|Luz Martin (4c) wrote in yegods,|
@ 2012-07-28 22:54:00
|Entry tags:||!log, brady morris, maria de la luz martin|
WHO Brady Morris & Maria de la Luz “Luz” Martin
WHERE The Catacombs
WHEN Saturday, July 28th
SUMMARY What’s your greatest fear?
It was quiet, and Luz shivered. She forgot about breathing, and the cold, and just stayed still on the ground, her hands pressed against her warm, sticky stomach and listened to the quiet. It was so loud. Nothing. It sounded like nothing and it was everywhere. Luz kept shivering, alone, tears moving from the corners of her eyes and down into her hair. The space around her was dark, and quiet. She swallowed, shivering again. She blinked, causing more tears to slide down her face.
She was alone. There was nothing. Luz never thought she would be alone. She never thought she would be alone, with the quiet coming for her so slowly. It had been fast last time. Ari had been there. And Brady.
More tears, more heat flowing out of her stomach, more tiny, silent breaths. The quiet around her hurt, but it caused her more pain to try to break it. To try to breathe so she could hear it. To whimper. To weep. To call out. It hurt too much to call for help. Luz couldn’t say a single word. Not a single name. She couldn’t even ask God for help.
But she wanted so desperately to not be alone. She wanted someone there, anyone. Even if they could just chase the quiet away and talk to her. Be there with her as she waited.
Someone who could tell her it would be fine. Who could go around and say she was sorry. Who would tell everyone how terribly, terribly sorry Luz was.
She was so sorry.
Go find your girlfriend. Courtyard. Near Hip’s. Clock’s ticking, Brady.
He’s pretty sure the voice on the other side of the line was Mickey’s, but it sounded strange and cold and... not right. There was something very intrinsically wrong about it. She hung up before he could ask. He doesn’t know what the clock is ticking. He doesn’t know anything, except that Mickey is sounding like a stranger - a creepy, twisted stranger - and her message was about Luz. If Mickey is “warning” him about something, he’s pretty sure it isn’t a joke. Something must have happened to Luz, but why Mickey wouldn’t already be helping her, he can’t figure out. She wouldn’t joke about Luz being in trouble, would she? So why? Why?
His stomach feels instantly twisted up. His gut tells him that whatever has happened, it’s very bad. So he just crams his phone into his back pocket, drops the paintbrush on the newspaper, and takes off. He leaves his stuff in his studio - the radio still on, even - though he does manage to slam the door behind him. Not a second is spared to lock it, though, before he’s sprinting down the hall and then the stairs and out onto the street. Hip’s. She said Hip’s. A courtyard at Hip’s? He doesn’t know where that is, but panic is blinding, and he doesn’t pause to try to work it out. He just runs towards the tavern, only slowing up outside.
It’s open, though it’s the afternoon, and there are people in it - not as many as there will be in a couple of hours. Courtyard. He has to find a courtyard. He starts to jog away from the building, pausing at alleys and calling out, “Luz?” in the hopes that whatever has happened, she’s still able to answer. He strains his ear for any kind of sound that might indicate distress - for any hint of his name.
The break in the silence felt like just a little hum, and it took Luz’s mind a few, long moments to translate the sound into a word. There stood a chance it was just a random word, of someone passing by, or someone coming. But it sounded like her name. If it was just a word, then might not have to be alone. If it was her name, then maybe they could...
She tried to say the word ‘here,’ but got out one letter before her body filled with hot pain emanating from her stomach. Luz squeezed her eyes shut and grit her teeth at the pain. But what choice did she have? Luz had to decide which she wanted, to be free of pain or to be alone.
Why did she always pick pain?
“Here!” she yelled as loud as she could, though the pain bit at her hard, causing her to whimper and more hot tears to stream down her face. She curled her toes, as cold and as numb as they were. Luz pressed her hands closer against the dark red, against the hole in her t-shirt. She could feel the stud of her piercing press up against her wrist. Yelling hurt, but Luz could manage a sob, and did so. The sob, at least, painful and so very, very tired, helped cut through the silence.
But it also helped Luz understand. And she shivered again. Cold and afraid. She was not ready. Not this time, not last time. Not forever. Luz didn’t want it to be forever. Not yet.
His ears are ringing, he’s straining them so hard. All around, people go about their way. Not with the same density as the street above, but still, there are enough people walking around him on a Saturday afternoon that they threaten to drown out any soft sound she might be making in reply. He swallows thickly, forcing himself to stay calm. Closing his eyes, he steps away from the path of the passersby and listens. He doesn’t have to strain, however, to hear her first call. His eyes shoot open, and he jerks his head towards the sound, panic threatening to well up again as he darts off in its direction. He might have missed her - run past her - though, were it not for the sob that follows. He manages to catch it just as he’s about to pass the alley, and he immediately grabs the wall to come to a sliding stop, swinging himself back around.
And there she is. She looks so small and colorless. For a moment, he seems too shocked to move. He just looks down at her, this pale shade of a girl lying on the concrete and bleeding out. He can’t even tell where her clothes end and her fingers begin for a moment through the blood.
I'm sorry. They didn't make it.
He stumbles towards her, his legs suddenly unwilling to operate fluidly. His knees give before he gets there, and he has to crawl to narrow the last inches between them. There's so much blood. What should he do?
It was fast. It's unlikely either of them even realized.
He wishes he had brought his bag. He should lift her legs up. No, he needs to get the cut above her heart. No, he can't, because he shouldn't move her. What should he do?
Daddy's gonna take care of everything, so you just get well, okay?
"Luz," he says weakly, hands shaking as he reaches to put his hand over hers. "What...? How?" he asks, looking away from the wound at last to her face. He presses the fingers of his other hand to her throat, feeling for her pulse as much as to comforting.
...dead before the emergency workers arrived...
"Don't. Just don't, okay?"
Luz became to tremble, all over, seeing Brady. As he walked closer to her, breaking the horrible silence with each step, Luz couldn’t tell if he was even real. She would, she thought, see him just before. She expected her mother, and father, and sister to appear just behind him. But he looked scared. Luz hoped, that if she saw him just before, she would see him at least smiling at her. At least looking comforting so she wouldn’t be so scared.
But this Brady looked afraid, and he touched her.
Her whole body trembled, her lower lip stuck out slightly as she tried not to cry, though her eyes stung. She swallowed hard, painfully. All of the darkness and quiet disappeared because Brady was just so beautiful. So beautiful it hurt as much as anything.
“Brady,” she said softly, her voice high. “Mickey. She. She stabbed me. I don’t...” Luz blinked at more tears. She knew her hands were on her stomach, had some vague impression that Brady was touching them, but Luz just couldn’t really feel them anymore. Below her knees, past her elbows, feeling just seemed to fade away like shadows.
“I’m sorry,” she said with another sob. She did not want to do this to him. She knew. She knew it would be cruel of her to do this to him. “I’m so sorry.”
The future is never certain. He doesn't believe in destiny. How many times has he said that? How many times has he said he didn't want to? But right now, thinking about how everything that the Luz of the future had hinted out without even saying... It feels too horrible. Something else is being taken away from him. There was a future - still unknown, but familiar enough - within his grasp. The future that he has dreamed of. And yes, he only gave her a promise ring and not an engagement ring, saying that she might find someone better, but deep down, he has allowed himself to grow complacent - to rest on the eaves of Destiny and accept it. And now that's come crashing out from under him, and he finds himself in a horrible free fall as she starts apologizing.
"Don't," he replies quietly, his voice sounding weak. His entire body is burning up. He doesn't even realize it - it's a discomfort that seems so far away and unimportant now. Sweat beads on his forehead, drips down his face, pools at his chin before sliding down his throat. But his eyes feel dry. The same kind of dry he felt that day in the hospital six years ago. It's the kind of loss that's too deep... The kind that takes something away that's more than just a physical presence, but that rips something from the very marrow of a man's bones. What he's seeing unfold here right now is the kind of pain that there are no tears that can express. It's too deep and cold and barren.
"Don't," he repeats, putting both of his hands on her stomach. Her shirt is so wet and sticky, he isn't sure where the wound is at first. He gives up, gently trying to pull it up enough that he can find the sources even as sweat slides into his eyes. He blinks it away, rubbing his face on his shoulder. "Your promise isn't... It isn't..." But he finds he can't finish as he sees the cut in her stomach. He closes his eyes a moment. How funny. It's not as bad as his, but it seems to be in about the same area. His hands are covered in blood now, but even so, he manages to get his phone out of his pocket.
First, he hits Ari's number, but gets voice mail: "Help me... Ari, we're at..." he says, but he drops the phone - his hands are too slick, and it cuts off.
He takes a long, dry breath that sounds suspiciously like a sob, and picks it up again, hitting a number at random, which luckily is the speed dial for Gus. "Gus, Gus... I'm... Luz is... Mickey... Help me..." he says, staring down at Luz's bloody stomach. "Please help me..." He lets the phone drop that time.
What should he do? Normal human medics won't find their way here, and the medical center down here isn't outfitted for anything this serious. He has to get her to the surface, but he has to heal her enough that she can make it up there without further damage. He takes a deep breath, squeezing his eyes shut. "It'll be okay. I promise, it'll be okay," he says, though his voice is hitched - an octave above what it should be, and though his eyes are dry, his face is a funny kind of white as he presses both hands to her stomach. As his magic kicks in, he realizes just how hot he is... How dizzy it makes him, but he tries to ignore it, closing his eyes tightly and forcing himself to focus only on releasing the magic from his body into hers. He doesn't even realize he's mumbling. Just a simple phrase, over and over.
"I love you, I love you, I love you."
Luz’s throat closed up, stopping her from sobbing again. She could feel warmth leave parts of her body and pool in others, she could feel her face grow cool but the back of her neck heat up. Each breath hurt, sent a bolt of dull pain through her entire body, reminding her she had toes and fingers. There was so much Luz wanted to say. So much she wanted to tell him, to have him tell others. Her mother, her father, her sister. Ari and Gus. Anya and Lydia. Her familia. All of them. There was so much Luz wanted to tell each of them, but she had no energy for it. She had no time.
She was afraid, and kept her eyes on Brady’s face, hoping he would be enough to help her be strong. Luz did not want to go through this afraid. She wanted to be strong, and if she couldn’t say everything she wanted to, she had to try to say what she needed to.
Have a family.
“I’m sorry,” was all she could get out through her throat. Luz felt tired. She felt so tired. And heavy, like she always felt just before she fell asleep. Only she knew she wouldn’t wake up with the sunrise. At least, she was grateful, that she would not sleep having never known love. She would not die alone and unloved. She had him. She had found him. After so many years, at least Luz could sleep having finally found him. It was selfish, but thank God she had found him.
Her breathing had begun to slow, to avoid pain and because she just didn’t have the energy for it. But it quickened again, with Brady’s hand on her. She blinked more tears from her eyes, and breathed a bit deeper. It still hurt, she still felt warm and cold, but she could breathe. And then she had the energy to swallow again. And they she could say something. “Brady.” She had more feeling in her fingers, she could feel the cold in them, she could move them and feel the tiredness in the joints. “Thank you.” Luz could feel her toes, all the way at the ends of her legs, and she could move them slowly from side to side. “I love you.”
And then Luz could sob again. Her throat relaxed and she let out one, two still painful sobs, and thought that she could probably get out a few more, but they would interfere with what she wanted to say. “Brady I’m sorry. I never want to leave you. I’m sorry. I tried.”
There’s no way to see if what he’s doing is having an effect. At least, not at first. Worse, it seems that Luz’s face is growing greyer and more drawn and that her breathing is becoming shallower and quieter. He stares at his blood-soaked hands blankly, forcing himself to just not think. Just cure. Cure and cure and cure. Rational thought is not really something he is capable of right now. Though he might seem very calm and focused on the outside, inside his thoughts are more along the lines of, “I don’t even care if it kills me to do this, I’d rather die than let her die!” and similarly extreme lines of thinking. His face is not so much sad as blank - vacant with shock. His pleading little mantra has faded to a soft whispered mumble.
It feels like there’s less blood, but then, that could be for more reasons than she’s okay. He himself is starting to feel dizzy and nauseated. Sweat soaks through his hair, drips down his face and throat, makes his shirt stick to him. His body is so unpleasantly hot, but he lets the shock distance him from that. Shock is such a cool, numbing buffer, after all. He just stares down at his hands with that hollow expression and feeds as much magic - as much of his own life force - as he can into her, even when his own body starts trying to make him stop. The dizzy sensation becomes a bit more real as white, static dots begin to fill the edges of his vision.
And then she speaks, but when she speaks, it’s the same fatalistic tone as before, and he can't listen to that. He can’t. No more than he can let himself focus on the flashbacks - the memories of sirens and the smell of blood and cold hospital rooms and death. He just keeps going. It is inconceivable - no, unforgivable - that she could die right here right now, and he might walk away fine. Rather than allow any chance of that, he’d rather just push himself to his limit, push beyond if he can, and at least, maybe someday... He shakes his head sharply, drops of sweat arcing through the air. The taste of bile is burning at the back of his throat.
She had energy enough now to be afraid. It was hot and it gripped at her chest. Luz did not want to go now. There was so much she wanted to do, and see, and touch. She wanted to go places, she wanted to spend hours and hours sitting around doing nothing with the people that she loved. Luz had not done enough of nothing. She hadn’t heard Marielos’ first word. She hadn’t bought that shampoo yet she told herself to. She’d never been with Brady on his birthday. And now she just had one giant thought screaming at her, she could feel it.
She’d never done those things, and now she never would.
Luz could be brave, she could. But panic was rising up inside her, because she had so many beautiful things she didn’t have in October. She had so much more hope and promise and it scared her so much that now she would never have them.
Her breath quickened, growing deeper, though she could feel that pull at the injury under Brady’s hand. She cried slightly, with each breath, because panic was taking over. She needed more air. Luz moved her right hand to Brady’s and grabbed a hold of his wrist. His skin felt hot, she could tell that, but everything felt hot. She held onto him tighter, refusing to let him go. Her pretty little ring speckled with red.
She didn’t understand. None of it made sense. Not Mickey. Not dying. She had a future self. She’d spoken of years, not weeks. Luz could not be lying there, bleeding, dying. It wasn’t possible.
And then, a sudden flash passed through Luz’s mind. So brief that her busy head needed a few moments to realize it had even been there. Luz had seen something. She knew something. An image of herself in a hospital bed. An image of herself wearing a ring in a hospital bed.
Luz gasped, and suddenly the tense pain of panic seemed to slowly fade, though her body seemed to have trouble letting go of it completely. It wasn’t a memory. It was the future. She had a future. Tightening her hand on Brady’s wrist her breathing calmed down, though it still hurt. Everything still hurt, but she wasn’t panicked anymore. “It’s okay,” she said softly. “It’ll be okay.”
When Luz starts to come a bit more alive, he just presses down, to keep her from moving too much and opening up the injury again. This has gone beyond what he is able to emotionally process on the spot, so if he seems robotic in his actions, it's because his brain has gone into autopilot in a desperate bid to just get him through this. He continues to stare at his hands in that way - face still and expressionless, except for his eyes. While he isn't making any particular expression, one might say there is something very emotional happening there (but not tears).
It's more like some sort of seething dark cloud of memory trying to overwhelm him, searching for ways to seep through his senses. With the smell of blood this strong, he almost feels like he can feel the glass cutting into his skin. With someone telling him things will be fine, when he can so clearly see that things are not fine - not going to be fine - bitter memories of nurses and doctors and not-so-immediate relatives stating facts and offering condolences threaten to flood his mind.
He just stoppers up all emotion - all the things that are triggered by the potential of losing her, as well as terror and anguish he feels at that very potential.
So if it seems like he isn't listening, he isn't. He's just doing. He's healing and healing, and he doesn't think he can heal her enough. How can he move her without damaging her? Has she lost too much blood? There's no way he can make her body start replenishing the stores this quickly. He grits his teeth, breathing roughly. He has to try, though. He has to try. Though he doesn't really have anything left to give, the limits of his blessing not being something that can be bypassed through will alone, and he's coming steadily closer to that 50% marker...
“I’m sorry,” she said again, because she just couldn’t say that enough.That’s what she said to Brady. To herself she just kept thinking that she was not going to die. She couldn’t die. Not yet. She saw herself in a hospital, alive in a hospital. As Luz tried to reassure herself, she began to convince herself she had seen more in that vision than she actually had. She was alive in that hospital, and she was clean, and she had her ring, and it was day, and she was awake, and there were people, and all was good, and all was well. Luz grasped onto that brief little vision and placed all the hope she had into it. Because that little vision was a tomorrow. It was not everything ending right here forever. There was a tomorrow, and then more, and more, and more. Luz was not willing now to let go of those tomorrows.
“Brady,” she said, moving the hold of his wrist farther up his arm. Her lovely, amazing Brady. She finally remembered now. She didn’t know how she’d forgotten. Brady could heal. He could fall down the stairs and hurt himself like an idiot, but he could also heal. That was it. That’s why Luz still had tomorrow. She let out another, soft sob, because this time she was grateful. She sobbed because she was happy, because she told herself and convinced herself that tomorrow would happen. She was still cut, she was down, she was weak, it hurt to move her hand up to hold onto Brady’s shoulder, and she still couldn’t take the deep breath she really wanted to, but it wasn’t over.
“I need a hospital,” she said and swallowed, though her mouth felt dry and tasted off. She could focus her attention on his face, and the sweat, and his hair. He did not look as scared as she thought he might. As she thought he had. “Call Gus, get me to hospital,” she said and closed her eyes for a moment. If she was strong enough, she got ignore the pain. If she told herself it wasn’t there, it wasn’t there. All of the pain was just Brady healing her. All of the pain was good. She could almost convince herself. “Call Dad. Brady. I love you. I’m sorry.”
Even though she’s composed herself, he’s still so deeply locked into shock mode that that he just tunes her out, because initially, she is still doing that apology thing that he just cannot deal with right now. He can’t deal with it. Maybe not ever. So he won’t even look at her face, because he doesn’t even want to see her lips forming those words. He is aware of her hand on his arm. Though he only now becomes truly cognizant of the fact she’s touching him. He can’t take his hands away, though, to stop what she’s doing, even though he knows she needs to be still. He needs to heal her. It’s the only thing he needs to do. The only thing that is at all important. He should tell her to be still, but he seems to have gone to a place where speaking is not intuitive anymore. It’s not until she’s reached up this shoulder that he spares a moment to look at her face.
There’s more color in it now. Her breathing appears to have gotten stronger again. She still could tear the injury open and bleed out the rest of the way. She still could go into hyperbolic shock. But as he turns his head, the use of this magic - the depth of her injury - it catches up to him. His vision flashes white for a moment, and he isn’t sure where any part of his body is, because it all feels weightless, or maybe just gone completely for a moment as he squeezes his eyes shut, forcing his brain to pull back from that edge. He takes a deep breath, pressing a hand to his forehead, until it hurts rather than feels empty. Good. Pain is stabilizing. Slowly opening them again, he lets the word hospital drift in. Hospital, hospital, hospital. She needs one, and she needs to get there quickly and smoothly.
Gus. Yes, Gus has been to a hospital before - when Jay pushed him down those stairs. He’s been to the Catacombs before, so he can use his portals to get them there. He nods very slowly as the fact that this could possibly be okay flares up, providing a little bit of hope to illuminate the scene. He puts one hand on her cheek and finds his phone with the other, redialing Gus’s number.
“Gus?” he says, his voice sounding strange and quiet and rough with lack of use, as though it’s been months rather than minutes since he last spoke. “Gus, we’re near Hip’s... a few alleys down. Luz’s hurt real bad... We need to get her to the hospital... Please hurry...”
He closes the phone, ending the call, and puts it into his pocket. The hot feeling is fading away, leaving a nauseating dizziness in its wake. He wants to pick her up and hold her, but it might hurt her, so he just leans over her, his hands on her face, resting against the sides of her neck. He may still be in shock. His expression is still so vacant, but there is something searching and desperate and lost in his eyes as they search her face.
Luz lowered her hand when Brady leaned over and, and swallowed roughly, carefully, looking up at him. She felt sick. She felt very much like vomiting, only she did not think it was actually that. She just felt awful, and in pain, pretty much everywhere. She felt wrong. That was the only word for it. Everything felt wrong. Her body felt wrong, and she didn’t think it knew what to do about it.
Brady had called for help, and Gus would come. Fight or no fight, Luz absolutely knew that Gus would come. And quickly. She knew he would drop everything and be there soon. Luz would be in a hospital before she knew it. And her beautiful, amazing boyfriend had healed her, and would heal her. She’d be fine.
“I’ll be fine,” she whispered, because it had gotten quiet again. Brady was here (and what a beautiful little thought that was) but it had gotten quiet again, and she did not what quiet. “Don’t worry,” she said, most of her body still in full chaotic revolt but her voice still. Tears wet her face though she was certain she was calm now. “It’s okay. We’re okay. I promise.”