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The last thing you remember is being carried, held tight against a warm, furry chest by a pair of muscular arms. It was perhaps the only thing keeping you together.
The mission had started out so routine. There'd even been time before it all began for your usual banter with the notoriously taciturn Rob Lucci, and you swear this time you almost got him to smile. Or at least, smirk. You'd settle for a smirk. You've been working toward that smirk for a long time now, to crack open the mask of that serious assassin to show that there's a human underneath.
You don't remember what took you out. Your target fell, yes, you and Lucci are professionals and taking out a single measly revolutionary is no problem for the likes of you two. Even the revolutionary's friends were no problem. There's a good reason why you and Lucci are almost exclusively paired with each other on missions, because your skills complement each other perfectly. But then...pirates? Probably pirates. Pirates muck everything up, and that'd explain the explosions.
With all the ringing in your ears at the time, you don't know what was said, if there was shouting at the time or grim silence. Just being held tight, a heartbeat pulsing deep enough to cut through the ringing, the rush of wind against your face. If you're right about who saved you, he must've pushed the limits of his power to carry you out as fast as possible. And you're pretty sure you're right about who saved you, because you remember the brush of fur against your cheek, the only comfort to distract from the pain.
It's strange. You know you should be in pain right now, but it all feels so far away, like the distance between your nerves and your brain have been swaddled up in puffy rolls of gauze. Someone must've gotten you painkillers, maybe anesthesia. You haven't dared open your eyes. But you smell that harsh antiseptic, that iron tang, and you've got a good guess as to where you've ended up.
You're scared that if you open your eyes, you'll learn that something awful has befallen you. That you're injured beyond repair. That you're no longer fit to serve your purpose. That you won't be able to see your partner anymore, the man you've worked with so often that he even features in your dreams, before you've even gotten him to crack a grin.
(That he might turn away with a disgusted scowl, because you were too weak, and he won't look back.)
The rest of your senses slowly surface from their numb haze. Little tendrils of pain threaten to return, creeping along the back of your skull and around your joints. But they're soon banished as something squeezes your hand. Long fingers, softer than you'd expect even though they're covered in tiny scars, are interlaced with your own. A thumb rubs slow, methodical circles into your skin.
Overhead, a bird coos.
"I know, Hattori. I know." You'd recognize Rob Lucci's voice anywhere, even when he sighs. "There isn't an excuse for it. We...I should've paid better attention."
The fact that Rob Lucci lets himself admit this aloud means no one else is in the room, and he thinks you're still unconscious. Part of you wants to jolt right up, damn any potential pain, and let him know you're here, you'll be okay. But those fears still gnaw at your mind, and so too does a hint of curiosity at this side of your partner that you've never seen.
Lucci continues, bitterness in his voice. "We weren't supposed to let any of us get hurt like this again, Hattori. All the training, all the work to get here, was supposed to prevent this. So why isn't it still enough?"
Wings flap overhead. Hattori lands softly on a shoulder and offers a worried trill.
"Yes, I know. But not everyone heals the way I do. And you heard what the doctors said." Lucci squeezes your hand tighter. "Y/N, I know you're better than this. You wouldn't be one of us if you weren't. You'll prove them wrong, won't you?"
He's trying to hold that stern note that he always uses around others, but underneath it, he sounds...no, desperate isn't the right word. Rob Lucci doesn't get desperate. But it's as close as he'll let himself get, the mask he wears loose and threatening to slip.
"Once you're out of here, you and I are going to train together to ensure we don't have a repeat of this incident. It'll be difficult work, but you're more than capable. I wouldn't be here if you weren't." There's a pause as Hattori coos again, and Lucci seems to weigh an answer on his tongue. His thumb lingers over your wrist, as if waiting for your pulse to pick up. He admits quietly, "I'd even like to see you outside of missions and training. Around the city, or...wherever you'd like to go, if you would allow it. So...please wake up. Please."
The weight of his words drift from your ears into your chest. This is a man who orders, not asks. This is also a man whose hands are for killing, but right now they're holding yours, attempting to coax you back to life.
You let your fears ago, exhale them softly into the antiseptic air. You squeeze his hand back. You don't let go even when the pain begins to break back through your haze.
You open your eyes.
Rob Lucci composes himself again as quickly as possible, but his hair's still mussed, and his brow is still knit with worry. "Y/N. I'm relieved to see you're back with us."
"Cut the act," you say back, voice rougher than it should be but still strong enough for your usual banter with him. "I heard every word of it. And I'd love to go out around town with you, once I'm out of here. Even if we have to get through training first."
For the first time since you've met him, Rob Lucci honestly, earnestly smiles.