He woke up, gasping with the pain, the dull throbbing heat of it lighting up his insides, setting him aflame in the cold dark shadows of the morning. He rolled from twisted bedsheets as the thunder rolled outside the window, stumbled to the glass to press a hand against the pane.
Rain.
A beautiful thing to watch, a beautiful thing to experience, a sacrosanct blessing from the sky, like baptism by the clouds. Fond memories of warm summer droplets raced each other as they slid across his view, casting gentle phantoms against the walls as they picked up the light of the dawn. But rain brought its cousin and it curled inside his shell, digging thick fingers into the ache of his knee, pushing against his hip, a physical weight, a physical pain.
He sunk to the floor, unable to bear his own weight.
His thoughts clouded over, thick and slowly swirling, gray and heavy as the rain.
He pressed his head against the wall, wishing he could burrow into the air.
He counted breaths to the thrum of his pulse, eeking out the seconds stretched to minutes, the minutes to hours – pulling the fabric of time threadbare and thin, shivering beneath the chill of the sweat that glued his bodysuit to chitin.
The warren would be waking soon.
They would be looking to him to lead.
But he…
“Hurting…?”
A soft voice and a softer hand reached for him and he trembled beneath their touch. He should push them away, he knew. Push them back. Deny. He was the Elder of this warren, he was the bedrock. They needed him to be strong. They needed him to be in charge. And yet…
He murmured soft assent, pressing clammy cheek to human hand, closing his eyes against emotion as her fingers curled gently against his shell, rubbing soothing circles as if her touch along could push back the weight of the atmosphere. And maybe it did. And maybe it helped.
She pressed warm love against his temple and was gone, but only for a moment. Soon, she returned and pressed her body against his back and cold metal against his hip, whispering apologies as he sucked in air between his teeth, guiding his shaking hands as together they tightened the brace against his form, shoring up his walls before they could fully collapse.
“Let’s get you to warmth. You’re not working today.”
He bit back the protest, allowing it to curdle within his chest. Her eyes, when he met them, were the same storm gray as the sky outside and just as intense. If he denied her, would lightning strike him from within their home? Perhaps not. But in truth, he did not have the strength to resist, neither the weight of this world nor the words of his love. Both sounded just as painful, and impossible besides.
She was Apprentice. If he should fall, she assumed the mantle.
But her hand was against his hip, guiding him up, steadying him as he rose once more to stand.
With her help, he might not fall at all.
She stood by him through the long, slow procession to the ablution chamber, her hand warm and light against his back, her cheek pressed gently against his arm. He could not lean on her, but he found that he needed her support, needed the gentle calm that she exuded as they made their way across the room, the smooth surface of her love preventing the barbs of anger from catching hold.
“A little further,” she murmured, wiping sweat from the curve of his brow before it could sting his eyes, gentle ministrations that should have flared shame within his chest. But there was only love within her voice, her body so close to his that it might has well have been his own. There was only them here, on this cold, quiet march. Two of a pair. He could feel the warmth of her wedding band against his brow. His own chimed faintly with each heavy, plodding step. Singing strength. Singing love.
He was panting when they made it, though he hoped she couldn’t see. His claw claps rang against the porcelain as he lowered himself in with shaking hands, his thoughts too thick to even consider the removal of his bodysuit, to risk having to see. She did not comment. She didn’t even glance at him before turning on the water, running it over her hands until it was steaming in the air.
What was fabric?
What was shame?
Something for other people. A show that did not matter when it was only the two of them. His other self. His love.
He caught his claws in the fabric of her dressing gown as she turned to leave, pulling her a little closer. Just a little longer. She bent back over the tub for him without the need for words and he sighed into her kiss. And if anyone were to ask him, he would say her lips against his did far more to chase away the pain than the hot water that was slowly filling the tub.
He made a small, unhappy noise as she pulled back again, but there was work to be done and he knew it. He watched as she slowly assumed the mantle of importance she had relieved him of today, her back straightening and shoulders squared. She looked so beautiful and proud, the faint reflected light of the rain caressing her pale features as he longed to do.
Her gaze lingered over his features for a moment before she turned to the medicine cabinet, bottles rattling as she searched for the painkillers Hiir had left for him during the last rainy season. She hummed quietly as she searched, a warm and half-familiar tune that helped to chase away the last of the shadows.
He sighed, slipping further down into the water as she offered him a few on her open palm, a promise of relief. In the past, he could not allow himself such things. They clouded the mind and slowed his reactions, but with her…? He took what was offered and swallowed them dry, offering her a faint smile as she scolded him for not waiting for water.
A heavy day like this… it should have drilled home his sense of his own weakness, it should have left him burning with shame. But he was smiling through the ache as he watched her depart, secure in the knowledge that the work would be done and the warren cared for. While he ached, his knee thrumming in time with his pulse, he did not feel weakness.
He felt only the strength of his love.