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She sits in the office, dark except for the soft glow coming from behind the Second Dawn symbol. It’s appropriate, really. Darkness has always surrounded her in some form or another. As a child under the floor, or a girl with too much blood on her hands and vengeance in her heart. And now— now she also gets the weight of responsibility, of impossible choices made for the entirety of humanity in the name of survival that will undoubtedly follow her forever.
She feels the darkness wrap around her ever tighter. But instead of reveling in the fight against it as her mother taught her, or succumbing to it when she let it fill the Lincoln shaped hole in her heart, she can barely breathe. It seeps within her, like ink on paper, gradually filling her with every life she’s taken, every moment she’s lashed out.
She catches sight of her trembling hand. She blinks at it, confused for a moment before flexing it, letting nails dig into her palm as she squeezes tight before releasing.
The knock on the door is quiet, barely audible and unthreatening. But her eyes still stare at it with something close to fear. What more will she have to do? What other impossible choices will she have to make. They still had four years left in this hell, this tomb, and she’s not sure she can last that long.
A head peeks in, blonde hair falling over a shoulder.
“Niylah.”
“I’m sorry. Do you want to be alone?”
She’s so tired— exhausted, and wants nothing more than to sit in silence. Isolate herself away from the mask she has to wear on the other side of that door, surrounded by faces begging to make everything right.
But no, she really doesn’t want to be alone. And she’s weak enough at the moment to admit it. “Come in.”
Niylah’s answering smile is small, but the kindness in it already makes Octavia feel just a little bit lighter, and she’s able to finally take a steadying breath.
Niylah’s eyes remain downcast as she steps across the room, sitting on the couch beside her in a fluid, gentle motion, barely disturbing the air around them. It’s sort of amazing to Octavia, the way she moves, the way she speaks – quiet and disarming. Serenity envelops her, even when angry, Octavia thinks, remembering their first meeting as Niylah staunchly refused to let them into her home. But the calm, placid nature of her has a strength to it. It fascinates her. And, she sadly admits, reminds her of Lincoln.
She sees it as Niylah notices her trembling hand, and she shakes the stupid thing before flexing it again.
“I don’t know why it keeps doing that.”
Niylah takes it with her own, lithe fingers wrapping around it as her thumb strokes slow circles along her wrist. A shiver races up Octavia’s spine as her body warms quickly, relaxing with Niylah’s tender touch, and she suddenly feels so open and vulnerable.
“I used to think I could do better. Be better.”
“You are,” Niylah says with such a soft emphasis that it forms a knot in Octavia’s throat. “There’s never a right answer. Never a perfect choice.”
“No…there’s not.”
She takes a deep breath, her lungs filling with all the memories and regrets she carries within her, all the hardships to come, before exhaling sharp and full, cheeks puffing out. She catches Niylah’s amused look and they share a smile, contentedness spreading through her.
Her eyes feel heavy, her body slumping a little lower, the day – and the year, really – finally catching up to her.
“C’mere,” Niylah urges, arm outstretched and fingers wiggling. Octavia experiences a moment of hesitation. She’s a leader, an enforcer. She’s supposed to remain strong and— fuck it.
She leans over until her head rests on Niylah’s thigh, one hand still entwined with Niylah’s own while the other traces shapes on the girl’s knee.
Niylah cards her fingers through Octavia’s hair, nails scraping soothingly along her scalp. She didn’t think she’d ever feel this at ease with another person again.
“Sleep now. I’ll be here when you wake.”
It’s enough to make her heart swell, a small smile pulling at her lips before she raises their hands, leaving a grateful, lingering kiss on the back of Niylah’s. “Thank you.”