#andi writes

+++++

Unsurprisingly, it started with Cleon. 

It took a week, mainly because Swan refused to leave Mercy’s side, but eventually, Cleon managed to corner her alone. 

Swan was still asleep, and when Mercy wandered into the kitchen she froze for a moment at the sight of Cleon sitting at the table, nursing a cup of coffee. She briefly debated turning and going back to bed, because curling up with Swan under the warm covers seemed a much better alternative than facing the cold stare Cleon was directing at her.

“Mercy,” Cleon greeted. “Come sit.” 

Mercy swallowed, but she knew it wasn’t a request. She sat across from Cleon.

“Swan’s been pushing for me to get you your official colors.” Cleon didn’t bother with small talk. “Is that what she wants or what you do?” 

Mercy tilted her head, meeting Cleon’s gaze head on. “I want to be a Warrior.” 

“Why?” Cleon raised an eyebrow. “Because of Swan?” 

Mercy paused, considering her answer carefully. Cleon studied her, and Mercy couldn’t help but feel she was being tested. “No. Because I want more out of my life. I saw a group of incredible and badass women, a community, and I wanted to be part of it. It was never just about Swan.” 

“Hm.” Mercy doesn’t know how to interpret that. 

“I can go through whatever initiation -” 

Cleon immediately shook her head, lifting a hand to cut her off. “I’m not interested in fighting with Swan about it. She says you more than proved yourself that night, and the others seemed to agree.” 

Mercy idly wonders how extensively Swan’s been arguing on Mercy’s behalf when Mercy isn’t around. It’s sweet, but part of her wishes Swan would quit trying to fight her battles for her. 

“But you weren’t there for that.” Mercy sits up straighter, tilting her chin up. “So what do I need to do to prove myself to you?” 

“I trust my girls. If they think you’re good enough to be a Warrior, I don’t intend to turn you away. Especially not when we’re already down two.” Cleon sighs heavily, taking a slow sip of her coffee. “I trust that you’re being honest about why you want to be a Warrior. Normally, that’d be all I care about.” 

“Okay..?” Mercy’s voice trailed off in question. “So then what’s the issue?” 

“I believe you’d be good for the Warriors.” Cleon leaned in, her eyes narrowed. “That doesn’t mean you’ll be good for Swan.” 

Mercy swallowed. “I’m doing my best to be.” 

“Swan cares about you, a lot more than she should for someone she met a week ago, and that worries me.” Cleon’s voice lowered dangerously. “If you’re with her because you were lonely and looking for a warm body to latch on to -”

“Swan’s not just a warm body to me,” Mercy snapped, offended by the mere implication. She didn’t bother to consider that interrupting Cleon was probably the last thing she should be doing, especially not in such a blatantly disrespectful way. “She’s the most incredible person I’ve ever met. This isn’t some fucking fling to me. I’m in her corner for as long as she’ll have me.” 

“It’s been a week,” Cleon deadpanned. 

“And how long did it take for you to become attached after finding Swan under the boardwalk?” 

Cleon blinked, her eyebrows lifting in surprise, but she didn’t counter the point. 

“I know it’s been a week. But I’ll still be here next week, and the week after, and however long it takes to prove to you that my feelings for Swan are genuine. Swan deserves that and more.” Mercy met Cleon’s glare with her own, and there was a beat of silence. Mercy refused to look away. 

“Okay. It seems we’re in agreement.” Cleon rose slowly to her feet, coming around the table to stand next to Mercy. Mercy tilted her head back to look up at her, doing her best not to flinch. “You don’t have an out anymore. I’ll get you your colors, make it official. If you try and bail on the Warriors - on Swan, I don’t care how fucking far you run, I will find you. Are we clear?” 

“Yes ma’am.” 

Cleon stared down at her a moment longer before her lips finally quirked into an amused smile. She nodded to herself and wordlessly left the kitchen. 

Mercy let out a breath, going boneless in her chair. 

+++++

Cochise was next, pulling two bottles of beer from the fridge and offering one to Mercy with a small smile. As a rule, ever since That Night, the Warriors never left anyone on their own, so Cochise had come to stay with her while Swan and Cleon went out on a job. Mercy didn’t mind the company. Cochise tended to be the most laid back of the Warriors, and Mercy appreciated how easy she could be to talk to. 

“Seems you’ve been breaking in your vest,” Cochise observed, sliding into the seat across from her. “It looks good on you.” 

Cleon had given her her official colors a few days ago, and Mercy hardly took the vest off, wearing it even if she wasn’t leaving the apartment. It had been a quiet ordeal. With the state of everything, the Warriors weren’t exactly in the position to be throwing a celebration. She got congratulations, an acknowledgement from the other members, and that was that. 

As if knowing where her mind had wandered, Cochise added, “I’m sorry we couldn’t make it more special. If you were joining up any other time we would’ve, but - well.” 

“It’s alright. I get it,” Mercy dismissed with a wave. She didn’t mind. The way Swan tugged her in by the lapels of her new vest and kissed her that night had been more than enough. 

She’d been excited to be one of them, had hoped there’d be some sort of change once she had her colors, and yet…

Mercy huffed, cracking the lid of her bottle and taking a gulp. “It’d be nice if I could break it in by actually going out.” 

She hadn’t been sent on a single job, and Mercy felt like she was going a little stir crazy. Cochise grimaced in sympathy. 

“Don’t worry, it’s not just you. Cowgirl and I haven’t been sent anywhere outside of Coney ever since that night either.” 

“Swan and Cleon keep going alone,” Mercy grumbled. “I don’t like it.” 

“Yeah, me neither, but,” Cochise shrugged. “The two of them are paranoid. Everything’s still too recent, and things are still strained with the other gangs. A lot of them are reluctant to join an alliance if Cyrus isn’t the one leading it.”

“Shouldn’t that be more reason for them to take us as backup?”

“Most of the jobs Cleon’s going on are purely diplomatic. And I don’t think she does anything without Masai and the Riffs with her. She would be going alone if Swan didn’t nearly lose her mind when Cleon suggested it.” 

Mercy groaned, falling back in her chair. “How am I supposed to prove myself as a Warrior if they don’t let me fucking do anything?” 

Cochise was quiet for a moment. 

“That’s probably why Swan and Cleon haven’t sent you anywhere.” 

Mercy looked up, her brow furrowing. “What? What do you mean?” 

Cochise’s expression sombered. She hesitated. 

 “It’s not a bad thing that you want to prove yourself. Hell, we’ve all been there - if anything it’s good that you care that much. It’s just…dangerous, too. The last Warrior who was desperate to prove herself ended up on the tracks of Union Square.” 

Mercy inhaled sharply. It was startling to hear someone bring up Fox so directly. The others tended to do their best not to mention it. Swan spoke of her sparingly, and only in the dark when her nightmares wouldn’t let her sleep, and even then it was in bits and pieces. 

“You sound like her, sometimes,” Cochise murmured. “It’s hard not to look at you and remember what we’ve lost.” 

Mercy flinched. That hurt to hear, even if she could understand it. She felt the urge to apologize, despite knowing that Cochise didn’t mean it maliciously. 

“I imagine it’s harder, for Swan,” the older woman continued, her eyes unfocused as she voiced her thoughts. “For her, it’s not just what she’s already lost but what she still could lose. And I don’t think she’d survive losing you.” 

Mercy picked at the label of the bottle, not knowing what to say to that. She understood - she didn’t even want to entertain the thought of losing Swan - but she was a Warrior now. Swan couldn’t protect her from everything. 

Cochise sighed. “Look, it won’t be like this forever. It’s just - like I said, everything’s still too fresh. Swan and Cleon are frustratingly similar in the way they try and carry everything on their own shoulders. They blame themselves for that night, and they don’t want anyone else to get hurt on their watch. Especially since we don’t have Ajax to back us up. It’s overprotective as fuck, and they’ll get past it eventually once they realize how unreasonable they’re being, but it’ll take time.” 

Mercy frowned. “I get that, but I hate it.” 

“I know. Cowgirl’s getting restless too. And lord knows once Ajax comes back she’s not gonna sit on her hands for long.” 

“Why don’t we push them about it, then?” 

Cochise huffed, a little sad and defeated. “I don’t want to fight them on it - not yet at least. They’re dealing with enough, we shouldn’t make it worse. If us staying on Coney is what they need, if it’ll make them feel better and make it easier for them while they handle all the bullshit, then that’s what we’ll do for now.” 

Mercy buried her head in her hands. She knew Cochise was right, knew she was in even less of a position to be causing any sort of trouble, but that didn’t make it any easier. 

“This fucking sucks. I feel useless.” 

She stewed in silence for a moment. Cochise tilted her head at her. 

“You aren’t though. I don’t even want to imagine the state Swan would be in if she didn’t have you.” She reached forward, gripping onto Mercy’s arm to make sure she was listening. “She needs you. That’s your job for now, and it’s an important one. So don’t you dare think for a fucking second that you’re useless.” 

Mercy’s eyes widened, the gravity of what Cochise was saying settling on her. She nodded quickly. 

“Yeah. Yeah, okay. I’ve got her.” 

Cochise grinned. “I know.” 

+++++

Out of all of them, Mercy wasn’t expecting Rembrandt to be the most intimidating. 

She had been getting used to Rembrandt’s staring. It unsettled her at first - the way the smaller girl’s piercing gaze would follow her every time they were in the same room - but eventually she’d learned to live with it. 

Mercy had tried to bring it up to Swan initially, but Swan wasn’t much help. 

“Rembrandt’s just like that with new people. She’s observant, pays attention to details - don’t stress yourself out about it.” Swan squeezed Mercy’s hands. “She’s just trying to figure you out.”

“She could try talking to me,” Mercy complained. 

Swan gave a tight smile. “Just give it time.”

So, Mercy did. She knew Rembrandt was grappling with Ajax’s absence, knew all the Warriors were still struggling in the wake of Fox’s death, so Mercy was doing her best not to start shit. Which meant not calling Rembrandt out on her obvious staring. They were hardly ever alone together anyways, so it became easier to ignore, even if she still didn’t really understand it. 

Mercy finally got an explanation after around a month. The Warriors were gathered in the living room after dinner, idly discussing upcoming plans. Rembrandt was nestled into a corner of the couch, occupied with a sketchbook in her lap, although her movements seemed almost idle. Her eyes were unfocused, practically staring through the paper in front of her. 

Mercy was startled from her thoughts when Swan rose to her feet, disentangling herself from Mercy in the process. 

“Rem, you gonna be okay staying here for the night?” 

Swan was off on a job, one that Cochise and Cowgirl were getting to come along for, and likely wouldn’t be back until early morning. Mercy hadn’t put together that this meant she’d be staying home alone with Rembrandt. 

Rembrandt looked up, staring blankly at Swan. “I told you it’s fine.” 

Swan nodded, looking back at Mercy and raising an eyebrow. Mercy just offered a smile and reached up to tug Swan into a quick kiss, ignoring the way Cowgirl whistled at them from where she was shrugging her colors on at the door. 

“Get home safe.” 

Rembrandt was staring at them again.

Swan hummed, lingering for a moment. Her eyes darted between Mercy and Rembrandt, but then Cleon called out for her and she turned to leave with the others. 

The door closed behind them and silence blanketed the apartment. Mercy fidgeted nervously. 

“You mind if I turn the TV on?” 

Rembrandt just shrugged, looking back down at her sketch. Mercy took it as a yes, and busied herself with watching a shitty sitcom to resist the urge to watch Rembrandt and blurt out something to break the weird quiet.

They passed the next half hour like this, until Mercy jumped about a foot out of her seat when she felt someone tap her shoulder (how the fuck did Rembrandt move so quietly?)

She looked up and found the tagger holding out her sketchbook and staring impassively at Mercy. 

Mercy’s breath caught when she saw the page being shown to her. She had never seen Rembrandt’s art before, and she gaped a little at the detailed drawing of Swan. 

She looked…soft. Her mouth was curved in the faintest ghost of smile, the graphite somehow conveying how her eyes brimmed with affection. Her curls fell messily around her and over her shoulders as she looked at something to her right, the harsh lines of her face completely smoothed out. 

“Rembrandt,” Mercy breathed, unable to pull her eyes away. “What…?” 

“It’s the expression Swan always wears when she looks at you,” Rembrandt explained quietly. 

Mercy’s eyes snapped up to meet Rembrandt’s, and found Rembrandt’s gaze sharper than she’d ever seen it. Rembrandt shuffled through the pages of her sketchbook, finding a different sketch further back and then holding it out again. 

It was another one of Swan, only this time it was her as a Warrior. Cleon’s number two. Her brows were drawn low over her eyes, her lips pursed. Even so, she was dangerously beautiful. Mercy stifled the urge to trace the outline of her face with a fingertip.

“Why are you showing me these?” 

“Because I don’t think you realize what you have.” 

Mercy bristled. “Of course I do -” 

“You don’t,” Rembrandt snapped, and Mercy startled at the heat in her voice. “Of course you don’t. How could you? You didn’t know Swan before. You don’t get how rare it is for her to be like this.” Rembrandt flipped back to the first sketch she had shown. 

“People like Swan…” Rembrandt trailed off, clenching her jaw for a moment and shaking her head. “She doesn’t do things halfway. She’s all in with you, and she’s been like that since the first night. Otherwise she would’ve chased you off before we even left Orphan Town.”

“You think I don’t feel the same way?” Mercy stood, feeling suddenly defensive. 

“I think that you don’t realize what it means to be loved by someone like Swan.” Rembrandt glared up at her. 

“Someone like -?” Mercy stopped, the pieces clicking into place. “Oh. Swan and Ajax are similar, aren’t they?”

Rembrandt breathed out a laugh, but it was sad and a little broken, and it was enough for Mercy to know she was right. 

“The two of them, they hate being vulnerable - hate having a weakness. Except for some fucking reason they’ll let themselves bleed out for us, and they’re incapable of hiding it. Everyone thinks they’re all strong and protective, and they are, but it’s our responsibility to make sure they can stay that way.”

Rembrandt jabbed a finger into Mercy’s chest, and Mercy took a step back at her sheer intensity. “You think I run from danger because I’m scared of getting hurt? Fuck no. I run because there are very few things that can hurt Ajax, and I know that I’m one of them.” 

Mercy blinked. “But -”

“I’m not telling you to start running from fights. I know that isn’t possible for you,” Rembrandt cut off her protest before she could even start it. “I’m telling you that if you’re not careful, you’ll ruin her.” 

It was the most Mercy had heard Rembrandt speak since That Night, and she felt her own words leave her as she processed this. Rembrandt didn’t seem interested in letting her respond, considering she was already making her way back to the couch. 

“There’s nothing quite comparable to being loved by someone like Ajax or Swan.” Rembrandt’s voice was softer now, almost reverent. “They love fully, dangerously, and it’s exhilarating. You’ll never have to doubt what she feels about you, because all those carefully guarded walls seem to crumble whenever she’s around you.” 

Rembrandt looked at her, and Mercy felt frozen under her stare. “Don’t fuck that up.” 

Rembrandt settled back into the couch with her sketchbook like nothing had happened. 

+++++

It was brief with Ajax, but she managed to get the point across just fine. 

Mercy and Swan had been watching a movie, but Swan drifted off ten minutes in, and Mercy was grateful to see her getting the rest she so clearly needed. 

Mercy quickly gave up on watching the movie, scratching idly at Swan’s scalp and staring down at her, tracking her steady breathing. 

Ajax was swinging by to drop something off for Cleon and found them like this, Swan asleep with her head in Mercy’s lap. She wandered into the living room and stopped short at the sight, studying the pair with an expression Mercy couldn’t quite read. 

“Cleon’s not home,” Mercy murmured, keeping her voice quiet to not disturb Swan. “I can tell her you came by.” 

Ajax nodded slowly, leaving a package on Cleon’s armchair, but she lingered in the doorway and watched them, her eyes flitting over Swan’s relaxed form. Mercy tilted her head in question, a little unnerved. Ajax hadn’t been out of prison for long, and Mercy didn’t think they’d had a single one on one conversation. Mercy had been mostly keeping her distance, giving Ajax the space to process everything she’d missed without a stranger around acting right at home. She tried not to squirm under Ajax’s impassive stare. 

Finally, Ajax broke the silence, her voice low. 

“If you hurt her, I’ll kill you.” It was almost casual. A given fact - a promise - not a threat. “Got it?” 

Mercy blinked, forcing herself not to look away from Ajax’s intense eye contact, and lifted her chin up instead. “Got it.” She was proud of the way her voice didn’t waver. 

Ajax’s expression changed unsettlingly fast, the dark look quickly replaced by a sharp grin that somehow felt just as dangerous. “Good.” 

She turned and left without another word. 

+++++

Cowgirl was little drunk, but that didn’t diminish the sentiment at all. Their conversation became one of Mercy’s favorite memories, a story to tell that usually led to amused laughter and affectionate smiles. 

For the first time since That Night, the Warriors were taking a night off. Cowgirl had managed to cajole them into dressing up and going to the club, promising alcohol and music and fun. Swan nearly refused, but Mercy pouted and Cleon all but ordered her to come, and that was all the convincing it took. 

They had needed this. Mercy wasn’t sure she had ever seen them all smiling as easily as they did that night, and the fact that they were all together made it all the more special. 

Mercy was giving her feet a break from all the dancing when Cowgirl threw herself into the booth next to her with a wide grin, ignoring the concept of personal space to press herself right up against Mercy’s side. Mercy didn’t mind. 

“I need to start using you as my wingwoman.” 

“Oh yeah?” Mercy giggled. “Why’s that?” 

“Because, I don’t know what kind of witchcraft you used to pull Swan, but I think I need some of it.” Cowgirl pouted. “I’ve been trying to set Swan up with women for years, and somehow you pulled it off in three hours. You have to teach me your ways.” 

Mercy laughed, bright and delighted. “What, you got your eye on someone?” 

“No, no.” Cowgirl furiously shook her head, and Mercy reached out to straighten her hat, wondering idly how Cowgirl managed not to lose it in the press of bodies. “Tonight’s for the Warriors. But next time, you’re helping me out.”

“I’m afraid step one is to stop going after men,” Mercy teased. 

Cowgirl groaned dramatically, burying her face in her hands. “Being attracted to men is a curse. That bite mark still hasn’t faded.” 

It faded three weeks ago, but Mercy didn’t bother saying so. She patted Cowgirl’s back sympathetically. 

“Mercy. Mercy.” Cowgirl’s expression turned serious as she tugged at Mercy’s sleeve, head snapping up suddenly. “This is the best day of my life.” 

Mercy snorted, raising an eyebrow. “Jesus, how many drinks have you had?”

“I mean it.” Cowgirl shook her head vehemently. “Swan’s dancing.” 

They turned to look back out to the dancefloor, where Swan was currently with the rest of their crew. It was somehow unbelievably endearing and attractive, the way Swan was so clearly out of her element and yet easily followed along with the other’s movements. 

“She is,” Mercy agreed with an affectionate smile. 

“This is the best day of my life,” Cowgirl repeated in disbelief. “I need you to stick around forever.” 

Before Mercy could respond, Cowgirl dragged her out of the booth and back to the dancefloor, shoving her directly at Swan in the most unsubtle way possible. Mercy stumbled, but, as always, Swan was right there to catch her, wrapping steady arms around her waist. Mercy grinned at her, their faces flushed from a combination of proximity, alcohol, and excitement. Her heart pounded in her ears in time with the bass thrumming through the speakers. 

"I don't see this working out for us, y'know. This whole… hero thing that these people believe." Grif spoke up, sprawled out on Simmons' rather uncomfortable bed like he owned it. He probably did. Simmons would give it to him, if he asked. He'd give him anything if it meant he'd stay by his side.

Whoa.

When did he start thinking sappy shit like that?

"I guess I kinda see what you mean. But, I mean, these people need hope, Grif. We don't exactly have much of a choice, we're in this together," Simmons responded, glancing up from the rifle he was cleaning. He sat on the floor, all the supplies spread out in front of him as he worked.

"I dunno, Simmons," Grif shrugged, stuffing his mouth full with snack cakes. "I kinda don't wanna."

"This isn't a game, Grif." Simmons sighed, returning to the task at hand. His gun hadn't been cleaned in a while, and it was starting to grate on his nerves.

"Well obviously, Simmons. If it were a game, I wouldn't have to share my snack rations with a bunch of people."

"Don't be so greedy. You'll live."

"No, I won'tttttt," Grif whined in exaggeration, throwing his arms up. Simmons couldn't help but sigh in response, shaking his head. This was just like him— he wasn't sure why he expected anything different. It was almost endearing, if he didn't berate himself for thinking something like that.

"You sound like a child."

"Hey! I have more dignity than a child."

"Do you?" Simmons scoffed, a small smile tugging at his lips. It was nice, the moment of small peace. They hadn't had a moment like this in a long time.

"I do, thank you!" Grif rolled his eyes, sitting up on Simmons' bed. "Are you done yet? I'm ready to sleep."

"Then go back to your room."

"Who do you take me for?" Grif gasped dramatically, "Someone who sleeps in his own bed? Blasphemous, I tell you."

"Then deal with it." Simmons sighed, setting the barrel of the gun down. He didn't mean it, of course. He'd drop mid clean if Grif was that tired. He always did.

Grif looked pleased with himself as Simmons stood, dusting off his legs. The moment passed without a word as Simmons turned the lamp off. Climbing into the bed with Grif, a soft, almost relaxed sigh escaped his lips. He liked this. Liked being close to him. Laying beside him. He tried to tell himself it was for the warmth Grif supplied, and nothing else, but they both knew it was more than that. It was always more than that with the two of them. Nothing was ever as cut and dry and they wanted it to be.