╔═══━━━─── • ───━━━═══╗
— DAY TWO —
season one, episode two, part two

❝𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐰...❞

─── • ───

RACHEL REID

"Just for context," Agent Young spoke up, clearing his throat, "what did you hope to see from the summit?"

"Something... anything," Rachel admitted, her face etched with disappointment as she remembered what happened. "Some kind of sign that we weren't alone."

Faber leaned forward, setting his hands on the table, and carefully analyzed what Rachel had been saying.

"But that didn't materialize."

"Sorry, what?"

"Well," Faber cleared his throat, "I mean, you didn't find anything that could suggest that you weren't alone."

"I... I did," Rachel smiled in spite of herself, "and I didn't."

─── • ───

The sun was lowering towards the horizon as they walked back to the campsite, with Rachel and Nora trailing behind after having reconciled their differences on the top of the summit. On the walk back, no one could muster enough courage to break the silence, letting the tension stir between them.

Leah had since taken the lead of the group, while Shelby and Blaire walked side-by-side a few paces behind, forming separated clusters of delegates as they all walked back to the same location. Having staunched her cut with the compression of her hand, Blaire sighed inwardly and tried to process the day's events. There was part of her that was enraged at Rachel for having no grace in the moment where they'd lost the mirror, while the other part of her felt somewhat guilty for losing their final shot at freedom.

The walk back down to the beach was quicker that initially anticipated, and Blaire embraced the warmth of the evening sun before it would soon disappear beneath the horizon. Then, as they reached the shoreline, each of the five girls took a few moments to themselves in the water, washing away the dirt, sweat, and dried blood from their sunkissed skin.

With the relief of the flowing water, Blaire managed to thoroughly cleanse the four-inch cut on her forearm, cursing out in slight pain, before her eyes found Shelby, who was rinsing something in her hands a few yards away. Blaire realized in that moment that the scratch on the Texan's forehead from her accident with Toni had since healed over, leaving behind a small scar as a reminder of their first day on the island.

And for the first time since that morning, Blaire found herself thinking about Toni, about how the regret etched in her face after the accident with Shelby mimicked that of Blaire's expression when she'd lost the mirror. She screwed her eyes shut, pressing the heels of her palms into them for good measure.

Blaire didn't know how to put into words exactly how she was feeling, only that it was enough to get tangled in her windpipe, threatening to kick down each of her ribs. The bruises on her arms taunted her, and yet, she somehow found herself making excuses for the way Toni had lashed out the day before. There was a part of her that felt drawn to the chaos, while the other was terrified by the familiarity of her past.

Her eyes found Shelby again, who was now staring back at her, her hands tucked in the pockets of her jacket, with a small, awkward smile. Blaire tried to reciprocate her smile, though it came out a little bit broken and uncertain. Then, on their own volition, her wobbly legs carried her through the water towards the blonde Texan, hoping to make herself feel a bit better about the tightness building in her chest.

"Hey," said Blaire, her face softening.

"Hi," Shelby's smile was small but pleased, "how's your arm?"

"I'll survive," Blaire shrugged, with something a little self-conscious in her gaze. "But besides that, there's actually something I had been meaning to ask you."

"Right, okay," Shelby stared at the New Yorker, her mouth parting a little in surprise. "What is it?"

"I've just been wondering," Blaire spoke in a hushed whisper, "why haven't you told anyone that Toni hit you with that branch yesterday?"

Shelby's eyebrows furrowed. For a moment, neither of them moved, and then Blaire saw the consideration cross the Texan's face.

"Because it was an accident," Shelby replied shortly.

"We both know that it wasn't," Blaire tried again, risking a glance to the shoreline where the others were soaking in the fleeting moments of sunlight. "So what are you waiting for? Most people would've ran their mouths to the first person they came across."

"Well, I guess I'm not like most people," Shelby let a humourless giggle fall from her lips. "God has taught me patience."

"Any chance he's also taught you transparency?" Blaire asked, her eyes careful. "Because it doesn't hurt for you to be honest with me."

"Look," Shelby sighed, "we both know Toni's a bit of a hothead, all right? But I'm just waiting to get off this island so I never have to think about her ever again. My faith has given me strength, and I know better than to waste it on someone who's not worth it, on someone who's easily provoked —"

"She shouldn't have to be provoked," Blaire let her hands fall to her sides, trailing them in the water. "She's not a fucking animal, Shelby. I think Toni's just... messed up."

"It's bold to assume that about someone you've known for a day," Shelby remarked, her smile small and wry. "But I have to admit... I'm surprised you're defending her given your reaction to what happened."

Blaire glanced towards the Texan impulsively, her amber eyes reflecting the flowing water that sat at her fingertips. But Shelby had since adverted her gaze from the New Yorker, allowing her blue eyes to linger elsewhere; in the light of the day, the purple bruises on Blaire's body had appeared even worse.

"I'm not defending her," Blaire felt winded as the words fell from her mouth. "Yeah, I mean, messed up people do messed up things sometimes, but... I just think there's a big difference between a mistake and a bad habit."

"And you think Toni's outburst was just a mistake?" Shelby questioned, and she met Blaire's gaze at last.

"I'd like to think so," Blaire swallowed, unsure. "Because, like you said, it's only been a day, and I... I think we're all just going through some pretty fucked up shit."

Shelby grinned, almost coyly, and took a step back towards the shoreline, towards the others. The crescent moon had started to rise, covering everything in a layer of silence and sunset glow, which accentuated the gold in Blaire's eyes. There was an endless light-blue sky, sapphire-like, with the horizon now distorted and blurred, and yet, Shelby found herself studying the New Yorker as intently as though she were a daily bible verse.

There was so much Shelby hadn't noticed about Blaire until that moment: the fire in her voice, burning bright, but not enough to conceal how broken she truly was; the anxiousness in her stance, unwavering, as she bit down hard on her bottom lip; the bunched-up muscles of her shoulders that seemed to carry the weight of the world; even the way she adverted her gaze every few seconds, unwilling to let her eyes speak all the words her mouth couldn't.

Blaire shivered, crossing her arms over her chest for warmth, and felt how Shelby's eyes fell on the side of her face, so undistracted and pure. She cleared her throat before nodding to the other girls on the shore.

"We should probably head back," she told Shelby, snapping the blonde from her internal thoughts.

"Right, yeah," Shelby smiled sheepishly, heaving a small sigh before Blaire started to tread water. Then, without realizing it, she'd reached out and encircled the New Yorker's wrist. "Hey," she added softly, "one more thing..."

Blaire turned and risked a meaningful gaze at Shelby, who dropped her wrist with a blush, shoving her hands back into her pockets.

"Yeah?"

"About the mirror," Shelby started, "it wasn't your fault — you know that, right? You did everything you could."

"I do now," Blaire felt the tightness in her chest subside, her lips quirking into a smile. "Thanks, Texas."

─── • ───

MEANWHILE...

The clicking of high-heeled shoes echoed around the corridor as she walked. Her face creased with distress, the woman from the Dawn of Eve orientation video straightened her blazer before walking into the office: Gretchen Klein, researcher.

Beyond the door, she was met with a technologically advanced control room, complete with a wall of infrared monitors and two assistants, Thom and Susan, whom were both in their mid-thirties and had been vigorously writing on clipboards as she'd walked in. Once they'd noticed Gretchen's presence, however, they sprung from their desk chairs, looking uneasy.

"Pull up camera two," Gretchen instructed without hesitation, the clicking of her black high-heels coming to an abrupt halt in front of the wall of monitors.

With a nod of her head, Susan sat back down and brought up a feed on the main monitor, zooming in on a grainy image of five teenaged girls walking across the beach. Gretchen closed her eyes, refocusing, before opening them again and smiling at the success of her latest experiment: the truth behind the Dawn of Eve. On the monitor, the researchers watched the group of girls trek back to their makeshift campsite; among them was Blaire Diamante, who now walked at the back of the group alongside Shelby Goodkind.

"Do you see how they've arranged themselves differently?" Gretchen pointed out to her colleagues, her eyes transfixed on the monitor. "It often means a shift in the geography of the relationship. Did you note that, Susan?"

"Of course," the assistant nodded, scribbling on her clipboard once again.

"It's fascinating, isn't it? They're already establishing bonds that will interconnect them with one another," Gretchen's lips quirked into a satisfied smile. "However," she added abruptly, "please do not think we're thoughtlessly putting Jeanette's death behind us. We're moving forward so that what she gave amounts to something, is that clear?"

"Yes, all clear," Thom confirmed. "Hundred percent."

"Good. Now, Susan," Gretchen started, her attention shifting, "any more calls from our generous benefactor this evening?"

"Just one," Susan stated, checking her notes. "It's the same message, Miss Klein, and she's insistent on receiving an update regarding subject number three."

"Tell her Blaire is doing miraculously," Gretchen sighed, scratching her neck anxiously. "There was some mishandling by the transition team, but the subject seems to be progressing as we'd intended. Now," she transitioned, crossing her arms over her chest in front of the monitor, "could you bring up our view of the base camp? I'd like to make sure that our second operative has found the package..."

─── • ───

BACK ON THE ISLAND...

By the time the five delegates returned to the campsite, the sun had fully disappeared beyond the horizon, extinguishing the daytime warmth. Blaire heard the distant voices of the other girls as she approached, and Dot was the first to stand at the sight of her and the others' return, shooting up to notice that Shelby had luckily found a black bag of supplies a few yards down the beach.

"There you guys are!" the redhead exclaimed, causing the others to turn, but the few girls who stayed behind seemed to know the excursion didn't go as planned by the look on Rachel's face. "Woah," Dot added towards Blaire, who looked equally as battered as the others, "what the fuck happened out there?"

"Well, long story short, the mirror nosedived off a cliff," Blaire laughed in spite of herself, brandishing her wound, "and my dumbass tried to go after it."

"Everyone's all right, though," Shelby tried to lighten the mood with a smile. "The day just didn't go as planned, is all."

"That's a fucking understatement," Rachel muttered under her breath, shaking her head indignantly.

"Here, Dottie," Shelby handed over the black bag, changing tact quickly. "I found this on the way back."

Dot took the bag into her hands and examined the name tag attached to the side, holding it up to the others as they all sat around in a circle. Blaire felt her gaze shift towards the others, trying to decipher what she'd missed throughout the day: Martha had a new splint wrapped around her ankle, while Dot and Fatin sported pink visors they'd salvaged from the retreat's merchandise bags.

Toni, on the other hand, had found her smile again, and Blaire felt her heart hammer in her chest as the basketball player's hazel eyes locked with hers. For a moment, neither of them made an effort to look away, offering each other small, tender smiles that seemed capable of sheltering them from the rest of the world. Blaire brushed the hair back from the apple of her cheek. Then, with her heartbeat quickening, she forced herself to look away, very thankful when Dot sparked conversation with the the group in the near distance.

"I figure this was our pilot," Blaire heard Dot say, and she turned as the redhead unzipped the bag and opened it with wide eyes. "Now, sir, I don't have a great feeling about where you're at right now, but the shit you left behind will not be wasted."

"Dottie, don't be morbid," Shelby grimaced, peering over Dot's shoulder as she dug through the bag, pulling out a valise filled with various medications.

"Uh, well, sorry, but this is a haul," Dot laughed as she filtered through the contents of the bag. "Pain pills, disinfectants... basically a whole medicine cabinet."

"All right, down the hatch," Shelby stood and handed Martha a few prescription anti-inflammatory pills. "You, ma'am, are going to be ship-shape in no time!"

"Oh my gosh," Martha awed as she took the pills, "I've only ever had the store-brand kind before."

"She didn't buy them for you," Toni scoffed, her face creased with agitation. "She just had some dumb fucking luck."

"Hey, um, give her one of these," Dot offered Shelby a packet of twelve yellow pills. "Maybe one and a half, but make sure she takes it with food."

"What is it?" Shelby questioned, turning the packet over for any indication as to what she was holding.

"Oxycodone," Dot replied shortly, and Blaire suddenly paled at the mention of the pain medication. Her body tensed, she pulled her legs to her chest and tried to swallow the lump in her throat. She began to feel the knots forming in the pit of her stomach, suffocating her from within all over again, and allowed the dark abyss to consume her flow of consciousness.

Sometimes time would pass, without taking Blaire with it. It was the weed, she knew, because often she would smoke it and wake up hours later, to find several missed text messages and an irate boyfriend who was eager to know her every move. Kofi Solarin, one of her best friends since the third grade, was the first person (though she suspected there were thousands more) who could sympathize. Kofi, much like his twin sister and Mikayla Foster, knew every feeling Blaire had ever felt as though they were the same person, and it had been that way ever since they were children.

But it was always Kofi that Blaire would turn to when she realized she needed to dive back into the ocean of reality.

"I need your help."

Kofi put down the joint they had been sharing, laying it on the edge of the table in his parents' rundown garage after school one afternoon. He was scrolling through his recent playlists, humming the lyrics to 505 by Arctic Monkeys when his brown eyes caught onto her, his fingers tightening around his cellphone as his humming stopped abruptly in his mouth. There, etched on the face of the girl he'd loved since middle-school was a glint of desolation, which tugged at the edges of her lips, causing her to smile almost aimlessly.

"Yeah?" Kofi propped himself up on the battered couch, with Blaire's sprained ankle resting in his lap. "Everything okay, B?"

Blaire had never in her life hesitated to reach out for Kofi. It was engraved in her brain almost as a second nature, a normal impulse to just touch. Their eyes connected, and Kofi bit down harshly on his bottom lip when Blaire intentionally interlocked their fingers, fitting in every little empty place in a way only someone that had known you inside and out for years could. He suddenly became aware of the proximity of her face, wishing nothing more than to finally confess how he felt about her.

"I... I know you're still dealing," Blaire whispered to him, her brown eyes softening at the boy in front of her. "And I was hoping you could give me something to help with pain. Like, I don't know... oxycodone, you got any of that?"

"Blaire, come on," Kofi traced every detail of her face with his eyes before shaking his head. "How many times do I have to tell you? This drug shit, it's not the answer —"

"That's rich coming from Xavier's resident drug dealer," Blaire rolled her eyes, watching him with an incredulous gaze. "Besides, I'm not asking for a lifelong hookup, okay? It's just to help with my sprain, so I can get back in the dance studio as quickly as possible."

Kofi leaned in closer, an almost impenetrable frown pulling at his lips. "You've said that before."

"Well, this time I mean it," Blaire rested her head on his shoulder, barely noticing Kofi's sudden proximity. He had to tear his gaze away from her face before he ended up closing the space between them and ruining their friendship. "Come on, Kofi," she pouted playfully, looking up at him through her long eyelashes. "Pretty please?"

Kofi leaned his head against the back of the couch for the moment, heaving a heavy sigh in defeat. Then, with his voice softer this time, almost as though he was in disbelief of the power Blaire held over him, he spoke again, "You promise me?"

Blaire flashed a tiny smile at the sound of his voice, squeezing his hand with her own. "You know I do, Kof."

Kofi's eyes looked slightly shocked at the electric charge of emotions he suddenly felt overtake his body, despite the fact that they had been acting this way their whole lives. If either of them actually thought about it, there wasn't one day where they weren't that close, where they didn't give each other mindless, affective small touches that said: 'I'm here. I'm with you.'

"Okay," Kofi breathed out, looking back down at the brown-eyed girl before he reached over the couch to grab his black duffel bag. "How'd you even sprain your ankle, by the way? You never did tell me," he asked, and Blaire tensed as she watched him rummage through the bag.

"You know what Miss Diane is like," Blaire let the lie slip her through her lips without much hesitation. She'd been used to lying to her friends and family, even if they were becoming suspicious of Miss Diane's methods by now. "I fell out of one of my turns," she shrugged, her eyes glazing over. "Must've landed on my ankle wrong — it happens."

"That woman is gon' break your damn neck one day," Kofi chuckled softly, his expression dubious before he pulled out a small packet with about ten yellow pills and handed them to his best friend. "Be careful with these, all right? I mean it, Blaire. Make sure you take these with food, and for the love of God, please only take one a day."

"You got it, doc," Blaire winked at him playfully, snatching the pills from his hands. "Thanks for this, Kofi. Honestly, I owe you one."

"You know I'd do anything for you," Kofi thumbed at Blaire's cheek, almost absentmindedly. His eyes were dripping with softness when he found Blaire's ones again. "Because I love you, B... you know that, right?" he mumbled under his breath, with such sincerity and admiration that Finn could've never stood a chance.

Blaire turned her head just enough to be able to press her lips to Kofi's hand, a tiny point of contact that couldn't even be called a kiss; it was just a small gesture, one that said 'thank you' without her having to express it out loud, without her having to give him false hope of something more.

"I love you too, Kof," Blaire replied innocently, but she would never truly understand the look of honesty and hopeless longing in the depths of Kofi's warm, brown eyes.

And as he suppressed the desire to kiss her, Kofi picked up the joint from earlier and relit the extinguished flame.

"Blaire? Blaire! Earth to Blaire!" the sound of a persistent voice, along with a harsh nudge on the arm, was enough to pull the New Yorker from the depths of her daydream.

"What — oh shit, sorry! Were you saying something?" Blaire shook her head back into consciousness, turning her head to meet the icy blue eyes of Dot, who laughed lightly at the her friend's obliviousness.

"Yeah, here," Dot handed over a small bottle of antiseptic and a piece of gauze. "For your wound," she elucidated. "To make sure that shit doesn't get infected."

"Right, thanks," Blaire offered a smile of appreciation before taking the medical supplies into her hands. She then sat back down on the beach next to Fatin, the weight of the day crashing down on her, weighing her down so much she thought the ground was going to swallow her whole at any moment.

Fatin bumped her shoulder to Blaire's arm, making the New Yorker drag her gaze towards her again.

"Hey, sexy," she winked playfully, her eyes crinkling with laughter as she threw an arm around Blaire. "Have I told you how undeniably badass you look right now? I mean, it's probably a bad sign that I'm more turned on by you with a fucking battle scar than I was by the last guy I had sex with, right?"

"That, or it's a sign of your budding lesbianism," Blaire suggested with a laugh, sticking her tongue out. "If I had to pick, I'd probably bet on the second."

"Well, shit!" Fatin snorted mirthlessly. "I would've never pegged myself as a lesbian. But hey, for you, baby?" she bit her lip, wiggling her eyebrows towards the New Yorker suggestively. "I definitely could be."

"In your dreams, Jadmani," Blaire rolled her eyes playfully, shrugging Fatin's arm from her shoulders.

"No, baby, in yours," Fatin corrected with another wink, and both of the girls bursted into laughter, the comfort between them mimicking that of people who'd been friends for years. "In all seriousness, though," she added as they rode out their comical high, nudging Blaire's shoulder once more. "I'm glad you're all right. Because something tells me this shithole would be a lot more unbearable without you here."

"Same goes for you," Blaire leaned on the comfort Fatin provided for her. "I know the whole 'almost dying' thing probably fucked you up yesterday, but I'm glad you're somewhat back to normal. Fuck man, I didn't realize I could miss someone I'd met twenty-four hours ago so much."

"Well, you better get used to me now, bitch," Fatin told her, smiling with a sense of sincerity that Blaire hadn't seen before. "Because you're stuck with me."

"I wouldn't have it any other way," Blaire droned with a smile of her own, and their conversation came to it's natural conclusion as their attention shifted across the campsite, where Shelby was handing more pills over to an injured Martha.

"Shelby, thank you so much," Martha beamed at her, taking the package of opioids from the blonde.

"How do you say, 'you're welcome' in Native American?" Shelby asked with a kind smile, and Blaire's gaze settled on Toni, who, as expected, rolled her eyes at the interaction.

"In Ojibwe, it's miigwech," Martha informed her, not even aware that her best friend had heard enough of the conversation and had moved to sit elsewhere, isolating herself on a rock a few yards from the campsite.

Blaire watched Toni as she walked away, biting at one of the knuckles in her fingers, looking lost in thought. With her intuition ablaze, Blaire gathered that Toni had probably encountered girls like Shelby before; girls who were suffocatingly kind to your face, but were secretly patronizing you behind your back. Toni saw the situation for what it was, no matter how cruel or cynical, because her past had taught her better than to be vulnerable in front of people she barely knew.

Where Toni came from, back in the real world, people like Shelby didn't make friends with people like her and Martha unless there was some twisted ulterior motive. So, with a loyalty unlike any other, she felt a strong, palpable need to protect her best friend from being hurt, from putting her faith in the wrong person. And somehow, almost unprecedentedly, Blaire understood that because she had just as many sharp jagged edges as Toni did, because she knew what loss felt like. And from her experience, the grief cuts a lot deeper when it's someone you think you can trust...

"I'll be right back," Blaire let the words fall from her lips, almost absentmindedly, before she stood, with her medical supplies in hand, and crossed the beach towards Toni, who had since pulled her legs to her chest as she stared towards the waves that crashed on the shore in the nighttime.

Toni saw the New Yorker approach in her peripheral, her eyebrows knitting in confusion, a glint of agitation burning in her eyes. Her jaw ticked with frustration at the intrusion, but once she turned and Blaire caught her attention, the protest died in her mouth when she saw a look of pure intent in the dancer's dark eyes. Toni released a breath of relief, but she stoutly maintained eye contact with the sea, anxiously tugging at the fabric of her shorts that hung above her knee.

"Hey dodger," Blaire offered a smile as she approached, and Toni felt her chest warm a little. "Sorry if I'm interrupting a reflective moment."

With the others occupied around the fire a few yards away, Toni didn't have to pretend anymore. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the smile slip from Blaire's lips at her lack of response to her greeting, but she strictly kept her eyes fixated ahead of her, unwilling to be vulnerable. Her jaw ticked again as Blaire leaned against the rock she was sitting on, but she didn't move away as the silence stretched between them.

Then, in a soft voice, Blaire cleared her throat and said, "I'm guessing you don't want to talk about it."

Reluctantly, Toni shifted her gaze towards the New Yorker. Blaire's gaze was soft and careful, though Toni could only focus over her shoulder, where Martha was laughing and smiling alongside Shelby, who had taken Toni's evacuated spot on a piece of driftwood. There was a ferocious pounding in her chest, blinding her with such rage that she forced her lips in a thin, indestructible line.

"Good guess," she scoffed, with a strangled laugh that was completely humourless.

"Fine by me," Blaire let go of the breath she'd been holding in her lungs. "But the least you could do is help me with this," she brandished her wound again and set the medical supplies down on the rock. "Because, whether you like it or not, I refuse to believe I walked all the way over here for nothing."

Toni laughed again, almost mirthlessly.

"You couldn't have asked someone else?"

"Well, I could have," Blaire looked at her with knowing eyes, almost intrusive. "But I'm asking you."

With the emphasis on the word, something in Toni's ribs tugged a little. Her eyes remained staunchly on the shoreline for a moment longer before she climbed down from the rock and stood next to Blaire, so close that she could feel the shaky breath of relief the dancer released.

"You're a real piece of work," Toni heaved a sigh, but the sparkle in Blaire's eyes told her she knew just as well that it was for show.

"Yeah, so I've been told," Blaire defended herself stoutly, making a delicious flush spread across Toni's face. "So are you going to help me or not?"

"Fine," Toni rolled her eyes playfully, a grin tugging at the edges of her lips as she took the medical supplies from Blaire's outstretched hand. "But if you're going to lecture me about how to handle my feelings, you can save your breath."

"Don't worry, I know it's not my place to say anything," Blaire felt herself ease, her voice hushed in sincerity. "In all honesty, I just, uh... I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

Her expression unreadable, Toni snapped her head towards Blaire so fast that the antiseptic bottle nearly slipped from her hands. She swallowed a lump in her throat, as though taken aback by someone who had cared enough to check in on her, and then she shook her head a little before retrieving the items she would need to clean and bandage the dancer's wound.

"I... I don't know," Toni confessed after a long pause, like she'd just emerged from a reverie and drifted over on autopilot. "Shelby just rattled me more than I expected, that's all."

"Hey, I get it," Blaire offered this comforting remark as Toni dipped the gauze into the antiseptic solution, gently cleaning the dried blood from her skin. With every pass, Toni felt Blaire flinch, and her heart clenched at the knowledge that she was causing the New Yorker pain. "I know it's not easy," Blaire started through clenched teeth, "to watch someone you love drift away."

Toni poured the antiseptic over the four-inch cut on Blaire's forearm, frowning as the New Yorker shifted away from the gauze when the wound bubbled over. The pain, she knew, was hard to withstand, but it was nothing Blaire couldn't endure in silence. So, as the gauze lightly scrubbed at some of the dried blood, Toni's lips quirked into a sad smile before she spoke.

"You too?"

"Maybe once or twice, yeah," Blaire let out a light, rueful chuckle in spite of herself, and Toni realized in that moment how much she liked that sound. "I guess it happens to the best of us," she wiggled her eyebrows towards the basketball player to ease the tension. "But something tells me that what you and Martha have is different."

"She's the closest thing to family I've ever had," Toni confessed, "and... and I just don't want anything to jeopardize that, especially not a perky blonde who clings to religion to hide her own fucked up shit."

"I understand," Blaire bit down on her lip to prevent another hiss from spilling from her mouth. "But the more you act like you hate the entire fucking world, the quicker you'll lose Martha and everything else that makes your life a little less shitty. So, at the very least, just try to be civil with Shelby, okay? Because it's not like Martha could ever forget about you. Like you said, she's your family."

There was a brief pause as Toni contemplated what to say, her cold fingers sending shivers down Blaire's spine as she encircled the dancer's wrist for stability.

"Yeah, I guess you're right," Toni muttered lowly, her fingertips delicately working around the blue-green and violently purple bruises along Blaire's skin.

Then, as more silence stretched between them, Toni stepped chest-to-chest with Blaire to wrap the bandage around her forearm, her lips twisting into a friendly smile as the dancer's eyes carefully traced her as she staunched the wound with gauze. Blaire was a few inches taller than Toni, so the basketball player's nose accidentally brushed her jawline, causing them both to shiver at the electrifying contact.

Neither of them drew much attention to this interaction, however, and stayed like this for a few more moments — frozen, completely still — until Toni successfully finished the bandaging of Blaire's wound. Then, as realization dawned shortly after, Toni cleared her throat and took an awkward step back.

"There," she said belatedly, letting her grasp around Blaire's wrist fall. "Maybe next time just let the mirror go, won't you? Going after it was pretty stupid."

"I know," Blaire's voice was pitched low, just something for the two of them. "I-I just want to get the hell off this island."

"Me too," Toni risked a glance in Blaire's eyes and saw her gaze turn distant, fixing at a point somewhere across the beach. "But... you could've died, Blaire."

Blaire's fingernails worked over the denim above her knee, back and forth, and Toni didn't fail to notice the way the New Yorker straightened as she faked a smile, like she was struggling to hold it together.

"Yeah, well," she expelled a single breath, "it's not like anyone would miss me anyway."

Toni's blinked at the sudden shift in tone. Her mouth formed a shape, but then, after a beat, she pursed her lips and cleared her throat, unaware of what to say. Blaire felt a little dizzied at this confession, so as silence stretched between them, she made herself retreat; the smile she forced was indulgent and so soft that it made Toni's heart pound a little.

"I know I would," Toni's voice was barely above a whisper, but Blaire still trembled at the words as she glanced upwards, their eyes meeting in camaraderie.

"What?"

"Well, I mean — fuck," Toni cursed, swallowing hard as Blaire's smile changed, depicting uncharacteristic shyness. "You're kind of, like, the only person I can stand on this island at the moment."

"Right," Blaire felt heat rise in her cheeks as she nudged Toni's shoulder teasingly. "I'm honoured."

"Don't let it go to your head," Toni rolled her eyes again, but Blaire saw the corner of her lips twitch upwards. Her laughter became infectious, and when their gazes met again, Blaire's expression was genuinely pleased; it was always such a rare, yet welcomed, sight to see Toni Shalifoe crack a smile.

"Hey, lovebirds!" Fatin's voice echoed across the campsite; Blaire and Toni's laughter died down once they realized the others were inquiring about their whereabouts. "Get your asses over here," the Pakistani-American girl called, "or else, as Dorothy might say, you'll become Mother Nature's bitch."

"Time to go and sing kumbaya, I guess," Blaire laughed under her breath, her tone jovial and her face clear of ulterior motives. "Come on, let's head back."

"Blaire, wait —"

The words slipped from Toni's mouth without much hesitation, but her panic dissipated almost as quickly as it came and she dragged a hand down her face. Blaire only smiled back at her to ease the tension, tightening her grip when Toni reached out to briefly squeeze her hand. Her hand was soft and alive beneath Toni's. Still, the basketball player couldn't help but turn it over and close her fingers around Blaire's pulse point, feeling it beat warmly against her wrist.

"Sorry, I just —" Toni went rigid, dropping Blaire's hand with a shiver, like it was suddenly cold to the touch. "I just wanted to... uh, say thanks for coming over here, and —"

"Yeah, of course," Blaire told her, grinning slightly at Toni's lack of experience with being vulnerable. "But hey," she nudged Toni's shoulder teasingly, "don't let it go to your head, Shalifoe."

Toni smiled back innocently, putting her hands in her pockets so they didn't do anything reckless.

"Touché, New York," she said with a laugh, her eyes sparkling mischievously at the callback of their earlier conversation. Then, with one last glance, Blaire took charge and led the two of them back to the others, who were all huddled around the lit campfire.

Blaire and Toni settled in beside Fatin, who earned an elbow to the ribs from the New Yorker as she wiggled her eyebrows at them suggestively. Her heartbeat now steadied, Blaire glanced around at the group of delegates, silently thinking to herself as she pulled her legs to her chest. For the first time since they'd been on the island, she felt somewhat at ease.

Blaire exhaled at the thought, for it was the first time she'd felt that way in a long time. The murmurs of conversation and fleeting laughter from the girls she'd known for only twenty-four hours was like music to her ears, and somehow Blaire found herself ready to embark on the set of unorthodox events that would happen as soon as morning dawned.

Maybe the island wasn't so bad after all...

─── • ───

"The truth about my sister and I is that I had her all wrong," Rachel confessed at the end of her interrogation with Agent Young and Faber, after several hours of gruelling questions had passed in the blink of an eye.

Faber narrowed his eyes curiously, trying to decipher the teenaged girl's word from a counselling perspective.

"How do you mean?"

"Nora was always ahead of me, standing in front of me somehow," Rachel closed her eyes, her face drawn and pale at the memories. "And there I was thinking that she was just casting some kind of shadow that I had to get out from under. But... that wasn't the case."

There was silence in the room for a moment as Rachel tried to articulate her words in a thoughtful manner, leaving the agents sat across from her twitching with anticipation. She exhaled deeply, gathering her thoughts.

"It was protection," Rachel whispered softly, a ghost of a smile tugging at her lips. "Nora was throwing herself in front of the world for me."

Faber tilted his head, contemplating. Then, in a soft voice, he cleared his throat and said, "This story, the two of you, you mind if I ask how it ends?"

"I don't know," Rachel shrugged her shoulders, her eyes glazed over. "Guess that's in your hands now. It's true what they say, you know, that you can still feel things," she pulled her arm from the makeshift sling at last, revealing her severed right hand that was a reminder now of the island. "Old nerve endings, sensations from the past..."

Rachel paused again, emotion clogging her throat.

"You know what I feel?" she asked rhetorically, her fingertips grazing over the remnant of her missing limb. "It's her hand holding mine... forever."

─── • ───

author's note:
*this chapter was not proof read*

hope you enjoyed chapter four!!

gave you guys some cute toni/blaire content at the end there :)) lmk what you thought! so excited to write the rest of season one ahhhhhh

also blaire and shelby...? interesting.

[insert begging for comments and votes]

love you guys! follow for more content <33

xo, selena

p.s. also fun fact: toni calls blaire 'new york' bc i was obsessed with the cheetah girls when i was younger, and i always thought it was the CUTEST thing when dorinda's choreographer boyfriend called her that in the second movie loll

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