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Kima didn’t spend much time dwelling on might-have-beens, but that didn’t mean that sometimes they didn’t sneak up on her and drag her underwater.
And she knew firsthand what happens to a paladin in full plate when you toss them in the drink.
When you lived your life by duty, there was close to no room left for anything -- or anyone -- else, no matter how much you wanted it to be different.
Things were good in the beginning, when it was her and Allura and Drake, and Sirus, Dohla, and Ghenn. They didn’t start out trying to save the world. There was more time, and the stakes were lower. They could sit around the fire at night and tell stories and laugh.
It was her laugh that did it, Kima thought, If she never would have laughed, I wouldn’t have this problem right now. Kima had just finished retelling the story of how she ended up upside down in a muck pile after offending some farmer who was far too sensitive about the shape of her beets. Allura had laughed so hard that she snorted, and the sight of the beautiful, dignified arcanist red-faced and snorting was a punch to Kima’s gut, worse than any punch she’d ever gotten in any brawl she’d ever been in. She joined the rest of the group in their laughter -- it was funny, after all -- but she wanted to crawl away and breathe for a bit, to try to make some sense of this overwhelming feeling of holy shit that broke her brain in half.
Warriors don’t crawl away. Cowards do. And Kima was no coward.
It wasn’t easy being next to her after that. Kima had been tortured before and she would be tortured after, but she would almost, almost choose that over spending every day with Allura and pretending that they were only good friends and adventuring companions. There was no armor, no shield strong enough to protect her heart when Allura would lay out her bedroll beside her and say goodnight with that smile of hers, or when they’d have the watch together and just sit in comfortable, companionable silence.
Like needles, thought Kima, It was just like needles: constant tiny pokes under your skin until you just can’t stand it anymore. And she couldn’t stand it forever.
By the time they took on Thordak, their nights were spent in a keep instead of on the road, in their own bedrooms instead of bedrolls by the fire. Allura and Drake had grown strong enough that their time spent traveling was much less than it used to be. Kima had stayed up late the night before, drinking just one more ale as she thought about what they’d all be facing the next day. She was excited. You didn’t get the opportunity every day to take on a red dragon the age and size of Thordak, and it was going to feel so good when they finally got that fucker locked away on the fire plane where he belonged. It would have been a lie, though, to say she wasn’t also scared, and Kima never lied. After all, they had lost to him before. She thought of Allura, and how hard she and the Arcana Pansophical had worked to get the soul anchor ready. If she were the kind to pray for protection, she would have prayed for Allura to get out alive. She had not thought Bahamut would appreciate that prayer, though, since their individual lives didn’t really matter as long as they defeated Thordak. Fuck it. She’d pray anyway. She slammed down the rest of the ale and made her way to bed. She didn’t think she’d sleep, but it was a lot better than staying awake and brooding.
That was the intention, anyway. Kima opened the door to her room, and Allura was sitting cross-legged on her old bedroll on the floor, her skirts spread over her lap. Kima paused in the doorway, and Allura looked up at her, a faint flush across her cheeks.
“I couldn’t sleep, and I thought that maybe you’d be having trouble, too,” Allura said, her expression uncharacteristically bashful. “I thought we could sleep out like we did before, when we didn’t have the fate of the world on our shoulders. Do you remember how good it felt when our biggest worry was a group of kobolds finding us while we were asleep?” The dim light of the lantern shone through her hair, the golden strands shining like a halo.
“I don’t remember it feeling all that good at the time, Allie,” Kima said. She smirked and was pretty sure that twist to her lips was the only thing keeping her mouth from hanging open. Her gaze, though, seemed to be stuck on the woman before her with half-closed eyes and a small, nostalgic smile. It seemed like Kima’s feet pulled her forward of their own will and she fought the urge to brush Allura’s hair back behind her ear with her fingers.
Busy. She should be busy. That would help. Kima pulled her bedroll out from under the bed and spread it out next to Allura. And she should just keep talking. “You probably just remember it feeling better because if we fucked up then, it was just us that would die and not everyone in Tal’dorei.”
“I know. Oh, I know that, Kima. I can’t forget it! I haven’t been able to forget it for months,” Allura said without any of her normal confidence. She hid her face in her hands, and Kima heard a strangled sob. The sound struck her straight through the heart. Kima could count on one hand the number of times she had heard Allura cry and she didn’t even need all of her fingers to do it. Despite Allura’s preference for gowns and lack of obvious weaponry, she was maybe the strongest person Kima knew. Those noises should never come from her Allie. It was just wrong.
“Shit, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. You’ve worked harder than anyone to make this happen.” Kima knelt down beside her and placed a hand on her shoulder. “It’s true. Tomorrow means nothing without you.”
When it had slipped from her mouth, Kima could swear that she was only talking about the soul anchor and the battle to trap Thordak, but she knew she really was referring to the tomorrow beyond just the next day, to all of her tomorrows.
Allura looked up at her, her tear-filled eyes serious. Somehow, Kima knew that she had heard the meaning behind the words.
“Is that… I mean… Do you mean that?” Allura asked, one hand reaching out to cup Kima’s cheek. Her gaze searched Kima’s face, her own expression earnest and intent.
There was no good way to answer that. If she said yes, everything would change, probably for the worse. If she said no, she would see that earnestness fade, and she could not allow it to be replaced by hurt. And she could die tomorrow. They all could. She could not allow one of her last memories of Allura, or one of Allura’s last memories of her, to be one of pain.
Kima closed her eyes and breathed. Quietly, she said, “You know me. I don’t lie. Yes. Yes, I meant it.” She felt Allura withdraw her hand, and Kima’s heart shriveled and an empty pit opened in the bottom of her stomach. She inhaled again, words of apology on her lips. She could fix this, she could make it--
Kima felt Allura’s lips on hers, soft and warm. It was so gentle at first that if Kima hadn’t felt Allura’s breath on her cheek, she would not have believed it was happening at all. Kima wasn’t often caught flat footed, but this strong, beautiful woman managed to do it twice. Battle-honed reflexes don’t really apply when the woman you’ve been dreaming of kissing for years takes the initiative herself and you suddenly find her lips on yours.
Kima froze, she was ashamed to remember. And because she froze, Allura pulled back.
“My apologies,” Allura said, with her head high and her back straight, “I had assumed you meant otherwise. Of course, I am and always will be your dearest friend. Now, if you would be so good as to forget--”
“Allie,” Kima said, interrupting, “shut up. You just surprised me is all.” And with that, Kima proved that she was indeed no coward.
Yeah, that was a good night. And then the next, when they found comfort in each other at the loss of their friends. And then again and again after that, until Allura accepted the seat on the council in Emon and Kima knew she had to heed Bahamut’s call and go to the temple in Vasselheim.
She didn’t like to think about the goodbyes, nor the years that had passed between the times they could see each other. Sure, they kept in touch, but it wasn’t the same, and it wouldn’t ever be the same again.
Kima stood up and grabbed her sword. It was new and she needed some practice with it to get the balance right. Her sudden urge to work out had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that she was getting stuck in such a mopey frame of mind, and even less than nothing to do with the gnawing she felt in her gut. After all, it would be normal, right? Thordak was back and so very soon she’d have another crack at him. She’d have to have no feelings at all not to be thinking about what happened last time. And she did have feelings! Just maybe not very many of them, and even fewer of them loudly.
Opinions, though, she had plenty of. And it was her opinion that fifteen years of this bullshit were way too many. She knew that the old feelings were there when Allura greeted her so warmly after Vox Machina had rescued her from the duergar in the underdark. It felt… really good, but she wasn’t going to start something again when she was on her way out the door. That would have been stupid.
THWACK. She hit the pell with the sword, testing its balance. It had been awhile since she used one. She tended to prefer heavier weapons, but this Holy Avenger was something amazing. You know what else is stupid? her thoughts pushed their way into her practice. It’s so fucking stupid that Allie and I have been living together alone in the same damn house since the Conclave came and neither one of us has said anything about it.
THWACK. The pell shook from the impact. I can’t do this anymore. It’s like the needles again, but it’s worse. Now I know what it’s like, what she’s like, and I just can’t fucking take it right now. The gnawing in her gut churned into a rage that bubbled through her blood into all of her limbs. She let loose on the pell with one strike after another, shredding the hide cover into bedraggled strips that only just barely stayed attached. Finally, Kima stopped and rested one hand on the tattered pell for support. Sweating and panting, she swiped an arm across her forehead. The only wetness on her face was from the sweat and definitely not any at all from tears.
I’m going to fix this, she thought with a slow sigh. Allie did last time and now it is my turn. But this time, neither of us gets to leave at the end. After all, who knew what the world would look like after Thordak was destroyed? Who knew if either of them would even survive? She did know, though, that no matter how many days she or Allura had left, they were going to spend all of their tomorrows together.
That left just one more question: where the fuck was she going to find a ring?
Sometimes, Allura watched Kima and wondered what might have been.
It wasn't that Allura felt she needed companionship. No, she had her studies to keep her occupied when the world wasn't about to end. And when the inevitable crises arose that threatened the continued existence of sentient life everywhere, well, she needed to be there to make sure that whatever it was this time didn't come to pass. It was more that sometimes it might have been nice to have someone around who truly understood what it was like to bear this weight on her shoulders.
She knew that Kima did.
She had thought that maybe Tiberius would have. The dragonborn sorcerer was a bit self-involved, but after all that he'd helped Vox Machina do, she thought she at least ought to get to know him better. At least, she had thought that until she had heard he’d murdered an old woman as she fled, and then how he'd abandoned his friends when they needed him. Someone like that obviously couldn't understand. Now that he was dead, the question was moot anyway.
Kima, on the other hand, threw herself into the thickest of the mess whenever she had the opportunity. It seemed to Allura that life was pretty black-and-white for Kima. As she devoted herself to chasing the tiniest bit of information that could hint at solutions, she could appreciate that sort of decisive action. She spent so much time with her thoughts mired in figuring out what was right and how and why, while Kima was acting and making real change. Allura didn't think that her approach to life was wrong, she just thought that sometimes, it grew tiresome. Kima’s conviction was something to admire.
And then, of course, there was the matter of her muscles. Those were something to admire, too.
Allura couldn’t exactly remember when she started noticing Kima. Well, “noticing” was probably the best word for it, though it seemed silly to “notice” someone you had been traveling with for quite some time, she thought. There was never any particular moment she could identify before which she had not noticed Kima and after which she frequently noticed her. It was more like… a constant awareness. Kima was always there, on the edges of her perception, no matter what either of them were doing, and it seemed to Allura that it had been that way from the beginning.
Sometimes, this was wonderful. Kima was a warmth and a light that was always there, her humor and her gruff kindness illuminating everyone around her and making them better. It had felt as if she was a part of that glow, and there was something in it that drew her in again and again. She made sure that she and Kima had the same watch more often than not, and she would always lay out her bedroll next to hers. It wasn’t enough, but when they were together, Allura felt the world align in a way that just made sense. As an arcanist, she could not overstate how significant and rare an occurrence this truly was.
But sometimes, it was awful. During battle, she could never quite keep her eyes off Kima, who was always mired deep in the thickest action. Allura would never admit it aloud, especially to Kima (who would ream her out if she even suspected), but she didn’t always take the most battle-strategic action if it appeared as if Kima were in more danger than she could handle. It wasn’t often, as Kima was one of the most capable fighters she had ever met, but still, she had protected her at times. It wasn’t even a conscious thing, so much as the utter certainty that a world without Kima was not one that should exist for anyone, let alone for her.
Sometimes, it was both wonderful and awful all at once. She remembered the night they were on the road back to deliver the head of a frost giant to the mayor of the village it had been raiding for years. They had finished their watch, and like usual, Allura had laid her blankets out next to Kima’s. The simple rhythm of Kima’s breath growing slow and even lulled her to sleep after the excitement of the day. Just as she was about to pass into unconsciousness, she felt small, rough fingers brush her hair back from her face and the briefest touch of warm lips on her forehead. She never knew whether it had actually happened or she had dreamed it into being from her own desire. Allura fought to open her eyes, but by the time she did, Kima was curled up into a ball, facing away from her, her own blanket pulled up over her shoulders.
In retrospect, it was all embarrassing, and so juvenile. They had lost so much time together, hovering around each other, never quite being willing to be the one to reach out and touch the other. By the time they were facing Thordak for the second battle, the absurdity of it all had finally caught up with her. She knew that she loved Kima, that she loved her more than a sister, that she wanted to sleep not next to her but tangled up with her, that they were a part of one another whether they willed it or not. Her fears seemed so stupid in the face of almost certain death; if Kima rejected her advances, well, it wasn’t like they’d be around to deal with the consequences, would they? Things between them had to change, and Allura was going to be the one to do it.
The memories of that night brought warmth to her core and a heated flush to her cheeks. She closed her eyes, once, and allowed herself to revel in the sensation for a moment barely longer than a blink. She exhaled long and slow and walked over to the window, desperately in need of air. These memories were the good ones, where they rejoiced in the newfound wonder of discovering that they were never quite as alone in their affection as they thought they had been.
Allura rested her forehead on the glass and waited, her eyes closed again. After a moment, the warmth in her belly faded to a bottomless emptiness, and it was the memories of goodbye that surged into the forefront of her mind.
“Allie?” Kima asked, her head tucked into Allura’s shoulder and her arm draped over Allura’s chest.
“Mmm?” It was a struggle for Allura to answer at all through her boneless languor. She’d have let it go entirely, but she loved hearing the words “Goodnight! I love you,” from Kima’s lips. She’d imagined it for years as they fell asleep next to each other, and finally, she could hear them as often as she wanted. Maybe she should kiss her again and put off the words until later tonight. She lifted her hand and lazily ran her fingers down Kima’s cheek.
“Allie, I am not taking the position on Uriel’s council.” It took a moment for the words to penetrate through the torpid fog of Allura’s thoughts and burn them away to sharp focus. Her hand stilled on Kima’s cheek.
“I see,” Allura said. What else was there to say when you finally realize the utter folly of your hopes? Kima’s words didn’t hurt, precisely. “Hurt” could not encompass the sensation of the floor completely disappearing beneath one’s feet and the lurching in one’s stomach as one starts to freefall. Her throat was tight as she struggled to reply, “And what will you do instead?”
“I’m needed in Vasselheim,” Kima said, “at the temple of Bahamut.” Kima’s voice was small and quiet, as if she were speaking from far away. Allura couldn’t tell whether the distance came from Kima or was her own invention. “You know me better than anyone, Allie. I could never sit still and give advice and be polite and play politics. I’m no good at any of that. Besides, I swore an oath.”
Allura couldn’t remember what words she spoke in reply, but she remembered the anguish that twisted through Kima’s expression in response. She had never seen such sadness on her face before or since, not even when they saw their companions fall in battle.
“Allie,” Kima said, her words a plea, “I swore an oath.”
It took her the better part of a decade to understand and find some measure of peace in the thought that if Kima would have been the sort to easily forswear such an oath, even for her, she wouldn’t have loved her in the first place. She opened her eyes again, her cheek still against the cold pane of glass. The lady in question was outside with her Holy Avenger, shredding some poor practice dummy to bits. Heh. It looked like someone had, to put it coarsely, pissed her off. It was probably Scanlan again. She would have to have a talk with him about that soon.
It had not been easy to live with Kima again since the fall of Emon. They were in the same house, alone, and working together once again to help plan for the fall of Thordak. It was hard not to fall back into the same pattern as before, to lean into her light and warmth and let them suffuse her body with their strength. She struggled every night not to knock on Kima’s door and ask if there was still a place for her in her bed and in her heart.
But she couldn’t. Allura didn’t think that she could ever truly trust that Kima’s oath wouldn’t pull her away again. She wouldn’t lose her again, not like she did before. Making the same mistake twice was utter foolishness.
She sighed, a tiny smile on her lips as she watched Kima stride purposefully out of the practice field, some notion clearly having taken hold of her.
Sometimes, she really wanted to be a fool.