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Now I don’t know what to be without you around
And we know it’s never simple, never easy
Never a clean break, no one here to save me
You’re the only thing I know like the back of my hand
And nothing we say is gonna save us from the fallout
I hope you know it’s not easy, easy for me
I can’t breathe without you but I have to
- Breathe (Taylor’s Version) by Taylor Swift and Colbie Caillat
Stephanie appears in the hallway. Melissa sees it happen through the corner of the kitchen door, the way Steph and Fletcher just appear. She wonders if she’ll have to get used to it happening.
Steph doesn’t look any more healed than she did earlier. Her neck is still in a brace, and her limbs are dotted with bandages. No teenager should be injured the way Melissa’s oldest daughter is.
Fletcher pats her arm and then vanishes. Stephanie walks into the living room. Melissa puts down the teatowel, follows her.
Desmond is hitching up his trousers as he rises from his armchair and crosses the room. He wraps Stephanie in a careful embrace. “You okay?”
“Yeah. No. I’ll be - yeah. You guys okay?” Stephanie asks as he pulls back. She turns and sees Melissa, who hugs her, careful to not squeeze or crush or touch anything injured.
“I left my stew slow-cooking. I think the pan’s ruined. I might give it to Beryl for Christmas,” Melissa says. She doesn’t know why she tries for levity. Steph smiles, though. There’s so much exhaustion hidden behind the corners, poking out in her eyes, in the muscles around her jaws. “Are you alright, Steph? Your friends? That city? There’s no more bad news?”
“No. None. We’re safe.” Steph looks around. The late afternoon sun streams through the slanted blinds. The peace feels like a direct contrast to Melissa’s internal state just then. “They’ll rebuild Roarhaven, probably. That’ll take time.”
“And your injuries?” Desmond asks. “There’s no magical thing to just, perchow, make everything better?”
“There’s not,” Steph says softly. “And I’m not a priority patient, anyway.”
“What do you mean? You saved the world, o’daughter of mine. What do you have to do to be a priority patient if not that?”
“I’m walking,” Steph says, and shrugs, then winces. “Anyway, you’re sure you guys are okay?”
There’s something in her voice, some kind of urgency or disbelief. Melissa hugs her again. “We’re fine, honey,” she says. “We’re all fine. You should rest. You’ve done so well.”
“I’m so sorry. I never meant to - I wanted to keep you out of it. I wanted the three of you to be safe,” Stephanie says desperately, stepping back and looking between Melissa and Desmond. “I’m so sorry. I did everything wrong, I shouldn’t have - I’m just - It’s all my fault. I’m so sorry.”
“Hey, hey.” Desmond takes her good hand and squeezes it. “You’re a hero, Steph. You saved us. You’re incredibly brave and talented and I’m so proud of you. Gordon would have been so proud, Steph.”
Stephanie swallows. “Thanks, Dad.” Her gaze travels to the sunniest corner of the worn carpet, where Alice is sleeping in a cot.
Melissa doesn’t understand why Stephanie looks like that. Why she stares at Alice with an expression of longing and grief and stark misery. But she does know that her daughter should not feel this much at her age. Stephanie should never have had to do all of this. She should be careless and happy and laughing. Not a bandaged warrior, standing wordless and awkward in her own living room.
****
The screams are louder than anything Melissa has ever heard. She and Desmond act as one, running up the stairs. Desmond bursts into Stephanie’s bedroom first, Melissa hot on his heels. Probably he was expecting an intruder, an attacker, a threat of some sort. She certainly was. But it’s just Stephanie, twisted in her bedsheets, howling like a wounded animal.
“Steph, Steph!”
Melissa doesn’t immediately recognise her own voice. Steph sits bolt upright, her scream becoming ragged, tearing itself off and becoming something weak and terrified. Her hair sticks to her sweaty forehead. Some of her bandages are awry.
“Steph - darling-” Melissa reaches for her instinctively.
“God, Steph, you gave us a scare. You’re alright. You’re alright,” Desmond says, sinking onto his haunches by the side of the bed. Steph stares at him for a long second, her puffy eyes unfocused. She looks up at Melissa. Then she bursts into tears.
They hold her. They sit next to her, patting and holding whatever part of her they can reach without hurting her. Desmond talks, soft, comforting, babbling nonsense. Melissa couldn’t talk even if she tried, not through the lump in her throat. She can’t stop hearing that scream in her head.
Eventually Steph lifts her head from her palms. Melissa hands her a tissue. “Thanks, M-mum,” she says.
“Oh, Steph,” is all Melissa can say.
“Sorry, guys, sorry-” Steph blows her nose. Wipes her eyes. “Just, you know, long day. Awful day.”
“I thought a banshee had usurped our daughter,” Desmond says, hugging her again. “You’re not too big to come and snuggle up with us, you know.”
Steph smiles at that. “I’m grand. At least I didn’t upset A-Alice.”
“Steph,” Melissa says. Their eyes meet. “I know it’s too soon to talk about this, and we’ve all been through a lot. But - I think you should really think about this. The whole, the magic thing. I want you to be happy.”
Stephanie knuckles her eyes one final time. “I know. I know, Mum. I promise I’m going to think about all of it. Because what’s most important for me is knowing that you guys are happy and safe.”
Melissa nudges Desmond aside so she can lean forward and wrap her arms around Steph. “You’re such a good, brave girl,” she whispers into Steph’s dark hair.
Stephanie laughs weakly. “Thanks. Both of you. I’ll be okay now, I’ll try get some good sleep…”
It doesn’t occur to Melissa until she’s downstairs again, that it was Steph giving them platitudes all throughout that.
When did all of this happen? When did Steph change into being the older one?
****
It’s almost ten at night. Steph woke up an hour ago and had a shower. Melissa had hovered in case Steph needed help but she hadn’t asked for it. Now she’s in the kitchen, quietly clinking forks and spoons, opening the fridge, then the freezer.
Melissa sees the shape walking up the garden path, and she leaves Desmond on the couch with Alice, watching TV, and goes to open the door before Skulduggery Pleasant can knock.
He’s absurdly tall, and dressed in another ridiculously fancy suit, his skull gleaming white under the shadow of his hat. She presses her lips together.
“Good evening, Melissa,” he says, in that smooth voice. “I hope you’re all doing well?”
“We’re fine,” she says. Her voice comes out strained. “As fine as can be expected.”
It should be a good sign, she thinks, that he is coming through the front door, rather than hiding his interactions with her daughter. It should be a sign of better things to come. That they would be included in Stephanie’s other world, the other side to her personality. But it doesn’t feel any better. She wants to slam the door shut and pretend magic doesn’t exist. She’s not an Edgley. None of this feels even remotely natural to her.
“We’ll pull through,” she says flatly. She knows what he’s going to ask and she decides to pre-empt it, like that would give her any kind of authority over this centuries’ old, magical, living skeleton. “Stephanie’s in the kitchen.”
In the second before she moves aside, she just looks at him. Maybe he can hear everything she doesn’t say. The enormity of everything that no words could possibly cover. How could you do this. How dare you do this to my family. But also, thank you for saving her. I’m sorry for what I said. I’m not sorry because it was true. But I’m sorry because she loves you.
Skulduggery steps into the hallway, just enough for her to close the door. “Through th-” she begins, but then Steph emerges, the orange glow of the little table light catching on her half-eaten chunk of blueberry muffin as it falls to the floor.
“Oh, thank God.”
Then Stephanie is in Skulduggery’s arms. Melissa starts to tell her to mind her injuries, but stops herself. Skulduggery is hugging her back, gloved fingers splaying over her damp hair. Steph’s fingers are digging into his suit, her knuckles white.
Melissa hears a hitched breath, and it’s not Skulduggery, obviously, so it’s Steph. It’s just downright weird to see her daughter hugging a skeleton. Then there’s another unsuppressed sob. Skulduggery shifts, pulling her closer. Melissa can’t help but notice the way he shields her daughter from view, allowing her the privacy to fall apart. And then she keeps thinking.
“Thank God, thank God, I thought - I couldn’t stop thinking about that fucking A-accelerator-”
“Evidently-”
“I’m so g-glad you’re here, I’m so glad you’re o-okay-”
“Of course I’m here. You messaged me asking if I was ‘still here’. Clearly you aren’t at your finest. I can’t have you turning into a hapless vegetable now, Valkyrie. I’ve put too many years into training you. Quite frankly, I can’t be arsed to make that effort with another combat accessory.”
Melissa opens her mouth, shuts it, and then walks into the living room, unheeded by either of them.
She sits down next to Desmond and stares at the TV without taking it in.
“You alright, oh wife of mine?” Des asks softly. It’s then that she realises her mouth is a letterbox shape because she’s trying to hold back her own sob.
“We’ve lost her,” she says quietly, so that the pair in the hallway can’t hear her. Desmond wriggles his hand free of Alice’s sleeping body and entwines their fingers. “Des, she’s more at home with a - a skeleton than us. How did this happen? How did we not notice?”
“Hey,” Desmond says quietly. “Melissa. It’s okay.”
“It’s not. She didn’t want to…” Melissa bows her head. “We tried to comfort her, Des,” she whispers. “But she only, she only feels safe enough to be vulnerable with…him.”
“Hey, hey. Look. Melissa. It’s good that she’s got someone, anyone, who she feels that safe with,” Desmond says. Hot tears are leaking from her eyes, dropping into her lap. “Yes, she’s a bit distanced from us right now. She’s been through some tough hell. We’ll never understand the full extent of it, but Skulduggery probably does. It’s good that she’s got him.”
Alice’s forehead is so smooth, uncreased with worries or care. She touches her baby’s soft, warm cheek. “What if we lose Alice too? This magic madness, it’s…Des, what if both our daughters are…Like…What if Alice goes through this too? Like Steph?”
“We don’t know that yet. We just have to be here for Steph, you know that. Be here for each other.”
Melissa shakes her head. “I don’t know how you’re handling this so…so maturely. I don’t want to. I don’t want to face up to this.”
Desmond squeezes her hand. “I have my moments of emotional wisdom.”
At that moment, Stephanie pops her head into the living room. Tears are still tracking down her cheeks, but she manages a wan smile. “Hey. I’m just heading out for a bit.”
“Where?” Desmond asks. “You’re not going clubbing, young lady.” He wags his finger sternly. “Or back to any war-zones. Or anywhere dangerous.”
“It’s not dangerous, I promise. We’re just going to the pier for a bit.”
“Mr Pleasant,” Desmond says, even sterner. Skulduggery’s skull appears next to Valkyrie’s head.
“Look after her.”
Skulduggery touches the brim of his hat. “I will.”
****
“I don’t k-know how to tell them. Or how to tell you.”
“Do you want my handkerchief?”
“I have to leave. I have to go anywhere where I’m not - I don’t know how - How am I ever going to tell them?”
“Valkyrie. Have you slept at all?”
“I woke up fucking screaming and they were so worried about me. Oh, God, they’re always going to be worried about me now, aren’t they? I’m such an awful person. Skulduggery, I-”
“Breathe. In, out. I wouldn’t know much about the process at this point, since it’s been several centuries, but…”
“Skulduggery, I’m going to leave. Mum asked me to think about this magic stuff. And I said I would, but my way of dealing with it is to just - They’re better off without me.”
“A lot of individuals would be better off without a major percentage of the people in their life. That doesn’t mean they necessarily want that.”
“I wish I - why am I crying again? Oh, God. I have to leave. Just, anywhere where I’m not going to hurt them. Or kill anyone…”
“Do you want a hug?”
“...Y-yeah.”
“Try not to get snot on my suit. I changed before I visited your house. I hope you appreciate the honour.”
“...I was so scared.”
“What’s that?”
“I was so scared you were going to die.”
“I am dea-”
“I thought you - you made me believe you were going to leave me, you fucking dumbass.”
“I’m never going to leave you.”
“But…but I’m going to leave you. My family. The country. I need to.”
“Yes, you need to leave. But you’ll come back. And we’ll be waiting here for you, loving you. However long it takes. All of us.”
Valkyrie tucks her head tighter against his shoulder. The handbrake jabs into her hip, and his fingers are inadvertently pressing on a bruise on her waist. She doesn’t care. The Bentley is so silent that she can hear the crashing roar of the waves beneath them, ahead of them, around them. They’re parked right at the edge of the pier, beyond the feeble reaches of the nearest streetlight, and through the vents, she can smell salt.
This is home, even if it’s unbearable. He’s safety, when he’s the reason she nearly gets killed. Her family will always be family, despite everything. And, in this second, with this person, sharing this space, she knows she is understood, and seen, and loved. Even if she’s never heard the words from him aloud. She doesn’t need to say anything to encompass this. But. She whispers it anyway, against the expensive fabric of one of Ghastly’s suits, and his grasp tightens with the first choked syllable.
“Until the end?”
“Until the end.”