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Killer isn’t asleep yet when he hears it; the groaning and knocking coming from Kidd’s room. It isn’t uncommon for him to slip lovers onto the ship when they aren’t looking. Leaving the rest of the crew to deal with his rather loud lovemaking, if you can even call it that.
Quick fucks, more like it.
Getting closer to the room, the groans don’t sound like they normally do when he’s with someone. They’re low, pained, and Killer wonders if he’s actually found someone that can go hit for hit with him. After all, ever since their run in with red hair, he hasn’t been the same.
He’s more distant at times, eyes lost to the ocean, and Killer tries not to pay it any attention. For if he did, he’d likely get suckered in the stomach or face for staring too long. That’s fine, usually.
Tonight, however, he really just wants some goddamn sleep.
“Oi! Quiet your fucking down, some of us believe in sleep.” Killer says through the thick wooden door, and hears a clink.
Whether it’s metal or glass, he’s unsure, but at least he’s being quiet. Another beat passes, and the ship stays still leaving Killer to shift in place. He didn’t mean like this, this was too quiet, and too eerie for his liking.
“What? You’re gonna just stop because I said somethin’? Never knew you for the type.” Killer says, ear now pressed to the door, dying to hear something on the other side, “A’right, I’m coming in.”
Shoving the door against its hinges, Killer breaks in easily. The wood warps underneath his hands like dough. They need stronger ones, but they don’t dare install anything metal that they don’t have to. Gives Kidd less ammo when he’s pissed if everything is made of wood.
Killer’s eyes scan the dark room, and beneath the moon’s touch only finds Kidd. Alone. In the floor with a pillow and a large bottle of rum. Oh god, don’t tell me he was doing that again. Killer nearly groans aloud at the thought of his captain fucking his fist alone in the dark.
“Couldn’t find a lady to succumb to your dashing looks?” Killer teases, and Kidd’s eyes slowly shift to look at him.
There is pain within them. Tears unshed. What the fuck is going on?
Before Killer can even open his mouth to ask, Kidd yells once more into the pillow. His groan shaky, angry, and soul shattering to Killer’s ears. He’s only seen Kidd cry once before in their lives, a long time ago, shortly after they met.
It still burns at him now like it did then.
He’s moved before he realizes it, hands on Kidd’s arm trying to shake him out of it, but just gets a fist straight to the face. The challenge causing him to dig in his heels, Killer holds on tighter to Kidd’s arm, and again gets hit.
Lifting from the pillow, Kidd’s face is as red as his hair, but beneath the flush he’s pale. Skin cold as ice, and wet with sweat, Kidd stares at him. His throat quivers swallowing a sob, and Killer grits his teeth.
“Kidd, Kidd you’ve got to tell me what’s going on, what is wrong with you? I’ve never s-” Killer’s words are cut off by another strike of Kidd’s fist against his face plate, a cry escaping him as it makes contact.
“It burns! It fucking BURNS. Why? Why, why, why, why does it burn, Killer?” Kidd sobs out clutching his shoulder, fingers curling underneath the stump of what used to be his arm, “I can feel it and it’s killing me.”
Kidd’s words tremble in his mouth, fear laced within the tears rolling across his cheek, and for once Killer feels helpless. What the fuck does he mean that it burns? It’s healed up, finished, gone. He knows, however, that Kidd doesn’t feel that way as he watches him continue to chug the rum next to him on the ground.
He reaches the bottom, letting the very last of the liquor grace his lips, before chucking it against the far wall. It shatters, and along with it Kidd does too. He screams.
Long and unrestrained, he wails, hand digging into his shoulder. Like an animal convinced it buried something there for winter. Blood comes back in his fingernails, and that’s when Killer grabs him. A hard hand surrounding a shaking wrist, and Killer has to fight to keep it.
“We’ll figure this out. You gotta stop. You wanna hit me again? Does that help?” Killer asks, teeth gritted, fighting Kidd from continuing to lay into his injured shoulder, “We’ll call that dumbass you seem to like so much, Trafalgar. He’s a doctor, he can look at it.”
All the words seem to float across Kidd without sticking, for he is in another place entirely. Eyes gone, far away from wherever Killer is before him, and again he cries. The struggle stops, but Killer keeps his hold on him, afraid he’ll just start back up.
“It’s gone.” Kidd says, letting his head fall back against the bed, and Killer can’t tell if he’s talking about the pain or his arm.
“Yeah.”
“It hurts.” Kidd sniffles, words almost a warble in his throat, and though Killer has seen his captain take many hits, nothing has left him like this.
“Pain is fleeting.”