Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

four months ago 

She stumbles right into his arms — alive, breathing — and for a moment that feels suspended in time, Saul’s heart seems to stutter and skip, caught between relief and disbelief. Her body is streaked with soil, stray leaves tangled stubbornly in the wild mess of her disheveled hair, and yet, even in this state — especially in this state — she has never looked more beautiful to him. It feels inevitable that she stumbles, though, as if it was always meant to be this way, with her falling only for him to catch her in his arms.

“Saul?..” she whispers, her voice a little more than a ragged thread of sound, hoarse and fragile in a way that sends a deep pang of fear through him, sharp and unrelenting.

Without thinking, Saul tightens his hold on her waist. “You’re here. You’re going to be okay,” he answers firmly, as though he could will her into believing it, but Farah knows him too well to be fooled. Beneath the calm exterior, she can hear the faint, telltale crack that shatters the illusion of confidence, the raw desperation seeping into his words despite his best efforts to hide it.

The specialist’s hand flies to her cheek instinctively, rough palm brushing against rain-slicked skin, smearing the dirt that clings stubbornly to her face. The cold rain mixes with the grime, the droplets trailing over their joined hands, but neither of them notices. Neither of them cares.

now

The icy blue of Farah’s eyes fades back to their natural hazel too abruptly, too quickly, and far too weakly for her liking. A dull ache echoes in her temples almost instantly, breath catches in her throat as the world tilts and shatters into a swirling kaleidoscope of colours. She blinks, trying to shake off the haze, but it lingers, wrapping itself around her mind like a stubborn fog. Then, Farah reaches out blindly, fingers brushing the soft material of her sofa, grounding her just enough to stay upright, and the world finally steadies, slowly, reluctantly, leaving the bitter taste of failure sitting heavy on her tongue.

It’s been four months since her return from the dead, and even though the recovery has been going smoothly, her progress with magic seems to have plateaued. Not so long ago, Farah could have ripped a Burned One apart without much effort, her power effortless and undeniable, now she can't even light a damn candle.

“It’s going to be okay, Farah,” Ben had told her a month ago, his voice steady and reassuring, the kind of tone he reserved for crises, “You quite literally came back from the dead. Your power — and your body — need time to heal. Don’t push yourself too hard, or you’ll only make it worse.”

The problem is, patience has never been one of Farah Dowling’s strengths. The thought of waiting, of doing nothing while her magic lies dormant, feels unbearable. Sitting still feels like giving up, and surrender isn’t something she allows herself to consider, not now, not ever. So she keeps trying, day after day, to summon even the faintest trace of the power that once surged through her veins, stubbornly clinging to the hope that she can will it back into being. But no matter how fiercely she tries, no matter how much effort she pours into coaxing even a spark from the emptiness inside her, her magic remains distant, silent, and unyielding. Each failed attempt leaves her weaker, more frustrated, but she refuses to stop. She can’t.

The phone on her coffee table begins to vibrate, a soft hum cutting through the heavy quiet of her suite. It rattles insistently a few times, then falls still, unnoticed. She doesn’t even flinch when it starts again, the vibration morphing into a low, buzzing trill that echoes faintly against the wood. It’s only when the unlocked door to her suite swings open with an abrupt creak, revealing a worried specialist standing in the doorway, that she finally lifts her head.

“Farah, are you okay?” Saul asks, his voice quick and urgent, though there’s something deeper in his tone, something that trembles on the edge of fear. In response, Farah sighs, long and slow, as if even the act of breathing is an effort she can barely manage. She closes her eyes for a moment, her hand resting limply against the sofa, fingers curling faintly against soft material. “You weren’t answering your phone,” he adds, softer now, words tinged with an almost hesitant frustration.

“Yes. Sorry,” Farah murmurs finally, her voice quiet and uneven, as she forces a small, strained smile to her lips. “I got a little caught up.”

She moves just a little bit, attempting to stand still, but the moment her weight shifts, her body betrays her. Her knees buckle without warning, balance slipping away as her legs crumple beneath her. A sharp gasp escapes her lips as she stumbles, the sudden rush of vertigo leaving her reeling.

Saul lunges forward instantly, catching her just before she collapses completely. The alarm on his face only adds to her frustration, and she shakes her head weakly, her hand coming up to push at his shoulder. His arms, though, stay firm around her, steady and warm.

“I’m fine,” Farah mutters, though the unsteadiness in her voice betrays the words. She hates this — hates the weakness, the vulnerability, the way her body refuses to obey her, as if mocking every attempt to regain control. Fine is a lie, and they both know it, but there’s no way she’s going to say it out loud.

“Fine doesn’t look like this,” he says, his tone softening, his grip steady as he lowers her carefully onto the sofa. The weight of his gaze is almost too much, but Farah doesn’t have the strength to turn away.

“How about “okay”, then?” At that, the man lets out a sharp breath, his lips pressing into a thin line as he kneels beside her, his hands hovering for a moment as if unsure whether to let go or hold her steady.

“Okay isn’t much better,” he mutters, his voice quieter now but no less edged with concern. His eyes remain locked on hers, searching her face for something — some sign she isn’t slipping further away from him.

Farah leans her head back against the sofa and exhales slowly, willing her body to stop trembling. “Well, it’s the best you’re getting,” she says, her voice dry, the exhaustion bleeding through every word.

Saul doesn’t laugh, doesn’t even crack a smile. His expression remains tense, the line between his brows deepening as he studies her pale face. “Farah, this isn’t sustainable,” he says after a moment, his tone low but deliberate. “You’re pushing yourself too hard. Ben was right — you need time. Time to rest, to heal, to let things come back naturally.”

“I don’t have time,” she snaps, though the strength behind the words is fleeting, crumbling as quickly as it appears. She drags a hand over her face, her fingers trembling slightly as frustration wells up inside her. “Every day that goes by, it feels like I’m losing more of myself. My magic, my strength — it’s all slipping away, and if I stop trying, if I just… wait, then what’s left of me?”

The silence that follows is heavy, Saul’s expression softening as her words hang between them. He doesn’t respond right away, doesn’t offer platitudes or empty reassurances, and for that, she’s grateful. Instead, he reaches out, placing a steady hand over hers where it rests on her lap.

“What’s left of you?” he repeats, his voice quieter now, but no less steady. “Farah, you’re still here. You’re still fighting, even when you don’t have to. Even when it’s breaking you. That’s who you are. Not your magic, not your power. You.”

At his words, the woman stiffens, her gaze dropping to their joined hands as something inside her twists painfully. It’s not that she doesn’t believe him — it’s that she doesn’t know how to see herself that way, not anymore. Not after everything she’s lost.

“I don’t know how to do this,” she admits, the words slipping out before she can stop them, quieter than a whisper but heavy with the weight of her doubt. “I don’t know how to just… be.”

Saul squeezes her hand gently, his touch grounding her in a way that feels both comforting and terrifying. “You don’t have to figure it out all at once,” he says, his voice a quiet anchor in the storm of her thoughts. “But you can’t do it like this, Farah. You can’t keep tearing yourself apart trying to hold on to something that’ll come back in its own time.”

Farah closes her eyes, a long, shuddering breath escaping her as his words settle over her. She doesn’t want to admit he’s right, but deep down, she knows he is. She just doesn’t know how to let go.

After a moment, she opens her eyes again, her gaze meeting his, and though her expression is still guarded, there’s a flicker of something softer beneath it. “You’re awfully persistent, you know,” she murmurs, the faintest hint of a wry smile tugging at her lips.

Saul leans back slightly, his own expression softening as the tension in his shoulders eases just a little. “Comes with the territory,” he says, a touch of humour creeping into his tone. “Besides, someone has to make sure you don’t work yourself into the ground. Might as well be me.”

Farah huffs a quiet laugh, and the sound comes out more genuine than she expects. Saul doesn’t miss the subtle shift, the way her faint smile lingers, softening the sharp edges of her exhaustion, and he lets the silence linger for a moment longer before squeezing her hand again gently.

“Alright,” he says finally, standing and brushing off his knees as he straightens up. “Here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to make dinner for you tonight because we both know you won’t eat a damn thing if I leave you to your own devices. So, I’m staying, and I’m making sure you do.”

At that, Farah blinks, caught off guard by his sudden declaration. “Saul—” she starts, her tone bordering on protest, but he holds up a hand, cutting her off.

“No arguments,” he says firmly, his lips twitching with the ghost of a smile. “You don’t have to do anything except sit there and not collapse again. Can you manage that?”

She narrows her eyes at him, though the usual fire behind the look is dulled by her lingering fatigue. “You’re impossibly stubborn, you know that?”

“Takes one to know one,” he counters easily, his smile widening just enough to make her shake her head in reluctant amusement.

With a soft sigh, Farah leans back against the sofa, her shoulders sagging as she gives in. “Fine,” she mutters, her voice carrying a thread of mock resignation. “But don’t think this means I’m going to let you boss me around.”

Saul chuckles, a low, warm sound as he gestures toward the door leading to her bedroom. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says. “Now go get changed into something more comfortable. I’ll wait here, and when you’re ready, I’ll make sure you get some proper food in you for a change.”

Farah hesitates, studying him for a moment as if weighing whether to argue further, but the steady determination in his gaze leaves her little room to push back. With another soft sigh, she pushes herself to her feet, moving slowly but steadily this time, and heads toward her bedroom.

Saul watches her go, his expression unreadable for a moment before he exhales quietly, glancing around the room. When she returns a short while later, she’s dressed in a loose sweater and soft lounge pants, her hair tied back in a way that makes her look younger, more vulnerable. She settles onto the plush sofa with a faint groan, pulling a blanket over her lap as she watches Saul with an almost suspicious look.

“I hope you’re not planning on making some elaborate feast,” she says, arching an eyebrow. “I’m not sure I have the energy to sit through that.”

Saul grins, already heading toward the small kitchen tucked into the corner of her suite. “Relax,” he calls over his shoulder. “I’m keeping it simple. You just sit there and try not to overthink everything for once.”

Farah leans her head back against the cushions, the warmth of the blanket and the quiet hum of activity in the kitchen lulling her into a rare moment of calm. She doesn’t know what Saul plans to make, and truthfully, she doesn’t care. For once, she feels like the world isn’t entirely on her shoulders, and though the sensation is foreign, it’s not unwelcome.

From the kitchen, the soft clatter of pans and the occasional hiss of something cooking fills the air, and Farah finds herself relaxing more than she thought possible. Saul works patiently, his movements efficient but unhurried, as though he has all the time in the world to make sure she’s taken care of.

“You know,” Farah calls out after a moment, her voice softer now, “I don’t remember asking for a personal chef.”

Saul chuckles, his voice drifting back to her. “Consider it part of the service. Don’t get used to it, though. This is a limited-time offer.”

Farah shakes her head, a faint smile tugging at her lips as she sinks deeper into the cushions. It doesn’t take long for Saul to bring over two plates of steaming food, placing one in front of her on the low coffee table and the other at the spot beside her. The smell is warm and inviting — simple roasted vegetables and pasta tossed in a light sauce. Nothing extravagant, but it smells like comfort, and for that, Farah is grudgingly grateful.

“You didn’t burn it,” she remarks, leaning forward to take her fork, though the teasing edge in her tone is gentle.

“I’m full of surprises,” Saul replies smoothly, sitting down beside her and picking up his own fork. “Now eat. No excuses.”

Farah takes a bite then, chewing slowly, and the meal is good — better than she expected, though she’d never tell him that outright. “You didn’t have to do all this,” she says after a moment, her tone firmer now, the faintest hint of defensiveness creeping in. “I can take care of myself, Saul. I’ve been doing it for years.”

However, he doesn’t even look up, twirling a forkful of pasta with deliberate calm. “You’re right, you can,” he says, his voice steady but with a weight that makes her stomach tighten. “But you’re not doing it now. Not properly. And I’m not just going to sit back and watch you run yourself into the ground.” 

“I’m not—” Farah starts, but he cuts her off with a sharp look, his fork clattering softly against his plate as he sets it down.

“You are,” he says, his tone harder now, his eyes meeting hers with an intensity that makes her breath catch. “You’ve been pushing yourself every single day, trying to force your magic back when your body isn’t ready. You’re exhausted, you’re barely eating, and you think I can’t see it? You think no one notices?”

The woman stiffens, her appetite forgotten as she places her fork down with more force than necessary. “I don’t need you to lecture me, Saul,” she snaps, her voice rising. “You have no idea what it’s like to feel this... empty. To have something that’s a part of you, something that is you, ripped away. So don’t sit there and act like you understand.”

Saul exhales sharply, his jaw tightening as he runs a hand through his hair. “You’re right,” he says finally, his voice quieter now but no less firm. “I don’t understand what you’re going through. But I know what it feels like to almost lose someone you care about — to feel completely powerless to stop it.”

Farah falters at that, her gaze dropping to her lap, but he isn’t finished.

“I thought I’d lost you, Farah,” he says, his voice breaking slightly on the words. “When you were gone, when you—” He pauses, swallowing hard as his hands tighten into fists on his knees. “I thought I’d never see you again, and it nearly killed me. And now you’re here, but it feels like I’m watching you slip away all over again. I can’t—” He cuts himself off, his breath shaky as he leans forward, elbows on his knees, his head bowed. “I can’t let that happen again.”

The weight of his words crashes over her, leaving her stunned. She stares at him, her chest tight, and for a moment, the room is silent save for the faint hum of the heater in the background.

“I didn’t know,” she whispers finally, the anger in her voice replaced by something softer, something almost apologetic. “I didn’t realise...”

Saul looks up, his eyes meeting hers, raw and unguarded in a way that makes her heart ache. “You don’t have to go through this alone, Farah,” he says softly, the steel in his tone giving way to something warmer. “You don’t have to fight so hard all the time. Not with me.”

Farah’s throat tightens, the words she wants to say catching in her chest. Then, she looks away, her fingers curling tightly around the edge of her plate. “You know that I’m not used to... letting people in,” she admits quietly, her voice barely audible. “Not like this.”

“You don’t have to be,” Saul says, leaning closer, his voice steady again. “You just have to let me help. Even if it’s just making sure you eat or reminding you to take a break. That’s all I’m asking.”

The room falls quiet again as they pick at the remains of their dinner, the air between them still charged with unspoken tension. Farah glances at Saul out of the corner of her eye, noticing the way his shoulders have relaxed, though his jaw still tightens occasionally, as if he’s holding back something unsaid. She knows that look — the one he gets when he’s deep in thought, carefully choosing his words.

“Saul,” so, she begins, setting her fork down, voice quieter now but tinged with curiosity. “Why do you care so much?”

Caught off guard by the question, he looks up sharply. “What do you mean?”

“This. Staying here, making sure I eat, refusing to let me push myself too hard. Why are you doing all this?”

Saul exhales slowly, leaning back against the sofa, his plate forgotten on the coffee table. His eyes search hers, and for a moment, she sees a flicker of hesitation, as though he’s deciding whether to say what he’s been holding back. “Because you would have done the same. Because you’re my best friend. Because I care about you, Farah,” he says finally. “More than I should, maybe. More than you want me to.”

Her breath catches, her heart skipping a beat as his words sink in. She opens her mouth to respond, but he keeps going, his words spilling out now like a dam breaking.

“When you were gone, it wasn’t just the school or the students that felt empty. It was me. You left this... void, and I didn’t know how to fill it. Every day without you was—” He shakes his head, his voice catching. “It was unbearable. And now that you’re here again, I can’t just stand by and watch you slip away. I care about you too much to let that happen.”

Farah stares at him, her chest tight with emotion she doesn’t know how to name. She should push back, deflect with sarcasm or a sharp remark, but the weight of his confession leaves her unable to do anything but speak the truth. “You think I didn’t feel the same?” she says softly, her voice trembling just enough to betray the vulnerability she’s trying to hide. “When I was gone, all I could think about was everything I left behind. The things I didn’t say. The people I didn’t get to say them to.” Her gaze drops to her lap, her hands twisting together as she fights to find the right words. “I’ve always been good at keeping people at a distance. It’s safer that way. But with you, it’s... different. You make it impossible to stay distant. And that terrifies me, Saul.”

“Why?” he asks gently, leaning closer, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Because I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you too,” she admits, her voice breaking on the last word. When she finally looks up, eyes meeting his, the raw emotion in his gaze makes her feel exposed in a way that’s both terrifying and freeing.

“You’re not going to lose me,” he says firmly, his hand reaching out to cover hers. His touch is warm, grounding, and she clings to it like a lifeline. “I’m here, Farah. And I’m not going anywhere.” The silence stretches between them, heavy with unspoken feelings, until Saul takes a slow, deliberate breath. “I’m done pretending, Farah. I love you. I have for longer than I want to admit. And if you’ll let me, I’ll prove to you every day that you don’t have to do any of this alone.”

Farah’s breath hitches, her heart pounding as the words she’s been afraid to say rise unbidden to her lips. “I think I always have, too. Loved you, that is. I just... didn’t know how to say it,” she whispers.  

The specialist’s expression softens, a small, almost disbelieving smile tugging at his lips. “You don’t have to say anything else,” he murmurs, his hand lifting to brush a stray strand of hair from her face.

The air between them crackles with tension, and for a moment, neither of them moves, as if the slightest shift will break the fragile spell. Then, slowly, Saul leans in, his eyes never leaving hers, giving her every chance to pull away.

She doesn’t.

When their lips meet, it’s soft and tentative, a careful exploration that quickly deepens into something more as the walls between them finally crumble. It’s not fireworks or anything of sorts, but the kiss is a confession in itself, unspoken words and years of longing poured into a single moment.

When they pull apart, their foreheads resting together, Farah lets out a shaky laugh, her cheeks flushed. “You’re really impossible, you know that?”

Saul grins, his hand still cupping her cheek. “You’re one to talk.”

She shakes her head, a faint smile tugging at her lips as she leans back against the sofa. For the first time in four months, the future doesn’t feel quite so heavy. And with Saul beside her like that, she thinks maybe — just this once — she doesn’t have to face it alone.