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"You know... I always imagined I'd die at your hands, agent," they say as they sit up on the lightly padded bed. The lights in the small sickbay casting a pale, bluish light over their features. It makes them look like some sort of terminally ill patient.
Agent Arexxar looks up from the medical equipment he's sorting through, his red eyes glowing as he pierces them with his stare. His own skin looks darker blue than usual, standing in the shadows of the room as he does. He looks down again, picking up the box of kolto patches he was looking for. His former adversary is lounging with a feigned casualness, a slight tightness around their eyes the only thing giving them away. Not like he can blame them. Annoyingly, he knows his own face is set in a way that betrays his own complicated feelings on the situation. Usually he can manage a state of cold detachment or untouchable smugness. Just like he's been taught since his youth being trained on Csilla.
But this slippery eel of a human has a way of getting under his skin.
He strides over to the bed, intending to continue their treatment. Their life may be saved, but he's a vicious fighter at the best of times. They don't need quite as many scars as he knows he could give them.
"You will," he promises in his usual, carefully measured basic. Free of emotions. Like a glacier stripped of snow. He opens the box of patches as they hold out one damaged arm. "Die by my hand, I mean."
Cipher agent Arexxar considers the shallow cuts and slices on their pale, human skin. Purposefully ignores the intense gaze they're pointing his way as he continues speaking while reverently dressing their wounds.
"Just so we're clear. I won't let anyone else kill you while I'm still alive."
Hunter bares their teeth, green eyes sparking with the wild energy that makes their rivalry so potent.
They both know it's the closest thing to a promise he's made in years.
-----
Despite the mutual blood and relentless violence, what matters is that he can't let Hunter die.
After their defeat, everything felt chaotic. His entire body sparking with the electricity of unspent adrenaline. The rush of winning the fight, of hearing their thoughts and *knowing* them like nobody else heightening the emotions of the moment.
He wanted to strangle them. To shoot them. To shake them. To kiss them. To know them as well as they know him.
They're utterly incomprehensible and it makes him want to reach beneath their skin, to savor and draw out their secrets.
But then they start talking about dying.
It jostles him out of his emotional state with such power that he stabs them with several stimpacks before they're even done speaking.
"Don't talk like you're starring in some kind of cheesy republic holodrama," he hisses, feeling a possessive flame lick up his insides.
They blink, shock making their surprise clear.
What matters is this: he won't let them leave him again.
-----
They expect him to think they're complicated.
He doesn't.
They effortlessly swap between faces, following some unseen mood within them, behavior subtly different. He thinks he understands it. They've always had a need to express themselves differently than most expect, attempting to reflect their true self. Maybe it makes them more suited for the kind of work they do. But maybe it also makes them more prone to being misunderstood.
So, he asks.
"What do I call you?"
They turn to him with a predatory grin, blaster still aimed at the poor sod they're interrogating. Their face is so handsome and fiery like this, it makes his own features split into an equally hungry, albeit cold smile. They seem to shimmer as they flip through their favorite disguises.
"Hunter, of course."
It always is.
----
(Later, they will corner him on his ship and ask him what they're supposed to call him. To his chagrin he discovers he has even less of an answer than them)
----
His team expresses mixed feelings to Hunter's presence when he carries them on board.
Vector seems curious while ensign Temple looks confused. SCORPIO doesn't care at all, he assumes. Kaliyo accuses him of having a type, which he'd laugh at if he wasn't focused on stopping the former star cabal agent's early death. (And kriff, if that isn't a switch from his earlier anger-)
Doctor Lokin is wearing an indecipherable smile when Arexxar leaves Hunter's unconscious body in the medbay. Though they look different than they usually do, he personally finds the biggest change to be in how their hair looks like this. He makes a mental note to ask Vector for hair products, in case they'd like to redo it if- when they wake up.
His train of thought is interrupted when the doctor clears his throat. He meets the older human's gaze with his own. After a few moments, Lokin speaks.
"...You'd like to save this person's life, I presume?"
"Yes," he answers, voice calm and steady. Faultlessly polite tone, as always.
"Do you trust... them?" Doctor Lokin asks, seemingly hesitating before settling on a neutral pronoun.
Arexxar blinks.
Then he feels the corner of his lips pull upward as sudden mirth overcomes him. He lets out a single laugh at Doctor Lokin's question.
"Trust Hunter? Of course not. Don't be silly, Doctor. I know them too well for that."
The doctor regards him for a few moments, inscrutable, before he allows himself a chuckle as well. He gives him a deliberate approving look before turning to his patient.
Arexxar leans back against the wall, crosses his arms and waits. Doctor Lokin doesn't question him. Later, he'll have to talk to the crew. But that can wait.
He knows they won't do anything rash with the knowledge of their newest passenger. Not without his say-so.
People who understand him are in short supply. Aside from a few others, it seems all of them are collected on this ship.
-----
Of course, he takes the Black Codex for himself. It's not a question of morality. He simply sees no purpose in anything else.
Also, he doesn't trust Hunter to not do something wildly out of left field with it.
Just because they're kissing each other doesn't mean he'll give them (him, her) anything for free.
----