reflection ● jason grace

A promise kept

 Daria was hurting.

First Leila and then Daniel. Grief never got easier. Her stomach twisted just like it had when Ryan died. She felt just as responsible.

There was nothing worse than losing a mentor. When those mentors had built you into the person you were today, it was much, much harder. She might have been the only person in the legion who was grieving Daniel, and she supposed there was something to say about that, but she didn't really want to think about how everyone hated one of the most important people in her life just then.

She was in Michael's room, knowing he wouldn't mind. Funnily enough (and by funnily, Daria meant she just loved metaphorically killing herself), she had the book Atticus recommended open. She wasn't really reading it, but the words echoed throughout her mind anyway.

She remembered something else he said – just a single word. Yet. "I'm not going to kill you. Yet."

Daria flinched when the door creaked open, like Atticus had somehow trapezed across camp to the First Cohort without anyone noticing. Jason appeared with two plates of food and two glasses floating in front of him.

He grinned when he saw her, even though she probably looked like a mess. Her hair was springing out of its bun and she was pretty sure every single one of her fingernails had dirt underneath them. "I brought water! Thought you would need some."

She gestured to the fact that the water was floating. "Are you sure you're not just trying to show off?"

"Yeah, maybe a little." He looked around, deciding to set everything on the coffee table, then made a little show of bowing like a waiter. "Would you like to join me?"

Daria shook her head with a small smile. What a dork. "What, like a date?"

A silence fell over the room and Daria immediately wanted to eat her words with the way the light left Jason's face. "Jason-"

"We can talk after we eat," he said hastily. "Our soup will get cold. Plus, did you even eat lunch?"

"Yeah," she said slowly, slinking over to him from the bed. She wrapped a blanket around her, an extra layer of protection. "Did you?" Everyone knew Jason was the one who didn't eat when he got stressed out. He set himself up for failure with that question.

He dipped a piece of bread into his soup. "You know, for some reason war makes me lose my appetite."

She hummed, sitting on the couch next to him. After the events of that afternoon, she suddenly found herself starving.

All that was heard for a few moments was the clinking of spoons. Daria's hand still shook, but it was more out of exhaustion than fear. She was already fantasizing about an after: all the funerals, the awkward silences and new roles. It would be hard. It would be harder without her. She needed to tell Jason.

"For the record," he said softly, turning to look at her. There was a gentle look in his eyes, one that matched the hazy blue sky of the evening. "If I took you on a date, it'd be much nicer than this."

Daria bit her lip to keep from grinning. "Yeah?"

"Oh, for sure. We'd go out to the city, to one of those little bookshop cafes you like. Maybe wander around for a bit, find somewhere spontaneous for dinner," he shrugged. "You'd know it was a date, that's for sure."

"Jay-"

"That's unfair," he pointed one dramatic finger at her. "You're the only one who calls me that, you know that?"

Daria sighed. She knew when Jason was trying to avoid something. She hadn't cried since that day by the Tiber with Octavian; she was good at keeping her emotions at bay. Ironically, it was now her voice chose to crack. "I know Reyna told you."