chapter seventeen

I only need one more "physical therapy" session by the time the end of the week rolls around. Max decided last night that today would be a good time, so here I am, sitting on the couch across from him on the common floor while he runs through a list of things we could do.

"There's a pool in the tower, you know," he says matter-of-factly. "On the same floor as where we normally train, too. It could be nice. It'd be a good way to celebrate your graduation."

"My graduation," I say flatly.

"Yeah, c'mon, now, even though you only had two PT sessions, I think we need to celebrate. You did get shot, you know. You can stop acting like that's not a big deal. I've only been shot once and it was in the leg. You almost died. Twice."

Everyone keeps reminding me about how I almost died. It may be because I've been walking around the tower like an animated corpse lately, but still. I get it. I almost died. I needed blood transfusions and surgery and physical therapy. I was in a medically induced coma. Blah blah blah. I don't feel like it's a big deal, but that might have something to do with the fact that I haven't really been feeling much of anything lately. I never had a lot of time to process injuries when I was a kid, so maybe that has something to do with it.

The gunshot wounds have healed over. The scar tissue is still very dark pink so it's in the early stages, but at least they're not bleeding all over me anymore. That got old very fast. There are, however, two circular scars that have just joined the others on my chest.

"I, uh, I don't know, Max," I say, shifting around uneasily. I pick at the hem of my long-sleeved shirt and avoid looking at him.

He eyes me for a moment before he sighs that "I'm too old for this" sigh of his and finally says something.

"Listen, kid, if this is about the state of your torso, then don't even worry about it. Not with me. When they brought you into the ER, I mean, you were dying, so they obviously just ripped your shirt open and did their job." A flare of panic explodes through my insides. Who else saw? "And before you start, I was the only one who went with the ambulance crew. They'd only take one of us."

I breathe a silent breath of relief. Good.

"Just us?" I say quietly.

He flashes me a smile before jumping to his feet.

"Of course," he says. "C'mon, Ford!"

Max grabs a roll of clear saran wrap from the kitchen before he makes his way to this elevator with an air of determination. I still hesitate like I normally would when it comes to taking my shirt off in front of someone, but Max keeps a neutral expression on his face as he waits patiently. He wraps the portion of my chest with the gunshot wounds so that the chlorine doesn't fuck with them. Maybe we're being a little overly cautious, but I've been wrapping them up just to shower, as well, so this really shouldn't be any different.

Max basically tosses me into the pool once I'm finally ready to be exposed to water. I land in the deep end and swim all the way down to the bottom of the eight-foot portion. There are metal handles screwed into the floor of the pool in some parts that we can hold onto. I grab hold of one and take some time to look around. I've always enjoyed sitting at the bottom of swimming pools and just enjoying the otherworldly feeling.

I resurface once I inevitably start to run out of air. Max is floating around on an inflatable slice of pizza.

"You're more like a fish than I thought you'd be," Max says casually. "Then again, you are a water bender. Should be expected."

"It's...well, it's the scars. I've known there's a pool here since I started with the team, JD told me about it."

"You really care that much about those marks?"

"Yes."

"You shouldn't. This entire team is like a group of Frankenstein's monsters. Scars from stitches and surgeries, burn marks and knife slices. Cecelia is more freckles than skin," he reasons.

"Yeah, I know." It's not just about the scars. People seeing them almost always goes hand in hand with being asked how I got them. That's not a story I've ever shared with anyone. Danny has seen them but he doesn't know how they got there in the first place. Derek knows, but that's only because he was there right after it happened. He was the only reason I didn't bleed out and die.

"And if anyone ever gives you shit about it, I will personally see to their disembowelment," Max adds for good measure.

"Thanks, Max."

We float around on the inflatable pool floaties for a little while. It's quite relaxing and I'll admit that I've missed getting to swim as often as I did when I was a kid. I stopped after the incident that marred my torso, but before that it was nearly all I did. I'm a water bender, after all, and I've felt connected to water ever since I fell into that lake when I was little.

"So, listen," Max says suddenly after a long stretch of comfortable silence. I sigh quietly. Max always starts with that when he's going to suggest something he doesn't think I'll be enthusiastically on board with. "Rowan can't be part of the team until he takes the exam, so he needs training. I was wondering if you'd be okay with me bringing him into our Wednesday training sessions."

"Well—" I start, but he cuts me off.

"Before you start, hear me out. You're very good at what you do. It's kinda scary, to be honest. That baby face of yours, like, disappears and is replaced by this ruthless badass. It's deceptive as hell. All I'm saying is that your powers are exact opposites and I think we can get them to complement each other really well if we put some time into it."

"I guess you're right," I grumble.

"And, okay, I also don't really know what happened between you two, so I'm really not gonna push you to agree. I'll respect your decision either way, but I just thought it'd be a good idea if you were interested," he adds on, shrugging from where he's floating on the raft. "If not, I'll just train him separately only."

I take some actual time to consider his suggestion. I slide my way off my raft and back into the water, diving down and reaching for the metal rail at the bottom of the six-foot section of the pool. It's easier to think down here. I can hold my breath longer than the average person, my record hovering just around the six-minute mark. That should be enough time to make a decision.

I can understand what Max is saying. It's perfect, really. Fire and ice? They're two opposites. One normally destroys the other. Using that difference to our advantage would be a useful tool in the field. No one would expect the guy who controls ice to be working alongside the one who controls fire.

The fact that I'll be working in close proximity to Rowan so soon isn't as easy to swallow. I'll have to have that long overdue conversation with him eventually, so saying no right now would just be delaying the inevitable. I was the one who advocated for him. I agreed when Max said we should recruit him to our team. It's kind of hard to work with someone in the field when you can't even talk to them.

I look around the bottom of the pool and run my palms across the blue and white tile. It's not the fake plastic covering used in those pop-up pools seemingly every suburban home has in their backyard. These tiles are real and carefully placed. This is truly a beautifully crafted pool. I should really make it a point to come here more often.

I let go of the metal handle and kick my way up to the surface. I definitely could have stayed down there longer but I've already made my decision. There's no reason to keep Max waiting.

"He can join us," I say quietly. "But if I wanna leave, I'm gonna leave."

"Of course," Max agrees with a wide smile. "C'mon, let's go get some lunch, huh?"

/-/-/

I try my best not to dread the upcoming training session during the two days leading up to it. It doesn't really work. I went on my first run since getting shot yesterday and only made it a few laps at a leisurely pace before I had to take my pain medication and lie down. It was kind of embarrassing, really, so I'm glad that no one was around to witness it.

Today is Wednesday. That normally means a one-on-one training session with Max, but now it also means sharing the session Rowan. The guy I betrayed. The guy who burned and permanently scarred me. The guy who lost control enough to grab me right where he had just hurt me not even an hour prior. That guy. I'm struggling to remember why I agreed to this in the first place.

Max and Rowan are already there when I get to the athletic floor. I nod to Max when he looks my way and avoid looking at Rowan altogether.

Max doesn't waste any time, jumping straight into the training session without much preamble. Rowan gives his best effort, performing thirty push-ups before his arms inevitably give out and he's forced to admit defeat. Max is hiding a smirk as he nods and directs him to the indoor track. There's a loud, exasperated sigh that rumbles out of Rowan's mouth, but that's all the protest he gives before setting off.

"I only want you to work with him on hand-to-hand today," Max says, coming over to join me where I'm standing off to the side. We watch Rowan take his first lap. Max instructions were to keep running until he's told to stop, which seems kind of cruel, if you ask me, but I won't question it. Max might make me run if I do, and I'm so out of whack these days that I'm pretty sure all I would succeed in is embarrassing myself.

"With our powers?" I say quietly.

"No," he replies, shaking his head. "Not today. You're already roughed up enough. You two facing off without powers will be bad enough. Your arms are already charred as it is, and—" Max stops abruptly, cutting himself off.

I look over, studying his face, which has clouded over with an expression that can only be described as putting two and two together. I should be panicking but I'm too tired to really care right now; I didn't get a lot of sleep last night.

"Are those from..." he begins, trailing off into silence.

I look away and back towards the track where Rowan is already showing clear signs of exhaustion. He's breathing hard and only through his nose. His form is atrocious. There's a lot he has to learn and a lot I can teach him if I'm willing. Maybe that's another reason Max wanted me down here with them today.

"Don't worry about it," I say in a voice I barely recognize as my own. "It's taken care of."

Max makes a noise like he clearly wants to say more, but he thankfully decides against it. We stand together and watch as Rowan's feet start to drag after the first half of his second lap instead. Sad. How does he expect to be allowed into the field if he can't even run a mile? Running a mile is actually part of the entrance exam, and for good reason. Pursuing or being pursued makes the ability to run for a considerable distance the difference between life and death.

Max stops Rowan at the end of his second lap and lets him get some water before we actually move onto sparring. I try to look as intimidating as possible once I finally step up to face Rowan on the sparring mat.

Rowan grabs me right by the arm, spins me around, and kick me behind the knees the second Max says go. I guess I'm completely out of practice because I didn't even see the basic series of moves coming. I crash to my knees, my arm held tightly behind me so that my shoulder is turned in the perfect position to break my arm with the right motion. Max calls the end of the mini-match and Rowan immediately releases me.

Okay. Alright. I guess this is war, then.

When I'm back on my feet and facing off with Rowan, my counterpart, our society's literal version of a "soulmate," my throat is burning with anger. Who the hell does he think he is coming in here and knocking me around like that? No way am I going to let that go.

I'm on him the second Max starts to the say the word "go." I tackle him like this is some insane kind of wrestling match and we roll around, fighting to be the one on top until I finally get him exactly where I want him. He's on his back and I'm sitting right on his chest, obstructing his breathing and holding his arms tightly above his head. I raise my fist and ready it to deliver a blow.

I stop.

My fist shakes where it's suspended in midair. He's holding his breath. I'm huffing harshly out of my nose as my mind runs a million miles a second. This is the end of the match. I've already won. I could punch him, though. I could crack the bones in his nose and watch the blood pour. I could.

But I won't. I tighten up the muscles in my arm and hand to stop the shaking before lowering it slowly until all I'm doing is sitting on his chest. I glare into his eyes as if I can see directly into his soul. His own are wide but all I feel is blank disinterest. I managed to convey a message without even really meaning to: I can control myself in situations where you couldn't. It's enough for me.

I get off of him and rise to my feet with jerky, mechanical movements. My thoughts are unusually quiet as if they're not even there and my fingertips are tingling.

I break eye contact to redirect my gaze to Max. His eyes move from Rowan who's still sprawled out on the floor to me where I'm standing above him.

"I'll see you next Wednesday. He can come if he still wants to," I say. This time I really can't identify with the voice that comes out of my mouth. The words tell them what I want them to know, though, so I turn abruptly, grab my things, and leave the room.

I take the elevator up to my suite and spend the rest of the night pretending that I'm not avoiding every other human like the plague. I consider texting Atlas or calling Derek a few times. Maybe this would be easier if somebody knew exactly what Rowan really is to me. He's not just a fling like the few people who even know anything about us think he is, and that changes everything.

I sit around and write a bit for the rest of the evening. I've been making some decent progress on the short story I started writing a couple months ago. It may or may not have been born mostly out of my own current situation, but, hey, it's easiest to write about what you know. It will never be something I want published but posting it online can't hurt. I have quite a following on one of the writing sites I frequent, and at least they seem to enjoy the nonsense I post there.

I venture down to the common floor later on in the night. My suite's kitchen is out of hot chocolate mix and I'm dying for a mug of it even though it's only a week away from June.

The coast seems to be clear when I step off of the elevator, so I make a dash for the kitchen. There's still nobody around when I check again so I find nothing wrong with hopping up onto the marble counter beside the microwave to reach into the top cabinet. Some sick and twisted tall person decided that putting the mix of which I am the only consumer on the very top shelf. Rude.

My hand closes around the box and I make a small noise of happiness. I've got the goods. Now it's time to make a swift, stealthy getaway. I climb back down from the counter, gazing down at the box as I turn to go back the way I came, but I nearly have a heart attack instead.

Rowan is there, looking smug that he caught me chocolate handed. I shouldn't really be surprised. I've never been much of a lucky person.

"Hi," he says innocently.

The smile drops from my face and I immediately a move to go around him. He blocks me with his arms, though, and backs me carefully into the counter.

"Gimme a chance, please?" he begs. "Please."

I sigh, looking this way and that, all while wishing I could just go back to my suite and make some damn hot chocolate.

"Fine," I say finally. "Three minutes."

"Alright, so, firstly, thanks for everything you did for Bella. You didn't even have to put in a good word for me, just her, but you did, anyway, and kept us together. I don't think I can ever thank you enough for that. She doesn't have anyone else."

"Okay," I say with an awkward nod.

"Next, I'm—" he begins, but his voice breaks and he has to pause for a second so he can clear his throat. "I'm sorry for...for burning you. I didn't, I didn't know that's what my dad was planning on doing. I didn't even know they were gonna grab you. I think he may have noticed that I stopped wearing my necklace, but that's still doesn't make it your fault. I fucked up. Badly. And then, when I grabbed you—"

"Stop," I say weakly. "It's fine."

He surprises me by grabbing my hands and shaking them up and down a bit.

"No, it's not," he insists, shaking my hands in time with the words, "I'll never stop being sorry. I think about it all the time. I can't stop. It's one of the worst things I've ever done. I don't know how to make it better."

"It's really okay," I say. I pull in a heavy breath as I struggle to get my thoughts in order. "Really. It's okay now."

"Really?"

"Really. I...accept your apology." I've never "officially" accepted an apology before, but there's a first time for everything and this seems like a situation that calls for it. "Now, how about..." I trail off, suddenly unsure of myself.

He waits for me to finish.

"How about we make some hot chocolate, and you come back to my suite with me."

He stares back in disbelief. It makes me impatient.

"I'm not gonna offer again," I say impatiently, rolling my eyes and shifting from foot to foot uncomfortably.

"Okay," he says, a soft smile sliding onto his face. "Sounds good."

We boil water in a kettle on the stove and dig some mugs out of the cabinet above the kitchen sink. I don't even have to ask where Bella is. It's way past her bedtime so she's definitely already asleep. She's his responsibility, anyway, so he wouldn't have agreed to come sleep in my suite if it was a problem.

I pop a jumbo marshmallow into both of our cups and offer him a tiny smile. He leads the way to the elevator and it takes us to my floor in a flash.

All the lights are off except for a string of white Christmas lights Wendy put up while I was in the hospital. We drink our cocoa in relative silence while the TV in my bedroom plays at a nearly silent volume. My bedroom is kind of a huge mess but Rowan doesn't seem to mind one bit. All the days I've spent barely being able to move, be it from pain or depression or a toxic combination of the two, means that I've been tossing things here and there without any thought. There's a heap of dirty clothes in the corner of the room, empty pudding cups on the nightstand, and cords for chargers and headphones all over the floor. I should really set aside some time to take care of it all.

We finish our hot chocolates. I turn the TV off and curl up under the comforter after I've shoved our empty mugs onto the only remaining space on my nightstand. The comforter is a normal blanket on top but soft fleece goodness on the bottom and it's gotten me through more than I'd like to admit. I turn onto my side to look over at Rowan once I'm settled. He's on his side, too, and facing me with an expression akin to what a kicked puppy would wear. Oh boy.

"They'll go away, right?" he says quietly. "The burns. My healing factor has always kept me from scarring after my powers presented."

I start a bit at the unintentional slap in the face before smiling shakily back at him.

"Not everyone has a factor, and none of them are the same, Row," I say softly. "Not for me, no. Everything scars."

I definitely don't like the devastation that spreads across his face, but I just couldn't bring myself to lie about it. He would have found out the truth eventually, anyway. Lying would've just been avoiding the inevitable.

"Oh," he murmurs back, and the sound shakes as it makes its way out of his mouth.

"It's okay, Row," I say, scooting closer and depositing myself neatly into his chest, "I'm used to scars, and there's nothing we can do about it now, anyway."

My words probably won't make him feel better, but that isn't really my intent. They're the truth, and the truth is something the two of us really need from now on. No more lying. About anything.

We sleep just like that and it's the easiest sleep I've had in a long time.