Work Text:
"Ash."
You wake up to a splitting headache and a pair of brown eyes.
What happened? You mean to say, but it comes out as, "Orym? Ow, fuck."
"Easy," he says, and his hands hover over your chest. They don't touch, remaining an inch or so above, and you notice it and you hate that you notice it. You're on the ground, but even the hard-packed dirt is more comfortable than the pain in your head. You look away from his eyes and up into several more concerned faces.
What happened? You try again and it comes out like, "What the fuck?"
Close enough.
"You went rogue, that witch said something to you and you completely turned, started smashing anything you could get your hammer against, including our witch." It's Chetney, leaning out past Orym with that wild look he sometimes gets, "It was beautiful." Yep there it is.
"Shit."
"Yeah, shit," Orym agrees, but he's eased now. Some of the tension bleeding out of him at the shoulders.
"Sorry Imogen," You say because for some reason it's getting easier to say that word to these people, to give some ground. And you just caught sight of her split lip. She grins down at you, adrenaline stupid and bloody.
"Oh, don't worry yourself, Ashton. I knew it wasn't your doing and you best believe I made sure she knew it wasn't either."
"Imogen was amazing! She melted that woman's mind!" Laudna sings happily. You see her rifling through what you thought was a pile of clothes, but on second glance, it's definitely the meat mechanic's body.
"And the rest of her... Puppets?"
Lightning crackles over Imogen's forearms and hands.
"Fucking good." You say and you meant to say it.
Orym shoos the rest away and you wonder if he can see that your headache is starting to throb down the rest of your body or if he just knows that even though some small part of you preens under the attention of your crew, it's still too much. It's too much. You wonder if he knows that you don't mind if he stays now that it's quiet again. You tell him the only way you know how.
"At least tell me it was a little hard to take me out of the game?" He settles back down into the dirt beside you, cross legged rather than on his knees, and gives you a guilty smile.
"I'm sorry about your head, Letters said you're all healed but the healing might give you a headache anyway," he says, and there they are again. Brown eyes.
"Shit, I've had worse. Glad you were gentle with me," you say and then immediately grimace. What the fuck, mouth? Why would you say that?
"Of course I was." He says and it makes you burn even hotter. And then, "Here, to make up for it." You look down and it's a flower. You don't know what kind, just that it's small and delicate and he's giving it to you.
"Where will I put it?" You say instead of thank you. You wonder if he can hear how floored you are. He hums and takes you in, makes you squirm. Brown eyes. Shit.
"Here," he says with satisfaction and tucks the thing into a strap on your vest, pink against red against green. His fingers stay for one second. Two. Three. Four. And then they're gone and your breath goes with them. "Pink rose. It means forgiveness, and gratitude."
"Ah, you're forgiven. Hell, I'd be mad if you didn't try to stop me." Your voice doesn't even shake, you're a fucking pro at keeping it under wraps. It helps that you can't exactly blush anymore but who's checking.
He smiles, "Yeah, I figured. Still, I never want to hurt you, Ash."
And then he walks away, leaving you and your rose in the dirt. Shit.
BONUS
Later that night when Laudna spies the rose still tucked against your chest and tells you it can also mean revealing true feelings you choke on your drink so hard you think you might die and you almost miss the smile on his face as he buries it in his own tankard. His ears are red.