Work Text:
“It’s fine. It doesn’t even hurt anymore.” The arm was made up of metal and wires scrounged from the trash cans around the slums of the city. It was a piece of art, really, but he had spent years on the streets as a child. Ballister knew his way around scrapping tech and it had saved his life. “The wires just get mixed up when I sleep on it awkwardly, that’s all.”
Surely the white and gold armored knight of the Kingdom wouldn’t blame him for a few white lies.
“The wires get mixed up?” Ambrosius echoed skeptically. “They shouldn’t be able to do that, right?”
It was supposed to be a good morning, a nice and relaxing morning, the type of morning that Ballister had dreamt of when he would lie on the ratty couch in his hideout. A nice sunny summer day with only a few puffy clouds in the sky, the smell of freshly made coffee and cooking breakfast filling the shared apartment with the scent of domesticity, and best of all, a happy boyfriend.
Ballister had learned not to take anything for granted anymore. “Don’t worry about it,” he said, keeping his tone light and cheerful as he reached for a coffee mug that he had dropped on the ground. It had chipped right on the rim and there was a crack running straight through the faded words ‘Don’t talk to me before I’ve had my coffee.’
He picked it up with his flesh hand. When the man had straightened back up, though, he was nearly nose to nose with Ambrosius. Dark eyes peered deeply into his, scanning his face, trying to detect some sort of lie. This close, Ballister could smell the lavender soap.
“I do worry,” Ambrosius replied earnestly, painfully genuine as he gently took the cup from Ballister’s hands, setting it on their kitchen counter with a dull clack. “Babe, I don’t want you to lie if it hurts.”
Normally, the pet name would make him flush. It was everything Ballister wanted to hear but he still found himself forcing a small smile. “It doesn’t hurt! Look!” Determined to prove that he was fine, he held up the bionic arm, flexing the fingers. Big mistake.
Fire lanced down his nerves, starting from the base of his shoulder blade down to his metal fingertips. He bit his tongue so hard that he tasted blood as his arm twitched wildly, glitching elbow joint banging into the kitchen wall with so much force that it rattled the cabinets. Some deep animal noise of hurt emerged from the back of his throat as Ballister fell to one knee.
“Ballister!” Ambrosius shouted in panic through the static that buzzed loudly in his ears and he was dimly aware of the other knight vaulting over the kitchen island to land in front of him.
He shouldn’t really be doing stunts like that, Ballister thought hysterically as he knelt on the linoleum. There was something about this position too that just seemed to exacerbate the pain and Ambrosius’s closeness only made his entire body tense and his heart to pound with anxiety as pain flashed through him white hot and cold as the wires jostled the delicate nerves they were connected to.
Ambrosius was saying something, hands flapping wildly as they tried to figure out where they could touch, what they could touch without making it worse. Ballister desperately wanted to tell him that in just a few moments, the stupid thing would fix itself probably, and if not, then he needed his hexbolt screwdriver and –
“What should I do? Can I touch it? No, you don’t want me to touch it, okay, so uh, do I need to call someone? I’m going to call someone.”
Panic shocked him like tossing a toaster into a full bathtub and Ballister was suddenly surging to his feet, both hands cooperating through the agony as he grabbed his boyfriend’s shirt. “No hospital,” he gasped desperately.
“Okay, okay, no hospital, but Bal, you’re in pain,” those doe-like eyes were so pinched and his handsome eyebrows were drawn together as if he was the one in pain instead. “You have to tell me what to do.”
“Ambrosius,” he choked out as the man began to herd him hurriedly to the couch in the living room. “Am,” he repeated urgently.
“What?” Ambrosius crouched beside him, entire body wound up like he was ready to spring into action. It was nice to have him in his corner again. It was nice that things were basically back to normal again, except for his stupid arm and the gaping hole in his heart where a certain shapeshifter had left it.
Both things that Ambrosius couldn’t do anything about.
One thing he could do: “The bacon is burning,” Ballister informed him.
“That’s it. I’m taking it out.” His face hardened as if he was about to go into battle and then both calloused hands were wrapped around Ballister’s burning arm and firmly twisting it free.
He didn’t even have time to gasp out a warning as the tangled wires twisted and pulled, the little resistance they had giving way easily under the other knight’s determined motion, and then sparks were both exploding in the living room and behind Ballister’s eyes as he promptly passed out.
He woke up with a start, lying in their bed. It didn’t feel any longer than a blink, as if he had just lost a moment in time.
He felt like he was missing something very important and he also felt very cold.
“Bal?” The voice was shaky and unsure, trembling and hesitant.
Ballister looked to his right. Ambrosius sat on the floor next to the bed, the bionic arm in his lap, and his eyes were red and his cheeks bore salty tear tracks. There was also a plate of very crispy bacon on the nightstand.
Looking at the arm, he expected a little jump of pain. Phantom pain, sparks from the scrappy bionic parts of him, or even just a brief memory of anything, but nothing came. He was just too tired. “Ambrosius,” he said, and even his voice sounded raspy and fried. “Why are you on the floor, love?”
Both of them were still healing from the battle that had destroyed the wall. The same weapon that had killed the queen had almost –
He sighed. “You look like a sad puppy,” Ballister said, swallowing the small spike of grief that jabbed at his side when he was reminded of Nimona. “Come here.” He reached forward, or at least would have reached forward, but nothing happened.
Wrong arm. Ghost arm. Ambrosius had been watching him like a hawk since he had awoken and of course he picked up on the mistake. His eyes watered, the glisten shining in the afternoon sun that filtered through the window. Oh, it was afternoon. Had Ballister really slept that long?
Still, before he could try to motion with his actually present hand, Ambrosius was suddenly throwing himself beside him, or well, more like over him. He pressed his cheek again Ballister’s stomach, peering at him with those teary eyes. His presence was welcome and warm and Ballister offered a smile which only seemed to make the emotions in the room more tense.
“Has it always been like that? I can’t believe I never asked about it until now,” Ambrosius mumbled guiltily. It wasn’t a new expression on him, something that Ballister had unfortunately grown more and more accustomed to seeing on his boyfriend’s face.
They had tried to talk about it before, to be fair. They had tried to work it out, but gashes like in that in a relationship, well. “I never told you about it,” Ballister replied, rubbing a tear away with a thumb which earned him a shaky smile. “It’s not my best work, but it got the job done. I guess I was too rough with it.”
Now that he thought about it, he knew exactly what had happened, not that he would ever tell Ambrosius that it had been Todd and his goons that had messed up the tech. Todd had turned over a new leaf, and he could respect that. Probably. If he didn’t think about it too hard.
“It’s my fault.”
“It is not,” Ballister said sharply. “I don’t blame you and what there was left to forgive has been forgiven.”
“But you’re hurting. You’re in pain because,” he trailed off. “I wish I could fix it.”
“What, the arm? You can barely write an email.” The arm, not my arm. Ballister wondered why it was so hard for him to take ownership over something he had made. “Look who’s brooding now.”
For once, Ambrosius didn’t react to the playful jab. “It can be fixed?” he said instead, perking up at the idea of doing something productive. “We can buy you a new one. Of course! We could get you a cool uh, sword arm, that also does other things!”
“Laser arm?” Ballister asked curiously.
“Whatever you want – wait, no –”
He laughed, and then laughed again when he took in the other man’s incredulous expression. “I’m kidding, but no, I want to keep the one I have.”
Ambrosius opened his mouth to protest but Ballister wasn’t done yet. “But! I wouldn’t be opposed to asking for help.”
“The great Ballister Boldheart asking for help?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Hey!” It was something that he did now. Something that he had learned that it was okay to do, something he had been taught. “I just don’t want to give you another heart attack again, old man.”
“We are the same age,” Ambrosius retorted, a normal interchange, a return to the earlier morning domesticity. Ballister grinned, relaxing back into the bed, pleased as the other man clambered up into the bed and made his way to lay against him more comfortably. The bionic arm remained on the floor, though, definitely to be tripped over later.
Nestled against each other, Ambrosius whispered. “I’m going to make it up to you.”
“You don’t –”
“I want to. I need to, Bal.” They stared up at the ceiling together. “I hate that I hurt you.”
“Okay,” Ballister breathed, “Okay.” And it was going to be okay. And probably a little expensive, but it wasn’t like he was living in the slums anymore. With some better parts and some quality advice, maybe the arm could be turned into “A laser sword.”
“What?”
“I want my arm to be able to turn into a laser sword.”
A brief beat of silence and a light exhale. “Whatever you want, babe.”