#gunslinger hunter

She chuckles softly, winding her arms around his waist from behind to give him a tight hug. Her arms clasp around his torso, her head settling against the cool metal plating over his spine. He’s continued his commentary but his hand has closed over hers, trailing his thumb over the rough leather. She closes her eyes, letting his voice reverberate through her, fixating on the simple comfort of his presence and his touch.

The comm cuts out and he looks over his shoulder as best he can, "How was the mission?"

She gives no response beyond a squeeze to his waist.

"One of those, I see. Are you able to stay the night?" He squeezes her hand for an instant, resuming his thumb’s slow track back and forth over a seam along the side of her glove. It's a fragment of the comfort she was hoping for but she'll take what she can get while he's occupied with the Crucible.

Any contact is good contact at this point.

"Commander Zavala won't have another assignment until tomorrow." She manages softly, pressing closer with a squeeze.

"Excellent! I've been meaning to--" a blip from the console to his right snags his attention and he sighs, "Hold on."

She stifles a smile as she releases him. Her hands fold in front of her as she watches him step over to another console, "Five minutes left. Crush them." He shuts off the comm with a sigh, "If you can aim, that is."

"I can come back," the Young Wolf offers as Shaxx drops into his chair.

"No, I--" he heaves a heavy sigh, "As much as I'd like to give you my undivided attention--"

She pats his shoulder as a show of reassurance, her eyes flickering over the monitors with intrigue.

"Thank you," he casts a look up toward her but she does not return it. She does let him take her hand though, lets him entwine their fingers and hold them against his chest.

"How are the rookies looking?" Ghost asks as the Guardian shifts to lean over the Crucible Handler's chair from behind. Her arms wrap around his neck, her head hovering beside his own.

"As if  they're more likely to burn down the arena before managing to hit one of their opponents," Shaxx sighs, tilting his head to rest it against hers. "It's tedious."

"You could always intervene." She suggests with a playful lilt.

"Hm," he reaches up, trailing a finger along the underside of her chin, "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"I always enjoy seeing you in action," she returns smugly.

"Flattery will get you nowhere, dearest."

She chuckles softly, adjusting her arms around his neck to act as more of a hug rather than a means of support. She doesn't need to answer. Shaxx knows exactly what that means.

It's why he gently breaks her hold around his neck and guides her around the chair by her hand. It’s why he tugs her into his lap, her thighs framing his hips. Why he lets her keep one of his hands hostage as she gets comfortable against his chest.

"This does make it difficult to call the match," he points out.

"Just send them to run some drills. They look like they could use it," Ghost gazes down at the monitor with a hint of amusement, "Their Ghosts must be embarrassed."

A hearty laugh rumbles from the Warlord, "Some aren't nearly as adept at combat as your Guardian, Ghost."

"I got the best one," he beams in response, zipping to the Young Wolf. 

She pats his shell gently but doesn't lift her head from Shaxx's chest as the Little Light transmats away for the time being. She's far too comfortable with his arm wrapped around her and her hand entwined with his. The weight of the mission ebbs from her mind as her eyes sag shut, cuddling closer to Shaxx’s neck wrap and basking in the warmth beneath her cheek.

She is where she wants to be - in his arms, the closest sensation she knows to what she feels home would be like.

Unfortunately, they are not without their distractions. There’s an explosion from the monitor near her head and Shaxx heaves a heavy sigh.

"I've seen enough. I'm calling it." He gently pries his hand from her own, something she allows with no small traces of annoyance while he reaches for the commlink, "There are four of you! You all have guns! I don't understand how this happened but you're going to learn to use them properly!"

She laughs softly then, lifting her head to look at him but his sharp eyes are already fixated on her features, the ‘link deactivated without a second glance in its direction. Her breath hitches despite his visor veiling the intensity of his gaze but she is keenly aware of his hand beginning to trail along her bicep.

"I hope you're comfortable." He tilts his head, his voice soft yet firm.

She mirrors the action but her brows draw together curiously as if to ask what he means by that.

"If you get up now, I may have to go scold some sense into those rookies."

She reaches up, cradling the edge of his helmet gently, "Guess I'm not moving then."

"So you aren't." He sighs, cupping her hand. "Your timing is always impeccable, Guardian."

There's a mischievous glint in her eyes as she traces her thumb back and forth over what would be his jawline. It only lasts a moment or two before Shaxx grows impatient for the contact. He pulls her hand away just long enough to tug his helmet off, depositing it on the desk before firmly reclaiming her hand and holding it to his jaw.

The contact instantly soothes away the irritated crinkles along his brow. She enjoys the way his eyes sag shut, the way his head angles into the contact as his chest rises for a deep breath. His slow exhale is warm against the exposed skin along her wrist and Shaxx’s thumb lifts the edge of her glove to grant him better access for a soft kiss.

She wills her voice to remain steady as she speaks, "Better?" She manages to crack a smile, her spine straightening as Shaxx kisses her wrist a second time.

"Much, actually," he returns matter of factly, opening his eyes to meet her gaze.

The tension lingers for an instant before the Guardian leans in and Shaxx kisses her, taking his time with each caress. There’s a firmness to his grip, a gentle yet eager grapple at her waist that eases her frame entirely against his own. A manner that allows the Hunter to melt into his touch, let him guide her head to an angle that deepens the kiss.

“I missed you,” she murmurs softly, fingertips tracing along his jawline.

He echoes the sentiment with a harsher kiss, squeezing her hand as tightly as he dares. Shaxx’s office - the world itself - ebbs around them for an instant. Solar sparks against Arc, soothing the ache in her chest until it’s all but nonexistent.

It’s only when the monitor blares with the ending of a match that Shaxx is reluctant to draw back. He squeezes her hand again before reaching for the console. She’s astonished how quickly he gathers himself, how rapidly his mind wraps around the statistics and he hits the commlink with a voice as calm and so very him. It booms above her, the vibrations echoing beneath her temple.

“Zones controlled. Targets eliminated. Nice work.” He shuts off the commlink and her head tilts up as he settles back in his seat. He tucks her hair back, smiling down at her warmly, “What are you staring at?”

She tries a smile as she holds his gaze, but it comes more dazed than she intends, “How do you do that?” Emerald drifts over his features with a sort of admiration, fingers binding themselves around his own as she holds his hand to her cheek.

“Do what, dearest?” He arches a brow curiously, his voice far softer than it had been a minute prior. She loves both; the vibrance - the life - in his voice when he’s enraptured in a match and the tender ease when he speaks to her. An intricate balance that both emboldens and soothes her.

“Switch as if…” she trails off, blinking for a moment before shaking her head, “Never mind.”

“Finish your thought,” he coaxes, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead.

Her cheeks flush a subtle rose as her eyes drop to his chest, “From…this to Crucible Handler so quickly. I could hardly think after that, but you–”

“Forced practice,” he chuckles softly, “you recall how many times you’ve snuck in here.” She smiles sheepishly, “I still need to do my job, Guardian.”

She snorts, lifting her head, “Am I that much of a distraction, Lord Shaxx?”

“We both know the answer to that, my dearest. Don’t pretend you aren’t aware of it.” His eyes are alight with amusement and in that moment, she believes every word.

It emboldens her to move, shifting to a more upright position. The corners of her lips tug upward in a smirk as she gazes down at him and cradles his face with a playful arch of her brow, “Why don’t you show me just how well you can manage this distraction, Lord Shaxx?”

“With pleasure.”

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How long had it been since she's been home?

He strides toward her and he swears it's relief that washes over her frame. She moves - albeit slower - toward him. She must be exhausted. All the more reason for Shaxx to scoop her up in his arms, her smaller frame weighing next to nothing for the Titan.

"Welcome home, Guardian," he says softly, clinking his helmet gently against hers.

Her only response is wrapping her arm around his neck and clinging to him. It's then that he realizes her Ghost had transmatted the weapon from her back and he is grateful for its foresight.

Over her head, Shaxx notes the nod of approval from Holliday, a genuine smile tugging at the corner of her mouth before she turns and sets to work on identifying which part of the list Ghost had given her warranted the most attention.

"Time for bed, I think," he chuckles and he can see more than feel the shift of her hood against his chin. She'd nodded, of that he is certain. Sometimes he wishes she'd speak, utter a single word of confirmation here and there. But he understands why she doesn't. Ever since Cayde-6, she...well, words are sparse. He does miss the sound of her voice - it's been so long since he's heard it. Even before Cayde's death, she hadn't spoken often, but it was often enough when they were alone.

Many things have changed since then, the Young Wolf, especially.

But there is a constant in all of this. Something he has no doubts of even after all this time. Something he clings to: her feelings for him. They are apparent in every interaction; every touch, every kiss, she cares for him deeply and that is all the Titan requires. He can survive without her words because her actions, her touch, every subtle movement of her lean frame tells him the same: she loves him and that has not changed.

It doesn't take long before he's carried her back to his quarters, setting her down and she gives him an appreciative pat on the chest. He watches her move off to go shower away the spore residue and Hive fluid while the Titan gets changed for bed. His helmet is set on the desk in the corner of the room before shutting off the light and sliding beneath the blankets just as the water shuts off.

He listens to the rustling from the bathroom before the door slides open and he looks over. With the moonlight streaming into the room, he can make out an oversized tshirt - that is no doubt from his top drawer - hanging over her frame like dress. His eyes follow her as she deposits her helmet beside his on the desk. Her back is to him and yet, he can see her head is turned toward the window that faces the hanger.

He knows where her thoughts lie on nights like these. Post-missions are always the most difficult. She'd grown used to giving reports directly to Cayde. They'd been close friends after all, and dare the Titan suggest, like family. Without him, there's a void in her heart, like a key piece of who she'd been is gone.

But then again, she tries to suppress it. Tries to power through because it's what he would've wanted. There's so much Shaxx wishes she'd tell him, starting with what it is he can do to ease that ache. Vengeance had only done so much - in fact, the only time the Warlord had been even remotely wary of the Young Wolf was the night she brought Cayde's body back to the Tower.

The chasm in her eyes, the silent determination. It wasn't the Young Wolf he'd fallen in love with and what came back still has a tendency to toe that darkened line. But she holds on, if not for him, then for Cayde.

It's then that he realizes how long it's been. A matter of minutes at most, but it feels like an eternity. At last, he finds his words, lifting the blankets as he does so. "Come to bed, dearest."

She jolts as if he'd broken a trance and she pivots. Soft rays of moonlight cast across her features and the sadness she's trying so damned hard to conceal glints in emerald eyes.

"Come on," he beckons softly and she shuffles slowly across the small room toward the bed. Usually it's only a few strides and she's there but there's a reluctance to her gait. Slow and measured and meandering all at once.

It's unlike her.

Perhaps some discussion of her mission will calm her, give her the sense of giving a report to someone she trusts deeply without actually having to do so. Or perhaps it will simply give him some insight into what jarred her on that mission.

"Your ship looks to have been damaged." He begins awkwardly, his eyes watching her every movement.

She manages a slight shrug and a vague gesture of the hand to signify dismissal.

"I suppose it was a wreckage, that's to be expected."

She nods her agreement as she climbs onto the massive mattress and slips beneath the covers he'd held up for her. But she doesn't move close to him like she usually does, just lays on her back, eyes trained on the ceiling above her.

What had gone through her mind in that shower that caused such a stark contrast from the hanger?

Lord Shaxx lays down beside her, resting on his side. "What are you thinking about?"

She shrugs again, tugging the blankets up to her chin.

"You can talk to me, my little Hunter. I'm right here," he props himself up on his elbow, studying her intently.

She appears to hesitate, take a deep breath as her eyes flicker to and fro on the ceiling before she can finally find the words.

"Found the Guardian onboard. Torn to pieces, strung up." She says softly.

"That must have been a gruesome sight." He rests his hand over her forearm beneath the blankets. He can feel the tremor of her muscles beneath his fingers, feel the subtle flare of solar energy cascading against calloused skin. She's barely keeping it together and now he needs to know why.

She nods after a moment.

"...there was something else, wasn't there?" He pries softly.

She shakes her head, gathering herself to speak. "No, just - I was too late. Always too late, Shaxx. I couldn't save him like I couldn't save--" she trails off and he can see the tears gathering at the corners of her eyes.

So, there was more to it.

He shifts closer, slowly leaning his head down to press a kiss to her forehead, "I know. I know it feels that way. But you made it in time to save Osiris and Crow. You aren't always too late--"

She looks up at him for the first time. She doesn't believe a word he's just said, he can see it in her eyes. But there's something else, relief, perhaps? Appreciation? No. It's tired but acknowledging all at once. She gets his point but doesn't believe it in that moment.

It's a look he rarely sees, especially from her.

There is nothing he can say to correct that voice in her head - nothing she'll believe anyway. So, he settles for the only thing he knows will bring her comfort: cuddles.

He gathers her against him; strong, solid arms wound tight around her small frame as he holds her close. "It'll be alright," he assures her softly and she clings to him. He can feel her nails digging into his shoulders, the pain dull but there - he doesn't say anything. She breaks down and still, he holds her. Waves of solar energy cascade in soft waves against his frame and still, he holds her.

What she saw took her back to that fateful day in the Prison of Elders. Of that, he is certain. The powerless feeling must have been overwhelming and he wonders for a moment if the slow gait in the hanger hadn't been exhaustion, but grief. Now that he thinks back, she had seemed to stare past Holliday, not responding when the mechanic had looked toward her.

It doesn't matter now.

She's begun to drift off in his arms, sniffling softly as her forehead rests against his chest and there is no Light washing over him. Sleep will do her good, just as those tears had done the same. She's a long way from recovering entirely, but this is a step. She's reopened an old wound and perhaps - perhaps this time she'll face those demons rather than suppress them.

Perhaps she'll speak again, maybe even smile that playful grin he hasn't seen in three years. He can hope but he knows one thing with absolute certainty: he will be at her side through all of this.

The Crucible doesn't have time to consider loss. The only way is forward. But, perhaps, just this one time - loss must be the focus.

For her sake.

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She's afraid he won't regain consciousness. His Ghost has stuck close to his side, doing her best to monitor his condition but it doesn't put the Young Wolf's mind at ease. She stands and paces away to the window, scanning the streets for Cabal.

They're empty - just like the last seventeen times she's checked. It's a distraction at best, a way to pool that anxious energy into something. She doesn't want to think, to consider the ramifications of the loss of their Light - what it means for Lord Shaxx if he can't recover on his own. Her gaze flits over her shoulder to his slumped form against the wall, his head tilted down and to the left just as she'd left him hours prior and her chest constricts.

He has to wake up.

She pushes off the wall and makes her way over to him on aching legs. She winces as she eases down onto his lap and stares into his helmet almost expectantly. He doesn't move, doesn't flinch, doesn't offer so much as a singular grunt of pain as the palm of her hand cradles the side of his helmet, lifting and tilting his head to a more upright position.

Wake up. She pleads wordlessly, pressing her helmet against his. Please.

She half expects him to grip her waist and tug her against his chest like he always does. But he doesn't move. His hands lay motionless at his sides and her hands ball into fists around the collar of his neck wrap even as his head sags back down.

Wake up, Shaxx! The words are trapped in her throat, a violent desperation contained beyond lips that cannot speak as she drags him forward and shoves his limp form against the wall with all her strength as if to jolt him from his slumber. I need you. She sags against him, burying her helmet against the crook of his neck as silent tears trail and pool into the neckline of her shirt.

"Perhaps you should rest?" Ghost offers softly, "We can keep an eye on Lord Shaxx while you sleep. I'll wake you if anything changes."

Her little Light is terrified of losing her. She can hear it in the subtle tremor in his voice - a very real and tangible reality given the circumstances. Seeing Shaxx like this, seeing his Ghost try not to fret as she scans him again for improvements - she knows how much her own Ghost is trying to avoid that same train of thought

And she relents.

She slides off the Warlord's lap and slumps onto the floor beside him. She takes his hand in hers and holds it in her lap as she leans against his shoulder.  She's tired. More so than she'd realized as she finally lets her eyes sag shut. His frame is warm and solid beside her, soothing in it's own right but she'd give anything to hear a soft snore or groan - anything to tell her he's alive and beside her. But he remains motionless, breathing and wheezing barely audible beside her and it's all she can cling to.

Wake up.

She lifts his arm carefully, sliding beneath the weighted appendage and curls up beside him. It's cold. Perhaps he's cold too? She shifts away ever so slightly, undoing her cloak and shakes it out, dust and dirt filling the air before she drapes it over them.

Now he should be warmer. She lifts his arm again, holding it around her shoulder as she leans against his chest, her cloak barely a barrier between the night chill but she tells herself it's enough - it has to be enough. If she still had her Light, she'd allow it to flare to a soft thrum, warm them both instantaneously.

And how she longs to be warm.

His breathing is rhythmic, catching periodically on what she can only assume is dust he inhaled during the collapse. But she needs more than that as her head rests above his heart and she listens. Faint yet strong - he's alive.

She sags against him in relief, fixating on the steady beating of his heart as it lulls her to sleep.

The next time she opens her eyes, Ghost is ramming against her shoulder repeatedly and it hurts. For the first time, she regrets giving him such a pointy shell and she lifts her head.

"Wake up, Guardian!"

She waves at him and he floats back as she leans forward, Shaxx's arm falling from her shoulder. She blinks away her exhaustion and tilts her head as the Ghost begins to ramble, her mind only registering the tail end of his panicked words.

"--there's movement outside. It sounds like it's getting closer."

Those two sentences send her into a fully alert state. She grabs her gun, darting to the window to peer outside. There's a Cabal patrol moving down the street. They're still far enough that they don't pose an immediate threat but if there are any sounds--

"What's going on out there? Talk to me Guardian."

His voice startles her and she nearly pulls the trigger on her gun from behind the scope. Her eyes dart back to him, the towering Titan slowly trying to get to his feet. Her gaze shifts to the approaching patrol and she scrambles over to him, landing on his lap in her panic, forcing him back down onto the ground.

"Guardian--"

Her hand clamps over where his mouth would be beneath his helmet and she shakes her head, holding a finger up in a silencing gesture. Her head turns back toward the window, straining to listen as the Warlord sags back against the wall. They stay there for what feels like an eternity, chest plate to chest plate, breathing in tandem before the footsteps fade and silence settles over them once more. Her shoulders sag in relief as her head drops to his shoulder, the soft padding of fur silencing any metallic clink.

He must be able to sense how tired she is. His arms encircle her and tug her forward into a firm embrace. She'd be lying if she said it wasn't what she needed the most right now. Her fingers curl around the edge of his chest plate and she melts against him, clinging to him as if he were life itself.

He's alive.

She can breathe again.

"I'm glad you're alright." He whispers, squeezing her as much as he can manage.

"We could say the same about you," Ghost supplies even as she presses closer, eyes squeezed shut beneath her helmet visor. "You gave us quite the scare there for awhile."

"It's alright now."

She pulls away slightly to look at him before lightly smacking his chest and he barely flinches - more so from surprise than from pain.

"I think I speak for both of us when I say: Don't ever do that to us again." Ghost chuckles softly.

Shaxx looks from the hovering Little Light to the Hunter staring up at him, "I believe you're right, little Ghost." His large hand gently cradles the indented edges of her helmet along her cheek, "You have my word, Guardian."

She inclines her head into his touch, closing her eyes as her own hand lifts to cradle his. Everything aches, even her heart in that moment. He's alright. He's alive. He's right here and yet? Her heart aches for him. Her fingers slip around his, gently pulling his hand away from her helmet so she can lean against him once more but she doesn't release his hand, merely grips it tightly as if he'll slip through her fingers again.

It doesn't seem to bother him. He rubs her back with his other hand for a long few minutes, bathed in peaceful silence and moonlight.

"Why aren't you wearing your cloak?" He asks abruptly, noting the large piece of cloth draped over him.

"You looked cold, she decided you needed it more." Ghost supplies while the Hunter remains comfortable against Lord Shaxx's chest.

He chuckles softly, a sound that eases the ache in her chest, "I appreciate that, Guardian."

"You two should rest," her Ghost suggests, "We can keep watch for awhile. We'll need to get moving at first light."

"Very well." Shaxx's eyes fall to the Hunter in his lap, no doubt very aware of how tightly she's clinging to him. By all rights, she should be ashamed, but nearly losing him is excuse enough to justify the vice grip on his fingers. "Sleep well, Guardian."

She snuggles a little closer in response before she drifts off in his arms, lulled by the steady beating of his heart and the calm, soothing rumble in his chest when he speaks.

I've got you, my little Hunter.

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Chapter 2 (Dire Need)

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