Put That Thing Back Where It Came From Or So Help Me

[sugarlips]

Desolation. That's what Harrow feels when the King Undying tells her that what she wants most is impossible. Not even what she wants, but what she needs. She cannot live without Gideon Nav, and she will not. Unending life, in spite of being what she had sought after in the beginning, is now unthinkable. She looks up into his surprisingly normal face, his unearthly eyes, and lets her gaze drop.

A horrible certainty rises in her, and becomes a morbid hope. Her face is serene with unspeakable grief, none of her wild plan showing as she asks to see the body of her cavalier. He grants her this, and she walks like a woman to the gallows down the ship to the cold storage. He has the grace to leave her alone with her grief, of course, and she opens the door with her heart in her throat.

The chill of the corpsetorium echoes the cool calm of her mind. Her chest aches, her throat is sore from screaming, but the sight of Gideon, hole in her chest, laying on a slab like so much dead meat does not inspire the crushing grief she had expected to. It fuels her. Motivates her to think harder, to dissect the theorems she studied and the one megatheorem that led to this cursed conclusion (damn Sextus for being right).

Harrow has no idea how long she sits there, her mind working in overdrive, peering inward to slowly pull out the stitches she had made in her own soul only mere hours before. It feels like only seconds at the same time it feels like eons. She has to do this carefully, slowly. I will not live without you. she thinks to herself and to the traces of Nav that exist inside her. She repeats it like a mantra. I told you that I am undone without you. We are both undone if I must go on alone.

It's the most delicate work she's ever done, and it hurts. It's a pain right down to her marrow, like she's trying to peel layers of calcium off of her own bones. At the end of it, it feels like she's holding a doll in her metaphysical hands. A little gauzy imitation of Gideon Nav. She pulls it free of herself, feels blood drip from her forehead into her eyes, and with all of the ferocity she had to hold back during the excavation, she slams the soul back into its rightful body.

Comments

[bonebutchblues]

If it's pain for Harrow, it is agony to Gideon. She can feel it, every stitch pulled and every rip mended. If she could have fought, she would have fought, if she could have screamed, she would have screamed. But in this place, her will is not her own. In this moment she is Harrow's tool absolutely, and Harrow has elected to take her tool apart stitch by stitch.

And then it's done.

She's back in her body before her body is alive. Her heart stutters. Her chest heaves, unable to inflate around the gaping hole. Her fingers twitch. Her whole body shudders. Her mind screams, insensate except for the pain. Blue lips move, begging Harrow to stop the work that is already completed.

[sugarlips]

There's a pang of sympathy, before it is overcome by triumph. She did it, she did the impossible, once again, and has outdone all of her ancestors combined. It makes her dizzy, and she wobbles, swaying on unsteady feet as a fresh wave of blood bursts from her nostrils. It flecks onto Gideon and mingles with the frozen blood around her wound.

That's when reality hits again, and Harrow rushes to press the wound together. She's no medical necro, but she learned a thing or two from Sextus, and she puts those to use now, trying to seal Gideon shut as she struggles back to life.

"Stay with me, Gideon, you hideous bitch, don't you dare leave me again!"

[bonebutchblues]

Typical fucking Nonagesimus: being an unreasonable dick and bleeding all over. Gideon wants to shake her, to scream at her that this is easily in the top ten stupid and totally garbage things she has ever done. But instead she just convulses as her very dead body slowly and agonizingly comes back online.

It takes minutes more of work, terrible for them both, until she finally coughs up a splatter of cold blood.

"F-f-fuck... y-y-y-... yeugh... auuuugh... "

[sugarlips]

Even without Gideon being able to speak at first, Harrow feels like she knows exactly what her cav is thinking. Yeah, yeah, she thinks, go on and hate me. Hate me and live. A trickle of bloody tear falls out of one eye and then it's finally done. Gideon is attached to her body again, where she belongs, and the painful surge of power that Harrow had felt ever since she took the other girl's soul into herself is gone.

She laughs. Hysterical and unhinged, as chilled blood splatters against her collarbone. "Fuck me? You dare..." she's breathing hard, her thin chest heaving with the effort of filling her lungs, "curse at me... you selfish, reckless... you left me! I told you that I... I couldn't... and you left me!" Her rage rapidly breaks away into pathetic desperation.

[bonebutchblues]

Well now everyone is just hating everyone and leaking blood everywhere. It's just like old times! In retrospect, she should have seen some kind of bullshit like this coming. There are another couple of attempts at replying to her, but the blood in her throat just turns it to pathetic coughing.

Slowly, laboriously, Gideon lifts an arm to tug Harrow down against her chest.

[sugarlips]

One of Harrow's hands is lifted and half-heartedly dropped back down onto Gideon's chest in a way that might have been a slap, at some point. She won't cry! She won't!! Even if the horrible gurgling cough Gideon is doing is more painful still than ripping their souls apart had been.

She's too busy squeezing her eyes together to notice the arm moving until it touches her, and she startles, whole body twitching as her eyes snap open. She realizes what's happening and doesn't even fight it. She drags herself up onto the freezing slab with Gideon, and collapses all of her skinny weight against the cav's chest.

"I hate you. I fucking hate you," she mumbles against blood and gore and ruined robes, sobs clear in her voice.

[bonebutchblues]

Her vision is still swimming. But she can imagine that Harrow is probably crying and shaking and about to slap her. Just being an absolute mess about this, isn't she?

She feels that startle, and yeah, seems about right.

There's still a rattle to her breathing. Her flesh is still cold. But in her chest, a heart beats steadily. Her other arm reaches up and around Harrow to hold her.

"B-back... atcha... bitch..."

[sugarlips]

Fuck you for knowing her and fuck you for thinking it, Nav!

Harrow presses her face against a less-gory part of Gideon's chest, feels ten thousand pounds lift off of her when she feels and hears that heartbeat. In her relief, rage rises back up. She lifts herself onto an elbow to see Gideon's face. Blood and sweat and tears all mingle on her face, naked and unpainted, and a bloody hand slaps Gideon across the mouth.

It has very little force to it, comparatively, but it's still a cruel thing when Gideon is in such a state and Harrow knows it. "You! Selfish! Cad!"

[bonebutchblues]

Her head snaps to the side, and she doesn't quite have the strength to right it yet. So instead, while she's facing away from Harrow, she elects to vomit a bit of blood. It just seems like a convenient time for that. Her bloodshot eyes blink, then crinkle into an unreadable expression and she reaches to catch the hand that just slapped her.

[sugarlips]

In spite of herself, Harrow feels another spike of sympathy and guilt, not enough to fully regret the slap though. She blinks at the strange look on Gideon's face, feels a warmth in her own cheeks that she hopes is covered up by all the grunge. But she lets her hand be caught, feeling as if she truly couldn't deny Gideon anything, at this point.

[bonebutchblues]

Her heart manages to clench, seeing this cracked-open Harrow. Cytheria had been right- it had been easy to die. It had been easy even knowing Harrow would hate her, even knowing Harrow would never forgive her. Because the alternative was watching her die. And at the end of the day, Gideon was selfish enough to make that choice.

But laying here, insides full of fuck, watching her cry about it wasn't part of the plan. The pain she can take. But this shit? The horror and heartbreak in her expression? It simply must stop. And Gideon's mind is just addled enough to know exactly the wrong answer.

Slowly, shakily, she brings that hand to her lips. They brush the knuckles gently, so gently that if weren't for the sticky friction of blood, Harrow might not believe it's happening at all.

[sugarlips]

Exhausted and unwilling to be perceived, Harrow drops her face back down against Gideon's clavicle, shaking like a twiggy leaf. It's unclear whether that's from withheld sobs, exhaustion, pain, or something else.

There's an audible inhale, gurgling in her bloodied throat. Her fingers curl slightly, lightly. Harrow wishes she could curl entirely in on herself, but she doesn't move otherwise. In spite of her rage, she truly doesn't feel she *deserves* Gideon back. Certainly she doesn't deserve tenderness.

After a beat, she gently pulls on the hand holding her own, trying to get Gideon to rest the arm down against her chest. If the cav will let her, she pulls both hands down to tuck them under her chin.

"You idiot," it's devoid of venom, "get some rest. I will... I will call for medical attention..."

She doesn't move.

[bonebutchblues]

Harrow wouldn't think she deserved tenderness even if God himself walked in here standing on his hands to declare she deserved it by the shipload. But that's too fucking bad, because that's what she's getting from Gideon, at least until Gideon has the strength to throw her bodily again. For now, she lets her limbs be moved. The pain is receding and leaving bone-deep weariness behind. But she's not ready to surrender to the darkness, and certainly not ready to face any fussing medics.

"Not... yet..." It's rough, but far less weak than her earlier attempts to speak.

[sugarlips]

Harrowhark is a spoiled, uppity brat who thinks she deserves everything! Obviously! She sighs heavily.

"Fine. Stay awake and I won't." She has a feeling Gideon will, though. There's strength returning to her even in the moments between speaking. So Harrow lets herself stay tucked in against the larger girl's side, pressing their blood-slick tangled hands to the underside of her chin like Gideon's arm is a stuffed animal.

She wants to say more. Wants to lecture Gideon for what she did, wants to ask her what she remembers, if it really was Gideon standing there with her, holding her arms up and fixing her stance. If she had any thoughts at all, while enmeshed with Harrow... but she doesn't. She's too scared to know the answer.

[bonebutchblues]

It's quiet for a long moment, long enough for Harrow to think Gideon promptly lost her challenge after all. Then there's another hacking cough, and a soft swearing, but afterwards the rattle is much diminished her breathing.

It doesn't seem real. Not the silvery ceiling above her. Not the cold slab she's laid out on. Certainly not Harrow beside her.

"You're warm," she says, stupidly.

[sugarlips]

She does indeed wonder if Gideon slipped away on her and is about to shake or poke her when Gideon finally speaks again. Big stupid bruiser of a woman.

"Not really hard to be warmer than a morgue table, Griddle."

[bonebutchblues]

She tugs Harrow to just get directly on top of her like a creepy little blanket.

[sugarlips]

Ugh, she does not want to lay herself directly on that gaping chest wound!!! She doesn't really fight it either, though, letting her much smaller self be pulled up and on top of Gideon, just glad that the strength is there again, more than anything.

After a long moment of silence she lifts her head, leaning her pointy chin on one hand and pushing hair out of her face with the other. Seeing Gideon's face, bloodstained but no longer pallid with death, moving... her heart stops in her chest for a moment. "You look disgusting."

[bonebutchblues]

She feels disgusting. Every scrap of clothing on her is stiff with blood, sweat, or something worse. More than anything she could go for a sit in the big hot water basin. But she settles for having Harrow close. Harrow, warm Harrow, terrible Harrow. Living Harrow.

“I’m the hottest stiff in here and you know it.”

[sugarlips]

Harrow blows stringy black hair out of her face. "Barf."

Her eyes don't leave Gideon's face, though. Stupid, beat up, yellow eyed Gideon. She stares a little too long before clearing her throat, still raw from screaming. Ow.

"If you feel good enough to say nonsense, you're well enough to move. Come on." She tries to swing her legs and crawl off of Gideon before she does anything sappy or equally embarrassing.

[bonebutchblues]

“Mmmrggph” Gideon agrees. She watches Harrow get off of her, and sits up herself. She doesn’t wince, her breath doesn’t catch, but Harrow may still spot the pain by the way her eyes narrow just slightly. Still, she’s been laying on her back in a morgue for way too long. She’s over it. Slowly, she swing her legs off the slab. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

[sugarlips]

Harrow spares a snort of aborted laughter. For the sound Gideon makes, and for the general humor of how much of a God damned mess both of them are.

There's no way in all of the nine houses her skinny arms could manage to support Gideon, but she still unconsciously lifts her arms as the cav makes to stand.

[bonebutchblues]

Harrows hands get summarily batted away. Down that way lies both of them tumbling to the ground in a disgusting tangle of limbs. Slowly, carefully, Gideon stands. Her eyes close against the head rush, but she stays upright unassisted.

[sugarlips]

Just to be stubborn, she slaps Gideon's hands back before letting her arms fall to her sides. Her toes curl against the icey floor in worry as her cavalier's eyes close, but she doesn't fall and Harrow breathes what she hopes is a silent sigh of relief. Then she's grabbing Gideon just above the elbow in a vicegrip and leading her out and away from the reminder of death.

[bonebutchblues]

God damn it. She wants to slap Harrow’s horrible little hand even more to assert dominance, but the dizziness robs her of her chance. It’s more-or-less the worst thing that has happened to her lately.

She stumbles behind her necromancer, just as glad to be leaving the morgue behind.