his quiet, steady breathing, she feels his lips brush against her forehead and a new conviction settles into her subconscious.

She was never letting go of this man again.

Chapter Text

When she wakes hours later, it is to a still dark sky and the pale light of stars. She is surrounded by warmth: from the plush comforter, her own body heat, and the heat of the man still sleeping soundly next to her. He still clings to her, as if she is only present in his dreams. At least he is dreaming, she thinks. Valeria is grateful she hadn't woken to Montague thrashing and screaming. The nightmares will come, of that she is certain, but for now he receives only the rest he so desperately needs.

Valeria hesitates. Normally, she would be out of bed mere minutes after waking, but with the way Montague holds her, she doesn't think she can wiggle her way out without waking him. Even with all his injuries, she's not certain they're enough to counter his tendency as a light sleeper, so Valeria resigns herself to staying where she is, turning over just enough to reach a book on her nightstand. The page she had left on is forgotten at this point, but she doesn't mind. This one is less story and more a collection of facts, small biographies on many of the constellations that decorate the night sky. One of her favorite reads.

It's more skimming than reading; most of the information is already memorized, but it's nice to go over again, to look at the formations, to quiz herself. It passes the time well enough. Valeria makes it through a third of the book, currently looking at the myths behind Eridanus when she feels Montague stirring beside her. The book is soon forgotten, left on the bed beside her as she mentally notes the page.

Montague is drifting in and out of sleep, not waking fully yet torn away from that deep sleep he needs. Valeria curls into him, intertwining her legs with his and bringing her now free hand to comb through his hair. Being alone this past month, burying herself in her research, she almost forgot what it was like to share space with another. Not only the warmth, but the weight of his body next to hers, his arm around her waist, his leg entangled with her own. It brings a sense of ease that had been all but foreign to her before. There are several more minutes of this peace before Montague opens his eyes.

"Hey," she says, her fingers still running through his hair.

He looks back at her, his eyes still dull from sleep and tiredness. Even so, they're beautiful. Dull or bright, the mismatch of brown and blue is something uniquely him. They're one of her favorite things about him.

"Morning." he says, and for a moment those pretty mismatched eyes close as Montague attempts to rub the sleep away. Then he frowns, and Valeria assumes it's due to the tiredness, but that assumption is quickly proven wrong. "Valeria I... it hasn't gone away."

It takes her a moment to understand what he's talking about — the deafness. Her small smile fades into a frown. Sure, the possibility of it being permanent was always there; even when she was comforting him yesterday, there was a voice in the back of her head. Unknowingly, she had clung to the same small hope he had that it was only temporary. It still could be, but the more time passes, the smaller that possibility becomes. Valeria wraps her arm around him, repeating what she said yesterday.

"We'll figure it out."

She'd help him learn a whole language if that's what he wanted. But that was something for another day; for now, she just needs to worry about today. Montague's frown deepens, whether it is because of the situation as a whole or her response, Valeria doesn't know, but he drops it either way. There's a pang in her chest, a small knot twisting inside, and Valeria doesn't know what she can actually do now. She forces the feeling away to be dealt with later.

Fortunately for her, Montague's new choice in subject is getting out of bed, specifically for food, a distraction she readily entertains. Its easy, routine, and although Montague is limited to the shirt Valeria had stolen from him months ago, he doesn't seem to mind. In fact, he seems eager to hide what he can of the cuts and bruises that mar his skin. Before he can button the shirt, she stops him with a hand on his arm. She may as well have yelled, the way he freezes under her touch.

A day isn't much in the grand scheme of things; still the progression of his injuries isn't much, if at all. None of the cuts or scrapes she can see have opened, but the bruises are darker, larger, and more numerous than yesterday. Then there was the lightning burn, as red as her hair, covering his left. He's extremely lucky it hadn't stopped his heart. More of that famous thieves luck, she's sure he'd say if she voiced her thoughts. This wasn't the first time he's escaped death.

Valeria pushes the shirt so that it falls off his shoulders, hanging off his arms. The lightning curls down his arm, as it did yesterday, and the gauze taped over the bullet wound is partially stained a deep red.

"Leave this off for now," she says, "Your arm needs to be redressed."

He nods, shrugging the shirt off completely and folding it over his arm. There's a slight air of awkwardness as he stands there, but Valeria pushes past it, heading back downstairs with Montague close behind. He stops in the kitchen while she continues on to retrieve the first aid kit from where she left it the night before. By the time she returns to him, Montague has found her coffee machine.

She commands him to sit. It's easier this way; he fidgets less and can brace his arm on the counter while she picks at the knotted gauze. If someone had told her a few days ago that she would be playing nurse, she would have personally shoved them off the island, but here she is. Funny how fate works out.

Valeria finishes tying off the bandage, tucking the ends underneath it. With her work complete, she stands to collect the trash and used bandages when she's stopped. Montague holds her wrist, not with any great force, but she's too intrigued to pull herself free. Yet he refuses to speak, not until she meets his gaze.

"Thank you." Two words. So simple, yet so rare. A life of thievery meant a natural mistrust of others. That, combined with a fierce independence she knows too well, means having no expectations anyone would come to your aid. That she had broken through his walls, and he hers, was a feat in and of itself.

Valeria flashes a small smile in response, and he drops his hand so that she can finish her tasks. After that, they find something to eat — nothing too messy, complex, nor time consuming — and sit together at the counter in relative silence that is broken only by the occasional question.

Montague questions Valeria on her current projects, which she answers in the broadest sense possible, and in return, she asks him about the events leading up to his appearance on the island and why he chose to come here. His answer aligns with what she already suspected: he was focused on survival, had guessed the island would be safe, or at least safe enough away from Zeus and the Olympians, and had no idea she was here. It was all blind luck and chance.

"We'll be returning to Helios soon," she says. There's a question there, one she doesn't want to ask.

"How long?" He asks in return.

"An hour, maybe." They're nowhere near a clock; Valeria just has a feeling. A month of this song and dance means developing a second sense for these things. "What do you want to do?" Instead of answering, he repeats her question back to her. Valeria shakes her head, "I'm not leaving this place. Not until I have the answers I need." And the gods stop looking for my head, she mentally adds.

"Then neither am I." She tries to protest, but he cuts her off before she can even form the words, "I've already lost a great deal. I'm not losing you. Not again."

You're being unusually sweet."

"I'm being honest."

Damn him. Damn his stubbornness that only appears when she doesn't want it to. Damn his sweet words and how they pull at something deep within her. Those words and that tone from any other man would be swiftly met with searing flame. But not him.

"You're sure you don't want to try another round against a god?" She's deflecting. She knows it. He knows it. Montague barks out a laugh, and she knows her poor excuse of a "joke" did not land well.

"No, but maybe you should give it a try. Walk up to Zeus and tell him you're the person he's looking for."

There is a bite to his words that has Valeria crossing her arms. For a moment, she considers her words, but they all taste sour, so she gives up. The bit of frustration leaves with a sigh as she considers new words, trying to get them back on topic.

"I don't know where this is going to lead, my research." The words are far less bitter, a small concern that hasn't fully shaped itself yet. "You realize if you remain here, it is basically the end of The Society?"

"I do not doubt that Nisha and Oscar have plans of their own. I still have my wealth, and from what I hear, you have more than your share as well." He steps closer, pulling one of her hands into his, "Clara is helping you. We'll find others, if need be. Build new connections for a new goal."

Valeria stares at their hands intertwined. She has always been alone in her research. Sure, others helped. Clara is a useful pair of eyes, and Montague himself has helped before, albeit not fully knowing what she was doing, but the bulk of it is her. These are her projects. Her goals. And now he is asking to be let in, even after everything she's done.

What is a partner if not an equal? Someone to rely on? Valeria had given herself a taste of it before and thought she didn't need it. Thought she could live without the little piece of her heart she'd so carefully given away. Maybe she could've made do, if he hadn't crashed back into her life. Never mind that he looked like death warmed over at the time. Because with that crash came a realization: that piece of her heart she thought missing, was him.

"Alright. I'll get you up to speed."

His eyes brightened, shining with the same light as the stars around them. As they poured over her notes, as he asked her question after question, as she dove into her theories on the Zero Point, she was reminded just why it was Montague that had stolen her heart. Her love, her <span title="thief.">ladretto</span>, had his looks, even now, injured beyond belief, but more importantly, he spoke her language. If anyone could ever match her level, it's him.

As time passes, Valeria begins to register the faint humming sound she's grown familiar with. The stars seem to shine just ever so brighter, and she knows it'll be minutes before she's blinded by the brightness of the sun once again.

The hum and glow coalesce into a bright white light that lasts half an instant. When Valeria and Montague look back up from the ground, they are met with the bright light of the sun, a pale blue sky, and the distant sound of explosions.

"We're back..."

"I told you we'd be back. Like clockwork." Valeria says, rising from her seat, "Clara will be up here any moment now."

"Did you want me to..."

"Stay." Valeria says. She smiles, something dangerous behind her eyes. "It's better for her to know."

The sharp sound of the zip line pulls her attention outside. This time, the landing is not the loud thud of a body being thrown to the ground, but the light step of a controlled landing. The heels of Clara's shoes clack against the stone, just a few steps before she comes into view. The sentence she's been waiting to throw out, something about Artemis, is abruptly cut off as she steps indoors and takes note of the scene before her.

"How the..." Clara starts and stops, and it's not often Valeria sees the woman speechless, so she savors the moment, even if it cuts into their limited time. "I told you so! What is he doing here?" Clara says, pointedly ignoring Montague's presence behind the desk.

"He's staying here, with me. He's in on the projects as well."

Clara hums, immediately cluing in on the missing part of Valeria's explanation. "Whatever you think is best." is all she says before moving closer, inviting herself in as she always does, and Valeria picks up on the double speak.

If you really want this relationship, then so be it.

She lets Clara have her little remark. As long as she remains in her place, that's all that really matters. But despite Valeria's prompting for a report, Clara can't help but make one more remark.

"You look like shit." Up close, Clara can see the cuts and the bruises littering his face and neck. Still, she can't possibly imagine the true extent of his injuries.

"I'm aware." Montague crosses his arms, leaning back against the chair, "Now if we could stop talking about me..."

"As I was saying, Oscar's come out of hiding, directly into Artemis' crosshair. Nisha and Kavel are still in hiding, and I suppose I know where you are now..." Clara briefly looks at Montague before focusing back on Valeria, "Hope's moved herself into the hotel, for some reason."

Montague huffs at that but doesn't voice his displeasure further.

"The lake?"

"Still has water in it, though less and less every day. What are you going to do when it runs dry?"

"I'm not sure yet." Valeria knows. Maybe not the how, but if the Zero Point really is buried under that lake bed, she's going to find it. This Clara does not need to know. "We're still looking into the possibilities."

The use of "we" does not go unnoticed by the woman, but Clara says nothing on it.

"Whatever it is you're looking for, I can tell you I haven't seen a trace of it with the lower water levels. It's not just going to be lying on the ground."

"That's expected." It shouldn't be out in the open anyway, but Valeria's not about to ask Clara to begin studying the potential energies that radiate from the ground above it. "Anything else?"

"Not much else, but there isn't much to do with the job you've given me. You're making me watch paint dry."

"Well then, it's a good thing you've the Olympians to worry about, isn't it?"

Clara rolls her eyes. "It's chaos. A power struggle while Zeus attempts to reign control. Your sister is running around with her "friends" trying to persuade some into switching sides."

"She's free to do as she pleases so long as it doesn't interfere with our work."

"I'll be sure to pass that message along to her." Clara wouldn't, but she would subtly guide Hope away if she poked her nose too close. With the Olympians to worry about, it was doubtful that would happen. Clara would be sure to antagonize Hope though. It's all she ever does, all she's ever done, since they were kids. "That's all I have. Not much new going on at the moment."

Valeria gives a brisk nod, mentally sorting through the admittedly not-very-useful report. Like anything, this is turning into a game of patience, but so long as no one else took interest in the lake, Valeria could wait as long as necessary.

"You are free to leave then. If there are no new developments by the next time we meet, message me. I'd rather that people not catch on to your regular disappearances."

"Like how I said people would catch on to the island's presence?"

Valeria looks towards Montague. "He's the exception."

"Very well then." Clara ends the conversation there, bidding Valeria goodbye and ignoring Montague before turning back to the zip line she ascended. The pair watch until she vanishes from sight, then watch a little longer, making certain she is gone.

Montague walks out to the courtyard where the sun warms him. There's a moment where he just stands there, basking in its rays and overlooking the ground below. It's a truly astonishing view, even if it can only be enjoyed for mere minutes. He stretches, pulling his arms above his head for half a second before something in his body protests and he lowers them to his sides. She is not surprised, given his numerous injuries.

It's been so long since she's appreciated the sun, the view, the breath of fresh air. Too busy with her never-ending research. It's because he's here that Valeria ignores the calls from her books and steps out from the shadows. The sun welcomes her with its warmth, reminding her of days when she lay outstretched on her sofa in broad daylight, book in hand. Not a simpler time, but a more constant one. Valeria stands next to Montague, staring out at the rooftops of the villas below. When he reaches for her hand, she allows him to take it.

They remain there, taking in the peace that reality offers until the familiar hum grows too loud to ignore. Seconds after they step away from the ledge, the island is gone once again, and they are surrounded by stars.