Messenger of God

Chapter Six.

It took a few hours of walking for them to finally make it back to base. Winter had radioed halfway through their trek to inform them that Omari was losing so much blood that they had to leave at that moment or he had a high chance of not surviving. 

When the two finally trudged their way up to base, they were greeted by Father Watson stood outside on the baloney overseeing them. He nodded his head and Florence sighed exhaustedly next to Amara. 

Amara glanced over; Florence’s makeshift bandage was soaked all the way through with blood and she almost didn’t recognize her with all the dirt on her face, likely from when they laid on their stomach to hide from the onslought of arrows during the ambush. As they made their way into the room to return their weapons, Amara turned to florence with determination. 

“You need to go to the infirmary.”

Florence raised a brow, midway through removing the knife from its holster on her side. She placed it with the other collections of weaponry she kept on her person at all times. She shook her head defiantly. 

“Amara-”

“It’s not up for discussion, Florence. You’re limping, and that wound on your arm looks pretty bad, and you’ll get an update on Omari. I’m sure Winter’s and Lottie are there.”

Blue eyes regarded her for a long moment, and Amara held her gaze. The young Angel on the other side of the counter awkwardly glanced between the two at the tension that filled the room; Florence lowered her eyes and acquiesced.

Not long after they were leaving the weapons room, Amara marched her way towards the infirmary, holding the door for the limping brunette and smirking at her when Florence glanced at her in annoyance.

Hospital’s brought back memories of when Amara was a kid, not necessarily good ones either. She ignored the eerily familiar feeling in par of helping Florence take a seat on one of the small chairs. The infirmary was largely packed to the brim of sick and wounded patients, and Amara looked around in curiousity.

“A large number of the admitees are from the attack a few weeks ago. On your first day here.” She coughed a little as she spoke and Amara winced as she glanced around for a nurse. None seemed to be available so finally she stood, walking over and grabbing some supplied off a nearby rack.

Florence eyed her wearily as she sat back down and Amara rolled her eyes and pulled her chair closer before she took the girl by her hand to pull her arm over her lap, palm facing skywards.
Quickly, she set to work unravelling the bloodied makeshift bandage and threw it in the nearby trashcan before pouring alcohol onto a rag and gently dabbing it along the wound, glancing  up at Florence’s hiss of pain. 

“Sorry.”

She sat the rag on the table next to them and took the small needle, holding it up to the light as she easily looped it through the small opening before carefully working to close up the wound with practiced hands.

“Where’d you learn to do that?” Amara ignored how breathless the Captain’s voice sounded and what it would mean in a different context. Her ears turned bright pink but she glanced up through her lashes nonetheless.

“I grew up in foster homes. A lot of the kids there, or myself would get hurt a ton and well, homes don’t care to take you for even the biggest emergency, let alone a cut or the like. So I taught myself to stitch. I used to be so shit at it.” She giggled at the memory and the Captain’s full lips quirked as the other woman leaned back to admire her handiwork but not before wiping it one last time. 

“Whatcha think?”

Florence glanced down at her arm, where a neat set of stitches lay in place of the gaping wound. 

“Not bad, Miss Graves.”

“Thanks.”

The sound of footsteps approaching them took their attention off of each other and onto the person approaching them. A nurse.

“Captain, you have someone looking for you.” She pointed towards the door and both turned to see Lottie standing at the door with a subdued look on his face. His hands were clasped together, bright pink from where he had seemingly scrubbed the blood off them, and his face still pale but gaining some life back into it. 

Both women stood to their feet, Florence leading as they met the man in the doorway.

“Omari?”

Lottie sighed, running a hand down his stubble in exhaustion, “They think he’s gonna make it. But only these next forty-eight hours will tell..”

Florence placed a hand on the mans shoulder, gently squeezing.

“You did good, Lottie.”

“Doesn’t feel like I did, Cap’n.” He glanced up at her, brown eyes stormy with something so unlike the Lottie from just hours before. Amara felt as though she was intruding on a private moment. 

Luckily for her, she was interrupted by the clearing of a throat behind her. Both of the other Angel’s snapped to attention, but he waved them off and beckoned his hand toward her.

“Amara. I wish to speak with you. It’s of urgency.” Amara grimaced, glancing back to Florence, who nodded towards him. She sighed before making her way towards the taller man. 

Father made his way down the halls and up the winding stairs. She had to pause a few times to catch her breath, she didn’ t know how this man did it. Finally, they reached his office and she fell into the chair with a loud huff of exhaustion. Father Watson made his way around his desk, taking a seat in the large leather chair that she had first met him in. It had only been a few weeks but it felt like ages ago. 

Father glanced at her before digging around in the pull out drawer of his desk and retrieving a orange manila folder that he placed on the table and slid towards her. She eyed it carefully before moving her brown gaze to his.

“What’s this?” The hesitancy in her tone was clear. 

Father Watson just gestured for her to open it and as she did, she couldn’t contain the small gasp she let out. She ran a finger along the page as he spoke.

“You wanted to know more about your birthparents, no? Your history? This is it. This is what made me bring you here, I knew once I read this file I had to have you as one of my angels. On my side.” 

She felt her face pale as she flipped through the papers, intently gazing at the ink before lifting her gaze, “I-I’m..” she trailed off, glancing down in utter disbelief at what she was seeing.

“Yes, Amara. You are half angel, and half demon.” 

She could read it, but having it confirmed verbally felt like hearing the ball drop. She gulped, her face pale and her mind racing.

Father Watson continued, “ I understand if you need time. I just thought you should know. I believe this is why you are able to control your pyrokenisis so well.” 

Amara was still in disbelief, she closed the manila folder gently before rising quietly.

“Thank you, Father , but i’d like to be alone for a while to think on this.”

He nodded, his hands clasping as he leaned back with a weird look.

“Of course, take all the time you need, Beserker.”