Chapter Text
From every unstoppable force that Rapha had ever faced in her life, the Herald's curiosity was quickly proving to be the greatest one. After having been given that small opening about Rapha's culture, he grabbed her by the metaphorical wrists and wouldn't relent about hearing more. It was new, to be heard not only with patience as her friends used to do, but with the focus of someone who was genuinely intrigued by the subject. So, she spoke about her mother's ancient and dry land, about the lush yet poor place where she grew up, about her blood, about the stories that kept her company as a child, about the world that was once all that she had ever known. She also spoke about the war, about hunger, about the fear, though these topics she kept general, impersonal and as faceless as a mask made of the steel of her own unshed tears.
As it happened, the Herald would still need time to finish preparing the machine and wouldn't be opening up the shop unless someone appeared needing urgent care. In theory, he did say that she could go about her studies if she wanted to. Yet, that was also followed by more questions about her homeworld, so she sat on a chair with him and talked while he worked. It felt new, really, and she couldn't help but be reminded of people trading stories while weaving, something that she had always known yet always wondered what it would be like. Eventually, he must have noticed her endlessly fidgeting hands, because he passed her some mechanical thing which she understood absolutely nothing about (but that looked gorgeous), and instructed her to assemble it in a method that was simple enough that she managed though elaborate enough that she didn't get bored.
Working side by side with him while discussing the cultures that had led her here was fun. It was really fun. It was previously unknown levels of fun. And it wasn't even scary because she didn't have time to be worried between her twisting delicate metal wires between her dexterous fingers and responding to the Herald's infuriating yet admittedly pretty funny quips as he dissected the mechanisms of her society with so much depth and understanding from so little clues that it was unnerving. At some point in the middle of the afternoon, though, he eventually had the stroke of genius to realize that none of them had eaten absolutely anything today, which prompted the man to call for a pause to the activity to give Rapha time to go have a very late brunch.
"What about you?" She asked as she organized the wires that she had worked on into a neat pile, preparing to get up.
"Oh I don't need as much food as you, so I am okay, thank you." He replied without turning his face from the project.
"So you're not hungry at all?" The girl replied, suspicious, entering what her friends called "the mom mode" while crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow.
"No." Was all that the bastard replied.
"Don't you even want to eat anything just because it's good?" She tried again.
"There's no need, though you can feel free to eat here if you don't wish to stop your work." Unfortunately for him, he dug his own grave with that.
"Wait, is it because of the mask?" She asked though she had a feeling she was spot on with her guess from the almost invisible way that he seemed to tense up. Responding with silence, the lamb was cornered against a rock wall.
"I'll get out of the room so you can eat in peace but you really should eat something. I will probably go study in the living room anyway so I can bring you food if you like? Just for today." She was tentative, her usual cautiousness having a fight to the death against her overwhelming necessity to make sure that this man didn't go hungry.
"There's no need, thank you. I'd prefer if you went about your routine as you please." Was all that he said, blossoming a ridiculous idea in her mind, one that was probably too arrogant of her to even entertain, yet she was a student of logic and from her point this was making an awful lot of sense. Was he avoiding sending her away so that they could continue hanging out, despite the fact that he couldn't eat this way? This was ridiculous. Life taught you better than to think so highly of yourself, you weirdo.
"Hm, well, alright, but, if you ever would like help with these things again..." She gestured towards the cluttered table: "I'd be glad to help, it feels good to occupy my hands with something other than holding books." She laughed, examining idly the small cuts that had filled her hands from the thin wires and now were beginning to drip small bloody trails across her skin. These marks were so familiar to her, the sharp, barely-there stings that they brought not even bringing discomfort anymore from how often they occurred. Apparently following the direction of her eyes with his own, though, the Herald asked with a voice that would sound almost concerned if it wasn't ridiculous for a doctor to be worried about such small injuries.
"Are you hurt?"
"Nothing out of the ordinary from this kind of thing, my skin is just thin, don't worry" she shrugged.
"User, the expected rate of injury to this kind of work is zero." He replied, voice between a tired exasperation and endearingly sarcastic.
"Well I always got cut like this when I did metalwork back at home."
"Which isn't reassuring. You should clean the wounds and avoid risking them getting infected." The metal man replied, shaking his head and getting up from the desk.
"Wait, there's human-affecting pathogens in the grid?" Rapha asked both out of curiosity and to try to change the subject from the discomfort of the idea of disturbing the Herald's work with such meaningless injuries.
"This is an inquiry which I'd rather not find out through a live subject." He replied, already making his way to one of his treatment rooms, the girl trailing awkwardly behind. She felt like a child making a fuss over small things, despite her wish that she had just hidden the state of her hands from the man not helping her case in that regard. Still, he had a point, she had to admit, as she truly didn't know about the contagion risks of that strange new world nor, for example, if she could get infected with program diseases, which could in turn affect her way more strongly than they would with their usual hosts, who had evolved around these and therefore had some immunity to shield them somewhat from their ailments.
Worse yet, if she caught a disease and it then mutated in her organism and then went back to the programs... wait, what if human pathogens she may carry without even noticing could adapt to programs? Looking down at the small drops of blood that were falling from her hand and leaving breadcrumb trails across the grey floor… Yeah, alright, he was right. Potential biohazard and bringer of plague were definitely titles that Rapha didn't need upon herself. Following the Herald into the room and fully expecting him to just hand her something to clean her hands with and call it a day, the girl looked around distractedly while he fetched whatever he needed. Yet, she wasn't given time to idly zone out as the metal man turned back to her, a little brown glass flask in his metal hand and some gauze in the other.
What did his human hands look like?
Taking a deep breath to unsuccessfully try to banish that thought, the woman went forward to take the thing from his hands, but for the second time today, she was stopped from the gesture. What was it with people not letting her grab stuff? With a nudge of his head, the Herald motioned for her to sit on the pristine white stretcher by the dark brown medicine cabinets, which made her heart pick up like a frantic hare both from embarrassment that he was going through this much trouble over injuries that she had ignored all her life, and from a reason that was entirely different from shame. Pride in shambles and mind unable to think of anything but the man in front of her, she sat down on the thing, feet dangling without enthusiasm as she put her hands out towards him, palms up and head down like a surrendering criminal or a devotee in prayer.
Putting on some of the vial's liquid on a piece of gauze, the man then set the flask and the rest of the fabric by her side in the stretcher, taking her hands in his. Just like in the day they first met, the girl noticed how they enveloped hers to the point that he could probably close his fingers against her wrist without the tips of her fingers leaving the limit of his palms. Muttering a "tsk" under his breath, the Herald set about methodically cleaning her hands, his hold on her so gently yet so firmly reassuring that it was no wonder this man was a doctor. The metal around his left hand was unyielding and cold, the intricately overlapped metal plates obeying the minutiae of his movements without making a sound nor pinching her skin. The gloved hand was softer, warmer, the leather betraying flesh underneath despite the impersonality of the cloth. Contrary to the shiny, smooth steel, this fabric was worn from time and use, rough though not to the point of abrasiveness.
What would his human hands feel like?
Desperate to think about literally anything else, Rapha broke the silence with the first question that she managed to conjure in her mushed mind:
"But seriously, though, why do you wear a mask all the time?" Her voice was low against the silent environment, almost shy, the enclosed space feeling too cramped and making her sound far too loud to her own ears. At that, the Herald paused. He had managed to clean her wounds despite the continuous trickle of blood, and used his third arm to reach into the cabinet to grab a small rounded metal container, from which a muddy, greyish, mint-smelling paste was produced. It felt cool against her skin as he applied it to her injured hands, but took no time at all to warm up under his careful touch. After enough time that Rapha was sure that he wouldn't address her question, he replied:
"The... controversial nature of my work entails that it is safer for me to have the option to travel without being recognized."
"So you wear a mask everyday in your own house just for the potential advantage of not having a publically known face?" Rapha's voice sounded more like she was wondering the words aloud, but that did not stop the metal man from replying:
"When dealing with limited resources, one would be wise to make use of every advantage, yes?" At that, she paused, torn between voicing a question that was entirely too personal for comfort or remaining in familiar silence. Would he be mad at her if she didn't only force him to stop his work to treat her wounds but also pestered him with questions that she had no right to ask? Yet, it was the sheer necessity and devastating hunger to know him that drove her to ask:
"Isn't it lonely, though? To not be remembered by those who you helped and who helped you in return?"
Silence fell into the room for a few moments while the Herald prepared the gauze to bandage around her cuts. From the blood that spilled through the white, demanding him to add further layers of bandaging, the girl was sure by now that she had gotten way more hurt than she had initially thought. How had she not seen it? Not felt the pain? Though she knew the reason even before asking herself these questions in her depth: She hadn't expected her pain to be answered, so there had been no need to cry out. She had suffocated her injuries the same way that she drowned all her fears and grief over the assumption that there wouldn't be anyone to come to her aid, an assumption that up until this point, had been correct, that had been the law until the Herald showed up like the first thunder that brings with it a very good deal.
"You don't wear a mask. Can you say that your life was any less lonely than mine?" He eventually responded, though his voice was as low and tentative as the gentle grasp that he had on her hands as he secured the bandages with medical tape, displaying the same caution that he had given the soft flesh of her skin.
"No." She replied. "No, I can't. But there were moments that came close to not being this way. Whenever I spent the night in the open white desert, under the violet star-filled sky, for example, that didn't feel like solitude, it just felt like Netzach... eternity. That just felt like home."
"I suppose that your world's sky must be very beautiful from how much your species loves to talk about it in your books." He pondered, his hands carefully setting hers over her own lap before setting about putting all the items back into their respective places.
"It is in some desolate places, though for the most part of anywhere that the general population has access to, it's just a huge brown splotch nowadays." She spoke with that familiar defeatist tone that she had developed after far too many years in academia. "But it's still breathtaking in the desert, though, I can take you there if you want once we reach my world." The girl offered, although not really imagining that the Herald would have the time nor the will to indulge her whims through that whole glorious higher purpose goal of his.
"I'll hold you to it." Was the reply that he gave, though, to which her eyes widened and a smile spread across her face faster than flowers bloom in spring. Why did her heart feel like it were a sprawling field in summer, where the single spark of his reply had been carried by the wind and evolved into great fire that took root and spread, consuming everything in its path and warming up every cold of every world? Because she is Shamesh, the flame that lights up all other's, the one in the middle of creation, and even before her mind knew this, her heart was well aware of the basic fact.
"Really??? Okay!!! I promise I'll make it worth your time!" She replied excitedly, getting up and taking a few steps towards the Herald as she already began to plan how she would go about organizing the trip. With her mind in another world, she didn't even notice the Herald as he looked at her behind the mask of twirling steel, a low chuckle escaping him as they both began making their way back towards the corridor's door.
Before either of them could say anything else, though, a low alarm sounded lazily throughout the room, bursting this bubble of comfort and warmth that had found its nest in such a delicate place. It didn't sound urgent, but the girl's mind picked up its pace regardless due to the learned fear of air raid alerts. Without thinking, her hands went up towards the Herald to hover near him in a defensive gesture, while her head turned slightly towards where seemed to be the source of the sound. Breath caught in her throat, she only breathed again when the Herald placed his gloved hand over hers, a barely-there touch that she almost couldn't feel through the bandages, but that burned through her heart all the same.
"It's okay. It's just an alert that we have a visitor." He spoke, voice more soothing than any balm. Despite the lack of teasing on his part, she felt her cheeks warm up in embarrassment as she pulled her hands down her sides and forced a tense smile.
"Oh, yeah, thanks. Sorry. Do you want me to leave you to your work? Do you want help?" Walking towards the corridor, the Herald following close behind, she spoke while looking at the direction of the metal doors as if somehow she could see however stood outside of the building.
"Considering that the shop is closed and that this wasn't an emergency alert, I'd think that it's probably your friend." The Herald spoke as he went to Rapha's side, the two walking together towards the entrance hall. Oh? Did he mean Huck? The prospect of seeing the kind program again made Rapha happy, as she hoped that he would be faring better than when she last saw him. In truth, the girl had so much to thank him for, as without his help and compassion she was sure that she wouldn't have survived the arena. But the idea that Huck might still be afraid of her, or that time might have made him think of her fighting as something blood-red horrible weighed in her mind like a cast net tied with stone weights around its frame.
Besides, what if seeing him again only made the memories and the nightmares worse? What if, looking at him, she would remember the feeling of glowing blue glass dust staining her mouth? Rapha felt guilty about being apprehensive to face someone who had given her nothing but compassion and friendship, of not being able to just be glad to see a familiar face, of not having done more to try to help other mutated programs in the lightcycle when she had the chance, when they were still alive...
If the Herald noticed her anxiety, he didn't make his awareness known, nor said anything as he opened up the door. Yet, even through the panic, Rapha could notice his metal hand coming to rest on her back over the curve of her spine, right beneath the blood-red disk. It was polite, professional even, under the light that she was his guest and therefore under his protection of hospitality, but it pulled her from the deep waters in which she was drowning all the same. That very same hand had always been so familiar throughout her life, keeping her from drowning, keeping her safe from harm, keeping her up, keeping her. Yet, now that she could feel its weight through the metal of his armor and the fabric of her suit, it was as if upon learning what she knew not, this were all that she had ever known, and all the darkness before had just been a nightmare from which she was awakening through the white light of the morning sun as it came to grace her heart in the kind yet undeniably present softness of the lamb's golden fleece.
Against the darkness of the grid and the colorful neon lights that framed it, three figures appeared. The first was Huck, white eyes carrying a calm happiness that was so genuine and pure that it was disarming. He was wearing his usual black suit with pearly light, though over it he had draped and styled a white cloth in a way that was halfway between a saree and a dress. Holding the garment, beige strips of fabric acted as belts, crisscrossing seemingly at random while holding small rounded bits of metal embellishments. His hair was up in a ponytail, keeping his scar in full view, and the smile he wore was so serene that it looked odd until it occurred to Rapha that she had met Huck in an extremely and absurdly stressful situation, which was probably different from his usual mental states.
Admittedly, she felt a little stupid for only now realizing that, and she wondered for a second how different she must also look when not covered in dusty blue blood, but she didn't have time to chastise any potential lack in her emotional intelligence because as soon as everyone was inside, Huck tackled her in the gentlest, most familial hug that she had ever received in her entire life. Scratch not wanting to cry in front of people, the girl was a goner the second his thumbs traced soothing circles on her back. She didn't make a fuss, she didn't sob, she didn't even whimper. But letting tears flow down her eyes as if they were rivers that hadn't ever been blocked or dammed, her cry was a steady trickle that didn't burn nor force its way through its path, only carried soothing water down onto the earth.
When, eventually, the man let the girl go, his smile was like what she assumed a gentle father would be, and she laughed despite the tears, her own smile made soft in return. With the understanding that comes from shared survival, the man didn't say a word of thanks to her, nor did she to him, but as he moved to the side to introduce the other visitors, the light pat that he gave on her uninjured arm was at once all the "Thank you"s and "you're welcome"s that they would ever need to voice to each other.
To his left, stood a woman with greyed dark skin and box braids styled through weaved strands of purple. She had fluorescent glowing eyes and black sclera, and jaggedy purple face paint crossed her face in what was reminiscent of a butterfly or a spider. She wore a black suit with soft red light, and a similarly colored dress that somewhat reflected Huck's drapes through more tightly woven in a way that reminded Rapha of traditional kung-fu attires. Seeming to be in her forties, she looked fierce, and could even have looked scary were it not for the infant that she cradled in her arms.
Instantly disarming Rapha in a way that was almost aggressive, the girl felt her heart melt like butter over a pan, her breath evening with a sight and her muscles relaxing so instantly that it must have been visible. Smile widening like the Cheshire cat's and heart filled with giggles, she was at once calmer than she had been since she got in the grid and filled with the excited happiness that she always got when she saw kids and babies. The infant was draped in white fabric, apparently without a suit, which was a relief, and alternated between napping and looking at her with extremely sleepy eyes. His skin tone was about halfway between his parent's, eyes a pearly baby blue that was a bit jarring through its glow, but that remained entirely endearing to Rapha. Resisting the urge to coo at the baby, though, Rapha turned back to the woman as Huck was introducing her:
"Rapha, this is Aya, my wife." There was so much pride and joy in his tone as he spoke that at that moment it seemed like the most absurd of impossibilities that this family could have ever been separated by the games. Unable to give her hand, the woman nodded, her glowing eyes as serious as they were sincere in their gratitude as she spoke:
"You have saved my husband's life, and with that, you have saved my family. Thank you, Rapha." Torn between accepting these thanks or directing her own gratitude towards these people, she opted for a middle ground, a serious but happy smile on her face and a sober bow of her head:
"I have done for him as he did for me. I'll always owe my life to your family, so thank you for everything."
"For as much as I appreciate the praise," The woman added, to which the girl quickly looked up. "This one wouldn't have survived a moment in that arena without your help." Her tone turned gently teasing as she faced her husband, a smile that was equal parts relief and familiarity brightening her expression and bringing a crinkle to her eyes. For his part, Huck looked absolutely smitten, like a teen boy with a crush and a silly smile on his face. Seeing them like this made Rapha so happy that she felt that she could almost hear the giggles in her heart as they made their way up into her mind and eased the anxiety that she had been feeling. Not having been lucky to see many happy couples in her life, and those who she saw were strangers to her own family, the girl wondered what it would be like to have a family like this someday, if she could ever be this lucky to be loved in this honest and true way by the sun.
Then, almost as if noticing how much Rapha wanted to address him, the baby cooed and gestured his tiny little hand towards her, though she couldn't reach back due to the bandages that she now wore. Gesturing at her hands with an apologetic expression, she pursed her lips in a cuteness-aggression smile as she looked at the tiny little baby who now seemed hellbent on going to Rapha's arms, an honor of unimaginable importance.
"What happened?" Asked Huck about the injuries.
"I hurt myself while working with the machinery, it's nothing serious but I'd not want to risk the balm getting on his skin." She replied, looking at the Herald as if worried that he would disclose the stupid way that the injuries came to be.
"Mhm, it wouldn't be an issue for you to hold the child if you wanted." The Herald replied in a voice as if he were more pondering it to himself than addressing her. "And if his parents agreed, of course." He added, practiced professionalism shining through as he assumed that famous role of Healer that she had only heard about yet never seen in action before. Sounding more grounded and assured, with such a small shift the Herald had taken on the responsibility for an entire community which looked up to him as if it weighed nothing at all, the same way that he wore metal as if it were as light as cloth. It was impressive, honestly, if a bit intimidating, and Rapha understood why people such as Huck admired him so fiercely.
The Herald wore the crown of a caring leader well, so much so that although in another circumstance Rapha wouldn't have even considered holding the baby, this time she found herself fully convinced that it was entirely safe for her to hold the cooing creature. Had he done a mind trick on her? Used the voice? What in the absolute mind control magic was this? And if he was so good at directing the situation by dawning the role of the magnetic leader, why had he never worn that crown near her before? Why was this the first time that he was showing her who the Herald is to everyone else? Does that mean that who she met so far wasn't the Herald's careful public persona, but the man under the mask? Had she been in this place all this time, alone with not a Healer, but with a man? The same one, the gentle hands of whom she wondered so much about?
To distract her mind from this realization, Rapha picked up the baby with practiced gentleness, holding him safely yet without squishing, supporting his little head with a bandaged palm that, despite hurting a bit, didn't bleed through nor let any balm seep out onto the soft creature that knew of no harm and of no suffering, only the glow of his parents eyes.
"Hi baby!" She said with a voice so soft that it might have been a whisper made of feathers, completely transfixed by the little one as she always were. Unthinkingly, she kissed his little head in what was more instinct and familiarity than thought, remembering the little kids in her family and communities, and all the times that she had cared for them. The people around her were talking about something, but she paid no mind to their words. Feeling the weight of the little creature was grounding, a reminder that she couldn't fall to the floor lest she take him with her, and even when this tired her arms, it only made her feel strong in a way that didn't make her feel any less gentle. In that moment, Rapha really understood why people fought wars for these little fellas, why they endured what they did, why they forced their hands towards acts that to them were justified if they meant keeping their little ones safe.