Chapter Text
Before she’d even opened her eyes, Unika felt roaring, surging pain. Her chest ached like it’d never done before, radiating heat and sharp sensation spiking from just below her collarbone. Her eyelids fluttered open, not quite awake enough to process the sensation– the dull pressure just enough to keep her steady as light filled her irises. Slowly, conscious thought began to return to her– she was lying somewhere, her side pressed against what felt like packed sand. She attempted to move, feeling the soft and gentle warmth of a blanket draped over her body. Her arms felt weak as she struggled to pull herself up, somewhere between tired, sore, and injured. As she rose, her eyes flicked downward to find bandages wrapped around her shoulders and chest, a little square of padding visible where the source of the pain sat. Her hand moved to the spot, while her attention went elsewhere– looking up and over her shoulder. What she found didn’t seem to click at first. Sitting a few meters away looked to be a girl, head bowed and studying a length of familiar orange fabric. Her own clothes, she realized– quickly coming to find that she was in the nude, aside from her bandages. At the same moment, her fingertips reached the hidden wound.
Electricity shot through Unika, sparks of pain cascading from her chest and licking like flames at her nerve endings. She failed to stifle a wince of pain, tugging her blanket closer in an effort to find some comfort as the pain began to recede. She raised her vision again, realizing she’d caught her apparent rescuer’s attention. Her head flicked up, the tiniest “hmm?” of attention crossing her face. Unika breathed, distracted by the shaky breaths coming to her as her body processed the pain. As she managed to recover, she found herself face-to-face with the girl through her bangs. Maybe she would’ve moved them aside if she had the effort– then again, perhaps not. “Rescuer” still wasn’t a term she was willing to ascribe to the girl, now sizing her up properly. She was about the same height as Unika, dressed simply in what looked like a farmgirl’s clothing and wreathed in a teal-blue jacket that covered her head. Her face was round– cheeks a little softer, eyes a little rounder than Unika’s, and all framed by a crown of blonde hair that licked at the sides of her face. She smiled down at Unika.
“Does it still hurt?” Her tone was filled with more sweetness than concern. It was a question the girl probably already knew the answer to, especially with how Unika’d reacted. “Um… your clothes were sorta wrecked, so I just fixed them as best I could,” she offered, lifting the small pile of fabric she’d been working with up to Unika’s line of sight. It took her a second to react– not quite able to process what was actually going on quite yet. Whoever this was didn’t exactly seem hostile, at least. She wondered for a moment if the girl’d been sent by father, some emissary here to patch her up or something, but waved the thought away. She was someone else, a stranger, maybe just an unwilling civilian passing her by. Whatever the case… she looked kind. Not quite in the same way as… him, exactly, but… a little warmer, a little quieter. Unika hesitated a second, then reached out with an open hand and accepted her clothing. Her head turned down, this new person moving away to fuss with a little stove of hers. Her eyes flicked quickly to the clothing, new stitches visible in the material. Blue thread, like the ones that probably held together the girl’s jacket.
Unika paused for a moment, then spoke. “Do you know who I am?” It wasn’t a question she should’ve asked, really– if the girl didn’t, and found out, there was a chance she might turn tail and run. If she did, then maybe she was in worse hands than she’d realized. She didn’t have much time to reason any further before she got her answer.
“I saw you at the End-of-War Commemoration ceremony,” her tone stayed the same as ever, light, gentle. “I was in the audience.” She didn’t even seem to have an opinion about the answer, hands calmly ladling some steaming concoction into a small cup. Soup, she realized. A note of confusion crossed Unika’s mind, words coming out on instinct.
“So why are you helping me?”
“You were hurt. I’m good at caring for injuries,” she answered easily. Her shoes jingled softly as she moved back to Unika’s side, a little cup of homemade soup nestled in her hands. “It wouldn’t be right to just… not help you. For you.” With that same smile, she offered the cup.
Again, Unika paused. It still didn’t really click in her mind, why she was being helped like this. She had just been working as part of her mission, of course– but the fact that she hadn’t made an enemy out of this girl that she’d attacked seemed… nonsensical. The soup sat wordlessly between them for half a beat more, before Unika accepted it. The warmth of the thing emanated into her palms, comforting to the touch. It looked… good, she thought, inviting. As if out of habit, she looked up to the girl, as if she were asking for permission. She looked as though she was waiting for Unika to drink, she realized, sending the message a little further with a small nod of encouragement. This whole situation, disorienting as it was, felt nice. She took the spoon from the corner of the cup and raised it to her lips, filling the back of her mouth with a smoldering warmth. The taste lingered in her throat, savory and salty in a way that felt nice. Familiar, almost, although she was positive she’d never tried something like it before. She liked it.
“It’s good.” Her defenses still hadn’t managed to come down. The girl seemed to be okay with that, though.
“I’m glad.”
Unika’s eyes lowered back to her soup, carefully taking another spoonful. The girl hadn’t moved from where she sat, still offering her that same uncritical smile. It was a whole other spoonful later before she spoke again, comfort filling Unika just a little further before everything started off.
“I’m… Bridget, by the way. I’m glad I found you.” The words carried a sentiment Unika couldn’t really hold down. Comforting in the same way the soup was, maybe– a little relaxing to her tensed figure. Bridget… the name passed through her mind, then replayed itself over again. Bridget. Bridget. Bridget. She didn’t want to forget it, for whatever reason. She let another moment pass, before speaking once more.
“Unika.”
She dipped her spoon into the soup, enjoying another mouthful.