Cal is the most foul mouthed man I've ever met. An extremely grumpy, unpleasant man, who is no doubt extra unpleasant because of his broken wrist. At least I can empathize with that.
Lena, on the other hand, deals with him with far more patience and grace than I feel capable of. She manages to make a splint with the limited supplies we have here, despite Cal's grumbling and cursing. He's a tall, wiry guy, lean but with skin as tough as leather. He has blonde hair, and I'm almost certain he's Russian, because he keeps using it whenever he curses. That, and he's got a heavy accent. He doesn't say much about himself, though, so it's hard to be sure.
"Ah! Yob tvoyu mat'!" He shouts as Lena sets the bone, and I wince, turning my head away as I hear the sickening grind of bone shifting back into place. The sound is enough to make my stomach turn, and I'm glad I'm not the one having to do it.
"Alright, alright." Lena soothes, tying off the splint. "It's done. Just hold still."
"Koshmar... I hate the days I wake up..." He grumbles, glaring at his wrist like it's personally offended him.
I can't help but smile a little. "I think we all do."
He glares at me, but there's no real heat to it. "You. I recognize you."
"You... do?" I tilt my head, confused. I don't recognize him at all.
Do I...? He doesn't look familiar. I don't think I remember talking to any grumpy Russians at all - ever, actually, even before coming here.
"I've only been here for three months." I shake my head, though I suppose... maybe he knows me from one of the planning meetings or...
He points at me. With his unbroken wrist. It's a stabbing, accusatory motion.
"Tfu!" He spits the sound out, lips twisting in a snarl. "You were with that suka..." He pauses, breathing hard through his nose. "...that predatel..."
I have absolutely no idea what he is saying. I look over to Lena in desperation for a translation, but she's focused on wrapping his wrist.
"Predatel...?" I repeat, trying to figure out what it means. It sounds vaguely like 'predator'.
He scoffs, a harsh, barking sound. "Ah, chyort! Traitor! That filthy traitor!"
Oh.
Oh. That narrows it down a little. I'm fairly certain Cal is talking about Eric.
My hands grip at my knees. "What... about him?"
He waves his hand dismissively, wincing as the movement jars his arm. "Nu! I remember now. Vspomnil! You're the one Ivan dragged us out to that proklyatyy forest to see."
I'm only catching half of what he's saying, but... I start. That was... when we first met Ivan. Which meant this incredibly angry, rude man must have been...
"You're Ivan..." The first one that we met. Who'd walked us through the forest to meet the real - well. The 'real'... Ivan.
He huffs. "Not anymore. Nobody's Ivan." His lips twist in an unhappy line. "Duratskoe imya," he mutters, waving his good hand as if swatting a fly. "Tfu. Stupid name."
"I'm. Sorry." I blurt out, because I feel like I should be, somehow.
He waves me off. "Nyet, nyet. Not your fault." He shifts in the bed, the cot creaking under his weight. "I do not like this... govno... celebration shit. But. I will go, for him." He glances up at me, blue eyes serious. "Ivan was a good man."
Lena finishes the wrapping, her movements deft and efficient. "Careful. And what have I said about using English?"
He grumbles something in Russian that I'm certain isn't polite—"Otstan'"—but he doesn't look away from me.
I'm not sure what to say, so I just nod, swallowing hard. "He... he was."
He nods, satisfied, and leans back, his eyes closing. "Good. Good." He lets out a long, rattling breath. "Vse. Ya spat'. Now. I rest."
Lena gives him a look, but doesn't say anything. She just starts cleaning up, putting away the supplies. I stand up, feeling awkward and out of place.
"Thank you for your help, Sarah." Lena says, giving me a small smile.
"Of course. Is there anything else...?"
"No, I think we're done here." She glances at Cal, who's already starting to doze off. "He'll be fine. Just needs to rest."
I nod, making my way to the door. "I'll... see you at the party, I guess."
She laughs. "Yes, I suppose you will."
I hesitate, my hand on the doorframe. "Lena?"
She looks up, her expression questioning. "Yes?"
"Do you... really think it's a good idea? The party, I mean."
Her smile softens, her eyes gentle. "I think it's necessary, Sarah. For all of us."
I bite my lip, not sure if I agree, but not wanting to argue with her. Not again. "Alright. I'll... try to be there."
"I'd like that." She says, her tone kind. "Goodnight, Sarah."
"Night, Lena." I slip out of the room, closing the door softly behind me.
I still don't like it. But... what Lena said earlier today, and seeing Ivan - well, no, Cal - remembering Ivan so fondly... it's given me something to think about. I don't know if I'll ever be able to let go of my anger, of my grief. But maybe... I can ignore it for a little bit. One night, at least. Maybe that's not such a bad thing.
I head back to the sleeping quarters, my mind still racing. I don't know if I'll be able to sleep, but I know I need to try. Tomorrow is a new day, with new challenges, new dangers. I need to be ready for them.
As I reach the room, I pause in the doorway, my eyes falling on the empty cot where Alistair usually sleeps. It's made, the blanket neatly folded at the foot. He must be out somewhere, probably still helping Maren with the hatches.
That thought... it doesn't sit right with me. I don't know why.
I swallow.
Hestia stirs in her bed, and leans up on her elbow. I take a deep breath and walk over to her. "Hey. Go back to sleep. You need to be awake for the party tomorrow, silly." I run my hand through her hair, smiling a little at her.
Her eyes are still a bit sleepy, but she sits up and looks at me. If she was sixteen when we met... I guess that makes her eighteen now? I know it's useless to think about it. Because we don't know and she-
My throat closes briefly and my heart clenches.
We...
Mia was going to...
A birthday for Hestia. She had wanted to do something to pick a day for Hestia and... I close my eyes, forcing my breath to come slow and steady, trying to calm down. I can't think about that. Not right now. Later. Or... maybe never. But not now.
Hestia's hand touches mine. When I open my eyes again, she's holding my hand. Her thumb rubs lightly over my skin, and she looks at me with those dark, worried eyes.
"I'm okay." I whisper to her. "It's nothing, I'm fine."
She doesn't look convinced, but she also doesn't do that little 'I don't believe you' pout of hers, either. I lean forward and kiss her forehead.
"I'm fine. I promise." I say, and then I nudge her back down to lay down. "Get some rest, okay? I'll see you in the morning."
She settles back down, her gaze still on me. She doesn't say anything, she can't, but she doesn't need to. I know what she's thinking. I've spent enough time with her, learned enough of her little gestures. She's worried. She doesn't want me to be alone.
"I'll be here." I assure her, tucking the blanket around her shoulders. "I promise. No sneaking away tonight."
She stares up at me, and then holds out her hand. I hesitate, then take it, squeezing her fingers gently. "Okay?" I ask.
She nods, her eyes finally closing. I watch her for a few moments, until her breathing evens out, her body relaxing into sleep. Then I let go of her hand, standing up slowly, quietly. I move to the empty cot, sitting down on the edge of it. I'm tired, exhausted, but my mind won't shut off. There's too much going on in my head, too many thoughts, too many emotions.
I don't know how long I sit there, lost in my thoughts. But at some point, I lay down, pulling the blanket over me.
I don't dream.
That's probably for the best.