the heart is a stone Who: Glasya & Issan What: Issan comes to Glasya's side, and is turned away. When: the morning after this Where: in orbit, off Corellia Rating: G.
The interior of the Wraith was a stew of oppressive silence and chill, metallic air. Of the two occupants it housed, only one was currently active. The BB-unit made no sound as it rocked back and forth on its chassis, its single eye fixed on its master. Glasya Ren lay atop the lowered gurney in the medbay. The fallen knight was a mass of bruises, broken bones, and matted blood. The droid had cleaned off what it could, had inserted a tube to reinflate one collapsing lung, but there remained much it could not do alone. And so in the small hours, as they had made their way to Glasya's most familiar space, the droid had summoned the only one it knew could help.
Mistress Issan, it had sent, in beeps and blips it hoped she would understand. He needs you. Then a series of coordinates, and a time at which they would depart should she not come to them.
Now it extended one small silver arm, reminding itself of the advanced hour as it cleaned and rebandaged the wound around the little tube. Glasya still slept, though fitfully, often speaking aloud with slurred, broken words, as though carrying on his part of a conversation the little droid could not hear. The BB-unit eyed the intravenous drip it had set up, performing hasty calculations as to when its store should be replenished. Another quarter of an hour of drugged unease remained to Glasya; beyond that, the droid would wake him, and bear the consequences of asking where they were meant to go next.
* * *
She had all but run at the summons. Following the ordeal with the mask, which still held her in its grasp, she had told her sister witches to hide once more. They had grown used to her comings and goings, and Issan had begun to sense a level of distrust from them. That, or it was the white noise growing in her mind, the subtle sound that told her that her connection to the goddess was stronger than ever. It was distracting and infuriating, but Issan had long grown used to centering her mind on her goals. The fact that Glasya's summons had come from his droid and not the man himself gave her more than enough fuel to move quickly to her master's side.
The ship was oscillating in space, drifting near Glasya's home planet. Her heart beat double time in her chest as the docking bay opened, and her steps quickened to the medical bay, knowing exactly where he would be found. His earlier words rang in her ears -- any wounds it does give me, none but you shall touch them -- rang in her ears like some terrible portent, and she wished she had acted differently in their last encounter so that he would not have said such a thing. As she reached the doorway, she steeled herself, and yet still had to stop to put a hand to the doorframe to steady herself as her other rose to cover her mouth.
What a beautiful sight, a voice whispered in her ear, and Issan turned her head before she realized that the voice was inside her own mind. Her teeth clenched as the thought of running her fingers over Glasya's white flesh to mingle the blood there with her own sweat, to see what colors the bruises might turn, to see how much pain it would take to wake him from his stupor. Issan gagged, and pushed the thoughts away. She stepped into the room, the BB unit noting her presence and chirping a welcome as it rolled around her feet.
Issan bit her lip as trembling hands came to Glasya's side. Her eyes roved over the wounds, picking and choosing where she would start -- the lung, see what other pretty pieces are inside of him, there's already a hole to start with -- struggling to keep her focus as her palms came to rest on top of one another just before his chest. She pushed through his epidermis, inside muscle walls, knitting flesh together in slow, careful strokes. One hand moved to pull the tube out before it became permanently encased in him, sewing up and inflating his lung in the next movement. As his breathing seemed to return to normal, Issan sighed in relief.
She held back stinging tears as she started on the rest of him, moving far more slowly and timidly than she had in previous healings as her mind continued to work against her. It was a moment before he responded to her; when he did, it was with a mumbled string of foreign words. And then:
Issan.
Her name echoed in the room and in their heads, reverberating with a dozen voices not his own. His eyes opened by slow degrees. Their bright blue was dulled, ringed with a bloody spiderweb of blown capillaries. He drew a long, deep breath; it rattled in his chest, scraping through his throat as though crossing over broken glass. His bloodstained lips nearly shaped a smile.
"We did it."
Issan bit back a shuddering breath, unable to stop one tear from sliding down her cheek. She quickly wiped at her face.
"And nearly died in the process," she tried to joke in response, but her voice cracked. She turned her gaze back to the numerous wounds plaguing his form, and focused next on his broken arm. "You should have let me come with you." Or I should have done better with the ring, her mind added, to which the entity in her head made a chiding sound. Issan did not dignify it with a response.
Glasya only shook his head. The small motion sent a spike of pain through his temples. His eyes snapped tightly shut; a shudder coursed through his body, a ragged sigh close on its heels. "The ring was perfect," he rasped. His unbroken arm turned on the gurney, long fingers seeking the warmth of her skin. Coagulated blood cracked and fell like rust, exposing in part the deep bites the beast had made. "Well done."
She grabbed for his hand, partly for her own reassurance and partly to make him stop moving. Issan swallowed, her free hand still mending the bone in his arm. Ossein wended carefully through muscle, repairing and restructuring in methodical order. Once it was whole, she laid tentative fingers on his skin, careful to not press too hard to the bruises therein.
What now? At least the mental link between them remained, though the introduction of a myriad of voices confused her. It was better to keep him from speaking, in the end.
Now I-- The noise in his thoughts swelled, a heavy tide pouring through the cracks in his mind. He found the walls he had long worked to build in broken ruins; still he took what he could of them and began to build them around the most wounded places in his mind, slowly closing himself off once more. Issan felt the barriers come up, felt herself pushed out. The voices disappeared, as did his comforting mental presence. She said nothing.
"Need to rest," he finished. "In my own bed. And we need to go somewhere safer." He looked down to the little droid, and received a worried series of beeps in response. "Somewhere else," Glasya said, waving dismissively. "Farther down the Run. I don't care." The droid chirped an answer and whirred quickly from the room.
He pressed his palm to the side of the gurney, and slowly pushed himself up to sit. He felt knit together from a patchwork of bruises, every inch of him aching with even the slightest motion. He gritted his teeth and winced at the new spark of pain it alighted behind his eyes. Issan rose quickly, impeding his path.
"At least wait until I'm done," she said peevishly, hands moving to his ribcage. "You're going to rip something open again. Surely you can wait a moment, unless there's something you're not telling me." Like how you're keeping so much from him? the voice said in reply, and Issan's annoyance melted into guilt.
He felt the wave of her guilt, but could not find its source without exposing them both to further interference from his connection with Alucard. "Perhaps that's mutual," he said. "How--" His voice gave, dwindling to a hoarse scraping. He cleared his throat. Moved to the edge of the gurney, letting his legs hang over the side. The remnants of his black robes pooled around his waist and draped over his bruised and battered legs. "How are the Nightsisters progressing?"
Issan instantly moved her hands to his throat, gently cupping the slender arch of flesh against her palm. She said nothing in response as her concentration worked on knitting muscle and tissue together, reforming his voicebox.
"Things have slowed, but there is still progress," she finally replied. "It's difficult when I have to be away from them so often." There was no accusation in her words, merely simple fact. She quietly faded the bruises on his neck, and then returned to mending his ribcage. Her voice was soft and careful. "You know I keep nothing from you, unless it is for your safety."
"And you know what is best for my safety?" With his voice returned to him, the words sounded pointed and cutting. Issan flinched, but he made no effort to curb their sharpness. "We are both best served by your honesty. We will not bring Kylo Ren down with anything less." He met her eyes; a new fire burned within them, made more dangerous for the new, untested bonds it hid. "They need to be ready, Issan. The moment I'm certain I can control Alucard, we need to move."
"They will be ready when I say they are," Issan retorted heatedly, anger flaring up over her guilt. Combined with the instability caused by the parasite in her head, she lost the careful control of the healing she'd been working in his gut. The bones wrenched into their correct, mended position, sending a wave of pain through his hunched form. The guilt immediately returned, and a comforting hand settled lightly on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, I--"
Glasya pushed her hand away. "Don't." Agony bowed his body; he shuddered, turning all his focus to steadying his fast, uneven breaths. He straightened up only with marked effort, and pain still showed starkly in his pale face. Still, his hands did not shake as he drew his robes up, sliding bruised and scratched arms into the sleeves. He slipped down from the gurney with an ease that belied his continued pain. He studied her face, his expression a mix of emotions as difficult to read as it was for him to name. She moved back, eyes wide.
"When, apprentice, do you anticipate their being ready?"
Her jaw clenched, confusion and hurt clear in her expression. She quickly tamped all of it down, believing his injuries to be the cause of his sour mood. "Soon. We have already enacted a ritual involving the mask I told you of," she continued. "They are learning quickly. They have no love for Kylo Ren, and are eager to strike against him." You would sacrifice your sisters to this man's petty cause? the voice in her head said, and Issan nearly moved to speak aloud before stopping herself. She covered the slip quickly. "You know I serve your will, and they follow me completely."
"Good." The hard line of his shoulders softened incrementally. He seemed mollified, at least for the moment, by her words. Still their absence from one another's minds seemed to echo, a hollowed-out place where something warm and familiar should have been. He felt it keenly, and frowned without realizing he did. "This ritual. What did that accomplish? Is the mask of any further use?"
Issan paused, grasping for words. What will you tell him? That it was not what you expected? This one will not accept doubt, inimioară. Neither do I.
"Be quiet," she muttered softly before she could stop herself. Glasya's brow furrowed, his head canting as he studied her closely. Shock colored her features as she moved to explain herself, her gaze focusing once again on Glasya's features. "I... No. I'm told that it should not have worked in this ritual, as it was already used once before. The mask holds its power only for the next after the former user is no more." She swallowed. "It has certainly opened a door, though I have yet to explore its full potential." The parasite slithered from her frontal cortex to back of her skull, making her head feel heavy. Combined with the sudden coldness from her master made Issan feel exhausted. "You will be the first to know, master, once I do."
"I hope that's true," Glasya said. "For both our sakes." He reached out to her, his touch unexpectedly gentle after the harshness of his words. She remained still, uncertain what he would do now. His hand circled her arm; with the pad of his thumb he traced the line of muscle beneath black cloth. Her arm stretched to be touched, her whole body aching. Then his hand fell to his side. The edge in his voice had eased, but the distance between their bodies and minds remained.
"We must focus, you and I," he said. "There is too much work to be done for us to be distracted, as we have been."
I would have this otherwise, he thought, one last slip from his mind to hers before he closed that heavy, hidden door. Then even that was drowned out of his own thoughts by the cacophony of voices that clamored for his attention.
Issan held her tongue, even as her jaw clenched to hold back the torrent of questions and disagreements pressing at her lips as pain was etched in her gaze. She knew the wisdom in his decision; her unease with the "goddess" favored caution, and she could tell that he was plagued with his own demons that were obviously connected to this Alucard. It was no wonder that he had balked at a mental connection, and again she wished she had done something differently with the ring she'd provided him. How many times would things threaten to spin out of control, as it was now?
"Yes, master," she finally agreed, erasing her warring emotions from her expression. She took her arm and folded it with its twin, her hands threading before her. It was the only thing she could do to stop herself from reaching out for him. "Now is not the time to err."
He nodded. Something ached deep within him; he could not place it, and studying it further only seemed to bring more pain. So he turned his inward gaze away from it, back to the countless tasks yet to be completed.
"There will be no further danger to me from Alucard," Glasya said. "And I will not approach Kylo until the Nightsisters are prepared. You are free to pursue their training unhindered. I expect you to attend to them and nothing else until they are ready. If you require any additional assistance or resources, ask immediately and I will provide."
She was late in replying to this as well; it was clear he would not provide the one thing she wanted, and she felt foolish for even contemplating the desire. When will you learn that you can only trust in me? Issan closed her eyes, bolstering her will against the invader. When she opened them, she nodded.
"Yes master. It will not be long." She held her tongue once more, before finally allowing herself a small question. She had sacrificed much over the years, and she found herself reexamining what she had given up at the altar of her lofty goals. "When this is over, I would hope you might find time for distraction once again."
He will take, and take, and take, inimioară, until you are nothing but a shell, the parasite warned, and Issan shoved away its attempts to ensnare her.
"When this is over, this will no longer be a distraction. It will simply be the way of things, and none will take it from us." Glasya drew closer to her, ignoring all the warnings that sounded in his head. His hand fitted to the line of her jaw, his fingertips sliding over the soft place beneath her ear. He kissed her, deep but quick, as though no time remained to them. His gaze held hers when he drifted away once more. "So work quickly, Issan Vox."
Issan found herself falling back, unsteady on her feet. But she was warmed by his statement, reassured completely. Despite the noise in her mind, the voice that would crack her resolve, she would do exactly as she was bid. Having him so close and yet denied to her was torture, but she was not one to give up easily.
"Yes, master." She paused once more, letting her eyes have their fill of the sight they'd go so long without. She wanted to stay and heal his wounds, but the greater promise of more pulled her away. Her mouth opened once more, but she dashed the words that would have come. Instead, she turned to return to the ship she'd arrived on, her black robes spilling in her wake.
In silence he watched her go, his teeth sinking into his tongue to keep himself from calling her back. It felt as though a part of him went with her, torn from its moorings by some cruel and bloody touch. When there were no more soft footfalls to mark her passing, when the last of her presence had bled away from the ship, at last the knight turned away, and went alone to his rooms.