Chapter 19 #2
How she knew he was teetering on the edge of spiraling Indigo wasn't really sure, she just knew it, felt it.
Maybe the rest of his team knew it, too, or maybe they didn't. She did know that when she was gone, they would still be there, and she wanted them all to know that they had to be there for Voodoo, to support him, to help him, and stop treating him as though his ability to heal was all that mattered.
So, because she cared more about Voodoo than she did the lure of peace and quiet in the dark place slowly surrounding her, Indigo summoned strength she wasn't sure she had left, and managed to jerk her head in a single nod. Not much, but it was all she could manage.
“There you go, honey, there’s my brave fighter,” Voodoo praised, and his words were like a rush of warmth flooding her system.
It wasn't until that warmth touched her that she even realized she’d been freezing cold. Now that had registered, her entire body began to shake in what she knew would have been painful shudders if she were capable of feeling pain.
“It’s going to be okay, honey, I'm going to fix you right up,” Voodoo said. His tone was meant to be soothing, comforting, reassuring, and maybe it would be if she were anyone else.
But she wasn't anyone else, and she could feel his fear as though it was her own.
More than that, she could feel his insecurities, his terror at failing, his deep-seated belief that if he didn't save her, then nobody would love him, nobody would care about him, nobody would be interested in having him around.
After all, if his own parents didn't care about him no matter how hard he fought to gain their love and attention, then why should anybody else ever care about him?
“We need to get her off the cold ground,” Voodoo said, only the cold slowly consuming her from the outside in, was no longer the reason she was shaking. Now it was him, his emotions, her own emotions over what her impending death was going to do to him.
“You sure we should move her?” someone else asked. Maybe she’d know who if she could concentrate on anything other than Voodoo, but he was all Indigo cared about right now, all she could focus on.
“She’s in shock, we need to warm her up,” Voodoo said, his voice so strong and confident, so many years of practicing not letting anyone get a glimpse at what lay beneath his surface serving him well.
Forcing her eyes open, Indigo reached out before Voodoo could gather her into his arms. She wasn't surviving this. She’d just shot herself through the stomach, the blood loss on top of the burns littering her body, the broken leg, the infection that had already weakened her, there was no way she was surviving.
Attempting to live wasn't even her goal right now.
She had accepted the inevitable, her only driving need was to assure Voodoo that he didn't need to blame himself, convince him somehow that he was just him and he was good enough like that, he was all he had to be.
“No,” she said, annoyed that her voice was weak and insubstantial, nothing like the raging fire inside her.
Voodoo had given her everything she always wanted in the short time since she’d met him.
He’d made her feel seen, valued, like she mattered.
He was nothing like her ex-husband, who even when she thought their relationship was everything she’d ever wanted, was always putting her down, issuing vague insults that she’d learned to brush off.
“Yes, honey,” he contradicted, and she saw the tender affection on his face as he looked down at her. Or maybe she felt it rather than saw it.
“It’s okay,” she said, not sure how long she had left, but understanding she needed to use that time wisely.
“It will be,” Voodoo promised her, his fingers gently caressing her cheek. “I'm not going to let you die.”
There was no doubt he meant that with every fiber of his soul.
Only it wasn't up to him.
He wasn't responsible for her life, or anyone else’s.
His ability to save was miraculous, no doubt about that, but he was more than that.
It wasn't what made him valuable. What she respected most about him, what she was even coming to love about him, was that he cared.
Truly cared. For someone like her who had never been given an ounce of kindness from anyone in her life, that meant more than the fact that he could save the lives of people who should have died.
“Voodoo,” she whispered, lifting heavy arms to press her hand over his, needing him to feel what she was saying, not just hear it. “You don’t need to save me.”
“Of course I do,” he growled, like what she’d just said was personally offensive to him.
“No, you don’t. It’s not your job to save everyone, it’s not what makes you special,” she assured him, imploring him to believe her, to understand what she was trying to say so that her death didn't destroy him.
“It is,” he argued, and she knew he believed that, had been conditioned to expect it was the only thing of value he could possibly offer the world.
“You’ve already given me more than I could ever have hoped for,” she told him.
“That’s what matters. Not if you can save my life, I knew what I was risking when I shot us.
I want you to live, I want you to soar, I want you to know that you deserve all the good things in the world, because you’ve given me only good things.
I'm grateful that you healed me, saved me several times over already, but I'm more grateful that you cared, that you showed me what it meant to have someone care. You saw me, you never made me feel dirty, never made me feel that I was only the product of a terrible childhood, that I would only ever be a victim. You made me feel … special.”
That didn't seem like a strong enough word to convey all he’d given her, but it was the best she could come up with as her strength bled away with each drop of blood that oozed from the hole in her stomach.
“You're killing me, honey,” Voodoo’s agonized voice whispered. He lowered his head, touched his forehead to hers, and his breath, so very warm and soft against her skin, was the gentlest of caresses.
“You're more than your ability to save lives, you always have been,” she told him.
“I hate that your parents didn't make you understand that, but that’s their fault, their loss.
You're the best person I've ever met in my entire life.
You made me believe in humanity, believe in goodness, in happiness.
For the first time ever, I've felt what it was like to matter. You gave me that, and it means everything to me.”
“It’s not over yet, honey,” Voodoo said, voice urgent as he lifted his head. “I … can't save you on my own. Your injuries are too severe, you’ve lost too much blood, you're too weak. But I’ll get a surgeon flown here ASAP—”
“On it,” someone interjected, but Indigo didn't lift her gaze from Voodoo’s.
“I can keep you alive until help gets here. Then we’ll get you fixed up. I’ll bring you home, and you can have everything you deserve, all the happiness, all the peace, all the opportunities, it’s all yours, honey. All you have to do is hold on a little bit longer.”
He was so desperate, so pure in his desire to save, that she smiled, despite the distance that seemed to be growing between them.
“Already too late,” she whispered. “But it doesn’t matter. I'm not scared. You’ve given me so much, and I'm okay with how this turned out. As long as you live, then I'm happy. Almost.”
His brows arched in question, and her shaking hands shifted to frame his face.
“Kiss me. One last time. Please.”
“Don’t ever have to beg me for that, honey.”
Lips feathered across hers, and Indigo felt the last of her strength waft away.
If she was going to die, she couldn’t think of a better last moment.
The promise of what could have been infused in the kiss, Indigo was true to her promise that she was going to die happy, as consciousness filtered out of her mind.