Chapter Text
Soft lights hung low between the trees of the convalescence garden, glowing softly in the warm evening air, rocking with the gentle, floral-scented caresses of a languid, lazy breeze. The light fell gently on the stone paths, mixing in a slow swirl with the low chatter of conversation and dulcet tones of the band. Irene rolled the stem of her glass between her fingers, watching the light play over its golden ripples before sighing and letting her gaze trail back over the gathering she lingered on the edge of.
For a recommissioned mining rig, Rhodes Island sure could clean up nicely.
She scanned over the assembled partygoers, trying to take everything in: operators shedding their combat attire for more appropriate wear of blazers and black dresses, pressed slacks and thigh-slit skirts. Altogether a far more visually relaxed, if perhaps more enticing, group than they usually portrayed. She had been surprised to see Jordi up on the small raised platform with the other musicians, but her voice was holding its own, supported by a beautiful dark-haired Lupo on bass and a small, curly-horned Caprinae with a saxophone.
No matter how often she tried to look elsewhere, study her environment or focus on her drink or take in the sights of unfamiliar operators, her gaze constantly, consistently, returned to the center of the gathering; to the small area cleared around the garden’s fountain, and the people dancing there.
Despite her frequent… entanglements, with Skadi, and Laurentina, and Andreana, Irene still found Gladiia something of an enigma. She hadn’t had much occasion to interact with Gladiia; updates from the Iberian coastline the only useful information she had to pass on. Gladiia was polite, sure, follow-up questions drawing on Irene’s experience and opinion, but still largely aloof. Distant. And now, watching the Hunters’ Captain effortlessly lead Kal’tsit in a slow, intimate dance, that feeling of distance, of a lack of understanding, only grew.
She definitely understood their fascination with her, however.
Gladiia moved with a grace that looked almost unnatural; her movements as sure and fluid as if they’d been scripted, but somehow still responding perfectly to every improvisation the band made. Gone was the tight, focused line of her mouth that Irene had seen on the Stultifera Navis, the tension around her eyes softened to something almost human. The music breathed and she drew Kal’tsit close, hand slipping from waist to the small of her back, and Irene caught herself leaning forward in anticipation. Of what, she wasn’t sure, but something compelled her to not miss a single moment. She needed to see this; needed to take in this side of the stoic Hunter as she needed breath.
An upbeat from the bass and Gladiia was moving again, stepping through Kal’tsit and turning, their hands coming together before them as they stepped into the new beat.
“She’s really something, hm?”
Irene recognized the voice seconds after she’d already jumped a mile, thankfully avoiding her dress with the half of her drink spilled before she regained her composure.
Laurentina pressed into her side in apology, comforting despite her muffled snort of laughter. “Sorry, birdie,” she said, pressing a kiss to her cheek, “you were so enraptured, I couldn’t help myself.”
Irene smoothed her dress out with a sigh, a fond smile crossing her lips despite herself. “I really should be more used to it by now, shouldn’t I?”
“You should!” Laurentina grinned, playful with the dangerous points of her teeth, “but don’t think I don’t see you dodging the question, little bird.”
“Insistent, aren’t you?” Irene sighed again, helplessly fond. She really was losing her touch. “She really is…”
Laurentina’s eyebrows shot up. Fuck.
“Ha! You almost sound like Cuttlefish when she first joined us, all moony over the Captain.”
“I- It’s-,” Irene felt her flush rise to her ears. “I’m not mooning!”
Laurentina laughed, sharp and beautiful. “There’s no shame in it, pretty bird!” She mimicked Irene’s pose, planting her elbow and resting her chin in her hands, “She’s something else, truly.”
Irene sighed, wondering at her newfound lack of restraint as she allowed herself a pout. “She is.”
“Why the long face then, birdie? A beautiful display of skill and an ass like that and you’re looking down?”
Irene sighed again, put-upon despite the flush tickling her ears. It was true, Gladiia’s- her pants were very flattering. “It sounds childish.”
“Nonsense, darling.” Laurentina nudged her side, intentionally gentle. “Allow yourself some grace.”
“I don’t think she likes me.”
Laurentina bit her lip to muffle a snort.
“Hey!”
A warm hand found her hip, Laurentina giving her a squeeze as she brushed a bead of blood off her lip with her thumb, her caudal fin tracing up Irene’s calf. “Don’t get all prickly now, birdie. If she shows you enough to indicate that,” she tipped Irene a wink, red smeared at the corner of her smirk, “it usually means the opposite.”
“What do you mea-”
Laurentina’s face lit up. “Speak of the devil!”
“No, wait-”
“Hey, Captain!”
“Waah-” Irene vocalized as a firm push sent her stumbling forward.
Gladiia caught her, hand on her waist steadying Irene against her chest, cocking an unimpressed eyebrow over Irene’s shoulder at Laurentina.
Laurentina, ever unrepentant, just made a shooing motion at them. “Go on! The dance floor calls!” She plucked the glass out of a returning Skadi’s hand, leaning back into her wife’s shoulder and giving Irene a playful wave as she consigned her to the deep.
Irene watched as Gladiia’s nostrils flared, a deep breath out the nose; the most apparent sign of displeasure she’d ever seen from the stoic woman. She was fully prepared for a sound rejection when Gladiia stepped back, only for her heart to catch in her throat as the tall, aloof Captain of the Abyssal Hunters gave her a short, fluid bow.
“Well then, Miss Irene.” Gladiia offered her hand, and Irene could swear she saw a whisper of anticipation in the corners of her eyes, in the tightening of her lips. “May I ask for a dance?”
Irene stepped forward, breathless, and took her hand.
Chapter Text
Being led by the hand through a crowd of partygoers to a dance floor was a new experience for Irene, but newer still were the eyes following her as they passed. The pair of them were undoubtedly the center of attention, and Irene- ex Inquisitor, now Operator -wasn’t quite sure how to feel about it. She had drawn eyes to herself during her work in Iberia, sure, but those were never the friendliest of exchanges, as likely to result in awkward hostility as with a statement from her handcannon. Never were they like this, equal parts envy and awe as this ethereal woman led her by the hand without a single glance to the crowd parting for them.
The unspoken power and confidence in her movement made Irene’s mouth go a little dry.
Then they were alone on the dance floor, the background murmur of chatter fading into white noise in Irene’s ears as Gladiia turned to face her.
Something shifted. Awakened.
Gladiia took one measured step closer.
She settled her hand on Irene’s hip and Irene, almost unconsciously, let hers drift up to Gladiia’s chest, just over her collar. (her shoulder was just out of reach)
An upbeat- a breath -and Gladiia was moving.
She stepped through her, quick, even steps matching the movement of the bass. Irene turned with her, on the back foot as she stepped backwards to match her, sucking in a breath as their stop brought them chest to chest.
“You have been spending time with my Hunters.”
Irene’s heart stuttered at the words, close enough she could feel their vibration through Gladiia’s chest into her own. The question made what she had suspected clear: this was a test.
“Yours. They are their own, are they not?”
Gladiia hummed, short, before leading her through another set of steps, her feet landing where Irene’s had been the second prior.
“Your first mistake. Individuals, yes, but not one of us who walks this path is ever truly their own.” She pivots, arm extended to twirl Irene out to the tips of her fingers, before pulling her back again. “Are you truly so ignorant of those whose company you keep?”
Irene bristled. Even pressed this close, even with the urge of something like trust curling around her brain stem, she had her pride.
“Unaware of the exacting details of their situation, maybe, but not of the people.”
The whisper of a sneer curled the corner of Gladiia’s lip. The first true display of emotion Irene had seen from her. “Your ignorance compounds itself.” Gladiia switched their step, quick arcs of her feet putting Irene on the back foot again. “A Hunter is her situation. She is inextricable from what composes her.” She stepped to the side, turning so that Irene’s back was pressed to her front.
Despite the situation, the hard line of Gladiia’s body pressed to Irene’s back sent a thrill up her spine. Doubly so when she dipped her head to speak, lips tickling the tip of her ear.
“You dive headfirst into that which you cannot comprehend. Either you are a fool, or you are brave, which is foolishness twice over.”
Gladiia’s sudden step forward had Irene scrambling for composure, shaken but not beaten, following the crescendo of the music and the snap of Gladiia’s wrist into a quick twirl and then arching her back into a deep dip as Gladiia stepped back into her, hips pressed together.
Her hand settling on the small of Irene’s back almost spanned the breadth of her waist. Irene’s breaths were coming in small, sharp pants, out of breath only partially from the exertion of the dance. Dimly, she was aware of the final fermata fading to silence. Her hand tightened on Gladiia’s lapel, tugging her closer. Irene had always felt the most confident when her issues were within her sword’s reach, and a fierce determination curled in her chest to shake the impassivity solid in Gladiia’s stone face.
“If you want to think me a fool than so be it.” Irene narrowed her eyes, fingers curling in Gladiia’s lapel until the fabric creaked. “But if you think it foolish to do whatever it takes, to make any sacrifice required of you in order to ensure the care of the Hunters you command, you’re not even half the Captain I thought you were.”
Gladiia’s face was a mask, carved from stone, her body unreadably tense. Irene held her gaze, steel in her spine despite the licking curls of fear that she had misread, gone too far, said too much. Laurentina would follow her Captain over Irene in a heartbeat, and if she had miscalculated-
Every thought left her skull as she watched Gladiia’s lips soften, near imperceptibly. She straightened, their still-joined hands tugging Irene upright with her. Then she stepped back, their arms extended to meet in the middle, and lowered herself into a deep, formal bow.
Irene’s heart was pounding in her throat.
Gladiia’s eyes flickered up to meet Irene’s gaze. “Thank you,” she said quietly, her lips brushing Irene’s knuckles, “for the dance.”
She let Irene’s hand slip free slowly, allowing their fingers to drag against each other for a lingering second before turning on her heel with a nod and vanishing back into the depths of Rhodes, the gathered watching crowd parting before her like her lance split the seas.
Without a thought, Irene followed.