pulling on the threads.

by Efaya

Summary:

He couldn’t recall the last time something captivated him nearly as much as this enigmatic Drifter did. A strange and conflicting melody followed her every step— tempo inconsistent and pitch erratic— serving as a warning for any who would dare get close to her. As much as he wasn’t one for chaos, something about her kept drawing him closer and closer against his better judgement.

The only question left was how hard could he pull on the threads before they snapped.

Chapter 1: prologue.

Notes:

Welcome to the prologue of a project I've been wanting to write for a while.

A little short, but it's to give an idea of what this fic is gonna be— so enjoy <3

. . .

[ I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun. ]

Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice

. . .

When my blade pierced through the top of her hand, my years of battles left me expecting some semblance of noise, a whine of pain, perhaps a stream of curses, maybe loud and pained primal yells— but certainly not the defiant purple eyes and very subtle curl to the edges of her rosy lips, refusing to break eye contact with me.

Alright, a few deep breaths to steady myself.

“That… was very rude.” My voice dropped, exhaustion permeating my bones, seeping into my words in heavy breaths.

It has been a bloody long day.

She stared on, silently keeping her eyes wholly focused on me. Nothing crossing those tightly shut lips.

“Well, alright then…”

Seeing as how she wasn’t exactly being the most cooperative, I fully stood up, casually dusting off some of the plentiful grime from my armored body. I left the blade in the top of her hand for the time being, placing my own hand, leaning some of my body weight, on the pommel to keep it firmly anchored where it struck.

Even then, even after adding a little more pressure to the blade, testing her limits to staying so quiet— no doubt causing more pain while it cut slightly deeper through her hand— not even a peep nor a flinch.

Something off about her.

“You‘ll talk sooner or later,” I remarked, not missing the flash of what seemed to be a lilac glow in those eyes— their pupils tracking and fixating on my every movement like an animal stalking its prey despite the fact she’s the one pinned to the ground right now.

My hand remained on the top of the pommel, squatting down to meet her closer to eye level as she laid pinned to the floor, briefly side-eyeing the very odd looking firearm that flew away from her grasp and landed meters away. Never seen anything quite like that thing before. I refocused on that striking gaze, the unusual colour appearing to swirl within her eyes, an otherworldly quality to them that I had never seen before. 

When I moved to stand back up, leaning on the pommel once more to keep my blade anchored, that tight line across her jaw twisted upwards. The way her lips slightly curled looked like a smile, but her eyes were not smiling. I couldn’t place the expression, almost a hint of mischievousness— cheekiness, even— crossing that gaunt face. 

Before I could ask what was happening inside that head of hers, I felt a strange… ripple down my spine, an unknown whisper of a melody filling the space between my ears. It was all bloody invasive, somewhat similar to whatever the hell she just did inside my head but certainly different. The sensations were slowly becoming overwhelming, my immediate thought being that she intentionally did something to me— but the way her cheeky smile wavered, eyes slightly narrowed, confusion slowly crawling to the surface of her features— led me to think that she didn’t quite know what was happening either. 

I shook my head, changing gears back to the current situation, already planning the next moves for the Hex once I got her back to the Mall for a talk. Simply too much to do between finding Entrati, keeping the Techrot and Scaldra at bay, saving civvies as much as we could, and making sure the Hex stays together.

I didn’t realize it until much, much later, but those sensations— the threads and sounds— were not something as “simple” as a side effect of her being inside my head. The temptation to pull on those threads only grew stronger as time passed, the accompanying sounds lingering in the background ever since this enigmatic figure launched into Höllvania.

I truly did not understand to what end I was already in over my head with this pink-haired woman with the glowing lilac eyes.

. . .

Notes:

I wanted to go ahead and throw this up to gauge interest, but also to give a preview of what's in the works while I'm working on this and another smut fic simultaneously. I wanted to write something that shows how Arthur and Rose's relationship develops before the very first fic in my series. I guess I could describe it as "strangers to friends to eventual lovers". I tried to tag them as a heads up but there's going to be some dark subject matter. HOWEVER if you have read the rest of my series, you already have an idea of what kind of dark subject matter is going to come up. Also this is obviously way before Rose chooses her name, so she is just "The Drifter" in this fic <3

Stay tuned for updates as I work on this bad boy in my spare time! c:

Chapter 2: loose and scattered.

Summary:

Too much was happening that felt outside of my control— this Drifter throwing a wrench in our team that I wasn’t quite sure where it fit yet. She was truly a mystery to everyone, too fresh from a world none of us could even comprehend.

Notes:

please read the tags, some sensitive topics are in this <3

. . .

Scaldra movements… Techrot numbers… Entrati’s lasting gifts… and now a bloody time traveller. 

I need a cup of tea and a lie down.

I sighed into the chair, the endless headaches of this hellscape constantly causing new problems for us with each passing day. It was bad enough when we were hunting down Entrati for starting this whole sodding mess, but now we were in a loop with this strange pink-haired woman who could just… reset the year. It sounds even more mad every time I think about it.

It had been a week since she forced her way into Höllvania and a week since I ran my blade through her hand as a hello. Over that week, a rhythm was found— her running missions alongside the Hex, helping us deal with our multi-front urban war, and keeping our supplies as stocked as possible given the circumstances. 

It had also been a week of noticing things about our mysterious Drifter.

She had many strange… quirks. The food was the most obvious one of the lot— the way she sliced every morsel given to her into little cubes, as if she was on autopilot.  At first I chalked it up to her being a picky eater, but she repeated the same slicing and dicing process with every single piece of food that was placed in front of her.

The gauntness to her face, the way purple accented under her eyes beneath that pale skin, gave away her other food quirk— she didn’t eat nearly enough. Despite the hungry look in those pale purple eyes, the Drifter never ate more than the bare minimum offered. She moved around well enough on her limited diet, but it felt like she was stuck in a survival mode of sorts. We may have all found ourselves in this hellish war zones— trying desperately to protect a civilian populace that seemed so weary of us— but we did have food. We had supplies, for Sol’s sake, Drifter herself was instrumental in increasing the efficiency of our supply runs.

Yet, she only took the bare minimum to keep moving. A very familiar feeling if I was being honest with myself.

I glanced at my own metallic mutated hands, shuffling reports around as was a daily occurrence, recalling the interesting exchange I had barely a week ago with this enigmatic woman. 

. . . 

“Well, you're on point, Marty. But you try any of those head games again and there won't be much left for Lettie to stitch back up. You read me?” 

“Loud and clear.”

The way her lips curled at the corners, bordering somewhere between a sneer and a smile, standing up to meet my stare even when she was clearly so much shorter than myself, left me wanting to push harder— play up the bad guy, see what answers I could get— but this wasn’t the time nor the place. I knew that.

Realistically, it was probably for the best that Quincy and Amir had joined this interrogation. I was on edge, as was everyone on the team, but I couldn’t let my frustrations boil over right now— especially not in front of those watchful lilac eyes. The said owner of those eyes plopping back down into the metal chair, examining the quick patch job Lettie did to her hand.

Quincy side-eyed me from the corner, quick to catch on to my own train of thought, ever the clever one observing from the side lines. Whatever he saw in me Amir didn’t seem to catch, the youngest member of the Hex still marveling over how this Drifter was supposedly from the far distant future.

“Oi, Amir, we got jobs to run.” Quincy turned to make his way out of the makeshift interrogation space, Amir instantly popping up at attention at the mention of his name. “Got civvies needing supplies, get your game face on and leave His Maj with this one.”

When Quincy moved to leave the room, Amir followed close behind, arms propped up behind his head as he left behind the team’s sniper.

“Quincy… Marty’s the real deal… like, this is so unbelievably huge and I have sooooo many questions for her once we…” Amir’s voice trailed off as the two members left the room, just myself and the pink-haired newcomer who sat in front of me.

After a few seconds of neither of us speaking in the now empty room— her strange eyes returning to track my every move once she checked over her hand— I broke the silence.

“I’m serious about what I said.” I began to walk around the chair, small controlled steps around her in a circle. “You try anything like you did on me again— or anyone on the team for that matter— that’s it.”

She seemed completely unbothered by my threat. A pink eyebrow raising after another prolonged silence.

“I think I got the point, ‘dear merciful team leader’.”

I was taken… aback by the sheer amount of sarcasm dripping from every syllable that left those pink lips. She was already smart with us earlier, but it seemed like once the other two left the room the sass was turned all the way up. I couldn’t tell if she was trying to make me mad or…

“Soooo…” she lamented, crossing her arms and rolling her eyes, “I’m gonna go track down Entrati.” The Drifter stood up, brushing dust off her worn pants, not seeming to care that there were still speckles of Techrot fluids all over her.

Before I could say anything, she walked off with a sway in her hips that couldn’t be missed. I couldn’t help but wonder… who was actually in charge here?

. . .

The sound of Quincy’s practice shots in the Mall ripped me back to the present, away from lilac eyes and pink hair clouding my vision when I should be reviewing Hex reports.

Sol’s wounds… what the bloody hell is wrong with me?

Too much was happening that felt outside of my control— this Drifter throwing a wrench in our team that I wasn’t quite sure where it fit yet. She was truly a mystery to everyone, too fresh from a world none of us could even comprehend. Our newly started KIM conversations hadn’t revealed many details about her past, or any clues to how she operated, but they gave me a better idea of who this Drifter was.

Underneath the vast amounts of sarcasm and eye rolling that seemed to exist in every discussion we had, she was rather… kind. A kindness that seemed intensely at odds with how guarded, yet nonchalant, she was at all times. She offered praise and forgiveness in her words when working with the team, yet I got the feeling she didn’t offer any of those things for herself.

After she name-dropped it mid-conversation, asking what this Duviri was ended up being a huge mistake: her responses suddenly became so much shorter and to the point, quickly going offline at the first chance she got. She clearly didn’t want to discuss her past, and I could respect that— but it equally piqued my curiosity.

I wasn’t exactly the most open person myself. Aoi could speak to that.

All in all, she was obviously no stranger to battle. That was clear enough in how she handled herself on missions. Albeit very messy and not one to coordinate with the team, she would get any job asked of her done. The closest thing I could compare her fighting style to was one of pure survival— one I had seen in war: where at the end of the day pomp and circumstance didn’t really matter, all that actually mattered was going home. She always fought as if it was her final stand— as if she was trying to find her way home.

What is home to her?

I shuffled through even more ops reports while leaned over my desk, hand ruffled in my already messy hair, wishing for a bloody shower after such a long day. Her image came into my mind again while rifling through bland status updates— her very short stature and bright pink mess of hair standing out amongst all the dreary tones of the crumbling mall. She had a unique look to her, but lately… I noticed the little things about her that weren’t obvious at first glance in the initial days of her working with the Hex.

She had scars— many scars— the deep, jagged lines particularly focused on her left forearm. I only noticed them while she was walking back from the showers one evening, the long-healed marks decorating that same arm. The slashes were erratic, some horizontal across the skin, some long and vertical up the inner forearm and down across the wrist.

The arrangement of them was very telling, my heart slightly stuttering at the implication of it all.

Thought of her scars brought another conversation to mind, one I had with Lettie not long after the little interrogation incident with the Drifter.

. . . 

“Arthur, here’s that report you asked for about the newbie.” Lettie stood in front of the security desk, leaned on her hip, hand on top of the piece of paper she just dropped in front of me. 

She ran her eyes up and down me, clicking her tongue at the sight before her.

“Sleep does wonders for the body, old friend.” Lettie’s voice slightly softened, still chastising me of course, but our long-standing friendship accented her words. I sighed, taking the handwritten report as soon as she released her gloved hand from it.

“I’ll keep it in mind.” I began to quickly read over the points Lettie wrote down as she started to speak.

“She’s like us,” Lettie paused when my eyes shot up to meet hers. She waved off my alarm. “Not like that, but she heals fast. Really fast. I noticed when patching her up that the tissue was already at a point that should take nearly a day to reach.”

Well that was interesting news.

“She mentioned that she’s rather resilient to most injuries,” Lettie stated, flicking some dust off her skin, being rather nonchalant about the conversation.

I raised a brow at her, those watchful eyes all business.

“No details, she wasn’t exactly the most forthcoming patient but none of the civvies are either. To use her own words: ‘if I could die, it would have happened already’.”

. . .

Memories from many years ago, the dark hallways of the family Estate, the unpleasant stories they told, scratched at the back of my mind like a caged animal. I had an idea of what happened to this woman, how those scars came to be, but I could only assume that her inner demons were of a different caliber. Lettie’s voice rang between my ears.

“She’s got a lot of trauma, Arthur.”

Something tells me that isn’t even scratching the surface with her.

I learned over this past week that beneath all the sarcasm, the careful words, the constant reassurances to everyone on the team that she was fine: there were old wounds on her soul. The lots of trauma that Lettie pointed out. A mountain of trauma and a plethora of invisible wounds that didn’t fit someone who appeared so… green? So young? So non-military? I could confidently say that she looked fresher than any soldier I had ever known. 

‘Looked’ was truly the key word— how old even is she? She seemed similar in age to Amir, maybe older, but the way she conducted herself, the way she didn’t seem surprised by the horrors we faced in Höllvania… it came across as older, someone who had seen many battlefields and their horrors, but to what extent I hadn’t the faintest idea.

Lettie didn’t have many answers for that either.

“She’s definitely human, no Techrot to be found, thank Sol. Didn’t give her age though, and best guess is somewhere around Amir’s… but she can certainly speak like someone’s abuela.”

Too much to think about when we have plenty enough to do around here.

The reactor, how everyone in the Hex— including myself— died, was still fresh in my mind, and how this odd Drifter could just… reset everything, like it never happened. It added to that overall mystery who or what she even was. Part of me regretted not pulling more information from her in the interrogation room, knowing that might have been my one chance to learn more about who and what she was.

That Gods-damned pink hair won’t leave my thoughts.

Something itched at my mind, drew my attention away from piles of messy field reports, to see her walking across the bottom floor atrium of the Mall, no doubt trailing to her personal hideaway upstairs.

There it is again.

Every time I saw her, this strange melody whispered to me, ushering me— insisting— to listen to the song that echoed from her every step, to follow the strings her path laid on the ground. I couldn’t make sense of it, nothing like this ever happened to me before to compare it too. Her steps were floaty, almost like something carried her as she walked around. Her pink hair landed just past her shoulders, the rough tips dusting her upper back. She seemed to like the clothing of our time, only ever wearing clothes that looked like something picked out at the shops before this whole place went to hell.

I realized I was caught when our eyes locked on one another, her lips slightly curling at the edges. That sly, rather mischievous smile of hers knew I was staring. She turned towards me, a brisk pace landing her before the security desk in no time at all, her eyes matching her lips in their playfulness as she stared down at me to where I sat.

“Whatcha staring at, Arthur?” 

Gods, she wasn’t going to let this slide.

I leaned back in the metal chair, crossing my arms across my chest, matching her pointed stare with my own. 

“Wondering if you’ve been keeping yourself sharp these days, Drifter.” Her answering scoff assured me that she took the bait. Thank Sol she’s easily distracted.

She leaned forward, planting her hands on the desk, slightly crumpling and pushing some of the papers I was reading over to the side. Those lilac eyes were honed in and narrowed at me.

“Trying to insinuate something, Nightingale,” she muttered, voice lower than normal, that upwards turn to her lips threatening to grow. She seemed to enjoy a good challenge. 

Her attitude was contagious, no doubt about that.

“Well, practice makes practice, mate.” I stood up, the Drifter quickly moving back from the desk but didn’t take her eyes off of me. I leaned to my side, crossing my arms as I looked down at the rather short woman. It didn’t matter that I had a good amount of height over her, the challenge didn’t disappear from her eyes. 

“Have you done much hand to hand training?” I asked, watching her posture grow a little less tense. That stiffness to her stance was still there even with it lessening— in the week she had been here there was always some level of tension to how she carried herself.

It seemed that the Drifter really had to think about it, bringing her hand to her chin for a few seconds before the smallest oh left her mouth. 

“I suppose yes? Well… kinda?” Her lips pursed, eyes looking at me but focusing on something far beyond me. A flash of pain radiated those strange lilac eyes. “Mostly just trial by fire.”

I wasn’t quite sure what to make of that answer.

“I can teach you, if you’d like.” I straightened up and started to make my way out of the security desk area. When I walked around the main desk and stood next to her, our height difference became even more obvious. Her face was about chest level for me— her frame so small, making me look absolutely large by comparison.

If she was intimated at all, she didn’t show it.

Then her eyes lit up, a glow around them as a real smile fell on that lovely face. Lovely face… Nightingale, what are you saying? Professionalism.

“I’d love that. Doesn’t hurt to keep me on my toes.” Her soft voice ripped me back to the conversation at hand. She began crudely punching the air— almost making me laugh at how utterly silly the display was— before she stopped to exchange gazes again. That glow was still lingering in those unique eyes.

“Well, it shouldn't be too hard to keep up with an old bloke, eh?” I said, starting to take a few steps towards the makeshift gym— before a new, novel sound stopped me in my tracks.

A playful and sincerely happy laugh erupted from the pink-haired woman standing barely a meter away. I couldn’t help but stare at her, realizing that this was the first time I had ever heard her laugh since she got here. Her eyes crinkled at the corners, laughs big enough to leave her torso shaking.

The sound struck something deep inside me— the continually present melody that followed her every step and the one that haunted me since she fell out of my head— tuning slightly more… rich, sweet, pleasant. It was a… nice sound.

“Don’t worry about me, old man. I don’t think you understand what you’re in for with me.” Even more laughs followed the Drifter’s retort.

She wasn’t wrong about that at all.

. . .

Notes:

I'm doing some building, if you couldn't tell c:

I know it's a little weird going back to her being nameless for this, but it's a prequel. If you read the fics before this then you'd know how the name situation came to be :P

Chapter 3: slightly twisted.

Summary:

She wasn’t wrong. I didn’t understand her. I didn’t know much about her.

She had many skeletons in her closet, I could guess that from the beginning, but none of them were shared, neither through day to day operations or over KIM messages. The Drifter would laugh and smile with the team — but kept a healthy distance no matter what. Her guard was constant, the wall she built around herself many layers thick.

Notes:

read the tags, things are starting to happen <3

. . .

“The way you took out that tank was pretty cool, Marty.”

“For real! How you jumped over the top and shot out the weak points before you even landed?! Amazing!! You’d make a great dancer with those moves!”

“Guys, I think you’re exaggerating what I did a little bit…”

Dinner was energetic tonight, the team celebrating another successful day of gathering supplies, saving some civvies, and taking down another one of Viktor’s bloody tanks. The team was in a great mood, Amir and Aoi describing the way the Drifter took down the armored monstrosity in what felt like a matter of seconds — the fighter in question brushing off every compliment thrown her way. She always made quick work of her missions, preferring to run them alone but occasionally accepting help from one of us when the need arose. Getting her to work within the Hex as a unit instead of alongside them was an ongoing challenge over the past few weeks.

At least the team morale is up. That’s always good.

A laugh bellowed from her pink lips, something Amir said particularly inciting her joy as those small hands of hers preoccupied themselves with slicing down her food into cubes — as she always did.

“Rude to stare, dearest brother.”

My eyes sharply landed on Eleanor, the sly smile on her face as she secretly chastised me. There was still something so… odd about your own sister having full access to your thoughts, but at least it was her, I suppose. Her melodic chuckle filled the space between my ears.

“There’s this novel new concept called making conversation, Arthur.”

Am I not allowed to keep an eye on the newcomer, especially when she’s around the team? Eleanor’s telling hmmm echoed around my head from my question.

“If that’s all you were doing, there would be nothing unusual with that.”

Eleanor, what are you on about?

My sister was all smiles, moving closer and cozying up to the petite Drifter who sat next to her in the booth. I noticed that the two of them had grown rather close over a relatively short period of time. There was a level of peace on Eleanor’s features that had been absent for a long time, the Drifter clearly enjoying her company and my sister as well. I couldn’t really pry for more when the woman I grew up with was the happiest I had seen her in years. As much as her commentary left me unsettled.

I let out a heavy sigh, my own plate long cleared, pushing my mind back on task.

“Team, we have a pretty full plate tomorrow, so we can only spare Eleanor to stay behind to safeguard the mall and keep everyone on the same page.” I could see a mixture of fascination and eagerness cross the Drifter’s face, ever so expressive and an easy read. “Some intel gathered from Quincy from locals suggests that there is a huge influx of Techrot overrunning certain sectors of town — and we need to stop it or hold it back best we can. It’s been bloody hard to evacuate civvies when there’s so many of those mangled television sets running amok.”

“You could say that again,” Amir quipped absentmindedly, pulling out his handheld game from a pouch.

“So I’m going to need Amir and Quincy on civvie evac. Aoi, Lettie, you’re on medical and emergency response for the injured.” I paused and briefly locked eyes with the curious pink-haired woman attentively watching my every move. “Myself and Drifter are going to search and weed out as many Techrot as we possibly can from the location we were informed about.”

I could see the shit-eating grin threatening to crawl across Eleanor’s face any second now. I knew her far too well to miss the tell-tale signs of it. 

“Sounds good with me,” the Drifter chirped, taking a small sip from the cup she held in her petite hand. Everything about her seemed so… small.

A sudden hum filled the space between my ears, nearly choking out every single sound of the team conversing about tomorrow’s tasks ahead. My head throbbed from the intrusive sound, my brow bone aching from the pressure placed behind it. The sound was familiar — the same melody that appeared the day the Drifter tumbled out of my head and into Höllvania. It wasn’t nearly as disjointed as it was originally, definitely more cohesive and welcoming now. 

When that same ripple twisted its way along my spine, I barely held back the small gasp that tried to pry its way past my lips. The sensation was incredibly intrusive, yet entirely too intimate in a way I couldn’t explain with words. I had no experience to compare it to: this unique sense of awareness that I had never been privy to in my life.

Then those lilac eyes found mine, slightly narrowing, focusing on whatever they currently saw within me.

“What’s wrong?” Her voice was soft, concern obvious on her rosy complexion. She truly hid nothing with that face — a mysterious stranger filled with contradictions in everything she did. The level of compassion she seemed to have for people who she only met very recently was odd, intriguing.

I could feel the intensity of the other five sets of eyes staring at me, varying degrees of amusement and curiosity floating their features. The corner of Quincy’s lips upticked, some snippy comment undoubtedly about to tumble out if I didn’t beat him to it.

“Something to say, Quincy?” I could see the desire to take the bait filling Quincy’s eyes. Our strained relationship at times was slowly getting better, to a more cordial and friendly place, no doubt in part to the newcomer watching me with every passing second.

“Nah, just funny to hear you and Drifter… rolling together.” 

Quincy was and was not many things, but there is one thing he definitely was: cautious. He picked every word he spoke with much thought poured into the syllables, everything he uttered having a greater meaning in its undercurrent.

So the fact he referred to the Drifter and I going out on missions as rolling together was a very deliberate choice. His eyes caught something from the first moment he met the Drifter before looking at me, seeing a connection he believed to be there — a connection that could ultimately be used against me. A crack in my armor. An exposed weakness to be exploited.

I didn’t want to linger on that train of thought much longer.

“Quincy, if you need more to do, it can be easily arranged.” I crossed my arms, leaning back in my chair, eyes locked with our resident sniper.

The corners of his lips curled upwards, knowing he hit his target as he always did, before breaking out into a full-throated laugh.

“Just pulling your leg, His Maj, chill!” Quincy barked out between laughs, wiping his eyes whenever tears broke from his own amusement.

mmhmm mmhmm mmhmm

That Sols-damned melody grew louder inside my head, the background hum becoming increasingly more intolerable — like a migraine that was threatening to pierce through the back of my eyes. My teeth ground against one another through the pain, a fang catching slightly in the process. 

Before the pink-haired void creature could ask more questions she clearly was dying to ask, I stood up from the table, cracked plate in hand.

“If you lot are done, get some rest for tomorrow.” With that short remark, I turned away and walked off towards my private office behind the security desk. The team’s chatter continued, albeit much quieter and tapered off as others left the table. 

I could feel a certain lilac stare on me the entire time I was in view from the center of the Mall food court.

. . .

“Oh come on, Arthur! I’m on time!” 

I chuckled at the childish display from the Drifter, leaning against the side of my Tommy, watching the robotic-looking arms of the metal shell she currently inhabited flailing around above her head. She wasn’t wrong, per say, but she arrived at exactly 0700 hours… which was not the customary fifteen minutes early.

“If you actually meant earlier, then just tell me. I don’t know these customs!” It was funny hearing her huff out her frustration from behind the… rather pink and white adorned Warframe of hers. Octavia, she called it.

Her Atomicycle was sporting a fresh coat of paint, courtesy of Aoi of course, in that same pink and white colour palette she seemed to enjoy if her metal shells and weapons were any indication. The Drifter didn’t need very long to acclimate to riding her bike, a blessing for me really. She was a fast learner, a little fast on turns, but not as concerning as Amir was before he destroyed his bike.

But judging from the exasperated attitude from the get go: I could tell she was tired. 

The Drifter was not a morning person — the team figured that out pretty quickly. Eleanor would generally be the one to wake her up when the Drifter was a little behind schedule, only joking afterwards about “how rather adorable the little thing was” when she would refuse to leave her bed within that strange room left by Entrati. I couldn’t see the purple littering under her eyes when she was within one of her Warframes, but the way she spoke, the posture of her metallic shell, everything felt coated with exhaustion. 

Maybe we ought to see Lettie about helping her rest properly.

I pulled my key out to start my Tommy, feeling the stare that lingered on my every movement — even when those lilac eyes were hidden away beneath a metal visage.

“Something on your mind, Drifter?” I couldn’t stop the low chuckle that fell from my mouth, especially when my question seemed to jolt our pink-haired newcomer into focus.

“N-No, nothing. All good. Gonna… I-I’ll meet you at the waypoint, Arthur.”

Her Octavia frame quickly mounted the matching and absurdly pink Atomicycle, started her up and flew out the gated exit of the Mall into Höllvania proper. I shook my head, a small smile landing on my scarred lips at her antics. There was something wildly refreshing about the Drifter that I couldn’t explain.

That ever-present song was a little more jovial this morning.

. . .

The intel we received said this was a particularly rough Techrot-infested area of the city.

But that was a massive understatement.

Every wave of Techrot was becoming more and more unrelenting with each passing minute. Drifter managed to get the Scaldra supply cache unlocked and ready for retrieval, but the Techrot seemed to only grow more upset at that action. I had long switched to using my melee, slicing every one of the bastards down in my path — while the Drifter floated around with her own melee weapon, an organic-looking sword with an attached whip to its hilt. We kept slashing, taking down hundreds of the abominations by this point, but it didn’t seem to be enough. 

“Drifter, we have to go back! This is becoming too risky for too little reward!” I yelled over the carnage, the Drifter continuing to hop around and above even after my order.

“Drifter!” The second yell seemed to reach her, the pink and white metal helm turning towards me when she landed on the ground.

“I heard you the first time.” Her voice was short over the comms link. A quick roll of her Warframe’s shoulders. “We can’t leave yet.”

I sliced down another Techrot straggler that ran up while the Drifter spoke.

“Drifter, I wasn’t asking.” My jaw clenched, frustration simmering under my skin at her refusal to follow an order. She still made no effort to move towards me.

“There’s still more civilians here. I…” she paused to hack another mutated beast in half before continuing, “we can’t leave them behind. Not here… especially not here.”

I knew where she was coming from — Gods I really did — but this was quickly becoming too dangerous of a position to hold with how worn down we both were. She had to see that, surely she could see the suicidality of that. 

Right?

I opened my mouth to tell her once again to stand down — but the Drifter didn’t stay to hear my order. Instead, she immediately turned heel and full-speed launched herself further down into the abandoned structure we were originally attempting to clean out — the exact opposite direction we needed to be going right now.

“Shit!”

The expletive tumbled from me, not taking the time to question the decision before I raced after her, much further into the mouth of the collapsing complex where only more Techrot promised to wait for them below.

Dashing around debris, shattered windows, cracked floors and walls, all of the various stages of decay this once bustling shopping center contained — and I could barely keep the Drifter in my sights. She’s so bloody fast. At the most unwelcome of times, that persistent song inside my head was growing angrier by the second, the melody growing in power the longer the void-creature sprinted in front of me. I couldn’t leave her alone, never one to abandon a comrade-in-arms, but knew this was a Gods-awful idea. I finally caught up to her pace, aware that she was losing steam the further we moved into the decayed structure.

“Drifter, we have to stop!” I yelled from behind, right before nearly crashing into her metal shell when she suddenly stopped. “What the hell—”

I instantly understood why she stopped.

“I… I heard them. I thought… I thought there was still time…” the Drifter materialized in front of her Octavia, falling to her knees at the sight in front of us.

We were too late, by only a few minutes judging from the state of the small bodies.

No sounds escaped the Drifter as she remained knelt on the ground. She stared at the terribly young civvies who didn’t make it, no tears shed or cries heard from her petite frame. Seeing her in such a state, peering around just enough to see those lilac eyes — it hurt.

Sol, it bloody hurt.

The shrill echoes of incoming Techrot suddenly filled the space around us, a reminder of just how bad of a position we were in. I clicked my tongue against my teeth, hearing the uncoordinated footsteps of Techrot quickly closing in.

“We have to go, Drifter—”

Her eyes glowed with a ferocity I hadn’t seen before on that rosy face. When she stood up, the Drifter turned away from the bloodied bodies, eyes looking past my taller form and down the hallway we travelled through. 

I wasn’t sure what to make of that expression. Her eyes were looking far beyond the immediate hallway, lost inside herself with a gaze that reminded me of the look I got in my eyes when particularly trying memories forced themselves to the forefront. I didn’t know the Drifter’s full story — I barely knew the basics about her — but I could tell she had been through harsh times just as all soldiers have.

I reached out, my swordsteel fingers about to grace her shoulder when her stance rapidly shifted: the same melee weapon materializing in her hands that her Warframe wielded in a flash of purple wisps. My eyes widened at what she was clearly prepping for.

“Drifter, no. Absolutely not.” That got her attention, eyes locking with mine, lips flared into a sneer. “You are not taking on Techrot outside of that Warframe. That’s an order.”

Our stares lingered for a few more seconds before she looked away, no response given to me once again as she slung herself back down the hallway in a mist of purple, eyes narrowed and teeth slightly visible where her lips pulled upwards. 

Another stream of curses under my breath as I had no choice but to follow the chaotic Drifter to make sure we both made it back to the Mall in one piece.

. . .

I wanted to throttle her arse.

She won’t listen to orders. She refuses to work as a cohesive unit. She runs off wherever and whenever she pleases. She doesn’t seem to understand that her body — as tough as she inexplicably is — has limits. 

She slashed her way all the way back to the entrance of the decaying complex, barely holding her frail body together by the time we surfaced. I joined her in our combined myriad of heavy breathing, both of us barely standing by the time the sunlight graced our bodies once more. I was at least moving at a relatively normal pace — but the Drifter could barely walk. Her legs were shaking with every step, body far beyond simple exhaustion.

She needed to stop.

Despite the need for a hot shower and a long nap, the rage still remained as it had just under the surface of my grey and black twisted metal form. She put the mission in unnecessary danger by refusing to follow orders — by refusing to work as a team, a cohesive unit.

She put herself in unnecessary danger.

Maybe that’s what royally pissed me off the most? If her behavior was any indicator, she truly didn’t seem to value her own existence.

How else could you explain it?

The Drifter’s breathing was labored and ragged, clearly feeling the lack of proper diet and exercise from all this movement outside of her metal shell. She didn’t have to do so much on her own, and dear Sol it frustrated me to the ends of the earth that she refused to accept help. We were a unit, and trust was an essential thing to maintain between a unit. My brows dug lower on my forehead as her breathing finally started to stabilize and return to a more normal rhythm.

Keep it together, Nightingale. Patience.

“You’re fighting as if no one is coming to help you, you have a team ready to support you — use it.”

Rein it in. Don’t lose it. You’re frustrated, but you can’t lose control.

“It’s…” she paused, eyes losing that edge, the anger fizzling out when her lips tried to speak. “It’s not easy…”

Nothing is bloody easy — we’re in a war zone for Sol’s sake.

“Of course not,” I chided, quickly flicking my wrist to fling some various different fluids off of my skana. That simmering frustration was boiling over. I could feel it rising above the edges and overflowing as easily as it appeared.

“But personal inconveniences are not priority when we have a mission at hand.”

A stutter in that pesky song.

A twist in those odd threads.

A chill down my spine as her eyes bored into mine.

Bollocks.

I knew the second the phrase “personal inconveniences” left my mouth — I was fucked.

Her body froze, completely still, not revealing any hint of movement from her small frame. Those lilac eyes were glowing again, but it felt more ominous than the other times that ethereal glint appeared. The song that followed her every step suddenly felt disjointed, choppy, jagged around the edges — pained. When I tried to apologize, raising my hand to her shoulder, not even making full contact before she quickly slid just far enough away to be out of my reach. A wisp of something purple briefly floated in my vision as she did so.

“I’m sorry my personal inconveniences are hindering the mission, leader.” The title was a sneer, venom lacing each syllable, swirling around the letters.

I deserved that.

“Look, Drifter…” A raised hand cut me off, the words failing to pass my lips at that petite blood-stained glove interrupting my thoughts.

“Just shut up, Arthur. I get it.” The Drifter lowered her organic blade, it quickly disappearing and returning to wherever it rested when she had no need for the strange weapon. “You don’t understand — you wouldn’t understand — and I don’t have to explain myself to you, Nightingale.”

As fast as she left the metal shell earlier, she flung herself back into the Warframe that she called to her side, launching her body within it down the street at full speed, disappearing from view not long after.

I stood there in the alley, heavy breaths still tumbling from my lips, brain running on adrenaline, desperately searching for its next move. My fists were clenched entirely too hard, tension in my arms reaching a boiling point. I kept recalling the conversation over and over, trying to figure out how to make things right.

But I came up empty-handed.

She wasn’t wrong. I didn’t understand her. I didn’t know much about her.

She had many skeletons in her closet, I could guess that from the beginning, but none of them were shared, neither through day to day operations or over KIM messages. The Drifter would laugh and smile with the team — but kept a healthy distance no matter what. Her guard was constant, the wall she built around herself many layers thick.

She grew close to my sister, but nothing had been shared with me on how that relationship came to be in the first place. I knew it wasn’t my business, but something had happened between them to bridge the gap closer than anyone else in the Hex. It became normal to see them side by side, rummaging through piles of books they found inside the abandoned bookstore within the Mall. A sour taste landed in my mouth, not entirely sure why my mind was so fixated on that friendship.

I returned my blade to my back, taking a long look into the sky, letting the welcoming silence of the area fill my bones and rein in my anger that was entirely too close to the surface, before returning to the Mall.

. . .

She didn’t show up to the post-mission briefing.

She didn’t even show up to dinner.

The only reason I knew she showed back up at all was because of Lettie’s status report.

I left my straps of gear on the security desk, ready to take a long shower, walking towards the communal space behind what used to be a gym. Every step I took across the quiet mall left me asking more and more questions.

Why did I have to say that? Calling what was likely the result of her trauma personal inconveniences? That was a new low, even for my sorry arse. It made perfect sense that she would be upset with me, what seemed to be a budding friendship thrown into disarray — because I’m a bloody idiot.

I made my way into the shower room, taking up residence in a stall against the far left wall and promptly closing the door behind me. Once my towel was thrown to the side and the water was on, I let out a long exhale before throwing my arms out with my hands on the wall in front of me — taking note of every mutated ridge and pad that resided where flesh used to be. A thoroughly changed body, a bargain made without fully understanding of its cost.

Burn in hell, Entrati.

The situation we were in. The state of the people of Höllvania. The Techrot spreading with no end in sight. The Scaldra indiscriminately killing civilians and abominations alike. This Gods-forsaken loop we were all stuck in, repeating our efforts.

It only made me angrier.

But she was here too. She didn’t leave us when Entrati left — yet she could have. She could have hopped back to wherever the bloody hell she came from in the first place the very second Entrati disappeared. 

Why didn’t she?

It would only make sense to leave us here. She’s from another time, another world, one so different from everything I knew. The fact she stayed behind… The fact she would go on missions with us and was determined to save every civvie she possibly could… It meant something. She was a fully fledged member of the Hex just like any of us were. By Sol, she was quickly becoming a key member of this ragtag group of fighters.

My head leaned forward, letting the water run through my hair and down my transformed body, fists now clenching tightly against the wall at recalling my pure idiocy. One of my small, and very recent, fangs dug into my lower lip, trying — but clearly failing — to contain the anger that was boiling under the surface far hotter than this water could ever manage to.

[ “I’m sorry my personal inconveniences are hindering the mission, leader.” ]

My armour-plated knuckles cracked from the pressure maintained within my tightened fists.

[ “You don’t understand — you wouldn’t understand — and I don’t have to explain myself to you, Nightingale.” ]

No, I don’t understand.

I’ve never made an effort to understand — with anyone, really.

Of course she doesn’t owe me any explanations.

That’s beyond the scope of teammates. What she holds close to her heart is her own business, as long as it doesn’t interfere with the mission at large.

She doesn’t need to tell me her secrets — after all, we’re comrades — not close in the other way.

The writhing and twisting of that ever-present Sol-damned song lingered under my skin, pulled to the surface by the anger I couldn’t temper back down. 

But what if we did become close like that?

CRACK

Before I could catch myself, my fist was thrown back and launched right out in front of me, landing firmly and effortlessly into the back wall of the shower — dust and cracked pieces of tile littering the stall, the scalding water flowing just as it had.

Fuck.

. . .

Notes:

Sorry for the wait on this chapter. I went out of town and needed to prep for said trip - plus a break afterwards. I already have part of the next chapter written, so that should help with the times for uploads. Next chapter is gonna be a lot, but I'll make sure to add appropriate warnings for y'all. Arthur is amazingly good at sticking his foot in his mouth.

I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter <3

Chapter 4: spinning and spiraling.

Summary:

My head was full of swirling thoughts of how I kept absolutely mucking everything up— mixed with waves of pink hair intermittently dusting petite shoulders. The recurring thoughts involving her kept twisting and sinking further into my mind, and it was beginning to drive me mad.

Notes:

Please, please, please read the tags before reading this chapter. This chapter directly addresses/involves self-harm, so read at your own risk.

music vibes: 'Hurt' by Nine Inch Nails

. . .

She was actively avoiding me.

Three days had come and gone— and for all three of those days the Drifter navigated herself out of any situation where we might spend any semblance of time alone together. I couldn’t deny it hurt my pride a bit to be the current focus of her ire. The way she smiled and laughed with the others at dinner, yet only offered me blank stares from across the table. The ease in her step when she walked side by side with Eleanor chatting about books— just for that ease to erase the second she noticed my presence.

I thought we had made progress in… whatever our budding relationship was, but I royally mucked that up with letting my own frustrations get the better of me. I should have kept my bloody mouth shut when I had the chance. 

My mind was churning through the events of a few days ago, still searching for a way to make some sort of amends with the Drifter. I knew it was starting to show in my work, recalling a couple of pointed comments from Quincy and Eleanor at the unusual mistakes I had made while organizing everyone’s mission reports. I didn’t want to bring the others into this mess. It was my own disaster to clean up, and I needed to figure out how if I wanted some sense of normalcy to return to the Mall.

And then there’s that Gods-damned song.

No one else seemed to hear the constant humming in the air, lifting above and swimming below, boring its way into my brain anytime she was nearby. Some days it was rather pleasant and cheery, accompanying the lovely smile on her face—

[ But what if we did become close like that? ]

Stop. For Sol’s sake stop, Nightingale.

[ “Whatcha staring at, Arthur?” ]

Her voice was soft, so terribly soft, and carried well with the soothing melody that followed every syllable. There was something calming yet equally disorienting about it, something that kept calling out to me in a way that I wasn’t sure whether I was truly ready to grapple with or— 

“You’re gonna destroy the little equipment we have left.”

Lettie dusted off her armored midsection, a sheen of sweat on her face from her own workout session nearby in the gym. The poor punching bag I successfully mangled, while lost in my thoughts, had seen better days. I ran a swordsteel hand through my hair, fingers pushing through the sweat-covered locks as I clicked my tongue against my teeth. Lettie took a sip of water from a bottle she pulled from one of her pouches. When she replaced the cap on the top of the container, the sigh that passed her lips was undeniable. 

“Arthur, what’s going on with you?” The Hex’s resident medic crossed her arms, her water bottle quickly replaced in its pouch beforehand. 

“Personal matters.” I didn’t need to drag the team into my own cock-ups.

Lettie raised an eyebrow.

“Haven’t seen you this on edge in awhile, so clearly these personal matters are not small,” Lettie retorted, tone matter of fact as always.

In all my years of knowing Lettie, I knew better than to even attempt to lie to her.

“Marty.” The nickname originally gifted to her by Amir was but a sigh as it fell from my lips. My thoughts briefly drifted to untamed pink hair before I shook that image away.

“Drifter, she’s… frustrating,” I paused, the words proving difficult to put together since my own emotions seemed to consist of jumbled puzzle pieces when it came to her, “I fucked up a few days ago and now she’s actively avoiding me.”

Lettie’s eyebrow was still raised, sharp eyes unrelenting in the way they could see through any act. I took a deep breath, another run of my armour-plated hands through my messy hair, before I continued.

“It’s getting to me. I’m not sure how to navigate this.” I was honest, as honest as I could be at this point.

The Drifter was a puzzle that I didn’t understand how to solve. She could come and go as she pleased, yet had stayed in 1999 since the day she fell out of my head. She didn’t really have to care about civvies or supply runs, but she did everything she could to help. She didn’t have to form all these relationships with members of the Hex, but there she was— laughing and smiling and enjoying everyone’s company.

Well, everyone except for me at this point.

Bollocks.

Lettie shrugged her shoulders before grabbing a small towel off to her side, running the cloth over her face, exhaustion permeating her features. When her focus returned to me, I noticed that slight uptick in her features that flashed for barely a second before fading away once more.

“She’s also been a little off, even with how much Babas smiles.” Lettie’s sigh carried immense weight. “Have a chat with her, you two clearly need to anyway, no?”

Now I was the one raising an eyebrow.

Lettie clicked her tongue against her teeth before she spoke again.

“The little thing is actually quite sweet. She ain’t gonna bite, Arthur.” 

“I’m…” I let a groan slip past my lips, a hand rubbing well down my face at the incoming conversation that I knew had to happen. “I’m not good at these things, Lettie.”

Lettie blankly stared at me for a good few seconds— before breaking out into a howl of a laugh that felt so unnatural on her normally stoic face. It was almost… unnerving to see her genuinely laugh so hard and so free. She wiped her eyes, calming herself down to some degree, before making another pointed comment. 

“Don’t have to tell me that. I remember what happened with you and Aoi.”

. . . 

I needed to do something about this uncomfortable situation I found myself in with the Drifter. Lettie was unfortunately right— we really needed to talk, if for any reason but for the benefit of the Hex as a whole. The others had noticed the awkward proximity me and the pink-haired void creature had around one another, and it was only a matter of time before it jeopardized the mission in Höllvania as a whole in some capacity.

But how does one even start addressing this bloody behemoth of an elephant in the room?

I left the showers, hair still a little damp and dripping down my armoured body, not walking very far before the Drifter appeared into view. She was by herself this time, clearly making her way towards that mysterious room of hers upstairs. Better now than never I suppose.

“Drifter.”

I called out, softly, but well loud enough for her to hear me. Her entire body seemed to flinch, reluctantly facing me with a slowness in her step that only reinforced her current frustrations with me. She doesn’t hide her dislike of me very well.

“Yeah…?” Her voice wasn’t the upbeat melody I was used to— and neither was the song that played whenever she was nearby. The strange noise, the way it fluttered in and out of my mind, almost felt… apprehensive. I leaned on my hip, resisting the urge to cross my arms in the moment so I didn’t come off so guarded with her. 

“Meet me in my office. If you have something more pressing, that’s fine, but just come by when you can, alright?” There was a unique hoarseness to my words that I couldn’t place. My body and my mind were struggling to put words together around her when it should have been as simple as talking to any other teammate. Should have been.

She didn’t say anything back, but the gentle and cautious nod of her head was something, before walking upstairs to her hideaway. I would take that as the best answer I was going to get at this point, not wanting to push her anymore when she currently acted like a nervous cat around me. 

Well, it’s something.

. . .

When she finally walked inside my office, about 30 minutes after I originally asked, I could see the anxiety rippling off of her body in waves. The Drifter never hid her emotions very well around me, I had picked up on that over these past few weeks. The more we talked, chatted over KIM messages, worked together on missions: I learned that she was just the type of person who felt things a tad more so than most people. I gestured to the other seat across the table, making sure to find some more pillows for it before she came by. I wasn’t sure how to make her more comfortable— but that didn’t mean I wasn’t going to bloody try.

You could have cut the tension with a blade.

“What did you need?” Her sentences were so much shorter than they had been up until our fight the other day. 

“You’re avoiding me.” Gods talking like this is not my strong suit since I never really do this. “The team has noticed, and I just… I just wanted to talk.”

Her eyes bored into my own— those other-worldly lilac gems focused entirely on my being in a way that felt all-consuming, heated even. That neutral look she carefully crafted on her face wavered just enough for me to catch the moment it threatened to completely falter. Falter into what— I have no idea.

“I’m doing my missions. I’m helping the others. I participate in team dinners and whatever is requested of me. I think the team is fine.”

I should have expected this.

“So…” her voice trailed off, adjusting herself on the seat, a gloved finger reaching up to twirl in her shoulder-length strands as she continued on. “Is this really about the team? Or is this about you? Your own feelings, Arthur?”

I didn’t realize how much it was going to affect me to hear her speak my name again after days of refusing to do so. It completely buggered up my concentration.

Fuck.

“My own feelings are irrelevant to this issue at hand, Drifter—”

“Oh? Your own feelings? Don’t you mean your own personal inconveniences?” Venom etched its way throughout her words, her eyes narrowing at me in a way that didn’t necessarily feel threatening but rather… targeted. There was a defensive posture in the way she spoke, the way she held herself at this moment. I did deserve that cutting remark though.

“Drifter, I’m truly sorry about what I said—”

“Don’t be. It’s what you meant, wasn’t it?” The laugh that tumbled from her lips was laced with so much pain. “Let’s just put this behind us.”

The way her body fidgeted when I asked her personal questions. The way her eyes avoided me whenever anything vaguely emotional reached her thoughts. The way she twirled her finger through her hair, desperately trying to remain aloof to reality. It was all starting to make so much more sense, even to someone like me— a hopeless old fool when it came to navigating relationships.

“You can’t shield yourself forever like this.”

Her entire body froze as I continued.

“I’m trying to understand what I need to do to fix this, for the benefit of everyone here, the Hex, I mean.”

“You… you don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her eyes shot down to the ground, trying to signal the end of this conversation before it could get anywhere productive, internal walls slamming down in a last ditch attempt to protect herself. When she moved to stand up— and before I could catch myself— I shot up as well.

“Well enlighten me then, Drifter.” My voice was rising in intensity fast, slightly worried I was getting too abrasive for this conversation, but my worries abated when the Drifter’s eyes quickly sharpened, matching my own rising anger. “This team needs to work together, be a functional unit, and that involves its members not closing each other off.”

I knew I sounded pissed off, but I wasn’t mad at her, hell I’m not even sure I truly could be right pissed off at her, more so I was frustrated with this entire situation that stemmed from my own stupidity and inability to communicate with others all that well. Those lilac eyes started to glow as brightly as I had ever seen them, a sneer taking residence on her lips as we were unbearably close to one another in my office. Barely a few fingers apart in distance separated our faces, the heat of our shared breaths filling the small space.

“Is that really the reason, Arthur?” The way she said my name was terribly, terribly dangerous for my mental state. “Really? I think you mean yourself— because nobody else seems so keen on ruining the little bit of privacy I have.”

My mouth opened but no words moved past my lips. I couldn’t think of the right words to say, everything withering away as soon as it reached the precipice of becoming speech. She was… right. She was Gods-damned right. None of this made any bloody sense. If this was anyone else on the team, I wouldn’t have gotten so personally involved. Deep down inside this metal and flesh fused body, I knew it was the truth. I knew this was a mess that I felt incredibly uncomfortable with reckoning with. My eyes softened when that reality hit me.

I was uncomfortable with this situation.

I was the one who wanted resolution here.

I was the one who couldn’t stand being so actively ignored and avoided by this strange void-creature of a woman. 

It wasn’t fair of me to push so hard for answers when she had done so much for us as is. As much as I wanted things to return to how they were before, I knew asking for such was unfair to her. The Drifter had her reasons for being so secretive— and what even was I to her? An old man ordering her around? The man who sent her to her possible doom whenever a particularly intense mission came up on their radar? Another blip in the analogs of history in the far, far future she came from?

The more that crushing reality hit me, the more I felt my scarred and worn features soften. At the same pace, the Drifter’s face shifted from one of righteous anger to something more akin to pure panic. The melody surrounding her grew loud and fast, almost overpowering my own thoughts as the nervous energy surrounding the Drifter reached a boiling point.

I was panicking and she was panicking.

“I-I need to go.”

With that, the Drifter ran from my office, not giving me time to react, dustings of purple energy following her steps as she flew out the door of my office.

I continue to bungle everything up with her.

Despite the relative earliness of the day, I could feel a certain amber bottle in my personal collection call my name. A break from all of these feelings encircling my head— and that damn music— would be grand.

. . .

The more I drank, the more broken I felt, the more my metal fingers itched to pull at the invisible threads that gradually clouded my vision.

I didn’t want to confront all of the questions her presence brought to the forefront of my mind.

So, I didn’t.

. . . 

It was late into the evening by the time I somewhat sobered up, wandering— no, patrolling— the outer edges of the Mall where no one typically went. I was thankful to Sol that no one saw my sad attempt at knocking on the frame of the strange entrance to the Drifter’s private space. Every time my fist almost tapped against its surface, something stopped me from following through, a reluctance that felt so foreign when every day was a collection of me making life or death decisions involving the people around me.

My head was full of swirling thoughts of how I kept absolutely mucking everything up— mixed with waves of pink hair intermittently dusting petite shoulders. The recurring thoughts involving her kept twisting and sinking further into my mind, and it was beginning to drive me mad. Drinking myself silly didn’t seem to alleviate the problem whatsoever, those persistent images of her laughing over dinner at a joke Amir made— or the way she smiled with Eleanor when they were having one of their silent conversations.

Then there was that song. That Sol-damned song of hers. It was as loud as ever these days.

What started as a relatively quiet hum whenever she strolled by had grown louder as each day passed. The fact no one else could seemingly hear it wasn’t helping my case in trying to reassure myself that I wasn’t finally losing it. I thought about bringing it up with Eleanor, but she was rather protective of the Drifter from what I could see, and I didn’t want to cause more problems with our relationship when these days it seemed much better than it had been in years.

I had walked pretty far from the normal bustling center of the Mall, when I could hear it— hear her melody float in the air around me. Unlike the loud and energetic song I had begrudgingly grown accustomed to— something about it was just… wrong. It was softer, much softer, and rather slowed down, not too unlike the careful and focused breaths of someone who was in varying degrees of pain. I picked up the pace, quickly navigating the various hallways of the long-abandoned corridors to find its source. I knew somewhere inside my head that I was indeed getting closer to its owner, but the song only grew quieter as I neared. 

The melody then practically disappeared, a deep unease and stab of panic threatening to set in, when for the first time in weeks— everything went silent. I almost stopped walking when something else began to pull deep down inside my body, like someone expertly plucking delicate threads with careful precision. It was almost an automatic response, but I closed my eyes to try and visualize the threads as a physical thing, and once I found those silken strings, I reached out— some inner manifestation of my own self grasping at these ethereal strands, their fibers leaving a path for me to follow.

It wasn’t too long before those invisible ribbons led me to an all too familiar voice echoing between my ears.

“Stay away, Arthur.”

I halted in my tracks, the pull of that ethereal thread leading me to a long abandoned corner of the Mall, much further away from where I would ever typically patrol. I wasn’t expecting to hear Eleanor’s voice ring across my mind, but there she was— stern and commanding. It successfully jostled the last bit of alcohol out of my system.

She’s over here, isn’t she El? I knew Eleanor could hear my thoughts, waiting for an answer that was quick to come.

“She is— but she needs space. I’m here, she’ll be fine.” I wasn’t very convinced from her brief words, but I had to trust Eleanor. I needed to. 

“Dearest brother, I’ll let you know what’s happening with her if you promise to turn around and start walking the other way. You are not to come over and make this worse, understand?” I wasn’t used to Eleanor being so matter of fact, but I knew enough about my sister to recognize when she was being deathly serious.

I slowly turned around, pivoting and moving one foot in front of the other, knowingly— and agonizingly— moving away from where I was certain the Drifter was, as Eleanor instructed. An image slowly filled my mind, courtesy of my sister once I complied with her wishes.

My heart dropped.

Lettie was right about the fast healing, but the cuts the Drifter made were deep— truly messy and jagged lines up and down along her left forearm. I was seeing the image through my sister’s eyes, her arms holding the Drifter in place as the void-being remained slumped in her arms. There were no tears to be found on that pink-haired woman’s face, and her body seemed so… cold. Lifeless.

“Keep walking. She’s not dead.”

Eleanor’s voice felt like a rough kick in my arse from the hiss underscoring her words.

“Lovey wasn’t lying about being particularly hard to kill. She would be dead if she was human.”

Focusing on each painful step forward, and away from, where my sister sat cradling the Drifter in her arms was utterly torturous. Then the nickname hit me. Lovey?

“What can I say? The little one caught my eye.” Eleanor kept the Drifter in her arms as she gently massaged a clean patch of skin above the gnarly slashes. So much blood everywhere…

“She reopens the same old scars on her arm, cuts straight into them, keeps slashing until there’s nothing left to bleed. She runs off into the corners of the mall, or even outside into Höllvania proper, because didn’t want the others to know, including you, brother.” The Drifter slightly stirred in Eleanor’s arms, betraying her corpse-like visage, my sister keeping the reassuring touches going.

Eleanor, she’s going to find out that I know if she goes poking around my head again—

“Don’t worry. I’ll deal with that. I’ve learned ways of playing cat and mouse with the very essence that fills her soul, the void as she calls it.”

It was a lot to take in. The smiles and jokes with the Hex started to paint a tragic picture of who the Drifter really was— a truly kind soul, eager to help everyone, and used her charm to keep the other’s spirits up. To keep my own up, frankly. It made me even more frustrated with myself to realize this, considering how poorly I’ve handled our interactions.

We’re too similar.

“Yes, you lot really are.” Eleanor quipped into my mind. “Two sides of the same depressing coin.”

I couldn’t stop mentally looking over those wounds— so deep— that she dug into her own flesh. I knew the Drifter was a resilient creature, seen that firsthand with how quickly she healed from any injuries, but those cuts… they were through the many layers of skin and muscle down to the bone.

She must have felt every inch of those cuts.

Every single excruciating inch.

The Drifter said before that despite having extraordinary healing qualities, she felt everything thrown her way. She allegedly couldn’t die— but she wasn’t immune to the sensation that injuries brought. I helplessly watched, feet still slowly moving one in front of the other away from the Drifter, against what every instinct was screaming at me to do. Eleanor cooed as she kept the Drifter cradled in her arms. Her soft voice echoed through my mind as she rocked the Drifter like a newborn babe, brushing her fingers against the Drifter’s forehead and arms.

Their relationship made so much more sense now.

How long has this been going on, Eleanor?

“Not long after she arrived, Arthur.” Eleanor sighed as she kept brushing her long fingers against the Drifter. “She’s been in a… bad place, for so very long. Little creature has a lot of unresolved trauma to work through.”

She tell you what exactly? I couldn’t stop myself from pushing for more information. I wanted to help, something inside my very bones demanded that I do something.

“No, but I can see the glimpses in her mind from time to time. Not my story to tell nor share without her permission.” Eleanor placed a chaste kiss on the Drifter’s pale forehead. Her colour was slowly returning, but not fast enough for my liking. 

“She figured out pretty quickly that hiding her secrets wasn’t going to work so well with me, so we have reached an… understanding,” she further elaborated, pausing when the Drifter slightly stirred— the smallest of breaths— almost looking alive again. “I think it’s helped her to have someone to confide in that doesn’t… judge her.”

Why would anyone judge her? That seemed so odd to me, especially when this is the same Drifter who was all-smiles most of the time, always willing to help? Sol’s wounds— it felt strange to even consider that anyone here would judge her harshly.

“We all have skeletons in our cupboards, brother. You know very well how true that is for all of us,” Eleanor paused again when the Drifter stirred even more, a small cough passing those dry, cracked lips. “Lovey has her own, and it seems her cupboard is particularly deep and twisting.”

. . .

I couldn’t get the scene out of my head.

The Drifter’s pallid complexion. The sheer volume of blood that had drained from her arm. The cuts themselves— so deep, messy, desperation outlining each and every jagged slash she made. The way her breathing returned slowly, albeit labored and short, but still movement clearly flowing within her lungs. Her body seemed even smaller than it already did on a daily basis while cradled in Eleanor’s arms. My sister knew about these incidents. The fact there was more than one occasion of the Drifter looking so… lifeless was a lot to ponder over.

I laid on the couch in my private quarters behind the security desk, staring at the ceiling while my hands fumbled with an elastic band ball I found in one of the drawers. The images from earlier kept looping, over and over, just like the cursed loop we all found ourselves in.

There were no tears on her face, no marks left under her eyes or on her normally-rosy cheeks to indicate any crying. I’ve never seen her cry. In the short time she had been in Höllvania, besides our own arguments, I’ve never seen her get upset or angry. She was all-smiles, all the time, with the rest of the team during day to day operations.

[ “She’s been in a… bad place, for so very long. Little creature has a lot of unresolved trauma to work through.” ]

[ “I think it’s helped her to have someone to confide in that doesn’t… judge her.” ]

Eleanor was most likely right: the Drifter was carrying a lot on her shoulders. My perpetually-observant sister was also right about the similarities me and the Drifter shared. My depressing arse was entirely too guilty of trying to carry the weight of the world on my shoulders. I knew what it was like to carry all of that mental anguish and seemingly have no one that felt safe enough to confide in.

The other thing that haunted me was the persistent melody flowing from the Drifter— and how that same melody quieted down to not even a whisper when her body looked lost to the world. Slowly, echoes of its unique and strange sound ebbed their way back through the murky haze of wherever her mind lingered when she was cradled in Eleanor’s arms, resembling what I’d imagine a ghost to look like. By the time I made it back to my own quarters, the sound was alive enough to still linger in the background of the ether surrounding me. It was a sliver of relief after witnessing such a distressing sight only moments ago.

I knew sleep was going to be a longshot after everything today, but tomorrow was still barreling forward with promises of more missions, more problems, and more headaches— but I needed to get the little rest I could manage.

I didn’t even realize it until later in the evening, but the sounds that followed her every step, every smile, every laugh, were so constant in my mind that it felt horrifyingly wrong to not hear them rattling between my ears. 

Sol’s wounds, I can’t stand the silence anymore. 

. . .

Notes:

This chapter took some time to write, given a mixture of just how busy I've been and the topics themselves being something that I can't exactly speed write. In the main overall series, it has been mentioned on multiple occasions that the Drifter (Rose) has engaged in some self-harm in the past, and this was a chance to shed some light on what was really going on before the two of them started their actual romantic relationship. I hope you guys enjoyed this <3 Things gotta get a little angsty before everything ties back together.

Chapter 5: plaiting and winding.

Summary:

A pain ached in my chest at my own words, but I wasn’t quite sure why. The sounds that left my mouth didn’t feel like the whole truth as they rang between my ears, something inside me knowing that our interactions weren’t completely confined to just being teammates. Every time this line of thinking wound its ugly head into my mind, I quickly pushed it aside, as I did right now.

I wasn’t sure what my relationship really was with the Drifter, but I was sure it wasn’t one merely between comrades— no, I was afraid that it wasn’t one merely between comrades. That much was for certain.

Notes:

There are references to the last chapter regarding themes of self-harm and death. Please proceed with caution.

Also this chapter had some very fun parts to write, so enjoy <3

. . .

I need to pull it together.

Eleanor said she has it covered.

Stop thinking about it, Nightingale.

It was hard to shake that image from the other night out of my head— her pallid face, the sheer amount of blood pooling from her small body, the jagged and wild cuts she reopened in her forearm. It was one thing to see the expected gore of battle in a war zone, it was a completely different matter to see it in such a painfully intimate setting. She had looked entirely too frail in Eleanor’s arms, my sister holding her as if she had done so many, many times. I suspect that she has. Then there was the sound, or the lack thereof, when she was laying there. That constant accompanying music her presence seemed to emit, only my ears privy to its joyful tone, was silent.

It bothered me.

Bothered was really too weak of a word— it weighed extraordinarily heavy on my mind— the sheer silence of it was the most deafening thing I had experienced in quite a long time.

Perhaps since Christopher… no, snap out of it.

If there was one thing I could say with certainty, it was that I never wanted to experience that sudden silence ever again.

“Seems like you are still thinking entirely too much about things you cannot control, dearest little brother.”

Eleanor. I raised an eyebrow as my telepathic sister carefully sauntered up to my desk like the aloof housecat she tended to be. I had many questions for her— but knowing her, she wasn’t going to be the most forthcoming if she didn’t want to share.

“I’m positively flattered you still know your own sister,” Eleanor melodically chuckled with that strange manner of hers, straight into my head. 

“And what do I owe the pleasure?” I muttered, looking over some assorted reports and half-arsed scribbles on my desk, noting the rather odd time for her to swing by my station on the nearby clock out of the corner of my eye.

“Believe me, I’d rather be sleeping if I could with all that…” Eleanor started waving her hands around her head with a look of disgust crossing her face. “All of that bloody noise coming from a few doors down. I know Quincy has company over, but I’d rather not hear every single thought and word shared between them.”

I sighed, pity hard to push away in the moment. I’d have to agree with her on that. It seemed like hell to not have any control over the various things Eleanor must have heard throughout all hours of the day within the Mall.

“You’re not exempt either,” she chided, hip popped out with a hand firmly placed on it. She was not in a joyful mood. “You look at our little Drifter and have your own series of thoughts. Don’t think I haven’t noticed, brother.”

As much as I tried to keep the carefully-crafted soldier persona on at all times, I felt myself squirm under those violet eyes.

The Drifter is a comrade, not a—

“Arthur.”

Eleanor threw a pointed finger up at me, eyes narrowed and clearly feeling the effects of her lack of sleep these days.

“You can’t lie to me. I know that in those moments where you stare at her a little too long, you start thinking about her lovely pink hair. Or how small she is. Or how you want to check on her when she retreats for the evening…”

Eleanor trailed off and I wanted to interject with every passing accusation, say it was all untrue and that she was making everything up, but she wasn’t. She was right. I couldn’t lie to her, not to my sister, telepathetic or otherwise. It was terribly unlike me to be so mentally caught up in what this little visitor was up to. This wasn’t normal for me whatsoever.

That bloody troublesome ball of pink hair is going to be the death of me— but gods, I can’t deal with that silence again. I just can’t, El.

I thought that constant song ringing between my ears was torturous enough. The silence however, that was true torture. Seeing her lifeless body in Eleanor’s arms, blood everywhere, no sign of that sarcastic yet sweet Drifter to be found… fuck.

It kept haunting me.

. . .

Of bloody course my own planning led me to be the one partnered with the Drifter today.

I leaned against my atomicycle twirling my keys between my fingers, barely one hour of sleep to my name after Eleanor’s visit in the middle of the night. We chatted for a long while, her reassuring me that whatever she had done would keep the Drifter from knowing what I knew of her pain. I wasn’t going to ask, because frankly— the less I knew the better in this instance. When I heard the easily recognizable click of her heeled boots, I noted the time on the clock hanging in the garage. Five minutes late. She turned the corner and walked through the electronic sliding mall doors, a big yawn passing her lips, her hair as disheveled as ever. I raised my eyebrow at her.

“Couldn’t sleep,” she quietly answered, her eyes slightly dulled and lips a little dry judging from a quick glance. That isn’t just one day of lack of sleep. However, I didn’t push, knowing she didn’t react well to that, watching as she summoned her strange Warframe in a fraction of a second. It was that same musical one she seemed to favor.

I mounted my bike, slipping the keys into the ignition as she sat atop her own next to me. That candy floss pink atomicycle of hers was looking a lot better these days after some upgrades were made, no doubt with help from Aoi.

“Do I need to start giving you earlier report times so you arrive on time, like I do for Amir?” I lightly teased, offering some playful banter to help her relax a bit. Eleanor and Aoi suggested that our newest arrival might just need some help “shedding her thick shell”.

Under the armored outer frame, I could still see the way she paused before one of her small giggles crossed across our comms.

Gods.

“Yeah, I suppose me and him both suffer from terminal cases of can’t-keep-track-of-time!” She laughed. “I wouldn’t mind an earlier wake up call, I mean if you’re the one offering and all…”

Something shot up my spine at that jab, body feeling a little warmer than normal, mouth suddenly drier than I would like. 

Is she… is she teasing me?  

“See you at the objective, Night-in-gale!” 

The Drifter zipped away, full speed launching herself out of the garage and into Höllvania proper with another soft giggle echoing over comms.

I sat on my bike, the engine idling, trying to keep my composure— and utterly failing. The way my body was reacting to her words alone made me feel like I was in my dreaded teenage form once more. What the hell is wrong with me? I couldn’t recall the last time someone could pull a reaction from me with such ease, that damned ethereal bundle of threads seemingly only made the connection more sensitive than I had realized. At least it was an easy source to pinpoint and blame— some form of answer in this never-ending sea of uncertainties that I still didn’t like but had learned to deal with.

Nothing ever comes easy around here.

I groaned as I shifted uncomfortably on my bike, thinking of every Techrot-infected thing I was about to see on the streets of Höllvania to relax the growing problem under my armor plating. There were enough disgusting and putrid things out there to tamper down the feelings clouding my focus, utterly buggering up my concentration. I couldn’t help but wonder if whatever the fuck Entrati did to me affected other aspects of me biologically that I had not taken the time to sit down and really think about.

I thought I outgrew this shit years ago, but perhaps this is a new normal in some ways. Maybe the Drifter’s presence in and of itself is pulling at this changed body of mine? The song, the threads, the glow that hangs around her… 

I revved my bike a few times before punching out— following in pursuit of the pink-haired Drifter who taunted me endlessly, whether intentional or not.

. . .

“Best two out of three?”

Her soft voice chirped over our comms link from within her metal shell, another challenge brought forth as we swept through wave after wave of Techrot with ease. Her mood definitely improved once the action kicked off and the bullets started flying. Action seemed to reset her focus and pull her out of the slump she was in this morning.

“Trying to prove something to me, Drifter?” I laughed back. “The challenges are fun, but it seems like you really want to win, eh mate?”

The Drifter came flying down from the second floor of the abandoned subway station, her massive hammer crushing several Techrot on her heavy landing. I was just far enough away to avoid the blast that the strange weapon emitted on impact, but could very well still hear her giggles echo over our comms.

It’s good to hear her in high spirits again.

Even if it’s because she’s crushing hostiles with a ridiculously oversized weapon.

“Arthur, behind you!”

I spun on my heel at her warning, my blade finding its target with ease and slicing straight down the middle of the Techrot abomination that once stood there. Its rotten form fell to the ground, mixing with the broken tiles and shattered glass littering the derelict station. A quick flick of my blade and that was that.

She walked over to me, hammer placed onto her back where it swayed with her movements, stretching those metal arms outward with a sigh.

“I guess at this point we’re still tied?”

I nodded with a smirk I couldn’t, nor wouldn’t, hide. I couldn’t deny I loved a good challenge, and it was delightfully fascinating to see how much she wouldn’t back down from a challenge either. Despite the wagers, our scores kept tying— which seemed to stem from the fact we knew each other’s moves too well, probably a result of that transference she talked about before over KIM messages.

She hadn’t been inside my mind lately, and I was thankful to her for not trying to. The last time she had was when she walked me out of the reactor, when we fixed the loop for good. I knew I wouldn’t forget how that felt anytime soon— the way she melded with my own mind, the strangely intimate feeling of her being in such a private place no one else could be. But it was obvious that she was extremely guarded at that moment. I could tell just how much so from how I was unable to really gather any info when our minds were melded together, when she couldn’t possibly get any closer to me.

Well, she could— oh for fuck’s sake stop, Nightingale.

What has gotten into me?

“Well, I know Quincy said there was a cache nearby in this area if we wanna grab that before leaving?” She asked with a hand on her hip, head ever so slightly tilted as she waited for an answer. I nodded.

“Yeah, if we can bring it back that would be best.”

I threw my blade on my back, then brought my AX-52 into my arms as I took point to guide us towards the cache location given by Quincy. Drifter followed closely behind, her own strange firearm in hand as she stayed quiet, carefully moving behind me without any extra, unnecessary movement. For someone who seemed so clumsy at times around the Mall— the amount of times I caught her tripping over her own feet was utterly astounding— she was a completely different person on the battlefield. Maybe she didn’t realize it, but the Drifter was very skilled at separating out how to relax versus how to act in battle. Some part of me was slightly jealous of her ability to seemingly separate those two parts of her mind fully at will. 

As we ran, jumped, eviscerated Techrot, we fell into a comfortable routine and became a very efficient machine. The jokes of wagers temporarily fell to the side as we didn’t speak, yet sliced and shot enemies around one another as if we had done this for years. While we worked as one, that song of hers twisted into a pleasant hum between my ears. It was calming, a steady beat and smooth pitch flowing along a relaxing rhythm. The invisible threads that tended to torment me were at peace for once. They wound around and rested along my limbs, an extension of myself in a strange but satisfying way.

If she could feel that same pull, the Drifter was a master of hiding it.

When we approached the cache, the Effervon Charges we swiped in hand to blow the lock, the Drifter took point to open and quickly retrieve the contents. As I cleared out some incoming Techrot, I heard the distinctive sling of a duffel bag over metallic shoulders.

“Ready when you are, Arthur.”

With an answering nod, I lead the way out of the subway station complex, the Drifter following close behind me the entire time. It didn’t take us long to exit the collapsing maze of tunnels since we thoroughly cleaned out the Techrot on our initial descent, surfacing out of the flesh-covered entrance to the Höllvania sun. As soon as I started taking a few steps forward, the Drifter spoke up, immediately turning my head towards her.

“Hey…” Her voice was gentle, glaringly so compared to how she was during the rest of the mission today. “I just wanted to say thank you.”

Now I was fully turned to face the void creature in the metal suit next to me. Her comment caught me off guard— and it was a thank you of all things. I shook my head, stowing my rifle at my side for the moment.

“Mate, I feel like we owe you a few more thanks than you owe us,” I chuckled. Her normal giggle never materialized.

“Arthur, I…” Drifter stopped that train of thought quickly, pausing to take a second to give her words another go.

“I mean it. Thank you for… putting up with me. I know I can be a bit much, but you all have done so much for me in ways I don’t think I could currently put into words.” A lingering soft sigh fell over our comms link.

An inexplicable urge to move closer to her, pull at those Sols-damned threads teasing my swordsteel skin, slithered across my mind— but I held firm where I stood.

“Drifter, you’re part of the team— the Hex.” It felt odd talking to something akin to a puppet, but I knew she could hear and see me as if she stood in front of me in the flesh. “That’s what teammates do for each other. We help each other out and stick together through all the shite that gets thrown at us.”

A pain ached in my chest at my own words, but I wasn’t quite sure why. The sounds that left my mouth didn’t feel like the whole truth as they rang between my ears, something inside me knowing that our interactions weren’t completely confined to just being teammates. Every time this line of thinking wound its ugly head into my mind, I quickly pushed it aside, as I did right now.

I wasn’t sure what my relationship really was with the Drifter, but I was sure it wasn’t one merely between comrades— no, I was afraid that it wasn’t one merely between comrades. That much was for certain.

I didn’t know how to begin processing what was happening, and the way the head of her metal shell tilted gave away that she saw something in my current stance too. I quickly turned heel, facing our route towards extract.

Despite clearly seeing something wrong with my posture, I was thankful she didn’t pry.

“Let’s get ourselves out of here, eh Drifter?”

. . .

I rummaged through one of my green tactical pouches for the pack of cigarettes Quincy got for me while he traded with the locals, the contents of the cache we brought back earlier today being particularly useful. It was a habit I hadn’t partaken in for years, but figured with the mutated body and all it couldn’t do me much harm anymore.

“Need you a way to relax, eh Arthur? It’s obvious how much Drifter has gotten under your skin. I’m sure you could ask her to help with all that frustration, read me?”

I rolled my eyes at Quincy’s lingering words from earlier as I walked towards the Mall roof access. If there was one common courtesy I could offer, it was to at least smoke these dreadful things outside. It felt like everyone in the Hex these days was trying to insinuate something between myself and the Drifter. We had certainly formed a working friendship these past weeks, but it was just that.

Friendship.

Comrades in arms.

Platonic.

Teammates.

Not romantic.

I finally scaled my way up the relatively short ladder to pop the hatch onto the roof— realizing the second I did that a certain persistent song inside my skull became much more immediately present and aware. When I turned my head as I climbed out the access door, my eyes locked with subtly-glowing lilac ones only a few meters away. There was a pile of books spread around her on the roof, the covers the very ones I remembered seeing around Eleanor’s private space last time we sat and chatted into the night. It didn’t take long for me to realize that most of the books spread along the rooftop were romance novels of various kinds. 

What in Sol…?

“Sorry. I didn’t think anyone else would need this space so I kind of… spread out a bit.”

There was a faint blush on her cheeks, not too dissimilar from ones she held in the past when she was teased by one of us. The embarrassment was so obvious on her open face. She began to gather the books when I stepped forward, my hand reaching out to stop her before she packed them up.

“Don’t worry about it, truly.”

I walked right on by where she sat and made my way to the balcony overseeing this section of Höllvania around the Mall. I pulled out a cigarette and my old lighter from my Britannic Army days, inscribed with the emblem of the Crimson Watch. Lighting it up and taking a deep breath, I savored the familiar flavour of the dastardly thing. It’s been awhile. I looked over at the Drifter who was still staring at me— curiosity in her eyes as her fingers remained on the books around her.

“Why so many? The books.” I gestured to the piles of them with my free hand, leaning back against the metal railing. It was rather curious seeing her surrounded by so many worn, and slightly burnt, books. Her gaze finally left my form, searching the ground around herself before an awfully defeated sigh passed her lips.

“Would you laugh if I said I have been learning how to better read the language here?” A small crack followed her words as she fell into a short, quiet, self-defeated laugh.

“Why would I laugh at that?”

Her eyes seemed to almost light up at my response, as if she was unprepared for such an answer to cross my mind.

“I just…” That unusual gaze veered to scan the skyline behind me, looking beyond where I stood to the streets far from the Mall, before leaning her head back and landing on the stars above.

“It felt kind of ridiculous not knowing or learning the language before I got here, and I didn’t know if that would make you all think… think less of me.” The Drifter uncomfortably squirmed where she sat, her messy pink hair swaying right along her shoulders. “The kid picks this stuff up fast, but I’ve always been a little… different in that regard.”

The kid had come up a few times in our KIM chats late into the evenings. It was odd to think that there was another person— almost a younger copy— as unusual as the Drifter out there in the far future. But despite her clear apprehensions about what she could or couldn’t do, gods ain’t that familiar, I couldn’t see how we could possibly judge her any less for everything she’s done for the Hex and Höllvania itself. She was trying to learn more about our world, and that stoked a certain pesky thought deep inside my head.

Is she planning to stay?

I took another long drag of my cigarette to ease the shiver that threatened to thwart my composure. I needed to pull my mind away from that can of worms— and fast.

“I take it the books are from Eleanor?” I placed the cigarette between my lips to hold it, kneeling down to grab the nearest book near my feet. I leaned back against the railing, novel in hand, looking over the very dainty and illustrative cover. “Promises of Roses? Not sure I’ve heard of that one—”

Before I could finish my sentence, the Drifter swiped the book from my hand with the same inhuman speed I had only seen her use in battle, a wisp of purple quickly fading from my vision. She somehow returned to where she sat in a blink of an eye, face completely flushed and eyes stubbornly averting my gaze altogether.

Oh? Shy aren’t we?

“Am I not allowed to enjoy some books too?” I chuckled, enjoying how absolutely disheveled she looked from such innocent questions.

The Drifter wore their emotions so close to the surface at times, her anger and her joy so easy to read if you knew where to look. As I could see right now, she was rightly awful at hiding her embarrassment as well. The way her lips were firmly pursed together, fingers fidgeting as they held the worn book, eyes remaining on anything else besides me— it was all terribly amusing.

“You w-wouldn’t like them.”

A stutter. She’s nervous.

“How could you say that without letting me look?” I took another drag, tipping some ash over the railing before returning the addictive thing to my mouth. I didn’t miss the way she tracked the cigarette, her curiosity definitely peaking. She realized after a few seconds that she was being painfully obvious with her stares, shooting her eyes back down to her fidgeting fingers.

“You’re a soldier. It’s a book about people… being cute.”

I wanted to laugh at her way of talking around the subject of the obviously raunchy novels surrounding her. I didn’t even have to flop through the pages to know what they contained when the covers spoke for themselves. For someone who had claimed the future had different ideas of modesty and bluntness, she was being unusually shy about the subject now.

Don’t read too much into it, Nightingale. You’re mates at best, coworkers at worst. Besides…

I noted the slight waves in her pink hair, the glint to her odd lilac eyes, the way her hands seemed so small, so delicate, despite what all they had lived through from even the little I knew. She was a strange creature— one full of entirely too many contradictions to understand— but I could try to. I would like to.

But look at me.

What could I offer someone like her?

…what am I even thinking?

“To be perfectly honest,” she started, breaking me from the dangerous spiral I was on the precipice of. I forced another drag of smoke into my lungs in an attempt to clear those thoughts for the time being. “I barely understand what is happening in these books. Well— I mean— I do understand what’s happening, but I guess it just feels so foreign to me? Not just the language, but how the people in them act.”

I raised an eyebrow at that explanation. The Drifter only laughed, albeit an undercurrent of sadness couldn’t be missed in that sweet yet aching sound.

“It’s kind of sad, I guess? To be so incredibly inexperienced in how people work, how life works, in just… everything.” She sighed, shoulders rolling back, leaning onto her palms as she stared straight into the sky. I tipped some more ash over the railing.

“I don’t think it’s sad at all, mate.” I really didn’t. Even with how much I had seen and done in my life, there were constantly new and strange things occupying my time— especially these days.

“Isn’t that what life’s about anyways? Wouldn’t be much fun if we already knew how everything worked or what everything was like. Even my old arse still has much to see,” I continued on. I wasn’t sure if I was just talking to her at this point or if some of this was directed at myself.

A small giggle left her lips as her eyes fell back down from the night sky to meet mine. The way they subtly glowed under the stars was terribly enchanting.

“I know I call you an old man and all, but you’re really not old, Arthur.” Her smile returned with those words, the beautiful thing it was. A chuckle of my own escaped again, one of her eyebrows arching.

“That’s very kind of you, but I think we all know I’m showing my age a bit these days,” I joked before taking another long, focused drag, about finishing the cigarette I had been nursing. The Drifter fully tilted her head at that, a smile growing across her soft features that carried a slight mischievous quality to it. 

She’s up to something.

“Arthur, how old do you think I am?”

Her question broke me from my train of thought, quickly stubbing out the smoke between swordsteel fingers, those same digits already finding another from the ratty pack. I pulled out my lighter, taking a deep inhale as I savored the nostalgic flavour again, blowing out a good lungful of smoke away from the pink creature before me. Admittedly, she looked pretty young from a passing glance. I assumed she was somewhere around Amir’s age from the get go, but now I felt doubt clouding my mind from the smile pasted wide across her face, and only growing, as she awaited my answer.

“I assumed around Amir’s age, so mid-20s?”

A few painful silent seconds passed before she fell backwards into her pile of books in a mad laughing fit. She hugged her chest as she let the giggles fully out, the sound pulling at me in the very same way those damned threads did all the time. I couldn’t do anything but silently wait until she regained her composure.

Bloody hell, now I’m concerned.

She stood up, effortlessly moving to stand next to me along the railing, her arms leaning on the metal rails as she looked over the city. Another long sigh passed those same lips that couldn’t stop laughing only moments ago.

“Would you believe me if I told you I’m centuries old?” 

My eyes widened at that revelation. 

“You… what?” I murmured, unsure of how to stand or talk right now as she comfortably leaned into the railing.

“Mhmm. Not sure exactly how many, since you tend to lose count over 500 years and all, but I’m up there for sure.” Her eyes moved to meet mine, having to look upwards since she was a good bit shorter. 

“See why I said you aren’t old, Arthur?” She chuckled again, those lilac gems shining as they kept their focus firmly and solely on me.

Sol, I can’t focus when she looks at me like that.

Her smile softened, body language much less guarded compared to when this conversation started. She was over a head shorter than me, that mess of pink hair somehow even brighter while I stood this close to her. I let my cigarette linger between my lips as we stood there.

That persistent song started growing between my ears, its tune light and ethereal, reflecting the cheery glow of the being standing so close to me. I could feel those pesky invisible threads slide against my skin, begging for touch, leaving whispers in their wake everywhere they grazed. The tension became an aching sensation inside my chest: the need to pull those strange threads, see where they led, figure out where they could take me if I just let them. I felt my fingers flex, utterly eager to give up their long held restraint and inch their way upwards to indulge that desperate curiosity.

However, the Drifter closed the gap in a blink of an eye and wrapped her arms around my torso— my Techrot-infected heart hammering away in my chest far faster than it had in ages.

“D-Drifter?!” She only giggled at my exasperated surprise.

“Aoi taught me that hugs are a thing people here do when they enjoy each other’s company, so here you go!” She beamed into my chest, finding myself holding back the groan that wanted to escape from her proximity, those softened eyes angling upwards to meet mine. I was lost for words, feeling the heat in my cheeks build— desperately hoping it wasn’t obvious to see despite how dark it was under the night sky.

She smells nice, reminds me of the estate’s gardens back home. So small, and so soft. Gods, she feels much too soft against me. I-I—

“Umm… Arthur?” She whispered, her warm breath hitting just under my armored jaw. “You okay? You’re so stiff.”

If only she really knew. Ugh. I’m no better than a young lad.

Thankfully, before things could get far more awkward for both of us, the Drifter unlatched from my torso to spin and gather her books up from around us. My heart was still beating much too fast for comfort, struggling to return to its normal rhythm after her being pressed against me.

Fuck. I didn’t realize how nice she would feel pressed against me.

I finally took the cigarette hanging between my lips and easily snuffed it out with a simple rub of my swordsteel fingers. She managed to gather the hefty pile of books encased in a blanket into her arms with ease, likely thanks to that strange well of power she held just under the surface. Her eyes crinkled around the edges, a gentle smile on that lovely face as she watched me.

“Thanks. I really mean it.” She paused and I definitely noticed the slight rosy flush to her cheeks before she looked down at her boots.

“I like talking with you, Arthur. Under all the old man scruff, you’re rather kind.”

She quickly scurried back down the rooftop access with her hoard of books in hand, leaving me alone under the night sky. I looked up at the stars, the lack of consistent lighting through the bombed out streets of Höllvania providing a better view of the wonders above. The sensation of her small and soft body against me was something I didn’t anticipate throwing me off balance so much. Her bright hair had brushed against me in the moment, the wild strands so strangely soft despite her apparent ambivalence towards fussing with it.

Sol’s wounds... I’m going mad. That has to be it.

Even with that thought at the forefront of my mind, I could feel how the grin on my face refused to dissipate, pulling out one more cigarette to enjoy while the touch of her body still lingered fresh against my metallic flesh and bone.

I slept uncharacteristically well that evening.

. . .

Notes:

Torturing Arthur is one of my hobbies at this point. I was so happy to finally get this chapter done because the next chapter is the one I've been wanting to write for ages now. We're about to reach the big point of this prequel fic and I think it's very fun how this all ties together ;)

Thanks for reading and I appreciate all of you who take the time to read my ramblings <3

Chapter 6: from the spool.

Summary:

In an instant she was outside the safety of her Warframe, a mist of purple energy surrounding her as she was halfway between flesh and not, neither fully in one state or the other. Her shell simply froze in place where she left it, no weapon immediately in her hands as she flung towards the door, arms moving upwards to her chest to brace herself as she started to take on more of that strange energy into her body.

Everything happened too fast.

No one saw the scope’s glint in time to stop it.

Notes:

I'm just gonna clarify this now, in case you somehow started reading this fic before reading the rest of my Drifter/Arthur series, BUT if you haven't already I would highly advise that you read at least the first fic in my series (corrosive) if you want the full effect of this chapter. Honestly, reading the first few fics in the series would probably help a lot, but I just wanted to put that heads up out there because I think this particular chapter will have a lot more impact if you have read those already ;)

Normal advisory, read the tags please.

This was the chapter I really wanted to write that kind of spurred this whole multi-chapter prequel so... enjoy c:

. . .

Things had been good, well as good as living in an apocalyptic hellscape could be, I suppose.

It was the start of another day, the team meeting up at my desk to go over the forever endless missions lined up ahead of us. Even the Drifter, as consistently tired as she seemed to be, was in attendance well before we expected her. She was doing better these days, getting along well with the team and really synchronizing with everyone instead of acting as a lone wolf as she tended to after she first arrived. Particularly so ever since that moment on the rooftop, things had been looking much better overall. She no longer actively avoided me and seemed to truly enjoy her time spent with everyone— finally including myself into that mix. We were working much more cohesively as a unit, and that benefited everyone at the end of the day.

[ “I like talking with you, Arthur. Under all the old man scruff, you’re rather kind.” ]

Her soft words rang between my ears, a certain wash of relief rolling over my mutated bones. It was such a welcome rush of relief that I must have missed when Quincy initially tried to grab my attention.

“Oi! You awake there, Arthur?” Quincy interjected for an unknown number of times, once heard immediately slicing through my thoughts and dragging me back on task. Eleanor was close by, standing next to the Drifter as she always did in these meetings, with the widest grin framing her face. She could always hear everything happening inside my head, even when she didn’t want to.

“Yes, just thinking.” I chose to let that subject quickly drop— but then one of Quincy’s eyebrows rose, eyes flickering between myself and the Drifter. I knew it was only a matter of time before he said something about the two of us, but he opted to stay quiet for now. He knew when to play his cards and when to hold them.

I handed out roles for today, all centered on civilian assistance based on intel Quincy gathered from locals who had made it to the shelter of the Mall. The going rumor was that at least a handful of civvies were being held by Scaldra, allegedly being used as bait to lure in Techrot in order to test new methods of destroying the abominations. The varying faces of disgust and horror upon everyone in the Hex at the explanation were as clear as day.

“I hate Scaldra…” Aoi murmured under her breath, rage evident in those focused eyes. I nodded, pointing out positions on the map.

“Lettie and Aoi. You’re on medical assistance and recovery. We’ll need you out there to tend to the potential wounded and get them in well enough shape to return here. Quincy and Amir. You two are our backup detail. When we go in, you are going to cover our rear so we don’t get surrounded while deep in Scaldra-heavy territory. Eleanor, you’ll stay here and man comms and watch for any potential movement close to home. Drifter,” I paused, noticing the little sparkle in her glowing lilac eyes at the mention of her name, before continuing on.

“I need you with me. We’re going in alongside Lettie and Aoi to take point and clear out hostiles as we carry on to the collection zone. Any questions, team?”

A combination of “nos” and head shakes swiftly answered me.

“Alright Hex, let’s do what we do best.”

. . .

The Drifter truly was a different person when we were out on missions in the Techrot-riddled streets of Höllvania. Gone were the carefree smiles, laid-back posture, gentle words, and occasional strange clumsiness— and out came someone who clearly had survived many a battle, by any means necessary. She spun quickly on her metal shell’s feet, pulling out whatever weapon was best for the target in question, alternating between slashes of her strange blade and whip thing or explosive power of her futuristic firearms. We effortlessly danced around one another as the encounters only continued, weaving our way down streets overflowing with Scaldra and Techrot, rushing towards the reported group of survivors with Lettie and Aoi in tow right behind us.

“Arthur, over there!” Aoi shouted over comms, our voices alone hard to hear with the surge of hostiles and bullets flying wild. With a clean swipe of my blade through a Techrot’s grotesque body, I turned my attention to the building Aoi pointed out.

Drifter silently followed me as we ran up to the building’s side to investigate, Aoi and Lettie trying to look for a breachable window but not having much luck. While we tried to find a potential exterior opening into the building, the Drifter stilled in my periphery, pulling my focus to her sudden uneasiness.

“They’re in there. I can hear them,” she whispered, barely audible even over comms. Her body language even from within her metal shell looked outright distressed as she stood there, seeming to digest what it was that she was hearing.

“They’re trapped. I think… I can hear them saying that the building is gonna…” her voice wavered as her words tapered off.

“The Scaldra are gonna blow the building.” 

Bollocks.

“Fuck. We gotta find a way in, fast,” Lettie breathed, cursing more under her breath as she started hitting along the exterior wall of the building, hastily checking for any weak points we could use for entry. The single exterior door was heavily barricaded, appearing to be something even stronger than the Ferrocite barricades we were used to seeing from the Scaldra.

The clock was ticking and we needed a way in.

A wall of incoming fire started blazing from behind, quickly cut short and turned elsewhere as Quincy and Amir returned fire from afar to cover our rear. When even more Scaldra started closing in on us from another entry point, Aoi used her innate magnetism to rip a twisted piece of metal from a downed vehicle, hovering it over us and using it like an umbrella. The Drifter and I started to return fire while Lettie kept searching for a way into the building nearby, knocking and kicking for weak spots, staying under the protection of Aoi’s shield.

“I-I could sling inside, past the barricade,” Drifter suggested while slashing away at the enemies that were quickly closing in, her breathing as unsteady as her posture was moments ago. I had seen her do such a thing before, while we were training and reviewing her abilities, but there was a huge risk carried in that idea.

“You are not leaving that Warframe of yours!” I practically roared over the even louder barrage of bullets engulfing the area. It was an extremely risky tactic, leaving herself open to potential serious injury. It wasn’t a risk I felt comfortable calling for just yet.

The Scaldra moved even closer, pushing myself and the Drifter firmly back to back as we continued firing away and keeping their attention tightly locked on us— all to give Lettie more time to find an alternative way inside.

But time didn’t seem to be on our side today.

“So, what? You think I can’t handle myself?” Drifter yelled over comms, clearly agitated with my order, and very much not backing down from her dangerous idea.

Our metallic backs slid against one another as we shifted stances and swapped weapons as necessary in lieu of wasting any precious seconds reloading.

“I didn’t bloody say that!”

I couldn’t believe we were having an argument in the middle of a firefight while a building full of civvies was about to detonate— but here we were.

A loud huff sounded over comms, seemingly signaling the end of that conversation for now— but I know better than to assume she’s just letting this drop— a relief since we were currently engaged with entirely too many Sol damned hostiles for this spat. We could go over this later, talk it out, when we weren’t in such a hurry.

“Fucking hell! No luck Arthur!” Lettie called out over comms from another side of the building, frustration boiling over as she kept poking and prodding everywhere she could to try and find some possible way in. Options were running out but there had to be some way in.

There had to be—

Then a sudden change in tune. A rapid shift in melody. An ethereal quality quickly taking over her song that normally wasn’t there.

Shit. She’s going to do it.

“Drifter! Don’t you bloody dare—”

In an instant she was outside the safety of her Warframe, a mist of purple energy surrounding her as she was halfway between flesh and not, neither fully in one state or the other. Her shell simply froze in place where she left it, no weapon immediately in her hands as she flung towards the door, arms moving upwards to her chest to brace herself as she started to take on more of that strange energy into her body.

Everything happened too fast.

No one saw the scope’s glint in time to stop it.

BOOM

CRACK

THUD

Amidst the barrage of loud gunfire, desperate yells, and twisting metal— a single shot overpowered everything in an instant before her body smacked onto the asphalt below.

The roaring firefight around me fell completely silent between my ears.

The rising crescendo of her innate song was cut short, the melody abruptly stopped, left with nothing but absolutely deafening silence. The very same horrific silence that had haunted me since the first time I experienced it: when her body limply laid in my sister’s arms, no sign of life to her small body.

The world went quiet, despite the chaos around us. A high-pitched ringing slowly took its place, reminding me of a wailing siren, haunting me with those revolving bloody images of the last time her beautiful song ended.

No. She can’t—

No, no, no.

N-Not again.

You can’t do this to us.

When the sounds returned, I knew Lettie was speaking by the stream of curses barely audible over the high-pitched whine still whirling around my head from the absence of her song filling the space between my ears. The Hex’s medic worked fast, pulling supplies from her pouches, clicking her tongue against her teeth, looking very displeased at the condition of the Drifter laid before her. 

“ARTHUR!”

Lettie’s yell knocked me from the paralysis I was locked in, finally looking down to see how the Drifter was faring. I needed to focus. I was still in charge of this shitshow.

My heart sank.

I knew deep down that if she was just an ordinary human, she would already be long dead. A thick ooze coated the section of her abdomen that was torn asunder by a large-caliber weapon, quickly burning through any bit of tissue it touched. An Efervon round? The flesh slowly eroded away by the quick work of the corrosive substance, the very bones of her rib cage starting to peek through semi-eaten muscle as the smell of burning flesh was almost too nauseating to stomach. This was much worse than I would have expected from normal sniper fire. Drifter hadn’t made a single hint of noise since the impact— only worrying me more. My body felt frozen, utterly helpless as the wound only looked worse with every passing second, even as Lettie quickly worked away to pack the wound to get the corrosive ooze out as fast as possible. The pink-haired void creature we had all grown quite fond of then recoiled: body jerking and reacting violently to Lettie’s handiwork of stuffing materials into the gaping wound to soak up the chemicals eating away at her petite body.

Drifter—

Then she started screaming.

The screaming.

Her eyes shot open the very moment the visceral, pained cries clawed out her throat from deep inside her chest, now-exposed ribs visibly shifting from the force of her cries. I could feel the pain echo through that horrid sound, rattling my bones, wavering my constitution with each passing second. Her song was now reduced to that sound, the ethereal threads that only I could see left frayed and frenzied. I wanted to help her somehow— needed to— so I grabbed one of her petite hands within my own, tightening my grip as she contorted with every dig of Lettie’s tools into the massive gaping wound. From the way the sweat poured from her brow, I could tell Lettie was running on autopilot, clear in her movements that this could not have waited until we got back to the Mall. She spoke as softly as I had ever heard her, reassuring and asking the Drifter to hang on for her just a little longer. 

As Lettie worked some simple stitches to keep everything vital inside the Drifter’s torso— well, remaining inside— until we could get back to the Mall for proper intervention, I rubbed small circles against the back of her hand with my own. Hoping I could provide some small semblance of comfort in what I knew must have been pure agony.

“Stay with me, Drifter.”

Those lilac eyes seemed to turn towards me as if she did indeed hear me, pain overpowering their normally delicate gaze, her pupils wide and clearly not focusing well whatsoever. I was relatively sure she knew I was here with her, but it was hard to know for certain.

Is she going to survive?

My jaw was deathly tense, lips tightly closed.

Why the fuck did she jump ahead of us?

I clicked my tongue against my teeth, anger seeping into my thoughts, tinging the edges, but none of it directed at her. I was in charge. I should have prevented this. My eyes traced the messy and violent wound Lettie worked to close up as fast as she could.

Her side looks… rough. I don’t know how she could possibly heal from that—

Something suddenly forced its way into my mind, a loud crashing wave cutting its way through my train of thought and engulfing, melding my consciousness with its own.

What in the—

Images I couldn’t fully comprehend flooded my vision, things I could only assume were from the far future with the sheer size of a broken space ship welcoming me first. Through hazy vision, I could barely make out the image of two adults and a small child sitting at a rather cozy table in what looked to be a living space. The faces of the two adults were obscured, too foggy to make out any definable features of, but the child with them had large lilac eyes shining upwards at them with pure adoration, little pink waves framing her face. She was positively beaming as they ate a meal together, strange cube-shaped food on plain metal trays. There was a distinctive and delightful hum echoing from the simple scene.

Almost as if I was tossed like a child throwing their toys around, my view suddenly shifted and morphed into something much darker. A group of children then appeared from inside the ship, sitting in a dark classroom and huddling together while some cried into their sleeves— one pink-haired child near the front of the group desperately trying to hold the door closed as something sinister tried to claw into the room.

“S-Stay away from t-them!” Her voice was threatening to fail, but she still held her ground. She kept turning to the younger kids crying in a huddled ball in the corner, despair clear in her young eyes as she took in the sheer hopelessness of the situation.

“Just t-take me instead! Leave the little ones alone!” She screamed over the growing monstrous howls echoing from the other side of the door. Another kid helping her hold the door looked truly horrified, frantically shaking their head at her bargain.

Before I could reach out to the brave little one, I was taken and spun into another radically different setting: flowery meadows and strange marionette-esque people dotting the landscape doing everyday, mundane tasks of the fields. A yell then screeched across the landscape: what seemed to be the same, albeit older, pink-haired woman being dragged by multiple, of what I could only assume were, soldiers. She slashed and clawed with her fingernails and tried to bite any area of flesh she could manage of the ones restraining her. She was the spitting image of a wounded, panicked animal fighting for survival. The soldiers holding her only seemed amused by her actions, not nervous in the slightest.

“Stop your pathetic fighting and save your energy for Dominus Thrax.”

One of the two armed strangers then chuckled as he dragged her upwards off the ground by the neck, the young woman trying to kick back and swipe away— but losing steam as he tightened his grip on the delicate area. Only a single weak whine managed to leave her throat, defiant eyes starting to roll back into her skull from the clear lack of oxygen.

“Our Child King does love it when you actually put up a fight before the inevitable beheading.”

What—

I didn’t even get a chance to intervene before the scene rapidly shifted again, a rare hint of nausea hitting me from all of the spinning, my vision clouding before refocusing on another strange sight before me— the same pink-haired woman and a younger version of herself, standing apart and conversing in a grand chamber full of sand and futuristic machines.

Why is one of our computers on a desk across the way…

“You can’t be serious…” the younger version of her huffed, crossing her arms, blowing a loose hair out of her face. “What is wrong with you?”

The older version held no emotion in her face, dull lilac eyes staring blankly as the younger copy only grew more irate with each passing second.

“I really don’t understand you. As much as you wanna die, it isn’t happening. You agreed to help the Lotus and Loid by chasing this call from the Indifference. So can you please stop this…” the young one paused, trying to find the right word before she could continue, arms practically flailing, but was interrupted by a painfully familiar voice.

“You all refuse to let me rest, but if you need me to do this, I will. That’s all I agreed to.”

The Drifter’s voice held none of the usual charm and energy I had grown used to since she fell out of my head. No sarcasm, no cheekiness, no joy. Her body language screamed exhaustion, and the rings of purple in the skin under her eyes said more than enough on their own. She was skin and bone, barely fitting into the manky rags she wore, hair messier than ever like she crawled out of a foxhole in the battlefield and never bothered to clean up after the fact.

Drifter… What happened to you?

As if she heard my silent plea, her eyes shot to me, filled with complete panic, before the scene twirled one final time to something much more familiar— the center atrium of the Mall. I scanned over the area to see myself standing at the security desk, eyes down toward the floor, likely lost in thought going over ops reports as I twirled my blade. A bright speck of much more put-together pink hair came into view across the atrium, making her way towards the broken escalators to retreat to her hideaway for the evening. Her attentive eyes kept glancing over to where I stood, curiosity certainly peaking in that lilac gaze. A voice then filled my own head— her voice. The voice I had rather grown to enjoy hearing on a daily basis.

Oh Mother Lua… Maybe Eleanor is onto something.

That had me mentally raising an eyebrow, noting how much her walk slowed down as she kept me in her view. She was barely moving forward at a leisurely pace, eyes still fixated on where I stood completely oblivious to her stare.

I thought the books would help, but I still don’t know what… what this is. I don’t understand all of these new… emotions? Feelings?

She clutched her shirt right over her heart, gloved hand twisting the fabric. A creeping red flush tinged the top of her cheekbones.

Gods. Am I supposed to feel this way around someone? The chest aches. Losing my words. Tripping over my own feet… Am I sick or something? Should I ask Lettie to check for anything wrong?

Her inquisitive eyes slowly panned downward over my body, finding myself suddenly uncomfortable upon realizing that this was entirely too intimate of a moment for me to be a bystander in— but here I was as the captive audience to the Drifter roaming her gaze over my oblivious arse.

I wonder what it would feel like to have his body against mine. He’s so much bigger than me… Sol, and those thighs… Oh my gods! Stop, just stop. He’s in charge around here. And besides…

Her eyes crinkled around the edges, eyebrows falling just a tad, the small smile on her face remaining but taking on a much more melancholic tone.

Who would want to spend time with someone as broken as me?

My heart ached at her words.

Drifter—

Her mind abruptly ejected from my own, finding myself back in the middle of the intense firefight blazing above with Lettie finishing up the last few stitches. Barely any time had passed at all while my mind was stretched across various scenes and moments, all of which seemed to be memories of the Drifter’s life. I adjusted my eyes and scanned over her face, Lettie snipping her finished work before turning to me. 

“She’s alive, only passed out. Let’s get her back to the Mall.” Lettie was all business, packing away her supplies and picking up the Drifter’s limp body without any hint of effort. The medic must have seen the apprehension in my eyes. Lettie’s rigid facade slightly wavered after reading my expression.

“We gotta move now, Arthur. Aoi, Amir, and Quincy can finish this while we head back since the door was breached from the shot at Babas,” she said, eyes softening just a tad.

“She’s tough. Don’t look so scared there, boss. Doesn’t suit you.”

I brushed a hand through my hair, trying to internally steady myself as I stood up to match Lettie. Without questioning it, I shouldered my rifle and reached my arms out towards her, nudging my head towards the limp pink-haired creature Lettie held. She immediately understood, letting me take the Drifter into my arms without question. She pulled her weapon back out and took point as we sprinted away from the scene. Before I could do so myself, she informed the others of our change in location over comms. We moved quickly through the carnage, weaving and racing back as fast as possible.

My mouth was terribly dry. My words were stuck in my throat. My swordsteel palms felt sweaty, whether they really were or not was a whole other matter. My mind was spiraling and reeling from the puzzle pieces rapidly falling in place, the notches perfectly matching and revealing what I had been desperately denying for sometime now. The undeniable realization was hitting me hard and fast— and I could no longer avert my eyes from the obvious truth laid before me.

I love her.

. . .

When I stepped into the makeshift infirmary, I was immediately met with the sight of Eleanor and Lettie fussing over the Drifter’s covers. She now dawned some new clothes borrowed from the scavenged piles normally distributed to civvies. Her normal clothes sat in the corner on a metal tray, the torn and bloodied outfit a reminder of the massive damage she endured today. Eleanor looked to me first, a soft and very knowing smile gracing her own armored jaw. Lettie turned next, stretching her arms forward to release some tension, muttering a few curses in Spanish under her breath but not out of the same frustration as before.

“How is she?”

Each of the two women simultaneously raised an eyebrow at my question. 

“Eleanor’s right, boss. You do have it bad,” Lettie remarked, a low laugh following while she moved her supplies well away from the couch the Drifter rested on, fast asleep.

I crossed my arms, rolling my eyes.

“Very funny, but I did ask a question.”

“Oh dearest, outright horribly infatuated brother,” Eleanor mentally chimed in with a sway in her step towards me. “Lovey is fine, just resting as she needs to.”

“If she wasn’t what she is, Babas would be long dead,” Lettie stated, a sigh passing her lips and briefly pressing two fingers against her forehead.

I turned my attention to the pale face framed by pink hair on the sofa, a few blankets over her courtesy of the two women who made sure she was okay as soon as we got back to the Mall. I checked in with the others, received the good news regarding the civvies from Aoi and was reassured everyone was on their way back. Everything was sorted and I could step away from managing the Hex for a bit.

[ “Arthur, everything is fine. Go see her. She probably needs company— and no offense and all, but you sound like a mess the longer you stay away from her.” ]

Aoi wasn’t exactly wrong, but it felt odd to hear it pointed out to me so starkly— especially when that realization was so fresh in my mind.

Gods. How long ago did this start? 

The Drifter finally started to slowly rustle beneath the covers, Lettie and Eleanor now on their way out the door of the recovery space to leave us alone. I caught Eleanor’s shit-eating grin before she disappeared from view— no doubt from being able to hear my inner turmoil and knowing exactly what had me tied up in so many knots. When the two finally left, I pulled a stool next to the side of the bed so I could stay next to her. My blade stayed within arm’s reach of course, resting against the nearby end table that held some of Lettie’s supplies.

I took a second to really look at her: her face was pale, a little more purple around the eyes compared to her normal complexion, the oversized clothes making her look even smaller than she already was, and then there was the blood. So much blood stained the couch around and under her where she laid asleep. I couldn’t mentally pass it off as evidence of prior patients, the lighter burgundy colour giving away just how fresh it all was. Seeing it all up close, away from the blistering gunfire and screaming Scaldra, how her body was clearly pushed to its absolute limit— my chest ached. I could admit I was incredibly frustrated by how this day unfolded, but that frustration mainly sat with myself. I was in charge. I should have stopped her from doing such a stunt as the leader of the Hex— but I was too late. Now the very woman who saved us, and all of Höllvania for that matter, from meeting a thermonuclear end laid beaten and bloodied from another selfless act without any regard for her own condition.

But selflessness seems to be the Drifter’s M.O.

The images from earlier, the very ones that bled into my mind from hers while she was writhing in agony, came back into my immediate thoughts. The pink haired child… that had to be her. Even in the beginning, she would willingly sacrifice herself for others. Even as a child, she was already that selfless. But the latter scenes— one with her kicking and screaming while held by guards and then the following where she held no emotion in that frail body as she talked to who I could only assume was the kid she spoke of— those showed a woman who had been left utterly broken. The ravages of her long life took an ugly toll on what seemed to be a once cheerful child who happily ate dinner with her parents.

Slowly and carefully, I watched as those lilac eyes fluttered awake once more, struggling to adjust to the bright light of the room for the first few seconds. Her head turned just enough to see me seated next to her, confusion filling those petite features.

“You’re alive, Drifter.” I kept my voice steady, the anger at myself hard to contain when I could see how much pain she must have been in. 

She really examined me for a few seconds, eyes carefully taking in every inch of me she could from where she laid. When she opened her mouth to speak, a small wheeze escaped her throat instead of whatever it was she was trying to say. My internal frustration grew and I was trying so bloody hard to tamper any external manifestation of it, not wanting her to think that I was mad at her. That couldn’t have been further from the truth.

I don’t know if I could ever truly be angry with her right now. 

“No talking,” I plainly stated, putting on the team leader façade that was second nature by this point, sitting up straighter on the small stool and leaning slightly over the sofa. There was an uneasiness in those lilac eyes that tugged at my heart, but I couldn’t let it distract me from the discussion at hand.

That bloody song isn’t helping with it practically screaming her discomfort and worry into my ears.

“What were you thinking? Leaving your metal shell? Exposing yourself to enemy fire? To snipers?” My exasperation was reaching new heights as I kept talking. “You nearly died. If it was a normal person and not… well you, you would have died.”

—and Sol, I can’t bear the thought of losing you.

The fire in her eyes was certainly igniting and bursting to life from my words, that sharp tongue about to strike before I cut her off again. 

“No. I said no talking right now. Don’t make me repeat myself, Drifter,” I warned, continuing on with a rather gruesome description of how she was shot with a round full of corrosive ooze, eating away her very flesh by the second. Even with a body changed just as ours were, there were limits to what she could easily withstand— and this was one of them. My detailed and morbid elaboration ended with a quick question for the void creature who laid in front of me.

“Do I make myself clear?” She held a scowl on her face, me raising an eyebrow with, “you can answer me now.”

“Crystal.”

Her voice was so hoarse, so pained, yet despite all of that it was so wonderful to just be able to hear it again. Even if she was annoyed with me, even if she wanted to yell at me for being overbearing or bossy or a complete arse— I was thankful to Sol for her being here with me.

Another small coughing fit worked its way out, her small body shaking with each rough gasp for air. Her breathing eventually evened back out, a long sigh leaving my chest once she seemed alright enough.

“Now there’s the other matter we need to talk about,” I started, carefully watching her soft features for any hint of further discomfort before I continued. “What did I tell you about going inside my head?”

Her eyes immediately widened, some level of hurt registering in that lilac stare. Those chapped lips of hers started moving before I could explain myself.

“Look… I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry…” I raised a hand to stop her before she started throwing out apologies she didn’t need to make, or that I even deserved for letting this all happen.

“That’s not what I meant, Drifter.” Gods. I’m such a bloody idiot when it comes to this. I ran a gloved metallic hand through my hair to collect my thoughts. “I know you didn’t intentionally jump into my skull again. You were in pretty rough shape and barely keeping it together.”

The telling little crinkle around her eyes, the way she dug those bloodied fingers into the sheet she clung to— she was embarrassed at the mention of how she looked from this whole mess. I kept going.

“What I saw… All those people? Places? Horrors? Those were your memories weren’t they? Of your life, of that Duviri place you’ve told me about?” She only kept my stare, no words spared from her, so I continued on. “I just wanted to ask, to offer I suppose, do you… do you want to talk about it?”

My genuine offer was immediately met with her eyes flooding with anger, teeth clenching, brow furrowing from where she laid. Her song became enraged, the melody gaining speed and deepening in tone. It started to drown out my own thoughts when her anger reached a tipping point, boiling over and pouring into something she would have harnessed had she not been stuck on the couch with Lettie’s needlework holding her together.

“Yeah. You got a private show of all the shit swirling around in my head all the void-damned time. Happy?!”

How could I ever be happy when you’re hurt?

The pain in her eyes was too real, too honest, too visceral. I couldn’t hold back the sigh from passing my lips, painfully aware that I was utterly dreadful at these conversations. Being honest was one thing in day to day life, but letting out your thoughts and emotions to another human being? A terrifying prospect, more so than any army or horror I’ve fought. But I was willing to try for her: to be someone she could talk to and be honest with.

“Of course I’m not happy,” I breathed as evenly as I could. My frustrations with myself were well simmering and threatening to boil over if I didn’t carefully control my actions. I didn’t want her to believe she was the one I was angry with.

“Look. I know what it’s like to have demons. To have shit in your past that sticks to you and hollows you out over the years. I truly do, and…” I paused, searching through my mind to only pull the most intentional of words. Before I continued, our eyes found themselves locked in one another’s— her glowing lilac entirely focused on my own mismatched gaze. The pull was there, those threads begging to be grasped upon, something in the air aching for us to be closer the longer we held this moment.

Then the sounds, the song, the very melody that followed her every step: it changed. It was a minute shift, a subtle adjustment in tempo and pitch, but it was enough for me to notice it. The natural glow to her eyes matched the change, seeming to soften in their examination of me. The confusing ache held in my own chest felt almost… reverberated back at me.

Something had changed forever at that moment.

Does she… Does she feel…?

Think about that later.

“Well, I wanted you to know that you have someone here who knows what it’s like to shoulder that kind of past. I won’t push if you’re not ready.” I quickly explained, trying to wrap up this conversation before my mind delved way too long on my suspicions while she needed to heal.

Her innate song was filled with such a whirlwind of emotions that wildly bounced off of my very body. The sparkle in her eyes couldn’t be missed. The song is as beautiful as she is. I chuckled at that thought. Her answering blush was entirely too endearing, something I could get lost in if I let myself do so. The mixture of emotions in her face and her song, the chaos clearly in her thoughts— I was painfully familiar with how that felt.

“Love, we’re much too alike for our own good.”

The words left my mouth in nothing more than a hushed whisper before I swiftly made my exit, not allowing time for a response from those lovely lips that might tempt me to stay.

. . .

Notes:

So if you have read the first fic in my series, you might have realized that this chapter contains the first fic of my series but from Arthur’s POV. Which might give a hint for what’s happening next ;)

I actually had to cut this chapter shorter than planned, because even though I had plenty of outline still to go, the chapter was already kinda long for this fic. I hope you guys enjoyed this one! It was a very fun one to write <3

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 26 of Courting the Nightingale