Work Text:
Heinrix hears the light footsteps first.
He’s been both longing for and dreading them. He didn’t want Elvia to see him like this – in such a pathetic state. It was humiliating enough to have her drag him out of that capsule, bloodied and half-naked, limp as a ragdoll. Some protector he was. Yet, at the same time, he ached to see her, to touch her. He had been certain she was dead.
She had died so many times while he was trapped in that capsule. Again and again, he had tried to save her, only to be met with unbearable, excruciating pain.
"Hey."
Heinrix looks up and sees Elvia smiling at him, somewhat sheepishly – quite uncharacteristic of her. And just like that, the doubt, the horrors – everything – fades into the background. She’s here. She came. For him.
“Elvia, have you been looking for me? I tried to find somewhere out of the way to recover from the torture.”
He moves to stand, but she stops him with a wave of her hand and sits down beside him instead.
“So, you’ve decided to hide here?” Elvia smiles crookedly.
“I’m not hiding,” he mutters. “I just thought the others didn’t need to see me like this.” He glances at her, trying to gauge her reaction – what she must be thinking, seeing him so weak and useless. A shadow flickers across her face, but it’s gone before he can decipher it. “I’m already on the mend, anyway.”
The last thing he wants is for her to think he’ll be like this for long. He’s starting to regret that she found him. It would’ve been better to have this conversation after he’d fully recovered.
“Not going to rant about biomancy being a curse today?” Elvia chuckles, nudging him conspiratorially with her elbow.
And suddenly, Heinrix doesn’t regret her presence at all.
“You’ve cut your hair,” he says quietly.
“Yeah, military fashion.” She runs a hand through her cropped black hair. “Figured I’d rather not die because some Drukhari managed to grab hold of my luxurious locks in the arena.”
She grins wider this time, dimples appearing on her cheeks, and Heinrix finds himself transfixed. The shorter hair makes her look even more delicate, more vulnerable. Just like in those old penal legion mug shots he had on his data slate – the ones he had spent hours staring at.
She looks pale. And thinner too. What in the Emperor’s name happened to her in this wretched place? He can’t see any injuries – she’s probably healed herself completely.
A surge of tenderness and protectiveness washes over him, and before he can stop himself, Heinrix reaches out and touches her cheek. The moment he realizes what he’s doing, fear grips him – what if she recoils? But she doesn’t. So he allows himself one slow, tender stroke before pulling his hand away.
“I still haven’t asked you what happened to you after we were captured,” Heinrix says, bracing himself for whatever she might say.
Elvia simply leans back, flashing another bright smile.
“Well, it’s quite the fascinating story. Strap in, soldier.” She gazes into the endless abyss of Commorragh, as if searching for inspiration, then tilts her head back further and continues in a deliberately lighthearted tone. “So, I wake up – where do you think?”
She pauses expectantly, but when he doesn’t answer, she carries on.
“On a Voidstrider, of course. And guess who’s there with me?” This time, she doesn’t wait for a response. “You, of course. And guess what you’re doing? Leading a trial against me, accusing me of conspiring with xenos against humanity!”
Heinrix feels his stomach sink. So this is how she dreams of him? Even after… everything?
“We’re having a grand old time, but something keeps shifting. Sometimes, it’s not you standing there, but our dear friend Mara-whatever – the gracious host who brought us here. And sometimes, it’s not even my trial, but some Drukhari’s. I think I managed to use my biomancy to partially negate the poison they drugged us with and started seeing through the illusion.”
She shrugs. “Anyway, what I managed to piece together before blacking out is that Mara-whatever was trying to frame his sister – the Archon – for consorting with humans. And I was the primary witness. But things didn’t go quite as planned. Actually, they didn’t go well for him at all. He was arrested and taken somewhere not nice.”
Elvia grins as if she’s telling some amusing bar story. “Which meant I was free to go! The Drukhari very kindly escorted me to the nearest shaft and oh-so-gently shoved me in. I landed on a pile of soft, welcoming corpses they’d thoughtfully stacked there beforehand. Probably saved my life.”
Her grin widens. “But not my bones. To be honest, I don’t remember the fall, or landing on the corpses, or breaking every damn bone in my body. That’s something I figured out later.”
She pauses, watching him expectantly, waiting for a chuckle, a smirk – some sign that he appreciates the story. She always does this with her morbid stories, but Heinrix can only stare at her in growing horror.
All he can see is her small, fragile body, twisted and broken, surrounded by rot, drugged, in agony, alone. And he can’t shake the feeling that what she’s telling is not the full story, not even close.
Noticing his lack of amusement, Elvia quickly adds, “Oh, I forgot the best part! While I was lounging on my comfy corpse-pile, some kind soul stole my boots and coat. So when I finally came to and started my grand adventure through Commorragh, I was barefoot. Ha.”
She keeps talking for another half-hour, recounting her “exciting adventures” in Commorragh – the fake commissar she killed, the arena fights, and how she somehow ended up leading the local resistance. Despite the morbid content, Heinrix can’t help but chuckle when she impersonates the fake commissar.
When she finally finishes her story, she regards him warmly. “Well, I knew a tale of xenos and heretics dying horribly would bring some colour back to your cheeks.”
He can’t help but return her smile, though his is a weak ghost of hers.
The more he thinks about it, the more this entire story feels so distinctly Elvia – coming out on top no matter what, drawing people to her, making them look to her for salvation. He’s never met a psyker who had that effect on people.
Or on him. He doesn’t feel alone now. Or quite as much in pain. Or as if he’s been chewed up and spat out by fate yet again.
He feels… warm.
He’s grateful to her – for checking up on him, for cheering him up. He doesn’t want her to leave. In fact, he wants nothing more than to sit here next to her, feeling her warmth beside him. To wrap his arms around her… But those are foolish dreams. Dangerous thoughts. He can’t keep her here any longer, watching him wallow in his suffering, watching him be weak and pathetic. Thinking she should be somewhere else but too kind-hearted to actually say it. He wouldn’t bear to impose on her like that.
Heinrix touches her cheek – one last indulgence before the long hours of loneliness and painstaking recovery. “Thank you for checking up on me, but you don’t need to stay here with me. I’ll put myself back together and rejoin the others soon, I promise.”
A strange, sheepish expression flickers across Elvia’s face – similar to the one he saw when she first approached him. She almost looks… guilty?
Before he can examine the thought, two arms wrap around him. Her hair brushes his cheek, and–
Pain surges through his body. He moans before he can stop himself.
“Sorry,” she says softly.
He feels her pulling away, and the loss of warmth is more painful than anything. Without thinking, he tightens his hold, refusing to let her leave him alone again.
She sighs, then relaxes into his embrace. He feels her chest rise and fall, her hands stroking his back with the gentlest touch. It’s heavenly. He wishes it could last forever. It’s the first time he’s touched her without his gloves on, and it feels so, so right.
“Don’t let go. This is better. Much better.”
Elvia exhales, her body fully resting against his now. After a moment, he feels compelled to fill the silence. “Healing deep or old injuries with biomancy takes time. Especially when you have to grow new tissue.”
She lifts her head slightly. He feels her eyelashes brush against his cheek. “You sound like you’re speaking from experience.”
Heinrix sighs. He hasn’t told this story to anyone – Calcazar’s retinue already knew, and there were never any “others” to confide in. But with Elvia pressed against him, her breath warm against his skin, he suddenly wants to tell her everything.
And so he does.
He tells her how his family disowned him, how they ripped out all his augments. How Xavier removed his psyker implants. How he was left a maimed, pathetic freak. How it took years to look presentable again. The words pour out of him. At some point, he realizes he’s clutching Elvia tightly, the way his little sister Sophie used to clutch her plush grink when she was scared.
“And after all that, you’re still loyal to the Imperium and the Inquisition?”
Elvia’s voice is soft, but her words strike like a whip.
He pulls away. “Why… why wouldn’t I be? The Imperium deemed me stable enough to be sanctioned. The Inquisition gave me a new, higher role. A more honourable role. How could I not repay those debts?”
His voice steadies as he speaks. The familiar words – the ones he’s heard and repeated many times – bring him comfort.
Elvia steps back, places her hands on his shoulders, and looks him in the eye. Her usual mischievous smile is gone, replaced by a deadly serious expression. “You don’t owe them anything, Heinrix. They mutilated and maimed you purely because of what you are.”
She presses down on his shoulders slightly, as if trying to imprint the words into him.
Heinrix sighs.
Elvia is young. She still clings to her illusions. It’s something he lo– admires about her. Actually, he'd prefer she hold onto them for as long as she can. Her foolish belief in the inherent goodness of people, for example - it makes her a beautiful person. But in the world they live in, that’s unlikely. And some illusions are more dangerous than others.
“I’m a psyker, Elvia. The very fact of my existence is anathema and can only be excused by my usefulness.”
He tries to keep his voice patient. She must understand this.
Elvia’s nostrils flare. “Well, thanks for calling me anathema to my face, I guess.”
Heinrix startles. “No! I didn’t mean you! You… you’re different. You’re… elevated. Chosen by the Emperor.”
She smirks at that. Then the smirk fades, and she looks at him earnestly again. “Heinrix, did you know you don’t have to believe everything they tell you?”
He frowns.
“They tell you that you’re a freak and anathema to control you. To make others hate you. To make your life miserable so that you’re grateful for the scraps they throw your way. But you don’t actually have to believe it.” She tightens her grip on his shoulders. “You are not anathema. Or a freak. Or a mutant. You are Heinrix. Don’t forget that. Ever. Don’t let the bastards grind you down.”
For a second, Heinrix forgets to breathe.
What she’s saying is wrong. Worse– it’s heresy. Under any other circumstances, words like these would be punished with all the severity of the Lex Imperialis.
Yet…
He replays her last words over and over.
You are Heinrix. Don’t forget that. Ever.
He stares into the darkness, confused. He remembers himself on the Black Ship – a scared, lonely boy, wishing only to live. The Emperor had deemed him useful enough to live. How could he ask for more than that?
And yet…
He wanted Elvia.
Oh, how he wanted her. All those evenings spent staring at her like a lovesick boy, catching glimpses just to drive himself crazy with want later in his cabin – the curve of her neck, the swell of her breasts, the way she licked her lips…
He wanted her more than he had ever wanted to live.
When he comes back to reality, Elvia is still sitting beside him, staring into the darkness of Commorragh.
“We’ll find a way out of here, won’t we?” She asks quietly.
She looks at him then with an expression he’s never seen before – so vulnerable, so soft – it makes his heart ache. Her lip twitches slightly, as if she’s trying to muster her usual carefree smile but can’t quite manage it.
Something inside him snaps.
He reaches out, gently cupping her chin as he strokes it with his thumb. “If it comes to it, I will lay down my life to take you home.”
He sees her eyes widen, and he can’t help himself – it’s just like his dreams. He leans closer, his breath ghosting over her slightly parted lips.
“And I’ll do it gladly.”
They will never get out of here. No one ever escapes Commorragh. He’ll let Elvia cling to her hopes and illusions of saving everyone – because he’s not a monster. How could he crush something so pure and beautiful with his cold logic?
His death is inevitable. After all that suffering, this is how it ends – his remains won’t even be properly buried. Calcazar will find a replacement soon enough. Before long, no one will even remember that a man named Heinrix van Calox ever existed. His life doesn't matter. It has never mattered. At least he can ensure he does everything to save the best person he has ever met.
Why can’t he have what he wants? Just once in his cursed life? To be with the woman of his dreams?
So he kisses her.
It’s soft at first, a hesitant brush of lips. But when she whimpers against his mouth, all the blood rushes to his lower abdomen. His whole body hurts, but he dulls the pain with biomancy as his hands trail down her lithe body. There’s nothing under that black shirt, and the thought makes him feel drunk.
If only he could lift it, feel her bare skin beneath his fingers–
“Heinrix, wait.”
She presses against his chest. “Not here.”
He almost groans in frustration against her neck, and forces himself to pull away.
Elvia grins. “I know a great place to continue this conversation. But first, we need to get out of this accursed city.”
Heinrix nearly groans again. Well, there goes that dream.
Despite biomancy, he still feels slightly drunk on her. The thought of her standing up and leaving him all alone is unbearable.
“Just stay with me for a little while longer?” he asks, cringing slightly at how pleading his voice sounds.
Elvia smiles and sits beside him, resting her head on his shoulder. Within a minute, Heinrix notices that she’s fast asleep.
He gently lays her down on his cot, covering her with whatever rags he can find nearby. She doesn’t even stir. No wonder – she must be absolutely exhausted from all the healing and fighting she did. She probably couldn’t sleep at all during the first few days, being completely alone.
Heinrix feels disgusted with himself. She came to cheer him up, to make him feel better, despite being utterly drained – maybe even to seek some words of comfort herself – and he jumped on her to satisfy his base desires.
He presses a soft kiss to her forehead. Then, after a moment's deliberation, he lies beside her, carefully wrapping an arm around Elvia so as not to wake her. He can continue his healing process later. For now, he needs this more than the alleviation of pain.
Heinrix lies there for some time, listening to her breathe.
Slowly, he drifts into sleep.