Work Text:
It wasn't a surprise when Ban Hammer had come over to Medkit's woefully small abode under the guise of needing his services, nor when the supposedly "life-threatening" injury ended up being nothing more than a minor bruise on his arm, one the healer still humored with a bemused huff and the press of a crystal against his skin.
They've done this enough times for it to almost be routine, how they bicker and jab at each others expense, acting indifferent, only to inevitably end up cuddled up on his worn, pathetic excuse of a couch. Medkit takes it upon himself to curl into Ban Hammer’s side, grabbing hold of one of the Warden's much larger hands, fingertips tracing patterns into his calloused palm.
A simple question rolls off Medkit's tongue, one he hadn't given much thought, only asking it to make conversation and break the silence that had settled between them. Banter. Light and playful.
"Why is it that you allow me to roam free?"
Though the way Ban Hammer’s shoulders tense make it clear he's prodding a sore subject, brow ticking down a smidge and annoyance pursing his lips, "I don't know what 'yer talkin' about."
"You do," Medkit immediately insists, not entertaining his avoidance, "You must. You've threatened me with the promise of arrest more times than I care to recall, yet you haven't. I would like to know the reason."
The cushions creak obnoxiously loud when Ban Hammer leans back against them, and he drags a hand down his face in exasperation, clawed fingers rubbing his stubble-coated chin.
Medkit sighs, head lolling to the side, "Perhaps it would be easier to answer if I put it this way; what do you like about me?"
It's a silly inquiry, really, and Medkit's is aware of that. Akin to the classic lines of a needy girlfriend, such as "Would you still love me if I were a worm?" Or perhaps "would you cheat on me for a million bux?"
And he's expecting Ban Hammer to answer in an equally silly way, maybe even give a genuine compliment, profess some sort of hidden devotion or desire to spend time with him that he hid behind his gruff exterior.
Instead, the Warden's cheeks warm with embarrassment, huffing out, "I dunno! Healers are literally impossible t'find, and 'yer, like, the most convenient one I've met. 'Yer prices are low, ya don't talk my ear off, and 'yer good at what ya do, I guess."
Medkit can only blink owlishly at him in disbelief for a moment, unable to hide the hurt in his expression, face gradually falling, "That's... That's it? That's all I am to you? Convenient?"
"That's —... Not what I meant," He manages to squeeze out in a wince, begining to regret his wording, "C'mon, ya know I didn't —"
"Tell me, if I wasn't capable of healing, would you still bother with me?" He presses further, not willing to brush such a comment off or let it slide like he normally would, "Would you have even spoken with me in the first place?"
Ban Hammer immediately opens his maw to make a retort, to deny, but the words die rather quickly, and he's left staring stupidly at an increasingly frustrated Medkit.
It takes a good minute for him to admit in a mumble, "I... I dunno." gaze averting from the medic’s like it burned him while he chews his lip anxiously, hooking a finger around his shirts collar to tug on the fabric.
Medkit's expression slips into one of resignation, breathing out in realization, "You're using me."
"Meds —"
"I had hoped you would be different than them, but it seems I was mistaken," He drawls the words out slowly, rising from his seat while his hands clench into fists at his sides, "You're just like everyone else."
Nausea bubbles in his gut, the heartache of all the previous betrayals he had experienced once again rearing its ugly head, his chest squeezing with unwanted devestation.
He's tired. So tired of trusting, of letting his walls down to face his worst fears, only for them to come true every time. When he was younger, an experience like this would bring him to tears, fat droplets of water blurring his vision and fogging his rounded glasses, body trembling like a newborn fawn. And while he could feel his face grow hot, and his throat tighten in anticipation of a cry, he doesn't allow it to come, instead forcing a mask of stoicism.
He's become numb to it. Something Akin to acceptance. His gear wasn't a gift, but a burden he carry, for it was the only supposed good thing about him. The only reason anyone would ever want him, need him, take advantage of him, and there was nothing he could do to change that.
He ignores all of Ban Hammer’s weak
attempts to stop him, shrugs off the giant hand grabbing his shoulder, and stomps over to his worn welcome mat with its greeting embroidered in his native tongue.
Medkit promptly swings open the chipped front door, hinges whining in protest, and he suppresses the bile threatening to rise with the understanding that this would likely be the last time he watches him go. The cold evening breeze seeps in through the opening, eliciting a shiver from his being.
"Since the assistance was all you needed from me, I think it's best you leave." He forces his tone to be steady, low, stepping aside to give him room to squeeze through the entrance, "I'll send you the invoice for today by the end of the week."
An extra sting, considering he had almost always allowed the Warden his services for free, assuming he saw their interactions as more than mere business exchanges.
It seems to finally click in Ban Hammer's mind that Medkit's serious, scrambling to get up and scurry over to where he stood.
He's awfully meek in his approach, tail tucked between his legs, a stark contrast to all his titles and size. The sight would've been amusing in another circumstance, but currently, Medkit couldn't bring himself to feel anything other than resentment for him. Repulsed, actually.
Panic laces his shaky voice when he practically pleads, "Meds, 'yer not — ya arent really going gonna do this... Right?"
Medkit keeps the door propped open with his hip so he can cross his arms over his chest, unimpressed gaze narrowed to say that yes, he is.
"Ya know I didn't mean it like that, C'mon!"
"No, I don't know that, actually," He snaps, nails digging into his arms, "How do you expect me to believe otherwise when you don't show me you mean otherwise?"
That's the bottom line, isn't it? Ban Hammer, certainly not of his own fault, is far too emotionally constipated and inexperienced to properly express his wants, rarely ever outwardly showing care without looking embarrassed. Ashamed. Of himself, and perhaps, for being with Medkit.
Ban Hammer made him feel small. Though he once found it comforting, getting to be enveloped in warm embraces, large arms shielding him from the world, it now often made him feel unworthy. Insignificant. Like a fly on the wall, an ignored pile of laundry — no, a bug beneath his shoe, powerless to his will.
His privileged upbringing rendered him unable to relate with Medkits struggles. And it's for that reason he had begun to understand they were both too stubborn to ever see eye to eye.
"Just... Go home, Ban." Medkit all but begs, unsure of how much longer he can keep it together, defeat clear in his quiet, tired voice, "Please. I can't deal with you being here right now."
The haunting expression that Ban Hammer wore would certainly be burned into his memory, confusion giving way to shock, and then denial, and then... Then his jaw unclenches, his arms fall limply to his sides, and he just looks. Well, sad, to put is simply. Not angry, not argumentative like Medkit expected, just a solemn acceptance.
Every step he takes is alow, weighed down by his actions, shuffling out of the warmth and into the cold, unforgiving night.
Ban Hammer casts one last glance at him over his shoulder before he goes, mouth opening and closing in a struggle for words, until he finally manages to whisper, "I'm sorry."
The words echo repeatedly in Medkit's mind, though they don't quite register, eye widening when he's sure he heard him correctly.
He's... Sorry?
Ban Hammer had never apologized to him for anything before, even if he felt guilty or knew he was in the wrong, for his pride always prevented him from conceding. His usual tactic was to pretend there wasn't a problem, to refuse to admit fault, perhaps buying some gifts a few days after to ease his guilty conscience.
So to hear him actually acknowledge the issue, genuinely and wholeheartedly, allowing his walls down just enough for a shimmer of vulnerability to seep through?
It took everything in Medkit to not give in, grab his hand and pull him back inside, like one of those stupid, cheesy romance films Ban Hammer always made fun of him for watching.
Before he knows it, Ban Hammer's already leaving, and Medkit's left to shut the door on what was one of the most cherished parts of his dull life.
If he cries, chokes on his tears, it doesn't matter. If he falls to his knees, roughly wiping at his eye, hiccuping back sobs, it won't either. Nor will it when he has to pick up the pieces of his broken self and soldier on, continuing with his work, his commissions, because the world will keep spinning. And if he doesn't keep up, it will go without him.
He'll get over it. He'll handle it, all on his own. He's done it before, and he'll do it again, he doesn't need anyone.
He's fine.