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The front door closes and Lara breathes a sigh of relief, her eyes slipping closed for a moment as she leans against the hard wood. A headache pounds steadily in her temples and behind her eyes, a painful itch has made home in her throat, and she just aches. It’s not an exact place she can pinpoint, it’s vaguely everywhere, encompassing every limb and joint and muscle she’s got. Her bag hits the floor with a dull thud and taking off her heavy boots provides a small taste of solace. A fit of rough coughs leaves her breathless and wheezing and she hopes that a scalding hot shower and tea will nip whatever this is in the bud. The illness had crept up on her, slowly at first, then snowballed, leaving her sweating, shivering, with a deep pain spreading throughout her body.
With concentration and effort, she manages to drag herself into the bathroom, fights to remove her tight clothes and successfully shimmies the suffocating layers off. The handle gets cranked to the near-hottest setting and if Sam were here, she would turn it halfway to cool and scold Lara for showering in boiling temperatures. Standing naked in the steam-filled bathroom, Lara shivers, and she feels a slight sense of doom; a warning that this is going to strike her down hard.
She steps inside, the motion leaving her a bit faint as dizziness sickly swirls her vision. Once the hot water pours upon her aching muscles, though, she feels the best she’s felt all day. Shampoo gets worked through her hair, then conditioner and she washes her body, soap spreading over the goosebumps covering her skin.
Once her shower routine is done and she’s perfectly clean, Lara stands underneath the stream and lets the heat wash over her aching body, smother the chill that’s been circulating in her bones. A few minutes pass and the heat feels less like a reprieve, it becomes suffocating, dizzying and nauseating. She quickly turns off the tap and raises her sore arms to wring out her wet hair before grabbing a towel and drying off.
It’s like she’s walking through molasses, her strides slow, her legs quaking from what she assumes is a spiking fever. She makes it to the bedroom and almost gives in to the urge to flop naked on the bed and go to sleep. Instead, fabric rustles as she digs quickly for panties and one of Sam’s big college t-shirts.
Once she guides her aching limbs into the clothes, she treads to the kitchen, the tile cold against her feet. Every muscle in her body screams at her to turn around, to crawl into bed, burrow underneath the duvet and melt away into the sheets.
Tea does sound lovely, though.
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The kettle whistles loudly, the high pitched sound piercing through the door as Sam fiddles with her key.
The door swings open and she steps inside, setting her things down and upon seeing Lara’s discarded bag and haphazardly placed boots, feels a strange twist of concern in her stomach. She wasn’t supposed to be home for a few hours.
Sam continues through their apartment until she reaches the kitchen. Lara stands behind the island, her back to Sam. Her hair’s wet, damp brown waves cascading down her shoulders, leaving dark marks on the grey t-shirt she’s wearing.
“Lara? Hey, you’re home early.”
Lara tenses immediately, guiltily, as if she’d been caught doing something she wasn’t supposed to. She finishes stirring the tea and raises the steaming mug to her lips and turns around, conveniently drinking in lieu of what was sure to be a congested greeting.
Sam looks at her, eyes studying Lara’s face. It takes her seconds to deduce that she’s exhausted—she’s pale, there’s a hint of sweat beading on her skin, and dark circles cling to the delicate skin under her watery eyes. She’s known her long enough to know all of the signs that she’s come down with something. She just can’t quite gauge the severity yet. “Are you getting sick, sweetie?”
Lara holds the mug in both hands and smiles wryly before sniffling and averting her eyes. “I suggest you keep your distance,” she says evasively.
Sam’s lips twitch and she frowns. “You and I both know that’s not happening.” She steps closer, but Lara takes a step back, bumping lightly into the countertop.
“Sam, really—” she cuts herself off with harsh, wet coughs that rip through her throat. The tea sloshes wildly before she sets it on the counter. “You don’t want to catch this.”
“Lara,” Sam says, and she doesn’t sound angry, per se, but her tone is pointed. She’s still frowning. “I don’t care. Come here.”
Her reluctance is clear in the hesitant stiffness of her body. She doesn’t move, not when Sam closes the distance between them, nor does she turn away from the hand that moves to her forehead.
“Oh, honey,” she tuts, guiding strands of limp hair from her eyes. “You’re burning up. I can’t believe you went to work like this.”
A sheepish look spreads over Lara’s face. She opens her mouth to respond but quickly turns away, muffling coughs into her elbow.
“At least it’s the weekend,” Sam smiles lightly, patting Lara’s back gently. “Better cancel your hot plans. Your ass is staying in bed.”
“It’s really not that bad, Sam,” Lara says as her hands shake while she picks up the tea.
Sam doesn’t acknowledge the blatant lie, just takes the mug from unsteady hands and nods her head toward the bedroom. “Come on.”
Lara follows slowly without complaint, sniffling as they walk through the hallway of their apartment.
After setting the tea on the nightstand, Sam guides Lara into the bed. She props a pillow behind her back so she can sit up to nurse her drink. A soft blanket gets pulled over her, and once she’s situated, Sam turns to leave in search of tissues, medicine, and anything else her sick girl might need.
“Sam?” Lara croaks, and Sam’s not sure if her voice sounds small and insecure from her sore throat or something else.
She turns around to face Lara’s pitiful form, trembling faintly under the covers. Lara’s looking at her with misty, needy eyes. Sam thinks she might turn to mush if she keeps it up. “Please don’t go…”
Sam’s heart, if possible, softens further. “I’m just getting you medicine, honey. I’ll be quick.”
“Okay,” she says quietly, a hint of disappointment laced in her voice. “Thanks.”
Sam walks back to the kitchen, rifles through the medicine cabinet. After debating for a few minutes between a fever-reducer or nighttime cold medicine, she grabs both, just in case. She swipes the thermometer, along with a washcloth she runs under the stream of cold water. The medication bottles and box of tissues get nestled between her arm and her side so she has a free hand to carry a glass of water.
With her arms completely full, she decides that if Lara needs anything else, she’ll just have to make another trip. Quietly, she enters the bedroom and feels sympathy bubble warmly in her chest, bringing a smile to her lips.
Lara’s tea sits abandoned on the nightstand, barely half-gone and lukewarm. She’s still somewhat propped up, her neck resting at an odd angle. But she’s asleep and God knows she needs to be.
Sam sets all of the things down, careful to not wake her, deciding to let her rest. She maneuvers her into a more comfortable position, cradles her head gently while putting a pillow underneath, then pulls the blanket up to her shoulders. Hair gets brushed back from her face, the cool washcloth lays across her forehead, small drops of cold water sliding down her temples. Sam presses her lips there softly before heading towards the shower, leaving the bedroom door cracked.
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Sam hovers worriedly, only because Lara’s not awake to stop her. She’s been out cold for almost three hours now, and Sam’s been checking on her periodically, maybe too frequently to be considered normal. About every half hour or so, she sneaks into the bedroom, rewets the cloth draped across her forehead every time it gets warm, absorbing the feverish heat from her skin. The third time she pops in, she sets a small trash can by the bed for the tissues she sounds like she desperately needs, her soft, congested mouth breathing filling the silence. After the fifth, sixth time— she’s lost count by now— Lara stirs beneath the blankets she’s tucked under.
Sam turns on the lamp beside the bed for better visibility, to assess her properly, and concerns washes over her instantly. Lara’s flushed, an angry pink splotched onto her cheeks, and a layer of sweat lays over her skin, baby hairs slick against her forehead, near her ears. She whimpers and Sam feels horrible and useless as she sits on the edge of the bed.
“Hey…” she says fondly, her voice low as she brushes dark hair from Lara’s face. “How are you feeling?”
“Ugh,” Lara groans, a quiet, hoarse sound. She opens her eyes very briefly, then discovers she’s no match for the lamp’s assaulting yet dim light that intensifies the pounding in her skull. Her arm comes up to cover her face, obscuring her eyes. “Awful.”
Sam flicks off the light and gently pries the toned arm from Lara’s face, rests a cool hand against her forehead. She’s still hot to the touch. Her tongue clicks softly, then she releases a small sigh, her fingers stroking Lara’s cheek. “Sweetie,” she murmurs, affection dripping from her tone. “What can I do?”
“Kill me,” Lara mumbles, her eyes slipping closed. “Or hold me.”
Sam hums, pondering playfully. “How about… I get you some tea, some meds, and then I’ll hold you as long as you want. Maybe smother you with a pillow, if you’re really good.”
“Sam,” she whimpers pitifully, shifting closer, and it stirs something deep in Sam’s chest, loving and protective. “I feel horrible.”
If she’s admitting it so openly, it must be really bad. Sam bends down, lips soft against a warm hairline. “I know. I’ll be right back.”
Lara makes a small noise of protest but says nothing as Sam leaves the room.
She returns, quickly this time as she knows Lara wants nothing more than to be next to her. A hot cup of tea with honey and lemon burns against her skin as she sets it down on the nightstand.
After distributing the medicine, she hands Lara the tea and flips through the channels on the TV. She settles on some old, semi-boring documentary that Lara’s seen a thousand times for a little extra comfort. She’s not watching it, not really, Sam watches as Lara forces her eyes open every few seconds, nodding off into her drink. She lets her nurse it for another few minutes before it’s just kind of sad to watch her evade sleep like this.
She gently pries the cup away and sets it down before laying next to her. Lara’s immediately in her space, hot and sweaty against her, but she doesn’t mind at all. It’s not often Lara’s this vulnerable and outwardly affectionate and it makes Sam’s heart flutter.
“Get some sleep, Lara,” she kisses her face, moves stray hairs from her already closed eyes. “I’ll stay with you.”
After a few minutes of tossing and turning, fidgeting uncomfortablty beneath the sheets, Lara settles warmly against Sam’s side. She tries to sleep, but it doesn’t come. Between her headache, the chills, and the sweat she can feel her clothes sticking to, she just can’t. Lara lays there with her eyes shut tightly, trying not to think about the nausea she can feel creeping into her stomach and a whimper crawls up her sore throat.
Soft lips kiss the hot skin of her temple, then blessedly cool fingers ghost gently under her eyes. “Don’t cry,” she coos. “Are you okay?”
Lara, for a moment, feels confused, then very much mortified. She hadn’t noticed the fevered tears leaking, so warm and salty she thought it was sweat. They stream into her ears and it doubles the pain from the deep ache in her eardrum she hadn’t noticed before now. She blinks heavily to clear her vision, trying to sit up and rid herself of the cocoon of blankets she’d entangled herself in. A sudden surge of hot nausea makes her stomach twist. “I’m really hot, Sam.”
Her voice must sound panicked, or at the least, a little unsure, because Sam’s quickly helping her sit up, blankets pooling at her hips. She’s paling more by the second, and Sam’s seen her drunk enough times to know she’s about thirty seconds from throwing up all over the bed.
“Shit,” she says under her breath, still trying to pull the entire dead weight that is Lara out of the bed. “Bathroom, Lara— come on, sweetie.”
“I can’t—”
Regretfully, Sam has to shove the small trash can into her lap, and it’s just in time for her to throw up the tea and cold medicine she’d had maybe thirty minutes ago. “Fuck,” she murmurs, pulls Lara’s hair back, damp and sticking to her neck. “Easy.”
She retches, then coughs, sniffling wetly. “Shit,” Lara spits into the bucket. Her head stays there, hanging limply, and Sam’s not sure if she’s going to throw up again or if she just doesn’t have the strength to lift it.
“Here,” she lays a gentle hand on her shoulder, encouraging a sip of water.
Lara takes a small mouthful and rinses her mouth a few times before she eventually takes a sip to swallow. She gratefully takes the tissues handed to her, blows her nose and wipes the saliva from her chin. “Thanks.”
After a second, she twists sharply away from the tiny recepticle, the smell probably making her feel worse. Sam takes it and gives her a look, to which Lara shakes her head in finality.
“Be right back,” she says, mostly to herself as Lara’s sat with her eyes closed, breathing deeply and she probably can’t hear but Sam says it anyway.
She comes back in shortly, the now-clean trash can in hand. Lara’s curled up on her side, pale and sweaty. Sam frowns, concern and sympathy swelling in her chest.
“Can we get you in the bath? I think you’ll feel better.”
Lara doesn’t move or open her eyes. “I fucking hate this,” she mumbles.
“I know.” It feels stale on her tongue. She aches to be more helpful, to alleviate all of her pain and discomfort. Sam wishes to take it for herself, happily wear the fever in her bones if it meant Lara could be rid of it.
She sits next to her on the bed, her hip pressing against Lara’s shoulder. Another minute passes and she still doesn’t move, her expression steadily unreadable besides miserable.
“I think a nice, cool bath will really help, sweetie,” she murmurs again, tucking a damp strand of hair behind her ear.
Lara seems to perk up a bit at her touch, dark lashes fluttering as she fights to look up. “Would you…” her voice comes out a congested whisper and she coughs a little to clear her throat, “help me up, then?”
Sam doesn’t respond, teasing or otherwise, just assists her sitting up, hovering as Lara pauses.
The room spins and Lara shuts her eyes, but she can’t tell if it helps or not. She takes a shaking breath before looking to Sam and giving a slight nod, the most confirmation that she was ready to stand she could give.
Lara leans heavily against Sam, weak and frail, until Sam deposits her on the edge of the bathtub. Sam fiddles with the tap and plugs the drain while Lara brushes her teeth with her eyes closed. She guides her out of her clothes, lightly peeling fabric away from where it’s stuck to her with sweat and helps her into the cool water.
She hisses as she sinks into the tub, but the grimace on her face quickly fades as it brings relief to her burning skin. Her eyes close, head lolling against the tub. Sam pours water over her back, watching goosebumps form underneath her skin.
Sam washes the sweat from her hair, rubs soap over her body and feels the tension slipping from her muscles. Once she’s clean, Sam continues kneading her fingers on tense muscles, hoping to comfort her, make her feel better in any way she can.
As she absentmindedly massages the knots on her neck, Sam looks down at Lara with a smile, but Lara can see the concern in her eyes. “Can I get you soup or something? You should probably eat.”
“I’m alright,” Lara reaches for Sam’s hand and squeezes it, holds it against where it rests on her shoulder. “You’ve done enough, Sam. Really.”
Sam wants to believe her, she does look content relaxing in the bath, but a voice in her head implores she should be doing more. Maybe it’s her mother’s. It’s one that resurrects insecurities, makes her feel inadequate in everything, whispers venomously she’ll never be enough. Yeah. It’s definitely her mother’s.
“Lara, please…” she trails off as she notices her chills have returned with a vengeance. “Oh, honey, you’re shaking. Come on.”
A fluffy towel dries Lara off, then gets wrapped around her body as Sam gently squeezes the water from her hair. She brings her to the bedroom and ushers her to sit on the bed despite hoarse protests.
Sam grabs another one of her old shirts, this one a large, battered white university tee, soft and worn and stained with a dark liquor she couldn’t remember now, and panties. Though Lara insists she can do it herself, she lets Sam pull the shirt over her aching head, drag her sore arms through the holes.
She also lets Sam brush her hair, taking care to gently untangle the knots she comes across and quickly does a loose braid. There’s a kiss to the back of her neck as the tail end of the braid swings over her shoulder. Then a whisper in her ear, an invitation, though she knows she has no choice, to the couch and a promise of food and medicine.
Lara walks behind Sam, their fingers intertwined, but she staggers a step behind and Sam twists around to see her turn to the side and sneeze softly into her arm. She tugs her, drags her forward like a dog on a leash, guiding her onto the couch and pulling a blanket over her.
Her eyes close involuntarily and she doesn’t fight it this time. The sounds of Sam in the kitchen and moving throughout the apartment lull her into relaxation. She walks the line between sleep and consciousness as the soup heats on the stove.
Sam goes from the bedroom to the laundry room and back down the hallway, returning a few minutes later. Lara hears her footsteps stop by the couch and she can feel Sam’s eyes on her. It makes her smile.
Sam distributes the soup into bowls, her concentration shifting from pouring to the Lara-shaped blanket lump on the couch. She’s in the same position and Sam knows she’s not sleeping, but she’s not fully awake or aware of what’s going on.
Or, she wasn’t awake, at least, until Sam drops a spoon, the metal clanging against the tile, ringing loudly afterwards.
Lara jumps, dark eyes flashing open and her hand instinctively reaches to her thigh where a knife is usually strapped to.
“Sorry,” Sam calls quietly, shame and embarassment burning her cheeks. “Fucking stupid spoon,” she mutters under her breath and bends down to pick it up.
“Are you alright?” Lara asks, voice breaking and quiet and noticeably closer. When Sam stands, she sees Lara swaying on her feet as she walks to the kitchen. Her knuckles are white from how hard she’s gripping the countertop to keep herself upright.
“I’m fine, sweetie,” she smiles at Lara, but scowls internally at her own stupidity. “You didn’t have to get up, Lara, lay back down.”
She’s rubbing her eyes and even sick and snotty and fevered, Lara’s still breathtakingly beautiful and she tells her so softly. She huffs a laugh and her cheeks flush. “Please. I’m sure I look awful.”
“You’re gorgeous. And the sweat’s really doing something for me,” Sam teases with a smirk and Lara would roll her eyes if it wasn’t painful.
Sam pulls her in, hugs her warm body against her own. She kisses her head, then gives an affectionate tap on her ass. “Sit,” she commands, nudging her back towards the living room. “I’ll be right there.”
Lara listens, obedient only to Sam, and only because she doesn’t think she could continue standing any longer. On the couch, she sits, leaning heavily into the armrest at her side.
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Soft footsteps tell of Sam’s presence, then there’s a gentle clink of glass on the table. Lara doesn’t remember when her eyes closed, but she opens them at the noise and sees Sam standing above her, a smile on her lips. She sets two bowls down and sits close to Lara, a small crack in the cushions dividing them. She brings a glass of ice water to Lara’s mouth.
“Here.”
“I can hold it, Sam—”
The glass gets tipped, cold water pouring over her tongue. It soothes over her dry, aching throat and she coughs a little as Sam pulls it away.
“Thanks,” she sighs, wipes the bit that lingers on her top lip. Once she looks over at Sam, she smiles, feels blood rush into her cheeks.
Sam’s holding a spoonful of soup out to her, her other hand cupped underneath to not spill. Her lips pucker as she blows on the steaming liquid softly.
“Do you prefer the train?” She makes the spoon move towards Lara in a straight line. “Or the airplane?” The spoon curves upwards, then back down.
A sound comes from Lara that somewhat resembles a scoff mixed with a laugh that dissolves into a cough. “You’re ridiculous—”
Sam cuts her off again, brings the spoon to her lips. “And you love it.”
She chokes down a little less than half of the bowl before shaking her head at the next spoonful. She takes the dishes to the sink and returns, looking fretfully down at Lara.
“Do you want some tea, honey?”
Lara looks up blearily and sniffles, a thick sound. “I can get it, Sam.”
Sam shakes her head, runs a hand through Lara’s hair. “I don’t mind.”
She hums at the touch, eyelids fluttering closed. “If it’s not too much trouble…”
There’s a kiss pressed to her temple before Sam leaves, bustling about the kitchen to make a fresh cup of tea. Lara feels equal parts useless and grateful. Like a burdensome child that Sam has to care for, but she knows that Sam truly doesn’t mind… she almost seems to be enjoying this, waiting on Lara hand and foot. If the ever-present smile and soft eyes, sweet coos and gentle touches were anything to go by.
“Your tea, m’lady.”
“Bless,” Lara leans forward to grab it but Sam holds it out of reach.
“And,” Sam continues, handing her a small cup of dark red liquid, “hopefully you can keep this down.”
Lara scrunches her nose and downs it like a shot. A polite cough escapes her and she wipes the sticky residue from her lips with the back of her hand. “God, I hope so.”
As Lara sips her tea, nestled into Sam’s side, Sam runs a comforting hand up and down her arm. She still shivers faintly until about halfway through her drink. It seems to warm her up, the honey and lemon soothing her sore throat, her voice a little less scratchy as they talk lowly about the shitty movie on TV. Lara groans at the historical inaccuracies and Sam rolls her eyes at the awful acting.
After the third yawn Lara tries to hide, Sam suggests they go to bed by whispering softly in her ear and kissing where it meets her jaw.
She walks them to the bathroom and holds out Lara’s toothbrush, a dab of mint smeared onto the bristles.
Lara takes it, watches as Sam begins scrubbing her own teeth. Sam holds Lara’s hair back as she spits and rinses her mouth and she does the same for Sam. Their fingers intertwine as Sam guides her to their freshly made bed, the clean sheets’ smell wafting through the threshold.
The duvet gets pulled back and Lara crawls underneath, bones aching. Her eyes close against her will and she lays there for a moment, expecting the bed to dip with Sam’s weight, for warm arms to pull her in. It doesn’t come, though, and she cracks open one eye.
Sam stands beside the bed looking a little… anxious, maybe? Lara doesn’t know what she’s doing. Her dry lips curve in a small smile. “Are you coming?”
“Yeah,” Sam nods, still looking a bit unsure. “You don’t need anything?”
“No, love, I’m alright. You’ve really done enough for me already.”
Sam sighs, and before she can respond, Lara sneezes quietly. She keeps her arm covered over her mouth and swaps it for the wad of tissues she’s handed, blushing. “Thanks. Excuse me.”
Finally, Sam lays down beside her, setting her glasses on the nightstand.
“Thank you,” Lara’s still blushing as she looks at Sam, who raises an eyebrow but returns the smile. “For everything. I know I’m not… always easy to look after. And—“
Sam wraps her arms around Lara, bringing her flush against her chest, and presses a chaste kiss to her mouth. She tastes faintly of mint and cherry cough syrup. Lara’s warm face nuzzles into her neck, though she feels a little cooler by mercy of NyQuil. She kisses the top of her head, rests her cheek against clean hair. “My stubborn girl. I love you, germs and all. There’s not much I wouldn’t do for you.”
Lara hums, a sweet, drowsy little sound, suddenly on the cusp of sleep with Sam’s warmth encompassing her. “I don’t think there’s anything I wouldn’t do for you.”
Overcome with affection, words get caught in the lump in her throat, her love for Lara wanting to make itself known, pour out of her eyes, lace itself into her being.
Sam’s typically an affectionate personality, but those sleepy eyes and pink cheeks really make her ache. To see her normally unflappable lover be so wrung out, pliable, and soft… she’s never felt this way for anyone.
She swallows against the tight feeling in her throat and kisses her hair. “I love you.”
There’s a sleepy snuffle against her skin where Lara’s nose meets the curve of her throat. She doesn’t respond, already asleep. Sam closes her eyes and listens to the sound of her breathing, feels her chest rise and fall as they lay intertwined.
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A thick, black fog swirls around Lara, dark tendrils wrapping around her ankles and wrists. It’s dark, nothing but inky blackness, stretching out as far as she could see.
Her eyes open to an unfamiliar place, unknown faces standing around her. There’s a splitting pain in her head and red, blistering marks from where those things had wrapped around her skin.
“Sam?” She chokes, fighting to keep consciousness. It feels like she’s gurgling through blood.
Her vision darkens and suddenly the world around her is muffled, like she’s being held underwater. If there is a response, she’s unconscious before she can hear it.
When Lara opens her eyes next, there’s a small campfire, its crackling flames providing a dim light that barely pierces through the fog. She turns her head and sees a few figures, some sitting on logs, others standing around her or off to the side. Her head is cushioned by something soft, and there’s a tattered coat draped over her like a make-shift blanket.
She tries to sit up but slumps back against the ground, her tired body failing her. “Where am I?”
The few people around her, she still can’t quite make out their faces exactly, don’t respond. They look at each other, murmuring indistinctly. If her head wasn’t fucking pounding, impairing her senses, she probably could have deciphered what they were saying. But she can’t think straight.
Though there’s no obvious threat, that she can see, anyway, Lara can’t shake the feeling of being watched, hunted. Even through her barely-conscious haze, she could almost feel the thousands of eyes staring down at her from the tall trees that scatter around for miles. Ancient trees stand shoulder to shoulder, branches interlocking, swaying softly, seeming to stretch on in an endless forest.
A thick fog rolls in and a chill runs down her spine.
She blinks and suddenly, there’s rain, cool droplets misting her skin. Her head tilts up toward the sky and she realizes with a twist of anxiety in her stomach that she’s somewhere else entirely. It’s still a forest, but… different. In the distance, there’s smoke barely visible against the gray sky, puffing out into the air from what looks like a cabin.
Lara can feel the darkness here. It’s close. The hair on the back of her neck stands up.
And… oh, God. Something akin to horror curls in her stomach at what lurks in the near-distance— the figure of what looks like a woman, but as it turns in her direction, she notices it has a snout. A human body wearing the head of an animal.
She ducks, taking cover behind a rock, obstructed by shrubbery. She—it?— draws closer, Lara can hear its footsteps, quiet in the damp grass.
Then, suddenly as she ended up in this rainy forest, the footsteps stop. Lara strains her ears but hears nothing. The eerie silence drags on, dread wound into her stiffened body. Then, she hears huffing, labored breathing.
The horrifying reason she could no longer hear its footsteps was because it was crouched lowly to the ground, creeping past her. It wears a rotting pig’s head, matted black hair falling past the shoulders and onto the long red robe it has on. Blood trickles from its eye sockets, the nostrils.
The pig has its back to her as it continues by and she lets out a minuscule breath of relief.
Its head snaps in her direction and she tenses, heartbeat hammering in her throat. After a beat of silence, it continues on, away from the rock she’s pressed up against. A warning.
Eventually it finds her. A disgusting, blood-caked knife plunges into her back, hot pain radiating across her shoulder blades.
Lara loses her footing and falls. It towers over her and she squeezes her eyes shut, awaiting death.
There’s a pause— hesitation from the beast. She blinks and catches the hint of dark brown eyes through the eye holes of the animal’s head. It’s so brief, the way it—she?— wavers. It seems to almost take pity on her, tilting its head for a moment as it stands over her. All too soon, the mercy fades and it slices her throat.
This land is… cursed, Lara thinks.
Something is not right. This place is ever-changing. She’s seen forests, a scrap yard, barren farmland… she’s been killed. There is no logical explanation for this, for how shes still alive.
It seems there is no logic here in this realm. Only people, or things, really, that have a lust for blood. They crave to hurt— brutally stab her, impale her on a filthy metal hook. There are others. People that must be trapped as she is.
But there are few constants in this place. The campfire seems to be the only safe place, but time there is fleeting, limited. It’s as if you close your eyes, even feel the slightest bit relaxed— or rather, so exhausted you’ve no choice but to try to sleep— whatever evil spirit controls this land knows it and sends you away. As if it waits for you to feel that way so it can snatch it away cruelly.
The other constant is her need, no, primal urge to find Sam. She calls for her in every place. There has yet to be a response.
She’s being stalked by a large beast of a woman that wears a wooden hare mask. It hums a song, a haunting lullaby as it throws her onto a meat hook. The metal rips through her skin, the muscles of her shoulder. The scream Lara lets out dies in her throat as she startles awake.
The room is dark, pitch black, and unnervingly quiet. The scent of damp earth and smoke has followed her from her sleep, imprinted in her nostrils. Sweat sticks to her skin.
She turns, too quickly, her head swimming as she reaches for Sam. Warmth collides with her fingertips, Sam’s pulse steady under her fingers and she feels her panic subside, however slightly. Sam is here, alive, and that’s all that matters. A shaking exhale shatters the precious silence.
Hot tears stream down her face and she bites her lip hard, desperate to not wake Sam and burden her further. Lara lays in the bed, looking at the ceiling in the void of darkness that was their bedroom. She can’t sleep, not after what she’s seen. It felt so real, like she really was somewhere else entirely. There’s a dull ache where the hook had pierced through her shoulder, where she’d been slashed across the back. What was that place?
Lying here in the dark fed her unease, though. The silence is deafening. Despite the feverish ache thrumming through her body, Lara forces herself upright, careful to not shift the bed, and pads quietly out of the bedroom.
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦ ✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
Sam wakes suddenly, blinking against the darkness. She rubs the sleep from her eyes and turns to face Lara, hoping she’s still resting comfortably. The sheets beside her are cool, still a little damp from feverish sweat.
A wave of worry crashes over her as she throws the covers back and stumbles to her feet. She peeks into their bathroom, dark and unoccupied, before continuing down the hall.
The living room is also dark, but she hears a sniffle, then Lara’s outline on the sofa becomes more clear as her eyes adjust.
She’s hunched over a cup of tea, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders.
“Lara,” Sam breathes out a sigh of relief, walking towards her. “What are you doing out here?”
“Sam—?” The word gets caught in her throat and Lara coughs, rough, hacking.
Sam can see tears spring to her eyes as they shine in the dark. She immediately sits next to her and pats her back, hears the rattle in her chest. “Fuck, Lara, you sound horrible.”
The coughing subsides and she takes a moment to catch her breath. Her head pounds, her whole face is throbbing, actually. She can feel the heat spreading over her cheeks, tender sinuses pulsing with every cough, every beat of her heart. “It… sounds worse than it is, really.”
“C’mere,” Sam says, scooting close and fighting the urge to roll her eyes. She feels her forehead, then her cheeks, and tuts. “God, you’re still burning up. Why didn’t you wake me up?” Her voice is soft, concerned as she sweeps a piece of hair from Lara’s face. “I could’ve made you tea, sweetie. You should be in bed.”
“Can’t sleep,” Lara mumbles into her cup of tea, staring down intently, avoiding Sam’s caring gaze that she knows will unravel her. She takes a final sip, leaning forward to set it on the table before bringing her hands up to massage her temples.
“Here,” Sam’s fingers replace her own. The relief is instant and Lara closes her eyes as Sam’s cool, steady fingertips rub tight, perfect circles over her aching sinuses.
Lara moans softly, lips parted in awe of the soothing gesture.
Sam continues massaging for several minutes before her fingers stop their gentle ministrations and she caresses Lara’s face in both hands.
“Can you try to go back to sleep? You really should be in bed.”
Lara sags, and suddenly looks older than she is, exhausted and weary. She finally meets Sam’s eyes, and even in the darkness, Lara can see the way Sam winces at her dark circles and fever-flush high on her cheekbones. She strokes her cheek gently with her thumb, still holding her face. “I think we have Vicks somewhere.”
“Sam, please.” Her voice shakes. “I can’t.”
Sam tilts her head. “Wh—?”
She watches in horror as Lara starts to cry. She doesn’t make a sound, but her face crumples before disappearing behind her shaking hands. “Hey, what’s wrong?” Sam asks immediately, gently pulls her hands away. “Don’t cry, honey, please. You’re so congested.”
Lara shudders, her breaths uneven as she forces herself to calm down. “I dreamt of something so horrible, Sam,” she whispers, her throat tight from stifling her sobs. Her lip quivers and her voice breaks. “It felt so real…”
Sam wraps her arms around Lara’s trembling body, her heart shattering. “Lara,” she murmurs, rubs a soothing hand down her back. “It’s okay.”
“I don’t like this…” Lara mumbles against Sam’s shoulder.
“You’re okay, sweetie. We’re safe. It’s just you and me. Always.” She whispers the words into Lara’s hair, kissing her head between affirmations.
After a few minutes of Sam rocking them gently, Lara settles. Her body leans heavily on Sam, exhausted.
She coaxes Lara into another dose of medicine and letting her rub a thin layer of the menthol balm on her chest. It quickly brings relief, lessens the wheeze in her breath a little. Lara manages to convince Sam to stay on the couch, her wet eyes and pink cheeks impossible to deny.
Sam flicks on the TV to another historical movie, sets the volume low. Lara lays in her lap, her flushed face on Sam’s thigh as she strokes her hair.
The movie continues quietly and after some time, Lara can feel her eyes getting heavy. She blinks, opening them widely to curb the fatigue, but with Sam warm underneath her, cool fingers running through her hair, it’s hard to fight it. She cranes her stiff neck to look up at Sam and smiles sleepily.
Sam, she thinks dreamily. I love you so much.
Sam looks down at her and she must be an angel, omniscient, because she smiles down at Lara, love shining brightly in her eyes. “I love you.” She brushes her thumb over fluttering eyelids and bends down to kiss her forehead. “Go to sleep, Lara. I’m right here.”
With Sam’s permission, the knowledge that she’s here, they’re safe in their flat in London, Lara welcomes the feverish warmth in her bones, lets it flow over her and carry her gently to sleep.