Chapter Text
Mako was certainly not a silver linings kind of guy. Expecting things to go to shit tended to help soften the blow when they did, and offered a pleasant surprise when they didn't. It had saved him a lot of grief, especially around Jamison. So when he went into that room with them, he had expected something to go wrong. Just not that.
It was a small room, with frankly disgusting wall paper. But the loot was sitting there, under a table in the corner. They had already taken out the three guards, and obviously Mako's consort hadn't expected anyone else, judging by the way they charged right in.
Their weapon was out, but it was easily knocked from their hands and into a far corner by one of the gang that they had been wading through to get to the goddam room. Mako didn't really look at the attacker; he had learned a long time ago that it was easier that way.
He reached for the back of his better half's jacket, the urge to get them out of harm's way overpowering everything else. Screw the loot, they were far more important. But his fingers barely brushed it before they were thrown against the wall as another one of the fucking gang shouldered them
Mako saw their head crack against the wall of the tiny room. He growled aloud as cold anger swept over him. His vision blurred slightly red as he noticed more thugs pouring into the room. They surrounded his fallen companion, who had managed to stand. They swayed, but their eyes were sharp, and it spurred Mako into action. They would almost certainly try to take the entire gang on with only their fists. They had tried in similar situations, to near-lethal outcomes. And where would he be if they died?
A hook through the chest, and the first went down, spluttering blood. The second took a mouthful of shrapnel, stumbling back into the third, which went under Mako's boot. A fourth managed to get a good few shots in, but couldn't handle the force of a huge fist to top of the skull. Then a fifth managed to get behind him and grab at his ponytail, but Mako just fell backwards on top of him
He realized his mistake too late, and let out a loud "fuck" as he was swarmed. Ears ringing with the noise of the firefight, he swept one off his stomach, only to take a hard blow to the chest. Then another to the side of the head.
Panic rose in Mako's throat. Unable to see his partner, he naturally assumed that the worst had occurred, and almost gave up then. There was no help coming, no backup. Gripping the handle of his hook, he managed to take a few more out, but he was still hopelessly outnumbered. Even his pessimism couldn't' have predicted the level of bullshit he was experiencing.
So of course it was them who swooped in at the last moment, kicking away the gun pressed to Mako's head. Of course they had retrieved their weapon, and used it to great affect on the remaining thugs. Deus ex machina, he thought, using his hook to sweep the legs out from under one of the gang. Of course they gave him time to stand by distracting the goons, then helpfully tossed his gun to him.
It was almost magical, the way they cleared the room. And when they were alone, and both of their breathing had slowed to more of a healthy level, Mako's compliment leapt over to him. Their steps were extremely shaky, and their nose was pretty obviously broken, not to mention the multiple bullet wounds and unformed bruises.
"Mako," they gasped, "are you alright? I'm so sorry, I should have gotten to you sooner. Is there anything bad?" They quickly looked him over, continuing to babble apologies, their hands ghosting over his skin without ever really touching him. They glanced up at him nervously, as if he would be angry at them. As if he could get angry at them.
I was worried about you, he thought. " 'M fine," he said. Reaching out slowly, he cupped their head in one hand. They stilled, looking up at him. Hands moved to rest on his wrist, and they turned their face just enough to press a bloody kiss against his palm. Mako felt a warmth bubble up in his chest, and stooped slightly just to be closer to them.
"We should probably get moving before more of those guys show up," they mumbled into his hand, glancing up at him. Their eyes looked slightly unfocused, and Mako wasn't sure how much more they could take. His thumb brushed along their cheekbone in an attempt to be comforting.
Straightening suddenly, he let go of them in favor of scooping them up into the crook of one arm, and the loot in the other. "It's fine," he told them before they could protest. And he started walking.
Every step hurt, but Mako didn't mind. He had good reason to ignore the pain and keep moving.
Partly, it was that he felt like he needed to do something in return for his partner saving his life. He would never admit it to them, but he also felt the need to keep them close. It was easier to keep an eye on them, tug them out of harm's way, or step in front of them to take a bullet.
Peripherally, Mako knew he loved them, but didn't feel like he had the time to sort through all of the shit that came with that. Instead, he shifted them a little closer to his chest, ignored their vehement requests to be put down, and walked through the exit, making sure not to trip on any stray limbs.
One of the benefits of having someone rich pay for you to get them something was the transportation. The train they rode was too expensive for people to ask questions, so Mako and his better half's wounds went without comment, and they had a compartment to themselves. They both still tried not to drip blood everywhere, though. Well, Mako didn't really care, but they did, so he went along with it.
When the loot was safely beneath his seat, Mako begrudgingly allowed his consort to treat his wounds before their own. He leaned into the corner by the window and watched the door while they worked.
After they were done with most of the damage, they gently tapped his mask. He removed it, set in next to them, and was surprised, as he always was, that they didn't even blink. Rather, they shifted closer, drawing in their eyebrows in concentration as they cleaned the smaller wounds on Mako's head. He really needed to set that broken nose.
Watching them from the corner of his eye, he noticed that their hands had begun to shake, and though they weren't applying any stitches, they were growing increasingly frustrated. A hand on their shoulder, and they stopped moving, looking at him questioningly.
"It's OK," he assured them, "now it's your turn." They looked down at their trembling hands, and let out a sigh.
They sat back, and let Mako get to work on them, a hand on his arm the entire time. Afterwards, their eyes already turning purple, they managed to fall asleep, their head resting on his stomach. He half-watched the door, half-watched them as his own eyes began to close.
This train is high-class enough to have a good security system, he assured himself. We're safe enough for now, and we both need sleep.
Carefully, so as not to wake them, he looped his arm around his partner. They shifted a little, one arm moving to drape over his stomach. Well, as much as it could, considering their size difference. His thumb rubbed gently on their upper arm until they settled, and then for a few moments after that.
Watching their sleeping, open face was relaxing, and Mako soon felt himself drifting off, his head leaned against the solid train wall.
He was not a optimist by any means, but he couldn't help but feel hopeful when he was around them.