They turn northeast and settle out at altitude, and Tommy flicks a few switches on the instrument panel. Buck observes his actions, referencing his notes from the last time they flew, and calls out the purpose of each control Tommy touches.  

The muted thwump thwump thwump of the chopper blades repeats in the background, and Tommy’s voice comes through his headphones, staticky but comforting in its familiarity. He says something about a mast moment indicator, which Buck doesn’t understand but tucks firmly away into the folder labeled “ask again later”. He can easily picture a long drawn-out dinner conversation where Tommy explains to him the inner workings of the helicopter. One where Tommy’s hands grow animated in his passion and where Buck drinks in every word. They continue on in relative quiet, Tommy speaking to quiz him or give instruction, and Buck can sink into that feeling of contentment he feels radiating off of Tommy as the mountain grows nearer. 

It’s not until he shifts, leaning over Tommy to get a better view of the ground below, that he notices the photo tucked into a corner of the dashboard. The photo is on Tommy’s right, in the perfect spot to not block his view of any of the controls or readouts, but unfortunately obstructed from Buck’s view in the passenger seat by the curve of the instrument panel. It’s an image of him, a candid moment from one of their hikes in Topanga State Park. The trail and brush stretch out behind him, and Buck’s frontlit by the setting sun, skin glowing a warm gold. Tommy caught him mid-laugh, and Buck has on what Maddie has dubbed his “Tommy smile”. He can remember them going through the photos from that date later the next day, Tommy easily proclaiming it his favorite among the many selfies and candid shots of the evening. 

Buck has a favorite photo of his own from that date, one that’s made its way to be his phone’s permanent home screen. It’s Tommy, stopped at the crest of a hill with the ocean visible in the distance behind him. He’s sweaty from the heat of a California summer, eyes closed and face turned towards the sun, basking in the salty ocean breeze. Buck had taken the photo as he’d trailed after his partner, phone held sneakily out in front of him so his boyfriend didn’t notice and immediately grow shy at having a camera pointed at him. He’d snapped the photo and then promptly tripped over a rock, drawing Tommy’s attention and ruining any chance at another candid shot.

He’s drawn out of the memory by a soft “ah!”, Tommy having caught him looking at the photo. His boyfriend gives him a smile that is somehow both shy and sure, able to be simultaneously confident in his affection for Buck and nervous of the reception. “Gotta have my good luck charm with me,” he states, words said so casually that they’re easily presented as fact. Buck grins, smile so wide it hurts his face, and he’s sure that if Chim were present he’d be making fun of Buck for the obvious heart-eyes he must have. He doesn’t mind, though, because Tommy’s answering grin is just as fond. 

“You should rest,” he mumbled, “I'll come back to check on you in a bit.”

The witcher hummed and Milva heard shuffling as Jaskier rose from the ground. He breezed straight past her as he left, either unaware or uncaring of her presence. Curiosity got the better of her and she followed close behind.

“Who's Rience?” she asked as she matched pace beside him. He didn't answer at first, heading away from the settlement. She followed in silence.

“He's a mage.” She almost jumped, she was starting to suspect he wouldn't answer at all. “With a penchant for fire.”

He stopped then and turned to face her. She studied him carefully. He refused to look her in the eye, he looked at almost anything but her. He worried at his fingers, a habit that she had noticed since he got here. He seemed to curl in on himself slightly. There was more to this than that.

“He hurt you?” she guessed.

Jaskier pursed his lips and looked down at his hands. And then he sighed and sat down on a log.

“He wanted information,” he began slowly, “information that I didn't have. But he wouldn't take no for an answer.”

Milva frowned, considering his words.

“He tortured you,” she said as she sat down opposite him. The bard gave a short nod towards the ground. They both descended into silence. She didn't know what to say to that. Something soft. Reassuring. Something like, 'it wasn't your fault' or 'it's going to be okay. They were not words that she could say because she knew that they were not true.

A small child with a bow in her hand who only ever wanted to please her father.

“Life's unfair like that,” she settled on instead, “the world is harsh.”

The bard chewed his lip, thinking over what she had said.

“You're right,” he replied softly, “but forgive me for wanting to believe otherwise.”

She hated him for that. She envied him. To still feel like there was good in this world, that things would work out for you in the end. She wanted to dismiss the thought outright. Call him foolish for entertaining the idea even after what he had been through. What his friend had been through. It was unfair. Unjust. Cruel. And that's the way it has always been. Will always be. The only thing to do was to harden yourself to it. If you saw it coming, it wouldn't hurt so much when it arrived. Yet he, who could worm his way even into Brokilon, who talks and sings incessantly, who has little regard for anyone but himself. He is allowed to think different. That, she decided, was what was truly unfair.

As they sat together, away from everyone else, she allowed herself a moment to feel the weight of it, just as he felt the weight of his own burdens. There was something different about him here. Like she was able to glimpse behind the mask, see the man that was underneath. If it was a facade he had, it was a solid one. But then, was she any different. He looked as though he had more to say, a crease forming on his brow, lips parted slightly.

“I thought-” Jaskier cut himself off and frowned. She waited silently for him to continue. “I thought it would be better when he was dead. I thought I would feel...happier. But I just feel the same.”

Her stepfather on the ground, spitting blood. The rage that had built up inside of her cooling in an instant. She gave him a few kicks and ran.

“If only it were that simple,” she uttered, almost under her breath, but the bard heard it anyway. The way he looked at her made her uncomfortable. It was like he could really see her. She had his full undivided attention, his sympathy, his understanding. She didn't like it. It was too personal. A part of her wished he would go back to being the idiot she had let into the forest so that she had an excuse to yell at him again. Eventually his eyes slipped away from her and she let out a breath. He seemed lost in thought. The air around them, though heavy, was peaceful and so she dared not disturb it by asking what was on his mind. It wouldn't have took much to guess anyway.

She followed his line of sight down to his hands, where he was rubbing his thumb across his fingers. Back and forth, back and forth. It was then that she finally noticed what he was doing. It was faint, but from this close, she could see the scarring. He worried at it rhythmically, soothingly. She couldn't help but lean forward to get a better look. Milva had been around long enough to recognise the tightness of the skin, the change in tone. They were burns. He pulled his hand back suddenly. She looked up to find him staring back at her. He looked as though he'd been caught, though she couldn't understand why. He opened and closed his mouth a few times and then stood abruptly.

“I should check on geralt.”

He made to leave. She reached her arm out to stop him.

“The waters,” she explained, nodding towards the scars, “they can heal you too.”

“Oh,” he smiled, the mask was firmly back in place, “don't waste it on an old fool like me.”

A small, desert planet. Relatively close to Terran Standard Hours, but not quite. Mostly empty, save for an early settlement or two, and a few camps. Temperate for most of the year, despite its ecology. Might not even need terraforming to grow plants. The main issue was the wildlife. But those were all facts for planetary settlers to worry about.

The planet’s gravity was what one was focused on today. It was slightly heavier than something like earth. Not enough to affect day to day life, for the most part.

But it was enough to affect the trajectory of a bullet. 

Bang. “Shit-!”

Nothing new to an interplanetary bounty hunter, however. Just some slight calibrations, that was all that was needed.  Raise the scope by a few micrometers. 

Bang.

Increase power to the chamber. 

Bang.

A few more micrometers, accounting for the heavier rounds.

Bang.

Steep walls around the camp, nestled in a ravine. Account for tailwind.

Bang.

A stomach flat on the ground. Low. Shields charged, just in case. Comfortable, laying next to a neat stack of fresh mags. The boxy magazines were heavy enough you could kill someone just by hitting them with it. The bullets were large, and each mag held two dozen. Quick kills, long distance, armor piercing. Perhaps a bit expensive to be shooting at common pirates, but everyone would get one. She made sure she brought enough to share with the whole class.

Two pirates stood nestled behind a rock, cowering from the shooting range their camp had turned into, rifles at the ready. Others were ducked tightly, hugging the ground around the camp as they found cover, while the unlucky ones littered the killbox. The armored ones had holes blown in their chest pieces. The more fragile ones had limb scattered about, a few heads that simply vanished.

“The fuck are you lot waitin’ for?!” The big one yelled from across the way, voice gravely and slightly distorted by a low quality speaker in his helmet. He was bulky, armored, with two sets of arms- clearly the leader, or the closest thing the pirates had to one left. “Get out there or-!”

“All due respect, hoss,” another called, human, frontier accent, “that ain’t happenin’.”

“It’s one hunter!” He bellowed in return towards his uppity accomplice. “One human-! They can’t kill us all!”

“True enough, everyone willin’ to gamble their heads in that open sightline, say aye!” He gave a snarky, shiteating grin as he glanced around at the sheer reluctance that permeated the camp. “... sounds like the crowd has spoken. God bless democracy.”

“Shut up, scragfuck-!”

Bang.

Everyone flinched, and one fell to the ground in a panic, nearly dropping his weapon as the bullet pierced his cover and impacted the dirt next to him.

“It was your idea to set up camp here, ‘hoss’.”  The big one growled, hunkering down as much as his frame and joints would allow.

“... that it were, that it were indeed.” He admitted, sucking in a reluctant breath of air. “I said it would be defensible, and… well, it is, but…”

“But, our gods damned camp is getting slaughtered by one sniper because there’s no scragfucking cover!”

“I am acutely aware, hoss-”

“Well then come up with a solution, ‘deputy’-!”

“I am working on it, scragshit-!”

Bang. “Fuck-!” The deep, bassy explosion of the bullet exiting the barrel once again shook the nerves of everyone in camp, this time managing to pierce the steel wall one was hiding behind, going limp from their prior crouched position.

He took a breath.

He looked around at everyone at camp, all the crouched figures, the one standing next to him, and all the bodies. He raised his gun around the rocky corner, slowly deliberately, and tossed it to the ground.

A moment of silence later, and he stepped out from his cover, hands up.

“What are you doing-?!” The boss whispered, gripping his weapon.

“Shh-!” He stepped forward, towards the mouth of the ravine. Bang. Everyone flinched, but no-one flinched quite as hard as the deputy, tripping over his own two feet and landing on his ass as the bullet landed mere inches from his foot. “Fuck-!”

“Not one step closer, ‘hoss’.” The voice on the other end of the scope called, voice modulated slightly and boosted moderately by the high quality speaker in her suit.

“I ain’t armed! See?” He gestured to the rifle on the ground, slowly accumulating desert dust as he slowly made his way to his feet, hands still in the air. “They pay more for alive than dead, don’t they? Like in the movies?” He forced a lighthearted chuckle, halfway between a smile and a wince.

“We may be in a desert, and you might be dressed like a cowboy, but this isn’t a western.” Ariis retorted, unmoving.

“Look- we… we got a lot of money back here!” He loosened his posture slightly, shrugging. “I’m just saying! We could pay ya a lot more than whatever those hick colonists are payin’ ya!”

“And you’ll shoot me in the back when I come to collect. Or you’ll try to, anyway. Cute.”

“No- ma’am, you have my word, on my gentlemanly honor,” he placed a hand on his chest, and one in the air, “no harm shall come to you, if you deliver no more harm unto us. You can take the money and go.”

“Is that even your real accent?”

His voice hitched a bit, stammering quietly and briefly. “I… y-yeah? ‘Course it is-”

“Oh, so you’re just leaning into the bit, then?”

“Well, I… I-I-I have a reputation to uphold, y’see.”

“I am aware.” She shot, coldly, finger menacingly depressing the trigger slightly, despite no living thing being close enough to witness the threat. “People pay a lot for reputations, ‘y’see’.”

He swallowed a ball of fear, glancing towards the sweet embrace of the rock he was previously hunkered behind.

“Unfortunately for you and your gang, your reputation is the sort that gets me paid just as good dead as alive, because they’re gonna kill you anyway.”

“... w-why uh… haven’t ya shot me, then?”

She shrugged invisibly, not disturbing her firing stance. “Curiosity, mostly.”

“... w-well… if it makes a lick a’ difference, uh… i-it ain’t my gang-”

“Semantics.” She sucked in air, holding it in her lungs.  “... and semantics isn’t my line of work.” Bang.

A shot through the heart, left arm ripped violently from its socket and flying halfway across the ravine. Dead, instantly.

Exhale.

“This is an odd job, boys.” She called from her perch, smiling under her helmet. “You know what that means? That means I don’t have anywhere better to be. Go ahead. If anyone else wants to be a hero or a smartass, then step forward.”

The stand off continued well into the night. It wasn’t until the sun broke the horizon that the last of them were dead. A few more bullets spent than she’d like, but such is life. Nobody’s perfect.

She took a few souvenirs, just things to show to the client to prove the job was done, and collect her reward. A shootout with some hick gang on a backwater planet… a far cry from the diplomatic assassination from months ago. But there always had to be smaller jobs like this when things got slow, to break up the monotony.

“And they’re all dead?” The representative questioned, looking the hunter up and down.

“Yes, I wouldn’t be back if they weren’t.” Ariis snapped, arms crossed as her attitude was growing increasingly cross. “I did all the paperwork. You can either give me my money, or I can file a complaint with my handler.”

“That- that won’t be necessary, miss Sol-” They coughed awkwardly, and started to fidget with a tablet. “The money will be in your account before you go offworld. Thank you for your service.”

She just wordlessly stepped out. Funny how she always felt more at home staring down a kill zone through a scope in a dusty ravine than in a clean office filing paperwork. Bureaucracy scared her more than any mark.

She was about to hop in her ship after that, at least until she saw a familiar ‘face’ lumbering his way up to her at the shipyard.

“Wait… is that-?”

[There she is.] The voice was deep, heavily modulated and very low quality, using an old speaker to broadcast an ancient translator in a patchwork junker of an environment suit. A juggernaut of a sentient, various multicolored tubes sticking out of and snaking into various ports.

“Uncle Guz!” She called, stepping back down from her ship’s side and towards him, meeting him halfway up the landing pad. “It’s been too long, what are you doing in this backwater?”

[Looking for you, actually.] He muttered, face hidden behind the emotionless, multi eyed faceplate of his env suit.

“For me?” She parroted skeptically. “... I’m guessing it’s not just to say hi.”

[Smart girl.] He handed a tablet off to her, staying silent for a moment as she browsed its contents. [Wanted to take you along for a jank. Gib. J-] Guz smacked the side of his helmet, a reverberating clang startling the technicians, but not Ariis. [Job.]

She just let out a sigh. “... this isn’t a salvage job.”

[Salvaging isn’t my only culling. Calling.] A very muffled, bubbly groan that wasn’t picked up by the translator barely managed to make its way out of the suit. He was going to need to replace that translator eventually.

“I know.” She handed the tablet back off, the giant shuffling it back into a pack at his side. “But still, was hoping we were going to get drinks or something.”

[Maybe after, toddler.] Another barely audible groan.

“Yeah, that nickname never translates well, even with the new ones.” She chuckled lightly. “Still, I just got done clearing pirates, and now I’m getting dragged along to kill more…”

[No-one is dragging you along.]

“I know, but that doesn’t mean I’m not coming.” She tilted her head slightly. “You wanna take my ship? It’s faster.

[No. Too quiet. If a ship’s too quiet-]

“-then something’s broken, I know.” She sighed. “You’re attached to your junker.”

[Gertrude just has character.]

“A spaceship has as much character as you give it.” She turned on her heel, heading back towards her own spaceship. “See you there, then. Don’t break down on the way.”

[No promises.] Despite the monotone of the translator, she could feel the sarcasm as he turned and started to board his own characteristically boxy, patchwork ship. Compared to hers, it looked like a brick. That was part of its charm, though. Always was.

Dimitri woke to an empty bed, which led him to the conclusion that something had happened to Maria.

Dimitri got up, looking around, eyes adjusting to the darkness before they locked onto someone.

It was his wife ,Maria, standing by the window, illuminated by the moonlight, sobbing.

It didn’t take Dimitri long to get out of bed and approach his wife, wrapping his arms around her shoulders.

“My beloved..what has you up this late? Why are you crying?”

Maria looked up, eyes red from the amount of tears she had shed.

“Dimitri?...I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. You..you weren’t in bed..a-and as I tried to sleep..I had a horrible dream.”

The woman wiped her eyes before continuing on.

“It..it was..I had dreamt that I was amidst a raging conflict, and I could not find you, it..it felt so real, ‘Mitri, like the war that has just ended, and I wondered what had happened to you, and in that moment, I…I found you..you..you were..”

Maria was brought to tears once again, and Dimitri’s embrace got tighter as she continued to sob.

“It’s alright my love, it was only a bad dream..”

He let go of Maria, turning to face her, and pressed his forehead against hers.

“I’m here. I’m alright, Maria. Now come back to bed, you need rest, my love.”

Dimitri takes her by the hand, leading her back to their shared bed.

“Thank you, dear..” Maria said as she sat down on the side of the bed.

“ There’s no need to thank me, it is simply in my job as your husband to care for you in times like this.” Maria eventually laid down on the bed, shuffling closer to Dimitri.

Dimitri smiled, wrapping his arms around her in a gentle, but firm embrace.

“Goodnight, my beloved.” He said as he gently kissed the top of her head.

In that moment, Maria realized that she wouldn’t have to handle things alone anymore. She had someone who would be there for her, someone who loved her.

And for the first time since she was woken up by that horrible dream, she shut her eyes.