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At first Argenti tried to fight it. He would stand for hours, holding cold, unfeeling hands in his, warming the metal up as he repeated reassurances to Boothill. Telling him that he was beautiful; that he was human.
He hoped that one day his warmth would linger for a bit longer, that his touch would be felt and reciprocated. But the ending was always the same.
Argenti’s hands would be left cold, discarded. The only reply to his heartfelt praises, a bitter, humorless laughter. And no matter how much he tried to reach back, to stop the ranger from escaping, the knight would fall short.
There were times when he felt like he was making some progress, inching ever closer to Boothill’s heart. In those rare shared moments of joy, leaning into each other’s orbits, smiling about things only them would understand. A cheeky wordplay or a ridiculous anecdote from their time apart. Reminiscing about a joined mission, when fate was kind enough to let them reunite, to bask in each other’s passion and beauty. Fighting side by side, complementing the other’s strengths and weaknesses.
Surely all those months of meeting, of sharing, of life threatening adventures - they had to count for something. Argenti could see it clearly in the shine of Boothill’s eyes as he laughed at one of Argenti's over-dramatic antics. In his lingering gazes, in the tremor of the ranger’s hand whenever he was near, in the peaceful silence enjoyed together.
He saw it in the way Boothill one day let him gently cup a cheek into armored hands. In the way he leaned into the touch, his eyes half-lidded. In the murmurs in the night. The frantic reach for someone’s collar, tangles of hair in between demanding fingers. The sharp tugs, the stinging bites and sugary whispers.
These had to mean something.
Even if they had no words to define what they were. What any of this truly meant between the two. It was real to Argenti, it had warmth, affection, it held a hope for what might be yet to come for them. He dared to believe in it, that one day he’d be able to express all of it out loud and that Boothill would say it in return.
And yet. Argenti would always find himself cold and alone eventually. He could never hold the ranger long enough, the man adamant on slipping from his grasp, discarding his warmth and rebuilding the walls of his heart. When asked why, Boothill’s answer was always the same.
“You shouldn’t get attached to a weapon.”
Argenti had lost hours to tears. Not often did he let himself fall victim to frustration, even less to despair. But as his prayers were left unanswered, he feared that, for the first time in his life, he would fail his most important oath.
No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't protect Boothill’s beauty from the ranger himself.
___
The path of beauty is one paved by endless discoveries. To be able to protect beauty, Argenti has to find it first. Beauty is in all things, and it was Argenti’s duty to discover it.
He finds it in flowers blooming in the middle of a battlefield. He finds it in the smiles of others. He finds it in the broken notes of a harmonica.
He had found beauty in the metal of a man, in the draw of a gun, in the smell of gunpowder, in the bubbling life and passion within Boothill’s every movement.
On one bright day, in an unfamiliar place, with sweat running down his forehead as flames crackle mere meters away from him. Argenti finds beauty in another’s death.
Of course, Argenti was more than familiar with the concept of death. He himself hoped to die beautifully one day, in an act so grand, so selfless and beautiful, that Idrila would finally embrace him fully during his last moment. However, the death of another had always been a tragedy. His village, his mentor, his beloved friend… There had been no beauty to be found in their killing.
“The years spent as a tombstone were my finest.”
Argenti’s hands tremble at his side. He had vowed to Master Guyun to protect him, to set him free. Little did he know that the sword would find freedom in the heat of a forge, his body melted and reshaped. The sword’s voice, so tired until now, held nothing but gratitude for Yunli. Their solemn farewell almost brings tears to the Knight of Beauty’s eyes. Guyun falls silent, and in a matter of minutes, his body as a sword is no more.
Argenti silently thanks Idrila, for allowing him to witness a beautiful end to such a tragically beautiful story.
Days later, once the Xianzhou Luofu's wardance is over, Argenti heads back toward Kalevala, to lay down a single rose in the snow, where Guyun once stood.
__
“In a month, Oswaldo Schneider will be traveling for a contract deal in the IPC’s name.”
Argenti gracefully sits down at the table, ignoring the sound of a glass being slammed down on its wooden surface.
“‘Xcuse me?”
Argenti lifts his gaze up, meeting Boothill’s blown out eye. The red glow at the center of it slowly intensifies. Argenti does not falter at the sight of it - if anything, this is the reaction he expected from the galaxy ranger. He places his hands crossed neatly on the table, his tone remaining casual, despite its hushed nature.
“You and I both know that this will leave him more vulnerable and easily traceable.”
Boothill leans in over the table, the grip of his hand around the glass tightens, but somehow not enough to break it. Yet.
“ Argenti- “ The cyborg almost growls. Voice so low, it can’t mask the static of his voice box. The ranger almost never called him by his name like that. Boothill is deadly serious, probably close to threatening him. “How did ya find that info?” He continues through gritted teeth.
Argenti leans back on his chair, making himself more comfortable under Boothill’s glare. The knight gives a nonchalant shrug in response, a small smile on his lips.
“The knights of beauty do not accept monetary rewards for our deeds.” He brings a hand to his chest, Boothill follows the movement with a deep scowl etched on his face. “However, intel is a different story. I happen to have made a lot of friendly acquaintances throughout my years traveling the cosmos.”
Boothill seems to take the hint. Argenti has no intention to divulge his sources, but he trusts them. The ranger doesn’t look too pleased with that, a moment of silence settles between the two. Finally, Boothill releases his grip on the glass, leaving it intact, in favor of gripping the edge of the table instead, leaning toward Argenti even more.
“Where? Out with it already.”
Argenti shakes his head slowly.
Boothill’s hand flies to his holster.
“You mother fud-”
“I need you to promise me something first, dear Boothill.” Argenti cuts him off, a determined look on his face, never breaking eye contact.
The ranger squints at him, but relaxes his arm, hand no longer hovering over his revolver. Boothill eye darts all over Argenti’s figure, clearly thinking about what the knight would ask of him. He closes his eye seconds later, a hand coming to rub at his face with a sigh.
“‘Genti, how many times do I have to tell ya? I am not sti-”
Argenti reaches over the table, the tip of his fingers barely grazing Boothill’s wrist. That is enough to stop Boothill’s word, to the knight’s relief. He knew what his cowboy was about to say, and even though he had now accepted that fact, Argenti couldn’t bear to hear it outloud once again. Especially now.
“This isn’t it, my silver cowboy.” He murmurs, earning a surprised look from Boothill. Argenti retracts his hand a bit, letting it rest on the table between them, palm up. “Promise me that you’ll let me stay by your side. I only wish to help. Please. Let me stay by your side until the very end of this.”
Boothill’s eye falls to Argenti’s open hand. His own stubbornly staying in place. Argenti can see the struggle in the man’s eye, catching the way his metal fingers twitch ever so slightly. The ranger is clearly torn, Argenti cannot fault him for that. But he knows this man’s drive, and that he cannot refuse what Argenti is offering.
Boothill still tries.
“I can’t do that, ‘genti. I- look.” The ranger sighs. His body falls back in his chair, hands staying far away from Argenti’s. “I refuse to hurt ya more than I already do; then I will.”
Argenti smiles oh so softly at him. He can feel the emotion swell in his chest, seeing Boothill’s guard flatters. The knight knows the other man cares, but hearing it like so, it shoots raw, burning affection up Argenti’s veins. A shame truly, that it has to be under such sad circumstances.
Argenti will cherish those words either way.
“Please.” Argenti whispers. He can see the way those words travel up Boothill’s body, making his metal frame shiver, but his eye refuses to meet Argenti’s still. “It would be my greatest honor, my dear.”
Argenti extends his open hand further toward Boothill. He can see the conflicted look on the other man’s eye, the way it lingers on his palm.
He is being manipulative right now, he knows that. A part of him hates it. Still, this is nothing but an invisible blemish toward the path of beauty he’s walking on. He knew from the start that Boothill wouldn’t refuse, not when presented with information, not when the price for them was lower than he’d have expected.
Not when Argenti is facing him head on, open, genuine, giving him a soft hand to hold on and a softer smile to soothe his fears. All wrapped in a quiet plea, a whisper. ”Please. Allow me this.”
Boothill takes his hand.
__
As expected, a full month to prepare is both too long and way too short at the same time.
They had a lot to figure out, if they wanted to make this mission a success. Oswaldo’s ship trajectory was well guarded of course, it was impossible to determine where he would depart from, and its exact path. Argenti and Boothill don’t linger on this idea for long, focusing on striking at the docks instead.
Bypassing security and personal guards would be a challenge, but they are confident in their abilities. If it is the two of them - together - they can achieve most anything.
It was all going smoothly, they had a plan. They had many plans, accounting for any mistakes, any possible miscalculations. Which is more than Boothill could’ve ever done alone.
Argenti can feel the intense gaze from the cowboy from across the room. Zeroing in on him, as if he was the ranger’s actual target. The knight of beauty puts away their notes neatly, unbothered by the reticule following his every movement.
“What is it, my dear silver cowboy? You have been staring for quite some time now.” Argenti hums, finally meeting Boothill’s gaze.
“Why are ya doin’ this?” Boothill asks in return, voice low. “Helpin’ me.”
Argenti lets out another low hum in response, his smile ever-present. Even when Boothill recoils from him when he starts to close the distance between them. His cowboy has all the rights to be suspicious of his intentions, even if it hurted his feelings a little. After all, a mere couple weeks ago Argenti had been adamant on refusing to help with Boothill’s plans for the future - or lack thereof. The knight had spent countless hours trying to dissuade him from going through with it.
And yet, here they are now. Argenti actively takes part in all of it, no more questions asked. Had the roles been reversed, the knight would’ve been suspicious too.
He holds out a hand, delicately pressing his glove against the supple skin of Boothill’s cheek. The ranger stiffens at the contact, but makes no move to break it.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Argenti smiles. He closes his eyes, choosing to lean forward instead, touching his forehead to Boothill’s, his other hand moving up to cup Boothill’s face fully. “It’s because I-”
Words caught in his throat for a second. Argenti can feel the cowboy shift under his hands, hissing his name in warning. The knight leans back, his smile falls, sadness freely showing one his face, if for a second. Boothill frowns up at him, eyes pleading for him to not continue. And Argenti complies. He could never deny his cowboy, at least not for long. So Argenti swallows his words, pushing them back down, out of sight.
His smile returns, weaker, its light gone.
“It’s because I understand now. This, too, is one of the many paths that beauty takes.” He finishes, voice steady as always.
Boothill lets out a sigh, grumbling something under his breath that Argenti can’t quite catch. For a second, he can feel the press of a cheek leaning against one of his hands.
Argenti blinks and Boothill is gone.
__
Boothill exudes life with everything he does. Always loud and flamboyant, dancing around a fight with such elegance, one could barely believe his body was made of metal, and not flowing water.
He projects an image of confidence, never shying away from anything, his emotions laid bare in every word, every act.
Argenti knows better.
He traces Boothill's sleeping form with a naked finger, going over his curves in slow deliberate motions, circling each ridge multiple times, unafraid of waking the other man up.
After all, in Boothill’s own words, his body was made of unfeeling metal.
The ranger lays dormant on his side, in the guest room of the One and Only. The room is silent, beside the faint crackling sound from the plugged-in charging cable. Here, in the darkness, gone is his exuberant persona, his life striped away, leaving a cold shell of a man. His eyes are closed, chest unmoving, pale skin tinted blue from artificial blood. Looking as if he is already dead.
Argenti’s finger stills at the peak of Boothill’s shoulder, not daring to get any closer to his face.
The knight stares for a while, looking for any signs indicating that the ranger might wake up soon. He sees nothing.
Argenti’s hand eventually resumes its route, traveling down the cyborg’s arm, all the way to his hand. The knight gently lifts his other hand to fully hold Boothill’s. The metal is frigid, heavy and unmoving. The feeling of it almost tears a sob out of Argenti’s throat.
But the knight doesn’t falter, does not allow himself to. Still, he grants himself that little selfish moment of contemplation. He brings Boothill’s hand closer to him, enough to let him graze its knuckles against his lips. He bows his head, moving the metal knuckles to his cheek, and then - his forehead.
He doesn’t know how long he spends here, kneeling at the side of the bed.
__
The day arrives. It is glorious.
Of course, Oswaldo doesn’t go down without a fight. They expected this much. But nothing can stop a man who lives for nothing but vengeance and with nothing to lose.
The planet is blessed with a warm sun and cloudless sky. A little piece of paradise, its dock modest and charming. The IPC’s spaceship doesn’t have time to reach it. Argenti and Boothill board it before it has the chance to anchor itself. It leaves them with a short window of time to deal with onboard security, before reinforcement on the ground can reach them. Ten minutes, maybe, if they are lucky. It is plenty enough.
Boothill is brillant, dazzling, as the guards fall one by one at his feet. It never stops him from going forward, eye locked on his target. Not even the bullets and swords piercing in between the joints of his metal body can stop him now.
Argenti feels the metallic taste of blood on his tongue, as he does his best to hold off as many IPC soldiers as he can. He does not know if the blood is his own, and does not give it a single thought. Like the finest of wines, it is a toast to a life lived to its fullest before the fall. His gaze keeps falling back to his companion, heart pounding at the sound of Boothill’s exhilarating laughter. It is a magnificent show, one worth every slash and scrape Argenti receives.
Boothill’s grand final.
What a blessing it is, for Argenti to be able to laugh along with him for it.
__
Boothill’s body is heavy in his arms.
It is nothing that Argenti cannot lift. He had done it so many times before. The cyborg has little regard for his physical integrity and had often required the knight to carry him out for repair.
But it would make Argenti’s job easier if his cowboy would stop moving restlessly in his arms already.
“‘Genti!” Boothill roars in his ears once more. “Dagnabbit Rosey! Let go of me!” The demand is punctuated with the loud sound of the ranger’s fist hitting Argenti’s armored arm.
The knight ignores it, too focused on remembering the escape route, all while dodging bullets. He does not flinch when one grazes his cheek. The same cannot be said for Boothill, the sight of spilled blood makes him hit Argenti’s armor again, followed by more oddly censored swears.
“This was not the plan, ‘Genti!”
The knight takes a sharp left, almost sending the both of them to stumble on the floor, but he regains his balance on time. The corner leaves him with a couple of seconds of respite from the gun welding soldiers.
Argenti can see the window in front of him now, his escape goal. The final line before they can both get out of here alive. The cyborg continues to shout.
“It’s too dangerous, leave me-”
“No.” Argenti cuts him off, finally acknowledging him for the first time since he started running. “I intend to fulfill my oath to you. But I am not leaving you behind. Not here, not now.”
Boothill finally falls silent, jaw clenched shut. One more leap and Argenti falls out of the spaceship, hurling them both toward the water below. His grip on his cowboy never loosens.
By either a miracle or sheer dumb luck, the knight manages to reach the One and Only, carefully letting go of Boothill once the door is shut behind them. He sets off to the cockpit to engage the autopilot and take off.
Boothill lets out a bitter laugh while his body slowly slides down the wall and onto the floor, his mangled legs unable to hold him up. His arms aren’t in any better condition. The plating of his hand got stuck between its usual shape and one of a gun, the metal joints no longer able to move and shift around. Most of his other arm is gone, blue fluid dripping lazily from his torn wires.
“Ya really went and risked yer life for a pile of scrap metal.” He chuckles, voice sour but now too exhausted to sound angry.
Argenti slowly lowers himself in front of the galaxy ranger, a small, apologetic smile adorning his face.
“I risked my life to save you, my dear.” He retorts gently.
Boothill snorts. “I’m good as dead.”
“You are still alive right now.” Argenti presses his hand against Boothill’s chest. “And I promised to stay by your side until the end.”
Boothill’s head drops forward with another small chuckle. Calling Argenti foolish among others, no bite left behind his words. The knight dares to interpret this tone as fondness.
Argenti echoes Boothill’s small laugh with his own, moving his hand up to now rest under the cyborg’s jaw, tilting his face back up. Their eyes meet once again, and Argenti’s smile broadens.
“How does it feel?” He asks gently, earning a confused expression in return. Argenti runs a gentle thumb along Boothill’s jawline. “To know Oswaldo Schneider is finally dead. You’ve achieved your goal.”
Boothill stares owlishly at him for a couple seconds more. The cyborg tries to shift his body, eye scanning his entire form. Most of his joints are jammed, locking him into place and leaking. The flow of his fake blood has largely subsided now, having lost most of it. His battery is running dangerously low.
There are warnings of critical failures blearing in his ears, pop ups at the corner of his vision informing that, well, everything is wrong. Shutdown is imminent.
The Cyborg’s eye settles on Argenti once more with a small crooked smile.
“Empty.” He eventually exhales.
Argenti feels his heart constrict painfully in his chest. He cups Boothill’s face with both hands now. His cowboy does look impossibly exhausted, but at peace too - at least somewhat. It is a small consolation.
“Com’on Rosie, don’t give me that look.” The ranger whispers, eye softening at the sight of Argenti's pained face. “Ya knew what was comin’.”
The static from his voice box is more pronounced now. So is the whirring of his internal fans, as his system desperately tries to make up for the loss of most of its cooling fluid. The metal body fights to keep its system alive, enough to save the brain it cages, even if for a minute longer.
A part of Argenti’s relentless optimistic heart had believed, up until this moment, that Boothill would change his mind. That once this mission was over, they could set off together, find a new goal, something to live for. Now, faced with the full depth of Boothill’s exhaustion, Argenti realizes just how absurd that was of him. He tries to choke out a small ”I know,” but the words get stuck in his throat and turn into a sound more akin to a sob.
Boothill closes his eye, leaning his head fully into Argenti’s palm.
“Where are ya takin’ me?” The ranger asks.
Argenti gently nudges Boothill’s face, enough for the knight to use his now free hand to remove his armored gloves. Once done, he settles his hands back on Boothill’s cheek, the cowboy humming in contentment from the skin to skin contact.
Only after this does Argenti trust himself enough to talk.
“Aeragan-Epharshel.” Boothill’s eye shots open at the name. His surprise is clear despite the fatigue. Argenti leans his forehead against Boothill, a serene smile back on his lips. “I’m taking you home. You can finally rest, my silver cowboy.”
Boothill let out a shuddering sigh, closing his eye again in turn.
“‘Am afraid I won’t hold on until then.” Another bitter laugh. “It probably looks nothing like it used to ‘nyway.”
Argenti’s grasps on Boothill tighten ever so lightly. He bites his bottom lip, stopping himself from offering to get the cyborg’s charging port. He knows that Boothill would refuse. Instead, he brings Boothill’s head closer to him, making him rest against the crook of his neck.
“Worry not, my dearest. I will make sure to offer you and your family the most beautiful resting place. I swear this to you.”
There is another hum from Boothill in reply. Eerily quiet. He can feel the cowboy press his cheek against him more, nuzzling the side of his neck. His metal limbs hang lifeless by his side, but he makes up for it by getting his face as close as humanly possible.
“Thank you. Argenti.” Boothill’s words sound muffled, yet they echo loudly in Argenti’s head.
The knight embraces the metal body fully. Fingertips thread their way up Boothill’s scalp, in hope to help him press closer still. Maybe if he holds on tight enough, Boothill won’t feel the shake of Argenti’s body.
“Boothill?” He whispers tentatively.
Another hum from his cowboy, sounding more like a radio crackling between stations.
“Can I say it?” The knight continues.
The ranger shifts his head again at that. The silence stretches for a while. Argenti prays.
Then Boothill moves again, tries to lean back to look into his eyes. The knight helps him gently. He knows Boothill lost the ability to cry years ago. But the lack of tears doesn’t make his anguished expression any less crushing.
“‘Genti…” The cowboy starts, but doesn’t find the words.
“It will hurt me more, letting you go without ever telling you this.” Argenti ghosts a kiss against the ranger’s temple. There is no more protest from him. And so he moves his lips to the corner of Boothill’s mouth, before kissing him in full.
“I love you.” Argenti whispers against his shaped lips. He swears he hears a sob pry its way out of Boothill. He kisses him again, desperate to get the depth of his emotions through.
When Argenti pulls away, hovering close to Boothill’s face, he can see words trying to form on the cyborg’s lips. No sound comes out. The noise of his internal fans slowly quiets, as Boothill’s eye dims, the reticule inside fading. Yet Boothill still tries, lips shaking.
“It’s alright, my love.” Argenti says, lips now caressing the crown of Boothill’s head. “You can tell me another day. Wait for me. I am sure we will meet again, somewhere in the universe.”
He brings Boothill close in his embrace once again.
“Goodnight, my dearest Boothill.”
The sounds of the fans are no more. Not another drop of blue blood falls to the floor of the One and Only.
He should find this beautiful, a good ending for a life of tragedy. Certainly, this had to be the right choice. Then why did it hurt so much?
In this still silence, Argenti feels a gentle breeze caress his hair, and the sensation of warm hands wiping his tears. It does nothing to comfort him.