Chapter Text
Katie was bleeding out.
Holy shit.
She was bleeding out.
Her bones felt brittle, numb, tender, and burning all together in an endless thrum. Her nerves were a cool static, vision completely blurred.
She laid face up, glazed eyes reflecting the cloudy sky and the shrouded stars. A light fog settled over the river, streaks of moonlight cast through the mist and shined through the night.
Her back had been broken.
Actually, she had broken everything. She fell hundreds of feet down, a distance that no armor could balm. It was a plummet that left her as only a splat on the ground, a yard away from the water she needed to land in.
But it was not over. She could hear footsteps coming in her direction. If someone came to her aid and healed her before death made its claim then she’d be able to brush it off and pretend it never happened. Only her ego would be damaged.
However if she died… the only descriptor for it would be that she was well and truly fucked for a while. Death had repercussions on the Islanders. Respawn would hurt. It was the price of rebirth. The injuries would last until they healed on their own.
There was no feeling in her fingers, only a burning chill at the back of her skull. Her vision was becoming more blurry, her heart beat was failing.
“Help,” she breathily rasped, unable to manage more than a faint chatter of teeth.
The footsteps came to a halt before her, and in those fleeting seconds her sight had reduced to grey. She was running out of time.
“That was a big drop.” That voice. It was monotone, devoid of emotion, as grey as her vision.
“C-can you… help m—,” she began, only to cry out as a ripple of pain made its way through her system and up her jaw. It hurt too much to talk. She could only blearily look up like a wounded animal, eyes screaming what she could not manage to say.
A deer with a broken leg before a wolf.
There was the sound of metal, then the glint of it.
A beat of silence. The white shoes did not close the space. They did not lower to heal her.
There was a sword’s length of distance between them and the Federation Officer had a sword.
She fought through the excruciating lightning in her jaw to sound out, “Pl—,”
She never got to finish.
“Enjoy the Island.” The voice spoke over her, and then the waves of pain ceased. But not in the way she wanted.
The blade was lifted high above the both of them, the netherite glinting under the glow of the moon, before lowering in execution, slicing through her neck and cutting it off with one large stroke until it lodged into the blood soaked grass below.
It was quick, but the sight of the sword descending toward her in that moment frightened her with a terror that felt even worse than death.
The officer killed her. With her body phasing out in preparation for respawn they used those seconds to clean the blood from their blade with her clothes, wiping both flat sides on her blazer before walking away. As if the act were nothing.
She sat in death for seconds longer before her body regenerated in the last safe space she was in, her beloved sanctuary.
Katie awoke in her Headquarters and immediately screamed in pain through gritted teeth.
It echoed against the pink stained glass, the marble and wooden flooring, the high ceilings, and she could do nothing but push herself up and back against the bed frame, bones pulsing from within.
They were healed but tender, in place but fragile. She had died other times before this incident and therefore was familiar with the prospect, but it didn’t quell the shock of seeing the black-purple bruises across her skin. The darkest places surrounding her jaw, joints, and spine.
Then there was her throat, which ached in an entirely different way than the rest of her. The window’s glare revealed the brutal remnants of it, the fresh dark red line across her neck from where the sword sliced through it. A straight, horizontal wound thick with crusted red blood.
She pulled her gaze away from the sight to ease the blankets from her body. Planting her feet on the floor, she sat for a moment as she worked to clear her addled brain. She had to decide what to do next.
It was an entirely unnecessary death that would result in days worth of recovery. Weeks if she couldn’t get the right medical salves and potions for it. The ingredients necessary to create such quick healing medicines were not by any means easy to find. Especially the Regeneration potion. Therefore it was an unsaid rule learned by all the Islanders to avoid respawn as much as possible.
She fucking tried, though it clearly did not work out for her.
It didn't matter now anyway, she died a brutal death and now had to deal with the aftermath. Surely someone on the Island had the potion.
Her hands shook unnaturally—the effects of lingering death wearing off—as she conjured her communicator.
Placing it in her lap, she rubbed her hands together before picking it back up. Her fingers were blue and so, so cold.
Really, all of her was freezing.
Opening the chat box she typed out, “I lowkey need some strong healing stuff, Feds got me fuckedd rn, do you have one perchance??”
Selecting who to send it to, she hesitated.
Don came to her mind immediately. Her older brother always came through for her, always found a way to make something happen simply because she asked. He’d pull down the stars for her if she wished for it. Would spend hours in dangerous far away places harvesting materials and equipment that she needed. He’d work himself into the ground for her sake because that was who he was. He was a protector.
Knowing him and his dependable nature as she did, she knew he would get the things she needed as soon as he could. He’d venture out into danger, barter away his own items, purchase it for an unaffordable, outrageous price from greedy hands. At the cost of himself, he’d get it for her. The thought made her sour.
Her new family was making her more sentimental, less selfish. She both dreaded and relished it.
She also had her younger brother, Ashswag. Being the leader of the Regime, he had far more resources and would be more likely to have a precious medicine tucked away. It wasn’t guaranteed but there was a shot at it. At the very least he’d certainly have the materials to brew it. He was also someone to count on. The difference between him and Don was that he was more “protective” than a “protector.” Less of the shield and more of the sword. Don knew when to let something go, trusting more on her abilities and intelligence to navigate whatever she was going through. For Ash, he was a person of passion. Of vengeance. He would obsess over a counterattack, and while he was smart and powerful…it would end with him getting hurt. The Federation had killed him before. They would do it again. Then his ass would need a potion and salves as well.
She briefly considered Mike, her best friend. But he had gone on a trip to the isolated outdoors in search of hair styling inspiration. He wasn’t an option.
There was Jschlatt. The grump of an older man, owner of the small island she first found a home in. He would help her if he could. Er, maybe. She’d have to flip a coin and hope for the best, as it was hard to tell with him. He was certainly rich enough to buy her what she needed if he could find a seller. But he was so severe sometimes, so avoidant and impersonal, that occasionally she wondered if he cared about her at all.
Ewron and her had some semblance of closure and ceasefire between them after today. He was sharp enough to find what she needed and, unlike Don, Katie had no qualms asking it of him. But if Mr. J was a coin flip then he was the opposite ends of a knife. Whether she was holding it or being stabbed was dependent on his mood. She wouldn’t know her fate until he held her solution before her. Ewron would either help her drink it or would demand something for it.
She wasn’t in the mental state to deal with that.
Her mind drifted to two of the other Polish Hussar members, Graf and Multi.
Graf was the smartest person she knew. Maybe not the richest, but he was the most connected. He was a friend to all, which meant he probably knew exactly where to go and who to ask. He would be quiet about it too. The only problem was that she had bothered him so much recently. She feared if she asked for anything else so soon that he might not find her worth the effort anymore.
Multi was a doctor well accustomed to managing extensive injuries and coordinating long-term recovery. She’d bet he had what she needed on hand already and would very possibly give it to her without charge since she was Nacho’s mama. This choice’s negative would be the side eye that came with it. For reasons unbeknownst to her own self… she deeply wanted his respect.
Nacho. He was another thing to think about entirely. She didn’t want him to see her like this. Killed and wounded by the organization he was born into. She didn’t know how he’d react and what they would do to him if he tried something in retaliation. Thankfully he was with Multi at the moment and would never know so long as she was careful.
Finally, she had a second of wistfulness. There was someone dear to her heart but so impossibly far away who she knew would make a way to help her. Her husband, her Tomate. He wouldn’t need to find it, or make it, or buy it, or barter it. He’d conjure it and give it to her.
There was a time he would have refused out of duty to his superiors, back before they were married. In the early days when they were boyfriend and girlfriend and loyalties to their people were stronger and futures were uncertain. But that was before he turned on the Federation and married her. If he was here now he’d have had it for her in seconds. Because he loved her.
In her sadness, her haze of melancholy, her shoulders sagged and the quiver of her thumb made a devastating mistake. It spasmed over the keyboard and hit enter.
Katie failed to notice the text sending. To the entire server.
Refocusing on the message, she only saw that it had disappeared and simply retyped it, this time sending it to Mr. J. As a creature of habit, she would start by doing what she always did when in need: raid his storage.
Without waiting for a response, she left her communicator on the bed and rose up on weary legs. She wasn’t prepared for the sudden give out. If not for her bedside table she’d have faceplanted into the floor, arms reaching out to catch herself on its surface.
She leaned there for a second to regain her breath, trying to catalogue her next actions through a foggy brain.
Her items would have to be recollected from the corpse, which was another journey entirely. One she was currently not able to make. First she needed to heal. Right now Katie could barely walk.
She remembered she kept a second warppoint stored in the drawer she was leaning against and eased down on her knees to rummage for it.
At the bottom drawer it laid and inches from it was an experience tonic. She pulled both out, taking a sip before circling her thumb around the enchanted purple stone to activate its teleportation capabilities.
Her senses were dull compared to the usual. It’d take a day to regain clear vision, hearing, movement, smell… simply another problem that post death brought.
Her inability to hear as she readied for Schlatt & Co. was the reason she missed the raised, frantic voices from the first floor.
Two individuals emerged from the waystone the second their communicators pinged.
“Katie! Are you here?!” Ashswag called, sword in hand as he ran into the building, Don behind him.
“Sis, you hurt!?”
A low buzz of static mushed her brain and diluted the calls of Ash and Don. Their voices went unheard. She visualized her destination: the oak trees, the dirt path, warm brick and a towering lighthouse. She kept her eyes closed and faded away, disappearing in a plume of dark enchantment.
The waystone thrummed a deep, ancient rhythm as she emerged from it with a stagger.
Before her was the warm red brick of Jschlatt’s house, and under it resided the KFC red walls of the first place she ever called home.
“Mr. J,” it was a pathetic attempt at a signal, coming out as a throaty rasp.
Rubbing a hand down her throat in hopes it would help her voice ring true, she winced as she scraped the flat of her palm over the very fragile wound that minutes ago removed her head from her previous body.
It instantly sent a deep, burning sting up her neck. She raised the collar of the sleeping t-shirt she respawned in to press it against the wound, making a hissing sound when the cloth grew red.
Choosing Schlatt as her first choice was perhaps not the smartest thing she could have done. For one, he often left for trips to fucktown (an undisclosed location) and would do so without any notice, and two, he sometimes treated her like he didn’t like her.
Meaning she may be wasting her damn time.
Keeping her shirt collar pressed against her throat, she took one slow step, then another, and delicately made her way to the door.
She braced herself against it and regained her breath, questioning her life choices. Why the hell couldn’t she have just teleported out of the air jail like a normal person?
“Mr. J?” She called out again, voice just as raspy as the first time but louder due to the urgency. She didn’t know if it was possible to die again because of wounds that carried over from one’s first death and she wished to not find out.
There was a meow from the other side, one of his chatty ass cats no doubt.
She almost banged her hand against the door but thought better of it. Her bones felt tender.
“Schlatt?” She called, stepping back so her eyes could rove across the front of the house for a sign informing her of his whereabouts. There wasn’t anything, which meant nothing. He could be gone either way.
Luckily she had a key to his house.
If she could get down to her basement room without re-breaking anything.
Turning to the lighthouse, she slowly made her way there, grasping at the railing the second it became available.
At the bottom awaited a small and sleek brown form. Grace. She purred a gentle sound the second Katie’s form popped into view.
“Hi Grace… do you know where I put the key to Mr. J’s?”
The cat mewed a string of vocalizations that she failed to understand before turning and frolicking down the hallway. Katie followed.
Grace led her to her ender chest and her memory clicked. Of course it was there. That was Mr. J’s only demand before he gave it to her—that she keep it there so it’d never be stolen.
“Thanks Grace.” She whispered, conserving energy, and Grace chirupped and bumped her head against her leg before escorting her out of the lighthouse.
The way up took more out of her than the way down.
Chest rumbling, breaths wheezing something entirely abnormal, Grace watched with worried croons as Katie sluggishly exited the lighthouse and made it back to the front door. She fumbled the key into the keyhole and pushed Schlatt’s door open.
Making her way into the kitchen, she stared at the trapdoor.
Getting down the ladder to his storage room felt impossible.
Frustrated tears welled up and she wavered from where she stood. Leaning down with a pace slower than grandma, she opened it, peered at the drop, and confirmed the impossibleness. There was no way she’d make it without fainting. The yards between her and the storage room floor felt like miles.
She turned around to the other side of the room. The warm, lit fireplace, the couch with a quilt thrown over its back. The dark amber lighting.
At a loss, Katie crossed over and fell limp onto the sofa, eyes shutting as she swallowed fiercely. Pain shuddered through her body in spasms.
In that moment it felt like too much. Like the world was pressing down on her shoulders and there was nowhere left but the bottom. She couldn’t hold its weight, she was running out of room to bear it. She couldn’t do anything. She couldn’t find favor with Ewron, couldn’t effectively run her businesses without someone shitting on them and giving her a hard time, couldn’t win a court case without being imprisoned, couldn’t get her husband back, couldn’t make her way to the storage room, couldn’t do something as simple as land in fucking water.
And now she’s made the brilliant decision to travel to the one place where there was a huge possibility it would be empty. Which, it fucking was.
Long, bruised legs draping off the end of the couch, she hauled herself deeper into the cushions and pulled her knees up, cocooning into a ball on her side.
Katie opened her eyes and watched the fire crackle. The thrash of the flames and the leaps of orange hues.
It lulled her into sleep. There was no fight, no consideration of her free bleeding neck and the fragility of her situation.
Another indication of post death: exhaustion.
________
“Katie.” A graveled voice stirred her.
The world was a muffled mess of white noise. Cold and isolated and a bit wet.
“Wake up Katie.”
White. Like the Federation. With her eyes closed the void was all there was. Spots of static danced under her eyelids, blooming white specks reminding her that as much as she wished to be left alone in the dark, that freedom on the Island did not exist.
“Katie. I need you to wake up.” There’s the press of a palm cradling the back of her head, lifting her up. She did not stir. She didn’t have it in her to try.
The voice above her grew charged, “Goddammit! She’s still not waking up. The fuck do I do?”
“Have her hold this. Don’t panic, it’s just in case.” Something hard is pressed into her left palm. “Keep talking to her, I’ll try to find something to shock her system.”
“She’s cold to the touch. Hurry.” There was a long pause and then shuffling. She was being lifted and maneuvered. Everything ached and it was all she could think about until the low voice filtered in again, “I got you B, you’re alright.”
Cold. Like the air hundreds of feet in the sky, sitting across from her betrayer. Katie wondered if it was possible to get any colder than how she felt then. It was a silly idea. She’s learning that there will always be a ‘colder.’ Always a colder, always an emptier.
“Please. You can do it, B. Come on. Open those eyes for me.”
Wet. Like the river inches from her brittle fingertips.
She almost made it. Almost landed in the water. How many times will she almost make it? Will the day come where she does not have to give up one thing to gain another? Will a day come where the world will no longer feel like a trade being made?
Someone was wiping liquid from her neck. She was wet like the river. Like her tears. Like her hair absorbing her own blood.
“I got it! Keep her there, that’s good, but tilt her head back.”
There’s a sudden smell, something pressed up to her nose. It was a pungent, sharp odor. Like some sort of chemical that leaves a person burning.
It made her shift. Then cry out.
The voices were becoming clearer. A gentle cadence crashed over her, not as deep as the voice holding her but overwhelmingly soft. Almost parental, “You’re doing good, mate. You don’t have much here but I’ll run and check my storage for some stronger stuff. We’ve stopped the imminent danger. Now we just need to find her what she needs.”
“Yeah, yeah. You go do that Phil.” The deep voice belonging to the man holding her was strained, tension filled. There’s the sound of the front door closing, then silence, then the pop of firewood.
She almost slipped away again. The exhaustion digging in once more, when the strong smell was pressed against her nose again. She instinctively pushed away, senses kicking alert.
“Dammit B, I got you. Open your eyes,” her eyes opened. “There you go. That’s it.”
Wearily, she looked at the scene around her. She was on the couch. The fire was still going. It was restocked, greater and warmer now, its burning hues leaving the room brighter than before. There were several cats sleeping curled on the rug. The coffee table had been pushed back, moved out of the way to make room. There was a first aid kit splayed out upon its surface, depleted and messily scattered.
She recentered onto the figure currently holding her, looking up and taking in his dark brown hair, sideburns, tan skin, ruffled suit, and the lines around his eyes and mouth, which pressed into a thin line.
He had one hand on her back, the other raised in the space between them gripping a container of smelling salts.
“Schlatt?” She recognized before noticing her clothes.
She was no longer only in her sleeping shirt and sweatpants, thick woolen socks and a large dark blue sweatshirt had been put over her at some point to provide a second layer, batting out the chill. Bandages from the first aid kit were wrapped around her throat, shifting firmly against her as she swallowed. She tried to move her hand up to feel but paused when she noticed the golden yellow totem in her grasp.
“Thought you might have needed it. Just in case.” He explained rapidly, setting down the smelling salts on the coffee table before easing her back onto the pillows. When his hand left her back she missed its warmth.
Her voice was scraped raw,“You’re here.”
“Yes, B, I’m here. You alright? You aren’t going to go unconscious on me again?”
She took a moment to answer. Physically she felt like an anchor at sea bottom, but cognitively she was still present.
“I don’t think so,” she croaked but paused. She probably needed a second opinion, “Do I look like I will?”
“What kinda question is that? You look like you were repeatedly thrown against pavement by King Kong, so yes you look like you’ll pass out.”
”Oh.”
He raised a brow, “Yeah, fucking oh. Jesus Katie, what the hell happened?”
She swallowed again, “I…,” her voice was but a rasp, making it hard to talk, but she fought through it, “I made a mistake. At the sky jail. I fell off and broke… everything.”
He stared at her.
She decided he was in no mood for her peacocking, “Okay, you got me. I actually jumped and missed the water.”
“I don’t give a shit about that.” He shook his head, “Your neck, Katie. What happened to your neck?”
She raised her unoccupied hand and reactively hovered her fingertips over the bindings, “I was put down by the Federation Officer.”
“Put down… by the Federation Officer.” He echoed.
She cringed and nodded.
“Put down like…like a dog?” His voice dipped dangerously low.
“I am Perro Grande,” she tried for humor. His stare was burning. “I don’t know what to say, Schlatt. That’s what happened.”
His sigh was long and disappointed, leaving prickles on her skin and reddening her cheeks. This was supposed to be the part where a punchline was thrown in and they both laugh.
“Are you okay?” She asked.
The look he gave her made her lean away, “Am I okay? That’s funny. Why don’t you try that again?”
“Sorry, sorry. I’m okay.”
“A lie isn’t any better.”
She didn’t respond so he maneuvered her legs off him where he could stand up. He draped the quilt over her before moving away. Crouching over the coffee table, she watched him sort through the mess before he spoke again, “I was with Philza at his place when he alerted me that you sent out a weird message. I don’t ever have my communicator on me but he was convinced we needed to come here.”
He looked over at her while shutting the aid kit with a click, “Thank God I was sober enough to listen to him. By the time we got here and saw your injuries I wasn’t sure if you’d wake up again. But Philza’s a wiser man than me, at least in the art of escaping death. By some miracle we were able to get you stable.”
“Guess I owe him and you a cigarette.”
She picked at the nose of the totem as he straightened to his full height and walked over to stir the fire, “I should probably quit. I got short of breath for a moment there.”
“You’d never give up your cigs Mr. J and you know it.”
“You don’t know anything Kate.” In the low light there was an emphasis on the tired hunch of his frame. The strands of grey in his hair. It reminded her of how he was aging. An alcoholic, smoker older man who gave up fighting. Who happened to have a good heart.
His back was to her and the crackle of fire and the purr of cats trickled between them before he forced out,
“You were dying on my couch Katie.” The words lingered in the warm lit space between them.
She could only stare at him.
“All of this time you’ve come and gone from my Island like it’s a bus stop. I’ve seen you in a thousand different outfits, doing a thousand different things, planning a thousand different projects, but not once did I expect to add almost dying in my house on that list.”
“Jack of all trades,” she quipped. He ignored her and continued, “There’s no other way to say it: it scared me. Your cat was meowing a storm the moment I got here, my door was left wide open with blood on the handle, and you were laying stiff on my couch. Unresponsive.”
“I imagine that was a shocker.” He casted her a look that screamed, ‘you think?’ before going into the kitchen.
She listened to him move around. The sink came on twice, the fridge opened and closed.
“In my defense the Fed guy completely escalated things. I didn’t even insult him that much. Like, holy sensitive.”
He returned to her and passed her a glass of water and an applesauce, placing a wooden chair down and sitting across from her. “You almost died,” he reiterated strongly, “you came in my house and almost died.” The look he gave her wiped the humor right off her face, deep brown eyes shredding her jolly facade into limp pieces. Her vision grew misty and she swallowed once.
He used the momentum to stress,
“I’d like to make one thing clear. I never want to find you injured like this again.”
Katie gripped her drink tighter in her hands before nodding once.
He surprised her with an unnecessary scoff of disbelief.
“What?” She rasped, lowering the cup, “I won’t bother you anymore, I swear. I’m not gonna bloody your couch again or let all the cold air get out. You don’t have to kick me off your island or anything.”
“That’s not—why do you think I’d do that?”
“I don’t know, you’ve threatened it before and have done it once so I’d say it’s a fair assumption.”
Opposite to her, he shook his head, “Alright, I’ll make another thing clear: “I want you to come into my home with that spare key I gave you, and I want to see you sit on my couch, and eat applesauce and whatever the hell else.” He rubbed a hand over his jaw. “I want you around. But not injured.”
“Don’t be coming in here injured. Got it.” Damn. She took a sip of water and tried to settle her nerves.
He sighed a very familiar sigh, “Don’t be getting injured.”
She gave him a thumbs up. He continued, “And if you do get hurt go to someone more reliable than me. Like—,”
A whir sounded from outside. The waystone being activated.
“Schlatt?” A voice called, Polish accent strong.
Katie’s neck twanged a painful flare as her head twisted to face the door. She knew that voice. Very well.
Resting his hands on his knees, Schlatt huffed into a standing position and walked over to the door. He poked his head out and questioned the man on the other side, then pulled it wide to allow the Polish scientist to step in, turbid blue eyes roving through the room before finding her supine on the couch.
Practiced, steady pale hands stuffed into his lab coat pockets, he moved forward measuredly, eyeing Schlatt, who closed the door behind him. Untrusting.
Schlatt simply looked past the hesitation, uncaring of any skepticism.
“Multi—,” she started, only to pause as the scientist began at the same time, “Katie—,”
She didn’t know where to begin, plenty of thoughts parachuting into her head.
One landed: how did he know to come here?
Katie didn’t think Multi and Schlatt had any connections. They scarcely interacted and Schlatt had no reason to call him over specifically. Maybe because he was also a doctor? A doctor was what she needed. But still, there were other contacts Schlatt would have gone to before contacting the scientist he once deemed “strange as shit.”
She resisted the urge to ask. The answer would come eventually.
“You’re here.” She rasped, ripping off the lid of the applesauce to keep herself busy.
“I am.” He dug into his pocket and pulled out a salve of some sort. He held it at his side, watching her struggle with removing the leftover paper along the rim.
“Is Nacho doing good?”
“Yes, he’s as happy as ever.”
“Good.”
Neither said anything else. Multi was scanning her for signs of injury, lingering on the darkest bruises and the thick, tight bandages around her neck. The totem in her lap. Not knowing what to say, she was about to scoop her fingers in the little cup to eat when Schlatt stepped away.
“I forgot to get you a spoon.” He finally gruffed out, tired of the posturing. He moved into the kitchen and came back with one, passing it to her without a word.
“Thanks Mr. J.”
He nodded, “You’ve got a doctor with you now. I’m going upstairs to sleep. And to watch the Mets.”
“I hope they win.”
Without a reply, he looked over to where Multi stood with his hands clasped.
“You take care of her.” Schlatt voiced heatedly. Multi tipped his head and the ram hybrid took it as an agreement. He glanced back over to her, “I hope they win too, B.”
He went up the stairs and it was silent until his door clicked closed.
Multi became unguarded with the other man’s exit, “I have this for you.”
She eased up and tried to smile, “Thanks Doctor. What will it do?”
Approaching, he took the applesauce and spoon from her and sat it down on the coffee table. She was actually hungry and wanted it but said nothing as he pried the cap off the salve and kneeled beside her. “For four days you’ll put this over your bruises and massage it gently into the skin.” He held out his hand, palm open, and it took her a moment to realize he wanted her arm.
She offered it and he grasped her elbow carefully, bringing it forward to lay flat on his knee.
“Use only a small scoop for each bruise, about this much,” he demonstrated with a swipe, around half a teaspoon on his fingers.
He focused on the purple-black discoloration around the pulse point of her wrist first. The spread of the cooling salve over the bruise quieted the ache, leaving only the faint drag of his fingers behind. He rubbed even circles, pushing the treatment into her skin.
While it felt amazing, her mind lingered on the idea of four fucking days, “That long?” She whined. He kept his eyes on his movements, the quiet precision of an expert at work, “This is bad, you’ll need continuous care unless you want to suffer from achiness for months.”
“What about the super-duper tonic? The one that heals instantly? You can’t slide me some of that?”
Sighing (a lot of people sigh around her), he moved up her arm and repeated the process, “What you’re thinking of doesn’t exist, not without Federation interference anyway. There’s things we can do to speed up the process but healing overnight after undergoing something as traumatic as death is almost impossible.”
“Oh.”
He only nodded and continued working.
Multi was gentle. Admirably so. While he was often seen kitted out in radioactive gear and imposing masks, blue eyes glinting green in toxic light, the act reminded her of the other side of him. The side that showed only in the presence of Nacho. The attentive, nurturing part of him that recognized the value in life.
“Aren’t you wondering what happened?” Maybe Schlatt filled him in. He certainly would have if he had called the doctor over—but Multi was the type to pull the facts from the original perspective. It surprised her that he hadn’t barraged her with questions the moment he came in.
“The Feds fucked you up, you said. Judging by your bruises, the bandages around your throat, and the timing it had something to do with your sentence in sky jail with Ewron. You’ll tell me the rest later I imagine? But now everyone is safe and we can focus on this first.” He paused and she saw a green flash of intrigue in his gaze, “But you’ll say when you’re ready?”
“Sure. But it was honestly stupid so I’d rather not say at all.”
“Okay,” he gestured to her shirt and she nodded, pulling up and away from the pillows to take off the sweatshirt and roll her t-shirt sleeve up, exposing her shoulder.
He started on it while continuing, “It was the Federation only? Or did Ewron have a role?”
“It was only the Federation Officer. Ewron left before it happened.”
“And you’re certain he was uninvolved?”
She hesitated and glanced over to him. He was already watching her, an attention in his stare. “I’m sure. Believe me, I know when fucking Ewron is playing his tricks.
He hummed, “Alright, I believe you.”
She couldn’t stop the small smile at his easy acceptance.
She hissed when he got to her clavicle, he silently assessed her neck while kneading, “You’ll have to tell me more about your neck wound.”
“I thought Schlatt would have told you?”
“No?” Well then. She wondered if she should show him but feared the wound opening again.
She decided to just be forward about it, “I got my head cut off.”
He paused completely. She shuffled closer, silently encouraging him to keep going. When he didn’t she looked over.
He met her gaze, a frown dominating his expression.
“I think you should tell me the whole story.” He said finally.
“I finished sky jail with Ewron, he went his separate way and I went mine. I jumped from the platform and aimed for the water…missed… and then needed somebody to revive me.”
“And the Federation Officer was there,” Multi guessed, “but they let you die.”
“Let me die and finished the fucking job. They had to go and cut my head off—full execution style. Like damn. I wouldn’t have had to deal with this,” she gestured to her neck, “if they left me the fuck alone. But no, the world just hates me.”
“There isn’t anything else important that happened? A clue to their motive behind it?” He probed, slowly resuming his hand movements.
“No. I insulted them once but not enough to warrant killing me. Jealously maybe? Of my success and amazing life.” She reached out for the water and he grabbed it for her, “I’ve got several businesses, a child, and a kidnapped but living husband.” She took a sip and spoke around the glass, “A family. They wish they had it like me—,” she cut off with a wince as she swallowed, every cord and vein in her throat buzzing in irritation.
Multi took the glass away the moment she brought it down, “Kurwa,” he murmured, “Katie, does it hurt to speak?”
“Of fucking course,” she rasped.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” He beseeched, accent peaking.
“Because I’d have to talk to tell you.”
He blinked at her and she cracked a smile, “Joking. It hurts but not that bad, I’ll let you know if I need a break.”
“You need a break.”
“Really Multi? Really?”
“You’ll damage your vocal cords if you irritate them too much. You should have told me the moment I came in about what happened.”
“Remember just a few minutes ago when you said ‘when I’m ready’?”
“Having your neck cut off changes things. You’re on vocal rest.”
They fell into another silence, she looked longingly at her applesauce and, catching the look, he passed it over.
She ate as he switched to her other wrist, “I hope you’re paying attention.” Multi leisurely commented, “I’m not doing this again.” She lifted her spoon in salute.
He stopped at her mid arm, unable to reach her other shoulder with her on the couch.
Katie was surprised he did as much as he had already. He may have been ‘teaching’ her, but she got it after he was done with her first wrist. It wasn’t rocket science.
“I didn’t want to bother you with this.” She started suddenly, hoping to make it clear.
“You didn’t.”
“I did.”
“Katie.” He sounded almost offended, “You’re family.”
The words slipped out before he could consider them.
He immediately looked down and tightened the cap on the salve. She stared at him with a wide eyed expression.
“Through Nacho,” he amended.
“Right, of course.” She coughed before continuing.
“Thank you. Seriously. I kind of wish you hadn’t though, it’s embarrassing.”
“Embarrassing? Yet you tell everyone?” He replied jokingly.
It confused her. “What are you talking about?”
Standing up, he moved into the kitchen to wash his hands, “You broadcasted your message.”
Her heart plummeted, “I absolutely did not.”
“You did. Check.”
She shoved her hands deep into the pockets of her sweatpants and came up empty, “My communicator. I don’t—I don’t have it with me. I must have left it at HQ.”
“You sent it to everyone, Katie.” He reiterated softly. She shook her head and winced, “I—, no.” She couldn’t believe it, couldn’t accept it. The entire server, every Islander, knowing she had a run in with the Feds? She thought of Don and Ash. Of what they could be doing at the moment.
“It’s how I knew to come here. You weren’t at the HQ so I figured you went to your old home.” She sat upright, placing her legs onto the floor next to a dozing cat. “B-but I sent it to Schlatt only? I don’t understand…”
“You must have sent it twice? It’s alright Katie. No need to be so upset.”
But her mind was already working. “Ash and Don are looking for me by now, I got to let them know I’m good.”
Multi scowled, toxic neon flashing in his eyes. “You are laying on a couch wrapped in bandages.”
“And?”
“And you are thinking about them when you should focus on yourself.”
She went to shake her head ‘no’ but the sting in her neck made her think better of it, “My brothers are sure to be worried about me. I need to text them from my communicator so they know I’m safe.”
She had to pick it up herself. If anyone else tried it would phase through their hands. It was a safety measure that kept others from stealing communicators. “I need to go get it.”
“Your brothers will survive a day of uncertainty. I’ll help you get it tomorrow when your senses aren’t fogged and you aren’t exhausted.”
“Multi—,”
“Ash and Don are not my priority right now.”
“Well they’re mine.”
“Yes. That’s the problem.”
She didn’t respond to him, turning to look up the staircase.
“Schlatt!” She screamed sharply at the top of her lungs, despite the burn. The cat woke up. Multi dropped his head into his hand. “Stop screaming, kurwa.”
There was a loud thump from the second floor, clambering as someone got up rapidly.
“What?!” Schlatt screamed back.
“You got my message on your communicator, right?! That’s how you knew to come here?”
“What? No, I left my shit at the house. Philza told me!”
“What?!”
“I told you that! Pete’s sake—I fucking said he got me off my ass after getting a message.”
“I thought he read your communicator or something!” She stood up and leaned against the couch back.
“No!”
“What the hell—!” Her voice gave out halfway through, dying into a strangled, painful croak.
Multi’s head whipped to her immediately, “Alright, kurwa, enough.” He chastised, “Quit screaming before you become mute and I turn deaf. And lay back down! What are you doing standing up?!”
Uncharacteristically, she listened. At least that’s what he believed. He turned back to the facet and put more soap on his hands.
Once he wasn’t facing her she soundlessly slipped on a pair of Schlatt’s house shoes and started on the short distance out the door to the waystone.
Multi sighed from his place at the sink, oblivious, “Let’s gather what you want to bring from here and you can stay at my Lab for a bit. Nacho will want to spend time with his mama and I can monitor your wounds. You don’t have to worry about any of this.”
He turned the tap off and dried his hands with a cloth, then turned around and jolted at the sound of a waystone. And the empty space.
There wasn’t anyone there. She was gone.
“Kurwa!” He hissed. Loud enough that Schlatt called from upstairs, “What? Holy shit, what now?”
Multi’s eyes hovered from the empty couch to the wide open door.
His mouth dropped open.
There was the sound of feet coming down the stairs and the older ram hybrid followed his gaze. “Where’d she go?”
He didn’t respond, walking forward slowly and then quickly. Schlatt followed, cursing.
They stopped in front of the waystone.
Multi wanted to put his head in his hands. Or to shake her shoulders. If only he could. She’d gone for that stupid fucking communicator. And she could barely walk.
“What are you waiting for, doc? You best go get her.” Schlatt began and Multi side eyed him, “You are like her father figure, no? You won’t chase after her?”
Schlatt seemed repulsed by the idea of ‘father’ (though his actions implied differently), “She’s an independent business woman, she can do whatever the hell she wants.”
“Then I should not stop her?”
Schlatt scoffed like his question was stupid, “No! Go fucking stop her! God, you’re acting as her doctor and you’re going to let her hurt herself more? She won’t make it up the flight of stairs without cracking her head open!”
Multi couldn’t exactly argue with that.
With a sigh, he pressed his palm against the teleporter. “I’ll update you on what happens. She might come with me to the Lab afterward.”
Schlatt waved him off, “Yeah, yeah. Just help her out.” A flash of worry visibly shone in his eyes as he muttered, “B and her Goddamn antics.”
He started toward the house, then stopped.
“And make sure she actually stays put for once.”
Multi’s mouth twitched.
“I’ll try.”
“Good fucking luck.”
Multi focused on the pink heights of Katie’s Headquarters. The white quartz, the stained-glass windows, the tulips, the bike abandoned out front.
The trees swayed overhead, birds singing from their branches. The ocean lapped at the rocky shore in slow, rhythmic thumps.
At the base of the lighthouse, Grace lay curled in the grass.
She watched the stone flare with half-lidded eyes, purring softly as white ancient particles drifted through the air.
By the time she blinked, he was gone.