Chapter 105: Taran

"There, do you feel that?"
I move Diogo's hand on my belly, mine pressed over his, my fingers linked with his. I press the palm of his hand against the fluttering. I smile through the tears slowly rolling down my cheeks, dripping off my chin and landing on our hands. The tears have been coming for three weeks, since I escaped a burning building, leaving my heart behind.
Leaving him to be crushed by the concrete shell that fell on top of him and the others.
"There right there," I whisper, bowing my head as the baby kicks into our combined hands.
I should be out of tears. I should have moved past this grief, but I can't. Maybe I'm not strong enough. My city still burns, only the actual fires are gone.
The door opens behind me. I brush away my tears, as much as I can, and twist around. Emery comes through the door, her arms full of supplies. Gratitude rushes through me as I set Diogo's hand back on the bed and push myself clumsily to my feet. We're in my old bedroom in Emery's house, the best place we could think of for Diogo to recover.
"Let me help." I reach for one of the sacks.
"No, I'm fine," Emery says, moving past me with her burden.
"Emery, you have a broken arm," I scold, moving forward to at least help her set her packages down. "I'm carrying less than ten pounds of baby. I can help."
Emery smiles ruefully as she turns to me. "May I?" she asks, and at my nod she runs her hand over my bump, searching for the seemingly never-ending movement of my cartwheeling baby. I yearn for the days when the turnip wasn't making itself so known. Her shoulders relax and her smile becomes less forced when she feels the movement. "Our future Warlord is a strong one."
I laugh and shake my head. Emery insists on believing that the child will be a boy. She chatters to Diogo about how strong and handsome his son will be. I think, in a way, she's almost as heartbroken over Diogo's condition as I am. He saved her life, protecting her with his body as the Tower collapsed. Thank goodness, only half the building collapsed, or there would've been no survivors, let alone the three pulled from the rubble.
"Did you get what I asked for?" I turn back to the table and start digging through the packages.
Emery laughs, the sound warm and comforting, moves my hands away and reaches into one of the sacks. I sigh happily as she pulls a straight razor out and hands it to me.
"Oh, thank goodness."
She shakes her head. "Of all the things we need to survive right now, you decide a razor is the most important."
I glance guiltily toward Diogo and lower my voice. "He's such a handsome man, Emery. But with that scruff all over his face and neck" I eye him doubtfully. "Who would've thought it could grow so fast."
She crosses her arms and looks down at my husband. "I think he looks just as fine as he did before. You know, men with beards is perfectly natural. You should get used to it, learn to enjoy it."
"No," I shake my head and try to speak past the lump that has suddenly leapt into my throat. "I want him to look the same as before."
Emery curves her hands over my shoulders and puts her cheek against the side of my head. "Then we'll do what we can to get our Warlord back."
She means more than his appearance. She means his body, his spirit, his grim determination. Everything that made this man our leader. Because our city is falling apart under the leadership of another. It's being consumed by a man hungry for power. A man who too easily stepped into the shoes of his Warlord and is now reigning his brutal brand of justice down on the slums. Sanctuary won't last much longer without Diogo at the helm.
Almost the moment The Tower fell, Jorje Cruz, Diogo's right hand man and elite military advisor, stepped in as the new Warlord. It became quickly clear that he'd been taking steps to maneuver the city into his care, to undermine Diogo's leadership. He leaked information to the rebels and set up the final standoff that resulted in the burning of my home and nearly destroyed my small family. For that alone, I will never forgive him, but for the things he has done to our Sanctuary since he took over, I will stand against him.
"I would give anything for him to open his eyes." I brush impatiently at the tears that begin once more. "Or the twitch of a finger. Anything. I just want him back. I can't stand the thought that he might never wake up."
Emery nods, her face touching mine. "Doctor Bishop said he may still recover. He's breathing on his own and the swelling has gone down. There's still hope, sweetheart."
Diogo suffered trauma to the head when he was hit by falling concrete in the building collapse. His brain swelled within his skull and possibly even bled. It took hours to dig him and the others out of the rubble. We lost precious time that we could've used trying to revive him.
Doctor Bishop started working on him the moment he was rescued from the building, stitching up the gash across the back of his head and trying to reduce the swelling. The Doctor says that there's no way to tell how much, if any, brain damage has occurred until Diogo wakes up if he wakes up.
I try to retain hope in the small victories. Diogo's heart is beating strong. It hasn't once faltered since his ordeal. And his body is in remarkable condition considering a building fell on top of him. Besides the blow to the head, he didn't suffer more than a few scratches and bruises. Emery had a broken arm and Grayson, the other survivor, had a concussion and two cuts deep enough that they required stitches.
I walked away without a single injury, except for a few small cuts and burns from the climb and the burst window. Someone on the ground saved my life. He reached up into the darkness and caught me as I fell. I don't know what happened after, since I woke up in Bishop's clinic while he was tending me.
I did discover who caught me. He's dogged my every step since, watching me with an intensity that makes me almost uncomfortable, his eyes following my every move. I don't understand why he's suddenly acting this way with me, but he refuses to leave my side. He only leaves when I ask him to, but I can tell he doesn't want to go. His strange new devotion is unquestionable, but his motives are unclear.
Stryker.
My saviour but also my stalker.
"I'll get some hot water." Emery interrupts my thoughts. She leaves, going into the main part of the house. I can hear her banging around as she fills a pot with the water we reserved for drinking and bathing. I'm grateful. I know that we need to conserve every drop, but I'm desperate to see Diogo's face. To touch the cheeks and lips that are familiar to me.
When she comes back, she sets the pot down on a wooden box next to the table. Then she crosses to Diogo's other side and sits down on the bed next to him. She helps me apply a soapy lather to Diogo's face. Then I dip the razor in the hot water and start scraping away the scruff that has taken over. I begin on one side of his face at the top of the cheek, shaving in slow even strokes with the grain, holding the blade at a slight angle. I'm confident in my ability with a straight razor as I've been using one on my legs for years. I won't nick my husband.
Emery gently tips his head back, exposing the skin under his jaw. As I continue my even strokes, I brush the edges of my knuckles against his smooth skin, reveling in the texture. Even though Diogo is unconscious, and my best friend sits on the bed with me, the moment is intimate. Nothing in the world exists except me and my husband, my hands on his skin, my gaze taking in his beloved face as the hair is scraped away and each part of him is exposed.
As if sensing my mood, Emery remains silent, helping when she sees a need.
I am careful as I maneuver around the scar on his cheek. He hadn't told me where he got it, and I didn't ask. Now, I want nothing more in the world than to know how he got it. It's old, the edges are white, but the cut had gone deep, the skin around it still puckered. In my eyes, the scar doesn't detract from Diogo's natural masculine beauty, only enhances the Warlord.
I finish the last stroke, sweeping away the last few coarse whiskers and washing them in the pot of water. I set the razor down next to the pot and pick up a warm, wet washcloth, wiping the soap residue from his face.
"There he is," I whisper.
"I'll leave you alone." Emery stands and when I snap out of my moment, I reach for her, about to stop her. She smiles and shakes her head. "I need to get some dinner going. I think we're having company again."
We have company almost every night. Along with the family that moved into Emery's place after she moved into the Tower, Grayson, Stryker and sometimes Bishop make their way to Emery's kitchen. She's a good cook and everyone is contributing to the food stocks in her kitchen, trying to sustain us until Diogo is well again.
Where the food shortages used to be due to overpopulation and illegals filling the slums, now we're experiencing a genuine lack of food. In order to control the rebellion, the military has stopped almost all rations from crossing into Sector 13. Now our food supplies come from the few gardens people have planted in Sector 13 and illegal hunting.
When the door closes behind her, leaving us alone, I stand and stretch my legs. They cramp easily when I sit for too long. Of course, the movement reminds me that I have to pee. The baby seems to enjoy sitting right on my bladder. If it weren't for my need to be near Diogo, I might consider living in the washroom.
I relieve myself as quick as I can and return to Diogo's side, crawling into bed and curling up next to his body, moving until I'm pressed full length against his side. I drag his arm across his body and settle his hand on my stomach, linking our hands once more. If there's any chance he knows what's going on, I don't want him to miss a minute of being with me and the baby.
I wish I'd thought to pull the blanket over us before settling in, but now it seems too far out of reach. Things that were once easy to me, things I took for granted, have definitely taken on new meaning with this pregnancy. Now I weigh each decision, big and small. Some things aren't worth the energy, while others require reserves of energy. I'm not really that cold, I don't need the blanket.
I talk to him as I wait for sleep to claim me. I've been napping a lot lately, trying to sleep when my body asks for it. When I'm awake, I keep vigil over Diogo. Bishop told me it would be good for Diogo to feel my touch, that I won't hurt him by laying next to him.
"Grayson says another wave of refugees from the eastern Sanctuaries arrived last night. He thinks there are around 8000 or so outside our walls." I yawn widely and try to choose my next words carefully. I don't want to lie to Diogo, but the truth is bleak. The truth is, our interim Warlord has refused all entry, supplies or security. The refugees are forced to remain outside the wall, trying to defend themselves as more and more Primitives show up. "Most of the refugees are fleeing into the ruins of Old Tucson and setting up a makeshift line of defense around the encampment."
If I wasn't pregnant, I'd be trying to find a way to smuggle supplies to the newcomers. And though Diogo has always taken a hardline on immigration into the city, he has a heart. He would take them in. I know he would, he'd find a way. He just needs to wake up and resume his role, put his city back in order.
"The baby is as healthy as it can be," I whisper, tipping my head back to look at him. "The space in my womb is tight now, so he's slowed his movements." I catch myself referring to the baby as a him. Emery's influence. I know Diogo won't mind though. He doesn't care if it's a boy or girl, he just wants a healthy baby. "Bishop says that he could come any day now. That my small size increases the chance of an early birth. He doesn't think it'll be a problem though. The heart is strong and he's a good size."
I press my face against his ribcage and inhale, his scent hitting me with such a hard longing that my body instantly melts against his. Though he's lost some muscle mass, laying in a bed for three weeks, he's still a big man. Still very much the Diogo I married.
I drift to sleep, the memory of our old camp bed on top of the Tower terrace flashing in my mind. In the image, Diogo's arms are wrapped as tightly around me as mine are around him. He's stealing kisses and telling me that he'll keep me safe forever. Only this time, instead of chafing at his protectiveness, I'm reveling in his overbearing attitude. In his strength and determination.
When consciousness comes to me again, the heavy languid feeling pinning me down tells me I'd been asleep. I'm warm, the heat from Diogo's body seeping into mine. I shift against him, snuggling closer. His hand slides gently over my belly. His heart beats steadily against my ear where I'm using his chest as a pillow. Something brushes against my cheek, moving the hair.
"Mmmm" I don't ever want to relinquish this feeling. I'm safe, content, in love. When I open my eyes, everything will change. It'll go back to the hopeless pit of hell our lives have become. "I love you, Diogo."
"I love you too, baby."