I'm Always Here For Them

She still had a death grip on the butterfly swords when Laila's body was carried away. It had been a good fight, as Amy had known it would be, and she was barely standing, herself, but watching the life leave the other woman's eyes had taken part of her. She hated taking the life of another human being, regardless of how little she cared for that person; it made her sick to her stomach.

She'd been nervous all week, hadn't even told Clive until last night, and she didn't sleep well. Even wrapped in the secure warmth of a man she dearly cared for, she couldn't sleep. Her exhaustion hadn't mattered. Only in the last few hours before daylight did she manage to finally fall asleep, and even then, it had been rough.

She looked like shit when she arrived in the weapons room, but by the time she'd gone through the warmup she'd been practicing day in and day out for months, she was ready to go. Changing quickly into the compression shorts and tank top she'd been working in since Ethan came home, Amy retrieved the butterfly swords that she had chosen for this challenge, and she entered the ring. Laila Coschette entered from the other side. They bowed to their judges and Face Cards, and then to each other, assumed their stances, and began.

It was all sort of a blur for Amy after that. Her body had been prepared for this more than she really knew, and watching Laila and talking to Jordan to accommodate what she hadn't seen had helped.

The other woman was fast, but she favored her left side. She fought dirty and made multiple attempts on the knees and hips, but Amy knew that and knew how to counter it; after all, she'd used those same techniques most of her life.

She didn't know who took first, second, or even third blood, but she knew that they were both bleeding from multiple injuries, and that the Five had landed a serious, deep slice to her left arm, and another to her right thigh. Every vicious clash of steel weakened her, and she knew that Laila was trying to wear her down.

So Amy took a chance. Instinctively knowing that the other woman was going to go for a final stab into her gut, she swung out at Laila's right arm with her left, while driving the other blade under the sternum and up into the heart, all the way to the hilt. The surprise was apparent on both women's faces when Amy pulled the blade out with as much determination as she'd used when she shoved it in, but she wasn't done. Oh, she wanted to be, but she wasn't. When Laila fell, Amy went with her, sinking to her knees.

She hadn't counted on the other woman being able to move enough to drive a blade into her thigh between muscle and bone. God, it hurt, but that was Laila's last move. With all of her remaining strength, Amy shifted to pin both wrists with her knees, meeting her gaze. If Laila could endure the death, the least Amy could do, as her killer, was watch.

She sat there for several long minutes, even after Laila was officially dead. It felt like an eternity had passed when she finally managed to get to her feet, bloodstained. She didn't hear her victory declared, or that she was now a Five of Spades. She didn't notice much of anything until someone ran to her to bandage her arm and thighs until she could be escorted to a doctor; her injuries weren't going to kill her in the next few minutes, at least.

Amy has learned that, in order to be what her Suit and Face Cards need from her, she has to be effective at the bottom or she'll never be allowed to try at the top. That can be problematic if the fight is above her head. Not a physical fight – no, that just isn't allowed outside a private setting in Spade Castle.

But it's a battle of wills, and it always has been, and as much as she wants it to be David who wins, she isn't sure. The best she can offer is sitting in his office, holding hands.

Amy has never been a woman to place much stock in tarot readings. It’s just a Thing that some people do, and some take it seriously while some don’t.

But when each shuffle brings one of two cards on the initial flip, often one after the other, is there not cause for concern? “The Devil represents addictions, being bound by things you need not be bound by,” she murmurs to herself. “The Chariot, a union of opposites to reach a common goal.”

The problem is that her goal is what she can’t let go of. She’s bound to him eternally.

Wake up in the morning, feel like a pile of shit. Reread the letter, attempt a response. Hear Declán's voice in her head: put it away or I'll take it away.

She puts the letter away, obedient to a disembodied voice, and showers, dresses. Finds her way to the kitchen for coffee and silence in the presence of the man who will give that to her without question.

Then it's to Papa's quarters, smiling when he's already awake and in his office. Retrieving his breakfast tray to deliver it to him herself before she's due in Katya's office.

Good morning.

Mid-July has never before been a functional excuse for anyone to get Amy into a dress. And yet, this year, when it's pointed out that her skin might actually be paler than her scars, and her ass might be darker than the rest of her, Amy concedes. She isn't sure why.

It helps, of course, that in unassuming packaging, a small white garment box on her bed, is a small black and green dress – spaghetti straps, mid-thigh length at the most. It really is small. But it's a perfect fit, and there's only one person who knows her exact measurements.