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Isha remembered the night in bits and pieces, in sensation more than in sequence. She remembered the odd drowsiness that overtook her, remembered squeezing her eyes shut against the growing ache behind her eyes. She remembered that she must have dozed off not long after that, because she had a fuzzy recollection Jinx’s fond teasing (“ out already, little firecracker?” ) as she was carried from her spot leaned against the scrap-strewn worktable to the warm, gently-lit cozy space on the far side of the hideout. She remembered cuddling closer into Jinx’s hold through her haze, wishing that she had held on just a little longer.
She didn’t know how long she’d lain there, twisted up in the numerous patchworks of old blankets. As time drew on, whirling and dragging all at once, her discomfort only grew. What had originally been a dull headache heightened to a temperamental, pulsing sensation that ebbed and flowed into sharpened peaks that tore at her consciousness, pricked tears from her eyes. Heat washed over her skin in waves and she felt sticky with sweat, shivering despite herself. She curled into a tighter and tighter ball against the pain until she could hardly breathe -
In a dazed panic, Isha had rushed to pull herself into a seated position, chest impossibly tight. In that moment, her head swam with an alarming pulse that nearly sent her falling down onto the cushion again, but she gave a strained wheeze, barely held herself up by throwing an arm out and clutching the soft fabric as tightly as she could manage (which wasn’t very - her limbs felt like wobbly, soggy jelly). Her short, quick breaths had felt as though they rattled in her chest - her raw, parched throat gave an involuntary whistle-click when she inhaled too deeply.
High, painful coughs had torn suddenly from her throat and without thinking, she’d doubled over, leaning her forehead against the cushion as she struggled to catch her breath. Tears of pain and exertion had slipped down her cheeks as shakily wiped her mouth with a bandaged arm.
Isha had lain there, curled over herself with her head folded between her arms until she felt marginally better. Her breath was uneven - tears aside, she hesitated to even inhale, lest she set herself off again. She’d felt woozy, like her very consciousness was rising and falling, riding the waves of crashing heat and pain that plagued her body, like she was moments away from losing balance and crashing down on shaky limbs, even though she was practically pressed to the floor as she was.
…was this what dying felt like? It kind of felt like it could be- she couldn’t remember feeling anything close to this degree of not-good-very-bad-actually-kind-of-terrible before. Isha remembered a whine that smarted against her raw, grated throat, had had to fight more tears from spilling out because she could already hardly breathe.
What she recalled most clearly was a desperation for comfort - she wanted something (someone, actually, though she hadn’t really been lucid enough to realize at the time) to swoop in and take away the pain - clear her airways, dry her tears, return her to normal and make everything okay again.
She’d remembered, then, the feeling of being carried, how she’d wanted to stay safe in the arms of another forever- how they’d set her down, tucked her in, let her go though she’d wanted them to stay- how could she get them back, how could she get that feeling back -
Isha had nearly choked on her tears then, a high whine tearing at her throat until, jolting her head back up (too fast, she’d almost come crashing back down again- she had to remember her body couldn’t keep up with her right then-), she had a moment of clarity through her near-delirium. She could, she could get it back- she knew exactly where to go, just the person to go to to make things better, she was so close, how could she have forgotten-
(When she was more lucid, she’d wonder why she hadn’t come to this conclusion right away - where she thought she’d been, who she thought she had - or maybe hadn’t? - been with before that point…she wasn’t sure.)
Jinx . That was the clear answer she’d been blanking on! A new urgency, stronger than any pain or confusion, strengthened Isha to rise to her feet. She was little more than a newborn deer at that moment - overwarm, wobbly, and half-drenched in sweat, she could hardly control her uncoordinated stumbling. She could hardly even focus her eyes to distinguish where she wanted to go.
Acutely, she was aware of the danger of moving across the blade like this…one misstep, one slip, one stumble or fall…just one, and she’d be sent plummeting off the edge, falling however impossibly long to meet her end with more than half a decade’s shrapnel.
Isha knew that. Had known it then, even in her stupor. Delirious or not, it changed nothing - either way, she’d do it again a thousand, thousand times no matter the odds if it meant she could get back to Jinx.
The rest of the night was a blur of struggle, more struggle, yet more struggle, and eventually, finally, relief. Isha didn’t know how long it took her to shuffle from her blanket fort to Jinx’s workbench, but she knew that she made it because she remembered a soft voice and a warm hug, a breath of fresh air (at last!) and a cool forehead against her own. She remembered Jinx mumbling to herself as another coughing fit sent her wheezing, tears overflowing yet again. Most of all, she remembered when at long last, she felt herself again lifted up and carried in Jinx’s arms.If she’d had the muscle strength, she would have latched onto Jinx, clung to her tightly and never let go, just to relish in the safety of that moment.
(She didn’t know if she could take being left alone again- she needed this, she needed this-)
Distinctly, she recalled a flare of panic as she felt the swaying rhythm of steps beneath hwe slow to a stop. She felt a rush as Jinx shifted to her knees (don’t let me go, don’t let me go ) and clutched desperately at the braids between her fingers. Silky blue tresses slipped through her grasp like water, she couldn’t- couldn’t hold on- please, no-
Isha had tried to vocalize, to whine, anything to make her feelings known, but her throat was scraped raw. Whatever sorry sound managed to escape was too weak, drowned out by the filter of the mask she dimly realized had been pressed to her face (don’t leave, don’t leave, please don’t leave)-
But Jinx seemed to hesitate in that moment. Isha, then, felt herself hoisted up, shifted around, settled against something warm, soft, familiar, without ever leaving Jinx’s hold.
That was what Isha remembered best about that night - not the sensations of pain or fever, but the all-encompassing warmth, comfort, safety , held tightly in Jinx’s arm, curled up against her chest. It was everything she’d wanted!
…well, maybe not everything- as much as she didn’t want to focus on the pain, it still lingered fiercely. She remembered being told to drink, trying her best, not even managing to swallow before her airways closed up on her again. She remembered soft words in her ear as she struggled to suck in air ( “I’m sorry, Isha, I know it sucks- please just breathe, it’ll be okay-” ), remembered soft congratulations, long, thin fingers stroking through her hair when she could do no more but lean into Jinx’s hold. A kiss on her forehead, soft pressure around her body so she knew she wasn’t alone.
She drifted off quickly, pressed closer to Jinx than she’d ever been before (she didn’t know, but she was one of very few who had been so close).
When she hazily blinked her heavy eyes open however many hours later, she was still in the same position against Jinx’s chest, spindly limbs tucked in, nose pressed into messy blue braids. Jinx had dozed off herself ( was that a thing that normally happened?? ), but stirred at the same time Isha pushed herself up into a semi-seated position, legs splayed over Jinx’s bare midriff.
“Morning, squirt,” Jinx yawned, mouth wide open. “Feeling any better?”
She was! Still exhausted, lungs still too fragile and heavy in her chest, but she could breathe, she could move and function, wasn't too dizzy to keep her eyes open anymore. At that moment, it felt miraculous.
Isha nodded, touched the fingers of her right hand to her chin, lowered them down towards Jinx. Thank you.
A response didn’t come instantly - eyes glossy, searching, Jinx seemed almost lost in time - when it came, it was almost hesitant with feigned casualty. “Don’t sweat it, kid. I’m just glad you’re okay.” Flashy blue and pink nails ruffling through her hair, scratchy laughter.
Isha knew better than to push. She only gave a soft smile, leaned forward to wrap her arms around Jinx’s neck, nuzzled in close. Thin, impossibly strong arms wrapped around her again, tentatively, as though she were made of glass. Isha had never felt more loved.