Thwack, thwack! Fiona's knuckles are quickly blackening and aching like a bruised apple but she pushes through regardless. She hasn't trained in years and it shows — her breaths catch a little more, her cheeks burn until they pulse, and she sweats through every Sheltersuit. She's done the base's course a million times before, but she catches the other Left Behind members exchanging glances when she stumbles over minor obstacles.
Abin, to his credit, never judges. Ragnar has been increasingly hinting that they want Abin on missions if he's going to be staying at the base full-time. So while Fiona trains every morning, Abin tucks himself onto a training pad and meditates. He looks so still and at peace when he does it, and some part of Fiona almost wants to reach out and touch his porcelain skin to check if he's real. Sometimes, she finds his pale eyes staring right back and she turns abruptly back to the punching bag.
"You can do better than this," Shailene drawls, looking almost bored as she holds up the target for Fiona. It's half-compliment, half-insult, as is everything that Shailene does. Her skin-tight training clothes are unmarked with any sweat and only a faint blush touches her cheekbones. Unfazed, as always.
"I'm out of practice," Fiona huffs, now missing the days where she'd sit alone in her room and browse banking statements and card transactions until the depths of the night. Being a part of Left Behind has never been easy, but Fiona has never realized the amount of work it takes to reach their standards.
"Then don't be," Shailene sighs, eyes drifting to the other dozen or so people training in the underground bunker.
"Thanks," Fiona says flatly, delivering an extra hard hit that snaps Shailene's attention back to her, just for a slight moment. "I'll be back to my old self soon enough. Kicking your butt and all that."
This brings genuine laughter. Shailene's eyes dance with mirth as she watches a sweat-soaked Fiona. "You never kicked my butt and you know it. Don't you remember how Ragnar would always tell us we tied in our sparring? He was sparing your feelings, Fi-fi."
Fiona rolled her eyes and tightened her auburn ponytail. "I will gladly call up Evie and fact-check–" She shuts up as soon as she realizes. "I mean–"
Shailene's dainty features have gone completely cold, with neither a frown or smile. Just emotionless, wiped of any hints that might give her feelings away. "It's fine."
"Shailene–"
She drops the punching target, letting them thunk heavily against the mat. "There's nothing to say about it. Let's spar."
Fiona bites the inside of her cheek. She knows it's not fine, but Shailene's dark eyes are unrelenting. She looks over at Abin, who is meditating cross-legged. Peace amongst the damage and chaos of Fiona's life. He has no idea what she's gotten him into. All she can do is tread carefully. "Okay."
She gets in position and barely has two seconds to adjust before Shailene delivers a swift kick to her side, which knocks Fiona off balance. She has just the smallest sliver of a second to recover before spinning out of range of Shailene's soft fists. Shailene has the most delicate hands Fiona has ever seen but has enough experience to know that she knows well how to use them.
Fiona manages to jab an elbow into Shailene's ribs, but that only seems to energize and incense her even more. In a whirlwind, Shailene has Fiona in a headlock, her neck outstretched against the crook of Shailene's arm. She can feel the whisper of Shailene's breath against her back. "There's no point in talking about Evie anymore," Shailene says. Her breath is wispy and soft, but the ice in her tone is sending shivers down Fiona's spine.
With no retort, Fiona kicks her ankle up and into Shailene's stomach. Before she can make contact, Shailene grabs Fiona's ankle and flips her to the ground, knocking out any air in her chest.
"Okay," Fiona repeats. She stares up at Shailene, who looks down for a beat more before walking off. Fiona doesn't have to get up to know that the room has gone silent.
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After taking a scalding shower, burning away any bruises or thoughts, Fiona retreats back to her tidy room in the barracks of the Left Behind base. It's not exactly a downgrade from her rusty apartment, but the lack of windows still feels suffocating.
She wrings out her pale hair and then sits on her flimsy mattress, staring at the ceiling. It's too risky for her to use her non-jailbroken computer here without giving away the base location to the government. It's then that Fiona truly realizes how pathetic her existence is. What is she supposed to do, take up knitting? She really is nothing without her work.
Fiona starts to think about Kira, Dev, and her other students. She'd sent out an electronic telegram to all of their families before abandoning her apartment. A notice detailing that classes are over, effective immediately, and her apologies for the whole bombing incident... the usual stuff. She's gotten no responses.
Her gaze drifts to her slightly-ajar door, which is facing Abin's own room. They haven't spoken much since coming to the base two weeks ago, barely crossing paths as Ragnar restarted her training regiment and other Left Behind members briefed Abin on their organization. It shouldn't be too weird for her to go over and check in... in fact, that's probably what she should do.
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Before she can think too much about it, Fiona is up and crossing the hallway to knock on his door.
There is complete silence. Not even the slightest shuffle. But just as Fiona's about to scurry back to her room and pretend that nothing's happened, the door swings open. Abin towers over her, emanating the sleepy smell of clean sheets. His silver hair is slightly ruffled and he squints at her, confused as to why she's dripping wet and standing expectantly.
"Are you busy right now?" she asks, observing the austere state of his room. Somehow, he's transformed the militant barracks into a cyberpunk feng shui, with an unfurled mat and Taoist texts on a barren desk. Which, Fiona guesses, makes sense considering who he is.
"Uh," Abin says. "I suppose not."
She takes that as an invitation to walk in and take a seat on his mat, before realizing she probably should have asked first. Regardless, he sits at his desk, still rubbing sleep out of his eyes.
"You haven't been sleeping much." Fiona means it as a question but it comes out as a concerned statement. He'd slept plenty at her apartment, sometimes well past her alarm. Sometimes she'd walk out of the apartment and return hours later, only to see him still laying in the dark.
Abin rubs his eyes. "Ragnar wanted me to train for a demonstration today."
Fiona frowns. "A demonstration?"
"A demonstration of my powers," Abin clarifies, leaning forwards in his chair. "He said he wants to use it for the cause. But first I have to prove to everyone that it'd be useful to Left Behind."
Fiona freezes briefly at the usage of the word "useful". Fiona fiddles with the edge of her shirt for a second. She'd known that this would happen, expected it. Just not so soon. Not as soon as they've gotten here, before she could formulate any sort of long-term plan on how to return to normal life. "You're not a circus monkey. You shouldn't use your powers unless you really need to."
"Ragnar said that you might be against it." He sighs, looking at the ground. At that moment, she realizes that he might... be excited for the demonstration? Fiona has only ever seen him brooding and sulking around so she's not quite sure what excitement looks like on him.
"I'm not against it," she says a bit too hotly, not sure why she feels so defensive. "I just don't know why there needs to be some big exhibition."
"Ragnar wants me on a mission next week," Abin says, running his hand through his silver hair. A stray piece sticks up, giving him a boyish look despite his serious expression. "He says Left Behind really needs me. They haven't had a successful mission in months."
"Who cares what Left Behind needs? Their missions are dangerous, Abin."
Abin looks at her for a beat before responding. "Ragnar says that you used to care about the cause. That you and Shailene were inseparable."
Fiona tries her best to slow her breathing. "Ragnar sure has plenty to say to you, doesn't he?"
His expression is unreadable. "Ssaugi shireoyo." For some reason, it doesn't translate to English. "I'll see you at the demonstration. It's after the last call for supper."
He unfolds his long legs and strides out of the room, leaving Fiona sitting alone on his mat — and realizing just how little she knows about him.
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Fiona settles into the small crowd that's gathered near the training mats. It's a cavernous room but it feels small because the entirety of Left Behind has gathered tonight. Fiona only remembers a handful of people from her mother's time — a strategist whose white-blond hair she vaguely recognizes, a woman who she's pretty sure is part of the explosives unit... There are fifty or so members at the base headquarters, and the only thing they have in common are their embittered, hardened faces.
At the front, Ragnar and Abin's heads are dipped close together in a private conversation. Abin is dressed in dark hanbok-like robes that stand stark against his icy hair. He almost looks lethal.
Ragnar turns to face the crowd. "Welcome, everyone. We're all here for a very special occasion tonight. As you may have noticed, a veteran member has returned to the base in the past few weeks... and brought a guest with her."
Fiona tries not to pinken as stray eyes turn over to her, scrutinizing. She stares ahead at Abin, who looks evenly at Ragnar.
"This is Seol Abin," Ragnar says, patting him on the shoulder with his calloused hand. "Or as I like to call him, Seraph. I'll let him explain why."
Abin doesn't say a word. Instead, Ragnar rolls out a dozen of their steel-cut dummies, used as obstacles in their training course. Anyone would split their knuckles if they tried to punch them. The crowd starts to murmur, confused as to what's going on, until Abin closes his eyes.
With the most subtle flick of the wrist, the white light that's starting to become familiar to Fiona fills the gaping space. All of the run-down mats and rusting weapons are awash in the stunning light. Like last time, Fiona has to close her eyes. Like last time, she's filled with the purest joy she has ever felt — whispers of a vintage K-drama playing in the background, a warm cup of tea from her mother. She doesn't know if it's two seconds or two hours, but the light fills her senses, her lungs, every crevice of the room.
Finally, the light subsides and Fiona opens her eyes to see all of the steel dummies with paper embedded, ripping the metal apart in grotesque cuts. A hush has fallen over the crowd and nobody dares to move a muscle. Abin looks as at peace as he does when he's meditating in the corner, watching Fiona train.
"So how did you do that?" Shailene asks from the crowd, arms crossed as though unimpressed. But Fiona can hear the slightest awe in her voice.
Abin pulls out a piece of paper. Regular paper, which is a rare commodity nowadays. "It's called Scrollcraft. I can turn paper into projectiles, or even make them into very sharp swords." As he speaks, the crowd watches in wonderment as he glides his lithe hand across the page and it turns into an ivory-white sword. He glides it through the air and it cuts a steel dummy into a half, as if slicing through soft butter. "If I prepare symbols on the paper, they can even hold elemental powers."
The crowd gasps when he swipes his hand across the sword and it lights on fire. The flames wrap Fiona's face in warmth and the smoke rises into dancing animals in the air.
"I mean, fire swords are cool and all, but can you make explosives?" Shailene pipes up again, ever the skeptic. "That's really what our specialty is."
Abin looks towards Ragnar. Ragnar nods. Abin's hands shoot out again, and a dozen of white blurs shoot through the air. They reach the back wall and explode into an ear-shattering, ground-shaking blast.
"I've been meaning to get that door replaced," Ragnar says over the din.
All of Left Behind is standing now, erupting into cheers and a deafening applause that ricochets across the room. This is revolutionary for their organization and they know it. Abin's eyes find Fiona's, just like they did when they first met. Fiona stares back. Her hands stay folded in her lap.