Command Me To Be Well [Completed]

23 - Gravitational center

"Everyone will see my scars now." He grimaces.

"It's a bit too late to worry about that, baby." I shrug.

We're walking in the direction of the Council's chamber.

It takes us some time to get there. I'm not allowed to hold his hand this time. That was a one-time leniency on his behalf.

But I'm patient. We have all the time in the world. The respected Council members can wait.

When we arrive there, we pause for a moment before opening the door.

"Are you ready, highly admired master commander, bastion of mankind, savior of humanity, and innumerable other strange combinations of random words?" I ask him.

"I am." He nods. "To freak them out, at least."

"Scars will be the new fashion trend. Just wait and see for yourself. Those people behind this door are nuts. Remember, they chose me to be president. And they are called members, did you notice that? Well, there's obviously a reason behind that tradition."

"Are you trying to make me laugh?" he asks, with a dead serious expression on his face.

"Not at all," I protest.

"Good." He furrows his brow. "Let's go in. We are late."

"Just another minute." I smile at him. "You know what? Scars being the new sexy totally makes sense. I already think about them as patterns. But they are even better than tattoos, because they are 3D. It's easier for me to trace them with my tongue. Remember?"

He stares at me in disbelief, shaking his head.

"Are you trying to make me hard now?" he inquires.

"Absolutely." I nod. "It's a must. The Council is no place for the soft."

He finally bursts out laughing.

"You're tough crowd." I kiss him. "But we'll have so much fun. You'll see."

Before he can protest, I push the door open.

The moment the Council sees him, everyone stands up in a blink of an eye. Without exception. Regardless of nationality, age, rank, or political faction.

"They never have stood up for me," I whisper to him, while walking to our place. We are sitting a bit too far from each other, but it can't be helped. My table is slightly elevated, but nothing else shows that I am the president. In the chamber, I'm just one of the Council members. My only prerogative seems to be that other members usually turn into my direction when they speak.

Until Master Auberon shows up, that is.

His presence changes everything. He's forming a gravitational center on the map, again, without even trying. Just by sitting there, he makes every respected Council member present their ideas to him, and to no one else.

They always start their speech facing me, the way they used to, and then, as if their eyes were magnetized, they slowly turn to Master Auberon's direction, probably without even noticing what they are doing.

I can hardly believe it, but they also look a bit self-conscious since he's here. As if they were waiting for his judgment. Craving his approval. Dreading his resentment. As if he really was what people said he was. Some malicious half-god, out of some outdated fairy tale.

When, on his second day being there at all, he manages to shut up Sir Batton by just raising his brows, without saying anything, a brilliantly evil idea starts to take form in my head.

I really should try to pass the presidency to him. Because, apparently, some people are just born with it. And I'd have so much free time suddenly. I wouldn't have to listen to the blabbering of these people anymore. I could concentrate my forces on doing Seer things alone.

Or, if he absolutely can't be tricked into it, there's still Timur. He'd make a perfect president too. He's experienced. He's wise. He's trustworthy. And he has nothing to do.

He moved to the Capital with us, obviously. The Gate is not a military base anymore, it's a hospital, so after the war, he remained there only for the sake of Duncan, in the first place. And while he's doing great as a pro chess player at the moment, beating everyone who dares to challenge him, he could do so much more. Being busy would also, as a pleasant side effect, prevent him from whining all the time about how Duncan should impregnate me asap, because he wants some grandchildren-like creatures to play with. All in all, he'd be a perfect leader for the people. Here, in my chair, for example.

I'm probably smiling like sunshine while imagining myself away from this place, because everyone smiles back. They have no idea why I'm unusually happy all of a sudden.

But life is not just roses and kisses.

The nights are still hard.

I have nightmares. Mostly about pain. It's strange, because nothing ever happens in my dreams, they don't even have a story, not even a basic one. It's just me, in the darkness, feeling pain. It goes stronger and stronger until it kills me.

Usually, that's when Duncan wakes me up, because I'm kicking and screaming.

When he holds me in his arms, I can breathe again. It's like being reanimated. Actually, raising from the dead, not just waking up from a bad dream.

On other nights, it's something else that doesn't leave us rest.

Duncan's not only dreaming of the pain. He feels it for real. His right leg never will fully heal. At night, the pain usually gets worse, waking him up.

He refuses to take painkillers. Of course. But, luckily, he doesn't refuse to take me.

Well, he probably would, but I'm insistent. I never get tired of massaging his legs and his hips. And kiss them better, of course. And while I'm at it, I include everything else in the area, too.

So we practically never have enough sleep. We have each other instead.