pullmeoutalive | Because my heart

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Because my heart

[ She's never really forgotten, even as she's gazed upon Lucina and known that she's only ever had one sibling, and that was Cynthia. There's always been someone else with blue hair, someone incredibly important, and that was why Noire was one of the few who didn't turn to romance amongst her friends. There was someone else, and he wasn't there. She has to resign herself to this, and accept it. Her best friend understood. The war is over, Robin had returned to them, and that's more of a miracle than she could have ever expected. Asking for anything else...

But then it happens. Inexplicably, without warning, she finds herself in the Outrealms, called by Naga herself. Another realm needs assistance, more than just one army can provide, and she's not offered much more explanation than that before she and the others are thrown into the fray again.

Dusk has already fallen, and the rain isn't making a battle any easier, her allies (current and new) hard to pick out, but for the most part, it's an age-old struggle-- something Noire's experienced since she was old enough to remember it. Arrow after arrow, duck and skid, call out every so often so your comrades knew your position and that you were still alive. It's grueling, yes, but the amount of oddly intelligent and resilient Risen are starting to taper off by the time she pauses to catch her breath-- and freezes when she spots movement out of her eye, a sniper taking aim at a rain-blurred figure.

She thinks she might have shouted something maniacal and threatening, drowned out by the rage of battle, but her arrow slams into the ribcage, and the Risen falls.

Noire's sigh of relief is quiet, as she slowly lowers her bow. ]

S-somehow... made it... thank goodness.

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[ Morgan doesn't even know the sniper is there until its body hits the floor with a splash. Even that's hard to hear with the constant patter of rain against the hood of his robe -- but Noire's familiar declaration of demise cut through it all, almost as piercing as her arrow.

Noire is out of formation, if he recalls his mother's battle plan correctly, but he can't say he's ungrateful. Quickly, he finishes off what had been been distracting him: a battered Risen war monk, simple prey to Morgan's sword and the weapon triangle. With a satisfied huff, he turns back toward Noire, her shape vague in the rain.

It was strange seeing her again, with hair too light and manners too distant. Not that she was ever cold -- they were trusted friends, just as they'd always been. The first time he saw her, after months and months and months for him and but a day for her, she'd asked if something was wrong. He was staring, and... was there something on her face, Morgan?

It was stranger still to watch her fall in love with someone else. It wasn't a surprise, really; he'd learned long ago, in another place, that different timelines were different realms of possibility. But he couldn't help looking and seeing and remembering, and if at times he said too little or excused himself too early in their presence, it was only because he remembered too well.

He raises a hand in greeting now, crossing to her darkened form. ]

Thank you, Noire. Great timing.

It wasn't anything special-- [ she begins, modestly, before she stops. Because that robe should be a tactician's robe, and it's obviously not her best friend's, but Robin's voice was different. Even so...

She knows it. Night after night, dreams that had her lurching awake, clutching at her chest and biting her lip, and so exhausted from the memory and the force of longing, but she couldn't allow herself to regret it if that was the only way she could hear his voice now--

It occurs to her to check for any Risen lurching their way, but for the time being, it looks as though they're finally being contained by the others. It's all right for her to step closer, for her eyes to finally land on his face, and to finally make out the details there right before they start to blur again.

Is she crying? Is any of this real? ]

M-Morgan? Is that really you...?

[ He's alarmed when she stops, but as she makes her way to him, it becomes clear that she hasn't been struck by an unseen assailant. Something in the way she looks at him now makes his heart skip a beat, and he has to assure himself that he's not just imagining the yellow tint in her hair. He pushes his hood back, the better to see and hear her, and automatically raises a hand to her face, to her tears, even if the rain is doing a good enough job of wiping them away already.

Is it wishful thinking? The rain can't cover her words now; he feels them as if they were his own. ]

Noire...

[ Even the name feels different on his tongue now. More familiar, with more meaning come from a time when he didn't have to hold back. He doesn't have to hold back now... isn't that right? But still he's careful, only half aware, afraid that when he touches her, she'll slip through his fingers like a dream. ]

[ It's him. It's him, and as her mind chants this rather incessantly, Noire focuses as best as she can on the face in front of her, on the steadily dampening mass of blue hair, and it's a simple thing really, but it sinks in-- he's said her name again, but it's different, and she thinks it's recognition on a level deeper than allies.

Her hand is shaking when it settles over his, and her fingers curl over the top as she leans into the curve of his palm and takes a long, shuddering breath. ]

Gods, you're really here, aren't you?

[ Her cheek is soft and familiar; he's sinking, gravitating toward her as her hand covers his. This is Noire. His Noire. He can feel it in her weight and tremble. His sword clatters to the ground as he brings his other hand up to cradle her face, drinking in her touch and sound and sight. He'd imagined being able to see her again, but it's still so much to take in. An ache that sat low and constant before chokes up in him now, leaks into his voice. ]

I'm really here. And you... I love you, Noire. I love you. Every day... I've wanted to be able to say that to you again.

[ ... This is breaking her, bit by bit. Her bow joins his sword with a faint splash she doesn't hear at all, and then she's throwing both arms around his neck with a sob that hurts her throat. Her boots will skid a little on the ground in the process, but Noire doesn't care, instead turning her head to leave her ragged answer against his neck. ]

I love you, too-- so, so much, and I've missed you and gods, please-- [ it's hard to form the words through her tears, the desperate need to get them out. ] Don't leave me alone again, Morgan--

[ He clutches her to him, tight and yearning, and buries his cheek in her hair. There's a knot forming in his throat as he listens to her, the pain in her voice, the plea he already knows he can't answer. He closes his eyes. ]

I've caused you a lot of trouble. Noire... [ A choked laugh, or a sob. ] You're even more beautiful than I remembered. Isn't that strange?

[ She knows, even though he doesn't confirm it. This is only temporary, there's already a Noire in his world, and she couldn't take him from his when he's the second heir to a royal legacy--

But it's still a sharp burn in her chest, flaring up as she clings to him and softly shakes her head. ]

I haven't changed... but it's like learning all your details all over again.

[ How wonderfully safe it feels like this, in his arms, what it sounds like to hear his voice, warm and choked in her ears-- ]

[ If he could cross into her world... if Naga would really let him... ]

Take your time. I'm not going anywhere.

[ If he's finally grown a little taller, a little longer in the face, it would only be natural. He draws back just enough to press his forehead to hers, hands still rested on her middle, a small if bittersweet smile ready for her. ]

[ It seems unfair, for Naga to bring them together, finally, only to have the inevitability of them being pulled apart waiting for them. And she wonders, still so desperate, what it would take to change that. If they could change that.

But more than that, she stares into his eyes, really looks at him. He's definitely beginning to resemble his father more, but there's still the quintessential Morgan aura about him. In comparison, she feels as frail and tiny as before, but somehow, that pales to just being with him, in this moment.

And it's why, still balanced against him, she'll bring their mouths together with a sigh that's a lot of things, but mostly finally.

She won't let him go anywhere. ]

[ The rain soaks him to the bone and fills his ears, floods down his face; a battle is still in progress, and he's undoubtedly missing some amazing double Robin tactical collaboration, but for once, for this one person, it all melts away.

He tightens her to him and meets her lips with simple need, familiar yet different. All the love and longing, unspoken for so long, spoken now through the depth of his kiss and the pressing search for more. ]

[ If it's more he wants, Noire will offer it without much prompting, and it's almost frightening when she knows the rain is chilling her skin, pressing her hair closer to her head, and everyone else is yelling to each other, blades striking blades, a wyvern's shriek-- all of that, and she knows it exists, but she hears and feels none of it. There's only Morgan, and a kiss she's sinking deeper into. She won't have this in front of her forever-- she'll take it now, selfishly, in between tiny, ragged murmurs of his name. ]

[ Gods. He'd somehow forgotten how good it felt to have this -- to have her. His blood is pounding as she says his name in that desperate way. He drags a hand through her hair, for once not at all gentle, and his mouth grows heavier.

It's hardly the time for this, but for all the tactical sense in the world, he can't bring himself to stop taking her in, revisiting her mouth and voice and body. He's waited so long... they've both waited so long. ]

[ It's not as though Noire is a masochist, for all that she keeps returning to her mother's side-- she doesn't willingly seek out pain. But the roughness of his hand and the way he silently demands all of her isn't pain to her. It's Morgan, his emotions coming to the forefront even more than usual, and she fully understands all of it.

The battle has quieted when she finally leans back, with a gasp that's still half-sob, but she won't go far, resting one hand on his chest now. His heartbeat, racing. Just like hers.

It's still hard to believe he's real. ]

[ His breathing is heavy by the time she pulls back, and he's a little sorry that it's over so soon -- but no amount of time could be enough for him, truly. He puts a hand over hers, squeezing it lightly to his chest, and finally cracks a fond smile. Even in the rain, across timelines... even if it hurts, he's still lucky to have someone who loves him so much. ]

Not a single dream could match you... nor all of them put together, as a matter of fact. It's almost suspicious! Have you been practicing without me?

I'd never kiss anyone but you. [ and Noire says this quietly, but firmly. ] I'd never love anyone but you, Morgan. This was just... instinct?

[ She's wasted on him. She really is... But he can't help feeling glad anyway. He should insist that she move on, but he has a feeling she wouldn't take very kindly to that. Certainly not any more than he would. ]

Ha ha ha. I'd call it... passion. You've always had plenty of it to spare.

... Really? I thought I was only passionate when I was angry.

Definitely not! Maybe it doesn't show as much around others, but I always thought it was obvious.

[ When there was no one but him to see it... He moves in until their lips are nearly touching and murmurs. ]

Was I just imagining it?

... [ All this time, and she still blushes, but she won't move back. ]

No... I can't really hold back when it comes to you, somehow.

You see?

[ He cheekily moves up to peck her on the nose. ]

Heh. I almost forgot how cute you are when you smile.

[ She'd point out that he'd still most likely seen a Noire on a day-to-day basis, but she doesn't like the idea of another her smiling at him like that. Which is silly, she knows, but she huffs quietly anyway and curls her fingers into the front of his robe. ]

I-if you're going to tease me, I'll go home.

[ Those smiles aren't the same, of course. They're too nervous, too commonplace, too polite. Never for him and him alone. ]

Yes, ma'am. No more teasing.

[ He gently brushes the hair from her face before lifting her chin. And... pausing. ]

But your nose really is adorable and worth kissing too, for the record.

[ She lets him, unusually docile in the midst of a battleground, but this is Morgan, and any touch from him right now is a welcome one. ]

I think you're the only person who would ever say that about my nose.

[ He just chuckles before finally bending and taking her lips with a soft touch, his kisses feathery light and playful as he absently pulls his hood back on, deep enough to shield her from a bit of that rain too.

They don't have all the time in the world, it's true. But he needs at least a little pocket of time to take her in at his own leisure and appreciate what he's missed. Then he can charge back into the fray with no regrets -- and only then. ]

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