Chapter Text
Everything happened so fast. Too fast. Watching the doors to the cannon shut in his face, he was so sure everything he ever knew was about to crumble right in front of him. He was so sure, in fact, that watching the bright light hurry towards the turning cannon, he had no time to question how many lies he’d been fed in his lifetime. Ducking behind his arm to shield his eyes from the blinding collision, he had no time to question how much of his life would be rendered pointless being that the director had lied about… well, everything. Walking, stunned, through the dust and debris of destruction, he had no thought in his mind about how much of his “legacy” really mattered. However, now staring at the rigid, frosty mountain tops, the winding, glimmering river, the indigo sky, who seemed so unaffected by the bright city lights that rendered it dull, (no, this sky gleamed, stars flickered and shined almost as bright as the moon, full of light, which shone beautifully in its low position in the horizon; illuminating the scarce amount of clouds below it) he found himself asking all those questions. He reflected on every aspect of his life he would’ve defended as the truth merely a few weeks earlier. He cursed how much destruction had occurred for nothing. Nothing but a scene fit for a painting hanging in a museum. An unbothered landscape, big and untouched. Both by man and monster.
A noise pulled him from his mind. No, a whimper. So soft and quiet, so small. You wouldn’t hear it had the culprit not been the one in your arms, his face buried in your shoulder, eyelids shielding him from the scene before him. The knight doubted the one clinging even cared to see it at all. He watched as the other quietly wept into his shoulder, almost silently except for a stray sharp breath or wince. He held him closely, staying as still as he could, careful not to make a movement. He found it strangely comforting. A beautiful landscape, a tight embrace between past lovers. He wished he could stop here. Skip to the point where the dust has settled and everything is behind them. He imagined a park, children playing. Running up to his lover with a quick embrace, a sincere kiss shared between the two. A bright sunny day, walking hand in hand with one another, it's beautiful. But we’re not there yet, are we?
A yell broke him out of his second retreat from reality, “Over here! A body!” A knight called. His heart sank. Bodies? More people gathered around the scene. Rubble began to be tumbled and turned over, revealing more and more casualties. Knights yelled out to the gathering paramedics as bodies began tunneling into tents on stretchers. He felt weight from his chest lift as the body he held so protectively shifted upwards in an alarmed manner, his eyes panic-stricken, breath shallow. His gaze darted around at the commotion, mouth slightly open to catch up with the rate in which his breath made his chest rise and fall.
“Bal?” No answer. He tried again, “Ballister?”
“I don’t…” Ballister’s voice trailed off, a slight tremor in his demeanor.
What was he to do? He was unsure. Let his lover sit in dirt and grime, unable to formulate thoughts until someone came to help? Who knew how long that would take! With those who were on the edge of life and death, unsure which way the wind of fate would blow them. These two still had the liberty to draw oxygen into their lungs without their own conscious demand. Or leave? Where would they go? Would Ballister even wish to be in the same room as him?
The air around them thickened. More people, more shouting, more bodies.
“Are you okay?”
“Do you need to sign this wait list?”
“Are you two alright?”
“Where are you going?”
“Goldenloin?”
“Boldheart?”
“Goldenloin with Boldheart?”
“He’s here!”
“Goldenloin, what do we do?”
“Are you okay?”
“Do you need help?”
“Goldenloin, Goldenloin, Goldenloin!”
“...Ambrosius?” Quiet, calm, Ballister.
Gravel crunched softly, or perhaps debris. Smaller parts of a much bigger building, to which building no one could be certain, and they never will. Ambrosius looked down, his glazed over gaze staring into Ballister’s soft, worried one. He was unsure of when the other had found his way in his arms, head resting on his chest, legs pulled close to his shoulder. The knight turned slowly behind him. No more people.
“Are you… alright?” Ballister exhaled, his voice revealing itself hoarse.
Ambrosius looked back at him, taking a breath to steady himself, "I'm okay, Bal.” He nodded softly, to which Ballister hummed a faint response, accepting the other's answer.
Ambrosius was unsure where to go next. Even so, he walked. He walked and limped and staggered; stumbled around wreckage and rubble; walked the streets with tunnel vision, unseeing of the damage around him; all the while holding the one thing that mattered to him in the moment close, as close as to ensure no more harm would be done. Suddenly, he stood face to face with the door of his apartment.
“We’re home.” he exhaled slowly.
“Home?” Ballister croaked weakly.
“Home.” He stepped in, sighing in a sort of relief as he clicked the lamp closest to the door on, illuminating the room with a warm glow.
Bal had let himself down from Ambrosius’s embrace, blinking slowly at the sight. Ambrosius assumed Ballister hadn’t been anywhere with decent living arrangements in the following weeks since… everything. Ambrosius watched him stare at the room blankly, gently swaying in place. He wondered if Bal even wanted to be back here after everything he’d done. After all the horrible feelings he had to live with in the past few weeks, oh how guilty that made Ambrosius feel.
Before he could reach out, Ballister spoke, “Since when were you so messy?” He asked, a soft hint of sarcasm on his tired voice.
“We should get you in bed.”
“Aren’t you tired?”
“Of course I am, but-” He was cut off by the soft movements of his lover carefully removing the plates of his armor for him, something he would’ve been plenty used to had the last few weeks been a dream.
He stared at Ballister’s sure face as he repeated the same actions he had many weeks before. He wasn’t sure if Bal was thinking straight. How could he still put Ambrosius before him after everything he’d done? Why would he still be so selfless for someone so undeserving?
“There.” When he’d finished, he blinked, looking up at Ambrosius with tired eyes. He examined his face, had those eyebags always been there? Ballister went to turn away, presumably to dismantle his own armor, but stumbled unsteadily with a soft groan, Ambrosius quickly steadying him.
“Sorry.” Ballister pulled back painfully.
Ambrosius winced. “Don’t apologize, just…” He took a breath, “...just, let me help you. Please?” He received a nod in response.
Ambrosius sighed in relief, walking the other to his couch, setting him down and beginning to move the plates of armor off him gently. He removed each plate slowly, as to not accidentally disturb any form of rest Ballister was attempting to get. He paused when he was met with the sight of Ballister’s metallic hand, resting just as it would have had it been flesh and bones a part of a greater being. He could almost see it, he could almost feel it. The warmth of his hand as though it were the night of the ceremony, their hands touching as he reassured him: They’ll love you. Like I do. They would’ve. He did. And what did he have to show for it? A severed arm? Chills ran down his spine as he saw the green lights; felt his hand pull his weapon without his mind’s permission; heard the cries of pain as the blade sliced so cleanly, so effortlessly. Was that really all it took? So little effort?
The final piece of the protective attire came off and was set gently onto the ground, releasing a soft metallic sound. Ambrosius didn’t remember taking the rest off. He looked up at the other, his gaze meeting with tired eyes which fixated on the floor.
He placed his palm atop Ballister’s left hand, the real hand “All done.” he spoke softly, a lump in his throat. He tried to smile.
Ballister blinked, meeting the other’s look, though not quite seeing. “Oh. Thank you.” His voice sounded distant, raspy.
Ambrosius let out a sigh, lifting Ballister by the hand and leading him to the room they once shared regularly. Ballister followed in a dazed manner, unaware of himself or his surroundings. Ambrosius hated seeing him like this.
At the bedside, Ambrosius lifted the other onto the mattress, the act hurting more than he recalled earlier, the adrenaline having worn off by then. He stifled a grunt, clenching his teeth. This earned him a worried look from Ballister.
Ballister opened his mouth to speak, yet no words came out. A hand rested on his shoulder, Ambrosius put on a strong face, “I’m okay. Please rest.” His free hand found its way to Ballister’s, to which he felt the other squeeze it ever so slightly. This gave him a foolish glimmer of hope. A sense of stupidity he was painfully aware of.
“Are you sure?” A croak.
“Yes.” He was not sure, but Ballister would never know. And if he did, he made no effort to showcase it as he let his body sink into the comforts of sleep with a defeated sigh; his eyes closing; his fist releasing the pressure bound by the two conjoined hands; his breath slowing to a steady rise and fall of his battered chest.
Ambrosius covered him with a blanket that had not been used since the night of the ceremony. It was a blanket Ballister used when the two would have movie nights, or just when he was cold around the apartment. The night before, it had been folded and placed on a chair in the farthest corner of the room like always. Ambrosius wasn’t sure why he hadn’t touched it during all that time; though, a part of him was sure it was because he was waiting for Ballister to return to his door, despite everything.
The sight filled him with a sense of comfort he felt immediately guilty for. He had no right to feel content; no right to feel any sense of relief after what he’d done. He did not deserve to have Ballister so willing to rest in front of him; to let his guard down so much as to be so intimate after everything he’d done to him.
He found himself in the bathroom, staring at himself in the mirror. He hated the way he looked, right now at least. He wet a cloth and wiped the dust and dried blood off his face. It did not help. He looked to the closed door that separated him and Ballister, then back at the cloth. He was again filled with dread that he did not deserve to clean his wounds after Ballister had to clean his own because of Ambrosius’s own foolish actions. He let a sob escape his throat before he inhaled sharply. He would tend to Ballister’s wounds. It was the only thing he could think to do, although it would never amount to anything worth forgiveness.
He walked over to a cabinet and retrieved pain medication. While he was at it, he took a pill himself; tasting a twinge of guilt along with the medicine. He did not deserve medicine. He filled a small glass with cool water. While he was at it, he took a drink himself; the taste of guilt was stronger this time. He did not deserve water. He wet a cloth with warm water, he did nothing this time; though, the lack of guilt filled him with more dread. He deserved to feel guilty.
He walked into the room with his retrieved items, pausing when his eyes met with Ballister’s figure as it sat on the edge of the mattress. All of Ambrosius’s thoughts ceased. As slowly as to not startle Ballister, yet as hastily as to ease his worry, Ambrosius made his way to the other’s side; placing his care package onto the night stand and sitting down beside him.
“Bal?”
“I don’t know what to do.” Loss. An indescribable feeling, so unique yet so universal. Still, Ambrosius couldn’t find the words to provide any sense of relief to Ballister, for that he felt forever guilty.
“What was… what was she like?” Ambrosius had yet to wrap his head around Nimona; he had never truly understood what she was. All he knew was that she was important. Important to Bal.
Ballister took a breath, looking at Ambrosius for a moment before looking away. Silence. Ambrosius shifted uncomfortably as they sat in the quiet for what he wasn’t sure was seconds or minutes. He cursed himself for asking such a question. How could he dare ask that after everything he’d said about her? He thought of changing the subject before Ballister spoke again. “Funny.” He laughed softly to himself.
“Yeah?” Ambrosius perked up at Ballister’s clear tone.
“Courageous,” he drew in a breath, a smile creeping onto his face, “spontaneous, a little dramatic,” his smile faded, “misunderstood.” he exhaled all his remaining breath with the heavy word, his shoulders shrinking as if the adjective had a weight only he could feel. A look of guilt washed upon his face, draining what little color he had left.
“It’s not your fault.”
“What if it is?” He mumbled breathlessly
“It’s not.” Ambrosius interjected sternly, his hand finding its way onto the other’s; he felt the cold metal in his palm. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep his expression set.
Ballister stared at him for a long moment, seeming as though he was studying his features for a reason which Ambrosius found himself puzzled. Though it hardly mattered. Ballister’s face had contorted to one in pain as he let himself fall into Ambrosius’s chest; however, this pain was different, of that, Ambrosius was sure. This was a different pain no pain killer would fix; a different kind of pain no warm cloth could soothe. A kind that made the grown man who’d survived a severed arm with only himself to tend to it weep. Weep into the other’s shirt like a crying child; cling to the other as if it were his only lifeline. Loss. Ambrosius held him tight, careful to keep him steady as he exhausted himself out of his emotions. He would be there; even if he, too, was shedding his own tears.
The two sat for ages, it felt. Ambrosius dared not to move. That is, until the sobs faded into shallow breaths and small hiccups, stray sniffles and shaky sighs. Ambrosius drew back, looking down at the other who blinked at the movement. The knight cupped Ballister’s cheek, using his thumb to wipe the now cold tears from his face. The other fell into the touch, sending a small wave of relief through Ambrosius.
“We’ll start off small.” He spoke in a low voice, “Can you take some medicine for me? To help with your injuries?”
He sat up, looking at Ambrosius with an expression so soft the knight was sure it could break a fall from the tallest of heights. “Yeah… I can.”
“Thank you.” Ambrosius retrieved the medicine where he’d left it on the nightstand, helping Ballister take it with soft, slow movements. Once completed, he took the cloth he’d wet earlier, “I just want to clean your face, okay? We’ll worry about everything else tomorrow.” He received a nod in response.
Though the cloth was now cold, it didn’t keep Ballister any more awake; his eyes blinking slowly as his upper body swayed drowsily. Ambrosius guided the cloth over a large bruise on the other’s cheek. He winced.
“Who gave you this?”
Ballister looked at him for a long moment before answering, “Oh, Todd… Todd and his, uh… crew.” He said it with a kind of casual tone that made anger well up inside Ambrosius. A kind of anger that made his teeth clench, and his grip tighten. Of course it would be Todd, it was always Todd, even since they were just in training. He wished he could make Todd pay for everything he’d done to Ballister since their early years, he wished he could, just once, scare him straight so he’d never take it upon himself to hurt Bal again, he wanted-
“Ambrosius?” He wanted so badly to take Ballister’s hurt away.
“You need rest.” He led the other’s head back on the pillow once more, standing up straight and turning away.
“Ambrosius?” Ballister asked again, his hand stopping the other from taking a step further.
“Yes?” He asked hesitantly, staring at Ballister’s hand as it held his.
“Will you be here?” He croaked. Ambrosius knew it was hard for him to make sense in this state; but, somehow, he knew exactly what he meant.
“Always.” He turned to face him with a sure smile. He’d felt another wave of hope fall through him. Bal wanted him here.
“Please don’t leave.” His voice cracked under the weight of the sentence. Ambrosius looked down for a moment, exhaling as he placed the damp cloth on the table. That would matter tomorrow. Ballister mattered now.
He propped himself up beside the other, covering him once more with the blanket. “I won’t, I promise.”
He could see a smile on Ballister’s face, “Thank you.” He whispered slowly as he allowed his eyelids to flutter shut again, his weight sinking into the pillow with a slow exhale; perhaps of relief.
Ambrosius smiled. Though he knew he shouldn’t, he did anyway. Intimacy like this is exactly what he feared he’d lost after everything had happened; yet, here he was. And for that he was forever grateful. He wanted to stay awake, stare at the scene before him for the rest of the night until the sun rose, he wanted to be there in case any nightmares rose while his lover tried to rest; however, no one was built to fight and win the battle against sleep. So he didn’t try.