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Ariya Saengkaew was no stranger to death. They practically high-fived every time they passed, which was really once a month these days and felt like much less.
Death itself was not the issue here. Her opponents were well-trained and disciplined, and were particularly good at aiming for the head. She rarely even had time to process her passing — she would blink, and the world would come up dark and empty, as though she were staring at blackened geometry in a dark room. She could fumble around for the light switch all she wanted, but she could never reach it — or, rather, it simply did not exist. Someone else had to bring light back to the world for her.
That someone was leaning over her, staring directly into her eyes when she woke up, her pretty face gnarled by fear and worry and then painted with relief as she realized the process had worked yet again. Ariya liked that face. It was nice to see her boobs, too. Hell, it was good to be alive again.
"You're really…fine."
Well, she hadn't meant it to sound quite like that. Her tongue and her teeth were getting along just fine, but brain fog masked her intentions and made them appear more threatening than she intended.
"I mean, you're pretty."
Did that really sound better? She was slurring each syllable too, as though drunk on lust for life. She tried to roll over to get a better view of her surroundings, but before she could even move a muscle meaningfully, Sage clamped down on her like a predator containing its imminent meal.
"Keep still," she warned, in a threatening voice that was also as sweet as honey. "Your wounds are still healing, even if you're back with us. Please, remain calm."
Calm is my middle name, she almost said, but even she knew that was a little too far. She certainly wasn't making friends on her deathbed, that much was clear.
Sage was a woman of business, and this was her workplace. It might be grim work, but it was necessary, and she treated each patient to the very letter of her credo. It was an admirable, and very attractive trait. Waylay had a difficult time lying still when this gorgeous, attentive, and dutiful woman was hovering over her the way she was. She wanted to reach up and grab her face and cradle it in her blood-soaked hands…
Blood?
Oh, yes.
She remembered now how she had died today. It had not been as pleasant or as quick as most. The memory was immediately sour and made her stomach twist and curl in a way that immediately raised alarm bells for Sage, who quickly drew a syringe from beyond her range of vision and injected it gently, but efficiently into Waylay's deltoid muscle. The antiemetic got to work immediately, settling her empty stomach and soothing her in the blink of an eye.
"I asked you please, not to move," Sage chastised her. "You are alive, so you have no excuse to not listen to my instructions."
"Sure I do," Waylay slurred back, fixing her attention fully to Sage's eyes now. "You look ravishing."
"I'm glad you have your words back," Sage said dryly.
"No, really. You're a sight for sore eyes."
"Flattery will not improve your intervention outcomes," Sage added, barely concealing her irritation.
"I'm just glad to be alive and with you."
Sage had no rebuttal prepared for that. Waylay wasn't even quite sure where those words had come from — were they her own, or had another tongue joined her reverent chorus? She was under the influence of multiple drugs and did not quite feel alive yet, but she knew what she wanted and she wanted it now.
"Talk to me," she pleaded, her throat dry and her voice croaking. "Or at least give me some water."
"I can do one of those two things."
"Oh, you're no fun."
The water was nice, but she would rather hear Sage's voice, which was a mellifluous welcome back to the real world. And in spite of her earlier insistence that Waylay was a thorn in her side, Sage did not appear so perturbed anymore. She continued to attend to Waylay's wounds with a delicate hand, and saw to her every need as her body, realizing it was alive once more, groaned and howled in protest at being dragged back onto the mortal coil it had so dutifully exited only hours ago.
Those hours were difficult to recall now. Had she truly perceived anything at all, or was it just a shard of a memory floating to the surface like a bubble, soon to pop and be forgotten? Her throat was still dry, and she craved more water, but more than that she wanted to know what Sage was thinking and feeling and most importantly, doing.
"What is that for?"
She knew those sorts of questions annoyed Sage, even as she was grateful that someone was taking an interest in her profession. She had expressed as much before, on one of the last occasions that Waylay died.
"That is for the pain that you're about to experience, as your body reacts to the various neurological impulses of being unexpectedly brought back to life," Sage said, clear and dry as ever. "A phenomenon you ought to be quite familiar with."
"Are you saying I make a poor soldier?"
"I'm not suggesting anything of the sort. You asked, I answered."
"I like it when you explain things to me."
Waylay offered a halfhearted grin that she knew would drive Sage mad, and she was delighted to see the doctor roll her eyes while turning her head into her shoulder to feign a cough and try to hide it. She was even prettier when she was annoyed — no wonder Waylay was always trying to get under her skin! She was delighted to see the ghost of a blush in Sage's face when she turned back around, pretending to be mad.
"I ought to officially censure you for your behavior in my clinic," she said, trying her hardest to sound imposing. "You do not listen to me."
"I listen to you a lot, actually."
"You refuse to heed my rules, as well."
"I don't want to."
Sage's mouth opened, but no words fell out. Her busy hands paused. She couldn't even believe what she was hearing — and neither could Waylay.
"Sorry, I'm a bit woozy," she apologized quickly. "I meant what I said, though-"
"About my clinic rules!?"
"About you being pretty."
She knew she was being obnoxious, but if there was anything genuine in her speech, it was her compliments. It was not the first time she had found cause to praise Sage, nor was it the first time that Sage had feigned annoyance. She knew how this game worked, but she also knew what she loved: a cautious and uncertain woman would not have made it as far in life as she had.
Well, that was a bit ironic — given how many times she had died, she figured there had to be something unfair in that statement. She had been given many second chances, and it was all because of the woman who now grasped her arm and squeezed it lightly.
"You're lucky Viper's not here today for observation," Sage teased her. "She'd have your head first, then mine."
"She's pretty, too," Waylay mused. "But, uh…not as…mmpretty as you."
"You don't have to try and convince me. Turn your head and cough, please."
Waylay obliged. It hurt. She didn't want to show pain in front of Sage, but couldn't help but effect a wince.
"It will continue to hurt," Sage noted.
"I'm trying not to," Waylay grunted.
"Well, quit trying. It's going to hurt anyway, and you're only going to hurt yourself more. I don't want to see that."
Sage tenderly caressed her cheek with firm and bony knuckles.
"You know, if you talked less while I'm trying to stabilize you, this would be a quicker process."
"And a more boring one," Waylay sighed.
"You can always talk to me at other times of the day."
"You're never available, though," Waylay whined.
"I suppose that much is true."
Sage was much more objective about their relationship than she was — if one could even call it a relationship. Waylay did not know the word for it in either English or her native language, and could only conjure up a vague image of what she wanted it to be. Nevertheless she still had fun. She believed that definitions and titles were unnecessary, and making the best of what you had was the more important part. She often made the best of Sage.
"Hey. I wanted to…"
A fresh wave of pain surged through her body just as she reached out for Sage's hand. She winced, but fought back against it, in spite of Sage's advice.
"…to say thank you. For all you do, for all of us. Tough job?"
"Is that a question?"
"I dunno." Waylay coughed again, this time involuntarily. Her body was rebelling. Death was comfortable, perhaps even pleasant. This whole back-to-life thing wasn't that. "Seems like it, though. Thankless."
"Often is," Sage confirmed stoically.
"You don't get the kindness you deserve."
"Are you sure you're alright, Waylay?" Sage asked, with a hint of genuine concern.
"What, can't a woman express some fondness?"
"I'd almost more expect fuzzy feelings from Viper, than you…"
"I'll pretend I didn't hear that."
She laid back down and closed her eyes, suspecting that their conversation was at an end, but Sage was a woman of surprises. Before Waylay could even close her eyes fully, a firm but comforting hand grasped at hers and took it. She would have complained about the theft, but Sage of all people was free to take whatever she wanted from her. Waylay had made that clear time and again, and admired the healer's restraint.
"You don't get the appreciation you deserve, either," Sage said, her voice like cool ointment on a burning wound, allaying Waylay's suffering even if momentarily. "I see what you do with the younger agents. Especially Phoenix and Yoru…keeping the two of them in line is, well…"
"I'd have better luck teaching a brick to roll across the floor," Waylay scoffed, then laughed. Even Sage laughed.
"I suppose I can't disagree," she said, sighing. "But you try. I know you do. And it has an impact. Trust me, it does."
"Doesn't feel like it sometimes."
"You may not get the thanks you deserve. But I see what you do. We wouldn't be able to keep the Protocol in shape without you taking those responsibilities off of Reyna and Viper. They've been needing a break from the training regimen for years…"
"Those two need a break from each other, too," Waylay scoffed, chuckling. "The day before, I saw them-"
"I don't need to know, thank you."
Did she detect a hint of jealousy in Sage's tone? Or perhaps she simply wanted to keep herself abreast of the troubles and tribulations of her colleagues? Either way, Waylay was not going to complain right now. Her heart was full and her stomach had settled and there was a sensation of lightness in her chest that rose and fell steadily, like a separate breath, keeping her elevated and warm. Her whole body was warm, in fact, and it was not just an ephemeral feeling she loosely perceived. She was feeling full.
"You talk to me like a real person," Sage said, sighing lightly and lowering Waylay's clasped hand to the mattress below. "I don't even know why I expect people to try anymore."
"Why wouldn't they?"
"We fill our roles, and some of us fill them too well," Sage said forlornly. "But some of us see past that…"
"Like me?"
"I figured that was implied."
Sage rolled her eyes again, but her irritation was entirely artificial. She might have been buzzing with fresh warmth, too — and only showed it in her own strange and remarkable ways. Over the last eight months, Waylay had gotten to know her quirks and tics as though they were her own. They had spent so much time together, in life and in death, that she no longer saw Sage as a distant and austere healer who served a single purpose, noble as it might be. Sage was a person just like any other. Sage was special, but so was everyone else. It was how you approached that concept that made all the difference in the world.
"You need some rest," Sage insisted, now standing up and squeezing Waylay's hand one last time, as if to signal that this was goodbye. "Hours of it, too. Not just an hour."
"That worked just fine last time," Waylay whined. "You're mean."
"Is that the best comeback you have? You really must have had a jarring resurrection," Sage said.
"You just want to leave me in the dark," Waylay grumbled.
"Not at all."
"Let me up. We can go grab some coffee. Some food?"
"You will vomit it all up like last time," Sage recounted, grimacing. "You stay put. Promise me?"
Waylay wished she could not promise. She didn't want to promise. She wanted to get back up and enjoy life to the fullest, until inevitably death claimed her again and dragged her back into that strange negative space that she had grown frighteningly accustomed to. But until then, she wanted to know and to be. And it would be nice to spend some time with Sage outside of this dance of mortality. But Sage would not have it.
"Tomorrow, perhaps," she said, evasive. "If you're better, that is…"
"You come back and see me tonight, I promise I'll be better. Deal?"
She was exhausted, frankly. That might have been her final sentence. Even a wagglejaw like herself had her limits. She could not talk much anymore, and fatigue was beginning to overcome her. But before she nodded off, Sage offered one final touch to her shoulder, then a stroke to her chin, and a promise.
"It's a deal," she said succinctly, with no hint of a lie. "You rest a little while. I'll come back later and see if you're awake."
Waylay drifted off. It was good to be alive again. It was good to see Sage. There were far worse sights for her to see.