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The familiar streets of Syndicate, reeking of gunpowder and blood that has long since soaked into the ground. Distorted faces of the mob, and the feeling of bursting rage within her, ever so growing. The scenes that passed in front of Zoya’s eyes were always similar. Each time, the faceless passersby would eventually take the shape of those she had known before, those that were lost to the violent rots and ruthless ways of the rundown district. They awoke the memory of all the sacrifices that needed to be made for her to get this far.
What else would she be forced to sacrifice along her way?
The shadows that lurked around her always whispered their answers relentlessly, no matter how much Zoya tried to shut them out. That from the very start, she was fated to destroy what she touched. They were a constant reminder that everything that matters to her will ultimately fade away, her fists holding onto it pried open, no matter how much she clenches her teeth and tightens her grip.
Once, Zoya swore not to let her mind be infected with unneeded sentiments for that very reason. Yet somewhere along the way, someone succeeded in softening the Legion’s leader up. The shadows seemed all too aware of it. In each dream, the infamous Chief of MBCC was the one she held onto the most. And each time, she was ripped away from her.
The torment doesn’t last too long this time, if that was supposed to be any comfort. Zoya wakes up, the nightmare fresh in her mind. Judging from the darkness of the sky, it’s still the middle of the night. What pointless bullshit, she thinks in annoyance. As always, the dreams were one thing, but shaking them off after was a damn pain. Wasn’t she supposed to feel relieved? But as far as she was concerned, there was no relief. Her muscles were still tense, as if still preparing for an upcoming attack from an unknown foe.
Zoya held a reputation of a good fighter. An excellent one, even. But fighting the invisible wasn’t the Legion’s leader's strong suit, especially when there was no one to blame but her own damn mind. It’d be easier if she could punch and slash and yell, but instead, she was stuck struggling to catch her breath in the familiar bedroom. For a few moments, it was always difficult to grasp which parts were real and which were not. What she had lost already, and what she still had left. What she would not allow to be taken from her.
As soon as she regains full control of her body, Zoya shoots up to check the other side of the bed. It might have been a stupid dream, but was the real Chief still fine? She is aware her fears are unfounded, yet she needs to make sure anyway. Zoya’s not sure she could fall back asleep otherwise. But of course, the woman’s there, black hair spilled over her pale shoulders. Zoya goes to check her pulse, but the proof speaks to her herself before she has the chance to. Her lover groggily opens her eyes, looking at her with a hint of concern. Zoya’s movements probably stirred her awake. Chief has always been a light sleeper. “Zoya, are you okay…? You were tossing and turning.” The woman mutters through her half asleep state.
Filled with a newfound sense of relief, Zoya pulls her into her arms without as much as a word of warning, making Chief let out a small noise of surprise. Zoya’s grip only tightens against the confused woman. Good, Chief was still there. Good. Zoya could still protect her — at least one person dear to her. She tries to calm her own ragged breathing, face buried into the spot where Chief's shoulder and neck meet, inhaling the familiar scent she has grown used to.
Her lover, now seeming to have gotten at least a bit of a better grasp on the situation, taps her shoulder twice. “Z–Zoya, it hurts a little.” Zoya immediately softens the hold she has on the frailer woman. She must have forgotten herself for a second. Controlling her strength wasn’t as easy when she got too worked up.
“Sorry.” She doesn’t let go just yet, but is much more careful now. It feels like Chief might slip away if she’s no longer in her arms. Deep down, she knows that won't happen, but these stupid dreams are anything but rational. It makes Zoya want to groan in frustration. They’re an insult to her pride, truly.
Chief moves her hand up to her hair, brushing the stray strands away from the gang leader's eyes carefully. “Nightmares?”
At first, Zoya wants to make up some excuse, but changes her mind. Chief realizes more than she lets on, really — lying to the woman is pointless. Instead, she just nods, and her lover doesn’t press for anything more. She knows the Legion’s leader enough not to, at least not right now. Maybe she’ll get it out of Zoya in the morning. Maybe she won’t. That never seemed to be her main goal, which Zoya was somewhat thankful for.
Instead of trying to explain, she basks in her lover’s presence for a while, letting Chief run her fingers through her hair leisurely. Still, it doesn’t take long for the temporary moment of peace to be interrupted as Zoya feels something warm seep into her side and onto the sheets through the clothes. She tries not to sigh in annoyance, having a good idea of what's the problem. Crimson stains her fingers when she goes to touch the wet spot she bandaged only a few hours earlier. It’s dark in the bedroom, but blood is a sight familiar enough for Zoya to recognize in most circumstances. It doesn’t go unnoticed by Chief either, who lights a bedside lamp when she feels her stir. Perceptive type. Zoya didn’t even have time to hide it. It’s not like it was particularly serious, just a few shallow wounds that, annoyingly, didn't want to heal as fast as Zoya would like them to. While to her it was nothing, she knew Chief would hold a different opinion on the matter.
“Zoya, you’re bleeding. You moved around a lot… Your injuries must have opened again.” There’s a tinge of concern in Chief’s voice, one that the woman does not try to mask. She looks up to Zoya with a certain softness in her eyes, one akin to gazing at something fragile.
Zoya had never thought of herself in such a category.
The tone of her voice is as nonchalant as always as she slowly lets go of the other woman and lifts her own body from the bed. “It’s fine. I’ll go bandage it.” I can handle it, it speaks. The Legion’s leader could always handle it.
Before she can leave, the quiet, but determined voice of her lover stops her in her tracks. “Can I?”
Zoya blinks once. “Can you what?”
“Bandage it for you. Help you.” Chief furrows her brows, looking at Zoya as if she’s analyzing something. A look similar to that one she had on missions, when she’d make sure the battlefield was safe enough for her Sinners to proceed.
Zoya shakes her head, attempting to brush the words off, not letting them touch her. Not letting their implications linger for too long. “Sweetheart, I’ve done it countless times. I don’t need help.”
Chief frowns. “I know you don’t, and you know that’s not what I mean.” She sits up, voice a tinge more serious. She looks straight into Zoya’s eyes. Chief’s gaze, although soft, does have moments when it feels uncharacteristically intense. It feels like the woman can see right through her sometimes. “Let me do something for you. Once.”
“It’s not—”
She’s cut off. “Please, Zoya.”
So damn stubborn. She’d like to sigh in exasperation, but as stubborn as the Chief is, that’s one of the many qualities she finds endearing about the leader of MBCC. That sheer determination might as well have been what made Zoya fall in love with her in the first place. She does not remember, not exactly. Loving Chief comes to her so very naturally, after all.
Zoya clicks her tongue, feigning annoyance. “You’re playing dirty, you know?” She raises her eyebrow, shooting the woman a knowing look. Still, it’s obvious she has been defeated, forced to lower her walls for a few moments. If only that damn please didn’t work every single time. Maybe she was growing soft.
“I know.” Chief shoots her a smile, and once again, Zoya simply cannot get mad. She watches as the covers shift and Chief gets out of the bed, shivering slightly at the feeling of cold air on exposed skin. Zoya has the urge to drape her jacket over the woman’s frail frame, but she must have left it in another room. Inconvenient, but so be it. She just follows Chief to the bathroom leisurely, definitely not with the pace expected of a person bleeding from their abdomen.
She’s urged to lean against the wall, cold tiles against her back, as Chief runs some warm water and searches in the cabinet for a clean cloth. It’s a little funny, being pushed around by someone so much smaller than Zoya. Chief’s conviction was what made up for the height difference, though. Zoya had learned that her lover could get awfully serious when she was set on protecting someone. Even if that someone was a six feet tall gang leader that could crush her with one hand.
Chief comes back to her side, a bowl of warm water and the cloth she finally found in her hands. She kneels in front of Zoya, a look of utter focus in her eyes. She reaches for the bloodied bandages slowly, carefully, looking up to her with that sweet concern again. One that, really, isn't needed at all. “Can I…?”
“Go ahead, love.” Zoya gives her a nod, leaning against the wall a bit more comfortably. It’s not like the woman would, or even could hurt her — Zoya’s pain tolerance was quite above the average, if she could say so herself. She also definitely didn’t mind her lover’s hands touching her, having already bared everything in front of each other long ago. And yet, Chief still asked so carefully, so seriously. Unnecessary, but… it was sweet enough. She could get behind the gesture.
Seeing the approval, Chief wastes no time getting the old bandages off. She works in silence and concentration, carefully dabbing up the excess blood with the warm cloth. She’s really more serious about the whole ordeal than Zoya believes is necessary. But she knows, she knows Chief will fret over her regardless of what she says. Her fingers are gentle and warm against Zoya’s skin. It’d be difficult to imagine this lithe woman bearing the shackles, if not for the faint red marks on the back of her hand. And if not for the fact that Zoya had experienced them firsthand.
“Hey, say something. Don’t make such a serious expression, you make me feel like I’m one leg in the grave already.” Zoya finally cuts the silence, watching in amusement as Chief’s brows furrow in concern over her wound.
“I’m concentrating.” The woman answers, not as much as looking up to her, now grabbing a second, dry towel and patting the wound down.
“Can’t multitask? Thought the Chief of MBCC could do anything.” Zoya can’t help but tease.
Chief just furrows her brows even further and doesn’t answer, at which Zoya chuckles quietly. Hm, if she were to think about it now, her life must have been pretty boring when she didn’t have this cute leader of MBCC to annoy. She shuts up for now, watching silently as fresh, white bandages are wrapped over the cleaned wound.
Chief evaluates her own work for a while before nodding slightly, seemingly more to herself than to Zoya. She rises to her feet. “Done. Does it hurt?”
Zoya feigns her most serious expression. “Terribly.”
Chief’s eyes quickly go up to meet hers with newly awakened concern. “Hm? Do you need—” She stops, and groans immediately upon meeting Zoya’s now amused smirk. “You. You’re having fun, aren’t you?”
She definitely was. Chief has gotten too grim for her liking. “Come on, I was serious.” She grins, hooking an arm around the woman’s waist and bringing her closer, not so discreetly glancing at the other’s lips. “I require more assistance, doctor.”
Chief rolls her eyes, but Zoya doesn’t sense any real annoyance behind it. “Don’t scare me just because you want a kiss. Just ask normally. It's not like I’d say no.”
“It’s more fun that way.” She smirks, tilting the woman’s head up until their lips meet in a short yet sweet kiss. Chief’s lips are so pleasantly soft. She could spend a whole day doing this. A whole year, in fact. Zoya had always thought herself to be more on the desire end of things, but it just so happened that these soft, affectionate touches proved to be just as enjoyable. “Seems I was saved from tragically bleeding out. Let’s go back to bed, yeah? We can still sleep for at least a few more hours.” She smiles, genuinely, not teasingly this time. In all truth, no words could convey the extent of gratitude she felt towards the MBCC’s leader. How did her role become so crucial in Zoya’s life…? “The Legion’s leader doesn’t need anyone”. Throughout Zoya's life, that seemed to be a common belief in most people that watched her from afar. She believed it herself for a while. But that never stopped her from wanting, did it?
The shared bed feels like a place she belongs when she lies back in it. The night is quiet, save for the soft breathing of her lover against her shoulder.
Not quite ready to sleep yet, Zoya runs her hand through Chief’s hair leisurely. “Hey, are you asleep?” She tests the waters, her voice a low murmur. No response. Hm, maybe that was for the better. “You know, little Chief, I would die for you.” She mutters softly into the dark. Dying wasn’t a luxury the Legion’s leader could afford, not with so many people putting their trust in her. Killing someone, yeah. She would definitely kill for Chief. She did kill for Chief. But dying? That was a greater sacrifice, one that could probably be called selfish. But if it were to be for Chief, Zoya wouldn’t think twice. Did she change too much in these recent months?
Chief opens one eye, glancing at her with an irked look. Ah, that got a reaction out of her. So she was still awake. “Don’t you dare. If you want to do something for me so badly, then rest.”
“Rest?” Zoya repeats the word. It feels a little strange on the tip of her tongue. It isn't quite in the same category as killing or dying. The gang leader tilts her head. “That’s it?”
Chief nods, and pauses for a moment before speaking slowly, as if picking her words carefully. “Uh-huh. For a while, at least. You know… just, rest? No fights, no Legion matters to take care of. Just sit down, have a warm meal, and drink some tea. Tell me if you need, or even just want anything. That kind of thing.”
Zoya hums in thought. “Mm… My option sounds easier, if I’m honest.”
Chief glares. “Zoya—”
She chuckles. “Just kidding, just kidding. No dying, got that… for now.”
Chief groans in exasperation, and Zoya doesn’t even try to stifle her laughter anymore. Her lover’s expression quickly turns to one of determination, though, and she doesn’t say anything for a moment. She seems to be thinking about something, and Zoya is curious to see her next move.
Soon enough, Chief takes hold of Zoya’s hand, fingers caressing the back of it. Chief gazes at the palm, bigger than her own, and Zoya stares at her in return, and at the gentle look on her lover’s face. She can see the subtle flutter of her eyelashes when soft lips press against her knuckles, contrasting with the rough and calloused texture of her own skin.
For a second, she’s dumbfounded. Not many things surprised Zoya, not anymore, but this kind of affection felt new. There was something different from usual about it. At the moment, it feels… so soft and tender that almost wrong. Almost. It’s strange, and unfitting, but Zoya likes it. She likes Chief kissing her like this. She likes Chief kissing the rough parts that she thought could only be used to tear things apart.
Wasn’t this such a silly gesture? These hands that the other gangs feared so much, that the officials would love nothing more than to shackle. The fists that were used to intimidate and silence her enemies, those who posed a threat to the Legion or to the people of Syndicate. They were the deadliest weapon of the district. And still, Chief was so careful with them, caressing them with kindness Zoya felt undeserving of.
Chief slowly lets go of her hand. “I'm being serious. Don’t bear everything alone. If I can do anything for you, I want to. Whatever burdens you… let me share with you, Zoya.” She says it so softly it might as well be a whisper. One shared between lovers. One meant for only the two of them, carrying a comforting promise. “I swear, I’ll make you rest properly when everything’s over even if that’s the last thing I do.”
Treatment of this kind was… new in Zoya’s life. This woman really brought out sides of her of whose existence she wasn’t aware. When would everything be over? Would it ever be? It’s not like either of them knew the answer. But it was easier, at the very least, if Zoya had someone to confide in.
“I’ll be looking forward to seeing you try, Chief.”
Maybe she could get used to that some day. Some day, when the two of them no longer have to prove anything. Maybe then, Zoya will be able to sit back and drink tea leisurely in their shared apartment. The vision is funny to imagine. Still, it’s what she thinks about as she rests her head upon the pillow, arms wrapped tightly around that weakness of hers, that annoyingly unyielding Chief.
In the dark, their last whispers of the night make it to each other.
“I love you.”
“I love you too. Sleep well, Zoya.”
For the first time in a while, she does.