a rose of understanding [carter & wander]

After the talk fizzles out—after everything they have the energy for is aired and acknowledged—it's less awkward than Wander might have guessed to camp out in the next row down from Fiona. At once together and worlds apart, surrounded by an air of understanding if not exactly companionship, they wait with bated breath for updates that the announcers refuse to offer.

It's not fun, but neither was dying, and both of them survived that.

Like dying, though, it also can't last forever. Whatever comes next, Wander has to assume they only have so long in this room; in any case, ve can only take so much of listening to Fiona's breathing and telling verself, less convincingly each time, that no news is good news. With a murmured farewell—and a much less careful bit-off curse as ve uncurls with the wrong balance and plunges vis bruised foot through a sudden gap in the folding chair—Wander limps back the way ve came, glancing back only once at Fiona sitting sentry in the glow of the screen. Behind the blindfold, she's as steady and intent as any figurehead; even if she'd never sliced vis hip, it would be easy to imagine her with Carmen, a guardian every step of the way.

Hardest conversations first, Wander decided when ve set out for Fiona. That means Parson next, although now that ve thinks about it, maybe ve should have tracked down Parson first; the vaguely-remembered echo of got yourself stuck in this big kid game promises that conversation to be, if less intimidating than approaching Fiona, thoroughly irritating.

Whatever. As long as they're all stuck in here together, it would feel rude not to try. Wander sighs and turns away from the seats.

For once, it's not Wander that derails vis own plans: ve doesn't find Carter, but Carter finds ver. Wander only raises one hand in a reflexive wave as he approaches, anxiously scanning his face to decipher his frown, until vis eyes land on the familiar ball of fluff in the cage he carries and vis hand drops with vis jaw.

Carter leans over to set down the cage as he reaches Wander, who stays so fixed on the Delivery Word—quiet as ever, looking for all the world like this is another day in the life of any old bird, what the heck—that ve jerks upward, jaw closing with a snap, at the sound of his voice. "I think this belongs to you..." He trails off into a brief shadow of a smile as Wander continues to stare, first at him and then at the rose he holds, still as bold a sunset orange as the evening Wander trimmed the thorns. "Thank you..."

He got it. He kept it. A tiny, half-hysterical laugh bubbles out of Wander at the thought that it's lasting better than Annie's hand, and ve shakes vis head without moving vis eyes. Looking away seems dangerous, suddenly, as though one of them might dissolve, or the watery falter in vis smile might give way to actual tears. "I sent it for you."

The smile Carter pulls together in return is less fleeting than the first, but no stronger. "Hope we're still good," he says, ruffling his own already-disheveled hair and looking much smaller somehow than he did in the library or the Arena.

"I—" Out of habit Wander reaches to curl vis fingers in the lace of vis skirt, starting when they land on satin instead. "That's..." This should be easier than talking to Fiona, but ve might as well be holding Bette's knife to the leaves for the first time all over again. Wander's never been speechless so often as in the last handful of days; words are too much and not enough for some things, ve's learning, and they slide through vis hands faster than water.

Jizav's fabric ripples gently under the pressure of vis fingers, the undersides of the subtle pleats shimmering with silver and red and an orange as vivid as that rose.

They're both alive. This is stupid.

Wander launches forward.

As hugs go, it's awful. Wander's injured arm screams where ve jammed it in the sling by moving too quickly; the sling itself throws off the angle and ve can't figure out where to put vis head; everything hurts so much that ve doesn't think a normal doctor would let ver out of bed right now, and ve remembers too late to soften the impact that the same must be true for Carter. But ve clings as tightly as ve dares with vis free arm, struggling to breath like a person who is not crying, and for a few long seconds the only things in the world that make sense are signs of life: both of them upright, both of them solid, the pang of Wander's arm rising and falling like a microscopic tide in time with vis own heartbeat. Everyone in this room could be avoxes tomorrow, or dead for real, or chucked back into the Arena like broken shells from the shore—but right here, despite everything, they're alive.

Wander's eyes are dry but stinging when ve pulls away. A deep breath helps, a little. "Eve gets to decide whether to forgive you. And—Larceny gets to decide whether to forgive me." From the sling, vis arm still sings out an insistent reminder that Larceny gave better than he got, that first day; still, intent matters. Defending Annie mattered, too, and Wander would do it again, but wanting to protect Eve didn't soften any edges when Parson lay gurgling on the ground. "But I'm glad you're okay." Ve presses the side of vis hand to the tip of vis nose for a moment, holding back a sniff, before looking up with a steadier smile than before. "We're good."