Within minutes the pipes had been fixed. Seconds later the wards pulsed without disruption. Nico spent what power remained on a thorough sweep of their spherical perimeter, which left him in an unsteady rush. No faults this time, no little skips of error. No flaws to snag on the wave of his surveillance.
Libby released him and shifted, dragging slightly as she moved.
“Why?” she said after a moment.
Nico opened his eyes with difficulty, the bleary image of her manifesting at his side. The red of the walls with its gold accents seemed to blur beside her hair, the silhouette of her closed eyes. She wasn’t fully exhausted, not like he was, but there ha
d definitely been a toll. She had shouldered some of his burden for him.
“I’m sorry.” He managed to croak it out, rasped and insufficient though it was.
“You’d better be.” Libby slid a hand to the floor, pressing her palm flat against it. “Still a little tremor,” she noted.
“Is that—” Fuck, his mouth was unbearably dry. “Is that what brought you here? A tremor?”
“Yes.”
Of course it was. She’d make a big fuss of it, naturally, of the disruption he’d caused and how little control he possessed over his abilities, when really, she was the only one who could feel it. Per usual it would be his fault, and inevitably she would lord it over—
“You are unfairly talented. Upsettingly good,” Libby sighed with a tactile hum of envy, and then her eyes fluttered open. “Doing that much magic…” She twisted around to look at him, fixing him with a scrutinizing glance. “I would never have attempted it alone.”
“I shouldn’t have attempted it alone.” No point denying that now.
“Yes, but you almost managed it. You might have done fine without me.”
“‘Almost’ and ‘might have’ wouldn’t count for much if I’d been wrong.”
“True, but still.” She shrugged. “It wasn’t as if you didn’t know perfectly well I’d come.”
Nico opened his mouth to argue that of course he’d known no such thing, but on second thought, he wondered if she wasn’t a little bit right about that. There was a safety net, whether he acknowledged it to her or not, when she was around. He couldn’t get away with much without her noticing, and surely he’d known that on some level, consciously or otherwise.
“Thank you,” he said, or possibly mumbled.
She looked pleased, or smug.
“Why were you repairing the house on your own?” she said, briskly shoving their repulsive moment of benevolence aside. “Reina could have helped you,” she added as an afterthought.
Nico found it miraculously tactful that she had not suggested herself, so as a reward, he offered, “If I were going to ask someone for help, Rhodes, it would have been you.”
“Empty words, Varona,” was her reply, equally accommodating. “You never ask anyone for help.”
“Still, it’s true.”
She rolled her eyes, leaning over to press a thumb to the pulse at his wrist. “Slow,” she observed.
“I’m tired.”
“Anything else?”
“Headache.”
“Drink water.”
“Yes,” he growled, “I fucking know that, Rhodes—”
“Any aches? Swelling?”
“Yes, yes, and yes; yes to all of it—”