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Marina had grown up two streets down from Roshni. That didn’t mean they had been friends before the trials. They hadn’t even met. When Marina had been showing off in the playground how agile she was, how she could maintain her balance minutes and hours after all the other kids had fallen off - or failed to get on in the first place - Rosh was reading.
In retrospect that seemed obvious. A librarian reading? Duh. Obviously. But it wasn’t Roshni’s knack. It wasn’t even close.
Because she was a fighter. Now, Marina had to look at the two fighters she knew: Rosh and Thaddea, and she had to laugh. Thaddea was everything anyone expected in a fighter. Strong and clearly going to be tall. Brash and brusque.
Rosh was lithe. Her power didn’t come from her strength, which was a good thing considering that she had had sticks for arms when they had been scrawny first years. It came from her speed. And her agility.
The latter she had to sort of work at. It was part of her knack, but it was, at least for anyone who watched closely, that she slowed down before certain kicks, the ones that involved raising her skin quite high, or if she had to bend her body in a particular way.
Marina had never been unaware about why she watched Roshni so closely. Or, she had figured it out after five minutes. When they had been wee twerps she had always wanted to knock her book out of her hands, and make her look at her instead. Most of the pranks she had played had been in her vicinity because she had wanted to make her laugh.
The day they’d graduated from senior scholar to- whatever it was, full society adult, it had been raining. And between the ceremony and the fancy-schmancy dinner in the Elder’s hall, she had run into the Whingeing Woods with her, their fingers intertwined with the rain, with each other’s. And then she’d tripped on a root and showed up late in clean clothes and a bloody nose.
Rosh had fretted over her. Now, it seemed that the tables were quite reversed. More than, really.
“I’m sorry,” she said again, holding her limp hand. Her pulse still beat through her wrist, in line with the beep-beep-beep of the monitor plugged into her. She hadn’t been awake since Colin, who obviously wasn’t at fault, but some part of Marina couldn’t help resenting anyway, even though she hated herself for it, had kicked her in the head. And chest. And a few other places before the bookfighters had pulled him away.
She was lucky to be alive, apparently. Being kicked in the head by an ostrichwun knocked you for six and then some apparently. Nurse Tim had told her that they expected her to make a full recovery, but she would have to be in hospital for a while, and go to physical therapy for a good while afterwards.
Her muscles had been ripped apart, and her ligaments had been detached in a way ligaments were not supposed to be ripped. Or so she had heard.
“I’m sorry,” she said, bending her head down to whisper into her ear. She had no idea what she could have done, except that if she hadn’t brought Unit 919 to the Gob and gone to the pool instead, or to Thaddea’s bloody wrestling match, then- well, it wasn’t as if Unit 919, or any of its members caused the hollowpox to culminate. Colin would have likely have been infected before he’d appeared on the scene.
If she hadn’t been there, if she hadn’t brought her entourage, as Rosh had put it, then what would have happened? She would have been hurt anyway. And Marina might not have even known till later.
Or it could have gone worse. Much worse. It had been Marina, after all, who had secured Rosh in the river glass coach after getting her scholars out and getting Morrigan to fetch Captain North. She had made sure she could get easy access to the ambulance, and that Colin, in his comatose, hollow, state was able to receive the correct medical attention when the Stealth and members of the Hollowpox Task Force arrived.
Without really thinking about what she was doing, she lifted the hand to her mouth. Dark hair coated the backs of her fingers, coming down from her arm and wrists. It wasn’t really a kiss but she pressed her lips against each knuckle before lowering it again, “I love you, Rosh.”
She hadn’t even realised it until the words were out her mouth. But she did. She loved Roshni, not only as her friend, not as her companion and unit-mate. It didn’t supersede those things, just existing alongside it. “I’m sorry.”
She closed her eyes, knowing she was going to have to get up soon, going to have to move and leave and go take Unit 919 back home for the day. She didn’t want to go.
A snort that was half cough made her eyes fly back open. Roshni was staring at her, her head still on the pillow, “Hi Maz. How’s it going?”
She pressed her lips together, wondering if she was about to suffer through a very embarrassing conversation. If Roshni would think twice before letting her over, or not touch her so easily again.
In the weeks and months after things ended, when they had been fifteen and stupid and had decided that clumsily kissing in empty classrooms didn’t suit them anymore, Rosh had stopped looking for her in the crowds. She had sat as far as she could have from her in all their shared classes, in Hometrain every single day. It had hurt. They had… forgotten over time. They had moved closer and closer. Their conversations had stopped being so tense, so nail bitingly painful.
But what if it happened again?
Marina didn’t even think she had loved her then. Not like that. There hadn’t been more at stake, in retrospect, than teenage egos and hormones. The thrills of a first relationship. She didn’t know what was at stake here but it felt much bigger than that. So much larger.
“It’s,” she gulped. “How much of that did you hear?”
“Oh you know,” she said. “All of it.”
“Right,” she said, drawing back. “Okay. How are you feeling.”
As she stepped backwards, ready to call the nurse, Rosh grabbed her hand again, smiling at her, “Can you stay? Don’t call the nurse yet. I want it just to be us, for now.”