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 Posted: Sun Jan 18, 2015 7:17 pm
They made her wait until the doctor had been in to see her, and then until she'd swallowed down a small meal of broth and bland crackers.
“I would like to see my husband,” she said.
It was voiced as a halting command rather than a question. Paris sat up in the hospital bed, her face red from tears, grasping what shreds of her determination and persistence remained after her ordeal. She did not think about what had been done to her. Instead, she focused on what had become of Chris since she'd last seen him, days ago when they'd brought her into his cell to beat her in front of him.
Finally, when she thought she might have to pitch a fit to get someone to listen, her mother and a nurse assisted her into a wheelchair. Paris grasped the rolling IV while her mother pushed the chair. Out of the room they went, into a hallway of crisp white walls, and to another room full of equally bright light.
Paris wondered if the lights seemed so bright because she'd spent so long in darkness. Perhaps it would take time for her eyes to adjust.
Then she saw Chris there on the hospital bed, and all the rest of her thoughts fled.
“Chris...?” she said, in a quiet voice that trembled, close to tears again.
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Posted: Sun Jan 18, 2015 7:48 pm
“It’s looking much better today.”
Chris tried not to wince as the doctor poked and prodded at the gash across his eyebrow. She was a thin, exasperated looking woman. Her hair dark grey hair was streaked a lighter grey at her temples, and pulled back into a low ponytail. She must have been middle-aged, yet she had an authority about her that made it clear she was not to be messed with.
And yet, apparently he had already tested her patience with his attempts to leave his room when she clearly thought it was not a wise decision. If anything, she was definitely not as gentle as she could have been with him, perhaps subtly taking out her frustrations on her reckless patient.
Peter sat in the corner of the room, immersed in his tablet, no longer volunteering to remain in the room with Chris alone after the last time. His mother was there, too. Paler than usual but trying to stay optimistic about everything. He wished he could tell her what happened, but he also didn’t want to put her in danger of knowing too much, especially if the Negaverse was looking for answers to… he still didn’t know the questions.
Dr. Bran, replaced the bandage the covered most of his left eye, before taking a look at his side as well. Chris rested heavily against the pillows his mother had recently fluffed for him, still taking advantage of the oxygen mask for a while longer until his doctor was comfortable with him breathing on his own.
Aside from his obvious wounds, malnutrition, dehydration, and hypothermia, he’d been informed that the blood poisoning caused by the infections of his wounds should have killed him, but by some miracle made it to the hospital in time. Chris figured it had something to do with being a knight, and the fact that several negaverse officers and corrupted senshi had kept him alive.
He didn’t hear the door open, too distracted by the sharp pain from his side as the doctor poked at his wound, but he froze when he heard his name, and a voice he’d wanted to hear ever since he’d first woken up.
Chris lifted his head off the pillow and would later wish she hadn’t seen him like he was, but in that moment all he could think about was how he must be dreaming. She was there… right there before him, and if he didn’t think he would be tackled if he tried, he would have jumped out of the bed to embrace and kiss her. Instead, he struggled with the mask on his face, pushing it off and to the side.
He drew in a breath to greet her in return, but his voice was gone. He’d lost it sometime before they’d been rescued. Rather than trying to force it, he reached out his arms, as if to beckon her to him. Dr. Bran eyed him sternly but said nothing against it. For now.
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Posted: Mon Jan 19, 2015 6:28 am
Her mother's hand on her shoulder stopped Paris from rising and walking the rest of the way to Chris's bed. She was forced instead to remain in the wheelchair, which her mother pushed to the side of the hospital bed at a pace that felt to Paris to be torturously slow.
It seemed her injuries were not as extensive as Chris's. She'd expected as much, seeing as he'd been injured the night they were captured while she'd gone largely unscathed. But she hadn't truly been prepared for the sight that met her. Chris looked awful. If it wasn't the bruising along his face, it was the bandaging the nearly covered one eye; and if it wasn't the wound on it side, it was the way he hands were completely wrapped up.
Paris thought her ordeal had been bad enough. Her left wrist was broken, worse than the minor break she'd gained at Avalon. She was dehydrated and malnourished, had lost a worrying amount of weight in just the week that she was gone. The bruising and the burns along her shoulders from the scalding tea would diminish over time, but the brand on the back of her shoulder was permanent, a lasting reminder of everything they'd gone through.
Yet, as she looked at her husband, Paris knew Chris's ordeal must have been worse.
She stood to her feet once her mother brought the wheelchair to her stop, and ignored the way the doctor eyed them as she settled herself on the side of Chris's bed. She fell into his arms and put her head to his shoulder to cry there, clinging to him as if letting go would mean losing him again.
Paris placed kisses along Chris's neck, up to his jaw. She nudged the oxygen mask but didn't remove it, though it got in the way even pushed aside as it was. She stared into his eyes and brought a hand to his face, stroking her fingers along his cheek.
“You need to shave,” she said, in a raspy voice that had done too much screaming.
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Posted: Mon Jan 19, 2015 10:06 am
When Paris made her way up onto his bed, he held her as tightly as he could without causing concern of hurting her. He'd been promised that he would be able to see her, but he hadn't been told when. Being able to finally see her, hold her, know she was alive and out of danger brought such a strong wave of relief that he became overwhelmed with emotion.
He didn't have time to stop the tears that welled up and just as quickly fell. Chris let out a weak, embarrassed breath that would very qualify as a laugh, and lifted his wrist to scrub at his eyes, obviously tearing up because something was in his eyes, rather than being emotional.
His hand went to her face, touching her as if to make sure she was real. He was careful with her and with his fingers, not wanting to cause Paris any more distress. Chris smiled at her, no longer trying to stop the tears that fell. I would if I could, he mouthed to her, before taking a few moments to actually look her over.
She still looked exhausted, and as if she'd been crying before entering the room. Her face was bruised and her wrist in a cast, obviously broken. She looked thin... she was thin before, but he could notice the change in her face.
Chris's smile faltered as he continued to look her over. His heart ached and he could only imagine what she'd been through. He couldn't ask of course... not there. What else has she been forced to endure?
I love you... he mouthed, clearing his throat to try and will his voice to work again, and stared into her beautiful albeit reddened blue green eyes. He never wanted to let her go...
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Posted: Thu Jan 22, 2015 6:59 am
It was at the first sign of tears on Chris's face that Paris was able to process the trauma. Before, she'd forced herself to keep as much of the events at an emotional distance as she could. Anger had been quick to outweigh her other emotions. It was followed by resignation, as she accepted the impending death she'd been sure would soon be her fate.
Now the anger was abated, the resignation no longer applicable, and Paris had nothing left to focus on but the grief. She was overwhelmed by the horrific nature of their captivity and broke down rapidly. Hot tears spilled down her face; she gasped out a few wracking sobs.
Chris wasn't one to cry. In four years she'd seen little more than the glimmer of tears in his eye, but it was always brief. That Chris couldn't face what had happened to them with his usual grace broke her heart. Paris brought both hands up to frame his face. She wiped the tears away with her thumbs as she struggled with her own lack of control.
She was dimly aware of her mother standing nearby, of the doctor who'd most likely been fed a series of carefully constructed lies, of Peter and Momma watching closely—with embarrassment in the case of the former and concern in the case of the latter. But she couldn't tear her eyes away from her husband. She caressed his face gently, lightly touched the bandaging by his eye with the tips of her fingers, stroked her thumb over Chris's dry lips when he struggled to speak.
“I love you too,” she said with a hitch in her breath.
Paris made short work of the oxygen mask. She gently removed it, leaned in, and kissed him. Their tears mingled, full of so much pain and grief it seemed impossible to think that they would recover from what had been done to them.
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Posted: Fri Jan 23, 2015 4:14 pm
During the time they’d been imprisoned, there hadn’t been much time to think about what was happening to them. Sure, they lived through it, experienced it, had emotion drawn from it, but to fully accept what happened didn’t come until just then. They weren’t safe, nor would he ever think they’d ever be safe, but the fact that he was able to see Paris and see what she must have gone through and let himself finally… finally feel.
Chris leaned into Paris’s touch as she wiped away his tears, relishing in her closeness and warmth, letting her share in his pain as he did with her. He hadn’t been there to protect her — he wasn’t able to protect her. He was forced to be a witness to her suffering and her to his. They were alive, but at what cost? They had been through physical and psychological and emotional torture. Not all of them made it out. Some faced an existence worse than death. Or lack of existence. They were ‘lucky’ but it didn’t help ease the overwhelming grief.
He ignored his disgruntled doctor when Paris kissed him, ignored his mother, brother, and mother-in-law. Instead he focused on holding her, feeling her heart beat as she leaned against him, felt her breath on him as she breathed through her nose as they kissed, felt how her body shook with each sob. Chris pulled away just enough to kiss her face, as if to try and kiss the tears and pain away.
I’m sorry… he said against her ear where his voice was more of a breath than actual words but she would know what he said. She knew him more than he knew himself. He heard Peter mumble something about getting food and out of the corner of his eye saw him pull his mother with him. He was grateful for the opportunity for some privacy but would have to thank him later.
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Posted: Mon Jan 26, 2015 11:10 am
Paris noticed the others in the room only when movement registered out of the corner of her eye. She turned her head mere inches, just enough to see Peter and Momma begin to make their way out of the room. Paris shifted a little closer to Chris, draping herself along the side of his bed the best she could with all the wires and tubing, not to mention the bed railing.
Chris's doctor did not look pleased.
Paris's ignored the woman's pursed lips and pinched expression, and said, “I'd like to be alone with him for a little while.”
Both the doctor and Paris's mother looked like they might argue. Something must have stopped them, because neither of them said a word to counter her request. Perhaps it was the expressions on their faces, or the dark, haunted look in their eyes.
Whatever the case, the doctor gave a curt nod and said, “Five minutes.”
Paris's mother moved away next. Her hand slipped from the rolling IV stand with some regret. With their departure, Paris and Chris were alone.
She turned her attention back to her husband. Paris rested her head on Chris's shoulder, stroking one hand along his chest. It soon came to rest over his heart, feeling the steady thump-thump through his ribcage.
“What did they do to you?” she said.
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Posted: Mon Jan 26, 2015 3:54 pm
It was a relief when Paris requested time alone with him, and he closed his eyes for the few moments it took for everyone to make their way out of the room. He was exhausted, and he was sure Paris was too. He felt weak and helpless and, had it not been for Paris, would have felt so alone.
He moved his hand to place over hers on his chest, but he didn’t squeeze it like he wanted to. His fingers throbbed painfully as most of his nails had to be removed to prevent further infection, and the joints being dislocated was not exactly a walk in the park. He was glad they hadn’t been broken, at least. It was going to be difficult enough as it was.
Slowly, he shook his head when she asked what they’d done to him, mostly glad it hadn’t been worse. He still had all his limbs and both eyes. He was sure the cuts would scar and they would need time to heal, emotionally, but other than that…
Chris tried clearing his throat again, as if to convince himself to speak. I did this… he pointed out, showing Paris the bandages along his wrists and arms from where the chains had cut into him. Not sure how bad… he tried saying, giving up and just indicating to the bandage over his brow and eye.
What about you? he asked, barely a whisper but as she was close enough to him should have been able to hear him. Chris frowned at her in concern, sniffling lightly as he tried holding back any more tears. He lifted a hand to her face to touch her, gently brushing his bandaged fingertips along the cuts and bruises that were only now starting to heal.
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Posted: Wed Jan 28, 2015 5:44 am
Paris sat quietly and waited for her mother and the doctor to leave. Once the door had shut softly, she adjusted herself into a more comfortable position along the side of Chris's bed, though the side rail felt awkward at her back. She ignored it; she cared more about being close to Chris than she did any mild discomfort.
As Chris struggled to speak, Paris lifted her head enough to look him over again, taking in the extent of the injuries she could see. His hands were the most concerning part, of course, considering they were his livelihood. She hoped they would heal fast. If any of this prevented Chris from playing baseball... he was going to be miserable. At least his eye had escaped damage, she thought. Paris brought her hand up to lift the bandaging just enough to take a quick look.
She sniffled quietly, running a hand along her face to sop up some of the tears as she said, “That curly haired Lieutenant stepped on my wrist and broke it worse. You saw that part. Then Buddingtonite and another Lieutenant poured hot tea all over me.”
Had Buddingtonite not already been on her s**t-list, he would have easily earned himself a place there.
“There were others that took me to another room. There was a fire. They... they burned me,” she said. “Here...”
Paris shifted, struggling a bit with the IV tubing as she turned enough for Chris to see the bandaging over the back of her right shoulder.
“They used a metal poker that'd been bent to look like my symbol at the end,” she explained. Then her voice grew ragged and the rate of her breathing increased as she sobbed, “They made me eat a starseed.”
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Posted: Wed Jan 28, 2015 3:50 pm
Chris tried inching over, aware that Paris was probably uncomfortable on the edge of the bed, but a sharp pain from straining the wrong muscles had him remaining where he was. At least she was with him. At least he could see she was alive, and while he wished he was a little less helpless at the moment, Paris just being there made things okay for now.
He winced in sympathy and guilt when he learned that her wrist had indeed been broken, an anger he’d felt before bubbling towards the surface with no outlet. He knew it had been impossible to break out of the chains, but he’d tried, and he still wished he could have stopped the pain she had to endure.
Upon learning that she had to endure hot tea and then burned, his eyes widened, and he made a movement as though he wanted to get up to do something. Her weight against him prevented any such rash movements, and so his arm around her tightened. He cursed silently as she showed him the bandage, his hand moving to place over it as if the gesture alone would help the healing process.
But that wasn’t all. They’d done so much more to her. At first, he clenched his teeth together in anger and grief that continued to build, but with no way of venting it, tears filled his eyes once more. He refused to let them fall as he struggled to pull her closer so he could press a kiss against her forehead and along her face.
How dare they? What did they wish to accomplish? What more could they do to them now? It’s not your fault, he insisted, his grip tightening almost to the point of forgetting that she was also injured, wanting nothing more than to protect her now that he had her with him. What happened?? What did it do to you?? he tried asking but it ended in him coughing and turning away to curse again. If it was anything like the energy orb… although he would imagine it would have been a hundred times worse. Not to mention the guilt he knew he would have felt...
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Posted: Thu Jan 29, 2015 7:02 am
“Please don't cry...”
Worse than any torture was the sight of tears in Chris's eyes. Paris lifted her hand to his face to collect them on her fingers before they could fall. She could endure all that she'd been made to go through again if it would only stop Chris from crying.
Of course it wouldn't. That was a foolish thought. She knew that. But she could barely even remember the only other time she'd seen Chris with tears in his eyes, so foggy from medication she'd been at the time.
It unnerved her that both times should take place in a hospital.
Paris put an arm around Chris to keep him from moving. Once he'd had time to take stock of her injuries, she settled against his side again, putting her head to his shoulder and slinging an arm across his chest. She was careful of his wounds and kept her hand away from the injury to his side.
“It hurt,” she explained. She didn't know how else to describe it. “It was cold, but it felt like I was burning. I tried to get it out, I tried to throw up, but it didn't work. Everything went dark and fuzzy. I don't remember a lot of what happened during the worst of it. There was... a General who came in... she looked familiar, but now I... it's all a blur.”
She struggled against her own tears, using the short sleeve of her hospital gown to mop them up.
“I thought it was going to kill me,” she wept. “I wanted it to kill me. I couldn't move. I couldn't do anything. Everything felt heavy and I... I just felt so sick and it hurt so much. I would have been happy if I'd died then, just to make it stop. I... I didn't want to do it, but they made me. They said I had to or they'd feed it to someone else, and I didn't want it to be you...”
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Posted: Tue Feb 03, 2015 8:44 am
He closed his eyes as Paris lifted her hand to wipe away any tears. He didn't mean to cry. He didn't want to cry. But he was just so miserable and upset and so angry about everything that happened. To himself and Paris, to the others who were taken, to those who fought so hard to rescue them, but also to the Negaverse who wanted no part of it but had no choice. There had been no point to the violence they'd experienced.
Chris settled a little more as Paris put her arm over his chest, holding him in place. He knew there was nothing he could do even if he was able to get up. Yet he hated feeling so helpless. Even pacing seemed more productive than lying there, unable to do anything, unable to help himself much less anyone else.
When Paris told him she did it to prevent anyone else from having to do it, all he could do was shake his head, wishing it had been him if only to save her from the pain, physically and emotionally. She already had enough to deal with, an knowing how it made her feel only broke his heart more.
It's not your fault, he repeated, leaning his head back, eyes still closed, in a show of resignation. What else could he do besides lie there and listen, helpless an pathetic? He was glad they were alone now, because he hated people sitting there, watching him. He knew paris didn't, but it was very easy for him to imagine how disappointed she was with his weakness and inability to stop any of this. If he hadn't surrendered with her... could he have saved her sooner...?
Wolframite tried to help me... he gave me an energy orb... it felt... he stopped to cough again, getting even more frustrated with himself and shook his head. He wanted Paris to know that he at least knew a fraction of the pain she had gone through. It felt like the same burning cold she described.
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Posted: Tue Feb 03, 2015 10:26 am
Paris shook her head but didn't rise to look Chris in the eye. She squeezed her eyes shut instead, going blind to the rest of the world.
She wished she could go blind to the memories.
“It is my fault,” she said miserably.
The guilt was always the hardest part. It felt heavy and suffocating. In those moments of darkness and silence when she'd been locked away by herself, she'd had nothing else to do but think of all the things she'd done wrong, and what she would have done differently if given the chance. So much of the guilt weighed her shoulders down—Cyllene and Wolframite, Chris and the others who'd been taken and tortured, all those voices screaming, the ones that eventually choked of and never rose again...
Paris was no longer feverish or delirious, and the pain had eased since she'd been saved and brought to the hospital, but she thought she could still feel the starseed there low in her gut. She wondered if she'd always feel it there, or if it might one day disappear and become nothing more than another memory.
“It's my fault we were there that night,” Paris said. Her breath caught on another sob. “I surrendered instead of fighting. I should have fought back and I didn't. I let them take me. I let them take you. It's my fault the others were brought there. Because of what I am. Because of what happened when Laurelite tried to corrupt me. You heard what they said when they took us. It was because of me.”
Dozens of lives had changed or ended because she could not be corrupted.
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Posted: Thu Feb 05, 2015 5:01 am
More than he hated not being able to do anything, he hated how horrible Paris felt, knowing the guilt was eating her alive. He wanted to tell her everything he felt, wanted to convince her it wasn't her fault, that even if it was the goal of the Negaverse, it wasn't her decision for them to act. She was holding herself accountable for the actions of so many others, and while he understood, because he would have felt the same in her place, that didn't mean he didn't think they shouldn't try to push past this.
It could have been a lot worse. They were alive. They could still fight. They could still help those who needed to be saved from a worse fate than their guilt.
Chris struggled to move enough to get Paris's attention again, wanting her to look at him, to see the sincerity in his eyes. He gently took hold of her chin so as not to hurt her or himself in the process.
I love you... I can't... I can't do this without you... he told her, fighting back any lingering evidence of emotion. I want to have a family with you... I thought about it every day we were... we were there..." he forced out, his breathing becoming strained and shallow with the exertion of trying to speak.
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Posted: Thu Feb 05, 2015 7:46 am
Paris looked up when encouraged to do so, though tears continued to stream down her face in the process. Gently, she took Chris's hand from her chin and pulled it away, cautious as she was about his injuries. He should be resting. He shouldn't be forcing himself to touch her or speak to her when he hadn't even recovered from what had been done to him.
Shaking her head, Paris tried to stop him from speaking, wary that he might hurt himself unintentionally. She brought one of her hands to his mouth, touching her fingers to his lips as she made a stubborn attempt to rein in her emotions.
“Don't try to talk,” she told him. “It's okay. I'm sorry. I'll be okay.”
Worrying him further had not been her intention. She was just so relieved to see him, to be able to touch him, to know that he was alive.
She didn't know what she would have done if anything worse had happened. If she'd awoken to find Chris dead, it would have been as if her life had ended with him. Knowing that she would have been partly responsible had that been the case... it made her feel sick. She could hardly even breathe.
“I love you,” she sobbed. “I love you so much. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I almost... everything was almost ruined and... I thought I was going to lose you. I'm sorry, Chris. I love you, I love you, I love you. All I ever wanted was to be with you. I... I want to have a normal life with you. That's all...”
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