Even In The Grave, All Is Not Lost

A Home in Decay

[trigger warning: reference to aphobia, slavery (a part of canon, but it's not really discussed in canon past that one episode)]

. . .

Luna had lost count of the number of people whose hair she'd held back in the last month the way she did so for Raven now. Sometimes, she still felt the echo of tangled, sweat-soaked strands when she closed her hands around empty space; or inhaled clean air, only to be assaulted by a pungent, sour stench.

Luna breathed out, retrieving some of the locks that had fallen free from Raven's ponytail, coaxing them into safer territory.

No-one had done this for her when she'd needed it, not until they'd finally reached Nyko.

She could remember, in her weaker moments, yearning for Derrick, expecting to feel his fingers through her hair, his touch on her skin, soothing. The way he'd done for her all those years ago. A little vomit had never phased him. He hadn't even blinked that one time she'd thrown up on his shoes.

(not her most dignified moment)

That sickness had been her fault. Her mistake.

And so was this.

Chagrin washed over Luna, not for the first time, at having forgotten to check for toxic algae. It was one of the first things Nyko had taught her when she was in his care. Such a careless mistake.

She knew better.

Luna would have shrugged it off if she was the only one sick, but Raven had been affected as well.

What if this triggered a seizure?

Worse: what if this sickness hastened her death?

(once again, she'd done more harm than good)

Luna pursed her lips, guiding Raven's ponytail out of danger as she fell deeper into the bucket.

She'd protested her interference the first two times, had attempted - somewhat awkwardly - to duck away from Luna's touch. Now she gave into the inevitable aid, too distracted by the effort not to choke up a lung it seemed.

"I thought I'd reached the bottom when it comes to humiliating moments," Raven groaned during a ceasefire. "But this takes the cake."

Luna resisted the urge to stroke her hair - or worse, her back - knowing when not to push her luck. "Believe me when I say I've seen worse."

Much worse.

By the time they'd left Floukru, the oil rig had resembled nothing of the sanctuary it had once claimed to be. The stench of decay and bodily fluids had choked the air and, by the end, there'd been no-one left who was well enough to clean away the mess that continued to accumulate.

Luna would never forget that smell. The way it had intermingled with the foul odor of death and spoiled fish.

Her home had disappeared long before she'd been forced to leave it behind.

Luna still didn't know where she'd been planning on going that day on the dock. There was nowhere to go. Nowhere to return to.

All that remained of anywhere was death.

She'd just known she couldn't stay here. In the hands of people who'd first seen her as a weapon, and now saw her only as a tool.

Except for Raven, it seemed. She didn't appear to see her that way.

(or perhaps Luna was simply clinging to the only illusion that remained available to her)

"Gah," Raven spat, fingers tightening around the bucket. "Sorry about this."