Page 142 of Jinxes and Drumsticks

Breath one.

Thirty Compressions.

Breath two.

Thirty compressions.

Breath three.

Thirty Compressions.

Breath four.

Thirty compressions.

Breath Five

“Come on baby, you can’t fucking leave me now, sweetheart,” I pant, every muscle in my body burning.

Breath six.

Breath seven.

Breath eight.

And then it’s out of my hands again. In Aemon’s now. We clear from Lillith’s body, and he touches her again. She arches, but this time she blinks.

She inhales a shallow breath, I watch her chest rise and fall on its own.

“Oh gods,” Wren sobs, leaping into Aemon’s arms and squeezing him around his neck. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

I press my fingers to the artery in her neck and feel the feather of a pulse. Lillith wheezes in a breath and exhales it. She blinks more, breathes more. Her tongue brushes her lips. Her pulse gets stronger.

I cup her face in my hands, watching her pupils constrict as she focuses on me. Her pupils are reactive, thank god.

“Baby? Baby? What’s your name? Can you tell me your name?”

Her throat works with the attempt to swallow. She winces.

“Damien?” she rasps out.

I can’t help it, I smile and shake my head. “Close, baby. We’re looking for your name.”

Her eyes close and she exhales, her blue lips slowly gaining color again. “Lillith,” she whispers. “Lillith Nightingale. Right?”

Now it’s my turn to sob. I rest my head on her chest, my ear pressed to her sternum where I hear the steady beat of her heart. I cry like a little fucking boy, some mixture of terror and relief making my whole body tremble. Her fingers brush softly through my hair.

“Shhh, shhh, shhh,” she says, beginning a soothing rhythm starting. “Don’t cry... I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

I can’t calm down enough to tell her not to apologize. I’d be content to stay here just like this forever, until my body understands that she’s not dead, but Aemon shatters the fragile relief I’ve slipped into.

“I hate to rush you, Lillith,” he says. “But we really must get you back home. We scared those cretins off for now, but they’ll be back.”

“Yeah,” she croaks. “Let’s go home.”

ㅤ

Ican’t heal the bruises on my throat.