twenty-six

Poppy

Poppy had been back home for three days now.

She did not know what she had been hoping to find there, but whatever it was, she did not find it. Mercy? Change? None of it would be found here. She was back in the prison of pain, trapped beyond hope of rescue.

I wanted to have a brother, she thought with sudden revelation. I wanted it so badly.

But that wasn't to be found here either.

The minute she saw her brother, even before he spoke, she swallowed her tongue, she swallowed her opinion, she swallowed her thoughts. Just one look from him, stern and cold, and she disappeared. That one look, specific look he always gave her…

She knew it well.

She had been conditioned to respond to it with utter submission.

Just that look was enough for her to lose everything she had gained in these short days at the Underworld.

In his presence, she became small again.

Filled with sin and shame.

She lost herself, and she did not know how it happened, but she found herself once more on her knees, making penance.

Within moments of arriving back, it was as if she had never even been to the Hell Club, never even met Hades.

It was as if he had never existed.

And with him, the version of herself who had spoken and laughed and made friends and been kissed and had rescued a man from drowning…

It was as if she had never existed either.

Alexei

After she left, Alexei thought he would die.

And then he did.

Well, nearly.

But far too nearly. At some point during the night, he developed a fever that pulled him under so fiercely, it was as if that bloody underground lake had come back to finish its job and drown him. His brain was on fire, his limbs were heavy as lead and there was liquid in his lungs. Every breath was labored for a while, a battle to get enough air in his chest, and then finally, the air stopped altogether.

Alexei thought he heard someone screaming for help, the sound coming as if from a tunnel, but he was frozen in a soundless scream and couldn't tell whoever it was to stop overreacting. His mouth was open, gaping like a fish's, gasping for a breath that would never come. Then he mercifully slipped into unconsciousness.

The fever raged for days on end—Alexei slipped in and out of the darkness constantly, unaware of what was going on around him.

At night he was lost in nightmares, and those were real enough. He would wake up, drenched in sweat, only to be swallowed up by darkness again. When he finally woke up properly after nearly a week of torture, he found his three friends seated beside his bed, their eyes red, their mouths grim.

"I would have thought death would be more fun than this," he croaked through parched lips.

Peter stood up abruptly with an oath and went to the corner, covering his mouth with his fist.

Valentine made a sound that resembled a sob.

And Dante…Dante just sat there, his cheeks bathed in tears.

"You unfeeling bastard," he said calmly, "is this a time to jest? You nearly died, and all of us nearly died with you."

"Sorry," Alexei said, closing his eyes.

He slept for five more hours, but his fever had broken. When he woke, Peter and Valentine were still there. Dante, too.

"I'm going away," Dante said, as a servant brought over some luncheon. Alexei was informed that he had been unable to eat or drink anything for the better part of the past four days.

Peter was seated beside his bed like a wetnurse, spoon in hand, a look of utter concentration in his eyes.

"You cannot be serious," Alexei told him. "You do not mean to feed me."

"I have never meant anything more in my life," Peter said.

And proceeded to bring the spoon to Alexei's mouth.

Alexei began to protest, but seeing as the effort of lifting his head from the pillow proved almost too much for him, he stopped talking and concentrated on staying alive.

"Go on," Peter told Dante, rather royally.

The act of attempting to spoon-feed his best friend in the world a bowl of broth did not seem to diminish his arrogance one whit.

"I'm going to school," Dante continued. "Back to school."

"You are not ready," Alexei said, suddenly worried. "Peter, Valentine, talk sense into the boy."

Dante had been forced to leave Oxford in the middle of the term last spring, on account of his almost dying. Too much opium and too little studying could prove deadly. Nearly had, in his case.

"I daresay I am not ready," Dante agreed, "but then again, I don't know when I shall ever be. These days we spent in this room, watching you di—"

Valentine coughed and Dante swallowed the rest of his word.

Exactly how many days have they been here for? Alexei wondered. Watching me die?

"I decided that I cannot let life pass me by while I hide in here. Besides, there is nowhere I can be safe from pain. Even here, it found me."

"Especially here, I should think," Alexei said. He was so tired. Already he wanted to sleep again, dammit. "This is hell, after all."

"It was heaven for me," Dante retorted, "until I nearly lost you. Anyway, I do not know how I shall deal with school. Probably numb myself with alcohol or something."

"'S not funny," Alexei murmured, his words slurring with fatigue.

Peter withdrew the broth and produced a napkin with which he gently wiped Alexei's jaw. Was anything more humiliating? Then Peter winked at him, drawing the sheet up to his chest, and Alexei did not care anymore.

"Dante was the one who found you," Peter whispered in Alexei's ear. "He discovered you in a half swoon and revived you. He fought for your life for hours until help came."

"It seems there is a trend," Alexei said quietly, thinking of her fighting for his life.

Then again, when was he not thinking of her?

"Thank you," he said to Dante. "Be careful at school. Come back here if you…" he gasped, dark spots dancing in his vision.

Talk of a half-swoon. He bit his lip hard, fighting to stay conscious.

"Right," Peter said, sounding less and less like a pirate and more and more like a governess. "Out we go. He needs his rest."

"I'll be right there in a minute," Dante said to Peter and Valentine as they got up to leave, and then he leaned over the bed and grasped Alexei's chin in his cold fingers. "I cannot personally imagine how it must feel, Alexei, to long for a woman, or indeed for anyone, for that matter. But those hours I spent trying to save your life were the most gruesome hours of my life. And I'm thinking that if she did that for you as well, you owe it to fight for her."

"One thing at a time," Alexei murmured. "Now I am fighting to stay alive."

"Well, fight, damn you."

"She needs me," Alexei said simply, his voice drifting off to sleep. "So I shall stay alive."

"She is so broken," Dante replied, and his eyes grew wet again. "So broken, Alexei."

"She is not broken," Alexei said stubbornly. "Not like us, Dante. She is pure, perfect. Something…Someone broke her. I'll kill him."

Darkness was already claiming him, but he was completely lucid; he'd meant every word.

"Of course you shall," Dante said above his head, his voice fading. "Just as soon as you wake up."