Nurse Me. {SINCE IT IS NOW SO APPLICABLE! :D}

Nurse me. {SINCE IT IS NOW SO APPLICABLE! :D}

(In the beforetimes. Obviously.)

She sat on the floor beside the cot, watching Cia sleep. With everyone else gone, she could finally submit to tears. And so they slid quietly down Milli’s face as she held back sobs with great effort.

Her fingers weren’t still. She softly stroked Ciara’s turquoise hair, gentle touches meant to soothe them both. Cia needed the rest. She needed time to recover. Milli did, too.

Cia had said she couldn’t make Milli happy. Milli wasn’t so sure. Or at least her aching heart said she couldn’t be sure like this. Not after watching the woman nearly bleed to death, hovering close for so long as every barber in shouting distance had been called down and urged to use magic that left Milli’s dead eye twitching still. But such things were minor, transitory. What mattered was that Cia was whole. Her knees…

Milli had seen injuries, her own and others. Never had she seen something so painful and gruesome intentionally done. The way the nail had protruded from flesh and bone, how swollen the joint had been…she couldn’t imagine the pain Cia had been in. If it had been her Fox had come for…

She’d have talked. Said anything he wanted her to say. He wouldn’t have had to try even half so hard as he did with Cia. Milli was weak and she knew it. She needed protection. She should be stronger, but she didn’t know how. And so she leaned on people, depended on them because she had no other choice. She was a liability and she hated it, even as she craved the comfort of another’s protection.

For now, Cia was hers to protect. And she would keep watch over her until she woke. Or at least until dawn. Then she would go to Jack. Because whether Fox was the cause of or the reason for Cia’s injury, he needed to be brought in. Someone would be made to pay for this.

Milli stroked her fingers over the paleness of Cia’s cheek, seeing the blood loss in the lack of color, the delicacy the woman never showed while awake.

Maybe this would make a difference. Maybe Cia would see how much Milli cared. Maybe she would reconsider whether or not the two of them could be happy together. Milli could hope. Half the time, hope was what she lived on.

Strangely, it was easier to care for the burns on her palm than her arm. With the palm, at least, she could easily see the blistered, scorched flesh. The heel of her hand was badly damaged. She couldn't feel it, even though she could tell it was even more scarred than the rest, charred deeply black. One more to add to the list of scars. Milli wrapped her hand again in soft linen strips after treating it with a soothing ointment she'd been making for herself for years.

She'd have gone to see a barber about the burns, except she was fairly certain she had seen and treated more burns than Jackrel and Doctor Morsus combined. No reason to go find them only to tell them how best to do their jobs.

Then she turned to the arm. Her wrapped fingers gripped the ointment-covered brush awkwardly, thumb to forefinger the best she could manage without extreme pain. She slathered the hand-shaped burn liberally. There was never a reason to not use more of the stuff until it got so drippy that it was just making a mess. Then she wound more linen around the burn, having to stop and use her chin and the table edge occasionally to hold the strips in place as she did so.

After two days, she was still uncertain what to do. She had asked Dexten if she knew where Tom was. Dexten's negative, unruly answer clashed sharply with the immediate and violent reaction of her magic, even to Milli's mind. There were few possibilities Milli could deduce.

The first? Tom was dead. Had been so for a while. Possibly at Dexten's hand. Possibly just...on the job.

The second was no better. He was gone, either by his own choice, which hurt, or by some call of duty or enforced absence.

Her first thought had been to ask the Charlatan. But she remembered Jack's words all too well. Don't get into debt with a lord. So she would do something simpler.

Her fingers cramped every few words, but slowly Milli managed to write the note. The script was far from her usual precise hand. And it took far longer to pen.

Looking for a job requiring Tom Door's expertise. Please respond immediately. Information on his location appreciated and compensation for such offered.

Later that evening she pinned it to the wanted board in the barbershop. Hopefully Tom would see it. And if not, perhaps someone who knew where he was supposed to be would come to her. As she left she gave the board, cluttered with torn notices and old ads, one final look and winced. Her last hope did not look to be her best.

Tell Me.

They had been trudging all night through the scarred plains of Ascalon, the sole survivors of a fight too large and brutish to not have been a setup. The question, of course, was whether it was an inside job. Whether the victims were, in fact, both victims.

Milli stumbled along, her arms wrapped around herself to ward off the cold of shock and environment both. Her back was scraped deep by large claws and each step was an agonizing ache and pull. Markus had fared no better, arms and torso bearing similar wounds. A few long, dark miles back, Milli had made her peace with things. If Markus was a traitor, he would kill her. She wouldn’t fight him. She had no chance. She would ask for swiftness, mercy if possible. And if he wasn’t a traitor, well…she was waiting for that question as well.

They found a small creek, nearly dry, but with enough muddy puddles to wet their lips, at least. A large hand landed on her shoulder and Milli winced. One way or the other, it had come.

"Did you plan this?" came the deep, gravelly voice.

Milli shook her head. “I didn’t, Markus, I swear.” Even to herself, her words sounded flat and distant. But how to tell him that it wasn’t for lack of sincerity?

He spun her around, glared at her angrily. Even in the dark, she could see the burn of his green eyes. “Make me believe it,” he growled.

"I-I don’t know how," she stuttered, backing away, over the slippery rocks that banked the creek. With a slip she ended up on her butt, back aching like it was on fire. Milli arched, mouth open to scream but no sound came out.

A black-gloved hand wrapped around her throat. “Then figure it out quickly. Those were good people we lost back there. Lost to the Cause.” His eyes narrowed. “You’ve never been really loyal, have you?”

He wasn’t squeezing hard enough to block her air, just to hold her steady. Lying still didn’t seem like a good idea. “N-no,” she admitted. “I-I haven’t wanted to restore Ascalon. B-but I’ve been loyal to the organization. To the Hangmen,” she said quickly. She hoped he’d believe her.

His hand squeezed and she grabbed it, holding on, not sure if she could pry his fingers from around her throat. Not sure if it would do any good if she could. “You have a strange idea of loyalty, girl,” his voice rumbled, rolled like thunder across her. Then he threw her down, on the dry bank next to the creek. “But if you’re loyal to the Hangmen, you’re loyal to the Cause. It’s time you started learning there’s no difference.” Then he grabbed her arm and hauled her to her feet. “Move.”

"Y-yes, thank you," she said, gulping air. Rubbing her throat gently, Milli trailed in Markus’s wake. To her, it was always the same. She was loyal to what kept her alive.

Impossible, is scribbled in the margin of this drawing in her notebook. Then, at the bottom, grudgingly, Beautiful anyway.

She wanted to beat something. Throw things. Make a mess, a horrible, wretched mess. Show the world what she felt like on the inside. What her heart looked like.

One of the little clockwork owls was in her hand. She didn't remember picking it up. But already she was squeezing it, fingers tightening around the delicate metal and bending it. If she smashed it in her palm, she'd throw it at the wall. If she threw it at the wall, others would join it. And if she threw them all, smashed the glass, wrecked the shelves, broke her shop...

Then what happened?

She'd lose everything. Everything.

Slowly, her fingers loosened around the owl. Breathing heavily through her nose, she set it on the worktable. There was blood there. Blood on the floor. There might even be blood on the chair in the corner where Ordran had set that useless corpse. She had to take fucking care of things. If she didn't, no one would.

She set out the 'closed for the day' sign beside the door, found a bucket and some rags -- rags she'd gotten to help with Cia NO don't think like that -- filled the bucket with rainwater from outside, and started cleaning.

Milli spent the morning on her knees, scrubbing blood from wood, emptying the bucket when it got too bloody. Not thinking. Not feeling. Desperately wishing she was being held tight by strong arms that could make this all better.

And when it was done, she made her way home and collapsed on the bed in a sort of half-sleep, staring at the door. Hoping it would open. Not knowing who she hoped would be on the other side.

I called you 'doll' because you remind me of one - perfect, fragile, and something I have no business being anywhere near. The best thing I can do for you is stay away. You may think no one loves you; everyone does. You're the best of all of us. The best I ever hoped to find. ~C *the package contained a delicate golden clockwork bracelet that rotates a faceted smoky topaz and a handful of apple candies*

Milli looked at the package in her hands, left on her doorstep like a present. Opening the door, she stepped into her shop, still staring at the note. She read it a second time. A third. It made no sense.

She set the bag on the counter, noting the clink of metal, the shuffle of candy wrappers. The note was set aside, the bag opened. Milli held the bracelet delicately, shifting it about to catch the light, to see its startling beauty. Absently, she reached in and pulled out one of the candies, started to open it.

Stopped.

If she took this, if she accepted it, it meant that Cia had never hurt her. It meant that Cia would keep on hurting her. Because she could. Because Milli was giving her that power. Just because she'd never laid a hand on Milli, didn't mean she couldn't make her hurt.

Angrily Milli crumpled the note. It went in the waste basket. Along with the candies, making a sad thunking sound as they struck the bottom. At the bracelet, she paused.

It was lovely. Good workmanship. Something she would like to wear if she was pretty, stylish. Something she could never wear, because Cia would see it and know.

It didn't mean it had to be broken, though. She didn't have to be broken, either.

So with a heavy heart, Milli placed the bracelet under the counter, far in the back behind several boxes. Where she alone would know. She alone.