#sendaxus

Half an hour into the repair job, an all-too-familiar shadow fell across Haxus’s workbench, blocking the overhead light on the opposite side and casting the interior of Sendak’s prosthetic— disassembled so he could get at a damaged support struts inside the forearm— into truer darkness. He rolled his eyes, ears twitching, and pointed to the handheld blowtorch on the far side, just enough out of his reach to be irritating, without looking up at the source of the shadow.

“If you’re going to block my light, the least you can do is help me repair your arm,” he said dryly.

Sendak chuckled, his voice soft and still a little hoarse from his shouting earlier. The bench on the far side scraped across the workroom’s floor a moment later, and the shadow dipped out of his way as Sendak seated himself. The fabric of his undersuit shuffled, and his hand moved into Haxus’s field of vision, holding the requested blowtorch— and a pair of replacements for the electrode. Haxus nodded and set aside the pliers he’d been using to pull the wiring away from the break, reaching up to take the tools from him, this time glancing up to meet Sendak’s gaze.

He’d come out of the fighting surprisingly well, all things considered. A set of gauze pads covered shrapnel scrapes over the left side of Sendak’s face, and another one was visible through the open neck of his suit.

“Good boy,” Haxus said, just for the pleasure of watching his cheeks and ears flush blue. “I see they let you out of the infirmary. How badly did you terrorize the medics this time, love?”

“I didn’t,” Sendak huffed, ears flattening— not seriously— but he turned his face towards the table to obscure it regardless. “There were…enough other wounded that my injuries are lower priorities, though I’m expected back in a few vargas.”

Haxus hissed at that— he hadn’t accompanied the strike team that had hit the pirate base, but for the wait to be several vargas long spoke volumes— and he shot Sendak another look as he settled a little further out of the light. “And did they say you were low priority, or did you decide that, as commander, your injuries should be tended last?”

“Thanks to your work, more of the former,” Sendak said warmly. Haxus hummed, turning his gaze back to the prosthetic, and began to set up the torch. “Some minor shrapnel wounds— they had explosives planted down the main access hall, triggered by pressure plates set to Galra weights. The kite-shield you set up for me spared us most of the blast.”

“Good to hear,” Haxus replied, fitted the electrode into place, and reached across the table for Sendak’s hand.

Sendak let him, lacing their fingers together and squeezing gently. His hand was warm, as usual, a comfort in the cool, cycled air of the workshop.

Haxus squeezed back, then shifted the torch in his free hand and set to work on the damaged supports. The percussive force of the explosive had fractured both of the forearm’s main support beams— the one analogous to the ulna had split nearly in two near where the styloid process would be on an organic forearm, while the radius had fractured down its length. The arm Sendak was born with would have been destroyed by the force it took to crack both of them.

Had, in fact, been destroyed by similar forces almost thirty cycles ago, Haxus thought, glancing up at Sendak through his lashes. His partner’s gaze was directed towards the prosthetic between them, but one ear flicked up towards Haxus, as if Sendak had sensed his stare. He squeezed Sendak’s hand again, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as Sendak’s grip tightened in return.

It didn’t matter anymore. He could ensure, now, that Sendak would never weather such injuries again.

“...So, how badly did I wreck it this time?” Sendak asked, breaking the quiet between them. There was the tentative start of a laugh in his tone, and Haxus let himself chuckle in return.

“Well, you’ve certainly mangled my work more seriously before, but not by much,” he drawled, glancing up at Sendak a moment, then returned his attention to the arm to finish the weld on the ulna. “The hard-light capacitors on the shield generator are fried and will need to be replaced entirely, and the explosives and subsequent pounding you’ve put the poor thing through obliterated the comms unit and the data projector, both of which will also need to be replaced. Additionally, the radial and ulnar struts are both compromised. I think the only thing you failed to destroy is the humeral strut.”

Sendak snorted, squeezing Haxus’s hand again. “I’m certain that if you gave it back to me, I could find a way to break that too,” he said.

“Absolutely not,” Haxus retorted, taking his hand back just long enough to lean across the workbench and smack Sendak— lightly— on the forehead with the heel of his hand.

Sendak’s hand had crept back into his again by the time he’d returned to working on the radial strut, soldering the crack shut.

“Do you think this one will be field-worthy again, then?” Sendak asked.

Haxus shook his head, not looking up. “Given the structural damage, it would be inadvisable to put this one back in a combat situation without replacing the damaged struts entirely. With the extent of the rest of the damage, I’ve elected instead to repair them, and begin work on a new prosthetic rather than spend the time to bring this one back to combat standards.”

He fell quiet again, once more reclaiming his hand to swap the electrode on the torch— the first one had run out of material halfway down the radial strut— then returned it to Sendak’s, quietly relishing the warmth of his touch. The workshop needed to be kept cooler than much of the rest of the cruiser, given the equipment his work required, and his hands were so often chilled that he considered gloves at times despite the risks.

As if he’d shared the same thought, Sendak shifted his grip to massage gently over the wrist and the base of his thumb, loosening tight joints and muscles. Haxus hummed, shifting his hand to let him. His partner had always seemed to need something to do with his hands when he was idle for too long.

“So, love,” he said at last, “after today’s performance, what sort of upgrades do you believe you’ll need for the next model?”

Sendak gave a thoughtful hum, and the shadow of an ear fell over the glowing-hot weld line as Haxus finished with the radius. His hold shifted, working gently over Haxus’s fingers now, warming the joints.

“...Well, I suspect you’ll need to reinforce the struts in the forearm,” he said, chuckling. “Perhaps some sort of shock absorbance system? This isn’t the first time they’ve broken under a percussive force like that.”

Haxus nodded to himself. “...Perhaps a method of harnessing and storing the kinetic energy of the explosion— or the next time you elect to punch through a wall,” he added, glancing up in time to watch Sendak blush again in embarrassment. “Is there anything else?”

Sendak’s ears twitched, and his hand stilled for a moment. “Do you think you could program the shield generator for additional forms, beside the kite shield?” he asked. “The hard-light system worked beautifully this time, but the surface area of that shield style was insufficient for protecting myself and the crew from an explosion of that magnitude, and if we face more opponents who favor explosive traps like that one, I believe we would benefit from something…bigger.”

“Bigger, you say,” Haxus said, keeping his tone carefully neutral. “You always did favor larger…tools.”

“Hax!” Sendak protested, his pinnae darkening further.

Haxus chuckled, flashing Sendak a soft smile. “Teasing, love,” he said.

“You’re killing me,” Sendak muttered, taking his hand back sulkily.

“I know,” Haxus said. He pushed himself upright, nudging his bench back some, and leaned across the table to steal a kiss— and Sendak’s hand. “You don’t need to worry, though. I can format the projector for additional shield forms, if that’s what you need. Just give me a list.”

Sendak grumbled, clearly still embarrassed, but leaned over himself for a second kiss as Haxus retook his seat. He subsided again, squeezing Haxus’s hand gently, as Haxus settled in to work on rewiring the prosthetic’s hand.