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Lord Shaxx watches as the Young Wolf materializes mid-stride, her ship battered from the floating wreckage of the Glykon. A rifle he hadn't seen before slung across her shoulders doesn't go unnoticed and the Warlord smiles behind his helmet.
Of course she'd return with a new gun - what actually surprises him is that her vault can still hold the litany of weaponry she's recovered over the years. His amusement ebbs after a moment, gaze drifting along her frame for any semblance of damage as the Young Wolf pauses beside the Tower's chief mechanic. As she allows her Ghost to relay the extensive damage to Holliday, Shaxx takes note of a few singe marks that hadn't been there before, a few new dings to her armor. Altogether, she seems fine - humoring the playful chiding from the mechanic before she finally turns to face him. The air around them shifts, sparking with Arc and Solar Light as their eyes connect.
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.
Why does she agree to these matches? She never wins and it's infuriating - if not albeit terrifying with how quickly he defeats her.
Especially in moments like these.
She can't see his eyes, just the azure glow cast over white and orange as she holds perfectly still. His forearm is pressed against her throat, pinning her between him and the wall she'd managed to corner herself in during their match, his sparkling fist coiled back for a final punch.
A punch that never comes.
Perhaps he'd read the fear in her eyes through her visor, or perhaps it was the way her entire frame seized in a violent tremor moments after collision against the bricks behind her. The way the solar flares along her form sputter and die as the Hammer of Sol dissipates between her fingers. The way one of her hands instinctively press against his chest plate in a silent, desperate plea for mercy.
She doesn't know why he stopped but the arc energy fizzles out and Lord Shaxx straightens up. His forearm is the last to pull back and she nearly falls, stumbling forward a step without the counter pressure.
He has match point and yet, he didn't strike?
She tilts her head, staring at him in utter confusion.
"Arcite, call the match." He calls over his commlink before taking half a step closer to her and she instinctively retreats a step back against the wall she'd just escaped. He notices - there's no way he couldn't - but he remains where he is. "You fought well, Guardian. Better than last time."
She rubs along the front of her throat, dissipating the faint tension there and tries to regain her composure, "Still lost."
Shaxx tilts his head, "You held out better than most, Guardian. I am proud of you."
She nods slowly, gaze drifting to the sector around them, the scorch marks from their battle strewn across stone and grass alike. And then his hand settles on her shoulder and her eyes dart upward, forcing back the flinch that nearly jolts her frame.
"Are you alright?"
"Fine," she returns softly.
"For a moment you seemed...frightened."
Her eyes turn back to the horizon, "Startled, was all. Thought you'd finish it...wouldn't have been the first death I've looked in the eyes."
"I'm sorry." He squeezes her shoulder and she winces involuntarily, muscles tender and aching from the impact minutes earlier and his grip immediately eases.
"S'fine." She tries to assure him, gently prying his hand from her shoulder. He's concerned. She can read it in every inch of his frame. "Nothing my Ghost can't fix. Good match." She starts to move past him before his hand catches hold of her arm. Her eyes dart from the firm grip to his helmet, a silent question in the way her head tilts.
"I frightened you, Guardian. You've never--"
Flinched.
He doesn't have to say it for her to know it's what he means. Her eyes drop to the space between them, weighing her options carefully. He had frightened her, not intentionally of course, but the reality of his fist very likely shattering her skull against the concrete wall behind her had flashed before her eyes and everything inside had screamed to stop him. But there was no escape from the Warlord's grip in that moment. She has resigned herself to her fate for a fraction of a second before he caught on.
They've sparred in the past, yes, but it's never gotten that far. She'd countered his super time and time again, he'd defeat her without it - hell, he'd landed a few blows with it before, but this time? This time she couldn't counter it and it scared the shit out of her.
Had she let her guard down? She'd certainly given in after he pinned her but there had been one last swing left in her hammer. And yet, the heavy head of the weapon had met grass the moment he'd pressed against her throat - as if all the fight had drained from her in an instant.
She'd never done that before.
He pivots abruptly, gently cradling the side of her neck and for a moment, she starts to pull away until his touch fully registers. It's tender and affectionate and she relaxes beneath it. He releases her arm and gently takes her hand in his, holding it against his chest.
"Talk to me." He whispers as his head lowers. Her fingers curl a little tighter around his as she rests her helmet against his, her eyes fluttering shut.
"I'm all right, Shaxx." She returns softly, leaning into him. "S'alright."
"I hadn't meant to frighten you," he returns.
"I know." Her Ghost picks up on her intentions and transmats her helmet. She pulls back just enough to look up at him with a gentle smile. He needs to see for himself that she's alright. She tilts her head, bringing his hand up and presses a light kiss to his gloved knuckles.
It's his turn to hold her hand tighter.
"Won't happen again."
Her smile broadens, adjusting her grip to interlace her fingers with his. "Of course not. I'll counter it."
He looks relieved, at least, from what she can gather from his shoulders sagging. She doesn't like to see him worry, remorseful and uncertain. In throwing that jab, she'd reassured him he hadn't done as much damage as he'd thought.
But what surprises her is his answer.
"You had better, Guardian. I never want to see that look of terror again."
She presses a soft kiss against his helmet in response and he gathers her close for a tight embrace. In a way, she'd scared him as well in all of this. He'd never seen her tremble and perhaps - perhaps that's why he relented. Not out of courtesy or mere sportsmanship, but out fear - fear of losing her. How tightly he's clutching her to his chest only confirms her suspicions and she can't quite quell the small smile that tugs at the corner of her lips.
"I'm alright," she whispers against the cool metal of his helmet.
"I know." He murmurs, only pulling back as his commlink goes off.
She waits patiently until his gaze shifts back to her.
"Commander Zavala is asking for you in his office."
She nods slightly as her Ghost materializes beside her and heals her injuries. She lingers for a moment, gazing up at him with a sort of warmth and wonder.
"What is it?"
She steps up to him, gently lifting his helmet just enough to press kiss to his lips. He's startled at first, but his hands swiftly find their way to her waist as he returns the tender caress. They've shared moments such as these before but never in public, never with the cameras of the Crucible aimed at them and there's a sort of smug satisfaction she has in knowing Lord Shaxx enjoys her brazen actions such as this.
And then she pulls back, easing his helmet back into place before she steps back. "Enjoy your evening, Lord Shaxx." She can feel his eyes on her as she steps past him, making her way towards the portal back to the Tower.
"Guardian!"
She pauses, pivoting to face him with a curious tilt to her head.
"Stop by when you return, Titan. We’ll trade punches. I’ll let you go first." He returns, a soft chuckle rumbling through his chest.
"See you then."
-----------------------
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His chest rises and falls in such a subtle rhythm that she's placed her hand against it nearly a dozen times in the last hour to ensure he's still breathing.
From what she could gather from the wreckage, he had used the last of his Light to brace a crumbling building, protecting the civilians inside. When the shield caved, he'd braced it with his shoulders until everyone escaped. It's where she found him, unconscious and half buried beneath rubble.
It took half an hour to dig him out by hand, another twenty minutes to maneuver him into a position she could use to get him up. She expected him to be heavy, he is after all, a seven foot Titan but he exceeded even her expectations. She couldn't fully brace his weight given her own weakened state, so she'd had to drag him into the nearest cover and prop him against a wall as best she could. They've been here for hours, she isn't sure when nightfall had been, all she knows is that it's dark and cold and her Titan isn't awake.
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.
---------------------------
Chapter 2 (Dire Need)
Taglists are open! Send an ask/leave a comment to be added!
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
