[P] the violence in the pouring rain

[Theodosia]

let our eyes show the
fire in our hearts tonight

She thinks it might be the first time she’s ever heard Marisol laugh.

It catches her off-guard enough that for a moment, she forgets to hide the brief wonder that flashes across her face at the sound, forgets to mask the way all of her atoms seem to yearn towards the Commander whenever they are together; she leans towards the sound with her ears perked forwards as though it were a symphony and she were the audience, unwilling to miss a second of beauty.

She doesn’t remember the last time she laughed, but it is infectious; her lips curl upwards around a soft, girlish giggle that turns into a storm of them, her sides shaking with the force of their combined laughter, and even as they subside she feels… lighter, somehow. She is still furious, and ready to wage war against every kelpie in the ocean if that is what it takes to exact justice. She is still buckling beneath the weight of her combined titles, unsure of what her future will hold as Terrastella moves forward. She is an aching heart exhausted beyond measure, and yet.

And yet, for the moment, everything feels manageable.

For the moment, she can remember how to just breathe.

Above them, the storm clouds are blocking out the sky. Above them is rolling thunder and black clouds, but she doesn’t think that it matters at the moment, not when the magic in her veins is howling to be released, held back only by sheer force of will. Above them, the setting sun has been hidden, but then -- hasn’t she always been Icarus, and Marisol the sun she strains towards?

No.

Marisol is something more than a distant, hungry star, something closer and present even when everything is going to hell in a handbasket around them. She has never been particularly bloodthirsty, but for the commander, she thinks she might turn the entire ocean crimson, if that is what it takes. Her bones howl for justice, or perhaps for vengeance; the line is blurred between them and she is unwilling to determine exactly how far from her morals she will stray in search of them.

“Thank you, Comm-- Mari.” Her own voice shakes, her tongue stumbling briefly over the words. She is playing with fire. She is waving her fingers over the flame, low enough to burn. How badly had she been scorched the last time she had played this game? They need to talk about what this thing is between them before it consumes them, but neither of them have ever been good with words; they have been dancing around this ever since they had met, that day on the Cliffs.

Her heart is pounding in her ears, and she can’t bear to look away. I think I love you loops around her mind, on the tip of her tongue, but it feels like the wrong time for such a weighty confession, like every time will always be the wrong time. She still wants to bare her tender throat to Marisol’s sharp teeth, because it feels less vulnerable than placing her heart on her sleeve where it can shredded apart by rejection.

She is tired of feeling like a coward when it comes to her own heart, of feeling selfish for wanting instead of fighting. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath as though it might steady her nerves, but she’s all-too-aware of how close Marisol is, of how easy it would be to reach out and touch her, and her nerves frazzle further apart at the knowledge. “Mari,” Her voice shakes. How could it not? She is terrified, deep in her core, of what this will do to them. There will never be a right time for this.

“Love will make a fool of me yet,” It is as close to a confession as she dares to make, breathed out into the mere inches between them, and her eyes open slowly to meet Marisol’s gaze once more. They are so close. She is tired of chasing -- let this be her last stand, that she will lean forward enough that they are nearly touching, but not quite, a few millimeters of distance between them now that could so easily be bridged. Please don’t push me away again, her heart begs so loudly that she thinks it must show in her eyes.

“Please,” She asks instead, and she is no longer entirely certain what she is asking for.

credits
@Marisol