pullmeoutalive | 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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[ She fumbles with the pouch for a minute, not expecting the weight of it, but then she'll press it to her chest. Noire may not know what it contains (and she probably won't risk opening it until she's alone again, where she can trace his writing with trembling fingers and do her best not to shed tears on his memories), but she holds it gently, cherishing it. No matter what he claims, it's clearly important.

When she looks up again, the others are trickling off to compare notes, to heal the more minor injuries, and Noire breathes out unsteadily. ]

How much time do we have left...?

It can't be long now.

[ The luxury they've had thus far could only have been possible with the field nearly depleted of enemies. All the better, or his absence amongst the ranks would be scrutinized that much more closely. He reaches over to squeeze her hand. ]

What do you want to do?

I-- [ she hesitates, than shakes her head, looking up at him with a tired sort of earnestness. ] What... doesn't matter. I just want to be with you, Morgan. For as long as I can.

[ A slow exhale. It's amazing how such a simple sentiment can still melt him. ]

Well then, first things first. Are you hurt anywhere?

Ah, no, I'm fine! [ minus a few scrapes, but eeeh. ] Gerome and Laurent have both been worried about me, more than usual, so not much manages to get too close to me these days.

More than usual...?

[ He's seen how those two interact with his own timeline's Noire. Everyone has their own way of looking out for her, but Gerome and Laurent have always been especially vigilant. It's only suiting, he supposes, examining her person anyway for those little injuries. ]

I know archers need their buffer zone, but it sounds like more than that. Have you been giving them cause for worry?

[ just along one arm, gosh. She's fine! ]

I suppose I haven't been sleeping as well? But that's it...

Worse than usual? That is a cause for worry.

[ Noire needs all the sleep she can get... He casts a look around for the nearest piece of shelter and tugs her toward it. ]

W-wait, I'm fine! [ MORGAN... ]

When you only have one life to live, you ought to take care of it! No one wants to go down in the books as having died from a silly old scratch. Of course, by that I mean the scratch getting infected and rotting away and falling off... but the scratch was the start of your trouble! Luckily, I picked up a spare vulnerary earlier...

[ In other words, he's having none of her protests. He picks up his sword and her bow before hustling them along.

His shelter of choice is a little half-burned house, long abandoned. Parts of the roof are caved in like a giant punched a hole in it, but it can't be any wetter in there than outside. He peeks through a window and keeps his ears out for any lurking Risen before stepping through the front door. ]

[ She's still keeping that pouch held close, opting to tuck it into her quiver once she steps inside and casts a cautious glance around.

Most of the furniture has been destroyed, except for a blackened table, which she'll carefully perch herself on. Yeah, she won't argue if Morgan decides to fuss. This time, at least. ]

[ He places her bow on the table next to her before reaching for the esteemed vulnerary from his robe. Midway there, he frowns... and stares down at his soaked robe and hands. Best not drip on her and the vulnerary (even if she's already dripping herself??), so he takes a moment to flap his hands free of droplets and wring the worst of the water from his sleeves, to be shortly pushed up to the elbow.

All set! ]

Your arm?

[ It's with one sodden glove that she indicates her arm, lifting it up for his inspection. It really isn't that bad, nothing that she hasn't sustained before. ]

Maybe you shouldn't use all of it?

[ 'Tis true... it really ain't that bad, but he'll use that vulnerary anyway. One-third of it, to be precise. He applies it carefully, smoothing it over the wound with his thumb. ~~if. that's how those work.~~ Job well done, he plants his hands on his hips. ]

There. Good as new.

[ That earns him a smile as she draws her arm back, bringing her hands to rest in her lap. ]

Still taking care of me... that much hasn't changed, either.

And you're still saving my bacon. You're just as amazing as ever.

[ Now that they're out of the rain, he can take in her features in peace. He gives her a long look as he rests an absent hand on her neck, thumb tracing its way back and forth. ]

[ And Noire will meet his gaze, before she closes her eyes and cants her head ever-so-slightly to the side with a soft noise of encouragement. Looks like he still remembers her weak spots, too. ]

[ She really is the same. It's comforting, when she's already changing in little ways in so little time; it was easy to forget that the stasis in Haven was unnatural. His hand falls away, mouth following in its wake to leave slow, lingering kisses on her neck as he leans on the table around her. ]

[ Noire has had time to adjust to the simple moments of affection, as well as the ones Morgan neatly employed to take her breath away. But she's also had a long absence without him; it's a rush of sensation all over again. Still, she's not as flustered as usual. Because this, too, is a memory, one she'll need to cherish, and so she doesn't squeak out protests.

She merely lets him move. She tugs off a glove and eases her fingers down the back of his neck. He's just as chilled from the rain, but she craves contact now, the kind of warmth that his lips are leaving behind as she shivers. ]

Because my heart

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