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Gepard had no idea how long it had been since the call came in. Five minutes? Twenty minutes? Three hours ago? None of it made any sense. The fire had been flickering with the promise of the end of the work day and the last few arrest warrants had found their way into drawers. Things had been getting worse, that was for sure. More crime, less food and absolutely no let up from the storm.
As Dan Heng had solemnly remarked, the end of the Stellaron Crisis was never truly the end. Cocolia’s death was only the last string on the lyre of hope. The thought that her sacrifice may still be all for nought rested heavily on everyone’s minds, he was sure. He sometimes had nightmares that the world ended in a shivering darkness and every time he woke he always had the sense he was living through a tragedy.
But he had never expected this.
Sampo Koski had been on the prowl again. He had broken into a pawnbrokers in the Underworld. Gepard had lost attention as soon as he heard his name. Something about Geomarrow extraction and robot speech processing parts. The chase ended, as it always did, in a man to man stand-down in the Snow Plains. Koski had wriggled free. But this time Gepard had been completely careless. He had been too busy brandishing his guitar case and letting his opponent fluster him to realize he had abandoned his duty of care.
The rumbling reverberated off the cliff faces. He’d called out. He’d pleaded with him to step away from the cliff. He even promised he’d let him go. But Sampo wouldn’t budge. That was when the snow fell. Those great, terrible drifts had entombed whatever was beneath them.
In those moments he was sure that the tragedy had begun; that he was already dying that dark, cold death.
He could have been digging for five minutes or five hours. But he wouldn’t give up. He had to find him.
All there was to hear was his own thundering heartbeat in his ears. Horror forced its freezing tendrils through his veins. Why, why were his hands so small? Why hadn’t he brought a robot? A shovel? Why was he letting the icy wind get the better of him?
Why was he digging up the snow laden grave of a criminal?
Signs. He was looking for anything: a hand, that boysenberry coat, one of those stupid knife boomerangs Gepard kept confiscating but Sampo always managed to source.
Was he still awake? Could he feel himself suffocating? Was the cold seeping through his skin? Would he become an echo?
Please no.
Oh lord. Why did he insist on wearing that ridiculous get-up with those stupid cut outs?
He must be so, so cold.
Captain Gepard sat back on his legs. His lungs burned with a hellish fire and he felt his throat swelling and aching with fear. Feeling had long since left his fingers, replaced only by the emptiness of numbness. Grief had already begun to bite at the edges of his consciousness.
Don’t give up. Don’t stop, Gepard.
He launched himself back into his furious digging, a guttural cry pushed out of his lungs. The snow had begun to take a suffocating hold of the Plains. Exhaustion had gripped his limbs in a tight embrace. If he didn’t turn back to the Administrative District he knew he might be the maker of his own grave.
“Captain!” A sound dampened by the worsening snow emerged from beyond the freeze.
Gepard turned momentarily. A figure began to emerge beyond the falling screen of snow.
“No!” Gepard called back with the last of his energy. His voice jolted with a seldom materialized emotion. “I’m not stopping.”
Why was everything so loud?
“I’m not stopping.” He said once again, yet he was sure nothing but his own ears could hear.
It didn’t matter. He was not , he would never leave him here in the snow. Not when there was a chance that he could save him. Even if he was his arch-nemesis, the man he had spent his whole career chasing. That goddamn elusive fucker. God, he wanted to -
“Gepard, stop.” It spoke again. It was a voice, he realized. But it was softer, more comforting. It was as if it was exactly what he needed to hear. Its timbre was a warm embrace, the smell of home baked goods. Maybe this was what the fragmentum felt like. Maybe the suspension between life and its twisted counterpart was a warped version of coming home.
“Go away.” Gepard warned, a gruff and visceral sound cutting through his trembling voice. “I’m saving him. He’s going to die. And I won’t forgive myself if-“
“I’m here.”
A pale hand reached through the thick blizzard, painted black nails first, followed by thick, veiny arms.
This was all so tiring. Yes . That would explain why the edges of his vision were tinted with a strange, black light.
He didn’t even know light could be black.
“Mm. Go away.”
Every last bit of him had been sapped away into the cold. He was going to be another lost voice in the wind. There would be no salvation. The last string of hope would snap.
They would say he died doing his duty: a man so kind-hearted he would give his life for a criminal’s. Perhaps they might think they were lovers. That wouldn’t be so bad.
But then again, no one was even there. They might have had themselves believe that Gepard Landau had gone mad.
It was too late, anyhow.
What was reputation to a dead man?
Death was lonely, Gepard noted. Death was cold.
But then there was a warm hand against his cheek. A thumb to wipe away the tears. A strange force against his body.
Numbness had its head severed and clarity sprung forth from its wounds. It was still bitterly cold, and the ghostly howls of the wind replaced the beating in his ears.
But surely enough, there he was. The very man he had seen disappear before his eyes. Standing. Not buried beneath the snow. The indigo hair, the sharp jawline, those beautiful turquoise eyes. Nothing in this world was turquoise anymore.
Wait.
Why was he, Gepard Landau, Captain of the Silvermane Guards , Confidant of Supreme Guardian Bronya Rand , on the receiving end of a bridal style carry from Sampo Koski?
Of course.
“You bastard.” Gepard murmured.
Sampo smiled. He beamed.
Gepard wasn’t sure he had ever seen Sampo displaying any emotions except for flagrant audacity. He certainly knew he had never seen him upset, not genuinely. But if there ever was a moment where Sampo was able to show a shred of sentimentality, he was sure it was that moment. His teasing eyes had softened into melting pools of stars.
“You were under the snow.” The Captain mouthed.
What a stupid thing to say.
“I know.” Sampo replied, equally stupidly.
“How did you get out?”
Silence. Nothing but the wailing of lost souls of the eternal freeze. That was almost his fate.
“You were going to die.” It was the first time Sampo had ever said anything that wasn’t a taunt.
“I know.”
Suddenly, it wasn’t so cold.
Gepard could tell Sampo was hesitating. Gepard knew almost everything there was to know about him. He’d spent enough time tracking, watching and interrogating him to know him inside out. He was sure Sampo could say the same. Gepard could tell by the way Sampo’s gaze shifted and the corners of his lips curled up into a cat-like smirk.
Sampo’s lashes fluttered. Up close, Gepard could see the intricacies of the snowflakes that settled between them. All his usual casualness had dissipated. There was a recognition in those eyes. He knew Gepard had been digging for him. He knew he had been crying and grieving for him.
Then came Sampo’s breathy laughter. It usually meant he had given in.
“Can I kiss you?”
In all honesty, Gepard had imagined Sampo would have more game than that.
But.
Why even question it? Why second guess his intentions? Why deny what has been threatening to bloom for years?
Gepard didn’t even dignify the handsome bastard with a response. It was much easier to find the feeling in his fingers, flexing them with a grimace; to reach up for the back of his neck, to pull him a little closer, to press a kiss to the edge of his lips.
It was a burning kiss that he was sure would brand his soul for all eternity.
The petals of Gepard’s heart unfurled into a blossoming bloom.
He didn’t even complain when Sampo insisted on carrying him all the way home.