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Zoe had been careless.
The area between the Field Office and the Watchtower was usually safe. It was patrolled by Rangers regularly. She'd walked this way plenty of times without incident - it should have been the safest place in Manhattan. But then she turned a corner, and there were two floating Apexes and at least a dozen regular Hiss.
She tightened her grip on her rifle. She could call for backup, but one of the Apexes was already charging its laser. She'd be dead before she finished talking.
Well, so much for a nice walk. All she'd wanted was to stretch her legs while Dylan scouted the mold infestation in the Park. He was only supposed to do recon, and she'd figured she could use the time to get some fresh air and deliver a stack of paperwork to the Field Office. Now, she was almost back, and about to die delivering paperwork.
Classic FBC death.
She fired at the nearest Hiss. It staggered, and the others surged forward.
Zoe kept shooting, moving backward to keep them from surrounding her. One Hiss went down, then another, but there were too many. She was already calculating how many rounds she had left when a loud crunch cut through the noise.
Hammer, Hiss, and New York City asphalt.
For half a second, Zoe stared. Then Dylan was moving, unnaturally fast.
The Aberrant shifted in his hands, its metal lengthening and splitting into two short blades. He cut through the nearest Hiss before they could react to him. His movements were fast and precise, each strike landing exactly where it needed to. When one lunged at his back, he twisted aside and struck it before .
Zoe snapped out of it and turned to the Hiss trying to flank him. She fired, then took down another advancing from the street. Dylan had changed the odds, but there were still plenty of them left. She wasn't about to leave him to handle the entire group.
One Apex fired its red laser, and Dylan moved just as the beam passed him, close enough to catch the side of his face. A thin line of blood appeared along his cheek, but he didn't stop. He threw a punch toward the Apex, and a fireball shot from his fist, burning the screeching creature to ashes.
When did he learn to do that?!
The Aberrant changed again, its metal lengthening and thickening into a hammer. Dylan swung it into a Hiss, then turned on another before it could attack him. One struck him across the shoulder. He barely seemed to register it, using the impact to pivot and drive his weapon into the next target.
Zoe shot another Hiss in the chest. It went down, but before she could turn to the next target, the remaining Apex fired again.
Dylan dodged the beam and closed the distance between them. The Aberrant vibrated violently in his hands, but this time he didn't use it. He reached for the floating creature with both hands, got a grip on its body, and tore it apart.
The Apex dissipated in a burst of red light.
When the street finally fell quiet, Zoe lowered her rifle. Dylan ran toward her.
"Zoe! Are you hurt?"
"No." She gave herself a quick once-over, then checked the Black Rock Injector. Everything is still in place and working. "I'm fine."
His gaze moved over her arms and shoulders, as if checking for injuries she might have missed. Only when he seemed satisfied did he relax.
Blood was running down his cheek, though.
"You're bleeding."
He blinked. "What?"
"Your face. I think you got hit by a laser."
He touched his cheek and looked at the blood on his fingers. His expression barely changed.
"Oh. It's fine. I heal fast. Don't worry."
His clothes were torn at one shoulder and along his side, and there was grime all over him. She'd watched him take hits that would have killed most people.
"Well, that is indeed convenient," she said.
They headed for the subway entrance that led down to the underground Supply Route.
"So," Dylan said as they descended the steps, "what were you doing out here alone?"
"I just delivered paperwork to the Field Office. Wanted to take a pleasant little walk. But then the Hiss had a surprise for me."
"You could've called for backup."
"I considered it."
"And?"
"One of the Apexes was charging its laser. I figured I'd be dead before I finished talking."
His expression tightened. "You should've tried anyway. You should've asked for my help."
"Noted."
"I only heard the gunfire by chance," he said.
He glanced at her again, apparently still checking that she was all right.
"I'm fine, Dylan," she said, getting slightly annoyed.
"I know."
"Do you? Because I already said that I was, and you keep looking at me."
He looked away with a small shrug. "Just making sure."
"Well, I'm making sure, too."
He gave her a puzzled look.
"Your face," she said, pointing at the cut. "You said you heal quickly, but you're dripping blood all over. Some poor agent will see the blood trail and think a murder took place here."
That earned a faint huff of laughter from him. He touched the cut again, then wiped his fingers on his already filthy clothes.
The tunnel was dim, but lit well enough to see where they were going. Their footsteps echoed against the walls, and the distant sounds of activity from the Supply Route carried through the passage.
For a while, they walked without talking.
Zoe kept thinking about the fight. She'd seen Dylan fight before, but seeing him that close had been different. It wasn't that he couldn't handle himself, it was the way that he did not care about what happened to him as long as he could defeat the enemy.
"You know, just in case nobody else said so," she said eventually, "you do a lot for us. Thanks."
Dylan glanced at her. "It's my job. I need to deal with the Hiss and the Patterning."
"Sure." She watched her step as they passed a broken section of wall. "But you need to take care of yourself, too."
"What do you mean? You were the one who almost died."
"And you're the one still bleeding."
"It's fine. It's just a small cut. I've been through worse. I'll be fine."
"That's why I'm saying this."
She kept her eyes ahead, anger simmering in her chest. It wasn't directed at him, though. It was for everyone who had made him think this way, who had left him treating his own injuries like they were nothing worth worrying about. For the people who raised him to be a weapon, not a person.
"You still get hurt, and that's not fine."
He didn't answer.
"There are lots people who need help, and there’s still no end in sight for the Hiss and the Patterning," he said eventually. "The Hiss are here because of me. I’ll do my best to keep everyone safe, even if I get beat up or-"
"I'm not asking you not to help." She stopped and looked at him. "I know what you can do, Dylan, and I know that you genuinely want to help. Nobody's going to stop you."
"Then what's the problem?"
She hesitated, trying to find the right words.
"Just try come back in one piece, okay? That's all I'm asking."
His face was blank, and she couldn't figure out what he was thinking. "Thanks, Zoe. I can handle it. Don't worry about me."
Something small and unwelcome settled at the back of her mind: the thought of him walking out one day on a mission and not coming back. She shoved it away, the thought too ugly to dwell on.
Zoe glanced at the cut on his cheek. The blood had slowed, but it hadn't stopped completely.
"Hold still."
"What?"
"Your face. It's still bleeding."
She took a handkerchief from her pocket and stepped closer. Dylan went still as she reached up to dab at his cheek, careful not to press too hard against the cut.
"There," she said, holding the white piece of cloth against his face. It slowly stained scarlet. "Press that against your face until the bleeding stops. I'll find something in the Watchtower to dress that better."
They were standing in the dim light of the tunnel, with Zoe's hands at his face. She could feel how warm he was through the fabric. She noticed that his hair was loose, the hair tie normally holding it up as a half-bun gone. The moment felt longer than it really was.
His hand took over holding the fabric, his calloused fingers brushing hers. She lowered her hand and continued walking.
"Thanks, Zoe. This is all bloody now, though. I'll find a way to wash it."
They were approaching the elevator that would take them up to the Watchtower.
Zoe glanced at him, her handkerchief still pressed to his cheek. This man had just torn an Apex apart with his bare hands, taken on a dozen Hiss, and barely seemed to care about his own injuries.
And yet, here he was, worried about her handkerchief. Honestly, the man made no sense. A small smile slipped out before she could stop it. They stepped into the elevator and went up together.