This War's Not Over.

In the intervening hours Eve blacked out. It was somewhere during the time she was stitching up her side that her mind went black and she fell onto her side and into an oblivion she was having a hard time climbing out of. Distantly, she was hearing her name and she wanted to reach for the voice, but the dark had a hold of her and she was slipping deeper into it until she was claimed as property and forced into submission.

--

“Evan!”

“Evangeline!”

“Evie! Eve!”

“Fuck. Evie!”

They had been calling her name as they raced down the incline, knowing she could be running out of time. There was no way in hell she made it out of that wreck without injury, especially not a serious one. It took twenty minutes to find her and when they did, the four of them were forced to hold their breath. She was soaked in her own blood, no doubt due to the cuts all over her body; her left leg looked longer than her right which Garrett figured was a dislocation; and there were bruises around her eyes from her face smashing into the steering column. That alone would have given her a concussion, one of which could be fatal.

“Evie, damn it, wake up.” He growled, lifting her head to place it in his lap. If she didn’t wake up, if she didn’t come to for a few hours, she was going to die. Concussions were fatal if the person suffering from the injury fell asleep within the first six hours after sustaining said injury. As far as they knew, it had only been four. “Evie!”

Finally, he got a response. “R-Rikka?” It was a half articulated question but at least it was a response.

“No, Evie, it’s G.” His tone softened. He was still angry yes, but seeing her like this, vulnerable and alone, he couldn’t remain that way. Not right now, at least.

“Garrett? I thought. . . I thought you were Rikka. I’m sorry.” Her words were slurred with sleep and part of him wanted to let her drift off even though he knew he shouldn’t. Another part of him wanted to ask who Rikka was but he knew he wouldn’t get an answer from her. There were still pieces of herself that she kept hidden.

“C’mon, Evie, we’ve gotta go. I need you to walk for me, okay? Can you do that? Evie?” Desperation was the only thing keeping Garrett from giving up hope. She was growing unresponsive and that was a bad sign. He brushed the hair from her eyes and nudged her in a frantic effort to keep her awake knowing better than to jostle her too much. He may have wished her the worst, but he certainly didn’t want to see her dead.

“Evan, c’mon, please.” Kennedy was beside him, panic in his eyes. Pat was anxiously gnawing on his lip, pacing by the wreckage of the truck and Jared was picking through the debris, finding a bottle of vodka that was intact a few feet away.

“Can’t walk. My leg.” She breathed, using one hand to pull herself up into a seated position, leaning forward for support. “Vodka.” She was now attempting not to touch Garrett, using him for balance as little as possible. She reached for the bottle in Jared’s hand, the appendage visibly shaking.

“What do you need that for?” Pat asked.

“I need to pour some of it over the wound in my side; alcohol can be used as an antiseptic. You forget: I’m fucking MacGyver.” She wheezed. “I need to finish my stitches before we go anywhere or I run the risk of. . . ” Her head fell forward.

“Evan!”

“Exsanguination or infection. I’m not asleep.” She said and her fingers found the bottle of vodka that Jared was holding out. She picked up the shirt she had been using to stifle her screams and unscrewed the cap from the vodka before biting down on the cotton and pouring the alcohol over the gash along her ribs. Her scream came out as more of a moan and her eyes, which were now brown with blood, rolled in their sockets.

Garrett noticed a line of clear wire hanging from her side – to be honest, it looked like fishing tackle to him, and he wondered if it was even sterile. On the end of the wire dangled a needle, silver and sharp. Inwardly, he cringed. Needles weren’t his favorite thing in the world.

“Keep me talking. It’ll keep me conscious.” She mumbled, fingers fumbling for the needle. Once it was pinched within her fingers she made a face and went about closing the bleeding crevice that had been ripped into her ribcage.

“Evangeline Persephone Cox!” The cry came from a good fifty yards away but they immediately recognized the voice as that of her brother, Rafe.

Her middle name was Persephone? God, that was ironic. No wonder she kept cheating death: she was named after the goddess who married him.

“. . What’d I do?” She asked as she paused her stitching to look up at him. Rafe’s expression was patronizing and Garrett saw her, no doubt bracing herself against getting railroaded by her sibling.

“You broke your nose.” The admonishment was nowhere near as bad as they thought it was going to be and all of them had to do a few double takes before realizing that it really was all he said.

“Again.” She replied, looking down to continue on about closing her wound. Garrett noticed packaging nearby and realized that it had contained the suture material, which made him feel quite a bit better about things; at least she wasn’t using fishing tackle.

“Again?” Everyone spoke simultaneously.

“When I fell into the kiddy pool when I was a baby, what did I happen to hit first? My face. What broke? My nose.” She replied, unsheathing her bayonet from her leg so she could cut the thread from her side, considering she couldn’t reach it with her teeth. “And about four months ago I tripped over some deck rigging and broke it. It’s already reset again, so don’t even think about touching my face. However, if you would be so kind as to pop my leg back into its socket, I would be greatly appreciative.” She paused, seeming to debate something. “How am I so articulate right now? Ten minutes ago I was bordering on the edge of a coma.”

Her rambling seemed to be keeping her conscious, which Garrett was oddly thankful for. As much as he was angry with her, as much as he had wanted nothing more than to never hear her voice again, as much as he prayed she never came back, he was glad she was alright, or as alright as she could be. Evie was resilient but also extraordinarily breakable and occasionally required some taking care of. Not that he had minded, but now he could see why her family worried.

A few moments later, her leg was back into its socket and Evie was replacing her bayonet and taking a long swill of vodka from the bottle. He had never seen her drink vodka straight in the months that he had known her. He couldn’t exactly fool himself into being oblivious as to what in her life had changed and part of him was sorry to see how far south things had gone with her.

“Hey Evie?” Pat started as they began walking back up the incline, Evie leaning on Rafe for support. “Who’s Rikka?”

Evie stopped all movement and looked to Pat with both a vague emptiness in her eyes and a cold terror. “How do you know that name?” She asked.

“You called Garrett ‘Rikka’, Evie-Doll.” Jared chimed in.

“Rikka?” Rafe’s brow furrowed. He was familiar with the name, but he didn’t offer up exactly how familiar with it he actually was. Sometimes, Rafe could actually be smart about things.

“She’s just another demon I need to face.” She replied and began walking again, forward motion slow. Her tone implied that the topic should be left there, dying in the puddle of sand she had tossed it into. No one bothered to pick it up again. There was a little arguing about where she was going and who was taking her there and after a thirty minute debate, Evie ended up answering things for them.

“I want to go home.” She mumbled and planted a hand on the hood of Kennedy’s car. Garrett stared at her a moment, stunned by her admittance, trying to figure out why she still considered it ‘home’. Obviously, the deed was still in her name, so there was the literal sense. But what if she meant it figuratively? Did that mean she was still in love with him?

“How do you know Garrett won’t just drive over the cliff himself? You know he’s still mad at you.” Rafe muttered darkly, despite the dirty looks he was receiving.

“I don’t even care, Raphael.” Evie replied. “Even if he does want me to burn, I’d rather go home, than go anywhere else.”

Garrett had no idea she had heard that conversation. Now he felt like more of an ass than he already did. “You heard?” He whispered, opening his door.

“Every word.” She answered. “Pat and Kenny heard me outside and came to investigate; tried to get me to stay. If I wasn’t so frazzled by everything, their convincing might have worked and I wouldn’t be in the mess I’m in now.” She sighed and ran her fingers through her dark locks. The last time he had seen her, her hair was red-blond. Now it was almost chestnut and it was longer than he remembered.

“I didn’t mean it. Evie, I-” He trailed. What was he going to say that would possibly justify himself? Even if he didn’t mean it, it didn’t take back the words. Just like ‘I’m sorry’ didn’t excuse her from fucking John. At the thought, he felt the familiar tinge of anger flicker through his veins, but looking at Evie’s exhausted and broken body he couldn’t bring himself to turn anything back on her. She looked like hell and he had a feeling it wasn’t just because of the crash.

“No, you did.” She corrected him. “I just don’t happen to be giving a flying fuck right now.” She added, leaning back into the seats that Kenny had helped her ease across and sliding her two remaining cameras under the seat in front of her. They were the only ones she had apparently been able to salvage, but the cases they were in appeared to be holding quite a bit of undeveloped film. At least she had been keeping herself busy while she had been off playing Pirates of the fucking Caribbean. “When I sober up, we do need to talk, Garrett. A lot of shit went unsaid before I left and in hindsight I think it was better off in the open.” She didn’t offer up anything else, merely placed her head against the glass and closed her eyes, trying to stave off the nausea.

Only after he got into the car did he notice that her blood had soaked his hands.