Work Text:
In five hundred years’ time
(after we have been dead so long
our shadows do not remember us)
I hope that, like stars,
the echo of our love will outlast us
and someone very far away
will lift their face to the heavens,
warmed by it.
M.M.
It takes them so long to find a car to get the fuck away from the warehouse that Hughie manages to make it to them just as they’re hotwiring it.
“Starlight make out ok then?” M.M. asks as he helps Frenchie load a still half-asleep Kimiko into the backseat of the car.
Hughie nods.
“A-Train -- he, uh -- he had a heart attack.” He shakes his head. “Annie told me to just go so Vought didn’t pick me up.”
“So he’s dead?”
Hughie starts to shake his head, then stops himself and smooths out the motion to a jagged shrug.
“I -- I don’t know. I started giving him CPR, then Annie took over as I was leaving.” He lifts his hands up in front of him. “She called Vought for help too. It might be enough.”
He gets into the front seat of the car to avoid telegraphing his reaction to Hughie, but he manages to catch Frenchie’s eyes in his rearview mirror. Frenchie has the same look on his face as when Hughie came into the gated cell and announced he was there to rescue them -- some mix of incredulity and admiration, along with a good amount of what the fuck is this kid thinking.
If Butcher is just a motherfucker and M.M. is a motherfucker with a heart, then Hughie is all heart with just enough motherfucker in him to be useful.
He glances again at Frenchie in the rearview mirror, the other man now looking down at Kimiko as he brushes the hair from her face.
Once, he would’ve said that Frenchie was a pure, reckless motherfucker -- and an extreme asshole to boot. But now, seeing the way he’s looking at Kimiko -- like she’s the only thing that matters, like she’s the only real thing in the world -- he wonders if he and Frenchie are more alike than he thought.
It’s a disquieting realization, so he turns on the car and peels out of the parking lot so he doesn’t have to think about it too much.
Hughie is lost in his own thoughts, and the radio is broken, so he can’t help but hear Frenchie in the backseat, who grunts in pain every time they hit a pothole in the road.
He’s about to call back and ask if they need to stop so he can look at Frenchie’s shoulder when he hears him start to speak.
“Mon coeur?” He asks, and there's a real softness to his tone that M.M doesn't recall ever hearing before they met Kimiko.
He glances in the rearview mirror in time to see Kimiko move against Frenchie’s arm, her head lifting just slightly from his shoulder.
It must hurt like hell to do it, but Frenchie pushes past the pain just enough so that he can lift his hand up to brush the back of his hand against Kimiko’s cheek.
He flicks his eyes back to the road, trying to give the two their privacy -- but again, it’s a quiet car and a quiet night, so he hears it when Kimiko gives a soft hiss of air between her teeth followed by a rustling sound that must be her pushing back Frenchie’s bloody jacket to see his ruined shoulder.
"I'm fine, mon coeur," Frenchie says, though there’s an edge of pain in his voice that worries M.M. "It went in and out, clean through. M.M will fix me up easy."
He figures that actually seeing the wound -- coupled with the obvious pain in Frenchie’s voice -- makes his words pretty unconvincing to Kimiko, because in the next moment Frenchie calls out to him.
“Hey, M.M.”
He glances into the rearview mirror and lifts his brows.
“Hm?”
“This wound -- it is not so serious, no? You’ll be able to fix me up easy -- bam, boom, done.”
He shifts his gaze over to where Kimiko is staring into the mirror and nods.
“It was a clean shot, and the fact that you’re not fully passed out right now means it didn’t nick a major artery.” He sees Frenchie look over at Kimiko and offer a reassuring smile, though she still looks unconvinced. “But I’d feel better if I could take a look at it as soon as possible.”
Frenchie grins at him, though he can definitely see tension at the edges of it.
“You are the one in the driver’s seat, mon ami.”
He snorts.
“Shit, Frenchie, you must’ve lost more blood than I thought to be callin’ me that.”
He means it as a joke, but Frenchie meets his eyes in the rearview mirror, his expression completely serious.
“What you did for me -- for Kimiko -- in there, M.M.” He shakes his head. “It is a debt I cannot repay.”
It’s said with such solemnity and genuine sincerity that he’s at a complete loss for what to say. Luckily, he has a moment to regroup, because then he hears Frenchie shift in his seat and start speaking to Kimiko
“M.M. saved you, mon coeur, when I could not,” he says in answer to her silent question. “Petite Hughie helped, too.”
“I mostly just shot very badly and screamed a lot,” Hughie says sheepishly. “M.M’s the real hero here.”
Jesus, now it’s just getting embarrassing.
“The whole thing was a group effort,” he says, shaking his head. “We gotta have one another’s backs if we’re gonna get through this shit alive.”
He catches Kimiko’s gaze in the rearview mirror, and though he can’t possibly be as good at reading her as Frenchie is, he knows a thank you when he sees one.
You’re welcome, he says with his eyes -- or, at least, he hopes he does. It’s hard when he’s only just started thinking of her as Kimiko rather than the female, on top of the fact that she doesn’t speak and he’s trying to keep his eyes on the road.
But he thinks he must do alright because in the next moment, she smiles -- just the briefest upturn of her lips -- and then turns back to Frenchie, and he’s left thinking about the fact that their little ragtag group of motherfuckers has a whole lot more heart than it used to.
It takes some work and creativity to get supplies and find a place to lay low when they don't have wallets or phones, and the only money is what Frenchie managed to stash in the hidden compartment of his belt, but eventually they figure it out.
He's relieved to find that his quick assessment of Frenchie's wounds was correct -- a straight through shot that didn't damage any major arteries, bones or tendons -- so the fact that they're only able to get some hydrogen peroxide and a basic sewing kit should work.
Frenchie leans heavily on Kimiko as they exit the car and go into the shitty two bedroom they’ve managed to scrounge up enough money to hide in. She deposits him gently on the chair closest to the door and then immediately goes to the bathroom.
He can hear the sound of something ripping while she's in there, but he's too focused on getting Frenchie's jacket off and cutting through his shirt to pay too much attention.
Frenchie's shoulder is a bloody fucking mess. He's about to use the part of Frenchie's shirt that isn't soaked in blood to clean it when he feels a soft tap on his shoulder. He looks up to see Kimiko hovering just behind him, one hand cradling a stack of neatly ripped bandages made from the bathroom towel and the other holding an ice bucket filled with water.
He blinks in surprise before he remembers that she was in an army (of sorts) for a good portion of her life, which means she's no stranger to dressing wounds in less than ideal situations.
"Thanks, Kimiko."
She nods, then directs her eyes to a spot on the floor next to him, before lifting her gaze up and fixing him with a questioning look.
He nods.
"Yeah, right there should be good."
She sets down the makeshift bandages and bucket of water, then reaches in her pocket and pulls out one of those small plastic bags he's sure she took from the hotel garbage can. She shakes it open and sets it down next to the pile of bandages, then walks around to the other side of Frenchie and squats next to him.
Frenchie smiles at her, reaching down to wrap his hand around hers and bringing it up to rest on his thigh.
He spends the next twenty minutes or so dressing Frenchie's wound while listening to Frenchie's conversation with Kimiko.
It feels strange to even call it that since it's only Frenchie who's even talking, but somehow enough passes between the two of them that M.M. can feel the ebb and flow of their conversation.
"He's worried about Starlight," Frenchie says in reply to what M.M. can only assume is some quiet gesture in Hughie's direction. The kid is pacing back and forth behind them, and M.M. can hear the window rustle every other minute as if Hughie expects Starlight to come waltzing right up the dirty pavement to their room.
"She saved us when we could not save ourselves," Frenchie continues. "Like a supe is supposed to."
He feels Frenchie shift in his chair as he wraps up his final few stitches.
"Perhaps, mon coeur," Frenchie murmurs in answer to some silent statement only he can decipher. "Perhaps there is still one good supe in The Seven."
He glances up at Kimiko, and he sees the question as clearly in her eyes as if she'd said it out loud.
For how long?
Frenchie glances over at Hughie, who's now seated next to the window and staring intently into the dark parking lot.
Frenchie gives a grimace of pain and looks back over at Kimiko.
"That I do not know."
Hughie
“What does ‘mon coeur’ mean?” He asks M.M before glancing over to where Frenchie is sleeping next to Kimiko, who's curled up tight in a ball next to him.
"Your phone glued to your hand half the time and you never bothered to look it up?" M.M. asks.
He shakes his head.
Half of the things Frenchie says are a random collection of French words, and are either mostly inconsequential to the meaning of any conversation as a whole or else easily inferred by context.
“I...well, you know.” He clears his throat. “I, uh, assumed it was an endearment of some kind, but I've never, you know, taken the time to look it up,” he admits.
M.M. nods, then rubs his hand across his eyes.
“It means ‘my heart,’” M.M. says, his eyes flicking over to the two.
“That’s actually really sweet,” he says after a quiet moment.
“Yeah, they’re the sweetest couple that tries to kill supes for a living that you’ll ever meet,” M.M. replies dryly.
“I mean,” he starts, then shrugs his shoulders. “They kind of are, really.”
“I know,” M.M. says before standing up. “I was only being a little sarcastic.”
He must fall asleep in his chair after that, because the next thing he knows, Frenchie is standing next to him, gently shaking him awake.
“Petit Hughie, you must rest.” He motions to the bed which was previously occupied by him and Kimiko. “There is a little bit of blood from my arm, but it is probably the least disgusting thing to be found on that bed if we are being honest."
He returns Frenchie's grin with a grimace.
"It's fine…I can share a bed with...M.M…"
He trails off when he actually turns to look at the other bed and sees that M.M. is currently sprawled across the entire breadth and length of the other bed and he isn't sure he wants to move him -- or if even he'd be able to.
"You were saying?" Frenchie asks, then gently tries to tug him out of the chair -- which normally would work because Frenchie is deceptively strong -- except right now Frenchie's injured and exhausted and so Hughie stays exactly where he is and shakes his head instead.
“I’m ok, Frenchie.”
Frenchie shakes his head in return.
“You are not, mon ami.”
"I'm -- you know -- I, uh." He sighs and runs his hand through his hair as he turns to face Frenchie. "I just wish I knew that she was ok."
Frenchie nods.
"I understand, petit Hughie." His eyes flick over to the bathroom, where he assumes Kimiko is judging by the sound of rustling and running water. "All you can think about is what might have happened to her and how beautiful she looked the last time you saw her and if that last moment was the final time you'll get to see her."
"Yeah, this really isn't making me feel better."
Frenchie gives him a slight grin before nodding.
"But you cannot help her if you drop dead of exhaustion here." He motions towards the bed again. "Anyway, she is a supe, Hughie. They don't break easy."
"Did knowing that make it easier for you?"
He means it to come out sharp, sarcasm dripping at the edges the way Butcher so easily does, but he must be as exhausted as Frenchie thinks he is because the words come out shaky instead -- pleading, almost.
Frenchie gives him a sardonic smile.
"It did not." He takes a deep breath and glances toward the bathroom door. "But if I'd had a bed instead of a concrete floor, I would've taken the opportunity to sleep when I needed it."
He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, tapping his fingers nervously on the tabletop as he does. The thing is, he knows Frenchie is right -- he's fuckin exhausted and the dingy motel bed looks more inviting than it has any right to.
But he just hates not knowing.
"My heart," he says after a long moment, then looks up at Frenchie.
"I promise you it will survive, petit Hughie."
He huffs a small laugh, then shakes his head.
"No, I -- .” He gestures vaguely towards the bathroom. “That's what, you know. That's what mon coeur means."
The corner of Frenchie’s mouth turns up, amusement sparkling in his eyes.
“Yes, I know this.” He grins at the abashed look on Hughie’s face. “I assume you did not.”
“It’s just -- well.” He tilts his head up towards Frenchie and gives a half shrug. “You’ve called her that since the very beginning.”
At that moment, Kimiko comes out of the bathroom, her face washed clean and her hair tied up. He watches Frenchie’s face completely change as he catches her eye -- his expression brightening and eyes softening with a kind of tenderness that Hughie only ever sees from the other man when Kimiko is in the room.
Frenchie smiles at her and Kimiko smiles in return, and he’s tempted to look away because the moment seems too intimate for prying eyes despite the fact that the gesture is so commonplace.
Kimiko comes over to stand next to Frenchie, her hand brushing up against his.
Frenchie looks down at him and shrugs, his smile only slightly less tender than it was before but his eyes still bright with affection.
“When you know, you know.”