The Crush of Defeat [Liltotto, Natasha]

Sleep really didn’t want to give her any relief, huh?

From being dragged away from the battlefield, to the struggle of getting her patched up, to lying in the hospital, not a single merciful wink of exhaustion kicked in for her. She didn’t even feel hungry, or well, that wasn’t quite right - it was more like the pains and aches of hunger dulled out into a cold numbness. Her mind was quiet, she barely spoke a word to any of the people checking up on her. She wished they didn’t insist on her staying - the bed she was in was better put to someone more worthwhile and she could just lick her wounds at home.

The fact she had wounds at all was a mark of her failure in her duty as a soldier. ‘Humiliating’ didn’t even begin to cover it.

Another morning, she hadn’t slept for a day or two now, only dismissal given to any frets her direction. Waste of energy in her mind, there wasn’t any need to be concerned for her, it wasn’t like she was human…

She didn't need all of this.

Natasha was absolutely livid. There were no two ways about that statement. They were absolutely overwhelmed on the battlefield. It was a wash, a massacre, nothing even resembling a battle. Soldiers were lost, Liltotto had been hurt, and there was no general positive she could take away from anything. What could have they done better? Should she have chosen to fight alongside her partner proper? Would that have changed the outcome?

Her initial days spent in bed were spent battling with that one question. That bastard of a monster haunted her mind. Not out of fear, but out of regret. Natasha felt she had improved leagues beyond where she was when she first started, yet she lost without putting up much of a resistance. She hardly minded being humbled, but this was simply far too cruel. Whatever the case, morbid reflection of this nature wasn't her style. Even in the face of adversity, a soldier had to be strong, undaunted in spirit. Mark her words, though, if she ever crossed paths with that bastard again, she would be stronger.

And she would erase that bastard from the face of the earth, from the space of existence. Or let her partner devour him and make use of his corpse. Speaking of, she needed to visit Liltotto. If she was going through the pangs of regret, she could only imagine how bad Liltotto was taking things. Even though she hadn't properly healed, checking on her friend was imperative. Her wounds and bruises would correct themselves over time. Stumbling gingerly along the hallways, she softly entered Liltotto's room to greet the woman with a wave.

"Howdy, Lil'. How're ya feelin', sugar...?"

Despite the playful tune of her voice, she was no fool. She knew the answer. It was simply her way of trying to maintain some semblance of morale, futile effort as that might be.

There wasn't any need to face the door; the scent of familiar was caught long before Natasha even touched the doorknob. That flourish of emotion and thought were snuffed out by numbness; the worry she held for her friend, the misery in knowing she got hurt, the blame she put on herself... They were quieted by the need to preserve. The sight Natasha would be given was that of the blonde in bed, hair a mess, body covered in bandages that had been changed recently, her gaze set firmly on the window than obeying the natural instinct to investigate new stimuli.

For a moment, it didn't seem like the greeting was heard, but rather it was the woman trying to figure out what the hell to even say. The first through fourth thing that came to mind were stupid whiny garbage that would get Natasha worried about her, and the last thing she needed was more of that. She shouldn't be here, after all.

"I'm fine," Her reply was flat and exhausted, "Good to hear you're okay enough to walk."

A momentary silence followed, and she could still tell Natasha was there, "..Well, you must have plenty of others you wanna check on. You are a Coordinator, after all."

Her head didn't turn to look at her for even a moment. She couldn't look. She didn't want to.

The atmosphere was relentlessly tense. That was to be expected. Whether Natasha liked it or not, this wasn't exactly the circumstance to be singing a playful tune of any sort, to say nothing of finding a proverbial takeaway from their defeat. Somewhere in her mind, she wondered... who had taken the worst of it? Not in the physical sense, of course - Liltoto had an otherworldly durable that eliminated that option entirely - but the mind itself. Where was her head at? Knowing this woman over a year or so, her default prediction lied in the near-faultless idea that she was pushing her emotion to the bottoms, that she might eliminate the mere thought of expressing her feelings altogether.

I'm fine? Christ, Lil, I really wish I could believe that.

Natasha voiced that voiceless thought in the depths of her soul as she approached a chair by the woman's bedside. It was a struggle to walk right now, all things considered, but the trek was short enough to make it a pleasant little stroll compared to traversing the hallway. Sitting down beside her bedside, Natasha sighed softly waving her hand dismissively with a smile.

This room was chosen for a specific reason. Liltoto could complain all she wanted, but this is the room she would be occupying until the doctors requested her to go elsewhere or Liltotto forced her out. Since none of those challenges were presented themselves before her now, she turned her head to face the woman directly, a stern glint present in a gaze that was often playful and unassuming.

"I ain't all that okay, honestly. Made it down here through sheer willpower alone, I reckon. Far as checkin' up on others go, I'm doing that right now, sugar. We're in the same division. And even if we weren't, ya know damn well I'd choose visiting you first over anyone else almost."

Natasha firmly leaned forward - as best as her body could allow - pointedly bearing her eyes down on the woman. She had always viewed herself as a commonly passive woman, preferring to let things right themselves rather than wear herself ragged with the issues of others she couldn't fathom - such was the extent of her friendship for so many years. But, she was goddamn tired of that behavior. It was time for a goddamn change. Liltotto wouldn't like it, but she was going to force this woman to express herself no matter what it took.

"Besides, sweetheart, I know I'm sure as hell not fine, and I refuse to believe you are right at the moment, either. Didn't I tell ya its okay to express yourself around me? We were nearly killed, and your fine? Sure, yer body looks like its in acceptable conditions, but my spirit and this atmosphere says otherwise. You're not fine. I'm not fine. None of this... is fine."

Every shuffled step she heard approach her bedside did nothing more than to make more knots, fingers that held her blanket in a gentle grip had begun to squeeze the thin white sheet. Of course that wouldn't be enough to shrug Natasha off, it wouldn't be enough to shrug any friend with even a half the decency; they're fresh off a war field. The care her friend put toward her was both parts appreciated, yet struck her with a painful sense of guilt. She was silent all through her fellow soldier's talks, yet not once did she turn to look at her, eyes firmly out the window looking upon the clouded skies of morning, the occasional seabird flock crossing the great blue that blanketed the white cities beneath it.

Her hands were trembling slightly with those words, bunching her sheets on her lap. Some part of her wanted to tell Natasha the truth, another wanted to shut down, a third felt an unspeakable terror toward the idea. She had to say something, whether she wanted to or not,

"You were nearly killed," Acknowledging that night happened in her own words felt like eating nails, "I was going to be fine. These dumb scrapes? Nothin'," A bandaged hand waved dismissively to it's own state, "I've been around for several of your lifetimes, nothing's ever killing me, Nat. It's just not something that's gonna happen, regardless of how I feel about it."

Though her words would come across as aloof, maybe even arrogant to a poorer understanding of her, but it was an earnest feeling. Her head dipped a bit when she settled on that thought for a moment, "Whole damn city'll be an underwater ruin, and i'll still be around, being the worst."

A laugh was forced in there, as if she was trying to frame it as some self deprecating humor, but she was too tired and heavy-hearted to really commit to the charade.

Did immortality really kill someone's ability to recognize their own emotions? What a cripplingly depressing notion. Damage of this nature ran deep, well beyond physical. Of course she would be fine. Natasha was well aware of her alien existence by now, but what of it? Trembling fingers told her a thousand tales, the detached expression doubly so. She was trying to hide behind a mask again, hiding her true expression away from those who genuinely cared for her wellbeing.

Suppressing everything, deluding herself into this tenuous reassurance that everything was alright. In the past, she certainly would have let bygones be bygones, but that time had passed, and this was now. Backing down now would only make her miserable in the process. Fighting through the pain, she clenched her fist, slamming it into the desk. She wanted no part of this charade, no part of observing her deny her feelings on the subject. Holding it in was not going to help anybody. Those who survived were angry. She was angry. True as it was that she nearly lost her life, it was only secondary to pressing Liltotto into revealing her feelings.

"What? That's it? Ah, so just because your this nigh-immortal woman, I'm supposed to brush things off and ignore that my friend might be---no, is suffering? What the hell kinda' woman you take me for, Lil? It doesn't matter if anything can or cannot kill you if your being torn apart on the inside. Death ain't just a physical thing, ya know. I know yer tryin' to reassure me, sweetheart, but I'm not backin' down on this. Express yerself for once to somebody who genuinely cares for you, dammit."

Did she hate approaching her like this? To some extent, sure, but avoiding this would achieve nothing. Perhaps it was the anger from the fallout... or perhaps, it was quite simply a woman who had grown tired of looking at everything with rose-colored glasses.

She couldn't help but cringe, teeth grinding against one another, a hand balling into a fist with how tightly she clenched it. She knew Natasha was right, but she just couldn't admit it. But the mere thought of admitting it made her feel like she'd fall apart, the last thing she needed to be right now. She couldn't break, she couldn't stop, she couldn't...!

"..Nat," She could barely bring herself to speak, she couldn't look away any more. Head finally turning to face her, two betrayals happened - the image of Natasha in good health, perfectly fine behind her, shattered with the true appearance of her friend; wounded and bruised, hidden by bandaging. The other, was the worn out, tired darkness her yellow eyes took on, her worn state of mind visible on her features for once.

Rendered silent for a moment, there was nothing but a wide-eyed stare from her friend, messy golden locks thrown over her shoulders and strung across her face. There was no immediate word to describe what she felt, other than 'terrible'.

"I should be dead," Was the only thing that broke her stunned silence. Nothing better came to mind, no strategy to shake this off, she could hardly think over the roaring torrent.

"No kiddin'..."

An exasperated sigh exited her lips following her agreement on the notion. That they avoided that battlefield being their final resting place was nothing short of miraculous, but that wasn't entirely correct. Liltotto was close to immortal. Her eldritch existence was unnatural, something that defied spiritual and common thought. She survived countless battlefields, lived several lifetimes, and Natasha could not help but wonder - had she ever experienced a loss as brutal as this?

Maybe so, but even that mattered little to what she was aiming to accomplish here. At the core of it all, her intention was to force her hand here. Even if she lashed out at her, it was more than worth it to assist one of the select women she viewed as a genuine friend. Drawing her hand away from the desk with a soft wince, Natasha maintained her stance, hazel eyes observing those subtle shifts in expression and countenance. It was important to persist, no matter what followed.

"How does that make you feel? Don't talk about your immortality. Don't talk about how yer fine and everything'll be alright---cause right now, its not. Be honest with yourself and speak."

That's all there was to it. A simple question voiced more like a demand. She wasn't speaking to her as she would a superior to a personnel member, but someone whose condition and mental state genuinely left her with concern.

An earnest wish that Natasha wasn't so persistent lingered in her dreary thoughts, her posture drooping and shadowy. It wasn't nearly as obvious on her face, but a spiral of thought and emotion were happening behind her eyes, derogatory thoughts battering her mind as the only sound that broke through that deluge was her taking a breath,

"I feel like, I keep getting hit with storms," Her tired voice finally spoke up again, her gaze low, "You see a storm on the horizon, and what do you do? Not much. You can't stop a storm, after all - they just happen. They come, they destroy everything you know and love, and they leave, and it's just you there with nothin' to blame but yourself. You think about all the things you could've done to at least minimize it, but 'what if's don't bring your life back."

Her hands rested on each other rather than gripping the sheets, expression appearing absolutely sullen, "And it feels like i'm getting hit with a bunch of smaller storms, and I can't help but wonder if i'll ever be ready for another big one. This is the hardest i've tried to prepare, yet, I barely did any damage, got thrown across a field, and now i'm all fucked up for the first time in literal centuries."

Her efforts were bearing fruit, her analogy proving easy enough to develop at least an image of the depths of her current state of mind. Truth be told, that was a relief, though her stern expression maintained did no favors in illustrating that. It wasn't her style to go at someone as doggedly as she use to back in her days a soldier in the army, but this was simply the way things ought to be from now on. To say that this nightmarish ordeal had been a humbling experience would have been an understatement of the century.

She had been on the losing end of war before. Thus, she was no stranger to the spirit it might diminish. Liltotto was unequivocally the most durable woman in their division, and that monstrosity had did enough damage to leave her of all people in the hospital. The thought felt so illogical as to be a cruel form of humor made at their expense. Yet, here they were, playing this maddening comedy out in its entirety.

Natasha had never doubted her ability to overcome and live through damn near anything, but after seeing her friend's bloodied and battered body on the ground... it felt so genuinely frightening this time. Resolving to never lose again, yet nearly watch the scene play out before her very eyes. It threatened to crush the soul if she were a woman of lesser mettle. Even so, she would persist. Because moving past this soul-crushing defeat was the only way either of them would grow stronger.

"...Don't go placin' the blame squarely on your shoulders. It's my fault, too, Lil. I thought I almost lost you. It was terrifying. Felt like a goddamn failure for not assisting you where it mattered most. I won't let you take that weight on your own... I can't."

The pain in her expression and her voice was palpable, an admission from the bottom of her core that encapsulated her own thoughts on the matter. There wasn't even a remnant of that melodious tone that was a present fixture in her southern accent. No matter how much faith she had that Liltotto would genuinely outlive her, the distinct iota of fear that she might have lost her still took root in her mind laid there, haunting her to no end.