fog lingers. she's accustomed to pain. at this point, how could she not be? but the pills over her a welcome drowsiness, a slipping under as soon as she gets home from work. if she'd lost her mind, she may have likened this to something of a vacation. 

work is restless. letters leap off their pages and she struggles to get them to stick in her brain, forgetting on several occasions to sign where Hyakkaryōran Tsubaki tells her to sign documents - and then circles where to sign - and then highlights and circles and points where to sign. 

a lot of the time, freya's tending to the dragons.

after he returns to work, they orbit each other, too overwhelmed by the aftermath to pity themselves with anything as meaningless as talking. her debt has been repaid, finally. there are circles on her skin, patches that haven't quite yet healed over from tapu fini's curse.

when Hyakkaryōran Tsubaki informs her there is still no word from fernando, freya sweeps out of the room, waving away any offers for help. she knows his schedule like second nature. old habits die hard in that respect, she supposes. 

down the hall she goes. she lingers outside the darkened conference room he's reserved, checks her watch, and after chewing on her cheek, moseys her way to the gym. he shouldn't be here - not so soon after recovering, but he's like her in that way. 

"fernando?" she calls. the weights are stacked neatly in their rack. the mats are folded over their rungs. the rest of the equipment is clean. one of the treadmills blinks, its screen still glossy from a recent sanitizer wipe. 

standing outside the locker room, her palm rests against cool ceramic. "fernando, are you in there?"

FERNANDO SILPH

☉

apprehension tickles the back of her neck. no one else answers so she slips into the short hallway, hesitating as she rounds the corner. steam curls towards her boots and the damp air makes her break out into a cold sweat. 

she frowns and rests a hand at her hip, but her fingers graze nothing but empty air. the belt she usually wears around her waist is gone, left tucked away in her office. it's hard to wear for extended periods now, with her still being on the mend. and in the league's headquarters, she's safe.

one of the opaque shower curtains is drawn. water sprays from the showerhead poking out over the top. the sliver of a gap between the curtain's end and the floor offers her no information - the steam covers the tiles and the feet of whomever might be in there.

but she doesn't need to know. off to her right, sitting on a neat pile of folded clothes, is his phone. it buzzes with an alarm and she traipses towards it - it takes a couple of swipes to turn off with how wet her fingers are.

irritation knifes through her, modesty be damned. she stalks back up to the shower and tears the curtain aside - "councilman silph, people are - "

FERNANDO SILPH

☉

the irritation dies with the rest of her sentence. she startles, not because he reacts, but because he doesn't. her fingers tighten, whitening, and the shower curtain crinkles in her hold.

she's not a medical expert. is this what happens during a stroke? could something so benign, so ridiculously normal be the end of fernando silph?

do something. 

"fernando. fern." she reaches past him, hand hovering over his shoulder, and turns the water off.

FERNANDO SILPH

☉

his skin is pruned. a red heat rash festers and the fresh pink cells, grown to replace his recents wounds, are swollen and transparent from the water. her nose crinkles in disgust, but there is an agitated worry reflected in pale gold. 

"stop speaking in crypticisms and snap the fuck out of it, silph," she snaps. 

droplets warble and then fall from strings of salt and pepper hair. she blinks at his blank face and grinds her teeth, snatches what she supposes is his towel - and if it's not, then it's his now - and unravels it. 

"we already won. and tapu fini isn't here."

but she is. she's here. and she shows as much by draping the towel over him, palms heavy on his shoulders to try and ground him in the present.

FERNANDO SILPH

☉

he has lost his mind. something happens. his cadence stutters, lilting in a way she's never heard before. confidence drains with the last of the water. the showerhead even stops its dripping, the last of the pressure released. the air is still humid and foggy. her lips part and she breathes through her mouth, heartbeat quickening. 

will pain bring you back?

no. no, they've had enough pain, the two of them. she could take this moment and she could cough up all of her hurt and she could brandish it now, but what would be the point? she would only burn herself. 

the towel drapes down over his back. her hands slide off the plush fabric and over his chest. she stands on her toes so she can flatten him against her, back to chest. 

will comfort?

FERNANDO SILPH

☉

no matter what she does, it will never be enough. but she will try. she will always, always try. her forehead presses to the back of his neck. she is keenly aware that one of her pinkies has dipped into a spongey patch of wounded flesh. the thought slides away as their silence stretches. 

she wonders if he really is just having a stroke. 

and then he speaks again, wistfully, so unlike himself, and that scares her more than any ailment she can conjure. 

"then we let it go, fernando."

she tucks the towel up so it can stay draped over his shoulders on its own and then she maneuvers in front of him, giving them as generous a berth as she can. she may not care much for his body, but she has some modesty. 

"look at me. look at me and say my name or i'm going to need to - " knock it out of you. 

FERNANDO SILPH

☉

there is an eerie glaze over his eyes, as though he looks through her. not past her, as he has so many times before, but through her, and her scalp prickles. she resists the urge to look over her shoulder and ensure there is no conjuration in the fog. 

his question frightens her. it makes her raise a fist, ready to strike the side of his jaw and loosen whatever hold has wrung around his mind. it worked well enough when king did it all those years ago. 

but then he says her name. she blinks, relaxes her cocked arm, flexes out her fingers, and scowls. her eyes betray her worry. 

"you were not yourself, councilman."

FERNANDO SILPH

☉