#tf lockdown

• Plating ruffling slightly, Flatline busies himself getting tools ready. Knows you’re not going to like this. He doesn’t particularly like it himself. Hearing peds in the hall, he keeps his back to you because he can feel your eyes on him. And he hears you softly swear when the patient limps into the medbay. “First berth,” he says, glancing at you. Hates how raw your expression is, the old hurt still as strong as the day the bounty hunter had abandoned you with him. But then your face blanks and you gesture sharply at the berth.

• Venting as you look anywhere but at him, Lockdown grits his denta and eases himself down. Staring as you walk across the counter toward him, expression utterly empty. Your hair’s longer than he remembers and there’s a nasty looking scar on one arm, more on your hands and fingers. “You look good,” he says, voice gruff. You look more sure of yourself. Less the frightened shadow that had clung to him and curled into yourself in fear when left alone. Your eyes meet his and he’d forgotten how fascinating your irises are. The little flecks of color that he can only make out when he’s up close to you. Remembers your voice calling his name. Asking if you did something wrong.

• Feel that hard knot of resentment and hurt inside you trying to unravel and your jaw clenches. How many days had you spent crying over him? Too many and you don’t want to break down in front of him now. It’s easier to resent him for what he did. To refuse to let him hurt you again. You have a new life now. Something that feels real, that might be love with Flatline. You’re happy. So why does a traitorous part of you still love him? “Take down go sideways?” You guess, pleased with how steady your voice is. ‘It’s a dangerous line of work,’ he answers, one corner of his mouth twitching into a crooked, almost smile that makes your chest ache.