reflection ● jason grace

Parallels

 Daria held Leila's hand in the Med Bay.

She was dying, of that much Daria was sure. A drakon's poison was a slow, painful thing. Leila's face was ashen gray. Several minutes ago, Clara put a mournful hand on her shoulder, and told Daria she would "give them some time alone".

Because Leila was still Leila, she loved to talk, even now – had a stubborn, strong grip on Daria's hand, breaching the borders of the living and dying.

"25 years," her praetor mused in a dry voice. "Not bad. Ryan will be waiting for me in Elysium I suppose."

Daria's head spun. She collapsed in the chair still gripping onto her sponsor; the same blood that ran inside both of them was crusting on in her fingernails. She swallowed. It was an honorable way to die. It was older than a lot of legionnaires lived.

Obviously, Leila disagreed. "Got beaten by stupid drakon," she muttered. "What a dumb way to go."

"Leila," Daria interrupted her rambling. She forced herself to push past the rising bubble of panic in her throat; she had to say this, at least. "Oh gods. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for all the times I didn't listen to you, and yelled at you. And I'm sorry that it took me so long to apologize."

A sob found its way to the surface and Daria clasped her free hand over her mouth. She'd never cried in front of her praetors before. Emotions were a sign of weakness, not respect, but she couldn't help it. She hadn't even meant to make that noise, but it was Leila.

Leila who squeezed her hand, keeping her peaceful expression. Forever with Ryan did sound pretty compelling. "I forgave you for those things long ago," she said, searching Daria's face so that she believed her. "There are no grudges between sisters."

She coughed on the gurney. There were voices holding conversations all around them and Daria could make out sentences even with the curtain drawn. A shudder passed through the praetor's body, her already pale face growing whiter by the moment, and Daria had to stop herself from not shivering along with her.

"Daria Jackson," she said, though her eyes were focused on the bright lights above them. Her speech was slightly slurred. She might be delirious. "The best of heroes, best of minds."

Daria's hands shook. She could feel the life leaving Leila's body. Her heartbeat grew more feeble with every rattling inhale.

The curtain was yanked open. Mitch and Daniel shoved their way inside, the former of the two with his eyes wide in horror. "Oh gods, Leila."

It was selfish of her, especially when Mitch had known Leila years before Daria even arrived at camp, but she didn't want to leave.

But Leila was the one dying. When her eyes fluttered to Mitch, they sparkled, probably reminded of much less depressing things unlike her interactions with Daria. Daniel placed a hand on her shoulder. That was her cue to leave.

"Wait Leila." She had one last thing to ask of the women who gave her so much. "Vitas and veritas..."

Her eyes softened. "You always were," she reassured her. "And you still are."

Daniel led her behind the Med Bay where no one else could see her break down. He was uncharacteristically gentle when he held her tight, like an older brother would, his head on top of hers.

"You can cry," he murmured. "I'm not going to judge you. No one will."

Daria held her arms around her, keeping Daniel at a distance. She'd neve cried in front of her praetor before, and she wasn't going to start now. "I have to get back to the battle," she choked out, trying to keep the tears at bay.