[COLOR=GRAY][CENTER][COLOR=8A9A5B][sup]_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________[/sup][/COLOR][url=https://open.spotify.com/track/1ntkpBcjAPrONz6RetJFYC?si=975a3c6f698b4209][img]https://i.imgur.com/j4ZhtOZ.jpeg[/img][/url][/CENTER][indent][sub][COLOR=8A9A5B][B]Location:[/B][/COLOR][I] Infirmary[/I] - [I]Pacific Royal Campus[/I][/sub][sup][right][COLOR=8A9A5B][b]Take On Me #3.020:[/b][/COLOR][I] By the Lives That Wove the Web[/I][/right][/sup][/indent][COLOR=8A9A5B][SUP][sub]___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________[/sub][/SUP][/COLOR][indent][sub][color=8A9A5B][B]Interaction(s):[/B][/COLOR][I] Gil-[@Roman][/I][/sub][SUP][RIGHT][COLOR=8A9A5B][b]Previously:[/b][/COLOR][COLOR=GRAY][I] Beneath the Surface[/I][/color][/right][/SUP][/indent]

[indent]Harper's fingers trembled slightly as she reached out, her knuckles barely grazing the wood of the hospital door. She did her best not to inhale the scent of the hallway, the antiseptic tang mixed with the faint, lingering odour of illness. The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed softly, casting a harsh, sterile glow that made everything feel too bright, too exposed. The distant sound of a monitor beeping and the occasional murmur of voices from other rooms only added to the oppressive atmosphere.

Or perhaps it was all in her imagination. The tension she felt. 

How long had she been standing there? Must have been long enough, given the strange looks she was starting to get from the passing ward staff. Nurses and doctors moved with purpose, their footsteps echoing off the linoleum floor, but every now and then, one would glance her way, curiosity or concern flickering in their eyes. 

Harper could feel the sweat starting to form on her palms now, each bead of moisture making her grip on the doorframe slick and uncertain. Her breath came in shallow, uneven gasps, the air catching in her throat as if she were trying to breathe through a straw. The memories threatened to overwhelm her again, vivid and unrelenting. Her fingernails curved into her wrists, the sharp sting of pain a desperate attempt to anchor herself in the present, to push through the fog of fear and stay grounded.

Because she had to see him this time. There was no more pushing this off. She had avoided it for too long, letting her fear dictate her actions. She couldn’t let it win. Not now. Not when she’d promised that she would try, so far doing a piss poor job of being his friend in her opinion. 

With a final, shaky breath, Harper forced herself to focus on the sensation of her nails digging into her skin, the pain sharp and real. It was enough to pull her back from the brink, grounding her in the present moment. She could feel the sting intensify with each press of her nails, a reminder that she was here, now, and not back in the trials. Where the cold, catatonic body of her sister had laid in a room much like the one she was about to enter into. 

Everything was fine. 

Her knuckles moved against the door with one soft tap, hesitant and almost imperceptible. The sound barely registered in the quiet hallway, swallowed by the ambient noise of her surroundings. Harper hesitated, her heart pounding in her chest, before summoning the courage to knock again, this time harder. The second tap was firmer, more resolute, and the third was a definitive knock that echoed slightly in the corridor.

She cleared her throat, the sound rough and dry, as if she hadn’t spoken in hours despite her earlier conversation with Calliope. Her mouth felt parched, her tongue heavy. She swallowed hard, trying to muster the strength to speak, to call out to him.

[color=#8a9a5b]“Gil?”[/color] Harper finally managed. The name felt foreign on her tongue, as if she hadn’t said it in a long time. [color=#8a9a5b]“It’s me…Harper.”[/color] 

Gil rolled over in his bed. He’d thought Lorcán’s regular visits, and Calliope’s drop-in, were awkward enough to perhaps move them to dissuade others from repeating their behaviour; part of him thought to stay silent, shut his eyes, pretend he was sleeping. How on earth was he supposed to face Harper right now, of all people? He felt the expectations settling upon him already, felt himself reaching reflexively for the right mask. Slip into the right skin, plaster a smile over his face.

He shuddered.

[color=FCE205]“It’s open.”[/color] He finally said, and watched as the door opened gently, Harper stepping into the room. He noticed her hair first, the scratches and bruises second, and the anxious, haunted micro-expressions last. He wondered if she felt the same phantoms of presumption upon her shoulders as he did his. She didn’t say anything at first; the two stood, laid, in close proximity, but worlds apart. You could cut the tension with a knife. Gil did just that.

[color=FCE205]“I like the new haircut.”[/color] He said, his tone even, matter-of-fact. 

Her eyes, which had been avoiding Gil’s, now took in the sight of him fully. The bruises that marred his face, the bandages wrapped around his arms and torso, and the dark circles under his eyes told a story of pain and suffering that words couldn’t capture. He looked so brittle, so unlike the Gil she knew. The sight of him like this made her heart clench with guilt and sorrow. 

But mostly just guilt. 

Harper gave a small, strained smile, her fingers twisting together nervously. [color=#8a9a5b] “Is it nice?”[/color] she asked in response to his compliment. Her eyes darted around the room, taking in the sterile white walls, the harsh fluorescent lights, and the array of medical equipment that surrounded Gil’s bed. Anything [i]but[/i] the eyes of the actual person she was speaking to. [color=#8a9a5b] “I don’t really think I like it very much.”[/color] 

Harper's fingers continued to twist and fidget as she took a seat near his bed. The chair felt cold and unwelcoming, its metal frame pressing into her back. The room felt too bright, too clinical, and the beeping of the machines seemed to grow louder with each passing second. She could feel the weight of the situation pressing down on her, remorse gnawing at her insides. The sight of Gil, so vulnerable and battered, only intensified her feelings of helplessness and regret.

This was a mistake. But one that was too late to take back.

[color=#8a9a5b]“How… how are you feeling?”[/color] she asked, her voice trembling slightly. She immediately cringed once the words were out, realising how inadequate they sounded. Terrible question. [color=#8a9a5b]“Actually… don’t answer that,”[/color] she added quickly, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. Her fingers tugged at the fabric of her hoodie, twisting and pulling it down over her wrists, hiding more evidence of her own struggles. 

[color=#8a9a5b]“I’m sorry,”[/color] Harper blurted out then, her voice cracking. [color=#8a9a5b]“I know I didn’t directly cause this…but I could have prevented it. Maybe. If I’d been paying better attention.”[/color] Her words tumbled out in a rush, each one laced with shame and regret. She finally looked at him, hazel eyes meeting blue for the first time. 

Gil watched Harper muddle clumsily over every movement, gesture, chosen word. It was…unnerving. She had previously been so disciplined, so in control - similar to Calliope but the nuance was different, restraint born from willpower and her own decision, rather than Calliope’s externally-set standards and expectations, carried with her unwillingly. He watched her eyes - those shrewd, acute eyes - pore over his body, inspecting every injury. He felt vulnerable, and turned his body away.

[color=FCE205]“Calliope asked the same thing. Reflexive, I imagine. Got to maintain the niceties. I feel shit - but I think so does everyone.”[/color]

She tumbled over her words when they came, another apology, another confession. Gil sighed frustratedly, uninterested in anyone’s prostration before him.
[color=FCE205]“Calliope did [i]that[/i], too. Is there anyone else out there waiting to confess [i]their[/i] guilt as well?”[/color] He craned his neck toward the door, pretending to search for further sinners. He enjoyed the theatre of it, in a spiteful way, even aware he was effectively rejecting Harper’s contrition; but what use did he have for misplaced remorse? It wouldn’t heal his broken bones or mend his skin; wouldn’t alleviate his foggy head, or rediscover his long-mislaid sense of ‘self’, whatever [i]that[/i] was. Would it even help [i]Harper[/i] - or any [i]other[/i] would-be confessor - to burden themselves so needlessly? There might be catharsis in self-flagellation, but there was no redemption.

[color=FCE205]“The saboteurs were found out. I heard the leader even painted himself across the room when they caught him. What could you have done about it? Maybe Pallyx and Mei knew more than they let on; maybe they just got lucky…it doesn’t matter. We were snared in a trap. All we can do now is live with the consequences.”[/color]

[color=#8a9a5b]“I…”[/color] Harper began, blinking rapidly. Her mind was a whirlwind of confusion and bewilderment, making it nearly impossible to articulate her thoughts. She could hear the frustration in Gil’s voice, a sharp edge that cut through the air between them. On some level, she understood his anger. They had all endured so much, and the weight of their collective trauma was a heavy, suffocating presence that loomed over them all now. 

But the way he dismissed her apology as just another meaningless gesture? That was something her brain was struggling to process. It felt like a punch to the gut, leaving her reeling.

Because he’d [i]never[/i] spoken to her that way before. Not in any of the moments they’d shared.

Harper had always been a little awkward around Gil. Despite her disciplined nature, she often fumbled for words or second-guessed her actions when he was near. Her usually steady hands would tremble slightly, and her mind, typically sharp and decisive, would become a jumble of half-formed thoughts and hesitant phrases. There was just something about him that unsettled her, something in the way his eyes seemed to see right through her, peeling back the layers of her carefully constructed facade. It made her feel exposed, and vulnerable in a way she wasn’t used to. 

But she’d liked it. Very much so.

She’d always believed that he accepted her, and saw past the stern exterior she presented to the world. While others might whisper behind her back, calling her a hard-ass or worse, Gil seemed to understand her. He’d never once flinched at her intensity, never recoiled from her sharp edges. That acceptance and understanding meant more to her than she could ever put into words. It was a silent affirmation that she wasn’t alone, that someone saw her for who she truly was and [i]still[/i] chose to stay.

Which was why his current demeanour was so jarring. The warmth in his eyes had turned cold, his usual easy smile replaced by a tight-lipped frown. The distance between them, once filled with unspoken understanding, now felt like an insurmountable chasm. 

[color=#8a9a5b]“I’m not-”[/color] she began again, her voice trembling as she struggled to find the right words. [color=#8a9a5b]“I wasn’t apologizing because of some…because of some [i]script[/i]. Some automatic response. I just…”[/color] She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the images that his words had conjured. Blood painting the floor. Blood painting her face. 

[color=#8a9a5b]“I just [i]care[/i] about you.”[/color] 

Gil relented. He’d been cruel, intentionally so, but now struggled to justify the point of it against Harper’s crumbling face and shuddering words. He just didn’t want anyone thinking they [i]owed[/i] him anything, apologising for something they played no part in. Well-intentioned or not, it all felt so…fake. Gil had had enough of that feeling, and wasn’t about to tolerate it in others, either. 
[color=FCE205]“I…I appreciate that.”[/color] He said, softening his voice. [color=FCE205]“I just can’t face a parade of people apologising to me for something they didn’t do. Something they suffered in just as much as I did. What’s the point? Doesn’t do me any good. Doesn’t do [i]you[/i] any good. Assuming guilt, apportioning blame - we’ll just implode. And then it really [i]will[/i] have been for nothing.”[/color]

Harper blinked, her mind suddenly alight with a realisation that struck her like a bolt of lightning. Thanks to his words, it was as if a fog had lifted, revealing a truth she had overlooked for far too long. She could almost hear Calliope’s voice again, clear and unwavering, echoing in her mind. The memory was vivid, transporting her back to that moment when the blonde had shared her wisdom with a sincerity that Harper had failed to fully grasp at the time. But now…now she felt like she understood them. 

The brunette took a deep breath, her fingers finally stilling as she gathered her thoughts. She looked at Gil, her eyes reflecting her usual determination, but there was something more—an unspoken vulnerability that shimmered just beneath the surface. It was a rare glimpse into her inner world, one that she seldom allowed others to see. But if authenticity was what he wanted, despite her fears, she knew she had to give it. His reaction was uncertain, yes, a moment suspended in time where he could either accept or reject this part of her.

But she no longer cared. Because it no longer mattered. 

Or, better yet, maybe that was all that had ever mattered. 

[color=#8a9a5b]“I think I…got scared? Maybe…”[/color] she began, her voice steady but soft. [color=#8a9a5b]“Not just for what happened, but for not being there for you right afterward.”[/color] She paused, her gaze dropping to her hands. Her fingers traced the faint scars on her arms, the ones hidden beneath her sleeves. The ones given to her by the thing that had [i]looked[/i] like her sister but could never be. The memories of that encounter were still raw, the pain and confusion etched into her skin and mind. She had survived, but the scars were a constant reminder of the battle she had fought, that she was still fighting, both physically and mentally.

She took another deep breath, feeling the weight of her words settle between them. The silence that followed was heavy, but not uncomfortable. It was a shared space of understanding, a moment where the past and present intertwined. Harper’s eyes met Gil’s once more, and she saw a flicker of something in his gaze—recognition, perhaps, or empathy. She wasn’t quite sure. But it was enough.

[color=#8a9a5b]“I’m not looking for forgiveness,”[/color] she continued, her voice gaining strength. [color=#8a9a5b]“I just needed you to know. To understand why I couldn’t be there. Why I had to face my own demons first…even still.”[/color] Her fingers stilled on her scars, and she let her hands fall to her sides. [color=#8a9a5b]“I’m here now, though. And I’m not going anywhere.”[/color]

She reached out first this time, her hand coming to rest on his, squeezing it lightly. 

[color=#8a9a5b]“Not unless…you want me gone.”[/color] 

[color=FCE205]“Unless you’re harbouring a darker secret than I think you’re capable of, Baxter, you don’t [i]need[/i] forgiveness. Not from me, not from the rest of Blackjack, not from PRCU. We - everyone - got separated. It was deliberate, and targeted, and vindictive, and from what I’ve seen, we’ve all fared as poorly as each other. I understand why I was alone - just as I understand why Calliope was, or Banjo, or you. Because someone wanted to hurt us.”[/color]

He looked at his hand, Harper’s laid across it, observing her delicate fingers and tracing his gaze up her arm back to her face, once again full of the self-possessed determination and familiar earnestness. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze in return. 
[color=FCE205]“And I’d say they did a damn fine job of it, too.”[/color] He said, attempting a jocular tone as he gestured to his bandaged rib and cast leg, but there was an underpinning of something more troubling. Gil’s clipped words didn’t indicate a willingness to talk about it, though. 
[color=FCE205]“I’m just waiting to be discharged, whenever that happens, and then like the rest of the team I’ll work on…picking up the pieces. Until then, if there’s anyone else in that corridor waiting to come tell me how sorry they are, they can all go visit the chapel instead.”[/color]

He smiled, trying to remember their last conversation, held under different circumstances, with a different essence about it. Two different people, two different lifetimes ago. 
[color=FCE205]“I really do like your hair.”[/color] He said again, giving Harper’s hand another squeeze before letting go. 

Harper’s lips curved into a gentle smile, her cheeks warming with a rosy hue that she couldn’t quite suppress. She glanced down, only looking back up once she was sure her heart had stopped racing.[color=#8a9a5b] “Thanks, Gil,”[/color] she said softly, her voice carrying a hint of shyness. [color=#8a9a5b]“I did it for [i]me[/i]… but I’m glad you like it too.”[/color] 

As for his talk about forgiveness, another realisation struck her: Gil had left out one crucial person—herself. Could she truly forgive herself for what she had done? Could she truly gather the scattered fragments of her being and piece them back together, forming a new, whole version of herself, no matter how different it might look by the end?  

A strange sense of clarity washed over her, and she fished for her phone in her pocket, taking it out. [color=#8a9a5b]“Actually…could you excuse me for a moment? I think I need to call someone.”[/color] Harper asked, her eyes reflecting a sincere apology. She had promised she wouldn’t leave, but this was who she was at her core—loyal to a fault, yet fiercely independent. She always resisted the urge to lean on others, even her best friend, for support, no matter what she was going through. But maybe, just maybe, that was something she needed to change. 

[color=FCE205]“Of course. I’m worn out, and I think they kick people out soon anyway. I’ll see you when I’m officially back on campus.”[/color]

Harper nodded, her eyes softening as she gave him one of her warm smiles. She could see the exhaustion in his eyes, so with a final, reassuring squeeze of his arm, she turned to leave, her steps light but purposeful. Just before she reached the door, she paused and looked back, a playful glint in her eyes. 

[color=#8a9a5b]“Rest up, soldier,”[/color] she said with a small, teasing smile, her voice carrying a hint of warmth and affection. The words felt a bit awkward on her tongue, and she could feel a slight blush creeping up her cheeks, but it was worth it to see the faint smile that tugged at his lips in response.
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