Isabella

Rhys had gone completely still. Even the gentle breeze suddenly died. For a moment it was suffocating, a heady hot weight of stale air and tension. Distanly, Isabella wondered if Rhys knew how quickly that prenatural stillness revealed his fae blood. If he was aware of alien and foreign that frozen state was to her.

All at once he seemed to come back to life, fast enough to give her whiplash even as his shoulders relaxed and a concerned expression drifted onto his face. She knew it was another of his masks, though this time she didn't mind. She was certainly in no position to judge considering what she had just revealed. What she had just asked him to forget about.

It looks like Rhys is about to say something but his hesitation has Isabella tensing. Her shoulders had hunched in such a way that Rhys frowned. Slowly he raised a hand, his focus solely on her as he gently rubbed at the junction between her neck and shoulder. A gentle sigh fell from her lips as Isabella sagged into his touch.

"I should have called for you." She whispered, eyes drifting shut as she rested her head against Rhys' chest. He lets her hide there, no doubt understanding her inability to look at him at this moment. "I don't know why I didn't."

Rhys hummed and the sound rumbled through her body. It was nearly similar to the way Cassian would purr for her son. Something he rarely did but Isabella remembered the sound clearly. Rhys' sounded more broken, certainly more of a throaty hum than an actual purr. She wondered if it was the Illyrian blood that caused such a noise and not the fae.

They were so different from her, this whole world was so different.

"Everything has changed." She whispered, focusing on the way Rhys carded a hand through her hair. "I thought I would have adjusted to it by now."

"You've adapted incredibly well," Rhys murmured, voice low and soft. "Better than we had expected or hoped. It's no easy feat what you've done."

"They were all good changes."

"They were still changed, still something new for you to learn about and accept." Rhys countered. "You left an entire life behind."

Isabella sniffled, feeling the tears she had held back rise to the surface.

"It's okay to miss it." Isabella shuddered at his words, pressure building behind her eyes. "It's– it's okay to miss Tomas too."

She crushes herself against him, curling into her mate as if she can hide from the world and shame.

He lets her cry and holds her tighter with every sob. Her chest begins to ache with every breath. A sharp pain at the bottom of her ribcage that tightens and stabs. She lets it overwhelm her, choking off the air and scratching her throat. Rhys shifts and Isabella tightens her grip on him, nails all but claws as she digs into his flesh.

It's like she's been plunged underwater. Or as if a fog has descended upon her mind. It takes a while for such a thing to clear. When it does she remains curled against her mate, sitting in his lap like Oliver sits with her after a nightmare. Rhys is still stroking along her hair and down her back. Isabella takes a moment to just focus on the heat of his palm, her eyes still shut as she hides from what feels like a dim light.

Rhys keeps a light pressure as he strokes along her spine, each move purposeful and slow, grounding her to the moment. He doesn't speak, only quietly hums again in what Isabella is now sure to be a repressed purr. The thought of that noise has her own tongue flexing, picturing making a sound but only finding her throat sore and dry. The salty taste of her tears is barely more than a subtle tang against the stale of her mouth.

She sighs, shifting slightly once she has found the energy to move. Rhys slowly stops humming, arms coming to band round her in a loose hug. Enough to cradle her without weighing her in a trap. Isabella takes a moment to look around, releasing that Rhys must have winnowed her back home while she had cried. They were in her living room, resting on the large sofa in front of the coffee table that was still covered with Oliver's toys.

"I missed her for a time." It sounds like a confession and from the way Rhys seems to be forcefully keeping himself relaxed it probably is. "50 years of–"

He cuts himself off with a sharp breath.

"I missed her." He sounds so broken but Isabella didn't dare move. "It was during the quiet moments when I didn't know what to do."

"It was probably during the big moments as well but I noticed it more during the silence." He goes back to stroking her hair, a movement more for him than her. "I'd walk into the kitchen and not know what to do. I couldn't remember whether I was hungry or thirsty, and once I had worked it out I didn't know what to eat."

"I'd just stare at the cupboards, opening them one by one, reading every label until the choice overwhelmed me."

"I wanted–" He chokes, unable to continue with the sentence.

Tears began to drip down her face as Rhys buried his face in her hair. His choked off sobs rattle against her body. It takes a moment of twisting but she manages to wrap her arms around him, enough to tighten her grip and hold him tight.

Enough, he had said enough for one night. Isabella knew the pain with which he now shook. She recognised it from her nightmare, from her work with soldiers at the villages. He had spoken with the same bone weariness as the homeless she had done her best to care for. For a second she might as well have been back in that cold and snowy village. Sitting before another broken man unable to do or say anything to help.

She swallows, flexing the muscles in her mouth. It's an effort to remember how to speak. She does so anyway, knowing her mate needs something, anything from her.

"I don't know how to get dressed." She whispers to him, her own sordid confession. "I only had three outfits, each one more torn and ripped by the last. But here... I have more clothes than I know what to do with."

"And it's so early in the morning that I just... forget. Where I am, I mean. I know Oliver needs me, that I need to be up soon and that breakfast needs to be made but I forget how many place settings I need. If I'm cooking for two or three."

She swallows back the sharp tang of shame that curls in her gut.

"Then I just stare in my wardrobe. It's the first thing in the morning that reminds me I have choices." She shudders. "And there are so many decisions to make. So many more factors and options and differences and things that I've never had to consider before. Even just normal things, but ones that To– he would have made."

"What to have for dinner. When to leave the house. It's so overwhelming." She whispers, eyes burning but having run out of tears. "And when the choices threaten to choke me I wish that–"

She doesn't say it. She doesn't need to. Her mate understands perfectly well what she means. The shame and guilt that weighs down her new life. Because how could she miss her old life? Where it was the same routine day in, day out. Where she had no choices or autonomy, where every detail and thought was decided for her and made clear.

"Sol was the only thing I had chosen for myself in years." Isabella states, her voice going firm as she tries to remember why she made such a decision. "It was such a stupid and naive choice but one that I got to make. The mistakes were mine, something belonging to me."

"Lucien was his friend." It's easier to focus on the now, to explain what had happened at the party rather than dwell on what they had both revealed. "I met him once, early in my pregnancy. I didn't know I was pregnant at the time but now it's obvious that they both did."

"Lucien was kind enough," She supplies, not wanting to paint a picture of lies. "He was respectful even though he made no secret that he disagreed with us. Lucien was the one who got a healer to be during the birth."

Isabella hesitates, wondering if its worth mentioning the next part. "I nearly died during it."

Rhys was barely breathing as she continued to speak.

"The pregnancy had been hell. I was in constant pain and only grew sicker and weaker as the months went on. The healers told me that I was being drained, that fae children fed off their parent's power to help sustain their growth. I had none and it nearly killed the both of us. Oliver was born early as a result and he was–"

She shuddered, chest aching at the memory of her baby. Her Oliver so fragile and small.

"I'm sorry, I can't–" She cuts herself off, feeling a familiar panic clawing at her chest.

Rhys straightens up, murmuring nonsensical words of comfort as he helped sooth her panic. It was so easy to get lost in those early memories. Those cold nights spent watching over a crib with nothing but terror in her heart. She barely remembered having a chance to love him in those first weeks. Didn't remember feeling anything other than chest crushing fear and resentment.

"It's okay, you're okay." Rhys pressed gentle kisses to side of her head. "Oliver's okay now. He's upstairs, Iz, sleeping with Bat-bat."

She nodded, taking a shuddering breath.

"Gods I'm such a mess." She moaned, slumping against her mate and letting him hold all her weight.

Rhys snorted. "I think this is the first time you've actually cried about all this to one of us."

He sounded oddly pleased by it.

"I'm glad you're starting to trust me." She glances up at him for the first time all evening, finding him smiling softly down at her.

"I'm glad you're trusting me." Isabella murmurs, watching as his smile wavers a second before he nods gently. "You shouldn't have to keep it all bottle up."

He arches a brow at her, a familiar playful light coming back into his eyes.

"Which one of us just–"

She groans and despite the situation they both grinned.

"I am such a hypocrite." She huffs, though feels little guilt about it in the moment.

Rhys shrugs, "We're all learning."

Isabella cuts him a glare, "I'm the one who's been preaching communications."

"I actually think that was Cassian and Azriel."

She tilts her head to the side, accepting his statement with an eye roll.

"Not that they were any better than us." Rhys grumbles.

"True."

"They seem to have calmed down now." Rhys muses, thinking through their past interactions. "I think we're starting to find a nice rhythm."

She couldn't help but agree with him.

"I am sorry." She states suddenly, feeling as if she hand't made it clear enough. "For not reaching out to you sooner."

"For this evening or for how you've been feeling."

"Both." Isabella winces a little. "Though I apologise more for the lucien thing. That feels like more of a surprise than me not adjust well."

A muscle pinches at the side of Rhys' lip. Isabella recognises the tell immediately.

"Just say it Rhys." She urges him, voice tired. "I think we've confessed enough to share one last thought."

He still hesitates, staring down at her with unsure eyes.

"I'm not sure if it's my place," His expression goes carefully guarded. "You said Lucien wants to meet Oliver."

"It is your place." Isabella answers instead, a tired smile spreads across her face. "But if this is to work then all four of us should have a say, and I don't want to put them out by making a plan with you and not them."

Rhys nods, "Tomorrow then."

"Tomorrow." she echoes.

A/N: She's back from the dead with an unedited chapter. Very sorry for ghosting you all for over three months, life, exams, and mental health got in the way. It's taken more effort than I would have liked to get back into writing so updates may be slow.

I'm still sticking to a more oneshot style of writing and hoping that a plot emerges from that. Current plans include a few reader suggestions of: first kiss, smut scene, Lucien scenes, Cassian's backstory, and Rhys' trauma healing.

Suggestions / requests are welcome as it saves me having to write out horrific amounts of plans and brainstorming ideas.