Ashes & Lilac

:When the storm comes. It does not announce it invades~

The hospital corridor was dead quiet at midnight. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, and Leah barely registered the dull ache in her feet after a long shift. She was out of her scrubs. Done with the day and pulling on a shirt when the emergency buzzer echoed down the hall—sharp, frantic. Trauma intake.

Her heart kicked up.

She moved fast, instinct taking over, gloves on, mind steady—until she saw the figure being wheeled in.

"Doctor! Doctor Leah, it's an emergency"

Blood streaked across the woman’s temple, and her black jacket was soaked, torn at the sleeves. A fierce energy clung to her even in unconsciousness. But it wasn’t her injuries that made Leah freeze.

It was her face.

Sharp. Wild. Beautiful in the way storms are beautiful. Dark hair, knuckles split open like she’d fought something—or someone—without caring what it cost.

Leah felt all the years of professionalism kicking in, she got herself togather in a second and moved forward. Voice steady yet firm.

“Name?” Leah asked the paramedics, but none of them knew. "She was found near the old town buildings Doc_unconscious with her Bike" A younger nurse replied moving forward,probably new, not to know her name.

She turned back to the woman, kneeling close, her voice lowering. “Hey…" She gently placed her fingers on the women pulse feeling it move under her gloved fingers "can you hear me?”

Dark lashes fluttered.Eyes slowly opened.

And Leah stopped breathing unknowingly.

Those eyes—dark emerald forest, endless, alive with something raw—locked onto hers. Not pleading. Not dazed. Focused.

Like she was looking through Leah. Into her.

Then, hoarse and deliberate, the woman spoke: “Don’t involve the police.”

It was not a request but an order.

Her voice was rough velvet. Dangerous. Vulnerable.

Leah didn’t flinch. “You need stitches. You’re lucky your arm’s still attached. You should be worried about this...”

The woman’s lips twitched, not quite a smile. More like defiance. “I’ve had worse,” she mumbled barely audible.

Leah leaned in closer, her tone steady but not cold. “That doesn’t make this any less reckless.”

Their eyes held for a beat too long.

And something unspoken passed between them—something that reached beyond blood and bruises. Something that warned Leah this woman would shatter the quiet rhythm of her life.

And she was already too curious to look away.

Several nurses were already at the scene and it seemed like the more people gathered the more the woman got stiff.

And then all of a sudden she sat upright, removing the sheets away from her body.

“Hey! Where are you going?” Leah quickly rushed to her side...many nurses stopped their activities to stare at the strange fiery woman who was now giving the doctor a hard look.

“I am leaving,” she declared with no emotion.

“But you can’t… not like this—you are bleeding.” Leah’s voice was filled with concern and she watched as the woman’s eyes turned behind her, giving the nurses a “Do your business, bitches” look that was enough to make them go back to their jobs.

Her green untamed eyes turned to scan Leah’s face for a second before she spoke calmly, “I have to.”

“But why...?” Leah’s face was full of confusion edged with sadness as she looked at the woman’s bleeding arm again.

No answer.

The woman, on the other hand, felt a strange sensation at the way the doctor’s face was showing signs of worry and sadness even though it was all expertly hidden behind a mask of professionalism.

The sterile room was hushed, save for the rhythm of rain striking the glass. Leah had pulled the curtain closed around the small bed, the rest of the clinic fading away like a dream. Only the storm and the woman remained.

Anabale sat upright now, shoulders stiff and jaw clenched. The leather jacket had been peeled off with effort, torn and blood-stained, revealing the cut trailing across her side and the bruises along her ribs. Her body was carved muscle—grace and violence etched into every line.

Leah moved carefully, gathering gauze and antiseptic, her hands gentle but firm. She wasn’t used to silence this loaded. It crackled like thunder.

“Seriously... there was no need bringing me here, to \*this—” Anabale eyes moved around the strange cozy place.

“My clinic,” Leah finished it for her with a soft smile.

Anabale frowned, eyes fixed somewhere past her shoulder. “Like as I’m something to fix.”

“I’m not trying to fix you,” Leah said, voice soft but unshaken. “I’m trying to help you breathe through the pain.”

Anabale let out a humorless laugh. “I’m used to it.”

Leah didn’t respond. She dipped the gauze into warm water, then reached toward the bloodied cut. The moment the cloth touched skin, Anabale flinched—barely, but Leah saw it.

The instinct wasn’t from pain.

The intimacy of it startled them both.

Anabale’s hand caught Leah’s wrist. Her instincts were sharp but not to stop her. Just to hold it. Her thumb traced Leah’s pulse—slow, searching, reverent before letting go. Leah felt the burn of her touch but she didn’t think much of it.

Leah was quietly proud of herself. She didn’t gloat, but the flicker of satisfaction was there because She had managed to coax a storm of a woman into the shelter of her space, even if just for a few hours of mending.

After she was done with the last bandage put into place with a soft tug..She noticed how the woman didn’t hiss and stayed still the whole time while most patients would be crying and cursing due to the burn of strong antiseptics.

The woman surely was strong.

Leah than stood up a soft content smile on her face, brushing her palms against her thighs as if shaking off whatever strange pull had settled between them.

“I’ll just go put this away,” she said casually, nodding toward the first aid kit.

She turned, crossing the room, the soft patter of her footsteps barely audible over the lingering rain outside. Her shirt had slipped slightly at the back, the waistband of her jeans visible, the line of her waist clean and soft.

Anabale’s eyes followed her—unblinking, sharp. Something moved in her chest and she didn’t like it. She noticed how Leah hair was all messy in the bun she must have pulled in urgency yet the small strands framing her face make her look good.

She was feminine yet natural —Anabale payed attention unintentionally at first—to the soft curves of Leah’s back, the waistband of her pants, the gentle sway in her step.

She let her gaze fall lower, tracing Leah’s silhouette imprinting every curve into her memory—Something flickered darkly in her expression, a heat quickly masked. She hardened her stare, clamped it down like a trap. But it was there, in the twitch of her jaw, hiding the emotions like it was a weakness.

Leah felt a shiver on her back and paused, mistaking it for cold —“It’s cold,” she said under her breath, though the room wasn’t that cold at all.

She pulled a soft lilac sweater and slid it over her head. The fabric fell gently around her hips.It should not have bothered anyone.

But something about it bothered Anabale.She looked away sharply.

The soft pastel covering Leah’s skin made her feel strange. It was easier when the doctor was just hands and gloves and clean antiseptic. But softness was dangerous. Warmth was dangerous.

The silence between them thickened again, only this time it wasn’t heavy—it was electric.

Leah took a seat near the bed and opened her phone. Anabale leaned closer and saw a cab site open. Was she leaving?

After a few minutes of comfortable silence, Leah looked up and her eyes widened a tiny bit, caught off guard… not expecting the woman to have moved so close.

Anabale was close. Her face partially shadowed, but her eyes were fixed on Leah’s with a kind of stillness that was somehow louder than a storm and spoke Volumes yet gave nothing away.

Leah’s breath caught.

“Thank you,” Anabale said softly. Her voice didn’t match the rest of her—rough, yes, but low now. Gentle. Almost…

“For the help” Her expression was almost unreadable as if the word itself burned her tongue as if it was something forbidden and not used in centuries.

“What are you talking about, uuh—Miss No Name?” Leah’s tone was light and teasing in an attempt to shift the mood. She rolled her eyes playfully and unintentionally leaned back, putting some distance between them.

Anabale smirked ,shifted slightly, the bed creaking under her as she leaned in—just enough to close the space between them. Her voice came low, almost reluctant.

“Anabale.”

Leah blinked, caught off guard by the sound of it. The name settled on her like a whispered secret, dark and striking, sharp at the edges.

“Anabale,” she repeated, softly. She liked the feel of it. It didn’t sound like a stranger’s name—but familiar. She wanted to keep repeating it.

A smile crept up on Leah’s face bashful—unapologetically warm. “Nice name.”

Anabale didn’t respond, but her gaze lingered on Leah’s mouth just long enough to unsettle her. Leah cleared her throat, and with a flick of her hand, gestured to herself in an exaggerated, theatrical bow.

“I’m Dr. Leah, by the way_Hero of the Town,” She giggled softly at her own joke and swept her hands in a mock-royal motion.

She was shaking off the weight of the stressful day and the strange night the only way she knew how— through laughter and slipping into a carefree state. It wasn’t forced, but there was something in her eyes—fatigue that had to be smoothed into humor.

Anabale watched her in quiet amusement, tilted her head.. mouth twitching just slightly at the corners."Hero?"

"Yup, I like to think so"Leah replied with a lovely smile showcasing her single dimple.

Leah’s energy was bright—unapologetically genuine. It rolled off her like the scent of rain-washed lavender, filling the small clinic room with something light, something safe.

“You don’t look like a hero tho,” Anabale murmured, voice low, teasing, edged with something unreadable.

Leah gasped playfully. “Excuse you! That was offensive” she said, clutching her chest in mock offense. “Heroes come in all shapes you know, nowadays we apply fruity lip balms and carry colourful trauma kits, it’s very fashionable”

That drew something more out of Anabale—an exhale that was almost a laugh, but not quite. It came from deep inside her chest, almost involuntary. And for a moment, just a blink of time, the tension in her jaw relaxed. Leah caught the flicker and tucked the victory close, silently proud.

There was a pause. Not awkward, but weighty.

Then Anabale looked away—too fast, like she’d let something slip. Her mask slid back into place. Controlled. Cool.

But Leah had already seen behind it.

And for some reason, that made her heart ache as id she don’t want the moment to end.

Outside, street lights flickered and the storm softened—for them, if just for a moment making the thunders silent into just flashes of light.

Anabale hadn’t spoken again, not for hours. Leah left her resting in the back room of the clinic, wrapped in a blanket she didn’t ask for, and said nothing when Leah draped it over her anyway.

But Leah lingered in the hallway.

It wasn’t just her injuries. It wasn’t even the mystery of the night.

It was something else—the way Anabale had looked at her. Like she was real. Like she wasn’t just another nurse or doctor with tired eyes.

And now, alone with her thoughts, Leah replayed that moment again. The way Anabale held her wrist like it was the only steady thing in the world.

It shouldn’t mean anything.

But it did.

She made herself walk away. But not before glancing one last time at the room behind the curtain. The dark figure resting.

No file. No past.

Just a warning in the shape of a woman who shouldn’t matter. But somehow already did.

The rain had quieted into a whisper by the time Anabale stirred.

It was still dark, though not quite the deep black of midnight anymore—more like that hour just before dawn, where shadows clung to corners and everything felt more fragile, more real. The world hadn’t started breathing again yet.

And neither had Anabale.

The clinic was too quiet now. The walls, painted soft hues of cream and pale green, held a kind of warmth that felt alien to her. There were little things everywhere—framed photos of wildflowers, a crocheted throw folded neatly over a chair, and books stacked in uneven piles on a narrow shelf. This wasn’t a place for just stitching wounds. It was lived in,a trusted human place that is cared for. A sanctuary.

Her sanctuary.

Leah’s.

Anabale sat up, the thin blanket slipping down from her shoulders. Every muscle ached, but she welcomed the pain. It reminded her she was still here. Still tethered to something. Maybe not for long.

She rose without a sound.

Her boots had been left by the door. Her jacket, bloodied and torn, lay folded on the side table like Leah hadn’t wanted to throw it away—even though she should have. And yet… she hadn’t. That thought unsettled her more than the bruises.

Anabale moved slowly, quietly, like a ghost making peace with unfamiliar walls. She trailed her fingers along the edge of the desk, eyes scanning the delicate, lived-in chaos of the clinic. A cracked mug full of pens. A purple stethoscope glinting faintly beneath the soft light adored with the word ″L″. A sticky note with something doodled—Leah’s handwriting was looping, warm.

She had to leave. She let go of a sharp untamed breath.

She knew it with the certainty of a wolf sensing a trap.

And yet her feet carried her to the doorway of the small lounge instead.

She stopped in her tracks.

Leah was asleep on the worn couch, a light blanket tucked haphazardly over her lower half. Her upper body had curled inward, as if instinctively protecting something in her sleep. One hand rested near her heart, fingers curled around something—invisible. Her other hand had slipped down beside her, loose and delicate yet close enough.

She looked… young_vulnerable, somehow without all the practiced professionalism.

Softer than she had any right to be.

There was a gentleness to her that struck Anabale like a blade—not because it was weak, but because it wasn’t. It was calm but also familiar. This kind of softness had to be chosen. Protected. Lived with, even in a world full of fire and bone.

Her dark lashes fluttered once, lips parting in the quietest breath.

She stirred.

And Anabale didn’t move.

Leah murmured something, no words, just sound—something private and half-dreamed. Her brow tensed for a second before relaxing again. A flicker of pain maybe. Or longing. Or fear.

Anabale’s fingers twitched at her side.

She didn’t mean to step closer, but she did.

One step. Then another.

Until she was standing above her.

The lamp near the bookshelf cast a pool of amber light across Leah’s face—enough to illuminate the fine lines of her expression. There was no mask here. No professionalism. Just a woman, exhausted and unguarded, lost to sleep in the same way others might fall into prayer.

Anabale crouched slightly..knees bending, eyes scanning every soft curve of Leah’s face. Her cheekbone. The hollow beneath her throat. Her neck—exposed where the sweater had slid, delicate and warm and alive.

The thought of Leah trusting her enough to be around her open and unguarded..made her smile faintly but then, does she trust everyone this easily?

Something twisted in Anabale’s chest.

She didn’t understand it.

Didn’t want to.

But her hand lifted anyway—slow, reverent, and just a little bit dangerous. Fingers hovered a breath above Leah’s skin. Close enough to feel the faintest warmth radiating from her. She didn’t touch. She didn’t have to.

She traced the shape of her, the idea of her.

Her gaze burned down the line of her throat, then back up to her parted lips, and something dark whispered beneath her ribs. She swallowed hard, forcing it down.

Then she leaned in.

Close enough to taste the quiet between them. Close enough that Leah’s breath ghosted across her own.

“I don’t know what it is…” she whispered,eyes closed, voice low, bitter-soft.

Her lips barely moved.

“But it’s surely is nothing.”

A lie she had to tell herself.

Because anything else would be too much dangerous.

Anabale straightened, stepping back into shadow. Her eyes lingered on Leah a moment longer, drinking her in like a sin she’d already committed. Her jaw clenched. Her mask returned.

And then—

She was gone.

Swallowed by the silence she came from.

And the woman on the couch, still dreaming, slept on—unaware of the storm that had already marked her.

And the things that awaits her.

~NyxAetherveil.