Never had you imagined sitting here next to the witch you’d give your life for, shoulder t shoulder. Confessing love – in all the wrong ways. It could not be described in any other way. You love Qifrey, He loves Olly; and there is an entire plethora of reasons as to why the latter could never be woven into reality. A classic case of star-crossed lovers.

You swallow your feelings and choke on them.

You had a drink with Qifrey, four or three too many. Comfortably seated on the ground facing him while sitting in front of each other. You were drowning in conversations ranging from previous escapades to what could only be described as flirtatious advances masked as banter. A not so rare occurrence.

You love the way he’s hurting you - the way you keep hurting yourself.

On nights like this you find yourself with liquid courage to act on your feelings, knowing fully well they remain unrequited. You lean forward, the distance between you disappearing. Kissing Qifrey feels like a decadent treat with the bittersweet aftertaste of the knot forming in your throat paired with the burning sensation of your eyes. He tastes like tragic tales of self-destruction. You could be so good to him.

You look at Qifrey. He looks at you. Not a single trace of pity visible in his expression.

“I would love you, if only I could.” The truth may hurt but you appreciate his honesty. Qifrey wouldn’t fool around with the deepest, heartfelt emotions of people close to him; yet something keeps bringing him to you. You stay, you don’t pretend – you indulge. You offer him a smile – deflection, nervousness or something entirely different, it’s not of importance.

It must be worse than you think it is. Qifreys expression looks soft and utterly unchanged; he wears the mask of someone constantly tending to others needs. His fingers are digging into his clothed thighs, the sign you were looking for. You break the silence. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.” This certainly hasn't been your first kiss, nor the first kiss shared with him this week.

His body fits perfectly pressed against yours. His hands fit perfectly in yours. His fingers fit perfectly intertwined with yours. His lips fit perfectly on yours. Tragedy repeats itself yet you never progress. Every ending means bidding farewell to the reveries of a shared future.

He looks surprised, even after moments of silence between you. “I should be the one to apologize.” You can guess what he is hinting at. “I keep hurting you with this.” He gestures between you both. “We should know better. I should know better.” His eyes conveniently wander around the room. Qifrey looks gorgeous, especially when his thoughts are running deep.

“Are you suggesting I’m not able to make decisions for myself?” An eyebrow raised with the slightest hint of annoyance in your voice. “I didn’t mean it like that. I meant-“ You don’t bother letting him finish his sentence. “You meant you should stop this whole ordeal because you are the one that should be in control of your emotions. After all, it’s me who loves you, not the other way around.”

Again, Qifrey is left without being able to answer for what feels like minutes, clearly thinking how to frame his sentence. When he answers his voice is soft with an earnest tone. “I believe you are totally incorrect in your assumptions of your own importance in my life.” He takes a deep stuttering breath. “I would give you everything, if I could.” His hands dig further into his thighs, the tremor clearly visible. “It’s entirely unfair to you.”

“Hey Qifrey, would you say I’m worthy?” It catches him off guard, his eyes beginning to wander around again. “You deserve to be loved wholeheartedly.” - and he doesn’t, the unspoken extension bears its weight on you. You release a suffering sigh. “Thank you.” The smile returns to your voice much to Qifreys clearly visible confusion, yet he doesn’t question it. Perhaps Qifrey knows exactly what you mean.

You will keep offering yourself to him, laying bare the very essence of your soul – your heart is his, he might as well break it.

“Say Qifrey.” The mention of his name through your lips always seems to do something to him. “Do you wish that you loved me?” A laugh escapes him; it underlines the ridiculousness of the situation. He takes a moment to gather his thoughts. “I feel drawn to you if all this hadn’t made it clear enough.” He seems embarrassed voicing his answer. “This should be easy, shouldn’t it?”

You give him a confused look. “I mean, I don’t lack any feelings for you.” The confession hits you in all the right and wrong ways. “And still, I can’t give my all to you.” Qifrey rubs his hands over the entire length of his face before they find their place back on his thighs. He is shaking his head. “It’s ridiculous.” A bright smile on his face in stark contrast to the look in his eyes reveals an entirely different emotion. “My heart isn’t ready; it might never be.”

Qifrey looks beautifully tragic, utterly vulnerable.

In theory there would be a simple solution: leave the atelier or at least don’t engage him more than necessary. You both love the way you are hurting each other. Would cutting your ties make any difference or would it prolong and intensify your longing? Perhaps if you’d just hold on everything will fall into place.

“Do you like kissing me?” Qifrey can’t count the times he’s been surprised by your questions tonight. The answer that follows is quietly voiced. “Yes, but does it matter?” Your lips find his again and again and again and again. Qifrey leans into your touch. “It does.” Merely a whisper remains. “Why would you deliberately keep on hurting you. Why do you hold onto nothing?”

“You don’t get to decide that for me.” Voice angrier than intended with merely a few inches between you. “I’m sorry, I should know my place and act accordingly, this was utterly insensitive of me.” You put your hands on his. “Let me summarize it for you. You told me, you aren’t lacking feelings for me, meaning you have some for me.” You look into his eyes with determination. “Furthermore, you actually enjoy kissing me. You said so yourself and I certainly observed it tonight and all the other times they happened.”

Qifreys eyes wander again. “Don’t you dare to look away.” His eyes are back on you, the shudder running through his body visible in his expression. “Perhaps there is no one that hurts me better than you, but you are worth hurt.” You confess. “I wish you’d love me now, but I can wait.” You can’t abstain from his lips. “It’s a promise-“ You hook your little finger with one of his.

“I’m at, uh, I don’t, I’m… somewhere. My mind is all over the place.”

Aaron’s heart hammers widely in his chest. “Somewhere? Can you look around for me and see if you recognise something? Anything?”

“Okay,” you reply, voice shaky. After a few moments, you clear your throat. “I’m outside the bar we all went to a few weeks ago.”

“The Tipsy Ship? The one closest to work?” 

“Y-yeah, yeah.”

Aaron grabs his keys and runs out of his house, not even thinking about locking the door as he runs toward his car. Jack is sleeping over at JJ's; the house will be fine unattended for now. “I’m on my way. Are you hurt?”

“I think so.”

“You think–” Aaron stops to take a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose for a moment before shoving his phone into its holder and slamming his car door shut. “Don’t worry, I’m on my way.”

“Can you stay on the line with me?”

“Of course.”

***

When Aaron reaches the bar, his heart breaks at the sight of you standing alone outside. He tenses up once he notices that, not only are you alone, but dry blood covers your face, there’s a large bruise forming on your cheek, and the knuckles of your dominant hand are cracked and bloody. “God,” he mutters, running straight for you and grabbing you by the shoulders. He can smell an overpowering scent of alcohol on you and he winces. “What happened? Where’s the bastard that did this to you?”

You point toward an ambulance down the road. “The coward freaked out when I punched him back and thought he needed medical attention. Most they’re gonna diagnose him with is Dumbassery and Stupid Prick Disease.” You look back at Aaron and weakly smile. “And maybe a concussion.”

Aaron can’t help it, he laughs. “At least you haven't lost your sense of humour. But let's get you home and cleaned up, alright?” 

“Can I go to yours? I don’t really wanna be alone right now.”

He smiles. “Of course you can.”

***

Aaron holds a wet cloth to your face, reaching out to grab your chin between his fingers gently when you flinch away. “Sorry, sorry.”

“It’s cold, is all.”

“Sorry,” he repeats, gently dabbing away the dried blood under your nose and the corner of your lips. “Do you want to talk about what happened?”

“I got into a fight.”

“I can see that.”

You shrug, stumbling on your feet at the movement. Aaron gently grabs you by your elbow and shuffles you toward the kitchen counter so that you’re leaning against it for support. Once you’re stable, he begins to dab the other side of the cloth over your knuckles. “It was stupid, really.”

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“I know,” you sigh. It’s quiet for a few moments as you watch Aaron continue to clean up the blood. “He… the guy who punched me… I was on a date with him.” Aaron tenses. “And he kept buying me drinks and told me I had to drink them. I did because, well, free drinks, y’know?” You sigh and shake your head again, letting out a groan when it results in pain. “So stupid of me.”

“Hey, none of that. You’re not stupid.”

“Whatever you say. Anyway, I think he was trying to make sure I was drunk enough so that he could take me home without much complaint. I don’t know. I refused because I really wasn’t in the, uh, mood, and the night was a bust anyway, and he started… tryna touch me, grab me and all that, his hands were everywhere and I didn’t want them to be and…” You stop to take a few deep breaths, feeling sick at the thought of what could have happened. Aaron feels anger rip through his veins. “Anyway, he ended up punching me and I guess he wasn’t expecting me to punch back.”

Aaron grits his teeth. "Twice as hard, yeah?" 

"Twice as hard," you grin. 

“Good. That’s what I expect to hear.”

You tilt your head at him, trying to read his expression. “You’re not mad at me?”

Confused, his eyes meet yours. “Why would I be mad at you?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug, watching as his large hand moves over yours, his thumb gently sweeping over your skin. “I woke you up.”

“You woke– You– That’s what you’re worried about?” He gives you a fond look. “Yes, you woke me up. But I’m glad you did. Thank you for calling me. And for trusting me to help you.”

“I don’t think I trust anyone more than I trust you.”

Aaron’s hand stills as the words sink in. When he looks up at you, he notices that you’re staring at him with so much love that his breath catches in his throat. He hasn’t been looked at like that in… he can’t even remember. But when he thinks about it, eyes never leaving yours as you blink innocently at him, not understanding his revelation at that moment, he realises it’s the way you’ve always looked at him. With complete and utter adoration. 

As if he hung the moon and the stars.

“Oh,” is all he can get out.

“Oh?” 

“Yeah. Oh.”

Your face falls and he feels guilt grow deep in his gut. “You don’t trust me back?”

“What? I never said that.” He steps closer, moving a hand to your shoulder and looking into your eyes. “Of course I trust you. More than most people. More than anyone else, really.”

“Really?”

His eyes search yours and he nods firmly, squeezing your shoulder. “Really.”

You look all over his face before looking down at his lips, licking your own as your mouth immediately goes dry. “I didn't want… I… I didn't go home with that guy because of, uh, well, you. I couldn’t stop thinking of you... when I was with him.”

Aaron hums as his gaze drops to your lips. “That’s why I don’t go on dates.”

“Hm?”

“Because I can’t stop thinking about you either.” He inches closer, moving a warm hand up to cup your cheek. “Can I kiss y–"

“Yea–"

And your lips are pressed together before either of you can finish. The kiss is soft, sweet, gentle, and full of so much raw emotion that it’s almost suffocating (in the best way). Aaron moves his lips against yours desperately, holding your face in his large calloused hands as if you might break at any moment, and you wrap your arms around his neck to pull him closer. The moment your tongue brushes against his bottom lip, though, he pulls back with a heavy sigh. “Shit, you’re drunk. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. I’m totally taking advantage of you and–”

“Aaron.”

“I should know better and–”

“Aaron!”

“You should feel safe here–”

You press your lips against his again, effectively shutting him up. It’s a much shorter kiss this time, but not any less enjoyable. “I do feel safe, Aaron. Here, with you.”

“You do?”

“Of course. You make me feel safe; you always have.”

He visibly relaxes and pulls you into a hug. “So have you.” He sighs against you, resting his forehead against your shoulder. “I like being with you.”

“I like being with you too, Aaron.”

He smiles against you and holds you for a moment more before pulling back, hands still wrapped around you. His heart breaks at the sight of the dark bruise forming on your face and he leans forward to press a tender kiss against the skin, careful not to hurt you in any way. “I wonder how long we’ve liked each other.”

“I fell in love with you the moment I saw you, I think.” 

Aaron’s breath hitches at the admission. “You’re in love with me?”

You tilt your head at him, fighting back a smile. “Did I not make that obvious enough?”

“I… didn’t want to get my hopes up.”

“Well, get them up, Hotchner, because I’m in love with you, and I’m not going anywhere.”

Aaron’s face softens and he presses a kiss to your cheek, sighing in relief. “I’m in love with you, too.” He runs his hands lovingly over your back. “Now let’s get you changed into some comfortable clothes and into bed, yeah? It seems like we have a lot to talk about tomorrow.”

“Can I sleep in your bed with you?” 

He presses another kiss to your cheek. “There’s no other place I’d rather you be, sweetheart.”

tag list: @criminalskies @ssahotchnerr @hotchs-big-hands @citrusiove @sillyhotchsgirl

In the dark, everything was amplified. It didn't matter that you couldn't see, when your skin grasped more than any other sense, when your ears heard every sigh and echo off the metal walls. 

He had seen you before, using whatever fancy tech he wanted in his helmet while you were bare below him, or pressed in front of him while he took you from behind over a storage crate in the hold. It gave him a power over you, that he could move around you in the dark, follow your steps as you did tasks outside the ship, even see how long you've been asleep based on your temperature and breathing. Sometimes he was even able to coax you awake under dim lights with his mouth hot and purposeful between your legs and his hand guiding your own over your eyes as you awoke.

It happened when he came back from a hunt, sometimes it went poorly and he wanted to get out his frustration, or it went well and he was still high on adrenaline. He was still not one to lose control and give over to his emotions. It was never reckless, every movement intentional and forceful. It made you wonder just what he did to deal with it before you were here. Other times, when the ship was in hyperspace for a long time, or you were waiting between jobs as he worked on the ship, that was when you took charge. 

But -

The first time it happened, he had wrangled a quarry into the carbon chamber more forcefully than usual, but you couldn't blame him, the thing was running its mouth and jerking its several arms around just enough to be annoying but not enough to provoke a fight, and it knew that the puck said warm and unharmed, so short of taping its (large, smelly mouth) mouth shut, the Mandalorian was at a bit of a loss. 

Your hands were clenched around the tools you had been using when he came in, perhaps unconsciously ready to use the wrench and mallet as weapons, which would have been about as useless as throwing a rubber dart in comparison to everything the Mandalorian was, let alone carrying. 

He stalked towards you and reached for the tools, your hands realizing how tightly they were grasped around the metal objects. Wordlessly, he stared at you - you knew he was, after weeks of working nearly silently side by side you knew how to read his cues, though none had felt so strong and deliberate as this before - and tugged the tools out of your grip. He tossed them on the floor and you flinched at the sound. Without breaking your eye contact with his through the visor, he took another step closer and raised a tentative hand, hovering just above your hip. The heat of him crowding around you in the cool of the hull, the disturbance of the air against your chest and the line of your hip, were just enough to make you glance down and then back at him. You caught your breath as some sort of emotion rolled through you and your chest heaved with a sudden breath, you caught your lip, and nodded. 

The stillness shattered as the background hums in the hold suddenly seemed elevated, giving a low muted thrumming noise for your shared breathes and rustles of clothes. The Mandalorian gripped your sides with both hands, large hands pressed against your soft flesh, before spinning you around so quickly you almost get twisted around your own feet, but he seemed to predict that and lifted you even as you stumbled, and your feet landed evenly below you as you reached forward to grab the side of the crate he had pushed you against for balance. Your brain was moving half a step slower than your body as base functions took over for touch, heat, feel, smell, and you realized he was going to try to take you from behind. You wanted to be able to see him, the way he would hold you, how the beskar would feel under your hands, the way his shoulders would shake with the effort of - oh gods, you almost buckled as he brushed against you. You gasped wait and gripped his hands. You felt him stop and hold himself stock still as you turned around. You let go of his hands and boosted yourself up on the crate, now seated facing him. He was still frozen, breath somehow muted under his helmet, the only sign of life from his tense frame was the rising of his shoulders with breath above the armor.

You skipped his hands this time, reaching forward and grabbing his belt, guiding him back towards you. It’s ok you said. Now his hands fell to the outside of your knees, and you grabbed the back of his gloves again, sliding his hands to the inside of your thighs even as you parted your legs to him. Please you said determinedly.

There was no more need to pause, to wait, to ask. He acted on what he wanted, you told him what you wanted in return, there was no need for conversation about the helmet, his face, even your clothes. You were wearing a long wrap today, and you started pulling the fabric up under his hands as he crowded against you again. With only your underwear left, you tilted your hips toward him and leaned back on your hands as he pushed himself firmly against you, the delicate fabric hiding nothing, your warmth and softness reacting to the fabric, armor, and warm swell now cradled between your thighs and against your core. You breathed out, no control left over your instincts as you moaned at the sense of pressure against your core. Now your hands both grasped, frantic, uncoordinated but with the same goal, as he ripped your underwear down your legs, and you grabbed his shoulders to grind against him even as he worked at his belt and zipper. The reverberation of the sound of your own voice continued against the background echoes of the ship’s engine, your breathy gasps tuning higher and high, and an uneven low moan from the modulator of the helmet, now close enough to you that you could hear the tone of his speech in a language you didn’t know between his own broken groans. 

He reached a hand between you even as you hitched your legs higher on his hips, angling and opening yourself even more fully to him. The texture of the leather dragged on your most sensitive skin, and you couldn’t help it, you had to close your eyes as your head fell back, and you began to beg. Please, please you gasped I want you, I just want you and you felt just the tips of his fingers on your wetness, nothing but the grip of his hands and his wordless, sightless stare enough to make you ready. You didn’t want to feel anything else first, you just wanted your Mandalorian, all of him, all at once. 

He muttered something in the strange, uneven words, accented on some syllable and pattern you couldn’t quite follow, especially in your current state, before hearing Basic again, -so fucking beautiful, please let me- I can’t stop- and you felt one gloved hand guiding his thick cock to your entrance, and slowly, driving himself fully into you. Your head came up with a snap and a gasp, and you worked your arms around his shoulders, your forehead meeting the side of his helmet as you pushed yourself as close as you could against him, and you felt him meet you, one arm wrapped fully around your lower back and one across your shoulders, dragging a hand up and down your spine.

He was stretching you so fully, so deep that you needed this, needed to anchor yourself to the rest of him, the only way that your body could make sense of the delicious weight of him inside you, pressed against you, wrapped around you. You both fully gave up on words in any language as he rocked his hips against you. You wrapped everything in your being around him as close as possible, your mouth next to his ear only separated by the helmet. Something about the firm press of beskar against the planes of your body set free a permission in yourself that you didn’t know you needed, to grab at him, gasp as loudly as you needed, hold yourself as much as you could, knowing that he could stand up to it. You didn’t want him to pull away to drive into you, his whole solid being as close to you as possible and throbbing deeply was all you needed.

He matched your intensity, holding you steady as he worked against you, feeling your sweet warmth holding him inside, every soft curve and every ridge of muscle. Your softness and your strength, matching his, never needing to leave, just needing to be closer, closer, closer-

Your voices were in sync as your hips and arms moved together, holding you against him on the edge of the crate, and you felt him move faster and more shallow, felt the pressure build as your most inner muscles began to tighten. He found his words in Basic first. -sweet girl, fucking feels so good, fuck, I’m- I’m-  You caught up and cut him off, tightening your ankles and raising your knees to widen the spread of your hips. You were past coy now, crying out please don’t stop, I want you to come inside me, please- permission asked and given, he grasped your ass and nearly lifted you off the crate as he rocked his hips against you, and now all you needed to do, and really could do, was hold on tight as you felt the tight point of heat inside you suddenly break, and thank the gods that quarry was well in carbon, as your voice cried out against the steel walls of the hull. His voice just behind yours as he kneaded his hands in your soft flesh in time with the pulsing stretch of him inside you as he came, filling you with each final thrust between your legs.

You lost the sense of where your arms and body were and were fully draped on him. Head still leaning against the helmet, not realizing your hands had gone so far as to burrow under the cloak and nearly under the neck of the cowl leading to the bottom of his helmet. He loosened his bruising grip on your hips and used one hand to lean against as he set you fully down on the crate, one arm still supporting you around your back. You remained pressed together, front-to-front, and-

Ladislava entered the room. Her clothes were torn and stained beyond recognition, blood and dirt caked deep into the fabrics. Bruises and scrapes covered every inch of exposed skin, and she walked with a lameness in her gait. She cleared her throat to get the attention of the two others in the room, unable to keep the despair from seeping into her face.

“Lady Edelgard. Lord Vestra.”

Edelgard looked up from where the two were scouring over some battle plans, her face immediately falling.

“Ladislava?” Edelgard abruptly stood from her seat. Hubert regarded her with his usual cold demeanor, his face devoid of any and all emotion, perfectly crafted to hide the swell of anxiety and unease he felt inside. 

“We did not expect you back so soon. What has happened?” he asked cooly. But the fear bubbled beneath the surface, threatening to rear its ugly head and break through. Any breath, any sound could be the one to give him away. His skin prickled with discomfort, for too much, too much was out of his control.

Ladislava remained silent for just a moment too long. Edelgard continued in her stead, her voice laced with desperation.

“What of Ferdinand's forces? Have they returned? Why is he not with you?!”

Ladislava’s shoulders slumped, her composure crumbling.

“Your Majesty, I… must regretfully inform you that our reinforcements arrived… too late.”

Edelgard choked on a breath. “What do you mean ?”

…What?

Too late…?

Hubert's heart felt like it had come to a complete stop. He grunted in discomfort, but it was quiet enough that neither of the others in the room paid him any mind. There was no other tell that could yet give him away. He was still protected behind his unfeeling, unthinking mask.

“I am so dreadfully sorry, Your Majesty,” Ladislava continued, voice shaking. “Upon arrival we were already overwhelmed by Riegan’s forces. Ferdinand and his battalion were completely bested. It was all we could do to get ourselves back alive.”

Hubert trembled where he stood. He tightened his grip on the battle plans he’d brought to Edelgard for review.

“My own battalion suffered major losses. It was clearly Claude’s intention to entrap us in Alliance territory from the beginning. He and Lord Gloucester must have planned for this to happen exactly as it did.”

Edelgard cursed, falling back into her seat. “I should have sent another general with him… Damnit , I never should have let him go alone!”

“Please, Your Majesty. This is not your fault. It is mine. I could not move quickly enough. It was my duty to put a stop to this, and I failed.”

Edelgard was silent, quiet tears falling from her eyes onto the papers strewn across her desk. Hubert stood unmoving next to her, barely breathing. He stared into the nothingness of the ground, fearing that any attempt to speak, to move, to breathe would result in him completely falling apart.

“Ferdinand,” Edelgard choked out finally. “He's… he's…?”

“I’m afraid so, Your Majesty…” Ladislava said solemnly.

“How can you be sure?” Edelgard demanded, slamming a fist down on her desk, the words thick with desperation.

“I watched as Claude himself delivered the finishing blow to General Aegir. I… I tried your Majesty. I moved as quickly as I could, but I… I was too late…”

Too late.

Reinforcements were called as soon as they'd received word from their stronghold against Gloucester territory that the Lord had retracted his allegiance. How did they not make it in time. How had Claude managed to pull together such forces in such a small amount of time?

...Ferdinand…and his battalion…bested…

His battalion? Sure. They'd been hand-picked by the man himself, but perhaps they were not as skilled as Hubert remembered. Surely even if none of the battalion made it, Ferdinand was absolutely skilled enough to best Riegan and make it out alive.

…

But the Ferdinand he knew would never abandon his men, would he?

His mind was at war with itself, Hubert realized. Trying, in vain, to match sense and logic with desires and desperation. To look at all the facts that had been presented to him and promptly cast them aside, instead opting to believe what he so badly wanted to be the truth and make up evidence to support it.

Ferdinand… you fool. How could you do this…?

Hubert brought a shaking hand to his chest, willing his damned lungs to take in air. He couldn't breathe. But no, he was breathing too much, too quickly, too shallow. The oxygen couldn't make it to his brain. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't think .

“Ladislava, you are dismissed. Please inform the others. And, please see to it that no one comes looking for us for a while.”

“Consider it done, your Majesty.”

…

“Hubert?” Edelgard asked softly. The man hadn’t moved an inch since he’d asked Ladislava why she was here.

Finishing blow… General Aegir…

Hubert choked on a sob and his body finally gave in. He fell to his knees, the paperwork he’d been desperately clinging to falling from his grasp and fluttering across the floor in front of him. His heartbeat thumped in his ears. He couldn’t hear anything else. He didn’t want to hear anything else. Damn it all , he'd heard more than enough.

Lies. It all had to be lies. Hubert could not stand the words otherwise. Ladislava was simply mistaken. There was no way that Ferdinand von Aegir fell to the likes of Claude von Riegan. The notion was laughable. Asinine. And this was no time for jokes, damnit, they were in the middle of a war!

“...ubert…!”

Claude was a devious schemer and a brilliant tactician, this much praise was due. But Ferdinand could never, would never fall to the likes of him. Ferdinand was a brilliant fighter, his quick wit and sound decision-making saving them on multiple occasions. His prowess on the battlefield was truly unmatched. Even the Empire’s most skilled fighters couldn’t best him in their training. Ferdinand himself had felled general after general of high standing in both the Kingdom and the Alliance.

“...Hubert!...”

…

It was Edelgard’s voice. Somewhere out there, trying to reach him. He wanted to grab for it, to latch on to it and never let it go. What he should have done when Ferdinand insisted that he and his battalion take the initiative to begin marching through Gloucester territory.

“Do you not trust me, Hubert?” Ferdinand had demanded, sporting his typical half-pout whenever Hubert had tried to talk him out of charging forward into enemy lines. Hubert had to give him credit, though, he was particularly motivated to get moving on this mission.

“You need to use that head of yours to think sometimes, Aegir ,” Hubert had scolded. “You’re a general; your topmost priority needs to be the survival of yourself and your troops.”

“I will be in Gloucester territory, Hubert. They’ve sworn fealty, and will undoubtedly send reinforcements should we require them.”

Edelgard had agreed then. “He’s our best chance to actually make some headway into Alliance territory while they’re still reeling from the split with Gloucester and Phlegethon territory. We have to trust him, Hubert.”

“Then let us send additional Empire forces,” Hubert had countered, his tone almost desperate. “One battalion won't be enough to counter Riegan’s army should the worst come to pass.”

“So that's it then, you don't trust me!” Ferdinand accused. “You don't think I can handle this!”

“Ferdinand quit spouting nonsense, you know damn well you're one of the only people in this world that I do trust,” Hubert bit back. “It is Riegan that I wouldn't trust half as far as I could throw him.”

Slight color had dusted Ferdinand’s cheeks. “Well, to be fair Hubert, you could probably throw him quite far.”  

“Ferdinand, this is truly no time for your dreadful jokes.”

Edelgard stepped in then, resting a reassuring hand on Hubert's shoulder. “We cannot afford to part with more forces right now, Hubert, we are already spread so thin. We have to trust in what few allies we’ve made. It is the only choice we have.”

Hubert had finally sighed in resignation, dread weighing heavy in his heart. “Yes, Your Majesty.” He turned and walked away, having nothing else positive to say on the matter.

Ferdinand offered apologies to Lady Edelgard before running after him.

“Hubert, don't you think that this is a little ridiculous, even for you?”

Hubert had bit his tongue and kept walking. Ferdinand groaned in frustration, running to catch up to him.

“Hubert, for the Goddess' sake, will you slow down and talk to me?”

“I doubt I have anything to say that you wish to hear, Ferdinand,” Hubert bit back. 

“Then will you at least stop and hear me?”

Hubert stopped abruptly, Ferdinand nearly tripping over himself so he didn't collide into him. Ferdinand had muttered something under his breath as he regained his composure, moving so that he and Hubert were face-to-face.

“Look, I know you don't trust Claude. And to be truthful Hubert, neither do I. And I'm sure Lady Edelgard has her own reservations. But this is war, and sometimes we need to take risks.”

Hubert crossed his arms. Since when was Ferdinand the sensible one, leaving him to be the dramatic? He despised the way their roles had been reversed. “Risks that involve one of our most skilled generals practically throwing himself to the wolves?”

“Hubert, please,” Ferdinand had truly begged, his pleading gaze holding Hubert firmly in place in front of him. “I need you to trust me more than you distrust Claude.”

Hubert took a deep breath. “Ferdinand, of course I trust you. You know damn well you're the only one I think capable of pulling this off other than Lady Edelgard or myself.”

Ferdinand had smiled then. “My men are skilled fighters. Even in the case we do cross blades with Claude’s forces, I know that we can hold our own. Especially considering we've got you on the back swing.” Ferdinand gave Hubert a playful nudge. Had anyone else dared touch him, they'd be reduced to atoms. But, seeing as it was Ferdinand, Hubert could only fight the smile that threatened to make its way to the surface. In vain, of course. Ferdinand beamed brighter when he saw the small smile tugging at Hubert’s lips.

“This is going to work, Hubert, I promise.”

Hubert shook his head. “No, I need you to promise me something else.”

Ferdinand tilted his head in question. Hubert took Ferdinand's hands into his own, the latter blushing from the gesture and from Hubert's intense gaze.

“You must promise to return to us. Unscathed if you can, but you absolutely must return to us. To me.”

Hubert hadn’t entirely meant to include the last part, but he dared not take it back. Ferdinand was astounded by Hubert's serious demeanor, paired with such blatant, genuine concern for his well-being. Usually Hubert's care came in the form of snide comments and back-handed compliments. This was… uncharacteristic.

Ferdinand would be lying if he said it didn't unnerve him. But, steeling his resolve, he gave Hubert’s hands a comforting squeeze.

“There is nothing in this world that could stop me from returning to the Empire. Rest assured, Hubert, this isn't the last you'll see of me.”

“Hubert, please, look at me.”

He looked up. But he could not see. His vision was completely clouded, as though they’d been shrouded in the densest fog. 

“You were right. I should have listened to you," Edelgard began, voice quivering. "Oh, Hubert, I am so sorry.” 

He felt the warmth of Lady Edelgard’s embrace around him, her body shaking with the force of her sobs. He hugged her back, burying his face in the crook of her neck. He could not remember the last time he'd broken down like this in front of her. He could not remember the last time he'd broken down like this period.

Edelgard continued whispering desperate apologies to him as they both cried.

Eventually the tears stopped and they sat there, their quiet, ragged breaths the only sounds in the room. They were oddly grounding, in a way.

“Hubert,” Edelgard asked softly, her voice hoarse.

“Yes, Your Majesty?”

He was shocked with the clarity of his own voice despite having just sobbed harder than he had in decades.

“Can you ever forgive me?”

Hubert’s head fell, the smallest hint of a chuckle on his lips. “Oh, Lady Edelgard, there is nothing to forgive.”

“It is my fault-”

Hubert immediately stopped her. “You made the call that you believed was best for the Empire. You mustn't begin to doubt yourself now. Ferdinand surely didn't. And neither do I.”

Hubert looked up, and his heart cracked at the sight of her. Her eyes were red and wet with fresh tears. He hadn’t seen her this broken since… since she'd come back from Those Who Slither in the Dark all those years ago. 

He failed to protect her then. He must protect her now.

“Hubert…” 

“Lady Edelgard, you have spent your whole life fighting for what is right. You inspire all of us to fight with everything we have, to see your vision come to pass. Ferdinand was surely honored to fall fighting for a better future for the people of Fódlan. He would not resent you for this.”

“But what about you, Hubert?” Edelgard asked desperately. “I didn't listen to your concerns, and now, the one you held most dear, he’s…”

Without thinking, Hubert took Edelgard’s face into his hands.

“My Lady, there is not a thing in the world you could do that would make me resent you. He… Ferdinand is not the only one I hold most dear.” 

Edelgard visibly melted in relief, falling back into Hubert's arms as fresh cries tore their way from her lips. Hubert held her tight.

"You sure you want to do this?" Zoe asked, putting on gloves that came from an old hair dye kit. "You can say no, I wouldn't blame you. Cartilage piercings are no joke. And with industrials, you're making two holes it can be a bit brutal."

Gary looked at her opening a piercings kit bought online. He should have said no. He should have backed out and left the trailer all together. That would have been the rational thing to do. 

Gary was well aware of how bad of an idea this was. But he wasn't doing this for rational reasons. He knew why he was here and why he was doing all of this. Besides what's the worst that could happen? He would have to take it out because it's infected and deal with another scar? What's another scar at this point? His body was covered in them it was too late now to be concerned about scarring. 

He nodded, watching her line up her tools on the bathroom counter carefully and set up the needle and jewelry.

" I warn you it's gonna suck to take care of if anything happens let me know." 

"If I can handle surgical scars for months, a piercing I asked for should be fine." 

"Alright, if you say so." 

She grabbed a sharpie and Gary's chin to direct his head for easier access to his left ear. She drew a dot for the entry point and a line to mark where the bar was going to go and exit from.

"We don't want to go too low and put too much pressure on it when you sleep. I don't want to put it too high and risk rejection. You have pretty good anatomy so we have wiggle room." 

Gary tried to visualize the jewelry where her line was with his untrained eye.

 "Looks good to me, let's do this."  He turned back toward her.

"Sweet! Now, I gotta clean the area." She chirped opening the box of Q-tips and cotton swabs.

He was appreciative of her saying that and her gentleness as she carefully dabbed a q-tip saturated in alcohol to his ear in the area of where she was going to pierce. She grabbed the needle with one hand and Gary's ear with the other. 

"Ok, now I want you to take some deep breathes," Zoe stated, in a half-whisper.

Gary took in a deep long inhale of air and with a swift motion Zoe stabbed the needle through the tough cartilage of the tip of his ear. He hissed in stinging pain, his eyes watered but he did his best to keep still.

"Keep breathing, Gary" She gently reminded him sliding the bar into the new holes she had created. Gary tried to force his breathing to slow and remain deep, he tried to pay attention to the cool sensation of air entering his lungs and not the wet stinging pain in his ear. Zoe tightened the balls on the ends of the bar and like that it was all over. 

"You did good! You did even better than Duncan getting his nipples done."