Chapter Text
Working with (with, not for) the Brotherhood comes with certain... hazards. You know this well, and have spent the last couple of years becoming more adept at avoiding sticky situations. It was not easy by any means to carve out a niche for yourself, especially with how many other merchants there are in the area, and that led to you becoming involved in trade with the Brotherhood.
Still, even after years of being one of the few trusted merchants, they take you by surprise once in a while.
"Get behind me," The words are an order, ground out between his teeth as he readies his sword.
You aren't quite sure who this man is, or why he's at the dead drop location, but you trust him. Or maybe you trust the words snaking across your waist. The words of your supposed soulmate.
He only has one arm and his clothes look fancy. Not the type they give the newbies you usually have to deal with while handing off merchandise. You only very rarely use a dead drop location like this, only for the riskier items (this time, it's maps of ancient tombs, although you can't imagine what they're looking for). And never have you actually met anyone at a location. That's not really how dead drops are supposed to work, after all.
But are worse ways to meet your soulmate, you suppose.
You ready your own blade, prepped for a fight. You're not the best by any means, especially when compared to people that have been training since birth, but you can hold your own.
And you do, even when killing someone makes your mouth taste sour and one of them slashes a hole in your sleeve. The fight is quick and rather annoying, if you're honest. Fighting is not really your thing.
(And maybe you're a little distracted by the assassin at your side, presumably with your words decorating some part of his body)
He checks to make sure they're all dead before returning his attention to you, eyes narrowing in on the shallow cut. "They hurt you?" He smiles, an expression you know is meant to set you at ease. "Fighting must really not be your strong suit."
How blunt! You try to smother your laugh with your good hand, glancing away from his clearly amused smirk before realizing that's a hopeless effort. There's no way you could not admire that expression. Right? You suppose it could be a soulmate thing but he's...
He's wonderful.
He spares the crates so stray glance before moving to your side, his hand hovering over your injury. "May I?"
You nod. It'll be a real pain to get blood out of such a gauzy fabric. It's a dark color at least. Maybe you could redye it if the stain won't come out? You look over his outfit too, noting the blood splatters. So much work.
"So why do you work with the Brotherhood if you cannot fight?" He asks, bringing you back from fretting over fabric.
"I'm good at finding things." You answer automatically.
His hand stills, and you realize those were his words. Dammit. You wanted something more romantic.
"Including you?" You add as his expression morphs from mild amusement to something brighter, something soft.
"I..." He starts, his hand dropping from your injured arm to your hand. His palms are rough, presumably from keeping up with his training, while your calluses are from too much paperwork and bargaining. You are good at finding, but getting your hands on things tend to be a bit more complicated than just locating them.
"It's a pleasure to meetcha." You say, stretching up on your tiptoes. He's still taller than you even with that. Annoying. And rather charming, you'll admit. He's simultaneously not at all what you expected and exactly right. At least, superficially. The rest will come with time.
He laughs. "I could say the same. And what a place to meet."
Oh. He's sassy.
You feel a smile creep up your face. "Are you implying a fight isn't the ideal date?"
"I will show you the ideal date if you'll let me." He squeezes your hand.
You're smiling like a fool, you can feel it, but there's no helping it really. You lean forward, pressing your forehead against his shoulder. "I would love to."
He releases the hold on your hand to wrap it around your waist, pulling you flush against him. You're almost positive you're getting blood on your clothes but being held is... nice. It's been too long. Too many days of watching your back and not trusting anyone any farther than you can throw them.
It's much, much too soon for 'i love you's but you can feel it settle into your bones.
"Oh." He says suddenly, as if he just thought of something. "My name is Malik."
You laugh as you introduce yourself as well. "We... we should get these back to the Bureau, right?" You ask carefully.
"We should." He agrees, strengthening up and dropping his hold on you (and if your touch starved self immediately wishes you hadn't mentioned it, well. That's to be expected). "And then we will go on our date."
You nod and move to pick up the crate. "I've got this if you can search their bodies for information."
He hums agreeably. "Be careful."