Scarlet

Sevika came home late.

That wasn’t unusual.

The sound of the apartment door creaking open somewhere past midnight barely pulled your attention from the book in your lap. You were curled into the couch beneath a blanket, half asleep already, waiting for her the way you always did.

“You’re late,” you mumbled softly.

“Mm.”

Her voice sounded rough.

You frowned immediately.

Normally Sevika would toss some sarcastic comment your way. Something about you sounding needing or clingy. Something gruff and teasing under all that smoke and steel.

Tonight there was nothing.

Just heavy footsteps.

Then silence.

You looked up.

And your stomach dropped.

“Oh my god.”

Sevika was covered in blood.

Not soaked. Not dying. But enough.

A split lip. Bruises already blooming across her jaw and throat. One eye swollen dark purple. Her shirt torn open near the shoulder, exposing angry cuts and a bandage stained through with red.

Sevika noticed your expression and immediately sighed.

“Relax, babe. Looks worse than it is.”

You were already standing before she finished speaking.

“What happened?”

“Work.”

“Sevika.”

“I handled it.”

But she swayed slightly when she stepped forward.

Your chest tightened so hard it hurt.

You rushed to her immediately, hands hovering uselessly over her body, terrified to touch somewhere painful. “You’re bleeding.”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine!”

Your voice cracked.

Sevika blinked.

You rarely yelled.

She reached for you automatically, probably intending to calm you down, but the second your fingers brushed against the blood on her knuckles something inside you snapped.

“Oh my god…”

Your eyes burned instantly.

Sevika froze.

No.

No, no, no.

Not tears.

Anything but tears.

You turned away quickly, pressing your hand over your mouth, but it was too late. A broken sound escaped you anyway.

Sevika stared at you like someone had struck her harder than any fight ever had.

“Hey,” she said carefully.

You shook your head.

“Don’t do that.”

“I’m okay.”

“You are not okay!”

The words came out wet and shaking. “You came home covered in blood and you’re acting like it’s normal!”

“It is normal.”

“That’s worse!”

Your voice cracked again and suddenly you were crying properly now, shoulders trembling as panic and relief and horror all tangled together inside your chest.

“I thought…” You swallowed hard. “I thought you were just caught up at work. I was just… sitting here, missing you, waiting for you to get home, while you were out there getting hurt!” Your voice broke. “I feel so stupid.”

Sevika went completely still.

You kept talking before you could stop yourself.

“What if next time you don’t come home at all?”

There it was.

The real fear.

Not the bruises.

Not the blood.

Losing her.

Sevika had seen people cry before. Beg before. Scream before.

But you?

You looked devastated.

Like the sight of her hurt you too.

And somehow that was unbearable.

“C’mere,” Sevika muttered softly.

You shook your head again, wiping angrily at your face. “Sit down first.”

“Honey-“

“Sit.”

Sevika actually listened.

Which was saying something.

You disappeared into the bathroom and returned with the first aid kit, still sniffling as you knelt between her knees. Your hands trembled while cleaning the cut on her cheek.

Sevika watched you the entire time.

“You’re crying like I died.”

“You could’ve.”

Quiet.

You dabbed antiseptic onto another cut and Sevika hissed.

“Sorry,” you whispered immediately.

“It’s not your fault.”

Another tear slid down your cheek.

Sevika suddenly grabbed your wrist gently with her metal hand.

“Please stop crying, sweetheart.”

“I can’t.”

Her expression twisted strangely then. Guilty. Uncomfortable. Almost scared.

That caught your attention immediately.

“…Sevika?”

“I don’t like it.”

“What?”

“You crying.”

Her voice was low and rough.

“I’d rather get my ass kicked again.”

A weak laugh escaped you despite yourself.

Sevika looked relieved just hearing it.

You finished wrapping her shoulder carefully before resting your forehead against her uninjured side with a shaky breath.

“Please be careful.”

Sevika’s hand settled against the back of your head instantly.

“I am careful.”

You pulled back enough to glare at her tearfully.

She sighed.

“…I’ll be more careful.”

And strangely enough, she meant it.

After that night things changed.

Not dramatically. Sevika was still Sevika.

Still reckless. Still violent when she needed to be. Still came home bruised sometimes.

But less.

She stopped throwing herself into fights she didn’t need to join. Started letting other people handle the smaller problems. Started coming home with split knuckles instead of cracked ribs.

People noticed.

One of the undercity goons even laughed once after Sevika refused a fight that normally would’ve ended in broken teeth.

“What, getting soft?”

Sevika lit her cigar calmly.

“You wish.”

But later that night, when she came home mostly unharmed and found you asleep on the couch waiting for her again, she stood there quietly for a long moment.

Because she finally understood something terrifying.

She could handle pain.

Could handle blood.

Could handle bones breaking and bullets grazing and knives splitting skin.