Kiss from a Rose ||Pack safehouse

Light.

There was so much light.

That was the first sign that clued her brain in. Something wasn't right. Light meant... light meant...

Rolling upon the soft mattress, the blonde murmured in almost fearful discomfort, "No... you can't- I said no!"

The pillow, smooth and soft against her face was the second sign, the one that brought things sliding back into place for her. This wasn't her cage, her tiny little hell on earth.

She was free.

So why didn't she feel it? Why couldn't she forget the way the cold seemed to wrap around her like a blanket? The sounds of the guards shuffling in front of the door? The way they taunted and played?

Why couldn't she feel safe?

Her eye lids felt heavy, weighted - her head even more so. There was something pushing down on her, a pillow of air promising to suffocate her if she tried to move.

But part of her needed to move. She needed to see to feel...

... something...

She couldn't place what anymore.

"B-b," her mouth felt numb, like her brain was disconnected from it. She knew it was there, but she could hardly seem to remember how to work it. "Brock."

The name seemed to form on her lips out of muscle memory alone. Once spoken however, the desire to see overwhelmed her hesitant belief that she might not be able to do it.

One brown eye opened, and then promptly closed again. The light was always so bright.

"Brock," she repeated, the word gain slight strength as she managed to squint her eyes open, a weak attempt to sit up failing. "Brock?"

Pacing had become a thing of his, the way the motion both helped his mind whirl and almost distracted him from his worry.

Almost.

He was beside her in a moment - after drawing the curtains to block out the sun - tenderly brushing her hair back from her face. "Volchonka?" he asked gently, leaning over her and searching her face with worried brown eyes. "Nikki? Are you with me?"

The light lessened, disappearing except for the soft glow that managed to seep through the material sheilding the sun from the room. Slowly her eyes opened wider, flashes of the room slipping into her brain, even as her eyes danced, struggling to focus on any one thing.

Then there was brown; with more effort than she thought she had left in her, she dragged her gaze to focus on his - the words he spoke drifting into her head through a fog.

"Brock," she murmured again, her eyes sweeping through his features, looking for an imperfection, something to tell her what she thought she knew. This wasn't real - she was back in her cell, a dream, or an illusion.

Mind games. Even her mind played mind games on her now.

"Maybe," she breathed, his words finally sinking into her brain, clicking some part of her to respond. Her hand drifted out, attempting to touch, "But-are you? You'll leave, just like always. You- Eli- I see you, and then I don't."

Her hand shook, her whole body shook really, maybe that was why she hadn't noticed, until she saw the hand herself.

It was a struggle to stay even half awake.

It was frantic and greedy, the way he searched her eyes, the way he wasn't quite sure she really existed. It was only with the utmost care that he took her hand, guiding it up to his cheek and holding it there. He was sitting on the bed now, his brown eyes unexpectedly moist. "Silly Volchonka." He murmured, his voice thick. "I have not left you since we found you, and I have not let you go." He closed his eyes and nuzzled into her palm, a single tear escaping and trailing over her hand. "And I won't." He promised softly, his voice dropping in volume. "I won't let this- not again I- no." He took a deep shuddering breath, his head falling forward. His words were pained and hushed, barely more than a breath.

"I'm sorry I let them take you."

The tear, hot on her skin seemed to burn as it left a trail. Even once it was long gone, dripped away from her skin, she could feel its hot slimy remains. Etched on her skin. Part of her was convinced that mark would stay on her hand forever, a perminate reminder.

Like so many others.

"N-no," her voice quivered, and shook. She could feel her own tears swell up in her eyes. Crying, she didn't believe she'd done that once durning the whole ordeal - even when she was convinced she hadn't been going to make it. But, now here - she could feel something hystaric bubbling up in her. "D-don't blame yourself."

Her voice wavered for a moment before raising.

"I'm the minister of magic! I should have-have," quivering with emotions she hardly understood the woman froze, mind unable to continue. Her voice died, barely more than a whisper as she continued, "I'm the Minister of Magic."

"No." His voice was sharp, broaching no argument as his eyes flickered back open. "You. Are. Kallie." He said with an almost harsh tone, though his eyes were soft, his touch nothing but gentle. "You are Kallie Anneli Nikkala. You are my Volchonka. You are Nikki. You are blond and 29 years old. Your favorite color is royal blue. Your favorite fruit is strawberries with chocolate, you love breakfast even though sometimes you forget to eat it. Your hypoglycemia makes me more frightened than anything else on this planet has proved able to do." He stared her down, his words becoming jumbled as emotion started to blur them together. His arms wrapped around her, but rather than tug her toward him, he lowered himself closer to her, shivering along with her, even as he brought his lips to her ear. "You were born on August 21st in a small town in Finland to a mother and father that never appreciated you as much as I do. You fought your way to the top of the ministry's totem pole, and you stayed there for the longest time. But none of that matters, do you hear? None of it!" His breathing hitched, and then he was near squeezing her to death, had his concern for her health not proceeded any need of his.

"You are Kallie Anneli Nikkala." He whispered. "You don't need to be anything else right now."

It started with a quiver, in fact she'd hardly notice when it had started at all. At some point between Kallie and Nikkala tears she hadn't even known she had been holding back were falling, in a steady stream. Crying was something she rarely allowed herself to do, but holding them back now seemed impossible.

By the time he was holding her, the shaking was coming as much from a bodily responce, as the hicupping sobs she could no longer hold back. She didn't even feel pain, hurt, any of the emotions she associated with tears.

Kallie was just so tired, and confused. Everything spun, not just in her head, but in the room.

All she wanted was to be was just Kallie, but she wasn't sure she knew how. How long had it been since she'd been that person? Did she even know that person anymore?

Tongue-tied, she gave up trying to talk, and did something she'd never done before - she had never had the time to do before- but had been there as her mother had done it time and time again. Kallie cried herself out.

It was only then, that she could croak out the one thing that had stuck in her brain.

"Speaking of hypoglycemia," her voice felt as shakey as the rest of her body was. "I'm hungry... sort of."