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When it was all over, when the woman with the cold eyes was gone, Bolton didn't remember why she'd been so afraid. It was all wiped away, whatever had throbbed in the back of her mind, whatever memories she'd been thrown back to. That didn't make her less afraid. It just made her unable to articulate why.

The new-made Lieutenant huddled on the floor in her black greatcoat, hood pulled over her head as she sobbed, like it was a blanket that would protect her from whatever monsters waited on the other side of it. A chill wormed its way beneath the unidentifiable fabric, racking her stocky form with shivers. Beneath the hood, it was dark. Beneath the hood, it didn't matter what she did or didn't remember.

She inhaled. Exhaled, and pillowed her face on her forearms, and stayed in a heap on the glassy floor. "No no no," she whispered, when she could find words to describe the existential horror that flooded her. "No. No."

Safe. Among friends. Bolton heaved a great breath, but all she remembered was being afraid. There was no context for the words that soaked through her hood. What she did understand that someone was touching her hood, like they planned to lift it, and Bolton--

She bolted upright all at once, like a flip-knife or a jack-in-the-box, and thrust out a leg in a kick all at once. The mask over her face was stifling, but it muffled the renewed crying. "Go away," she said, "go away, leave me alone. I want to be alone. I want to die." If she died, she wouldn't be so scared. That would be an ideal solution to this problem, wouldn't it? "I want to be dead. Make it stop. It hurts. I don't remember. Make it stop."

Bolton listened. Breathing was easy. She inhaled, slowly, through her nose. She exhaled, slowly, through her mouth. They were great, hiccuping breaths, but she was breathing, and the pain was fading. Her muscles were watery beneath her skin, and she sank slowly back to her knees, her tall boots clunking dismally on the floor.

It was very quiet now. Just her rasping breathing through the mask, and the woman in front of her. Bolton very cautiously reached out one hand and put it in Zircon's. "Don't leave," she said, her voice pleading even though it was muffled. She reached up, black steel rings glinting on her fingers, and pulled the mask off her face. The air was cold on her cheeks. "Let's stay here. It's so quiet." She liked the quiet, she thought. Surely the woman did too... Zircon.

"What's happened to me," said Bolton, more to herself than to anyone else.

Her captain. Oh captain, my captain, the fearful deed is done. She frowned, for a moment, and then tightened her grip on Zircon's hand for a moment. "It's okay," she said, "I am glad you were there." They'd successfully saved her, despite herself--she remembered her own reticence, the way Zircon's aura had licked at the edges of her mind, slimy and dark. Now it was... still dark, but... beautiful, too, rather... amniotic. Like being cradled in a warm, safe place. "I used to be able to sense something, in my... in my brain," she said, gesturing vaguely with her free hand. "It was big, and bright, and everywhere. And another one, smaller, but just as bright..."

Bolton frowned. She could sense nothing but the comfort of Zircon's aura, now. A few other dark auras around her. "They would attack me now," she said. "If I saw those two again. Wouldn't they?"

It wasn't an aura, Bolton wanted to say, but she didn't want to contradict the only person who had been kind to her in her living memory. She clung to Zircon's hands with both of hers now, the odd layering of her gloves and her sleeves muting everything. "I understand, Captain," she said. "I... do we stay here? Is this all we are?" She must have been someone before she became this, became... Bolton looked down at herself. "I must have had a home, before. But I don't know where it is." Neither did Zircon, she supposed. "I... I'd like to go to sleep now, for a little. Please."