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“—ghetti, wake up.”
He wasn’t sure when he dozed off. Or that he did at all it in the vicinity of anyone. The gentle but insistent smacks to his cheek brought him closer to wakefulness while he attempted to bring his thoughts up to speed.
First came recognition of the womanly voice calling to him. Second was recognizing her face. The tension in his shoulders upon stirring immediately left him.
“Ugh…” He groaned, shaking away from those hands cupping his cheeks. Borscht pulled away and he could hear her soft footfalls grow faint for a second, before returning to him.
His vision is less sleep blurred now, but he still feels a bone deep exhaustion and a dull pain somewhere on his body.
He did a quick survey of the room, finding them to be alone together. He looked down to see that he had dozed off in the same position on the couch as he last remembered when Borscht was dressing a wound on his side. His furred cape and coat hung over the back of the couch, his ruined vest and shirt on the other end. A glance at their state told him he was better off replacing them.
“Come on, drink this.” Borscht handed him a glass. He took it without question and drank. The liquid was cool, and slightly bitter. Medicine then, he’s familiar with the miasma expungement medication they keep on their person.
She took the glass from him and went off somewhere again. He’s left with his gathering thoughts, about the success of the last mission, though not without their target unleashing whatever grotesque monstrosities he’d kept as ‘pets’ to go after them.
Of course, it wasn’t simply an eccentric noble’s hobby. And those hadn’t been simply pets. The horrors ran far deeper than he anticipated. Spaghetti frowned at the memory of that fight.
I should tell him about being more guarded about who he imparts his knowledge to. He thought. But at least that was one… two people off his list, and a wish fulfilled to satisfaction.
His attention turned to Borscht who pulled up a chair in front of him. She leaned into his space, her hands inspecting the bandage around his abdomen, then on his dominant arm. Her brows creased with emotion.
“You have to stop doing this.”
Spaghetti snorted, leaned forward and stared at the ground between them. “I think it’s too late for that, don’t you think?”
She slapped his uninjured arm, eliciting a grunt from him. Spaghetti has to hand it to her, she’s always been perceptive but also has gotten bolder over time. Whether or not it has something to do with his most recent slip-ups, he didn’t want to think too hard about.
“You know very well what I mean!” She replied.
He grunted again, threw her a side-eyed glare that didn’t faze her.
What was the pain of a few injuries against the guaranteed elimination of risks to his pawns and the fruition of his plans? He’s tasted failure enough times to be smarter about planning contingencies, even if it was one that involved introducing himself to a pointblank shot or a Fallen Angel’s sharp teeth.
He would live. And if he didn’t, at least he would have the tenacity to make sure no one of his own fell to the threat. That’s the advantage of being a Food Soul.
He didn’t say any of that to her though. Didn’t need to, when it was a topic they’ve danced around enough times for the answers to be communicated unspoken between them.
She cupped his cheeks, forced him to look at her. Spaghetti blinked, and saw anger in her carmine eyes. But there was something else, a softer emotion that he didn’t want to put a name to, because he didn’t think he deserved any of it.
“You fool of a man.” She clicked her tongue. “How do you expect to keep going if you let yourself go like this? What if we didn’t have a safehouse nearby and had to walk days to our new base?”
“Because it was either me or you. I may be cruel, but I would never put you in harm’s way if I could help it…”
Perhaps it was exhaustion, or the slight fever he was experiencing that allowed his usual inhibitions to loosen and let some of that truth out. He felt no shame in it, not when it was Borscht. They’ve seen enough of each other’s low points to know some of the fears and paranoia that fuel their desire to live.
“… And it takes more than this to bring me down.” He finished.
He didn’t have the strength to drone on more about his justifications. What’s done is done, and they’re all alive to suffer another day for their broken ideals.
Borscht sighed. She gave his cheeks another squeeze then let her hands fall away.
“At least let me worry about you.”
“That is an easy way to hand in your resignation form. Not that I would reject it.” He quipped, but there was no bite to the words. He cared for her, in his own way.
She fixed him with a stare. “And yet I’m still here.”
“Yet you still are.” He agreed. He almost let a chuckle bubble to the surface. “Should I count that as a miracle or an underlying problem?”
“Don’t get sassy with me, mister.” She scolded lightly. “Who else would put up with your terrible self-preservation skills?”
He only nodded and hummed his agreement.
True. And no one else in their little group was as good as her when it comes to managing their finances and business prospects.
Exhaustion was weighing down on him harder. Sleep was threatening to take him under in the next few moments. “We’ll talk more about what comes next tomorrow.” Spaghetti mumbled. He attempted to stand and feels a mite proud that he didn’t wobble even when his legs protested the movement.
“We do have the next few days of quiet before we have to worry about anything.” Borscht replied. “Rest. You’ll know right away if anything unexpected happens. Also, you owe Oyster an apology.”
Spaghetti can only vaguely remember what entailed the reason for that. He nodded again. That was something he’ll contend with in the morning. Borscht only lingered for a moment before she moved to put things away.
He quietly retreated to the bedroom. He managed to put on a shirt and pulled off his boots and belt, then tossing them onto the floor before he collapsed onto the bed. The moment his head hit the pillow, he was out like a light.
And if his dreams came in wine red hues and corpses that have no defined shape, there would be none who would disturb his slumber. As it always has been.