Arc 4 | Chapter 139: Not Because of That Woman

It was a relief, when V wrapped his hand around hers. It felt like it had been forever since they had held hands, although objectively, it had barely been more than a few hours. Another result of those too fast to develop friendships that were plaguing her in this world, Emilia assumed.

“My aethervoice suppression could end anytime,” she reminded the man quietly, as they walked. Phlostra had informed her of that before they all parted, but she wasn’t sure if V had been listening, his eyes gazing off into the middle distance.

V made an affirmative sound—one that racketed through both the real world and aether, the man’s lack of complete control over his voice amusing her. It was only fair that he occasionally mess up, given he had had his aethervoice just as long as she had! So unfair.

As though he could read her thoughts, V began to quietly tell her about how he had been in raids with similar constraints before. ⸂It isn’t exactly common, to have magic or communication systems so outside the standard of our world, but it happens, especially in blackaether raids.⸃ His lips twitched as he assured her it would have taken him much longer to master the ability, if not for that experience.

Emilia wasn’t completely convinced, but she respected the attempt to make her feel better.

They wandered the halls in silence for a long while. V’s room was several floors beneath theirs, along with several other visitors the group had picked up as well. None of them had aethervoices—or if they did, they had enough control of it to not risk waking everyone up with their chatter. Allegedly, that was why Emilia and the kids had been put on another floor—she wasn’t completely convinced.

V didn’t lead them to his floor, though. Instead, he led them up several floors to a hall filled with windows that looked out on the dark city—if you could consider four buildings a city. It was its own city system, she supposed. Smaller than the one far above them, perhaps, but a city system all the same.

“Do the Risen Guard know this place exists?” Emilia asked as they stared into the darkness. Occasionally, light peeked out from behind curtains of windows in the floors below their own, but the floors above seemed to lack windows—city levels, she assumed. It was a strange design—one shared by the city system above them. Lower floors filled with rooms for seemingly no reason, the ones above filled with cities and labyrinths—not that these ones necessarily had labyrinths in them.

⸂I believe they have some knowledge of it. Phlostra implied the Risen Guard keep close track of their citizens. She didn't explain why, but I can guess that missing people equals trouble; dead bodies and their blood, and all that.⸃

V, who had dropped her hand and leaned back against the wall while she squinted into the world, trying to make out what few details she could, pushed himself up. The hallway was splattered with the light-emitting substance, and while the light was dim, it was there, and Emilia could make out his reflection in the glass as he came to stand behind her.

He hesitated there, eyes searching her reflection for something. ⸂Sorry,⸃ he finally said, a long puff of air leaking out of him. ⸂I just…⸃ He swallowed, looked away.

Emilia wasn’t sure if it would be easier for him like this, with her back to him, or not. It felt wrong, however, and she turned, leaning back against the glass to look up at him. His eyes flicked to hers, away again.

“You’ve been weird since I attacked Fran,” she finally said, when the silence became too much to bear, stretching and tangling between them. “I know she was your friend, but she cut me off when I was just trying to kept Caro and—”

⸂What?⸃

“What what?”

They stared at each other, V finally meeting her eyes for more than the barest moment. He looked… confused.

“Was that… not why you’ve been weird since then?” Granted, there were a million other moments that had happened between her and Fran before that, which could have easily added up to V’s strange mood, but that had definitely seemed like the final straw.

⸂I’m not upset with you about Fran?⸃ the other visitor finally said, although it came out more like a question.

“Oh… then why?” There were probably a thousand ways Emilia could have asked that better, but she was tired, okay!? Tired and annoyed with… everyone. Fran, most of all. V, a little. The person who had let the knotter loose onto the Piketown streets and led her to being here, although the idea of never having met V or Astra or anyone from this world…

⸂Hey, are you okay!?⸃ V asked, voice holding a touch of panic. It took him reaching out and rubbing a stray tear from her cheek for Emilia to realize she was crying.

“I’m fine,” she lied—it was so clearly a lie. She swiped a sleeve over her eyes, the fuzzy fabric protecting her from the wetness. “I just…” she trailed off, unsure of what even to say.

⸂I’m not into Fran,⸃ V said, and Emilia couldn’t blame him for the assumption she was crying over the idea of him and that horrible woman together—hadn’t she just made the same assumption of him being upset with her over the woman? She wasn’t, though, not really. They were just one part of the annoyance and misery and wonder of this place.

Emilia told him as much. Words and mumbles about how terrible it was here and how she should have left the situation to SecOps and The Black Knot escaping her, along with something about how she couldn’t quite bring herself to regret coming. V had pulled her into a hug, somewhere through her rant, and he couldn’t have even been able to hear most of her whining tantrum—because that was what her rambling sobs were, in the end. Just the whining of a child who was overtired and sad and probably a bit lonely, not to mention impossibly frustrated.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, pulling back and rubbing furtively at the wet spot her tears had left on his shirt. “Didn’t get the fancy pyjamas?” she asked, noting that he was still wearing the same thing he had been earlier that day. It had been clean when they met, but now several stains marred it, and he smelled more like himself. It wasn’t a bad scent, but he had clearly spent the day carting around children and running through raids.

⸂I did,⸃ he said, amusement filling his voice, and when Emilia chanced to look up, he seemed more relaxed than he had before. ⸂I just wasn’t into wandering around in a sweater that barely covers my butt. We aren’t all as short as you—nor are our butts as nice.⸃

“True that,” Emilia agreed, leaning to the side as though she could see V’s butt from this angle, if only she tried hard enough. “From what I remember of our shower, yours is pretty nice, though.”

The other visitor smiled softly, if unbelievingly, down at her, and Emilia chanced reaching up and gently cupping his face. Where only minutes ago he might have flinched away, now he turned into it. It wasn’t quite the same open softness of before, but it was closer.

“V, what’s wrong?”

The man’s eyes fluttered shut, darkness offering some safety for his words, perhaps. ⸂I don’t like when people die for me,⸃ he finally admitted, his voice so soft Emilia might have missed it if her everything weren’t turned towards him.

“Did someone die?” Emilia asked, sounding as stupid as she felt. No one had died, right? Unless V had somehow gained access to the system, and some message had come through about a death? Maybe some local had helped him, and died for it? That felt like the sort of thing he would have told her—the system part, not the death. Well, maybe the death, too.

V huffed, the sound humourless. ⸂Emilia,⸃ he said, his tone implying she was the stupidest person he had ever met. ⸂You moved in front of me.⸃

It took a long moment for Emilia to realize what he meant—to realize he was referring to her stepping in front of their group when Fran had attacked her. “But… this is a raid?” she said—asked? She might have asked, she wasn’t sure. “I can’t actually die? And, you stepped in front of me first.” She wasn’t sure why it mattered that he had risked his life within the raid for her first, but it seemed like it should.

V shook his head, the movement slight against her hand, still pressed against his cheek. ⸂It doesn’t matter, whether it’s in a raid or the real world. I don’t— I don’t do well when people I care about risk their lives for me. I thought…⸃ He trailed off again, eyes turning out into the darkness of the city system.

They stayed like that for a long moment, V working through his thoughts… apparently in silence, while Emilia rubbed her thumb over his cheek and contemplated whether it would be extra difficult to work through your thoughts when you could only think in images and vibes, if you wanted to keep your thoughts internal. It seemed impossible, and like just asking for trouble.

Thinking logically, with words about a problem, seemed less traumatizing than reliving it through images. Then again, considering she’d been dealing with unresolved trauma for over a decade, perhaps she shouldn’t be sharing her opinion on such matters.

⸂I thought I was over it,⸃ V finally said. ⸂Maybe not in the real world. If war suddenly broke out again—and thank the fucking stars even echo events are lessening—I don’t think I’d do well watching people die for me.⸃

The

again

in V’s words went unsaid, but Emilia heard it all the same. People had died protecting V during the war, and that had left its mark, just like it had marked her and James and every other person who had fought. It just marked everyone differently. It had destroyed James, but for her… For her, that wasn’t the crux of her trauma: it was just an unfortunate, accepted part.

Unfortunately, during the war, whenever she’d stepped in to protect someone else, she had been yelled at. Not by her own unit—no one in their unit had actively valued their member’s lives over anyone else's. Yes, they all knew their lives—their power—were worth more on the battlefield than nearly everyone outside their unit, but there was a difference between accepting supports would die protecting you, and refusing to save another person because of that worth.

If they had viewed themselves that way, Alliance Ridge might never have happened. Rather than people like Halen staying to fight—to try to save the civilians who would never be able to evacuate in time—everyone might have run, not in fear, like so many of their unit had tried to do that day, but in arrogance.

My life is worth more than a civilian’s.

Why should I stay and die for them?

There was something to be said for that mentality—that a powerhouse dying saving a single person might not be worth it. Some people had that mentality, and Emilia couldn’t really fault them for it. There were more than a few war heroes who had saved millions of people later in the war because they had chosen to abandon a lost cause earlier, leaving others to die, including within their own unit. Generally, their unit had been people who would die fighting, but that didn’t mean they had never retreated—it had just been rare, and when all hope was lost. Never because their lives were worth more.

The brass hadn’t liked that mentality. There had been years, especially in the early part of the war, when their leaders had tried to order their unit out of the worst battles. It had never worked. They were untouchable to the brass and their rules.

Still were, technically. A nice little safety net, in case any of them were ever caught doing something they shouldn’t be. Short of murdering another war hero or supporting terrorism or making the military look downright repugnant, there wasn’t much anyone could do to them.

It was nice, and terrible, all at once.

⸂I didn’t think it would affect me so much here,⸃ V said, his voice holding truth, until he added, ⸂I guess I was wrong. Sorry. Watching you step in front of an attack meant for me… It just took me back, to being a useless child on the front, watching people die keeping me safe.⸃ He smiled, the move painful.

Emilia could have called him on his lie—could have pointed out that if it had been someone else, he probably wouldn’t have reacted the way he had. It wasn’t like she was positive about that, but she was pretty fucking sure. V wasn’t wrong, if it hadn’t been her, he would have been fine. Having her step in front of him had been different, and chances were that once, she had saved this man, in the real world. Back when he was a

child on the front.

Pieces tried to slide together in Emilia’s head, every little clue she’d learned about the man in front of her trying to come together to form the person he used to be.

Emilia refused to let them. It was funny. She’d spent so long trying to figure out who he was, and yet now, only a mental jump away from an answer—or at least a shortlist of contestants in the

Who is V?

mystery—she couldn’t do it: she couldn’t spoil the surprise, couldn’t dig into the man and discover the person he used to be.

The person he clearly didn’t want to be anymore.

Her thumb rubbed over his cheek once more before she pushed up onto her toes and kissed him, an innocent, closed mouth kiss. At least, it was until he slammed her against the window, his tongue forcing its way inside her.

⸂Emilia,⸃ he hissed into her as he devoured her, his hands slipping under the hem of her sweater to cup her ass.

Nails dragged over the sensitive skin where her ass met thigh, and she shuddered, pulling away to gaze up at the man, her hand gently pushing him away. Polite boy that he was, he instantly vanished from her mouth. He blinked down at her, uncoordinated thoughts about how to ask if he’d overstepped tumbling out of the aether.

Her mouth twitched, and she pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, damp with their spit. “Let’s go somewhere else?” she asked. The last thing she needed was for her aethervoice to come slamming back to her while they were fucking in a public hallway. Plus, for all his control, even V seemed incapable of controlling his sexual thoughts.

V blinked down at her before leaning over and throwing her over his shoulder, a stream of giggles escaping her as she playful beat her fists against his back. ⸂As you wish,⸃ he teased, beginning the trek back to his room.