Common

He looks over his own ruined leg, and Arsinoe wants to vomit. Half-expects that Vadim will do it for her - if she had to see her own body in a shape such as Vadim has just discovered, she doesn’t know that she could survive it. God, the agony he must be in; the strength he must have to survive. Whatever happened to him, it was a violent act. And whatever future he has, he will never be the same.

Worse, though, than finding him nearly dead on the beach of the Common is the flicker of resignation in his eyes when her words filter through that pain-slowed brain of his and he realizes she means to leave. Some of the lingering light goes out of them, a hopeless desperation that makes her gut clench.

She does not speak again - now is not a time for words. Either he will get up and avoid the rising tide, or he will drown here. He is far too large for her to move on her own (if doing so wouldn’t mangle his body further). Vadim takes in a deep breath, and everything in her screams to look away. Arsinoe does not. If he can live this pain, she can bear witness.

His breathing comes faster, and her jaw clenches as she watches him struggle to rise. For a moment she considers trying to help -stepping forward, trying to lift him. But he is head-and-shoulders taller than her, and she would only get in the way. She gasps in sympathy when finally he stands, shaky as a newborn on three legs.

“Jesus,” she murmurs. This, though, she can help with. She steps to his side, shoulder to shoulder to provide him a counter-balance. “You don’t have to go far,” she murmurs soothingly. “We’ll step - together.”