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Warning(s): G, none
Dan Heng didn’t know what overcame him in the days since largely resolving Penacony’s crisis.
As predicted, he had elected to squirrel himself away in the Archives to update and expand its compendiums as fast as his fingers allowed before they began to cramp, sting, and ache. His healing factor was rarely far behind as a few-minute break was enough to resume for further hours on end. Between articles, he always returned to the same index. But, that seemed to be a given when recent events and unveiled secrets had inundated him with an incalculably high workload.
As Penacony had only just emerged from sheer chaos but not from its turmoil meant the Astral Express could be grounded for some time until it was out of dire straits. With only a few days passing since Sunday’s defeat by the Crew’s hand, there was still a tremendous amount that needed doing.
“Alright, I’ve salvaged as much of the memory as I could. It’s a good thing you asked when you did, as I’m not keen to explore her memoryscape again anytime soon.”
Dan Heng glanced up when Black Swan manifested like a ghost and placed a memory bubble on the wraparound desktop of the data archives, its watery surface undulating prettily against the aged surface. Lifting a hand to her chin, the Memokeeper took a pause and studied the console over the spearman’s shoulder, scanning the text he was entering studiously.
“I certainly hope this covers my proverbial travel expenses. You were generous to allow me passage for the time being.”
Though it had only occurred in Ena’s Dream, Black Swan, and Boothill had been inspired by their dream’s counterparts and elected to voyage with the Express. For Black Swan, she informed them that the Express already possessed a connection to the Garden of Recollection, but she remained enigmatic as to what. In Boothill’s case, though he’d been instrumental in Penacony’s redemption, the IPC swarming the planet like vultures to carrion had made him nervous. So, he decided to sojourn with them once Pom-Pom had gotten assurance that he wouldn’t train his gun on anyone or anything again.
“You technically don’t have to pay any fare—”
“I don’t like accruing debts, real or imagined,” Black Swan dismissed with an elegant wave of her hand. “Besides, because I’m a memetic being, I’m a little limited when it comes to doing those little assignments you do to stay afloat. Or… maybe I just don’t like doing tedious things.” She winked playfully at him and Dan Heng looked back to his work.
“This contains Acheron’s memories with Tiernan?”
“Willfully given, I might add. In case you had any doubts.” Black Swan folded her arms, an imperceptible shiver racing through her voluptuous frame that didn’t go unnoticed. “I prefer not to venture into her mind if I can help it. But, because of our newfound camaraderie, consider this a one-time favor.” At the soft jangle of clicking spurs, an impish smile rose on her painted lips. “In any case, I think I’ll head out. It appears you might otherwise be… preoccupied.”
With a sly smile, Black Swan vanished just as a certain cowboy stepped in after the airlock slid open, balking at the remaining silhouette of the Memokeeper.
“Er— This ain’t a bad time, is it?” Boothill greeted awkwardly, rubbing his nape. Serrated teeth flashed with a sheepish smile, an inexplicable softness present in his gaze. Dan Heng averted his quickly.
“I— No. You’re not interrupting,” he answered automatically, then regretted it. Technically, he was, but… “What can I do for you?”
Boothill straightened hopefully but as he remembered why he was there, he curiously shrank. “So… I, uh— I wanted to ask ya somethin’.” When Dan Heng’s patient silence answered, the gunslinger huffed. “Alright, smarty-pants, listen up!” he began with a forced bravado that wilted instantly. “I reckon yer not the sort who belittles a man for his, uh—shortcomings, yeah? …Right?”
Dan Heng canted his head with interest and Boothill's coppery complexion flushed darkly, voice dropping to a harsh mutter. “I was wonderin’ if ya could… help me learn t’ read better,” he susurrated ruefully, avoiding Dan Heng’s piercing gray eyes. Dan Heng turned away to fiddle with his console and Boothill’s mortification atrophied into a sting of humiliation. “And look, doncha get all preachy t’ me about how much of an idiot I am or nothin’!”
“Boothill,” Dan Heng addressed him firmly, gesturing to the second chair he’d pulled up. “Sit down, please.”
Blinking dumbly, Boothill gaped slightly. “Wait… what?” Gingerly, the Ranger warily skirted around the chair after a pregnant pause, sinking slowly. Frowning, crosshair gray studied the holographic screen, surprised to see the image of a cowboy hat like his own and a description below.
“Can you try to read it?”
Boothill tensed and stared at the screen, mortification creeping over what bronzy skin was left. “‘Oakley in… hair? Inherit-ted this felt hat from her dis… de-sea—‘ The fork is this?” Boothill growled at the screen.
“Deceased. When sounding out, try reading it like this,” Dan Heng gently guided as he pointed to the first syllable. “These are called syllables. They’re the beats within a word, like de-cease-d. That’s two syllables. Try it.”
Boothill backtracked a few words. “In-her-it-ted?” he tried, gliding his digit through the word, glancing at the shorter for approval.
“That’s right,” Dan Heng replied with a small smile and Boothill felt the stomach he no longer had flop.
Boothill’s face split into a wide, boyish grin and he blushed. “Aw, this ain’t so hard,” he enthused coyly, rubbing his nape. “Let’s keep goin’.”
Long minutes ticked by as the whirring and ticking of the archival system became a soothing metronome. Gradually, Boothill’s arm migrated around the back of Dan Heng’s chair, tugging them closely together. The smaller man’s shoulder felt blissfully warm against his own, savoring the body heat radiating from him like a moth to a flame. Boothill blinked slowly, words slurring the more comfortable he became.
“Why don’t we take a break for now?”
“Mnh, wha'?” Boothill murmured dazedly as he blinked owlishly at the hazy screen, shaking his head. He grunted and stretched hugely, shaking his long mane out like a lion. Checking his progress, he was surprised to see that he’d read through most of the relic, straightening in his chair. “Hey, wouldja look at that? Not bad, eh, teach?” He ribbed Dan Heng playfully.
“All things considered… You do seem to be literate but struggle with more difficult words. Though, you learn quickly and don’t need to backtrack much. It probably won’t take long to fill in the gaps,” Dan Heng observed with a thoughtful hand near his chin.
“Heck, that’s more than enough reason to celebrate in my books!” Boothill beamed as he snatched the bottle of Asdana’s White Oak he’d snuck in with him that had been a gift of Black Swan, including the two shot glasses capped at its top. Delightedly, he poured them both two shots and passed one hurriedly to Dan Heng.
As Dan Heng took his, Boothill nudged him teasingly. “Hey, not so fast, partner. We gotta raise a real proper toast,” the Ranger dissuaded with his hand overlapping Dan Heng’s. The archivist flushed slightly, nodding. “Right. Here’s to… the Astral Express’ swell archivist! One of the best guys I know.” He clinked their glasses together and knocked his back vigorously.
Dan Heng chuffed softly. “Then here’s to fast learners,” he conceded, sipping his slowly in comparison. “Oh good, no rocket fuel or notes of battery acid.”
“Wha— Hey, there’s nothing’ wrong with likin’ the taste of those!” Boothill exclaimed defensively, folding his arms petulantly. Impishly, Dan Heng snatched the cyborg’s hat and set it on the countertop away from the Ranger. When Boothill tried to lunge for his Stetson childishly, Dan Heng walled his shoulders and prevented Boothill from extending far, their squabbling short-lived. “Wh— What’s the big idea, pretty boy?!”
Several moments passed and Boothill slumped on Dan Heng’s slender back after giving up, coolant-laced breath exhaled contentedly from synthetic lungs. He draped an arm over Dan Heng’s shoulder, jaw at rest on the other. His eyelids sank closed and Dan Heng regarded him curiously, the cyborg surprisingly comfortable.
“Enjoying yourself?” Dan Heng asked laconically, but not with true irritation. It took Boothill tremendous willpower to resist the desire to nuzzle into the silky skin of Dan Heng’s nape.
He’s warm. Warm like spring sunshine.
“‘Course I am,” Boothill snickered, half-lidded eye scanning Dan Heng’s methodical work. “Whatcha workin’ on?”
“I’m trying to find more information about Tiernan, a former Nameless.”
Boothill nodded slowly. “Oakley, Tiernan… me,” he chuckled softly. “Glad to know the Astral Express is so welcomin’ to legendary gunslingers.”
“It seems to be that way,” Dan Heng agreed, fingers tapping as he typed fluidly over the holographic keys. “His life after journeying on the Express and even during is still very mysterious. Thanks to Black Swan, I believe I’ve found a crucial component.”
“Ya did? Er—she did?”
“Yes, this contains Tiernan’s final memories experienced with Acheron.”
Boothill’s lips thinned, unconsciously scooting slightly closer as if Acheron’s name was like a reaper looming over him. “Tiernan… I’ve heard that name before. Thought it sounded familiar. He’s the fella who was real close to Mikhail, wasn’t he? Was part of the Galaxy Rangers, too; real upstandin’ type. What’s the memory bubble about?”
“I’m not sure yet,” Dan Heng admitted, gazing at and through the object. Boothill knew that look. “It feels familiar. Like sinking into a deep sea and being submerged in disaster and darkness. I’m too familiar with it.”
Boothill lifted his head and withdrew his arm, staring hard at Dan Heng who gazed at him with concern. “You know what that’s like? Sinkin’ into a sea, all alone, your world falling apart around you?” he demanded, voice quavering. He gripped Dan Heng’s shoulder, turning the smaller man, ashen crosshair digging into those dark teals, searching hard for truths and lies alike.
“I know because I was the one responsible for it!” Dan Heng’s voice broke, but he quickly amended: “No—it wasn’t me! But, I’ve lived with the guilt for years! Everything he did felt like it was my fault! I feel their deaths inside of me, and—”
The click of a bullet moving into the barrel sounded and the cool kiss of a gun’s muzzle menaced against Dan Heng’s brow, but he met it fearlessly.
“You make it sound like you ain’t you. Like you’re someone else,” Boothill intoned darkly, fangs gritted. “Who… No, what are you?”
Dan Heng fell silent and it spanned excruciatingly between them. No longer were they sitting comfortably, instead facing each other in an intense standoff. Wordlessly, he touched Boothill’s revolver with Cloudhymn Magic, and the brassy weapon dissolved like water that dribbled through his fingertips like liquid mercury. Before the gunman’s expression could change, it clattered to the ground as solid as when it had been holstered. Boothill stooped down in disbelief, gawking at Dan Heng.
“I don’t trust you with that answer yet,” he whispered harshly, hands balling into fists. “I trust you as a comrade, and we are becoming friends, but… it’s too soon.”
Boothill bent to scoop up his gun, inspecting the weapon critically. “Y’know what it’s like, though? Bein’ in that deep place where yer drownin’?” Dislodging the cylinder to check on the bullets, he swung it back into place. “I hate liars. I like folks who deny the truth even less, but you aren’t either. I had a feelin’ about you. ‘Bout how you had a dark past.”
“And we saw a glimpse of each other’s,” Dan Heng surmised somberly, gaze flickering to Boothill. “I think we can agree that it’s too soon for either of us to know more.”
“Yeah, yer probably right,” Boothill sighed deeply, holstering his pistol and trudging towards the desktop to fetch the expensive liquor and his shot glass. Aeons knew he was going to imbibe the rest of the alcohol to take the edge off of what had begun as a warm bonding moment. “Hey, Dan Heng.”
“Yes?”
With his free hand, Stetson back on his head, Boothill leaned low to angle his face to plant a tender, cool kiss on Dan Heng’s warm cheek. The shorter man grew preternaturally still, shocked but not disgusted as heat bloomed on his skin. He pulled away after what felt like a minute, metal hand cupping Dan Heng’s face briefly with a smirk.
“Shoot, yer skin sure is soft, pretty boy,” he rasped fondly, grinning crookedly. “But, uh… thanks. For hearin’ and helpin’ and all. Takes a real rare kinda compassion to do that for someone you met just a few days ago.”
Dan Heng was still processing what had just happened, cheek burning from the coolness that lingered on his skin. “You’re welcome,” he replied softly, recovering his voice. “Are you heading to bed?”
“Yeah, ‘m beat. Gonna have my tonic beforehand,” he said, pointedly waggling the bottle by its throat, sloshing the contents inside. “Maybe I’ll practice readin’ so our next session won’t be as slow.”
Dan Heng nodded obliquely, Boothill heading for the door but lingering.
“If… you feel like you’re drowning again, please let me know.”
Boothill stopped in his tracks and he threw an incredulous look over his shoulder at the archivist but quickly looked away when their eyes met. “I’ll keep that in mind, sweetheart. You don’t stay up too late, now.” The gunslinger's smile was secretive and fond when he turned back.
What was it like for you in that sunless place? Someday, I’ll tell you. Someday, you'll know.