#shoulder dislocation

Seven’s whole body shook with explosive anger, and for once, he let it take over. The feeling felt foreign yet so so right. Seven had never truly snapped like this in front of Wes before. He’d had too many years of experience internalizing all his frustrations. When the two of them were face to face, Seven was often too overwhelmed with fear and anxiety to let himself explode like this, but the feeling had been building for fucking years—like magma bubbling beneath the mouth of a volcano—a pressure in his head he was never able to release. It was always easier to take it out on himself—blame himself, tell himself he could somehow control the outcome if he only tried harder to be perfect. But the instinct to shove it down had abandoned him now, and he screamed into the night, hurling everything he wanted to say to Wes, who had long since disappeared down the hallway of the upstairs level. Seven pictured himself throwing himself at Wes full-force and tackling him into the wet tile. He imagined slamming a fist into his cheekbone and beating him into the ground until his face was bruised and bloody.

Seven sobbed and screamed until his throat ached, then screamed some more until it was so raw it hurt to even cry—but he couldn’t stop fucking crying. He slumped down in his forced kneeling position, spent and exhausted from all his screaming. His whole body shook with broken sobs—the tears were washed away instantly with the onslaught of the storm. The rain beat down on him with a relentless force, thoroughly soaking his exposed skin and his thin boxer briefs until his whole body felt heavy and waterlogged. As he came down from his fury high, the chill began to fully set in, and it penetrated through to his bones within just a few minutes. Every muscle was growing heavy, spent and exhausted. Panting heaving, ragged breaths, soaking in the unsatisfying comedown, Seven was painfully reminded of his dislocated shoulder. Without the anger or adrenaline to dampen his nerves, every spike of pain hit his shoulder’s socket like the sudden twist of a knife. 

He sat there, bent forward in the kneel, until his legs began to go numb, and the pins and needles started to hurt. His head felt like it was full of lead, and as his time there in the darkness went on, the cold seemed to seep through him even further, until he found himself curled up on his right side, shaking pitifully on the tile ground. The rainwater puddled around him—maybe half an inch on all sides. It was so fucking cold, but there was no escaping it. Seven had no other option but to lie there and shiver and wait it out. 

His dislocated shoulder couldn’t be ignored—the socket pulsed over and over with a sharp, nauseating pain. Apart from the cold, it was all he could focus on. The spikes of agony seemed to worsen each time they hit, forcing him to cry out through hoarse vocal chords and writhe weakly, rattling the chain that kept his cuffed wrists bolted to the balcony’s edge. On any other day, at a time like this, Seven would’ve tugged and yanked at the chain relentlessly, but with the agonizing fire radiating through his shoulder, even the mere thought of pulling against it made him want to throw up. 

He lay there in agony, drenched in the darkness. The rain beat down on his body, on his face, soaking his hair until he felt as wet and limp as a drowned man. He couldn’t keep track of time at all. His only sense that time was even passing were the bright flashes of lightning that made him flinch sharply and the crashing thunder that shook his whole body. It was hell. Had he been in any sort of mental state to analyze patterns, Seven may have reflected on the fact that this very thought crossed his mind rather frequently. But like Dante descending to a lower realm, tonight’s hell felt entirely new in the most awful, twisted way. 

He was cold—he was shuddering in pain—he was fucking lonely. Even Wes’ company was better than none at all, when left in a state like this. With nothing else to do, he cried some more, until he couldn’t anymore. His uninjured arm twisted and tugged at the wrist cuff behind his back, but that effort only dug the metal into his skin. He kept doing it anyway, just to feel something other than the bone-shivering cold or the spikes of pain in his left shoulder. He did it again and again, just to have a new kind of pain he could actually control. Any distraction was welcome. He didn’t care if the motion drew blood. It wouldn’t matter anyway—it would only be mixed in with the rushing cold rain and swept away as quickly as it had seeped out. 

His left arm lay there uselessly, spasming with the pain in its socket. The attached hand remained as still as possible, limp in its cuff, petrified with fear that any motion could make the stabbing pain even worse. Seven briefly considered slamming the dislocated shoulder down into the wet tile to try and push it back into the socket, but the idea made his stomach lurch with dread and he decided that waiting it out would probably be less agonizing than trying and failing. Nothing horrified him more in that moment than the thought of slamming his shoulder into the tile ground, only to miss and knock it even further out of place. He might actually black out from the pain if he tried that. 

Though, on second thought, maybe blacking out would be a blessing at a time like this. Seven thought about it, but still didn’t move. He just lay there on his right side and curled his legs up into his bare torso as far as he could. He shivered against the barrage of the rain, against the cruel bite of the wind on his soaking wet skin. His teeth had started chattering a long time ago, but it was getting to a point where it had started to hurt. He tried biting the inside of his cheek in an attempt to quell the motion, and though that seemed to work for a little while, he had to stop biting when he tasted blood. Despair settled in, heavy as the battering rain—as the roaring thunder. A hopeless resignation twisted in his chest, pressing him down into the puddled tile. His eyes glazed over, and he let them slip shut. He didn’t sleep; he only wished for unconsciousness to take him.

༻✦༺

At some point, after what felt like a lifetime, a hazy gray light penetrated through Seven’s eyelids, and he flicked them open. Blinking through the water on his eyelashes, he saw that day was breaking. There was a sun peaking over a horizon somewhere, above all the heavy gray clouds. Its warmth wouldn’t reach him here. He was shaking so badly now that he couldn’t even force himself to sit up, but despite it all, a tiny flicker of hope sparked within him at the onset of a new day. Wes—please—please come back. As the gray light grew steadily brighter, Seven began to feel frantic, and he’d resorted to begging once more, pleading with the man who could not hear him. Please—come to the door— Wake up, please, Wes— Come to the door—

And then, like a desert traveler glimpsing an oasis, he saw him. Wes was coming down the stairs. Seven’s heart was beating out of his chest—he instinctively pulled against the chain and then screamed when it pulled on his dislocated shoulder. He tried sitting up, but got so dizzy he collapsed again and his head hit the ground and rattled his skull. He didn’t stop begging. Through strained, sore vocal chords and chattering teeth, Seven didn’t stop pleading the whole time as Wes walked outside and stalked towards him, this time, holding an umbrella overhead. 

“Wes—” Seven desperately choked out, then quickly remembered his manners. “Sir—Master, please—please let me go—please please please, Sir!” He pleaded like his life depended on it, like he would die if left out here a moment longer. His body realistically couldn’t take much more of this. Seven didn’t know much about hypothermia, but this seemed like a surefire way to contract it.

Wes said nothing, only bent down and unlocked the chain from the railing. “God—th-thank you, Sir, thank you, thankyou—” Seven was crying again, in relief this time. Wes tugged at Seven’s hair until he was once again in a kneeling position, but Seven was so unsteady he wavered on his knees and started to slump back down into the rainsoaked tile. Wes grunted impatiently, but reached a sturdy arm around Seven’s waist, easily hoisting his servant’s naked, dripping body up and over his shoulder. Seven yelped when his injured shoulder joint was jostled, but he bit his lip hard to avoid making any further noise. He’d do anything to keep Wes from getting annoyed with him so soon—he wanted to be taken inside right now more than anything in the world. 

Tears of relief streamed down his face when he was brought back in and deposited on the marble floor. It was so much warmer in here, but he was still soaked to the bone and shaking with the cold. His jaw ached with how hard his teeth were clanking together.

After shutting the door, Wes crossed his arms and stared down at Seven, who sat huddled in a wet heap on the floor. “Now, what did we learn last night, servant?”

Seven blinked up at him with wide, red eyes, trying to remember how this whole nightmare had begun. “D—don’t…” his teeth were chattering away viciously. “Don’t b-be a— a f-fucking h-whore, S-sir..” Wes cocked an eyebrow at him expectantly, and he hastily racked his memory and stammered out the rest. “F-for—for— a-anyone tha-that… that i-isn’t y-you, Sir.” Seven held his breath, desperately hoping that was the right answer. He exhaled deeply in relief when Wes smirked down at him. Approval.

“Yeah, alright, I’ll take it,” Wes said. “Congradulations, you survived.”

“Thank you, S-sir, thank you, thank you—” Seven was babbling but he could barely think, he was just so relieved to be out of the storm. One thing was pressing on his mind though: he wanted warmth more than anything right now. 

“M-may—may I— please sh-shower, Sir?” he put on his best pleading eyes. Please Wes— He just needed this one thing and then he would be good and perfect again.

“Fine, whatever,” Wes huffed. “Go take a fucking shower. You look fucking terrible.”

Seven’s torso slumped in relief, but the motion jolted pain through his shoulder joint, and he realized he still had a major problem. He paled, looking back up at Wes, dreading that he had to make a second request before he could fulfill the first. “Wait— Um… Um S-sir,” Seven struggled to speak around the shivering. “My—um… my… my sh-shoulder, Sir—”

His efforts were cut off when Wes let out a sharp laugh. “Oh yeah! I completely forgot about that!” He seemed delighted to be reminded. 

“Alright, c'mere," Wes said, bending down and unlocking the cuffs that still bound his servant’s wrists behind his back. Tossing the metal restraints aside, Wes firmly gripped Seven’s injured arm with one hand and placed another on his back. Seven shrieked in agony when Wes suddenly shoved his arm back in against his body. After a moment of excruciating pressure, there was another sickening pop in Seven’s shoulder and Wes’ hands retreated. Seven gasped and panted on the floor, his right hand clutching his left arm protectively. It still hurt—fuck did it hurt—but it felt so much better now compared to before. Seven lifted his left hand and stared down at his own quivering fingers as he moved them around. Electric heat still radiated through the joint, but he was in so much less pain now, and for that he was fucking relieved.

“Th-thank you, S-Sir..” Tears pooled in his eyes once again—summoned by pure gratitude this time–and Seven blinked up at Wes with reverence. His devil and his God. 

“Great,” Wes said dryly. “I’m not going to wait around all day for you to shower, so get fucking to it.” Wes snapped his fingers and Seven visibly flinched. 

Seven tried to scramble to his feet, but his shaking legs slipped on the now wet marble and Wes caught him with a single outstretched arm before he could hit the floor again. 

“Jesus, fucking useless...” Wes muttered to himself, though Seven swore there was a hint of amusement in his tone. Wes slung Seven’s small frame over his shoulder once more and carried him off to the downstairs bathroom. When he reached it, he deposited Seven into the empty tub, leaving him shivering in nothing but his boxers. 

“Now hurry the fuck up,” Wes ordered. “When you’re done, get your ass in the kitchen. I’m fucking starving.” 

“Y-yes, Sir,” came Seven’s weak but grateful acknowledgement. Without another word, Wes left Seven in the tub and slammed the bathroom door behind him. 

༻✦༺

Part 3 is UP!

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He should have known his extremely selfless and abundantly kind nature towards Archie would come back to bite him in the ass.

He’d be sure to rub it in Archie’s face when he saw him again.

“You’re the kid that’s been helping that little punk, aren’t you?” The man spat in Simon’s face as he shoved him up against the wall.

Judging by the way he was dressed and the way he smelled, Simon had half a mind to assume he was a goon from the drug ring Archie had been after for some time now.

Fortunately, the guy clearly wasn’t the brightest. No experienced lackey would start heckling a target in the middle of an open alley way without checking if anyone was around first.

Unfortunately, the guy was quite a bit stronger than Simon and there really wasn’t anyone around after all.

Just my luck.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Simon spewed back, struggling against the man’s grasp.

The man’s hand tightened around Simon’s neck and the gravity of the situation began to sink in.

He was alone in this alley. Sure, he had used the emergency button on his watch that sent signal to Archie as soon as he recognized he was in danger, but it had been a good amount of time and Archie was.. nowhere to be found.

“Don’t play dumb with me!” The man shouted, sending a knee slamming into Simon’s gut. “You’re going to tell me everything you know!” Another knee to his middle sent him stumbling back and doubling over.

“I don’t.. don’t know anything..” Simon sputtered, coughing harshly and tasting metal.

Simon knew he was in hot water. He had no combat training, so self defense skills, and despite being decently fit, he was no where near the league of a guy who beat people up for a living. He needed to get out of there as fast as possible.

Alright Simon, c'mon. Focus. You can handle this. Just think.

Before Simon could form another coherent thought, a fist connected with his face that sent him reeling. Blood began leaking from his nose all down his mouth, and he choked on the taste. Before he could recover, his whole body was rammed against the brick wall and his arm was pulled awkwardly behind him. 

The punch had left him dazed, so dazed that he didn’t recognize the sound of two other guys approaching the scene.

“For god’s sake, don’t kill the kid! Rough him up, get some information, but don’t kill him. We'll have more use for him later,” A deeper voice chided.

Simon heard vague mutters of obedience before he felt his arm being strained again.

“Alright kid, since I’m feeling so nice, I’ll give you a chance to redeem yourself. Answer the question and you’ll be on your way,” The man sneered. Simon could hear muffled snickers behind him, but couldn’t quite get the angle to look. “What is the little punk’s real name.”

He knew he should be sizing up the scene and determining the best course of action, but goddamn his arm hurt. He could feel every tendon being strained at the orientation the man had it at.

Still, no matter what, he wasn’t going to sell out Archie. Archie would come. He always did.

“N-No idea,” Simon spat, stomping on the man’s toe in an attempt to buck out of the hold.

Unfortunately, the man was still significantly stronger than Simon, so his attempt at retaliation only served in angering him further.

“You little—“ The man growled, before twisting Simon's arm and yanking it fully out of its socket.

Simon let out a stuttering wail as the pain temporarily blinded him. Suddenly, his head was being slammed against the wall again and he couldn’t figure out what was hurting more now: his head, his arm, or his stomach.

He was almost sure he was done for, until he heard a familiar shout and the sound of a fist connecting with a face.

Took him long enough.

Simon let himself slide down the wall once the man was pulled off of him, cradling his aching shoulder as he watched. Through hazy vision, he saw Archie made quick work of the lackeys. It was a flurry of hollers and yelps and limbs flying, but eventually, Archie emerged unscathed and rushed right over to Simon.

“I’m so sorry I was late! I was working, and I didn’t see the alert and— oh god, your arm!” He blurted, hands awkwardly hovering over Simon, a complete contrast to the ruthless machine he had been not a few seconds earlier.

Simon wanted to be mad, he really did. The emergency alert was there for a reason, after all. But how could he stay angry when Archie was looking at him with such sincere concern and regret. Simon sighed.

“It’s not as bad as it looks.. it’s dislocated, but I’m pretty sure it’s not broken so we won’t need to go to the hospital,” Simon explained.

Archie gave a small huff of relief.

“You do, however, need to help me pop it back into place.”

Archie blanched.

“Pop it back into place?! Isn’t that dangerous?! I don’t know what I’m doing!” He babbled.

“Relax, I’ll walk you through it. It’s not that hard. You just have to kinda.. push it until it feels right. I’ll let you know,” Simon replied, absurdly calm for the situation at hand.

“..Ok..” 

Simon carefully instructed Archie on where to place his hands and where to push in, and after a bit more coaxing, they were ready.

“Alright. Don’t give me a countdown. You have to just do it, or else I might tense up involuntarily and that could— URGH!”

A sickening snap reverberated from Simon’s offending limb.

“Sorry! I’m sorry! You said not to give you a countdown!” Archie mewled, pulling his hands away as if he’d just been burned.

“It’s fine.. it’s.. I’m good.. you did good,” Simon placated, squeezing his eyes shut at the lingering pain.

“Okay.. okay, that’s done. We should get you back to your apartment and patched up.. that black eye looks.. pretty rough..”

“Don’t I know it..”

Archie tenderly helped Simon to his feet, and supported the taller’s man weight with ease.

“Thanks for not, uh, selling me out by the way..” Archie murmured, as they began their arduous journey back to Simon’s home.

“Well, what type of ‘inconspicuous medical student’ would I be if I just went around telling everyone how I ‘aid the activities of a notorious vigilante’?” 

“...You’re an idiot.”

Simon grinned. Yep. All worth it.

----

"GET HIM!"

No...no...

Daero bursts through the tree line, running as fast as his burning lungs will allow. It took weeks in hiding to finally heal and if they catch him now it will be so much worse -

NO. I won't go back there!

The ledge comes up too quickly.

Daero can't possibly stop in time but he still tries, staggering on the rocky surface, tearing up the soles of his feet. He squeezes his eyes shut as he topples heavily over the edge.

The human voices fade away, all sound is gone but the rush of wind.

He braces for a long fall and a swift impact. It is a horrible surprise when, only seconds after falling, he crashes against a lower ledge. His shoulder erupts with pain and Daero tumbles in the air, his cry stolen from his lungs.

Daero collides with several more juts and ridges of the uneven cliffside on his way down. Then he reaches the trees, plummeting through thick pine branches that tear up his skin and just barely slow his fall. Birds squawk and scatter around him.

He lands with a thwump on the forest floor.

I’d spent nearly the entire hour torturing myself with failed attempts to reduce my shoulder, but evolution didn’t prepare us for even basic medical advances… We evolved to survive grotesque injuries in feral lands and keep on fighting. The way the body does this varies from injuries to injury, and, from afar, is fascinating. If a limb is severed, veins and arteries constrict to limit blood loss. If the pH of our blood lowers, we somehow know to breathe faster to release more CO2. And if a bone is broken or joint dislocated, our muscles lock to keep it still lest movement cause even greater damage. By the time I’d regained enough awareness to even try to fix it, there was almost no hope to overcome that ancient response with how taut the surrounding tissue had become.

The arm lay pinned to my chest in a tight sling, hidden beneath a blanket wrapped about my shoulders. I’d absently smeared an uneven layer of bacta over my face, but it had barely begun to reduce the swelling, and I couldn’t quite keep myself from rocking ever so slightly if I stayed still for too long, gaze straying to Echo almost neurotically; studying his breathing pattern, the way his eyes occasionally twitched or how his hand would pulse around a fistful of that dark, scratchy fabric, heart jumping at even the slightest shift.

My entire body flinched at the sound of the Marauder’s main hatch opening, the sudden hissing of the mechanics deafening amidst the violent silence I’d found myself so trapped in, and I practically held my breath as I watched for any sign that the noise had woken the man lying a mere handful of meters from me… then winced as the relieved sigh that followed caused my shoulder to shift.

“…-rrant further testing.” Even from across the ship, I could hear the annoyance in Hunter’s growl at Tech’s statement.

“Just get us into hyperspace before they notice it’s missing.” He ordered lowly. There was a pause, as though narrowed glares and unspoken threats had some hope of changing the Sergeant’s mind, but, without further discussion, footsteps disappeared deeper into the Marauder.

“Hunter.” I barely whispered his name, but that was all he’d need to hear me. I should have gone to Tech… He’d know what to do; how to help me… but I couldn’t stand to see even a glimmer of that earlier disdain still sharpening his gaze… not now… not when I already felt so broken. “Just you.” I added in that same hushed plea. Barely a second passed before he started toward me, steps carefully muted.

I had to force myself up to meet him, hand hovering over the control just as he drew near and freezing the door with a single tap before it could open more than an inch. He didn’t move, the glimpse of armor visible through that narrow sliver painfully taut; waiting.

“No one finds out.” I wanted it to be an order, but my voice was far too weak for that. I could hear him draw a slow breath, and added in a rush before he could interrupt, “Echo never… finds out.” Again, he went still.

“Alright.” He sighed quietly. Only then, did I release the lock, allowing the door to slide open, and I had to look away as his face instantly twisted in shock; anger. My lips parted with some excuse or explanation I hadn’t begun to form before merely closing again, body swaying slightly, belatedly stepping back to allow him in. He followed with such carefully controlled movements, it felt like he was clearing a battlefield rather than entering the medbay of his own ship, gaze sweeping each of the corners before falling pointedly to where Echo still lay, the mattress beneath him not quite aligned with the wall.

I let my own gaze drag almost absently over him as the door closed once more. Aside from a bit of dust about his shins and knees, there was little sign of anything of note, at least nothing glaring enough for me to notice as I was.

“Tech said you told him you didn’t need help.” There was a hint of accusation in his tone that he couldn’t hide, tension coiling through his voice.

“It… it happened after.” I answered, words barely there, head sinking toward my chest.

“We could have been here sooner… Why didn’t you comm?” He pressed through ground teeth, hard eyes burring into me. I didn’t look up at him, didn’t respond beyond a halfhearted shift of my lips, because what could I say? How could I tell him that I’d… what? Lost myself for over an hour? That I’d gone comatose when I was supposed to be watching over his injured brother?

When several seconds passed in that wretched silence broken only by my own lilting breaths, I risked a tiny glance toward him, and froze upon finding his eyes locked on my hip, on where Echo’s pistol just gleamed from beneath my blanket. Jaw tensing, I shifted the fabric to hide it once more, and his shoulders sank. He let out a slow sigh, air shaking ever so slightly through pursed lips before taking an almost tentative step toward me, and I felt myself wilt as his hands carefully reached up to slip over my cheeks, eyes closing amidst that barely-there caress.

“What do you need?” He asked it so quietly, smokey voice dropping into that low murmur that made me want to press myself against him and let the galaxy around us vanish, and it took a moment before I was able to collect myself enough to answer him, lips tensing in a grimace as I reached up to slide the fabric from my injured shoulder. Hunter’s nostrils flared as his jaw creaked beneath the tightly clenched muscles.

“Hm, I… I couldn’t…” I hated how my voice faltered, how my mind struggled to find the words only for my lips to forget how to form them, “couldn’t get it… back-back in…”

“Okay.” Despite the rage burning between the dance of greens and umber in his golden eyes, still he spoke with that consuming softness, his thumb whispering against my bruised cheek in a silent promise. “Okay, let’s get you sitting down.” I had to bite back whatever whimpered objection threatened to catch on a nearly sobbed breath as his hands fell away, gaze dropping once more before turning wearily toward the chair in the far corner of the room, attention focusing thoughtlessly on the rag still crumpled in the center of that tiny puddle beside it, but when his touch rested carefully against my lower back, I couldn’t keep myself from leaning slightly into him.

“Nothing broken?” He asked as he guided me down onto the thin cushion. I briefly tried to shake my head, but the movement cut short at how even that pulled at that wretched joint. “Alright… You take anything yet? Something to knock the edge off?” Again my jaw thought to move before knowing what to say, response lodging itself in my throat before giving another, smaller shake of my head. He didn't reply immediately, chest swelling with a pointedly slowed breath as he forced his attention away from me just long enough to tug the gloves from his hands.

“You need muscle relaxers, at least… right?” It wasn't a question, but still I shook my head once more, earning a tense, “Doc…” from him, but I answered with neither look nor word as he let the silence that followed build heavily around us, unable to find the will to explain… drugs… pain killers, muscle relaxes, even anti-inflammatories to a point would leave me fuzzy… and the very thought of that with Echo still spiraling in limbo between various states of awareness was… terrifying.

I didn't doubt that Hunter heard my heartbeat quicken, that he looked toward his newest brother only in response to the neurotic twitch dragging my own gaze back to the man just long enough to measure the rise and fall of his chest, the likelihood that he might soon wake.

“Hey.” The subtle rumble of his voice deepened in that quiet murmur, his body shifting closer in a way that should have made me pull back, crowding me just enough to draw my attention up the countless nicks and scuffs marring his chest plate. I could smell the tang of the oil used to clean that thick plastoid, the hint of ozone from recently fired blasters, the heavy taste of spice and sweat soaked into his blacks from hours of running, hours of fighting, that so easily sent my heart fluttering, but still I couldn't quite bring myself to meet his gaze, body kept from slouching only because of how taut the muscles stretching from my neck to midway down my back had locked.

“I’m sorry.” I was so taken aback by those words, that my eyes rose to find his before I could remember why I’d been avoiding his gaze, and something in my chest coiled with such heat, it left my breath stuttering as his hands crept over my cheeks once more, fingertips just brushing against my neck before tracing the ridge of my jaw, the sensation of his callused skin caressed that frightfully delicate flesh a far too intimate thing for the fear and exhaustion and pain yet screaming for me to seek out some dark corner to hide. “I shouldn’t have left you alone…”

My chest bucked with a tiny, stolen breath before forcing my gaze down, away, focusing on anything but the subtle crease between his brows, anything but the way the scant glow from the dimmed light behind him caught so softly on the sharp features of his face, how the tattooed shadows accentuated his rage while the natural warmth mirroring it appeared all the more gentle against that darkness, concern screaming from eyes watching me with such unflinching worry that I couldn’t help but find myself sinking even further into that earlier guilt.

“You shouldn’t feel like you can’t leave me alone.” There was no doubting the apology in that weak growl, lips straining for a scowl I couldn’t quite manage. He didn’t say anything, but his hands shifted just enough to ease my head back, silently begging me to look at him; demanding it. I didn’t mean to… but the want to find those eyes once more, to feel that ancient thrill in seeing his powerful form towering over me; to know that I was the reason behind his fury and harbor no doubt toward the safety it promised… that want broke me absent even a breath of hesitation to remember why I should fight it, body yielding beneath his touch as though it was a dance we’d delighted in a thousand times before.

He didn’t speak. In that short eternity, he merely held me, his torso swelling beneath too-deep breaths as the muscles atop his jaw balled, teeth ground to silence threats and promises and pleas forbidden between us even as everything left unspoken only sought to further fan what flames danced beneath every inch of skin warmed by his touch.

I don’t know what broke it, but that tension snapped with a deep chill, jaw shaking slightly as I pulled back just enough to severe that contact as my brows drew sharply together with something far closer to remorse than the guilt that should have filled me. He was still for just a moment more before finally stepping to my side.

“Do you want something to bite down on?” He asked, voice hushed as though the reason behind the offer might loom less frightfully about us if he spoke quietly enough. I glanced down briefly before gathering a handful of the cloth draped around me and catching it firmly between my teeth, eyes closing tightly, head turning with some useless hope to distance myself from the coming pain.

“Slow breaths, Doc.” He murmured, and some part of me wanted to snap at him, unable to dismiss how quickly my diaphragm jerked; unable to dismiss how hopeless any attempt to steady them would be. “Come on, meshla… slow.” I knew he heard the way my heart leapt at his deep murmur, knew he could smell the sudden rush of adrenaline and heat, but I couldn’t begin to berate him for it as my every glimmer of attention suddenly locked on how carefully he eased my arm from the sling, one hand cradling my elbow while the other supported my wrist.

“In.” It wasn’t an order, this time. Nor was it a request. It was a distraction; one I couldn’t help but cling to in a plea for anything I might focus on rather than the way he gently shifted the limb between us, angling my forearm straight up. “Out.” My teeth ground into the cloth, mouth painfully dry as my heart raced, air leaving in a tense rush. “In.” A tiny whimper caught in my throat as he twisted my arm just enough for a burst of pain to tear through the joint, testing it before letting his thumb drag soothingly against the back of my hand. “Easy, cyare, just focus on me. Out.” Something danced up my spine at the deep timber lacing those hushed words, preening at the way his voice seemed to linger in the air between us as he leaned ever so slightly closer to me. “In.” I think I felt the heat of his breath whisper over my ear and send gooseflesh down my neck, and nearly let my eyes open if only to confirm how little distance separated us.

“Out.” Before the word fell silent, his hands tightened, locking my elbow still as he rotated my forearm across my chest. I barely had time to gasp before the limb caught slightly, but he didn’t hesitate in pushing passed it, snapping the head of my arm back into the socket with another sickening, wet pop, wrenching a barked cry from me, muffled by that mouthful of cloth as my body shot forward. It had been too fast to process the way my nerves had screamed in those final seconds, the utter panic as muscles coiled and ice filled my veins, but the relief that followed was absolute, more overwhelming than the hurt; the sudden absence of that crippling agony after hours of suffering an oddly loud thing; disorientating and confusing, and I didn’t even notice he was holding me until finally managing to drag a lung-full of air through my gaping jaw, forehead buried against his shoulder as I trembled in the aftermath.

“Good… good; just breathe, cyare; you did good.” He kept his hand locked beneath my elbow, gently supporting the still aching joint even as he slid the other up my neck to let his fingers tangle into my hair, my forearm caught carefully between us. I could feel how easily my body swayed with his every leisurely breath, and found myself absently trying to match it. It was a gentle thing; not forced… I wanted to, some distant thought surprised at how even it was… how calm… but I remembered the rage in his eyes as he realized what happened, remembered my dread.

“It wasn’t his fault.” It sounded almost like a sob; like I was begging him to believe me as my chest hitched slightly at the tension just creeping through his frame. “He couldn’t remember where he was… what happened… he didn’t remember me…” I hid the words against his neck, ignoring the ache in my shoulder that I might press myself harder against him, and he readily lowered himself onto a knee as I half tumbled from the chair. “It wasn’t his fault…”

“I know.” Hunter sighed, forcing himself to let out a slow breath.

“He can’t find out.” I pressed, willing it to be an order though it was far too desperate. He was quiet just long enough for anxiety to send my fingers clawing into the crevice between his shoulder bell and backplate.

“I know.” There was such reluctance in his voice as those words dragged past his lips, his body slouching ever so slightly around me, and I was almost taken aback at the depth of relief that swept through me for a terror I hadn’t yet begun to understand.

His embrace felt far more gentle after that; precious, but I didn’t find myself struck by some crippling emptiness when he eased himself away, body settling more kindly atop the chair as my eyes met his.

“We’re set to rendezvous with The Resolute in a few hours.” He explained quietly. “I’m going to bring my cot in here, and I want you to try to get some rest.” My lips had barely parted to drew breath before he continued, silencing whatever objection or excuse I might have tried to cling to with a murmur far too gentle to fight. “I’ll stay here – watch over Echo… and you.” Something ancient and feral sent such warmth through my chest at the promise in that deep rumble that I feared he might catch the subtle flush blooming up my neck, and I couldn’t feign ignorance to how desperately I wanted just that; how desperately I needed it; needed him as exhaustion weighed down my every breath even as the reminder of just how near Echo’s sleeping form lay rekindled a fear I would never forgive myself for… but with Hunter standing over me…

I gave a small nod and thrilled in the way the edges of his eyes lit in a smile too faint to touch his lips.

“Alright; just wait here.” He murmured as he slowly pushed himself up. I was too tired to try to hide the wince as he helped me ease my arm back into the sling, but the annoying ache was barely noticeable against the earlier agony of grinding bone, and I quickly found myself leaning heavily against the backrest, half-lidded eyes following his every step as he silently retreated from the medbay.

Later, I might berate myself for every shiver he’d sent through me with that smokey voice and gentle, callused hands; I’d writhe at the certainty that he’d heard each flutter of my heart and smelled that eager adrenaline, and I’d hate myself amidst the knowledge that Crosshair was only barely out of earshot; that just hours prior, I’d let him believe his jealously to be entirely baseless amidst the chaos of Jester’s actions when the truth was so much more damning… but those emotions were far too complex and far too encompassing to even acknowledge beneath the euphoria of the mere promise of sleep.

Still, I couldn’t help but tense with guilt at the distant rasp of Crosshair’s voice from just beyond the doorway.

“Well?”

“Not now, Crosshair.” I didn’t need to see him to know how sharply Crosshair’s lips wrenched into a scowl at Hunter’s dismissal, impatient growl curling through his chest.

“You didn’t tell her, did you?” I froze, my own weariness forgotten at the accusation, body tensing as I strained to listen.

“Dammit, not now.” Hunter’s voice dropped nearly too low for me to hear, a deafening threat sown through the order, but such threats rarely worked on his brothers, Crosshair least of all.

“Either you tell her, or I will.” He snarled, and my chest ached at the sudden pounding of my heart as I heard the rush of footsteps and the hollow thud that followed, the sound rippling through the very hull of the ship.

I hadn’t realized I was moving until the door hissed open, until their eyes darted to me with such conflicting swaths of emotion that I nearly overlooked how forcefully Hunter had his brother pressed against the metal wall amidst the dread in his gaze; how Crosshair’s sharp eyes narrowed with a concern so startling, he barely even tried to hide it beneath that too-familiar anger.

“Tell me what?” My words seemed to disappear in the silence that followed, my own dread growing the longer their hesitation robbed them of speech. “Tell me what?!”

Next Chapter

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