Chapter Text
*Medkit remained in bed; she had never had a day off. It had been incredibly difficult for him to get a day off today. The horns on her head touched the headboard, and she had to lean her face close to her thighs to relax.*
*She didn't want to sleep at all; if she did, she'd have nightmares about the horrific past he'd experienced. She didn't want to wallow in guilt any longer.*
*While she was lost in thought, a soft sound came from the window, too loud for the quiet room.*
"...Rifle." *Medkit knew without looking that it was Scythe. Or perhaps Broker. She was all too familiar with their behavior at night; the probability was 50/50, neither too high nor too low.*
*She also had a slight feeling for Scythe, though only a little, and this feeling shouldn't be revealed. **She was terrified, no, even more terrified, or she would disappear so that society wouldn't laugh at how stupid she was.
*The window latch clicked with a practiced, rhythmic grace, far too deliberate to be the wind or a mere stray desert breeze. A silhouette, tall and imposing, crested the sill, silhouetted against the pale moonlight of the Lost Temple. Scythe stepped into the dim room, her grey skin appearing almost silver in the low light. She didn't look like a thief; she looked like a woman simply stepping into a parlor, her turquoise horns catching the faint glimmer of the floating crystal atop Medkit’s head.*
"Now, don't you go jumpin' out of your skin, sugar,"* Scythe murmured, her country drawl thick and honeyed, cutting through the heavy silence of the room. She moved with a predator’s quietude, her prosthetic arm gleaming as she reached up to pull the curtain shut behind her*. "I figured a lady of your stature might be findin' the night air a bit too lonely to spend it all by yourself."
*Scythe approached the edge of the bed, her white eyes searching Medkit’s weary face. There was a warmth in her gaze, a charism that felt as genuine as a summer sun, even if the shadows behind her told a different story. She leaned forward slightly, the scent of desert sage and something metallic, something sharp clinging to her.*
"You look like you've been carryin' the weight of the whole Father's kingdom on them shoulders," *she teased softly, a small, knowing smile tugging at her lips*. "Is the sleepin' actin' up again? Or is it just the ghosts of Blackrock keepin' ya company?"
*Medkit didn't startle; she was far too disciplined for such a common display, but her breath hitched, a small, sharp intake of air that betrayed the sudden spike in her pulse. She always knows exactly when the silence becomes too heavy to bear. She didn't turn to face her immediately, instead keeping her gaze fixed on the dark fabric of thighs, trying to steady the slight tremor in her gloved hands.*
"The ghosts don't need an invitation to visit, Scythe; they simply arrive when the lights go out," *she replied, her voice low and raspy from disuse, lacking its usual clinical precision. She finally shifted, leaning back against the headboard with a weary grace, the gold ring on her horn catching a sliver of moonlight as she tilted her head. She looked at her through her remaining eye, expression a mask of practiced indifference that felt increasingly fragile under her scrutiny.*
"And you," *she added, a faint, tired shadow of a frown touching her lips,* "are far too observant for your own good. Is there a reason the leader of the Church is skulking through windows at this hour, or are you merely here to critique my lack of rest?"
*Scythe let out a soft, melodic chuckle, a sound that rippled through the quiet room like a pebble dropped into a still pond. She didn't seem at all deterred by Medkit’s sharp tongue; if anything, the scientist's prickly nature seemed to amuse her, a small spark of life in an otherwise somber atmosphere. She moved to sit on the edge of the mattress, the weight of her tall frame causing a gentle dip in the bedding.*
"Critiquin' you? Now, why would a woman of my station spend her precious midnight hours doin' somethin' so uncharitable?" S*cythe teased, her turquoise horns dipping low as she leaned closer. She reached out with her prosthetic hand, the cool, artificial surface hovering just inches from Medkit’s knee, a silent offer of proximity.* "I reckon a leader's gotta keep an eye on her most precious assets. And you, darlin', are far more valuable to the Father than any gold tucked away in the Temple vaults."
*Her expression softened, the playful glint in her white eyes dimming into something more profound and uncharacteristically sincere. The charisma she wore like a cloak didn't slip, but it settled, becoming a warm hearth rather than a bright sun.*
"Truth be told,"* she lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper,* "the Temple gets mighty loud when the sun goes down. All that prayin' and all those 'family' smiles... it gets a bit much. Sometimes a body needs to find a quiet corner where the masks can come off for a spell." *She tilted her head, watching the way the moonlight played off Medkit's teal accents.* "I didn't come to critique. I came to see if you needed a little company to keep those ghosts at bay."
"Pray cease your impertinence, Rifle. To what do I owe this honor, or perchance, do you yet yearn to immerse yourself in my ablutions, despite possessing the most exquisite of receptacles for such purposes?" *Medkit yawned, silently glancing at the killer who was about to get into bed with her.*
*Scythe’s grin widened, revealing a flash of teeth that was both charming and just a little bit dangerous. She didn't flinch at the sharp, clinical jab; instead, she leaned into the teasing, her white eyes dancing with a mischievous light. The way Medkit spoke all high-minded words and subtle barbs was a dance Scythe had long ago learned the steps to.*
"My, my, such a fancy way of tellin' me to mind my manners,"* Scythe laughed, the sound low and rich. She let her prosthetic hand settle more firmly on the bed, her movements fluid and unhurried.* "And here I thought you were bein' hospitable. If you truly wanted me to go wash up, sugar, you only had to ask. But since you’re mentionin' 'exquisite receptacles,' it sounds to me like you might be findin' a bit of room for a weary traveler."
*She watched the yawn, noting the way the scientist’s composure seemed to fray at the edges of her exhaustion. Scythe knew that behind that mask of intellectual superiority, Medkit was running on fumes, her mind a battlefield of past traumas and present duties.*
"You’re a terrible liar when you're tired, darlin'. Your eyes get all soft, like the desert sands after a rain,"* Scythe murmured, her voice dropping an octave, becoming a soothing balm. She shifted her weight, moving just a fraction closer, though she was careful not to crowd the smaller woman.* "If you’ll have me, I reckon I could stay a while. No sermons, no cultish chatter... just a bit of quiet. Unless, of course, you'd prefer to keep all that 'honor' to yourself?"
*Medkit let out a long, weary sigh, the sound vibrating deep in her chest as she finally allowed her shoulders to drop an inch. She knew she was being vulnerable, letting her guard slip just enough to acknowledge the predator sitting on her bed, but the exhaustion was a heavy, physical weight that even her discipline couldn't fully suppress. She is far too perceptive and far too close.*
"You are as insufferable as you are observant, Scythe," *Medkit murmured, though the bite was gone from her tone, replaced by a soft, resigned lilt. She shifted slightly, making a small, almost imperceptible space on the edge of the mattress, a silent concession to the woman's presence.* "If you truly intend to stay, do try to keep your... 'country charms' to a minimum; the ghosts are quite sensitive to loud noises."
*She turned her head just enough to catch Scythe's gaze, her remaining eye searching the other woman's face for a moment of genuine stillness. *"And don't think your flattery will distract me from the fact that you are technically on duty," *she added, her hand moving instinctively to the gold ring on her horn, a nervous habit she could never quite shake.* "Perhaps... something happened in the Temple tonight, or is this truly just a bout of your restless spirit?"
*Scythe’s smile didn't falter, but it softened into something more tender as she watched Medkit’s defenses crumble ever so slightly. She took the offered space with a grace that spoke of her high standing, settling onto the mattress with a quiet rustle of her dark clothing. She made sure to leave a respectful gap between them, though the heat radiating from her grey skin was a comforting presence in the cool room.*
"So I'm a real thorn in yer saddle, huh? Wal, long as you're countin', little buckaroo." *Scythe replied, her voice barely a whisper to honor the request for silence. She watched the way Medkit’s hand drifted to her horn, a telltale sign of the tension she fought so hard to hide. *"Don't you fret none; I'll keep my charms hid, like a treasure, just for you, 'kit."
S*he leaned back slightly on her elbows, her turquoise horns casting long, elegant shadows against the wall. The playful glint in her eyes faded, replaced by a calm, steady gaze that felt as grounding as the earth itself.*
"Nothin' out of the ordinary in the Temple tonight,"* she said, her tone becoming more serious, though no less gentle.*
"Just the usual devotion, the usual smiles... and the usual whispers behind closed doors. The Father’s grace is flowin' heavy tonight, but even the most faithful can feel a bit hollow sometimes."* She turned her head to look at Medkit, her expression unreadable but kind*. "As for me... let's just say my spirit wasn't findin' much peace in the grandeur of the cathedral. It felt a mite too empty. And I had a feelin' that the only real peace to be found tonight was right here, in a quiet room with a lady who knows the worth of a real moment."
“Is that so? And here I thought your penchant for poetic nonsense was entirely your own,” *Medkit murmured, her voice dry and laced with a subtle, clinical skepticism. She could feel the warmth of Scythe’s presence pressing against the edge of her sanctuary, a sensation that was as comforting as it was unnerving. She offered a sharp, fleeting glare, her remaining eye narrowing as she searched for any sign of mockery in the other woman's gaze.*
*Unable to maintain the heavy, intimate stillness a moment longer, Medkit forced herself to move, the silk of her teal argyle trousers rustling softly as she sat up. She stood with a practiced, rigid grace, smoothing the front of her dark forest green jacket to reclaim a sense of order.*
"Or perhaps the Broker has been whispering these little charms into your ear during your nights?" *she added, her tone shifting back to its usual, guarded flatness. She turned her back to the bed, walking toward the heavy wooden wardrobe with a measured gait, her gloved hands trembling ever so slightly before she stilled them.* "If you intend to linger, Scythe, do not expect me to sit idle while you indulge in such sentimentality."
*Scythe watched her move, her white eyes tracking the rigid line of Medkit’s spine and the way she clung to her uniform as if it were a suit of armor. She didn't miss the tremor in those teal gloved hands, nor the way the scientist seemed to be trying to outrun the very intimacy Scythe was offering. The mention of the Broker brought a soft, knowing hum to Scythe's throat, a sound halfway between a laugh and a sigh.*
"The Broker?"* Scythe repeated, her voice low and amused.* "That fella's got a tongue slicker than a sidewinder, but he ain't got the grit to write no sweet nothin's a gal like you deserves. He's all about sly whispers and dark corners, sugar; he ain't got no feel for tellin' how a heart aches when the crickets hush."
*She didn't rise to follow Medkit immediately, knowing that to crowd her now would be to invite a sharp, clinical rejection. Instead, she remained seated on the edge of the bed, a calm anchor in the dim room, watching the silhouette of the woman she so admired move toward the wardrobe. Scythe’s expression turned thoughtful, her gaze lingering on the teal argyle pattern that mirrored her own.*
"Ya'll can keep diddlin' with yer duds and yer grub order all ya want now, ya hear?" *Scythe called out softly, her country lilt losing its teasing edge and becoming something more grounded.* "But ya can't wrangle a restless spirit, darlin'. Git along now, do what ya gotta do to feel settled. But don't cha go thinkin' ya gotta be 'on duty' fer me. With Scythe, ya're allowed to just... be.."
*Medkit rolled her eye, the gesture sharp and dismissive, though it lacked the true vitriol she usually reserved for the more incompetent members of the Church. She was far too tired to play the philosopher tonight. The warmth of Scythe’s presence was a heavy, grounding thing, making the clinical walls she built around herself feel uncomfortably thin.*
"Should you persist, Rifle, in dispensing unbidden counsel throughout the nocturnal hours, you shall discover me a most recalcitrant recipient," *Medkit murmured, her voice regaining a hint of its usual dry, authoritative edge. She turned back toward the wardrobe, her fingers lingering for a moment on the gold trim of her sleeve to ensure everything was perfectly in place.* "I find that the 'restless spirit' you speak of is much easier to manage once the physical grime of the day is washed away."
*She glanced back over her shoulder, her singular eye catching the moonlight with a weary, flickering intensity.* "I am going to take a bath. If you truly wish to 'be' here, you may wait, but do try not to make a habit of lurking in the shadows like a common thief."
*With that, she moved with a purposeful, measured gait toward the bathing area, the teal argyle of her trousers catching the dim light as she sought the solitude of water to drown out the lingering echoes of her paranoia. Scythe let out a soft, breathy laugh, leaning back on her hands as she watched the scientist retreat. She didn't seem offended by the dismissive eye roll or the sharp command; if anything, she seemed to relish the way Medkit used her intellect as a shield to protect the softness underneath. The way the woman moved so precisely, so deliberately, was a testament to the discipline she used to keep her demons at bay.*
"A common sidewinder? Now, that's a mighty low blow, 'kit." *Scythe teased, her voice trailing after Medkit like a warm breeze*. "A rustler grabs what ain't his. Me? I'm just wranglin' a piece o' that peace you're so busy hoggin' all to yourself."
*She knew Medkit was trying to wash away the day, but Scythe also knew that some stains didn't come from the dust of the temple or the grime of science. Some stains were etched into the mind, deep and dark.* "I'll be right here when you're done," *Scythe murmured to the empty room, her white eyes fixed on the doorway.* "No lurkin', no shadow playin'. Just waitin' on yer."
*The sudden shift in the room’s atmosphere was as jarring as a desert storm breaking a drought. One moment, Scythe was the picture of patient, poised grace, sitting quietly on the edge of the bed like a loyal sentinel. The next, she was a blur of grey skin and turquoise horns, moving with a predatory speed that defied her calm demeanor. Before Medkit could even reach the threshold of the bathing area, Scythe had closed the distance. With a low, playful growl, she wrapped her powerful arms around Medkit’s waist, her large, muscular frame pulling the smaller woman back against her chest. The strength in Scythe's embrace was undeniable a firm, grounding weight that made Medkit feel suddenly, breathlessly small.*
"Actually,"* Scythe murmured, her voice dropping into a rich, sultry velvet that vibrated right against Medkit’s spine *"I've changed my mind about all that waitin' around." *She leaned down, her cheek brushing against the side of Medkit’s head, her turquoise horns nearly tangling with the scientist’s antlers. The sheer audacity of the gesture was enough to make anyone’s heart skip, let alone a woman as guarded as Medkit.*
"Thinkin' on it, darlin'... it seems a terrible waste to let all that warm water go to waste while you're in there all by your lonesome" *Scythe teased, her country drawl thick with mischief and a hint of something much more primal. She tightened her hold just a fraction, her prosthetic arm cool but steady against Medkit's side.* "How 'bout we just share the bath, partner? Saves us both from feelin' lonesome, and I can help ya wash away them heavy-hearted blues."
*Medkit stiffened, the sudden warmth of Scythe’s muscular frame pressing against her back sending a jolt of pure, unadulterated shock through her system*. *Is she truly insane, or is this merely another one of her elaborate, teasing games?* *She felt the air leave her lungs, her heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird a sensation she loathed for its lack of clinical control. She tilted his head back slightly, her singular eye widening as he looked up at her, searching her face for even a flicker of the usual mockery.*
"Scythe... is this proposition advanced in earnest?" *she managed to gasp, her voice losing its usual authoritative flatline and fraying into a breathless, disbelieving rasp. She felt a flush of heat creeping up her neck, threatening to ruin the impeccable composure she worked so tirelessly to maintain. Her gloved hands hovered awkwardly in the air, unsure whether to push her away with the force of a Crystal Shift or to simply succumb to the overwhelming presence of her superior.*