4.6 | Dark Ages ✓

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SHE SAVED HIM.

This was how it had been all along.

He was the reason she wouldn't be alive in the future. He was the reason she had stood in the zombie's path. He was the reason she had risked her life.

Had everything happened because he'd tugged on the thread of fate? If he hadn't followed her, she wouldn't have given him her gun and left herself defenceless. If he hadn't run into the zombies, his other self wouldn't have gotten distracted with the fighting. If he hadn't travelled back in time, nothing would've happened to her.

He sits on the bed, his face buried in his hands. If he'd thought himself acquainted with despair, guilt and pain before, it's nothing like what he feels now. Not even knowing that he'd indirectly caused the Dark Ages had given him as much grief as this.

He looks up at the sudden crash.

Her lab is almost soundproof, but loud noises like these still go through walls. He glances briefly at the door, before looking away. Then-another crash. Steeling himself, he gets up and tugs the door open a fraction.

The sight leaves him cold.

The room opposite-his lab-is in complete chaos. Glass and papers strewn everywhere, it looks as though the heart of a hurricane had been through it. Through the gap between the door, he sees his other self pacing, running frantic fingers through his hair.

"I have to find it," his other self mumbles desperately. "I have to, I have to. I did it before-with the Antigen, I can make something similar again. I have to-"

Oh.

His own fingers curl around the doorknob, his knuckles white. He understands what his other self is trying to do. Reverse her transformation, restore her to human form. It could be done, perhaps, but it had taken his other self five years to create a substance that would kill zombies. How long more would it take to create something that would revive humans?

How long did she have?

He leans his forehead against the door and closes his eyes, flinching with each new crash. It's not your fault. He wants to break the unspoken rule of time-travel and tell his other self just that. It's mine. And yet, aren't we one and the same? Your despair is mine. Your pain, your guilt-all mine.

You and I-we are the same man, after all.

Footsteps make him look up. Through the gap, he sees her. She makes a beeline for his lab, but glances towards her lab on instinct. Her footsteps slow, she seems to notice the gap in the door, but then turns to his other self. Even now, even on the brink of turning into something no longer human, her first concern is him. His heart clenches. Never again will he look at her without that ache-that knowledge that I did this to you and I'm so sorry, so fucking sorry, I don't think I will ever be sorry enough.

He watches her comfort him. A gentle hand on his shoulder, pulling him away from the splintered mess, then fingers curled around the nape of his neck. She tugs him down and he doesn't hesitate, winding his arms around her waist as he sobs into her neck.

"I can't-I don't know what to do," he hears his other self say. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I'm not smart enough to save you, I'm so sorry."

She hushes him, running soothing fingers through his hair. They stay like that for several minutes, soaking in comfort from each other's mere presence. When at last she speaks, there is something so calm about her voice that a chill races down his spine.