Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

            The creaking of metal and shouts of workers cloud your mind as you try and search for an exit. You know you only have a few more minutes before the lack of oxygen kills you. You curse whatever fucker decided today was the best day to burn down the storehouse, if you’re gonna die, might as well do it angry.

            A flash of green light catches your attention in the oranges and reds of the inferno: a window sitting a few paces away. You scramble towards your only chance at survival, keeping low and trying to avoid inhaling the smoke or gods-forbid the fumes of the shimmer. You curse yourself for not bothering to repair your mask before going out tonight. It should have been an easy job, you think, pausing in your tracks.

            A loud crash brings you out of your oxygen-deprived train of thoughts. You need to leave. Now.

            The window that had felt so close now seems to be miles away, each inch you crawl feels like it’ll be your last. “Fuck this,” you say out loud, your voice drowned out by the commotion around you.

            Finally your head bumps into the solid wall. In an ungraceful scramble, you pull yourself to your feet, smash the window open with a burning hot pipe near your foot, and launch yourself out of the window, praying to anything listening that the ground isn’t far down.

THUMP

            You land harshly on your tailbone; pain shoots up your spine and into your head. You roll on the ground, waiting for the blinding agony to cease. “MOTHERFUCKER!” you yell into the night air, looking up at the black-gray sky.

            The noise from inside the building is muffled now by the crackling of fire. You laugh bitterly to yourself—if this was Piltover, barrages of firemen would already be swarming the scene, not so in Zaun. No… here, people would watch with joy as another shimmer storehouse burnt down. Except for the junkies, you think. And your own clients, you suppose, although they rarely concern themselves with undercity affairs.

            Finally mustering up the courage, you roll onto your stomach, lift yourself to your knees and finally your feet, swaying slightly for a moment at the change in posture. You cough once. Twice. Each time a small cloud of soot shooting out of your throat. You spit the ash in your mouth onto the ground and assess yourself. Besides the minor burns on your hands and knees and the pain in your tailbone, you managed to escape relatively unharmed. Of course, you realize with a sour twinge in your gut, completely emptyhanded. Sighing, you start to formulate a plan; this was the most convenient storehouse to rob so you’ll have to figure out a new supply location.

            A noise from the street outside of the alleyway you are standing in pulls your attention. Two male voices coming closer to you. Out of instinct you crouch down into the shadows and throw your hood over your head.

            “I heard it from over there.” One of the voices says, his words echoing strangely against the inferno around you.

            “Yeah, I’ll check it out. Get the others ready to go.” The other responds in a deeper, harsher tone, that same, strange echo present.

            The footsteps grow closer, and you push yourself farther into the darkness. A tall figure rounds the corner, and you strain to make it out in the darkness. It looks like a tall man, but his face looks like nothing you have ever seen; his face looks like the skull of a dog. Is he… wearing a mask?

            “I see you in there,” he calls out. You look around for who he could be talking too, how could he possibly see you? You can barely see him in the smog and night air. “Stop acting stupid,” another harsh bark, “What are you doing here?”

            Slowly you stand up, a mix of fear and anger prickling your skin. Who the hell does this guy think he is, and how the hell can he see you? You take a step out into the alley and the man in front of you pulls a torch from his pocket, flicking it on and angling it at your face. The light blinds you for a moment and you put your hand up to cover your eyes. Now I really can’t see this asshole. “I could ask you the same question,” you call back, confused on what this man wants from you. What does he care that you’re in this alley?

            “I don’t give a shit what you wanna know. I’m asking you what you were doing in that building. The one full of shimmer. The one you just dropped out of.” He points his light towards the broken glass at your feet. You scowl at him. Just as you are about to tell him where he should stick it, he pulls a staff from behind his back. You pause. Sure… maybe you could take him on… on a good day. Today was clearly not a good day.

            “I was…” you pause, unsure how to phrase your answer, “gathering supplies. I was interrupted when the whole thing went up in flames.” Slowly, painfully slowly in your oxygen-deprived brain, you begin to put the pieces together. The mask this man is wearing, the green light you saw out the window, the fire at the Shimmer storehouse: this man is a firelight. “You! You’re the fucker that burnt the supply house down!” The words leave your mouth before you can stop yourself.

            “Supplies for what?” The masked man is getting impatient and thankfully ignoring your insult, but you don’t know how much longer you can draw out this conversation in search of an opportunity to escape. He barks out again when you don’t answer fast enough for him, taking three long strides towards you, “I said; supplies for what?”

            “Uhhh.” You’re frozen, unsure what to say. If this man is a firelight, he won’t take kindly to a Shimmer-dealer, even if it’s a solo operation like yours. The man takes another step forward, you take one back on instinct. Glancing behind you, you realize you managed to roll into a dead-ended alley. Of-fucking-course I did, because this day can’t get any worse. “I don’t work for Silco. Or any of the other chem-barons,” your voice is unsteady, “how about we just forget this whole interaction, huh?”

            As you expected, the man continues stalking towards you, holding his staff at his side. “That’s not gonna cut it” he barks out. No…. growls? Is this man fucking growling at you? “Now how about you try again, what the fuck were you doing in that building full of Shimmer?” He readjusts the staff, pointing the sharpened tip towards you.

            “Why the hell should I tell you?” You know why you should tell him. He could probably kill you before you could get your act together enough to defend yourself. And by the looks of him, he’d enjoy it. Unfortunately, it’s the only thing you can think to say in the moment.

            The man sighs, pointing his head towards the sky and for a moment you think you might get out of this with nothing but a shitty story and one hell of a bruise. The last thing you see is the butt of the spear coming down on your head.

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            When you finally come to, your surroundings—or lack thereof—don’t immediately make sense. You hear the voices first, two that you have already heard. Right… after the fire. Next, the nauseating swing of your body before you finally feel the pain radiating from your head and from your arms where they seem to be bound together with a rough cord. Something is missing, some important sense, but you can’t quite put your finger on it—and then it hits you. You can’t see, the knock to your head must have wiped your vision. Now you really start panicking; what use is a blind thief going to be? You thrash around as much as you can, resigning to scream instead when movement feels impossible.

            “Can someone shut her up?” a voice says. You don’t recognize it; it must be someone other than the two you heard earlier. A blunt object hits your stomach, and you let out an ‘oof’.

            Slowly you put the pieces together. That fucker in the mask must have knocked you out and blindfolded you. You take a breath; you aren’t blind, and you aren’t going crazy. You were just kidnapped by the same group that burnt down your number one storehouse, the group that would probably least approve of selling Shimmer to topsiders—enforcers are regular clientele, but the firelights hate shimmer with a passion. You suppose you can’t blame them; it has ruined countless lives. But hey, a gal’s gotta make a living.

            You stay quiet the rest of the excruciating trip to…wherever you’re going, still weary from your blow to the stomach. It’s hard to tell exactly how long it takes, sometime between fifteen to twenty minutes would probably be your best guess. Regardless, by the time you are finally thrown off of whatever shoulder you were riding on and into a chair to have your blindfold ripped off of your face, it’s still dark out.

            You take a moment to absorb the room you find yourself in. It’s nice? Not quite ‘Piltover’ nice, but it has a sort of charm to it. The soft glow from the lanterns, the greenery strewn about the room. It is nice, you decide. Until you look at the people standing in the room with you.

            As far as you can tell, the tall, gray person—vastaya? You aren’t quite sure what he is—is the same one that knocked you out in the alley. Only this time his mask rests on the belt of his pants. He’s…not what you imagined. His large ears and short, pink nose remind you of a bat. You strain your memory, you’re almost sure you’ve heard about people like him, but you can’t remember their name. The shorter man next to him you don’t recognize, although he is interesting himself. White paint covers nearly half of his face, nearly matching the unnatural white of his hair. Your gaze flicks between the two men who stand over you, looking down as though you’re some exotic creature.

            “Well… this is cheery. Sorry I’m not in my party attire quite yet, you boys seem to have caught me at a bad time” The tall one doesn’t laugh at your joke, but you see the shorter one stick his tongue in between his teeth and his cheek, fighting a smile. Good, not everyone here is insufferable. In all honesty, you know you might be fucked, but the fact you’re still alive has to be a good sign. This day can’t possibly get worse, right?

            “Scar here tells me you weren’t much of a talker” The shorter man says. Of course his name is something stupid like ‘Scar’. “You seem pretty chatty to me. Why don’t you try telling us what you were doing in the Shimmer storehouse.” His voice is kind, almost unnervingly so, but you can tell this is a demand. Scar folds his arms over his impressively large chest and sneers down at you, an impressive row of sharp teeth showing beneath his lips. You glare back before returning your attention to the other one.

            You consider your answer, weighing the probability these two kill you if they learn you’re a Shimmer dealer. “I was…collecting supplies for my… personal business ventures?” It doesn’t even sound like you believe what you’re saying.

            The shorter man looks to Scar who rolls his eyes. “I know what you mean,” he says, looking back to you. “Here’s the deal. You tell us what you were doing in that building and maybe we’ll let you go. We just need some information, okay? We’re not enforcers and none of us are in the mood to kill anyone tonight. Just tell us what you were doing”

            Pulling your lower lip into your mouth, you think on how to answer him. Deciding a half truth is the best solution, you open your mouth to answer, “I was there to get some Shimmer, okay? I sell it to some topsiders. Not a lot! Its just…there are some idiots up there that are too scared of Silco and the rest of the chem-barons who are willing to pay an arm and a leg for the stuff.” You look at the men nervously, not sure how they’ll respond.

            “You’re a fucking dealer?” Scar’s deep voice startles you for a moment, he had been so quiet this whole time. He takes a step towards you, teeth on full display. “Do you have any idea what this shit does to people?” The other one shoots him a look you can’t quite make out.

            “Oh gimme a break, like any of us have a fucking choice!” You bite back, struggling against the bindings on your wrists, “We all have to make a living, don’t we? You guys just burnt down a building, ruined people’s livelihoods for your godsdamned passion project!”

            “Everyone involved with Shimmer is a murderer. They dug their own graves the moment they got involved.” Scar’s voice is dangerously low, and you don’t miss his insinuation.

            The shorter man puts his hands up, “Shut the fuck up, both of you.” He shoots you and Scar a warning glare, “Scar, lay off her. And you,” he turns to face you directly, “I’m sorry but, we can’t let you continue to distribute Shimmer around. Scar’s right even if he is a bit of a brute.” Scar makes a low, annoyed noise, another fucking growl, “It’s fucking evil and it’s our job to keep it off the streets.”

            “Okay fine, that’s your job. And my job is to keep myself alive. I don’t understand what the big deal is; I sell it to Pilties. You think any of them give a shit about you or me? Who cares if a couple of the fuckers OD, it’s their fault Zaun is such a hellhole.”

            You watch as the man runs his hands down his face, exasperated. He looks to Scar, “She’s not wrong, that’s the worst part” he says to his friend, who gives him a knowing look before walking to the window and leaning against the wall. “You have the spark, that’s a good thing” he says, finally looking at you. You roll your eyes. “You are going about it the wrong way,” he continues, “You aren’t going to fix anything or prove something by selling Shimmer, okay? You are playing the role exactly as Piltover wrote it. They want us to be junkies, they want us to be criminals.”

            “And who says I wanna save the world? Why do I owe you or anyone else my ‘spark'?” You bite back, beginning to get annoyed at his proselytizing.

            “Don’t you get it? You don’t have to live like this! Throwing yourself out of burning buildings, working with the whole damn world against you”

            “Right!” You gasp as though you finally figured out the puzzle, mocking the overly enthusiastic man in front of you. “Because instead I could be the one setting the buildings on fire!” Your scowl returns. Scar barks out a laugh, you choose to ignore him. “I’m perfectly happy with how my life is working out, thanks for your concern though” you say, voice dripping with sarcasm.

            “It’s not gonna work, Ekko” Scar says from the wall. You shoot a glance at him, confused by what he means. That’s when it clicks, this guy is a chirean; in a distant, far away memory you can recall knowing a few in your youth, but it’s fuzzy like most things are from that time.

            Ekko waves his statement away with a hand, “Listen to me,” he says, the whole of his attention on you, “I’m offering you a different life. A way to actually change things, to make Zaun better.” He see’s you open your mouth to disagree, “And not in the way Silco is trying to do. I mean real change. Just… just hear us out, okay?” His mouth twitches when you stare at him blankly, “We want you to join the firelights.”

            “Not even ten minutes ago, I was blindfolded and dragged here against my will ‘cuz your thug over there,” you jerk your chin at Scar who is still leaned against the wall by the window, “thought I looked suspicious enough to fucking kidnap. And now you want me to join you? You two know nothing about me. You don’t even know my name. I don’t really know yours!” It was pretty easy to figure out their names, but the point still stood.

            Ekko points to the chirean, “The ‘thug’ is Scar, and I’m Ekko.” He looks at you expectantly. You roll your eyes and murmur out your name. He smiles, “Great, introductions are out of the way!” He claps his hands together, a toothy smile spreading on his face. Scar doesn’t react.

            “Ok great, we’re all friends now,” you quip, “I still don’t know why you would wanna recruit me for your damn commune.” His smile falters for a second, you almost feel bad, but it’s true, from what you’ve heard; the firelights are a bunch of hippies. An exasperated sigh wooshes out of your throat, “And if I say no?”

            Ekko shrugs his shoulders, a crooked grin on his face, “You clearly know your way around the shimmer trade, you could be a major asset to us,” you blink at him, “Just… sleep on it, okay? You don’t have to decide right now, so let us show you around tomorrow. We just can’t let you back onto the street to continue selling Shimmer.” His voice trails off. You consider the situation you’re in. On the one hand, if you deny their offer, you have no clue what they’ll do to you to ensure you won’t go back to the streets. On the other, these two must be clinically insane. You sure as shit wouldn’t trust yourself if you were in their position. “We have a room you can stay in tonight. We’ll talk tomorrow.” Your eyes roll as he turns back to Scar, “Could you take her?”

            By the look on Scar’s face, you can tell it’s the last thing he wants to do. But you also see the glint of appreciation in his eyes. These two men clearly trust each other. You feel a pang of envy deep in your gut, must be nice, to not assume the other will stab them in the back as soon as they get the chance.

            “Come on.” You blink at the rough sound of his voice, not having registered that Scar is standing in front of you. As you stand, the movement brings the throbbing ache back to your head. Scar waits for you to walk in front of him so he can place a hand on your shoulder, sharp claws resting on the thin fabric of your cloak. You feel like a prisoner, which you suppose isn’t far from the truth.

            Throwing a glance back into the room, Ekko has already turned his back, busying himself with something else in the room. The stall in your pace earns you a shove between your shoulder blades. You decide to bite your tongue, you’ve had enough arguing for one night.

            The tall chirean at your back leads you through a series of labyrinthine hallways, never taking his hand off your shoulder. “I’m not gonna bolt,” you finally say, your voice quiet in the wood-paneled hallway, “I wouldn’t even know where to go in this damn maze.” Scar says nothing and you huff, blowing a stray piece of your hair out of your face. “Could you at least untie my hands? I feel like my shoulders are gonna fall outa their sockets.” It’s not a complete lie; the angle of your arms is uncomfortable, but not excruciating. You just don’t enjoy the feeling of being defenseless around a stranger, not that you were in any position to defend yourself if you wanted to escape. Craning your head to see his face, you are met with a look that is a mixture of disgust and boredom. His green eyes narrow as he looks down at you from the bridge of his flattened nose. You whip your head back, exasperated.

            “No.” Is the only answer you get. You roll your eyes and keep walking.

            Finally he stops you in front of a door with a sharp yank to the shoulder he is holding, reaching around you to open it. The door swings open to reveal a sparce room with a bed in the center and a small closet along the far wall. Another doorway sits catty-corner from the entryway. “Someone’ll be back for you in the morning.” Scar says behind you. He takes his arm off your shoulder and suddenly you feel a tugging at your wrists; the rope is cut, and your hands fall forward without the bindings to keep them behind your back. You wince at the stiffness of your shoulders, rolling them experimentally as the blood flow resumes to your fingers.

            By the time you spin around, Scar has already shut the door followed by the tell-tale sound of a lock being slid into place. “Fuck you, then,” you mutter, taking a step towards the other door in the room. As you expected, it leads to an even smaller bathroom. You nearly weep at the sight of a shower. Figuring there is literally nothing else for you to be doing, you strip your clothes off, laying them in a pile, and step under the tepid stream of water that comes out of the faucet. Thankfully a bar of soap is sitting nearby, and you are able to make quick work of scrubbing the dirt and soot from your hair and skin. Gingerly, you examine the bump on the top of your head where Scar’s staff hit you. The swelling isn’t as bad as you thought it would be, but it still hurts like hell.

            After drying yourself off with a thin towel you discover the wardrobe in the corner of the room is in fact empty. You turn to look at your pile of clothes, eyeing them wearily. The thought of putting dirty clothes back on makes you cringe but the unrelenting grip of exhaustion is creeping up on you too fast to fight. Sighing, you don your dirty underwear and shirt once more and slip between the sheets. You don’t even have time to catalogue all that’s happened tonight in your mind before falling fast asleep.

Chapter Text

            As promised, you are awoken by a sharp rap on the door. It takes you a moment to get a handle on your surroundings; nothing makes sense for several minutes and it certainly doesn’t help that you’re in a windowless room, unable to tell the time of day. Another knock and an unfamiliar voice calling your name jumpstarts your brain.

            “Yeah! Sorry.” You place your bare feet on the wooden floor, the chill that rockets up your legs helps to ground you. Stumbling to put on your discarded pants, you call out to the door, “One second!” You pop your head into the bathroom to assess your hair and face, it’s been worse, and really, for abduction victim standards, I’d say I look pretty damn good, you think.

            Opening the door you find yourself face to face with a young woman with a stern expression. “Let’s go,” she says. If you were a bit more awake perhaps you would have had something witty to say, but you don’t. You’re just hungry and tired and confused; yesterday still doesn’t feel quite real. As if on cue, your stomach lets out a low rumble. She ignores the sound and starts walking down the hallway, you follow wordlessly.

            The route she walks is different than last night, you think, but it’s just as confusing. “Where are we going?” You finally say after a few minutes of following her like a lost dog.

            “Ekko.” She looks back at you, her brown eyes looking you up and down as if she just remembered you’re here, “you don’t need to look so tense.” Instinctively you roll your shoulders and unclench your jaw, you didn’t even realize you were tense. You flash her a small smile and she turns her head forward to keep walking. She isn’t that much older than you are, but she looks like she could probably kill you with her bare hands if she wanted. Her strength is different from what you saw in Scar last night though; where his is natural and almost animalistic, you can see through the way she carries her body that she worked hard for her abilities. It doesn’t take much to decide, knowing literally nothing about her, that you like her.

            “What’s your name?” You finally ask.

She turns back for a moment, one red eyebrow arched. She answers you after she’s facing forward again, “Eve.” The only acknowledgement you offer is a small hum. The rest of the walk is silent.

The two of you eventually arrive back at the room from last night and you suspect that Eve took a longer route than Scar did because the walk felt twice as long. The room looks much better in the bright glow of the sunlight—something you practically never see among the smog of the undercity—and you find yourself drawn to all the contraptions littering the surfaces of the room. Stacks of journals and diagrams, metal scraps, plants propagating in jars of water; you realize it’s a workshop of sorts. Ekko turns towards the sound of the door opening, his eyes glinting. “Good to see you,” his voice is just as enthusiastic as yesterday, “but before we talk, I wanna show you around.”

“See ya,” Eve says from behind you, her voice still monotone.

“Thanks, Eve. Hey, would you mind letting Geo know I had some luck with the transistor? I’ll have his board for him at dinner.” She gives him a quick nod and leaves, closing the door behind her. “How did you sleep? Do you need anything?”

You look down at your clothes that are still covered in ash from the fire but decide not to push your luck. They may have had a shower, but something tells you that clean clothes are a bit of a stretch. “Yah no, I’m okay.”

“Good,” he looks down at your clothes then back to your face, “Come on, I’ll take you outside.” That glint in his eyes you saw before is back: mischievous and boyish but completely certain as well. He takes you to a small balcony connected to his workshop.

Stepping out into the sun, you can’t help but gasp at what you see. The balcony looks down on a large courtyard of sorts and you can see people milling about on the ground. Small paintings and banners stream around the area, making even the air around you feel alive. The color is what you notice most; more color than you think you have ever seen in your life. Even the markets in Piltover couldn’t rivel the environment around you. Looking up you realize you are, in fact, facing the trunk of a massive tree, larger than you thought possible. “How… how is all of this here? Are we still in Zaun?” You turn to Ekko, your questions nearly breathless.

He is smiling down at you, “It’s pretty great, isn’t it? None of us could believe it the first time we found it either. But life found a way, even down here in the sewers.”

            The shrill cry of a child brings your attention back to the ground below you where three kids run together, screaming in laughter. A smile breaks on your face despite the sting of envy that hits your heart. “This is incredible, Ekko. I had… no idea all of this could happen down here.”

            “Why don’t I take you down? We can meet some people.” You nod your head.

            The awe you felt on the balcony continues to bubble up as you walk around, and you find it difficult to try and take in everything at once. The children you saw earlier run past you in a blur and you turn to watch them as they round the corner and disappear out of sight. You keep pace with Ekko who also seems to be amazed at what he sees despite his obvious position as leader. That’s a good quality, it means he’s invested, you think, before realizing just how seriously you are already considering his offer. You still have no idea what he thinks you’ll be doing for the firelights.

            Turning a corner you look up to see a massive mural painted onto a structure near the base of the tree. You stop dead in your tracks, once again out of breath at the beauty of what you see. The painting is comprised of dozens of faces and portraits of various people. “It’s gorgeous,” you whisper, “who are they?”

            “All the people we lost,” Ekko’s voice is wistful but still steady. He turns to you, “Come on, were almost there.” You follow, not taking your gaze from the mural until it is finally out of sight.

            He stops near a small tent; the front flap is cut off so it’s really more of a roof and three walls. Inside, several firelights are sitting and chatting, each one wearing a mask of a different animal on their belts like Scar. The various conversations stop as soon as Ekko walks over, each Firelight looking at him expectantly. He introduces you and suddenly all sets of eyes move to you. Feeling your face heat up you swallow, looking to Ekko for help. He flashes you the smallest of smiles before running through a list of their names, almost every single one leaves your mind as soon as you hear it, but you manage to catch a couple. A few of them move in acknowledgement as their name is listed off and the rest simply stare with a bored expression.

            Finally, thankfully, one of them speaks up. “Hope you’re not too bruised up. You were screaming so bad when we were taking you back, I was worried half the city would follow us home,” her voice is deep, not matching the gentle expression on her face. The crow shaped mask on her hip shifts as she stands up to properly assess you.

            “Uh… oh, no. It’s okay. I probably would have done the same thing,” you offer her an awkward smile and run a hand through your hair. She must be the one responsible for the knock to your stomach last night; you had forgotten about that injury entirely thanks to the throbbing bump on your head. You already like her better than Scar.

            She flashes a set of perfectly white teeth and claps the hand Ekko has outstretched, pulling him into a forceful hug. “This is Malia, she’s one of our soldiers. She also painted most of that mural you saw.”

            You gaze at her with wide eyes, suddenly feeling like a child. “He gives me too much credit,” she pushes into his side with her shoulder, beaming down at you, “Ekko did almost all of it, I just helped where I could.” Malia turns back to Ekko, “So, is she in yet?”

            Ekko shakes his head, “Nah… still workin on that.”

            “Shame,” she looks you up and down once more, “You seem like you could be helpful.”

            Malia and Ekko chat for a few more moments and you let yourself gaze around, still marveling at the amount of life and joy in this sewer. Even the air smells sweet, especially compared to the regular Zaun murk you breathe in every day: Pilties would probably still wear their stupid masks.

            A looming, gray form standing near the tree grabs your attention. Scar. He doesn’t notice you immediately, his gaze focused on the bundle of fabric in his arms. Is that a child? You squint your eyes to see what it is. He rocks himself softly back and forth, one clawed finger reaching down towards the bundle. When a small, gray hand reaches up to grab at his finger you realize it is, in fact, a baby. Scar smiles down at the child, his green eyes lighting up, and you feel that same pinch of envy.

            “He doesn’t seem the type, does he?” Ekko caught you staring. You turn back towards the two firelights.

            “No… is that his kid? Or just some baby he also decided to kidnap?” Your voice comes out harsher than you meant it to.

Malia laughs, “I see you know Scar well enough already, then? Don’t let him scare you away from us, alright? He can be a dick, but he means well. We all do.” You hum in acknowledgement, glancing back at Scar who has turned his back to you and is now talking to a group of older children gathered around his feet.

Ekko begins to leave, you turn to follow him before Malia calls out your name, “See ya ‘round?” You offer a smile in response and turn to catch up with Ekko.

He gives you a quick walk-through of the Firelight ‘hideout’ as he calls it, stopping to greet several people along the way. As you expected, you only manage to remember a couple names, but at least people seem friendlier and eager to meet you. Eventually the two of you return to his workshop. He invites you to sit and you gladly accept, still slightly woozy from last night.

“So? Whaddya think?” His voice is hopeful.

“I think you’ve got a great place,” you fold your arms over your chest, “but I still don’t understand why you want me.”

He hums in thought and places an elbow on the table next to him, “Most of what we do involves interrupting the shimmer trade, right?” You nod and he continues, “You… obviously have some experience with shimmer and while I can’t let you involve yourself with that process any longer, I do think it’s a shame to see such a strong talent go to waste,” he cracks mischievous smile.

            “What, you want me for intel?”

            “Yes and no. You are clearly able to get in and out of these facilities without getting caught. Now… I don’t need to know why you know what you do—at least not right now—I just wanna know if you’ll join our cause. We want to see Silco, and more importantly shimmer, brought down and eradicated from Zaun.”

            You sigh, looking out the window to try and clear your mind. It’s not like you like shimmer’s presence in Zaun, nor do you consider yourself a fan of Silco, far from it. But your own vendetta runs deeper towards a particular organization. Absently, you lay a hand on your cloth-covered forearm, tracing the shape of the raised flesh. “What about the other chem-barons?” You ask in what you hope sounds like a disinterested question.

            “Right now, our goal is an independent, peaceful Zaun. I don’t think that’ll include the barons, if that’s what you’re asking.” His face is set, a serious look in his eyes.

            “What do I get out of this? And please don’t give me some self-righteous speech about the future of the undercity. I’m a trencher, and I sure as hell don’t work for free”

            A smile comes back ever so slightly, “That was kinda half my answer. But if you give us your loyalty, you’ll have a home. Meals, shelter, showers, community. We work together here, you’d be expected to chip in. When we get a tip on a shipment of shimmer, you’ll be sent out with a team of soldiers.”

            “Fine.” You reply curtly, his eyes light up immediately and the small smile on his face cracks into a wide grin. “But,” the smile dims, “I want you to know that you should be ashamed of yourself to force me to make this decision on an empty stomach, especially when you offer me food if I join.” You punctuate your critique with a petty huff.

            Ekko laughs, slapping a firm hand down on your shoulder, “You’ll be great here.” You glare sarcastically at his hand on your shoulder, “Come on, I’ll take you to the mess hall.”

            You are pleased that on your fourth trek through the hallways you can—mostly—tell where you’re going. The mess hall is similar to the rest of the base with the exception of sunlight. It seems to be built into a sewer tunnel but without the tell-tale undercity stonework you never would have known. Several tables take up the center of the large room along with several carpets and pillows for people to eat on the ground. “Jaymin is our cook, he’s great,” Ekko’s voice cuts through the light chatter and you turn your attention to the table of pots left out for people to serve themselves. Your stomach rumbles again, this time shooting a deep ache up into your chest, when was the last time I ate? “Help yourself,” is the only encouragement you need before you’re standing at the table and loading up a plate full of food. Most of it is stuff you recognize, standard trench-fare, and the stuff you don’t you leave in their pots.

            You follow Ekko over to a table where a couple other firelights sit and chat over cresting servings of food. They all look at you as you sit, and you make a pointed effort to hold your chin high and not attempt to disappear into your seat. Malia calls your name from across the table, she picks up her food to sit next to you, “Good to see you’re still here,” she sits like a topsider: elegant and poised. The best response you can offer is a nod with a chipmunk-like mouthful of food.

            “You’re still here,” the table shakes slightly as Scar sits down next to Malia, his voice in harsh contrast to hers, “I’m surprised you didn’t run off.”

            You shoot him as menacing of a scowl as you can muster, swallowing your food, “And miss a chance to make your life just a bit more difficult? Never.” He rolls his eyes as Malia’s laugh flows out like silk.

            “You gotta hand it to her, Scar,” he glares at her now, “she doesn’t scare easy. And besides, you would hate her if she did.”

            Ekko finally speaks up through a mouthful of rice, “Hey, no one hates anyone. I just got her in, and I’d like to keep her, okay? So Scar, try to be nice.”

            Scar, to your surprise, dips his head in acknowledgement at Ekko’s voice. He doesn’t even skulk like you expected him to, only redirects his attention to his food, ignoring you to the best of his abilities.

            Leaning closer to Malia, you whisper, “How does Ekko do that?” She looks at you quizzically, you elaborate. “Get him to listen, I mean.” As you watch Scar interact with the other firelights at the table, your point continues to prove itself; it seems like the man can hardly stand to listen to the others talk. So to see him listen to Ekko without a hint of contempt is a bit hard to comprehend. You’ve seen people like him condensed into blind obedience before, of course, but it is always out of pure terror—Ekko is about as far from fear inducing as you can get, you think.

            Malia’s voice is low next to you, “We all respect Ekko of course, he’s done more for us in the past few years than we could ever repay in a lifetime of service,” you nod, stealing a glance at Scar who is currently scowling at a taller man on the other end of the table, “But Scar and Ekko… they’ve been through a lot together. Ekko trusts him more than any of us, I think, and for good reason. The two are like brothers.”

            Scar’s gaze flicks to the two of you, his teeth showing for a moment before he continues eating, how strong are those big ass ears? You suspect they’re stronger than yours, anyways, but he gives you no reason to think he heard your conversation.

            Ekko continues to introduce you to the rest of the Firelights at the table and you recognize a few names and faces; it’ll be a while till you can confidently pick out individuals in a crowd, but you have to say you aren’t doing too bad for your first day.

            People begin to trickle out of the mess hall, and you walk with Malia to bring your plate back to the kitchen. It’s smaller than the dining portion, but the room is expertly organized; no space is wasted. You gingerly place your plate on a towering stack of other dirty plates and bowls and jog to catch up with Ekko who is calling your name near the entrance to the kitchen.

            “I was hoping to come with you to see Jordyn, but I need to go meet with a couple of soldiers about a new tip, so… would you be cool going with Malia?”

            You hear the thump of Malia’s boots behind you, she answers for you, “Yeah, I’ll take her. I need to go chat with them about my own mask.”

            She turns to you once Ekko walks out of the mess hall, “Come on, you’ll like them, I promise.”

            You find Jordyn sitting under a tent similar to the one from this morning. They are hunched over a workbench, muscular back on full display beneath the thin, white tank they wear. When Malia calls their name they turn, standing at full height and lifting a welding mask over their head to smile at her. “Mal, I was wondering when you’d show up,” they clap their hand to hers, pulling her into a hug, just like Ekko, “I just finished up the new voice box.” They seem to suddenly notice you, a crooked smirk on their face as they look you up and down several times, “And who is this?”

            Your face flushes as they lean against their workbench, biceps flexing as they cross over their chest, eyes never leaving you. Malia saves you once again, “This is the new one Scar and Ekko brought in from last night’s raid. She needs a mask,”

            Jordyn runs a tongue over their teeth beneath their lips, “Sure, I can do that. Come sit down and I’ll get some things ready, okay?” You nod. They lead you to a tall stool and turn back to their workbench. The welding mask comes off with a loud thunk revealing an impressive head of long, blonde hair that they quickly tie into a knot. They turn back around holding a fabric measuring tape. “I’m gonna start with some basic measurements, won’t take long, I promise”

            “Yeah, whatever you need to do.”

            They start from behind, running the tape over the back of your head first, writing down a few numbers as they go. This kind of touch you can handle, even if you can’t see them as they approach, you don’t feel constricted. That is until they move to your face. Instead of bending down to get eye level with you—as you assume a normal person would—they opt for a wide legged stance that lowers their body just enough to look you dead on. The proximity feels suffocating, and you struggle to find an appropriate place to fix your eyes that isn’t directed at their chest or face.  

Malia, mercifully, keeps Jordyn entertained with a story about some shimmer dealer she ran into recently. She sits idly on the workbench while going into grotesque detail of exactly how she beat the shit out of the guy after catching him selling some of the stuff to a group of kids. Your stomach clenches uncomfortably, what would they do if they found out you were a dealer until about twelve hours ago? Sure, you weren’t selling to kids, but Ekko made himself very clear on the Firelights opinions of people like you. Probably best to not tell anyone.

            Jordyn finally finishes with the measurements; standing up to stretch, they smile down at you, “I’ll start putting a base together, then we can talk about designs.” They turn back to the workbench and shoo Malia out of their way. Over their shoulder, they continue to talk to you, “So what’s your story, why come to the firelights?”

            You purse your lips; this is exactly what you don’t need right now. Again, your hands brush against the branding marked into your forearm, “Typical, I guess. I grew up in the sumps and Ekko thought I could be… useful.” Your response is too vague, you know this, but what the hell are you supposed to say? Yeah, I worked for an organized crime syndicate for the first 19 years of my life but I’m totally trustworthy!

            “One hell of a gap there,” Jordyn shoots you a look over their shoulder and you bite your lip anxiously, “But hey, I got some… gaps of my own. Don’t worry about it, kid, we all have shit we don’t talk about down here. What matters is that you’re here now, right?”

            “Yeah… guess so.”

            “Don’t believe them,” Malia chimes in, “Get them drunk enough and you’ll have enough information to fill a book.”

            Jordyn responds with a low laugh, “Don’t get her hopes up, after last week I’m not touchin’ anything for at least another month.” Malia laughs, letting them know exactly how much she believes them.

            You sit in silence for a while, happy to watch Jordyn work, and you mean that literally. You can’t see a thing they do over their back, but you selfishly admit that watching their muscles ripple as they do… whatever it is they’re doing is entertainment enough. Eventually, they spin around and lean against the bench, a skeleton of a mask in their hands. “Try this on for me, will ya?” You take it from their grease covered hands and slip it over your face. It’s surprisingly comfortable.

            “Feels fine,” you say, unsure exactly what they’re looking for here.

            “Perfect, now all I need to do is attach a face to it. Any ideas what you want it to be?”

            You look at them, head angled slightly, “Like… what animal?”

            “Sure, pick whatever. We’ve each got our own; mines a pig, Malia’s got a crow, Ekko’s got his owl. I can do most of em”

            Your mind goes blank, you hadn’t even begun to think what you would want your mask to be. You couldn’t even name a single animal if you tried.

            A familiarly rough voice startles you, “Make it a rat,” you turn to see Scar leaning against one of the tent poles. Both Malia and Jordyn stare at him, their faces a mixture of shock and amusement.

            Your first instinct is to bristle, a rat? Is that what he thinks of you? But before you open your mouth to tell him to go fuck himself you pause. He wants you to argue with him. Well fuck him. “Yeah, make it a rat,” you echo, turning your chin up in a blatant challenge to Scar, feeling slightly triumphant and very pissed. He sneers but says nothing.

            “Uh… sure?” Jordyn sounds surprised but turns back to his bench, “I’ll have it ready for you tomorrow.”

            “Thanks,” you say calmly despite the rage you feel burning in your belly. They wave a hand at you without turning around, too engrossed in a sketchbook where you assume they are drawing out plans for your new mask.

            “I’m gonna hang back, you okay for a bit?” Malia says to you, her arms crossed over her chest. She notices the glint of rage in your eyes and smiles, mischievously.

            Further into the courtyard, Scar is already skulking away. You walk to catch up with him, putting your body directly in his path. “What the fuck is your problem, huh?” you bite, glaring up at the tall chirean.

            He looks down his nose, making you feel smaller than you are, “I don’t have a problem,” he says, sounding bored.

            You let out an ungraceful, exasperated noise, “Oh, bullshit. I’ve barely been here one day, and you already can’t stand the sight of me? I didn’t ask you to take me here, you coulda left me at the warehouse. It’s your fault you’re stuck here with me.” You fold your arms, standing your ground.

            “I don’t trust dealers,” he pushes you out of the way to keep walking.

            Not willing to give up so soon you once again jog directly in front of his path. He no longer looks bored, “Oh, like you’re a godsdamned saint. I did what I had to do to survive, okay? You have no idea what my life was like, and I don’t need you holding a past you know nothing about over my head. Either shut the fuck up or leave me alone.”

            “Fine.” Another stupid growl. This time you push him out of your way, although he is far sturdier than you were, and it would be more accurate to say you shove yourself into his rock of a body before walking away.

            You realize you actually have no idea what to do now, Ekko never told you where your quarters would be, and you remember that you are still in your ash covered clothes leaving you smelling like a fresh bonfire everywhere you go. A familiar head of red hair catches your eyes, and you walk over to where Eve is sitting with a few other firelights. She looks up at you as you approach, not quite smiling but not displeased either, “Hey, you settling in okay? I heard your sticking around.” Word must travel fast.

            “Yeah, guess I am. I just met with Jordyn, they’re making my mask right now, I think.”

            Eve pushes herself away from the wall she was leaning on to talk to you more directly, “Glad to hear it. Can I help you with something?” Once again you find yourself being inspected and you shift uncomfortably.

            You run a hand through your hair, “Yeah, actually. Where am I… living?” It’s a difficult question to phrase; obviously you’re living here, in the hideout. But you are hoping you get your own room.

            “Did Ekko not bring you there this morning?” You shake your head. “Come on, I’ll show you where the sleeping quarters are. We just had a room open up, so this works out.” She doesn’t elaborate and you don’t press it.

            She leads back through the hallways you were in this morning and into a separate wing down a flight of stairs. She opens a door and lets you into a small room, similar to the one you were in last night. “I’m right down the hall from you,” she points to a door a few paces away, her voice still monotone but not unfriendly. She looks you up and down once more, “Do you want some fresh clothes?”

            Your face heats up; it isn’t like you didn’t realize how obviously a mess you were, you just… thought no one would mention it. Swallowing your pride, you nod, “Yeah… the fire… I’m still disgusting.”

            Her lips twist into a subtle smirk and she motions you to follow her down the hall into her room. It is the same layout as your own but covered in sculptures and other art pieces hung on the walls. You look around distracted until she calls you name. “These should fit.”

            You smile as you take the clothes, “Thank you, I really appreciate it, Eve”

            “No problem. You can keep them.” Despite the curtness of her responses, you feel no animosity from the girl standing in front of you. You were right to like her, something in her eyes makes you feel safe and a bit less alone in this strange new world you’ve fallen into.

            You return to your room and plop down on the bed for a moment, enjoying the softness of the sheets on your face that you neglected in your exhaustion last night. You leave your dirty clothes on the floor and slip into the new ones from Eve. They fit well enough, not exactly your style but you aren’t really in a position to complain at the moment, simply grateful to be in clothes that don’t reek of fire and that acrid scent of shimmer you’ve grown to hate.

            As you pull the shirt over your head, you pause to look at the branding on your arm. The twisting, ugly lines mocking the past you try so desperately to hide. Despite the nearly three years that have passed since you left, you never quite shake the feeling that Chross is watching over your shoulder, observing your every movement. For all the Hush Company knows, you’re long dead, or so you’ve been told, so there is no reason for you to feel so anxious. Especially not with the Firelights who are probably about the farthest from the Chem-Barons as you can get in Zaun. As long as you don’t bring up your past and no one asks any questions, there is no reason you can’t start your new life here in the hideout. And you know what? You deserve it dammit. It’s been years of running, assuming every shadow has someone lurking, out to get you. You’re gonna make this your home.

            But before you can do that, you want to at least get a few of your things from your apartment in the sumps before your landlord assumes the same as Chross and starts selling your shit. You run a hand down your face and steel yourself to walk back into the courtyard in search of Ekko.

Chapter Text

            Ekko happily agrees to get a small team together to take you back to your apartment to grab your stuff. You would prefer to go alone, but you relent when he reminds you that you don’t actually know how to get to and from the hideout considering you were blinded when you were brought in. He tells you the plan once you’re at dinner and feeling a lot better after a much-needed nap. You sit in a similar formation as earlier, besides Scar, who is completely absent from the mess hall. You’re happy about that, totally not slightly bummed you don’t have someone to poke fun at. Even if it means you need to behave like a mostly civilized person at the table.

            “Malia and Geo are gonna go with you tomorrow night and you can get whatever you need, sound good?” Ekko’s voice is steady over the chatter of the crowded room. You still haven’t met Geo, but the time you’ve spent with Malia so far has been nice, so you really can’t complain.

            “Thanks, I appreciate it. Most of it is junk, but it would be nice to have some of it with me,” you admit.

            “You shoulda seen how much crap Jordyn brought when they moved in. It took six of us just to bring it back,” Malia says, others nod in agreement, looking haggard just from the memory. You giggle.

            A short, skinny man with long black hair tied in a tight bun sits down at the table across from you, “You’re the new girl, right? Good to meetcha, I’m Geo,” he says, eyes shifting between you and his meager plate of food made up of mostly meat, “I’ve heard a lot about ya.” He takes a mouthful of food and chews quickly, something about his behavior reminds you of a street cat. Before you can even answer you, he continues despite his mouth full of food, “You been on a hoverboard yet?”

            “Hoverboard? Oh, those things you guys ride? No I haven’t.” You take another bite of food, the stewed fish in your bowl surprisingly palatable.

            Geo cracks a wide, toothy smile, bits of rice stuck to his teeth, “I know what we’re doing after dinner.” You arch one eyebrow suspiciously.

            “Geo, you’re gonna kill her,” a man at the table speaks up but Geo waves him off with a stray hand, bringing one foot up to his chair to half crouch on his seat.

            “She’ll be fine, right new girl?”

            You twist your lips in thought, how hard can it be? You’re pretty sure you saw a kid half your age on one this morning. “Yeah, sure, why not.”

            You make it all the way outside with a long, black board in hand before you realize you are in deep over your head. The thing is easily taller than half your height, but it surprisingly only weighs a few pounds. Geo runs you through the basics of steering the board; lean where you want to go, press down on your heels to slow down, press on your toes to speed up. It sounds easy enough, right?

            With the board laid flat on the ground, you gingerly step onto the grooves marked for your feet. Some mechanism close to the surface—exactly what you don’t know—locks your feet onto the hoverboard. “Alright, you wanna dig your toes in hard to get it started, like this,” Geo demonstrates and raises a few inches above the ground, but his voice is already feeling far away. Maybe it would be best if I didn’t do this, you think when you notice the small group of Firelights gathering nearby to watch your first attempt. You pick out Jordyn and Malia and silently pray to Jannah or whoever the hell is listening that you don’t embarrass yourself.

            You take a deep breath and follow Geo’s instructions. As expected, the board glows green as it comes to life, the sound of fans whirring as it begins to slowly raise. Geo made it look significantly easier because as soon as the board leaves the ground you completely lose your balance, landing flat on your ass into the dirt—hitting the exact spot you landed on last night. Pain rockets down your legs and you can distantly here people snicker at your failure. The pain shifts to embarrassment, and you clench your jaw; fuck this.

            Immediately you get back up, righting yourself on the board. You dig your toes in like Geo said but this time you’re prepared. Clenching your abs you manage to maintain your balance as you raise up slightly higher. Geo looks slightly surprised, and you smirk triumphantly. A few firelights behind you mumble their approval but you don’t risk turning to look at them; you’re pretty convinced that if you break concentration for even a second, you’ll fall back on your ass.

            “Ok… pretty good,” Geo sounds nonplussed which only adds kindling to the fire burning at your feet. “Now try going around the tree, like this.” He takes off in a blur of green and black in the dying sunlight of the evening, curving around the base of the tree before rounding the corner a few moments later.

            “Take it slow, newbie.” It’s Jordyn’s voice and you clench your jaw, everything in you screaming to ignore their advice; what’s the point of doing it if you can’t show off? Better to go slow then land on my ass again, you remind yourself.

            Gently you press your toes into the board, gradually increasing speed. Its… not as hard as you expected? Seems like getting up was the hardest bit because you find moving to be pretty instinctual. As you begin to form a wide angle around the tree you have to fight the urge to speed up, instead keeping the hoverboard moving at a decently quick speed but just slow enough to still be able to focus on your surroundings, staying low to the ground just in case you fall again.

            By the time you come back to Geo and the small group of Firelights a smug smile has spread on your face. It only grows wider when you slow down enough to see the looks of approval on their faces. “This supposed to be hard or something?” You can practically see Chross shaking his head in disappointment at your hubris. Good thing he isn’t here right now.

            “I think a toddler could go faster than you,” Geo calls and you scowl.

            Flipping him off, you dig your toes down, forcing the board faster. The next loop you make is easily twice as fast and your confidence begins to increase. You can’t believe you ever doubted yourself. You crouch down slightly, allowing the board to angle up to steadily climb higher. Soon you’re about level with Ekko’s balcony. You take a moment to float and take in the hideout as the sun continues to set—only losing your balance for one sickening, heart-dropping moment. It really is gorgeous; the golden lights strewn about make it seem as though the whole area is glowing. You think you could get used to a place like this. Somewhere full of life and love despite the horrors that wait just through the tunnels.

            Feeling especially brave, you continue to climb, the board responding delightfully to even the smallest movements of your feet—Ekko must be a genius, you think. You continue to spiral up the tree and by the time you reach the top you have decided that, without a doubt, you made the right choice joining the Firelights this morning. You’ve never felt more free in your entire life, not when you made your first deal, not when you left the Company, not when you rented that shitty apartment. It is this moment, fifty feet above the ground, that you feel like a person again, for the first time in years.

            A hum behind you catches your attention and you pivot slightly in the air to see Geo floating up towards you. You try not to feel too bad about yourself when you see how much confidence he has in his stance on the hoverboard compared to your awkward balancing act. He flashes you another toothy smile, “You aren’t half bad, girl.” It’s honestly shocking that one man can be both horrifically slimy and charming at the same time, “Thought for sure you’d fall on your ass at least a couple more times.”

            As if on cue, your balance falters for a second and he laughs but you catch yourself much quicker this time, “Don’t flatter yourself, you may make it look easy but it sure as hell isn’t hard.” Assuming you have an insane amount of core strength. You aren’t in bad shape, far from it, but your abs are starting to burn the longer you stand and talk to him. You begin your descent, slower this time to take the chance to savor the wind rushing through your hair.

            By the time you make it back to the ground a few of the Firelights have trickled away but a good chunk of the group looks at you approvingly as you make your clumsy dismount. Adjusting to walking on two legs takes a moment but you only stumble a couple times. Malia walks up to you, “You’re pretty good, have you done this before?”

            You shake your head, still beaming, “It just felt… natural? I guess?” Honestly you aren’t quite sure, but as soon as you got over your initial embarrassment of failing, it wasn’t too difficult.

Jordyn, who had been leaning against Malia, nods their agreement and claps a hand onto your shoulder heavy enough to rattle your jaw. You wince but smile up at them, nonetheless. Something inside of you feels a bit apprehensive at the sudden rush of attention; like a coddled child, but you push it aside willing yourself to enjoy the moment.

            You finally arrive back in your room and curl into your bed with a satisfied oof, happy to be off your feet and away from any public scrutiny. Thinking about tomorrow, a bitter-sweet pang hits your chest. Sure you’re happy to be here with the Firelights; if your mood this evening meant anything. But it feels strange at the same time: to even consider living a different life from the one you’ve known for so long. A natural distrust of strangers has been drilled into your head for years now and yet here is this community, welcoming you, a stranger, with open arms. And they’re thriving, better than anything you saw under Chross or on the streets by yourself. Could they really have a place for you here? Ekko and Malia seem to think so, although you can’t be quite sure how much of that is just due to loyalty to Ekko.

            You continue to toss, mind wandering incessantly as you try to sleep. Is it that hard to let yourself be happy? For once? You sit up with a huff; this isn’t going to work. You need sleep, logically you know this, but it just won’t seem to come.

            It doesn’t take long to make your way back to the courtyard and the moonlight provides a respite from the unnatural lights illuminating the hallways of the sleeping quarters. The air outside isn’t quite cool, but the dampness of the evening gives rise to goosebumps along your exposed arms; you don’t bother covering the branding now that most of the Firelights have gone to bed.

            A small green light catches your eye as you walk further into the courtyard, and you initially think it’s a hoverboard in the distance but upon closer inspection you realize it’s a small lightning bug. You can’t recall ever seeing one that glows green, so you reach up to capture it gently in your hands. It’s larger than the ones you’ve seen in Piltover—the trenches are usually too polluted to see them and you aren’t even sure they normally exist down here—green light seeming to come from both its abdomen and wings. You un-cup your hand and watch it fly away, marveling at the sight of it. The longer you stand there, staring up at the night sky, the more of the little bugs you see flitting around the tree. It reminds you of your reason for coming outside in the first place.

            It doesn’t take long to find a hoverboard leaning against the concrete wall. You look over your shoulder and, once satisfied no one is around to see you, place it down, fitting your shoes into the footholds. Just as you are about to press your toes in and wake it up, you hear a shuffle behind you. You turn to see Scar standing a few feet behind you, because of course you do.

            “There a reason you’re using my board?” His arms are crossed.

            Oops. You didn’t know this was his board, “Maybe you shouldn’t leave it lying around if you don’t want someone to take it.”

            He narrows his green eyes, shining nearly the same color as the bugs flying around you, “Maybe you shouldn’t take things that don’t belong to you,” he echoes, rather too smugly for your liking.

            You shrug your shoulders, “Come take it from me then.”

            The board hums to life under your feet and you take off much faster than you had anticipated. Fuck fuckfuckfuck. You throw your arms out to your sides wildly for balance as you go careening towards the wall. Thankfully you manage to get your feet underneath you instead of to your side thus avoiding smashing Scar’s hoverboard. Unfortunately this means that your body takes the impact; scraping down the wall and onto the dirt, feet released from the board as it slides a few meters away from you.

            By the time you finally open your eyes after having them clamped shut from both pain and humiliation, Scar is looking down at you with an annoyed sneer, hoverboard in hand. You think you hear him mumble “Idiot” as he walks away, but its hard to tell over the blood rushing through your ears. You sit up and rest your forehead on your bent knees, giving yourself a few more moments to wallow in the embarrassment you feel before standing back up. Just before he walks back into the hut he looks back at you over his shoulders and leaves his hoverboard on the wall. It’s hard to tell in the relative darkness, but you see a glint of something in his eyes. You smirk despite yourself.

            Finally mustering up the courage you return to the board. It’s still warm in your hand as you place it back on the ground. This time, you make sure to start slow, gradually increasing speed until you feel confident enough to hold your balance. You spend the next… however many hours practicing.

            You don’t stop zipping around until you see a couple people begin to trickle into the mess hall. Fuck, morning already? Sure enough, the sky is beginning its shift from gray-black into a deep purple. You sigh and return to the ground to leave Scar’s board close to where he left it and hobble back to your room to catch at least a couple hours of sleep until, inevitably, the movement of soldiers getting ready for the morning wakes you.

            You press the heels of your hands into your eyes and drag yourself out of bed. The clothes from Eve have a bit of dirt on them from your fall, but you don’t really have any other options so you brush off what you can, push your hair out of your face, and walk to find some breakfast.

            “You alright?” Malia asks as you sit down across from her, a bowl of steaming noodles in her hands, “You don’t look great.”

            “Yeah I’m fine. I couldn’t sleep is all.” You take a sip of the spicy broth hoping it’ll jumpstart your sluggish brain.

            “It’s not easy. Adjusting, I mean. Took me a while to settle in. Give yourself time.”

            You give her a humph in acknowledgement before taking a long slurp of your own noodles. “Speaking of which,” you finally say with your mouth half full, “when are we heading out?”

            She swallows her bite before answering, “As soon as Geo is up, really.” The door opens and Geo walks in. “As soon as Geo is ready,” she corrects. You smile and take another bite.

            Behind him, Scar dips his head slightly in the low doorframe and walks in. He meets your eye for a second but doesn’t react.

            Geo sits next to Malia with a mug of coffee, “Saw you zipping around last night,” he says as he takes a sip.

           Malia lifts an eyebrow at you but says nothing. “Couldn’t sleep,” you answer, shrugging. Thinking back on it, perhaps flying around all night wasn’t the best idea with the way your legs and core burn with every movement you make. But you’ll be damned if you let yourself be a weak link to anyone, especially the Firelights.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

            The three of you are sent off by Ekko who opens the stone door covering the main exit tunnel, “Come back in one piece,” he says, and you give him a small wave.

            The tunnel out of the hideout is not as horrid as you were expecting. Clearly, all of the sewage tunnels around the base are inactive, but even still, certain… substances tend to stick around. The light from your three collective torches illuminates the curved space you walk through and so far, you haven’t seen anything too awful. Geo and Malia are maskless, to keep a low profile, she had said. It makes sense, this certainly isn’t “official” Firelight business.

            The tunnel leads to the outskirts of a market you used to frequent when you were still working for the Company. It’s almost funny: how close you must have gotten to the life you find yourself living. You’re able to take up the lead and walk your small group to your apartment down in the sumps.

            It isn’t nice, even by undercity standards, but you can still remember how fucking proud of yourself you were the day you moved in. Despite the mold, and the roaches, and the exorbitant rent, it was yours and no one besides your smarmy landlord could take it from you.

            “The two of you can wait down here. It’s really not that much that I need to grab,” you offer to Malia and Geo at the door of the building.

            Malia answers with a shake of her head, “It’s fine, we don’t mind.” Geo looks like he does, but says nothing.

            The three of you are breathing heavily by the time you make it to the seventh floor and down the hall to your old apartment. You go to fumble in your pocket for your key before you realize that you must have lost it in the fire the other night. At least I don’t have to go to my landlord and beg for a new one, you think, gratefully. Just as you are about to kick the door in, you notice that the hinges are already bent. A gentle push to the door sends it swinging inwards. “Huh,” is all you say and the two behind you stay quiet.

            The apartment itself is a wreck. Not that you are an exceptionally clean person, but you certainly didn’t leave it with drawers thrown around and piles of stuff littering the ground. “Shit, someone fuckin robbed you.” Geo’s voice makes it sound like he’s smiling.

            You don’t turn back to him, still gazing at the mess in front of you, “Yeah… guess so.” A beat. “There wasn’t much to take, so they wasted their time.”

            You take a step into the room and immediately walk to the fridge in the kitchen off to the side of the small studio style apartment. With a huff, you pull the fridge from the wall and sure enough, your pathetic stash of savings is still there. You smile and pocket it. “I’m just gonna grab some clothes and we can go,” you say.

            You begin shoving handfuls of clothes into the empty bag you brought, not bothering to fold them from where they lay in piles on the floor. It is strange, you think, that the thieves didn’t take anything, at least nothing you can tell. Really, it’s their own fault, robbing an apartment in the sumps, no one down here has anything worth stealing.

            Just before you’re about to leave, a piece of paper on your kitchen table catches your attention. It’s a… letter? You pick it up and turn it around in your hands. The blood rushes from your face when you see the insignia pressed into the wax seal matching the one branded into your arm. With shaking fingers you tear the envelope open and rip the paper out.

Start running

-C

            Warm, sour spit gathers in your mouth and you swallow, trying to force your breakfast back down your throat. There is no mistaking exactly who this is from: Chross, head of the Hush Company.

            “Hey, you alright?” It’s Malia behind you. You crumple the letter and shove it into your pocket, turning to look at her.

            “Yeah. Fine. Sorry. We can go.” You feel lightheaded the longer you think about it, so you just…don’t.

            “…Right,” she finally says. Geo looks bored as he leans against the wall, digging under his nails with a knife.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

            You’re silent the whole way back to the base, mind and stomach churning in a nauseating cycle. Scar is the one opening the door of the hideout for you once you make it back and you don’t even look at him.

            It isn’t until you are back in your quarters and safely alone that you let the rising panic overtake you. You start by pacing back and forth in front of your bed until the fear clenching your heart becomes too painful and you crumple to the ground, folded over your legs. You can’t even form coherent thoughts, only a few words slip through the jumble forming in your mind screaming down at you like incessant crows.

            And then the tears come. Horrible, chest splitting sobs leave your mouth and you shove your face in your hands in a desperate attempt to muffle yourself. How did they know where to find you? You’re supposed to be dead to them. Thoughts are beginning to form in your brain. You wish they wouldn’t, you wish you could just sit in stupid, heart clenching fear. But you’re stuck here, sobbing like a child as you clutch desperately at the floor, running nails down cement painfully. It’s the pain that breaks you out of your wailing enough to stop.

            Until you stop breathing. Breathe, you tell yourself, but your throat feels smaller and smaller as you struggle to inhale. Why can’t I breathe? The little bit of air you manage to suck in does nothing to calm the pain bursting in your chest. Are you having a heart attack? God, you hope not. The last thing you need is a Firelight coming into your room to find you dead on the ground.

            No. You need to get out of this room. Now. The walls feel like they’re closing in on you and it’s only suffocating you more.

            You run down the halls and out into the courtyard. Maybe this was a mistake. Everyone is too loud and too happy. Children rush past laughing in a way that might have made you smile a few hours ago but now it only adds to… whatever you feel. Fear? Sadness? Rage? All of them, you decide as you stomp through the dirt.

            In the blur of emotion that is your mind you remember Ekko showing you the training room on his tour yesterday. Yes. That’ll help. Punching things.

            You retrace the steps you remember taking until you find yourself in a room full of makeshift gear weights and punching bags that is mercifully empty of other people. Distantly you think about the fact that wrapping your hands would be smart, but you don’t think you have the dexterity to deal with the fabric with the way your hands are shaking.

            The firmness of the bag as you hit it helps. It helps a lot. You don’t worry about technique as much as you do about hitting it with as much force as you can muster. Soon, the only sounds you can hear are your own panting and your fists colliding with the bag. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” You yell in time with each punch before finishing with a kick to the bag. You lean against the wall to slide down onto the floor, head bent between your knees as you try and catch your breath.

            “You’re doing that wrong.”

            You whip your head up, squinting at Scar from the stinging of sweat in your eyes. “What the fuck did you just say?”

            “Your kick,” he clarifies, looking uninterested in this whole conversation despite being the one to start it, “your technique is shit; you have no balance and no power behind the hit. You’d be knocked on your ass if you tried that in a real fight.”

            You stand up, walking towards him. “You think I can’t fight?”

            He uncrosses his arms, revealing just a tank top instead of the usual semi-armored vest he wears, “I didn’t say that. I just don’t think you’d last long.” He shrugs his shoulders

            “What?” You take another step towards him, rage burning up every other emotion in your system. “I’ll show you exactly how long I can fucking last.” The insinuation of what you say doesn’t even register in your mind. You pull your hands up in front of your face, widening your stance. “Well?”

            Scar snarls, cracking his neck and matching your posture. “Fine.”

            You don’t even wait for him to finish his response before you rush him, a flurry of punches hitting his forearm as he blocks your attack. You can tell he’s hesitating and that makes you even more angry. Does he not think you can handle it? “Fucking fight me.” You shove at his raised arms, leaving you vulnerable. He whips a fist down before you can react, clocking you right in the stomach.

            You cough and stumble, fighting back a gag. It was a stupid mistake really, you deserved the punch. It takes you a breath to right yourself, but once you do, you attack.

            You begin to feel more alive as the fight begins in earnest. It’s a flurry of jabs and almost all come from your own hands, half of them reach their target. Scar retaliates your barrage with his own, much more steady hits. Every movement he makes is calculated, you can tell, but he gives very few signals he is going to hit until he does. Scar may have the power to back himself up, but you’re easily faster than him.

            A missed right hook to your jaw leaves him momentarily off balance. You take the chance as soon as you see it, ducking under his arm to land a fist to his kidney. It may feel like you’re hitting a brick wall with your knuckles, but from the sound he makes you can tell it hurts. His eyes narrow at you as he looks down at your crouched, attentive form beneath him.

            Actually, you’re pretty proud of yourself, holding your own against a significantly stronger, taller man, for as long as you do. You may have talked a big game—as usual—but in all honesty, you didn’t know how long you could last against him. Sure, you’ve been in fights before, but they’ve always been with the intent to kill—or at least seriously injure the other person enough to get the hell away. This fight is… well, you aren’t exactly sure what the goal of this fight is. Proving a point?

            Feeling particularly smug, you decide, as has often proved to be so dangerous, to test your luck. Hopping back, you crouch down low enough to gather enough power to rocket your leg up towards his chest. He grabs your heel in one clawed hand before it reaches its target and pulls, sending you falling to the ground and knocking the wind out of your chest. Before you can scramble back to your feet he presses a foot onto your chest, not quite hard enough to hurt, but enough to keep you pinned to the floor. “I told you, you can’t kick for shit,” he says with a triumphant smirk. He isn’t trying to hide it. This fucking asshole.

            You scowl and bring your legs up, wrapping them around the leg that isn’t placed onto your chest and pulling, hard. He careens to the ground and lands on his back, and you don’t waste a moment before your scrambling over to him to straddle his chest and keep him pinned to the ground, he tries to fight you off but as soon as you are seated, he stops. You don’t even realize what you are doing until you are about three inches from his face.

            The strangest thing is he doesn’t throw you off or spit in your face or anything else you expect him to do. He just… pants and stares. Not even a snarl.

            You begin to notice parts of your body separately, not as a whole and you suspect it’s your mind’s way of keeping you sane. The way your thighs press into the sides of his stomach, his claws digging into the edges of your back as he grips your waist, his breath ghosting across your face. It makes you feel strange. His smell is the worst of all. Not that he smells bad, far from it. It’s that he smells good? A mix of something you couldn’t describe even if you weren’t inches from his face and in the middle of a fight. He smells like sweat and fire and… flowers. Why the fuck does he smell like flowers?

            You finally move to get off and end whatever spell you two have been put under when you find yourself flipped onto your back with Scar looming over you. The studs in his ears glinting in the streams of sunlight that filter through the windows of the training room. He leans down and brings his face even closer to you. Wincing instinctually, your brain tells you to assume the worst. You’re pinned down by a stranger, of course you should assume the worst. And yet, you aren’t scared. You don’t quite know what you feel, but that knot forming in your gut isn’t fear.

            Suddenly, like a rubber band snapping, the moment ends and he’s standing again. You don’t even get a chance to stand up before he is skulking out of the gym, slamming the door behind himself.

Chapter Text

            You try to not let it get to you. You really, honestly try to not let that brooding, stupid, big eared man get to you. You try to forget that he let you pin him down. That he stared into your eyes for longer than a regular person would. Who cares if he smells like flowers. You certainly don’t, that’s for sure.

            If nothing else, it gives you a necessary distraction from the letter left in your apartment. That is a… problem. But what the hell can you do about it? Tell Ekko? From what you’ve seen, the man will probably take you on as his own personal mission; desperate to find a way to free you from your demons. You don’t want that, not even a little bit. What you want is to leave every part of your life behind and start fresh with the Firelights.

            Chross found your apartment, he didn’t find you. He’ll have no reason to think you’ve started working with the Firelights, so your safe. Er… mostly safe. As safe as you can be from a man who has a whole goddamn army of soldiers hired for the sole purpose of gathering intel on people. And you’re clearly a bigger target than you thought you were. Maybe it was foolish to think he’d let you leave; Chross isn’t one to let his ‘possessions’ slip from between his shriveled, boney fingers.

            You pick yourself up from the floor of the training room. Everything is fine, you tell yourself, desperately clinging to the mantra like a learned monk. Besides, there isn’t anything you can do right now. Except get my mask. Right! Jordyn said they’d be finished today. That’s a perfect distraction from both the Hush Company and your current chirean-shaped problem—you aren’t sure which is more pressing, honestly.

            After a quick shower, you dress yourself in your own clothes, finally. You had forgotten how nice it was to wear something that was both clean and your own. Your sweater may be ratty and stained but it’s your sweater dammit and you slip it over your head with a sense of pride. What have I become? Someone who’s proud to wear their own clothes? Jannah help you. You run a comb through your hair and walk back to the courtyard towards Jordyn’s tent.

            They smile as they see you approaching, hopping off their workbench with a thump. “I was wondering when you’d be gracing my presence this morning. How did it go at your apartment this morning?” You can tell they’re toeing around the more obvious question: Malia told me you pretty much shut down out of nowhere and said nothing the whole way home.

            “It was fine, a bit weird being back for the last time, ya know?” You can not open this can of worms right now.

            They eye you from the side as they reach to grab something from the table but don’t question you. “Right. Anyways, I’ve got your mask all ready for you. Let’s see it on.”

            They take that widened stance again to get down to your level, gently slipping the mask over your face. You do your best to not dwell on the way their hand grabs your jaw to tilt your head up a few inches.

            The mask fits snuggly over your face and you’re pleasantly surprised that you still have a full field of vision. “It feels good, does it look okay?” Your voice comes out distorted and echoed—must be the voice box Jordyn was talking about yesterday.

            “Ya look great,” they smirk down at you, standing back up, “here, take a look.” They hold up a small mirror in front of you. The face of a white rat with large, dark eyes gazes back at you, and you… fucking love it. It feels right; all the nights you’ve spent sneaking in and out of small spaces, you find yourself surprised you’ve never thought to identify with the animal before Scar brough it up as an insult.

            “Jordyn, this is amazing.” You slip the mask off.

            “I didn’t wanna say anything, but in the moment a rat felt like a… er… bad choice. But it suits you, pip squeak.”

            You bristle slightly, furrowing your brow at the nickname, “Pip squeak?” You aren’t that much shorter than them.

            Jordyn laughs, “Yeah, my sister had a pet rat named Pip Squeak when she was a kid, fits you pretty good if you ask me.”

            You cross your arms, letting the mask dangle in your hand, “I guess.” You mumble.

They put a hand on your shoulder, attempting to suppress a chuckle. “It’s affection, newbie, I’m not bein mean, promise.” Their face lights up as though they just remembered something. They mutter over their shoulder at you as they turn back to their workbench and fumble around, “I almost forgot. Lemme get you the clip.”

“Clip?”

            “Yeah, for your mask. Gods damn it all, I just saw it.” They fumble for a few more moments before turning back, holding a small silver clip triumphantly in their hands. “Here, I’ll put it on.” You look down at them in abject horror as they kneel in front of you to fit the clip onto the waistband of your cargo pants. “It’s magnetic,” they continue, “If you slide your mask down on it, it’ll stay on till you slide it off. Designed it myself.” They wrap their large hands around your waist to pull themselves back up to standing, only letting go once they take a step back. “There, try it out for me?”

            Unable to piece together a properly witty remark, you follow their instructions in silence. Despite your discomfort at their brazen proximity, it is pretty cool; the mask hangs securely off of your pants. You nod approvingly and muster up a smile. “It’s great.” You pause, completely unsure how to end this interaction. You eventually settle for, “Well, I gotta get to dinner.”

            While you don’t actively slap your forehead with your hands as you walk away, you come pretty damn close. As if everything that happened today wasn’t enough, now you have Jordyn to deal with. Don’t flatter yourself, you scold, that’s just probably the way they are, right? You add it to the growing list of things you force yourself to not think about and walk into the mess hall.

            Apparently, you’re late to dinner; nearly every table is full of Firelights. It is easy to forget just how many people live in this community, and how few of them are soldiers like yourself. A table of children catches your eye and its another good distraction. Ekko’s righteous speeches are beginning to worm their way into your brain, despite your best efforts to prevent it. Everything you will do for the Firelights is ultimately for these children, so they can grow up in a world that isn’t eating itself alive. Two days in and I’m already going soft, you think as you fill a plate up and sit down at a table of fellow soldiers.

            You are so lost in your own thoughts when you sit down that you don’t even notice the argument until Scar’s drink is knocked onto the ground. He snarls at a soldier across from you and stands up.

            “Scar. Sit back down.” It’s Ekko, the strength in his voice surprises you. It’s easy to forget how much of a leader he is.

            To your complete surprise, Scar’s response is even harsher, “Don’t fucking start.” He storms out of the mess hall, leaving your whole table in stunned silence. You’ve seen him upset, sure, but never directed towards Ekko. Whatever happened must have been bad. Was it you? No it couldn’t be…

            “What the hell is his problem?” You ask Ekko once the emotional temperature begins to cool.

            “I wish I knew. He’s been in a shit mood evening.” He responds, his voice back to its normal cadence.

            You chance a look at the man Scar was arguing with. You can’t blame him, you currently wanna yell at the big bat-eared man yourself. He has that way about him; that awful, innate ability to get under your skin without trying. Still, to see him this visibly upset? In your experience he is more of a quiet loathing type of angry as opposed to whatever it was he just did.  

            Conversation eventually returns to normal: discussions of raids, population growth, shimmer levels. You tune most of it out and continue eating your meal when your name draws you out of your reverie. It’s Ekko again.

            “That sound okay?” He asks, his eyes searching yours.

            “Hmm? Sorry.”

            “The briefing. Tonight, in my workshop.”

            You fumble to put his words to meanings in your brain. Right, tomorrow’s raid. You can distantly recall being told you’d be going on your first job on the way back from your apartment this morning, but you weren’t exactly in the headspace to take in any information.

            “Yes, I’ll be there,” you finally respond.

            Ekko smiles, “Glad to hear it.”

            It is a small group gathered in his workshop, waiting for Ekko’s game plan in the quickly setting sun. Everything is coated in a soft pink hue, and you find yourself watching a small bug walk directly into a fly-eating plant, the jaws closing so slowly that the fly doesn’t even realize it’s being devoured. A shiver crawls down your spine as it finally closes shut.

            You can put a name to every face you see in the room, which isn’t really that impressive considering there’s six of you waiting for Ekko’s arrival, but you give yourself the small victory. Scar is, as usual, leaning against a wall and looking like he’d rather be doing anything else. Malia and Eve are chatting in front of you and the other two soldiers are standing in silence. Everyone turns when Ekko walks in, giving him their full attention.

            “Good to see you all here,” he looks around at everyone, eyes finally landing on you. You shift. He pulls out a floor plan and spreads it on the table in front of him, waiting for you all to gather around him. “We recently got a tip of a shimmer factory in the wharf district. It isn’t a huge operation so taking it down won’t be difficult.” He points to a door on the side of the building. “They stop production around midnight, and this is the only active entrance after they close down for the night. From what we can gather, it’s pretty understaffed, so getting in and out shouldn’t be a problem.”

            One of the soldiers behind you speaks up, “How much are they producing. Like, how large of an operation is this place?” He points a finger to the map. “This building is massive.”

            “Actually, not that much.” he looks at Ekko curiously. He continues, “but we do know it is a central hub for transfers out of Zaun and into foreign markets. Not only that, but we have reason to believe it is also used as a storehouse for other factories, meaning it’s connected.” He looks up at you, “If we can get any information out of this factory before we burn it down, we could get the location of several other factories around the undercity.”

            “You want me to get into the overseer’s office?” You interrupt and the rest of the group turns to look at you. “Er… that is why you want me on this job, right?”

            Ekko smiles that mischievous smile you find yourself growing to love, “That is exactly what I want you to be doing.” He turns back to the others. “The rest of you should focus on clearing the building out and getting rid of all the shimmer you can, let her handle the office. That okay with you?” You nod. Of course it’s okay with you, this is what you do best.

            “And if the overseer happens to be in and decides to send out an alarm as soon as they see her?” Scar says. You glare up at him. He doesn’t even spare a glance towards you.

            “Then I’ll handle it.” You bite back. Ekko glances between the two of you but says nothing.

            “Right, well… You’ll head out tomorrow around 11:30. Does anyone have any questions?” Everyone shakes their head. “Great,” he claps his hands, “I’ll see you all tomorrow.”

            You turn to leave with the others, but Ekko calls your name. You bite back a groan, not in the mood for a lecture about Scar. “Are you comfortable with this? I’m sorry I put you on the spot back there. I know you’re used to stealing shimmer, so I assumed you would be okay getting documents instead. If you don’t think you can handle it, it’s okay.”

            You stare at him for a second before answering, “What? Oh no. This is what I’m best at.”

            He arches an eyebrow at you, “It is?”

            “Yes… Er… how hard can it be right? Just some papers.” You purse your lips.

            “You’ve done this before, haven’t you?” He asks. It isn’t accusatory like you were expecting. He phrases it as any other question.

            “Yes.”

            “And you aren’t gonna talk about it, are you?”

            “No.” You really, really don’t want to, “Unless I need to.” Fighting the urge to scratch at the branding, you cross your arms.

            “I won’t force you, it just… might be nice to get some things off your chest is all.” If only he knew the half of it.

            “Well, when I need a therapy session, I’ll be sure to come to you.” It is harsher than he deserves but you can’t really help it. His smile falters and he looks almost hurt. With nothing left to say, you turn and walk out the door, heading straight to your room. It’s been a long fucking day.

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            You’re in a much better mood the next morning. The sunshine in the courtyard that hits your face as soon as you walk outside helps exponentially. As does your warm cup of tea and bowl of rice porridge. You can make this a good day. You’ll stick to your mental list, kick ass tonight, and go to bed a better person than yesterday, right?

            You walk back into the courtyard after finishing your small breakfast to see a gaggle of kids sitting in a circle in the dirt. You had no intention of going up to them—you meant to go back to the training room. It isn’t that you don’t like kids, they’re… fine. You just don’t really know what the hell you’re supposed to say to them, always worried you’ll say something too violent without meaning it. Especially with these kids. Growing up with the Firelights is a hell of a lot different from growing up in the undercity.

So it comes as a surprise when a young girl who can’t be older than 4 runs up to you and tugs at the sleeve of your shirt. “You’re the new lady, right? My ma told me about you.” She smiles up at you, golden brown eyes sparkling in the sunlight. Damned kids, they’re like vultures. Little, adorable vultures.

            “That’s right,” you answer. Your voice isn’t exactly harsh… just uninterested.

            “Come meet everyone!” She tugs at your sleeve to lead you back, and you let her despite yourself.

            You crouch down to get eye level with the group that soon surrounds you. A small redhead looks at you with what must be the largest eyes you’ve ever seen. “I heard your name is Pip.” A girl next to him snickers.

            “And who told you that?” You already know who it is. Damned Jordyn.

            The kid slaps his hand to his mouth to try and muffle his laugh, “I’onno,” he says, feigning innocence.

            You furrow your brows at the kid and he shrinks back a little. It twinges your heart to see so you stick a tongue out at him and his smile returns slowly. “Alright! You got me! My name is Pip Squeak. But you can’t tell the adults alright? I’m trying to work on my tough guy persona” You puff out your chest and flex dramatically. He laughs and the sound is like music to your ears. You reach out and grab his sides to tickle him. The kids around you erupt into hysterics.

            “Get her!” one cries.

Suddenly, you find yourself completely swarmed by young children. You let them wrestle you to the ground. A girl with curly, blonde hair jumps onto your stomach and does her very best to tickle you back with her chubby, ungraceful fingers.

You gently push the kids off of you and stand up at full height, letting out the best monster noise you can manage. The kids scream playfully.

You sit back on the ground and they surround you with wide, curious eyes. “Well? You all know my name. It doesn’t seem fair that I don’t know your names.” The kids consider your request very seriously, murmuring and glancing between one another. Finally, the redhead speaks up. They go around the circle and rattle of their names in varying degrees of clarity. As you listen to them, that increasingly familiar pang of envy begins to gnaw at your gut. These kids don’t know how lucky they are, and you pray to the Gods that they never figure it out.

            A young woman comes out of the door to a small wooden hut built into the wall. She walks over to your group holding a small bundle of fabric. “Alright kiddos, it’s nap time,” she says, her voice soft and melodic.

            A collective groan erupts from the children surrounding you. One small voice speaks in protest, “Nooooo but we wanna hang out with Pip!”

            The woman looks at you suspiciously, “Oh. Pip you say?” Her voice is playful. You can’t recall the woman’s name, but you’re certain you met.

You shrug your shoulders at her and ruffle the hair of the girl clinging to your leg. “How about I come with to get ready for your nap. Whaddya say?” This answer seems to satisfy the kids, and your group makes its way back to the hut. Inside you see what seems to be a nursery; toys and books fill the shelves lining the walls and a row of small cots are placed off to the far side of the room.

The woman turns to you as the kids begin to settle into their individual cots. “My name is Jess, by the way. I know they can be a handful; I appreciate you giving them your time.”

            You shake your head earnestly, “Not at all!” You look down at the bundle in her arms and realize it’s the baby you saw Scar holding on your first morning here. “Is that Scar’s kid?”

            She nods, “Yeah, this is Aster.” She looks down at the sleeping child and smiles. “Hey, I don’t mean to throw even more at you, but do you think you could hold her while I get the kids down for their nap?”

            Before you can even answer she is placing the baby in your arms and walking back to the toddlers in their beds. You freeze, staring down at the creature in your hands completely unsure what to do. You don’t think you’ve ever held a baby before. Aster shifts at the sudden change but settles quickly in your arms. You go through what you think a baby needs while it’s being held: head is supported, she’s not upside down, you’re pretty sure she isn’t going to drop out of your arms. You can do this. You’ve killed people dammit, sold shimmer, run from enforcers. You can hold a baby for a few minutes while that poor, overworked woman deals with the kids she needs to look after—you aren’t really sure she’s overworked but you know you would be if you had five toddlers to take care of and a baby.

            Aster begins to fuss in your arms, her tiny, chubby face contorting and she begins to whimper. You can handle this. You try to think what people do with babies. You remember Scar rocking her, so you do your best to rock back and forth, throwing in a “shhh” for good measure. By some miracle it works, and Aster begins to settle, her face relaxing and her quiet, pitiful whimpers subsiding. You smile down at her. She is really fucking cute. Like… sure, every baby is ‘cute’ but this kid… Wow. You realize, the longer you hold her in your arms, that she smells familiar. It takes you a second to place it and then it clicks. She smells like flowers. She is the reason Scar smells like flowers. You don’t really know how to process this information, but it makes your heart do funny things that you don’t like one bit.

            You don’t even notice that Jess has tucked the kids in. “She’s a little angel, isn’t she?” Her voice is soft and quiet as she looks down fondly at the sleeping infant in your arms.

            “Yeah.” You look back up at her, “I don’t know where she gets it, probably her mom. Can’t be from her dad.” You don’t even think about what you’re saying before the words leave your mouth. Oops. You bite your lip.

            She laughs, “No, Scar is really great with her. Don’t tell him I told you this, but he gets a little misty-eyed every time he drops her off in the morning.” You look at her incredulously, of all the things you could picture Scar doing, crying is just above apologizing.

            “Who is her mom, anyways?” You finally risk asking the question that’s been on your mind from the moment you saw Scar with the baby. Purely out of curiosity, you remind yourself, not for any other, more personal reason. You force yourself to remember the list. Not that it matters anyways, if anything you should feel sorry for whoever gets stuck with Scar.

            “She… isn’t around anymore.” Jess’s once relaxed and open demeanor seems to shrink back a bit. You make a mental note to not push that anymore, with anyone.

            You sigh gently, looking back to Aster. You need to leave and get ready for the day, but you find yourself wounded at the thought of leaving her. What the fuck is happening to you? Jess seems to notice your hesitation, “You can come visit whenever you want. I won’t tell Scar, Pip.” She uses the name affectionally and another part of you melts. Maybe I do like kids… who’da thunk it.

            After prying Aster out of your arms and back into the much more experienced care of Jess, you return to your original goal of the training room. It is empty when you walk in, which you tentatively take as another good sign for today.

            The punching bag seems to be mocking you as it sways lightly from its chains, so you resolve to show it no mercy. It is your kicks this time, not your punches, that takes the focus of your workout. It isn’t like you’re planning on fighting Scar again… but it would probably be good to be able to throw a few kicks without getting your ass handed to you.

            By the time you finally leave you are dripping with sweat and exhausted, but you feel good, damnit. And no one came to interrupt, which is even better. You take a cold shower and spend the rest of your afternoon mentally preparing for tonight’s raid.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

            Malia and Eve are already waiting near the hideout entrance when you make your way down. Malia smiles at you and Eve puts the butt cigarette she was smoking out on her shoe. “Didn’t know you smoked,” you say.

            She shrugs and says nothing, silently offering you one. You shake your head, and she shrugs again, pulling a fresh one from her pocket.

            You adjust the straps of the bag slung across your back. This actually feels pretty natural for you: waiting to break into a guarded facility. If you weren’t with the Firelights, this would feel exactly like any other night. You’re wearing your usual uniform of black, skintight clothes and wearing a bag big enough to put whatever you find away safely. The knife attached to your hip is a welcome, familiar weight. Really, it’s ironic how full circle you’ve come: stealing information to stealing shimmer and right back to stealing information. You laugh out loud, and Malia looks at you, you say nothing.

            Ekko walks up with the rest of the soldiers to see the six of you off. He looks you up and down and a flash of concern ghosts over his usually bright eyes; you should apologize for how you acted yesterday. Not in front of everyone else, of course, but you make a mental note to talk to him later.

            “Everyone feel ready?” His tone is normal which makes you feel a bit better—not that you thought he was one to skulk. You all nod in agreement. He goes over the plan one last time before opening the door and watching as the six of you walk away.

            The sounds of footsteps echo down the stone tunnel as you walk. Your torchlight illuminates Scar as he leads the group down the tunnel, his large back blocking most of your vision. It feels wrong to break the quiet, but you can’t stand to walk in silence and resolve to making small talk with Malia who walks besides you.

            The wharf is close enough that you don’t take hoverboards—which you would have much preferred even just to show off your improvement—and it only takes a few minutes by foot before you are standing outside of a massive building. The smog of the city always mixes eerily with the mist rolling off of the water and the red lights glowing outside of the factory adds to the unsettling atmosphere.

            “Can’t believe this was under out noses the whole time,” Eve’s voice is distorted slightly from her mask, and it reminds you to slip your own over your head.

            “We can’t go around checking every building in Zaun,” says the soldier wearing a cat shaped mask behind you.

            “Still. I’ve probably walked past this godsdammed place a thousand times and they’ve been shipping out shimmer the whole time. Pisses me off.”

            “Will all of you shut up?” It’s Scar’s voice. You had forgotten how fucking sinister he looks in his own mask—not that he isn’t terrifying without it. “Malia, you take out the guards at the door. The rest of us will follow in once they’re down. You,” he looks at you now, “don’t fuck it up, got it?”

            “I can handle myself,” you hiss. This fucking asshole.

            Malia is already walking towards the guards, her demeanor completely different from her prim, postured norm.

            She stalks over towards the two guards sitting outside of the door, keeping low to the ground. They don’t notice her until she lets out a long, low whistle. One of them picks his head up and calls out into the night. Malia says nothing and continues her slow advance, this time standing up straight.

            The other man notices her finally and flicks his cigarette onto the ground. “You better turn around and go back to where you came from,” he calls menacingly.

            Malia snaps her head to a harsh angle, staring the man down, almost like a crow. Right, duh. Makes sense, that’s her mask.

            Suddenly, faster than the men can react, she rushes them and plunges a knife into each neck. They don’t even have a chance to yell before they topple to the ground, choaking on their own blood.

            Your group begins to advance slowly. Sure, you could follow them into the main room, wait for them to clear out any goons, before finally being allowed to go into the overseer’s office once they’ve made sure its safe for you, like Scar would probably prefer. Or you could do it your way. You like the second option much better

            Breaking off from the group as they enter the now unguarded door, you scramble up a low wall and onto a small window ledge. Gently, you pry the window open and drop into the warehouse, silent as a cat. You find yourself on a high balcony overlooking the factory floor. Barrels of shimmer sit in rows below you. You take a moment to situate yourself from what you can remember of the floorplans you looked at last night. If you’re here… then… Right. The door at the end of the balcony must be the entrance to the hallway that leads to the office. This is child’s play, you think.

            You walk down the balcony, keeping yourself low to the wall. Footsteps around the corner catch your attention. You duck behind a pile of boxes, and you silently pull your knife out of your belt, just in case. You don’t exactly like killing people, but you’re not against it if the situation demands a bit of violence. Luckily, the man rounds the corner and keeps walking, completely oblivious to your presence. You wait a moment for him to be out of earshot before slipping from your hiding spot and continuing down the balcony.

            Carefully you open the door to the hallway and slink inside. The door at the end of the hallway must be the office and a rush of confidence surges through your veins.

            Getting inside is painfully easy, the damned door isn’t even locked. The room is nice, you suppose, but you’ve seen better; this factory is pretty clearly a low-level supplier. Finding the information isn’t too difficult either. Once you make it inside of the pathetically locked filing cabinet, you are rewarded with several folders full of papers and a quick glance at them confirms that they are, in fact, records of dealings with other factories and warehouses. Ekko’s information was sound.

            You turn to leave, feeling very smug, when a small, locked case above your head catches your eye. It is slightly out of reach, so you hop onto the filing cabinet to pick the lock. It is harder to crack which makes you even more intrigued; whatever is in here must be worth safeguarding. Just as you click the final pin in place, Scar’s sharp voice catches your attention.

            “Kirranari!” You whip around, nearly falling off the cabinet. “You were supposed to stay with the fucking group,” he bites from behind his mask.

            The door to the case opens before you get a chance to ask him what the hell he called you. You turn back to see what it is you gained access to. It’s a case full of… alcohol? That’s what this overseer was so intent on keeping safe and not the pages and pages of confidential dealings?

            You are about to tell him off when the same man you saw on the balcony rounds the corner. He startles when he sees the two of you and whips out a pistol from a holster along his chest.

            You know you should jump out of the way, or duck, or something, but you find yourself frozen. His face… You didn’t see it before, but there is no mistaking it. The harsh angle of his once broken nose or the scar running down the side of his face; this is absolutely one of Chross’s enforcers. You can recall so clearly the smarmy grin on his face whenever you were brough into his office for one of your many fuck ups. Your stomach churns uncomfortably. What the fuck is he doing here? I thought this was one of Silco’s factories.

            A bullet fires from the pistol, and you don’t even react until it wizzes past your ear, imbedding itself into the wall just a few inches from your head. The man is dead on the ground before you can think to move, Scar standing over him, bloodied spear in hand.

            He whips around and walks over to you. Heavy hands coming down on your shoulders brings you back to reality, “What the fuck is wrong with you?” You don’t have an answer.

            Once again, bile threatens to spill up from your gut. You force it back down. “S-sorry, I just… wasn’t thinking.” Your voice is much weaker than you want it to be.

            “You could have fucking died and all you have to say is that you weren’t thinking?” He shakes you, claws digging into the sides of your arms.

            He’s right, you think, bitterly. The letter has you jumpy. For all you know, the guy stopped working for Chross after you left. And even if he still did, it’s not like he could recognize you under the mask. Pull yourself together.

            You let out a long, low sigh, still looking up into Scar’s mask. “I found booze!” You say, bringing an arm up as far as you can with his hands still holding you in place—as though that negates what just happened.

            He snarls and lets you go with a shove. “Don’t fuck around like that again,” he says before walking out of the office and back towards the balcony, stepping over the body in the hallway.

            You will yourself to snap out of it as you place the bottles into your bag alongside the folders. You don’t know exactly what the alcohol is, but it looks strong and expensive, which is exactly what you need.

            You are met by the other soldiers on the floor of the factory. “Any luck?” Malia calls when she sees you approaching. Scar must not have told her.

            A nod, “Yeah, tons of information. I’ve got it all in here.” You throw a thumb back towards your bag and she gives you an approving thumbs up.

            They make quick work of sloshing cans of gas around the factory and once everyone is our, Eve lights a match from her pocket and tosses it into the building. Fire catches immediately and it isn’t long before flames begin to lick at the sides of the shimmer barrels. No one remains long enough to watch it blow especially knowing the crowd such a large fire will attract, and you are all several meters away when an explosion sounds.

            You gnaw on your lip beneath your mask the whole trip back, reducing it to a bloody lump. I need to figure my shit out, now. This stupid anxiety is beginning to become a serious problem. Private panic attacks you can handle, but nearly dying in front of Scar? Really, being in any state of venerability in front of him is a problem, regardless of whether or not it’s life threatening.

            You adjust your bag without thinking and clinking of bottles in your bag drags you from your thoughts and Eve shoots a look back towards you. “Doesn’t sound like papers in there.”

            “She found alcohol in the office,” Scar says, not turning back as he leads your group through the mazes of tunnels.

            Malia perks up, “Oh shit really? Is it any good?”

            “I couldn’t really say, but it was locked up like it was.” You say, reaching into your bag and pull a bottle out, handing it to her.

            She adjusts her light onto the label, “Holy fuck. This stuff is really expensive. Good find, Pip.”

            You groan, “Not you too.” Fucking Jordyn. She shoots a masked look back at you and giggles, jogging off to show the man in the cat mask, who hums appreciatively.

            Most of the hideout has gone to bed by the time you return, but you’re greeted with a small welcome party. You slide your mask back onto your belt and smile at them, desperately trying to put the last few hours behind yourself. Sure you almost died, but you got what you needed from the factory, that’s something, right?

You pull the folders out of your bag and hand them to Ekko who flips through them quickly. “Holy shit. This is huge, I can’t thank you enough,” he says and hands them to a woman next to him, asking her to take them back to his workshop to look at later. Malia calls you back to the group and you oblige.

            You see Scar pull Ekko aside. The conversation looks heated, but you don’t have the energy or the drive to try and listen in. If Scar has a problem with you, he can say it to your face.

            Once greetings are finished and Scar and Ekko have rejoined the group, you pull a couple bottles out of your bag and hold them up for everyone to see. “Anyone up for a bit more?” Not a single person denies your offer and a few minutes later everyone is crowded around a table in the empty mess hall.

            Jordyn emerges from the kitchen with a tray of assorted, unmatching cups and you begin to pour out healthy servings of the alcohol into each. You give Jordyn a questioning look with an arched eyebrow, pausing at the cup in front of them. They smirk and nod wordlessly. So much for not touching anything.

            Ekko holds his own cup up and everyone looks at him expectantly, “To a job fucking well done.”

            Cheers erupt around the table, and everyone takes a drink. You down your drink in one gulp and—to your surprise—so does Scar. Malia wasn’t lying when she said this stuff was strong and you wince as it burns a path down your throat and into your belly.

            You don’t intend to drink as much as you do, but as soon as Jordyn pulls out a deck of cards and proposes a drinking game, you know you’re done for. The rules don’t make sense even after they are explained several times to you and you find yourself losing more than anyone in the group, which doesn’t help in your confusion.

            After about three shots too many you realize it may not be the worst idea to get some food in your stomach—anything to soak up the alcohol. As soon as you stand, it’s as if all the alcohol you have consumed throughout the night finally decided to kick in and… woah. You can’t remember being this drunk. Come to think of it… you can’t remember much of anything.

            You stumble towards the general vicinity of the kitchen and begin rooting around for something to eat. Once the door is closed, the laughter and conversation from the table is muffled and you take a moment to drunkenly enjoy the silence. Only one light is on over the sink and it’s just so peaceful in here… what did you come here for again?

            Food! Right.

            Coordination, you find, is extremely difficult and it takes you three tries to get your hand on the cabinet door. You yank it open triumphantly and—not realizing how close your face was—proceed to smack yourself directly in the nose. “Owwwww,” you groan out, a hand going to clutch your aching nose.

            A barking laugh startles you and you jump around, a yelp stifled under your hand. Scar is leaning against the counter looking annoyingly sober. “What the fuck do y’want?” Your words are slurred, and you struggle to keep him in focus, making your glare look more like a confused stare. Fuck, I’m wasted.

            “Wanted to watch the show.” He folds his arms across his insanely broad and muscular chest. Damn. Has he always been this hot? You blink. Where the hell did that thought come from?

            “Ya know… I should pro’bly thank you… for uh… savin my life.” You look up at his stupid, handsome face.

            He angles his chin up and looks down at you. “You should.”

            “But I won’t,” your giggle is light and hysterical and if you were sober in this moment you’d be kicking yourself for acting like a teenager. Get a grip, but your drunk mind refuses to heed any warning. You think you can remember having a list or something… what was it again? The memory is a blur, and you give up.

            He rolls his eyes but doesn’t snarl at you like you were expecting. You turn back around and pluck a loaf of bread from the cabinet, shoving your hands into the bag and pulling a couple of slices out.

            You turn around and hop up onto the counter to face Scar who is still standing there. Why is he here, anyways. He stares intently as you take a mouthful of the plain bread, chewing intently as you look back at him. Your brows furrow, with a mouth still full of bread you ask, “Why d’you hate me so much?” The question isn’t harsh, you genuinely want to know. “I mean, I know we got off on a bad foot or whatever,” your legs swing from under you, bouncing your heels against the base of the counter.

            “I don’t hate you.” He sounds uninterested but not bored.

            “You act like you do. You always have tha’stupid snarl on your face,” you take another mouthful of bread. Scar says nothing. “I just think you could stand to be a l’il nicer, s’all.”

            The door of the kitchen opens and Jordyn pops their head inside, smiling when they see you. “Pip, I was missin you. Come on back.” They sound about as drunk as you are. You hop down from the counter and, after taking a moment to get your balance back, walk back into the mess hall.

            The group is slightly smaller than when you started. Ekko has already left with Eve and a couple others, leaving only you, Jordyn, Scar, and the two other soldiers that came on your raid today. You plop down on the chair next to Jordyn and feel their arm fall over your shoulder. Maybe you should care, but it’s nice to have someone close to you. Especially as muscular as Jordyn. You’re pathetic. Scar would feel better. Bet he’s warmer. He was practically on fire yesterday in the gym.

            The memory of the gym twists something strange and deep in your gut. You push your hair out of your eyes. Your clothes feel too tight, and the air around you feels too hot. You need to leave, to get some fresh air. Jordyn, mercifully, doesn’t react when you jump out of their grasp and stumble for the door. “M’ goin to bed,” you mumble before pushing out into the cool of the night.

            You practically moan at the feeling of the night air on your skin; this is exactly what you needed. To be out of the noise and the heat and the people. It isn’t enough, you realize, you need more. Practically tripping over your feet, you make your way to the hoverboard that has been left out near the entrance to the mess hall.

            “Don’t.” A familiar voice behind you calls, “you’re gonna snap your neck.”

            “Am not,” you bite back to Scar, not realizing how fucking childish you sound. You place the board down and step into it.

            Right before you can start it up, a hand wraps around your wrist. “I said don’t. I saved your life once today, don’t make me do it again.” A shiver rolls down your spine. What is this man doing to me?

            “I-” words fail you as you look up into those green eyes. “M-maybe yeah…”

            His brows furrow at something, but before you can ask, he is lifting your arm up and pushing your sleeve up. Your heart tuns to ice and your stomach clenches painfully as he gazes at the branding in your flesh. This is it, you think in a drunken, terrified blur, they’re gonna think I’m a spy, or untrustworthy, or even worse: pathetic. Gods, you don’t want that. You can’t bear the thought of pity.

            Scar, seeming to notice the fear in your eyes, says nothing as he pushes the sleeve back down. “You need to get to bed.” His voice is soft and lacking its usual sharpness. You suck a breath in as all the tension leaves your body. Fuck. Your knees go out and you feel yourself tumbling towards the floor. He grabs you again, wrapping two large hands under your arms and hoisting you back up. “You’re wasted.” He sounds unamused.

            “Nuh-uh.” Even you know it’s a lie. He just… looks at you. You push yourself out of his arms and start to walk back through the courtyard and to your room. You get about two steps before you stumble again and this time there is no large chirean to catch you.

            He walks over and peers down at you. “You gonna let me help you? Or did you plan on crawling back to your room?”

            You scowl at him. “I don’ need your help, pretty boy.” Gods damn it all, did you say that out loud? From the way his lips twist, you did. You slap a hand to your head, dragging it down your face. “Fine…” you mumble, cheeks burning.

            Tentatively, you reach your hands up, expecting him to pull you back to your feet. So it comes as a complete surprise when he bends down and wraps one arm under your back and another under your knees to lift you completely, as if you weigh nothing. He must know what he’s doing, right?

            You struggle in his arms for a moment—whether it is out of a genuine desire to be put down or simply to save face you don’t really know—and he only tightens his grip. “You couldn’t walk two steps; I don’t have the patience to watch you stumble all the way back. Now quit squirming.” His tone is surprisingly gentle, you stop resisting, leaning your head against his shoulder and take in his smell for the second time. It is still just as irresistible.

            You’re quiet for a while and you realize that it is almost… nice? It’s nice to be carried by him; despite how absolutely insulting it is to your agency. You feel safe—which is not an experience you take lightly. “I met Aster this morning,” you finally say, voice quiet in the night air. He looks down at you for a moment but doesn’t stop walking. “I don’t really like kids but… she’s pretty sweet. An’ she’s lucky to have you as her dad… I guess.”

            He lets out a woosh of air that could almost be considered a laugh. “Glad you think so.” You close your eyes and stay silent for the rest of the walk back to your bedroom.

            He lays you down in your bed with a surprising amount of gentleness and you flutter your eyes gently open to see him staring down at you. There is a look of… something in his eyes. He turns to leave and you feel a pang of sadness. “Scar,” you call almost inaudibly. His ears twitch and he turns back towards you, “please don’t tell Ekko…”

            You see in his gaze that he understands what you mean. The branding. “We’ll talk tomorrow, Kirranari.”

            “Wait,” he stops and turns back to you, looking only slightly exasperated, “wha’s that? Kirranari? Ya said it back in the factory… I think.” The word stumbles from your lips in a butchered pronunciation compared to the way he says it, which is almost… reverent.

            You can’t read his expression, “’One who sneaks’. It’s chireanai,” he rolls his eyes at your lack of comprehension. Hey, I’m drunk, not like it’s my fault. “It means ‘rat’.” He closes the door without waiting for your answer.

            You fall asleep with a stupid, drunken smile on your face.

Chapter Text

            You didn’t speak the next morning. Actually, you haven’t spoken to Scar in the past twelve days, not that you’re counting or anything. In his defense, he tried. You just… can’t bear it. And besides, there is nothing to talk about. You have lived your whole life without him, and you see no reason why that should have to change.

            You woke up the next morning with a skull-splitting headache and only a distant memory of what happened the previous night. It took a cold shower, fresh clothes, and meeting Scar’s eyes from where he sat in the corner of the mess hall for the events to come rushing right back to your mind. To say it was mortifying would be the understatement of the century.

            If you had just been drunk in front of him, you would have been fine. But the fact he had to carry you back to your room? Not to mention him seeing your branding. Sure, you didn’t tell him what it meant, but it would take some special kinda idiot to not recognize the markings of the Hush Company.

            When you saw him the next morning, the blood in your veins turned to ice. You could hardly handle looking at him and the thought of having a conversation about what had transpired the previous night made your stomach roll worse than it already had been thanks to your hangover. It was honestly a miracle you didn’t throw up when he stood to talk to you. Instead of handling the situation like an adult probably would, you ran. And that is exactly how you have spent the last twelve days: doing exactly everything besides speaking to that annoying, brooding man who seems to possess the uncanny ability to be exactly where you need to be.

            It’s not like you’ve sat around and done nothing, of course. You’ve been busy. Busier than you think you have been in your whole life. Since that night you’ve been on two more raids, spent four nights on guard duty with Malia, had only two more panic attacks, and even helped out in the kitchen: which turned out to be a lot more fun than you expected. You’re doing just fine, thank you very much. You have no need to bare your soul or fight your demons. Not even Ekko pressures you again, although you don’t think it’s because Scar told him not too, he just knows better than to push you by now.

            Really, besides the complete lack of a problem that is Scar, things have been going well. You get along with the other Firelights, they respect your ability to get things done and you respect their ability to—for the most part—stay out of your business; it’s a pretty good deal. Both raids you went on proved to be incredibly successful, a large part thanks to your ability to get intel without getting caught. Chross would probably be impressed if you weren’t actively destroying a major pillar of the oligarchy he runs.

            The first job was nowhere near as easy as your first, but you completed it with far less hiccups. The documents you swiped out of the office of both the warehouse and the factory led to your third raid; a caravan with a shipment full of shimmer headed out of Zaun. Even Eve was willing to sing your praise after the shipment went up in flames; there was no denying your asset to the Firelights. And what do you do with all of this fame and glory? You… hang out with Jess and the kids in the nursery.

            You would probably never admit it to anyone, but you fucking love those kids. Even when they’re snotty or whiney or sticky or smelly; something about them brings you more joy than any dose of shimmer or shot of stupidly expensive booze ever could. It also helps that Jess, to her absolute unending credit, makes no snide remarks about your ability to fight and she never asks you about your past.

            And that is exactly how you find yourself, surrounded by a gaggle of toddlers who are completely enamored by the fairytale you are reading. It’s a story of a princess reuniting with her long-lost family. Pretty boring, and not nearly enough dragon slaying as far as you’re concerned. “Tell us about your mommy, Pip,” a voice interrupts. You look down at her with a pathetic lack of authority.

            “Sorry kiddo, I don’t think there’s much to talk about.” Actually, there is nothing to talk about; you were given to the company before you were old enough to remember your parents.

            “Pleaseeee?” You roll your eyes playfully so as not to hurt her feelings.

            “My mommy lives very far away, so I don’t get to see her that often.” Why do they have to ask you things? Can’t they just listen to the damn story?

            Mercifully, they seem to be satisfied with your lackluster answer. “So you’re like the princess?”

            You smile, processing the question. “Yeah… I guess I am,” you finally say. A wave of ooohs reverberates from the crowd. You continue the book.

It ends happily, the princess marries a handsome prince or something, you aren’t really paying attention. And from the drooping eyelids surrounding you, neither are they. It’s amazing how fast they get sleepy, just five minutes ago they were bouncing off the walls.

            Jess walks over, Aster in hand, to put them down for a nap. The two of you have developed a routine of sorts. You come in around lunch time, play with the toddlers for a bit, and then when Jess goes to get them down for their nap, you get to spend time with Aster—probably the real reason you are willing to suffer through all the sticky fingers and redundant questions.

            She coos up at you from your arms and it takes everything in you not to melt into a puddle on the floor. You wouldn’t exactly call yourself a baby expert, but you have certainly gotten more confident in holding her, although she helped a lot on that front. Ever vocal despite her lack of words, Aster is the first to tell you if she’s uncomfortable or hungry or tired, and you love her for it. Honestly, everyone should try to be a bit more like her. Just say what you want and get on with it, I should probably heed my own advice. Nope! The list. That’s the other thing keeping you sane, the two things you can’t let yourself think about: Scar and the Hush Company.

            “You are a goddamn angel, and I don’t know where you get it from,” you say to the small chirean in your arms. She smiles at you, big ears twitching. You put a finger down to touch her perfectly pink nose when she surprises you with a bite to the finger. “Motherfucker!” You yelp before you can remind yourself to be quiet. Jess shoots you a look from over by the kids and you mouth a silent apology. You turn your head back down to Aster, “What the hell was that for, girl?” She laughs like she’s mocking you. Maybe she is her dad’s kid after all. Damn, it’s hard to stay mad at a face that cute.

            “She’s started teething,” Jess says once she’s returned from toddler-land, “and her teeth are sharp. Aren’t they?” Her voice turns to a sing-songy coo and scoops Aster back out of your arms. It doesn’t get easier, letting her go. “He’ll be back soon,” she says, looking back to you.

            “Right.” You haven’t told Jess any specifics, but she picked up pretty quick that you have no interest in seeing Scar. “Thanks for letting me crash again, Jess, I really appreciate it.”

            She waves her hand as if dismissing the notion entirely, “Oh please, the kids love seeing you. You’re basically a routine now.”

            It’s nice, you think as you leave the nursery and make your way to the training room, to be in a good mood for once. Maybe a boring, routine life was what you needed this whole time. Not that burning down shimmer factories was the most banal thing you could be doing, but by undercity standards you may as well be a nun.

            You do find out, however, that a workout with the intent of training is a hell of a lot more boring than a workout to blow off steam. But at least you can focus on your form, which has improved drastically. Maybe I couldn’t take down Scar in a fi- “NO!” You verbally cut off that train of thought because it so incredibly doesn’t matter. Focus on your movements, you remind yourself and soon enough, the only thought crossing your mind is the ritualized, prescribed movements of boxing. That’s a good thought. It’s safe, it doesn’t change. Left-right-left, hook, kick. You could do this all day.

            And you probably would have too, if that fucking door hadn’t opened. Honestly, it’s like he wakes up every morning with the sole purpose of making you as miserable as possible. “If you’re going to critique my form again, you might as well fuck off now. I’m not in the mood.” You don’t even need to turn to know it’s Scar.

            He ignores you. “How long are you planning on avoiding me? Avoiding your problems?”

            You don’t turn from the punching bag, determined to not let him ruin your workout again. “I’m not avoiding you and I don’t have any problems.” The punches are beginning to hurt but you’ll be damned if you stop now. The sharp thuds echo through the small, concrete room and Scar is so silent you could almost pretend he isn’t here. Almost.

            “Bullshit,” he finally says, “I know what the branding means.”

            “Good for you.” I’m not engaging I’m not engaging I’m not engaging. Every thought is punctuated with another punch. You’re going to bruise tomorrow.

            “I should have told Ekko the second I saw it,” his tone is serious, but you doubt he would.

            “Sounds like that’s your fault. It’s none of your business anyways.”

            “Kirr-” he starts. You cut him off before he can finish.

            “That’s not my fucking name.” To his credit, he does shut up for a moment. You picture his face as you hit the bag in front of you.

            “You can’t live like this.” He almost sounds concerned, but it does nothing to douse the rage burning in your gut. Sweat sings as it drips down into your eyes, but you can’t be bothered to wipe it away. You think that if you stop moving for even a moment you’ll combust.

            “You don’t get to tell me how to live my life, Scar. Fuck you.” You send the bag careening on your final hit. The chain makes an awful screech and you leave before you do something you regret—not that you could realistically hurt him in your current state but hey, a girl can dream. So much for not engaging.

            You walk straight into Ekko as you storm out of the training room. He puts a hand on your shoulder to steady you. “Woah, you okay?” His eyes search yours.

            The metallic taste of blood fills your mouth as you physically bite down on your tongue to keep from cursing the man in front of you out. Ekko has done nothing wrong. I am the problem here. “Y-yeah. I’m fine.”

            He looks unconvinced. “Right… Well, we just got word of a huge shipment leaving tonight and we gotta act fast. I need you there, okay?” Ever polite, he phrases it as a question which would probably be endearing if you weren’t seconds away from ripping out your hair.

            “’Course”

            You move to continue walking back towards your room when he calls your name, “Whatever is going on between you and Scar, the two of you need to fix it. It’s becoming a problem.”

You nod but refuse to turn around—unable to handle the shame of meeting his eyes again. He’s right, of course, but you hate having to be told it in the first place.

            Waiting for the shower to heat up, you stand in front of the mirror. How has one man reduced you into such a fucking child? You are a godsdamned adult, you have been through hell and back and survived, and yet one stupid crush has turned you into a wet blanket. Not a crush.

            “You are better than this. Pull. Yourself. Together.” You say into the mirror as you stare at your red, sweaty face. It doesn’t really work but it does snap you out of the spell of all consuming anger.

            After a shower you feel marginally better, and the rage has simmered down to a much more manageable bitterness. Yes, Scar is a dick for sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong, but he clearly hasn’t told anyone anything and there is no real reason why he should. That also means that you have no reason to do anything besides your one job for today: stop that shipment.

            The sun is well set by the time you meet in the courtyard with the small group handpicked by Ekko to go with him on tonight’s job. You’re right in the middle of psyching yourself up for what’s to come when Ekko finally arrives with Scar. Of course he’s coming tonight.

            Actually, you’re quite impressed with yourself that you don’t even glance in his direction as Ekko lays out the plan for the night. You couldn’t even say if he looks at you, that’s how little you care.

            “Thing’s might go south tonight,” he explains as your group walks down the now familiar tunnels out of the hideout, “if that happens, don’t come back here immediately, we can’t risk anyone following us back. Malia is waiting in the safehouse near the market on the wharf, so if anything happens, go there, okay?”

            It concerns you slightly that Ekko seems so worried. From what you can tell, this job sounds pretty easy. Get in, burn the shimmer, get out. Maybe take down a few of Silco’s thugs while you’re at it. It all sounds very standard, but no one voices a concern, so you keep your mouth shut. Once you exit the tunnel, the five of you mount your hoverboards and take off towards the far end of the wharf.

            The waiting is always your least favorite part and being near the water only makes it worse. The stench of rotting fish and muddy silt assaults your nostrils as you sit crouched behind a stack of boxes—your mask does absolutely nothing to minimize the smell, unfortunately. You glance at the soldier keeping a look out from a nearby building and adjust yourself slightly to try and soothe a cramping leg. Maybe putting all of your strength into your workout this morning wasn’t the best idea, but it isn’t like you were expecting this job.

            Suddenly, a high whistle grabs your attention and you peek over the boxes and towards the dock. Sure enough, a small barge cresting with shimmer barrels creeps slowly over the water. Ekko nods and you step into your boards before zipping silently towards the ship.

            A man sitting near the bow calls as soon as he sees the green and soon several guards rush up from below deck. There’s a lot more that you were expecting. It must be at least twelve of them and you fight back the terror bubbling up in your veins.

            Scar is the first to land, throwing his board over his back and going straight towards the biggest man, spear in hand. Fucking show off. The man lasts about thirty seconds to the chirean before he collapses onto the deck. You suppose it isn’t really showing off if he gets the job done as quick as he does.

            You land next to Ekko and take out your knife as soon as your feet hit the wood. Sure, maybe your pistol would be a stronger choice, but in the fog of the night, you don’t trust your aim as much as usual.

            A tall, lanky man whips around as soon as he hears you and holds a shotgun wildly in front of himself, but you’ve run out of his field of vision before he can get a good look at you. Creeping onto a barrel, you wait until he’s fully turned the other way to jump onto his back. He doesn’t get the chance to buck you off before your blade slices across his neck. If your position had been a bit better, maybe you could have avoided getting blood on your shirt, but you suppose that it’s been through worse than some goon’s blood, so you wipe the blade on your opposite sleeve and look around you at the commotion on the ship.

            Ekko has already begun sloshing fuel around the ship and most of the guards are disposed of in one way or another. You decide to do one quick survey of the ship to see if there is anything worth taking when you notice the entrance leading below deck. It sounds silent under there and you can’t imagine someone would have stayed under after hearing all the fighting up top. Still, you creep down the wooden steps, keeping your back against the wall and your profile low.

            A lantern swings from the ceiling of the small room, illuminating it with a soft orange glow. There isn’t much to see, however, besides a couple of tables set up with cards and a chest off in the corner. You kneel down in front of the chest and start working at the lock, but it’s nearly rusted shut. Realistically, you should probably let it go and get the hell off the ship before they light the whole thing on fire, but you let your curiosity get the better of you.

            The lock finally snaps open and you push the heavy lid up. So invested in discovering what’s inside, you don’t hear the woman come up behind you until she has already fired her gun. Without thinking, you whip around and pull your own pistol out of the holster, not hesitating even for a moment before pulling the trigger. She stumbles back, a hand going to her stomach, before collapsing to the floor, her breath coming out in shallow heaves. You look down at yourself, amazed she didn’t hit you when you notice the blood seeping through your pants. You stare at your leg in disbelief, shouldn’t you feel that?

            Footsteps clatter down the stairs and you shoot your gaze up, holding your pistol ready. You look up to see Eve’s mask. “We need to go.” She holds a lighter in her hand and you nod, running after her. The first steps you take feel no different than usual, but by the time you’ve made it back to the deck of the ship, pain begins to radiate from the wound on your leg.

            You have no choice but to grit your teeth and bare it because as soon as you are out of the small hold, Eve is flicking her lighter open. You scramble for your discarded hoverboard and take off after the other green lights you see flitting through the haze of the fog. It is a lot harder to balance with a fucked-up leg, you quickly find, and you nearly careen into a building several times before you manage to right yourself. No one says anything about your lack of coordination, but they’re all a bit more focused on fleeing the scene themselves.

            A small huddle of soldiers forms in the air a few blocks from the wharf and you have to throw your arms out for balance to keep from tipping directly off of your board. Your leg screams at you, but you ignore it.

            “Everyone okay?” Ekko’s modulated voice asks. A round of nods from your group. “Good. I think we’re done here. Eve, go get Malia from the safe house and the rest of you, go back to the base. I don’t think there is anyone left to follow us back but take separate routes just in case.”

            You sure as shit don’t need to be told twice. By the time he finishes his words, you’re already zipping off, determined to get back to the hideout without fainting, thank you very much.

            And considering the circumstances, you do pretty well. After a circuitous route through the undercity, you make it all the way to the entrance of the tunnel before your leg finally gives out. Despite the extra time it took to go separately, you’re glad no one is there to see you slump against the wall beside the opening.

            You hiss as your back hits the cold stone and you slowly lower yourself to the ground as you press one hand against the bleeding section of your leg. In the green light of the sumps you take in the damage. It looks like a graze from a bullet. A bad one, sure, but you thank the gods the lead didn’t manage to imbed itself into the flesh of your thigh.

            You push stuck on hair away from your sweaty forehead and tear a sleeve from your jacket. Biting down on your lip, you tie the fabric around the wound, just tight enough to stop the bleeding until you can get back to your room. Yeah, maybe you should take a little more care into treating the weeping laceration on your thigh, but you sure as hell aren’t going to do it on the muddy, stinking ground of the sumps. So you hop back onto your board—careful to put as much weight as you reasonably can on your good leg without crashing—and continue down the tunnel.

            It takes longer than it should to get back, sure, but you get back alive and in mostly one piece. The hideout is quiet once you shove open the heavy stone door blocking the entrance and lay your hoverboard against the wall. Green lights zip around you from the firelights and nearly every lantern is lit: the courtyard looks like something out of the fantasy books in the nursery. Wish I could appreciate it for once, you grumble to yourself as you start the trek from the entrance to your quarters.

            You almost make it all the way to the door built into the wall when Scar calls your name, “What happened?”

            You stand up straight, careful to put an equal amount of weight on both legs despite the spasms of pain that blur the edges of your vision. “Nothing.”

            He takes a couple steps closer. “You’re bleeding.” His voice is sharp, and he cuts you off before you can protest, “Don’t lie to me. You’re limping and you have your jacket tied around your leg,” he snarls

            “I’m fine,” you bite back. The door opens with a squeak, and you continue limping down the hallway to your room. The thump of his boots follows you. “I don’t need your help.”

            He, as usual, says nothing and keeps walking behind you.

            You make it to your door before you finally turn to look at him. “Okay, I’m bleeding. But I’m fine, just fucking drop it, Scar.” He meets your gaze down his nose with cold, green eyes and continues to say absolutely nothing. You scowl and open your door, throwing your mask on the bed. In a burst of rage, you go to slam the door shut but his toe blocks the doorway. “I don’t need you to save me,” you hiss, leaning your weight against the door.

            Claws wrap around the door, “I’m not going to save you, idiot. No one here wants to save you. Let me in, or I’m going to break down this fucking door.” His voice is dangerously low.

            “Why?”

            “Because you’re fucking bleeding. I could smell it the second you walked in the hideout.” What the fuck? “A wound like that’ll get infected in a second. Now, let. Me. In.”

            “Yeah, and I can handle it!” Your voice is rising, too loud for the cramped hallways. With a loud sigh you take your weight off of the door and let it fly open, revealing a very angry Scar. “Fine, just shut up.”

            He closes the door behind himself. Which is what anyone would do. This is fine. You do your absolute best to not let your nerves show. “Well? You can see I’m not dying, ready to leave yet?” You look down at your throbbing leg, the sleeve tied around it has turned from a light gray to a deep black. Scar doesn’t move, he only gazes down at you with crossed arms and a stern look on his face.

            “Let me see it.” With a roll of your eyes, you untie the shitty field bandage to reveal the rip in your pants that only barely covers the graze wound.

            Getting impatient at his lack of reaction, you stumble into the bathroom and yank your first-aid kit from the shelf above the toilet and begin ripping supplies out. You see Scar looming in the bathroom doorway from the small mirror and shoot him a scowl. “Look, I have everything I need, you can go now.”

            “I’m not leaving till you’re patched up.” Gods, he’s fucking impossible. You let out an exasperated noise and hop onto the counter, a bottle of alcohol in hand.

            You uncap the bottle and tip it slowly over the wound, a cry of pain escaping your lips at the sting despite your best efforts. You can’t clean a wound like this, but you are not about to ta-

            “Take them off.” You whip your head up, a ferocious snarl on your face. This bastard. He just looks at you. “Take them off or I’ll cut them off.”

            “You could at least buy me dinner first,” you quip, earning a glare from Scar. This is not fine, I can’t keep pretending this is normal and fine.

            You know he’s right, that’s the worst part about it. You slide off the counter and undo your belt, slowly rolling your blood-stained pants down your leg, trying desperately not to think about the man standing in front of you. The fabric pulls away from the wound and it is with an excruciating amount of self-control that you don’t scream at the feeling. You let the fabric drop to the floor—leaving you in nothing but your half-torn shirt and panties—and sit back on the counter, keeping your eyes trained on the wound and not on Scar.

            It’s actually a lot worse than you thought it was, the angry, red gash stretches at least three inches across your leg and is easily half that in width. Blood seeps from the wound in a steady trickle and you wipe at it with your remaining sleeve. You pick the bottle of alcohol back up and tip it enough for a drop to come out and fall onto the bloodied skin. FUCK. You bite down on your hand to keep from crying out and you nearly knock the bottle onto the floor, the other hand hovering uselessly over your leg.

            With a huff, Scar picks it up and pushes your hand out of the way. “Let me do it,” he mumbles before sloshing the evil, burning liquid onto your thigh. You can’t even think about his proximity to your half naked form because as soon as the alcohol hits your skin, your vision goes white and you dig your nails into the opposite leg. “I know it hurts, I’m sorry,” comes his voice, soft and gentle over your pathetic whimpering. If you were in any less pain, the uncanny gentleness in his voice would probably send heat straight to your cheeks. Unfortunately, you’re a bit more focused on the blinding pain.

            Your fingers begin to cramp, and you pull them away from your leg, leaving small, red welts in the flesh. Like the bullet wound wasn’t enough. Scar says nothing as he wets a clean cloth and begins wiping away the blood from the surrounding skin, his fingers surprisingly gentle. You can’t take this much longer, and in desperation you take the bottle and swallow the remaining alcohol, much preferring the burn in your throat to the lingering burn on your leg. He sighs, “You don’t need stitches,” thank the gods, “but you were stupid to let this happen and even stupider to wait this long to deal with it.”

            He starts to wrap a clean bandage around your leg, one hand cupped under your knee to hold it over above the counter. “Right, I’m so sorry. I should have stripped in the middle of the sumps and begged a shimmer addict for some booze. I’ll do better next time,” you spit back sarcastically, fixing your eyes on his dark hair.

            He glares up at you for a second. “You know that isn’t what I meant. You should have told someone that you were fucking shot. It doesn’t make you weak to ask for help, it makes you stupid to say nothing.”

            You rest your head against the mirror with a thud. “I didn’t need help.”

            “For gods sake, Kirranari, you can’t keep doing that. People don’t want to watch you suffer.” He finishes wrapping your leg and begins tying a knot, tightening the bandage to the point of pain. You wince despite yourself.

            “I didn’t ask to be the Firelight’s charity case.”

            A fist slams down on the counter, and you jump. “Is that what you think this is? You think Ekko took you in because we felt bad?” He meets your eyes finally and you can see the rage burning just below the surface. “Get over yourself, we wanted you because you would be an asset.” His words sting almost as badly as the alcohol. You blink and look away, desperate to not let the tears forming in the corner of your eyes fall. “You aren’t a basket case, and you aren’t property anymore,” his hand grips the branding on your wrist, “you’re a fucking firelight, start acting like it.”

            “Why are you here, then. Why not send Malia or Ekko or anyone else?” Your voice is scarcely above a whisper.

            His hand grips your chin and forces you to meet his eyes, you force yourself to glare because the alternative is crying like a godsdamn child. The rage is still there but muted by something else… something you haven’t seen since that night he carried you back to your bed. “Because I care,” his grip turns bruising and his tone is still just as harsh.

            “Why?” You bite back.

            He just… stares, dark green eyes searching yours and claws still curled around your chin, distorting your lips as they press into your cheek. He is silent for so long; you actually begin to worry you’ve offended him somehow. And then he crushes his lips into yours.

            You think your brain actually short-circuits, not expecting the kiss even in the slightest. As much as you hate to admit it, it feels right. The urgency of his lips pressing into your plush, unexpecting ones. The hand on your chin begins to creep up until it is cupping against your cheek. Your own hand raises up to tangle itself in his hair. He moans almost imperceptibly.

            Despite every fiber of your being telling you not to, you pull away, just enough to look at him. His eyes search yours again but this time they look almost… nervous? “Why?” You repeat.

            His brows furrow slightly, “Because your strong and stubborn and even though you drive me fucking crazy with how stupid you are, I can’t seem to keep myself away.”

            That’s enough for me, you think, and you press your lips into his once more. A second hand moves to wrap around your waist and you arch into him, spreading your legs on the counter enough so he can stand between them. Sharp teeth nip into your lower lip and you have to surpress the shiver running down your spine. With a sigh, you open your lips, letting him slip his tongue into the wet heat of your mouth.

            A wanton moan erupts from your chest at the taste of him; it is everything that is so intoxicating about his smell, multiplied by 1000. I could get used to this.

            Breaking the kiss, he begins to trail a line of nips and kisses down your neck, earning soft, horribly embarrassing noises from your mouth. You feel him smile against your neck, asshole. Carding the fingers of your other hand through his hair, you pull, hard. His breath stutters and he dips his head to look up at you. You smirk down at him and he responds with his own, devilish smile, the pupils in his eyes blown wide with lust.

            You realize, through the haze of desire, that he is slowly making his way to his knees in front of you. “Mmm no-” you call and he stops, immediately, looking up at you. “I need a shower or somethin’” You can’t imagine you smell even close to appetizing after all the bleeding and sweating from the day.

            His hands dig into your hips and shakes his head, “No. I need to taste you… to smell you. Just like this. Please?”

            If you weren’t already sitting, you probably would have fallen over at the sight of Scar, on his knees in front of you, begging for a chance to taste you on his tongue. You nod at him, jaw going slack already. He doesn’t wait another moment before ripping your panties down and pulling your ass closer to the edge of the counter.

            He doesn’t begin immediately, like you expected him to with how desperate he was. Instead, he buries his face directly at your slit, nose pressing against the short curls, and inhales. “Wha-” you look down at him in horror.

            “Fuck. You smell…” another inhale, “do you know how badly I wanted to fuck you on the floor of the gym that day? Your smell, I couldn’t hold myself back…” Your mouth goes dry, and it physically hurts to part your lips.

            You think back to the day in the gym, when he let you win… he had… wanted you? And I thought I had disgusted him. Just before you can say something witty—which you totally could have, for the record—his tongue flattens against your clit and every single thought leaves your mind.

            He consumes you like a dying man offered a last meal. It barely even feels like he’s doing it for your pleasure, even if it feels better than anything you have ever experienced. The nips and licks and sucks, it’s for him, you realize. You don’t even feel the need to mute yourself with how fucking loud Scar is being. With the reverence he holds for you and the skill in which he tastes you, it isn’t long until that coil deep in your core begins to tighten. “’m close,” you moan breathlessly.

            Your hands in his hair tighten as you feel yourself nearing your peak and he only doubles his efforts. Tongue diving into your cunt with reckless abandon. You don’t even realize that his hand left your waist until you feel his thumb pressed against your clit. You last about twenty more seconds before you come apart completely, vision going white and cunt squeezing desperately around his tongue. His own muffled groan of pleasure nearly drowning out your soft mewls.

            By the time your vision returns, he is cupping your face tenderly, brows furrowed in concern. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

            Your mouth opens and closes several times dumbly, but you honest to goodness have no words for what you just experienced. “I…” you finally choak out, voice hoarse, “I need more.” It’s not entirely true, you could probably die happy just from the feeling of him feasting on your cunt, but you’ll be damned if you can’t at least try and reduce him to a similar state of fuck-drunk.

            He grins like a shark and kisses you again. You groan at your taste on his tongue. Gently, his large hands come around to cup under the swell of your ass, lifting you gently and pressing you against his body. He is immensely careful of your leg, but you don’t think you could care even if the whole fucking thing fell off.

            He lays you down on your bed and you prop yourself up on your elbows to look at him, deciding immediately that he has far too much clothing on his body. He seems to notice the hunger in your eyes and begins unfastening the clips of his vest, tossing it to the side once it is off. The rest of his—and your own—clothing soon follows, leaving him in nothing but a pair of boxers and you completely naked before him. He stands, drinking you in for much longer than you’d like. He chuckles darkly as you squirm under his gaze before eventually relenting and lowering himself on top of you.

            Immediately, you reach behind his back and pull his body flush to yours and you’re honestly surprised his skin isn’t fucking steaming with how hot it is. As his hips begin to settle down onto your uninjured thigh you freeze when you feel a heavy weight rest on your skin, separated only through a thin layer of fabric; all the blood that had been rushing to your head redirecting itself towards your core. Is that him?

            A hand snaked between your bodies and a gentle but firm squeeze confirms that it is him. It wasn’t visible in the low light of your room, but Scar is fucking massive. Your breath hitches in time with his and you worry for a second that he won’t even fit in you, but his hot breath against your ear zaps all ability to form coherent thought. “You gonna let me fuck you? Or do I have to beg again?”

            You bite at a lip to stifle your moan, “Mmm, I wouldn’t complain to hear you beg again.” He laughs and captures your lips once more in his own, tongue pressing into yours with the same feverish urgency. “Fuck me,” you moan into his mouth. He smiles against your lips.

            “Well, since you asked so nicely,” his boxers are off in an instant, leaving him completely bare over you. He begins to bite into your neck again.

            “’s not fair. I can barely see you,” you whine ungracefully; you barely got a chance to see him.

            “I’ll make it up to you,” he murmurs against your skin. A hand appears in front of your face, “Lick it,” he says. You comply immediately. The lewd sounds of him working your spit over his cock fill the room and you squirm again, clenching around nothing and desperate to be filled.

            “Hurry up,” you are almost completely breathless under him.

            “So impatient,” he muses, eyes shining green despite the lack of light in the room. He lines the tip of his cock against your wet, hungry slit, a breath escaping from his softly parted lips.

            Slowly, painfully slowly, he begins to enter you and… holy fuck. You feel like you’re being split open beneath him, and you bite down against the skin of his shoulder to keep from crying out and waking the whole floor of soldiers. His breathing is ragged once he sheaths himself completely in you, a hand landing next to your head to keep himself propped up. “Shit, you’re so fucking tight.” You clench unconsciously around him; he nearly chokes, “Uh… fuck…” a breathless, almost pained laugh erupts from his chest, “I won’t be able to hold myself back much longer if you keep doing that, Kir.”

            You dig your nails into his back in an effort to tell him to fuck me as hard and as fast as you want because words aren’t the easiest to form right now. He gets the message, thank the gods.

            He pulls nearly all of the way out of you before ramming back in, filling you farther than you thought possible. You hook your heels behind his back and hold on desperately as he begins to fuck into you so quickly you can scarcely breathe. Desperate cries begin to spill from your lips and he clamps a hand over your mouth, never once breaking the rhythm of his thrusts. “You want the whole hallway to hear me fucking you?” He bites into your ear and you moan his name against his hands.

            Everything begins to get overwhelming and you can do nothing but sit there and take it, the jackhammer of his dick into the back wall of your cunt, his smell filling the room, the weight of his hand on your mouth, his taste mixed with yours still on your tongue. Every inch of your being consists of Scar and you fucking love it. That same coil begins to tighten in your gut and you curl your toes, bearing down on him again as he continues to fuck into you. His breath is ragged and heavy in your ear. Fuck, what you wouldn’t give to be able to scream his name like he deserves.

            His own rhythm begins to stutter and you can tell from the way his breath becomes hotter in your ear that he’s just as close as you are. Suddenly, his hand is ripped away from your mouth. “K-kir, mmm not gonna- ah – last much longer. Where?” It’s clear how much it strains him just to ask the question, but the movement of his hips doesn’t stop; you understand that it can’t stop, if he feels anything close to how you feel.

            “Inside. Safe.” You blurt out before kissing him hard. His thrusts speed up and the sound of it is obscene. While he is being very respectful to your neighbors by keeping you quiet, the sound of wet skin slapping echos through the room at a volume that makes his attempt to keep quiet laughable.

            He bites into your neck as he comes, moaning your name—your real name—against your skin. At the first pulse of his dick, your own coil snaps, and you dig your nails into his back and shake uncontrollably against his body, unable to do anything but feel him.

            You sit like that for several minutes, his dick still buried deep inside you, and your cunt pulsing lazily around him, as if in an attempt to milk out whatever last drops of cum he has left. Finally, he pulls out of you with a hiss and flops onto his back next to you. Before you can even more to face him, his arms wrap around your waist and pull you into his chest to lay on top of him.

            “I still think you’re an ass, just so you know,” you say quietly into the silence of the room.

            His chest shakes softly as he chuckles. “And I still think you’re stubborn and stupid most of the time.”

            “But I guess it wouldn’t kill me to accept a bit of help. Every now and then. And only from you.” You twist your body so your head is tucked under his chin and he angles himself to kiss the top of your head.

            He sighs but you feel him smile against your hair. “I know you’ve been seeing Aster,” he says after a moment of silence.

            You sit up, straddling his chest, “What?”

            He looks up at your wild, fucked out hair and laughs, “You aren’t nearly as sneaky as you think you are.”

            You look at him incredulously, “But… Jess told me she wouldn’t tell…”

            He rolls his eyes, “She told me after the first day you went over. You think I’d be willing to put her with someone that wouldn’t tell me exactly what she did all day?” He cocks an eyebrow.

            You twist your lips, suddenly embarrassed. “I just…”

            He laughs softly, “I told her to let you see her every day because I wanted you to see her every day. It was cute.”

            You scoff at him, pressing your hands into his shoulders to push him into the bed, “It wasn’t cute! I was pissed at you, and you were basically stalking me,” you scowl in mock irritation.

            He sits up, gripping your ass to adjust you more comfortably against his lap, “You talk a big game for someone who’s leaking my cum all over her bedsheets.”

            You glare at him and stomp off to the bathroom to clean up. Your reflection in the mirror nearly scares you into a scream. He found you hot while you looked like this? You run a quick brush through your hair and then turn the shower on. Scar’s voice carries into the bathroom, “Don’t you dare shower.”

            You peek your head out of the bathroom to look at him sprawled on your bed, still damp with sweat. “I stink and I’m covered in blood, Scar.”

            “I know. Come back to bed.”

            You roll your eyes. As much as you want to shower, the undeniable call of exhaustion pulls you back to bed and into his arms. He seems much too satisfied with himself as he wraps his body around your smaller frame, tucking your head under his chin.

            Sleep captures you much faster than you were anticipating, and you are awake just long enough to hear him say, “We still need to talk tomorrow,” before passing out, safely cocooned in his presence.

Chapter Text

            Your first thought as you are slowly awoken by rustling sheets is how nice it is, to have a strong, steady hand wrapped around your belly, to feel the warmth of another body pressed into yours. Your second thought rockets through your brain with significantly more force: why the hell is there someone in my bed?

            You bolt up and twist your body to look at the sleeping form behind you. Right… Last night… we… You could swear you flush from your tits to your hairline as the events of the previous night slam their way back into your brain.

            Once you have wallowed in shame for a sufficient amount of time, you take the moment to appreciate the man laying asleep besides you. His face, always so twisted in anger and annoyance, rests peacefully; the lines faded into smooth angles. Your eyes follow the curve of his neck, down to the raw strength barely covered by the gray skin of his arms. He stirs slightly and you draw your attention back to his face, watching the way his brows furrow for a moment before relaxing again. His ears seem to droop ever so slightly, and you reach a hand towards them, accepting the risk of waking him and ruining the moment.

            The skin along the tip is thin and shockingly smooth between your fingers. You drag a finger down to the metal stud at the base when a voice startles you, “Tickles when you do that.” His voice is deliciously thick from sleep and his eyelids crack open just enough to watch you. You sit back up straight; wanting to pull back from him out of embarrassment, but the hand wrapped around your waist constricts, pulling you back into his chest.

            Green eyes stare into yours for longer than you expected before his lips press into yours gently. With another yank, he pulls you onto his body. You yelp at the sudden pressure on your injured thigh and he pulls back immediately. “Fuck… I forgot… sorry,” he stutters out, brows knotted in concern and eyes now wide awake.

            You look up at him as he hovers over you, assessing your condition. “I’m okay, really.” He looks at you in disbelief but relents when you press your hands into his cheeks and pull him down into another kiss. He smiles against your lips and begins to trail a hand down your naked form. Shifting your head, you press a kiss to the underside of his jaw “Think I could get a good look at you now?” You murmur against his skin as his fingers begin to delve into your still swollen cunt.

            Just as the pads of his fingers find purchase at the very tip of your core, a knock sounds at the door. Ekko’s voice follows soon after, calling your name. “You ok in there? We need to talk.” The two of you freeze, eyes locked on one another for a sickening moment of uncertainty.

            Your eyes go wide and you scramble out from under Scar, desperately searching for clothes you could throw over your naked body. Where the hell did I leave my shirt? You glance back at Scar, who is sitting on your bed and desperately trying not to laugh. You glare at him as Ekko calls again from the other side of the wooden door. “Just a second!” You yell, throwing the first shirt you can find over your head and dragging Scar into the bathroom to hide him.

            He pinches your ass as you turn to open the door and you whip around, fighting back the urge to sock him. He holds up his hands in mock innocence and you press a finger to his lips, warning him to shut up.

            You open the door, blocking Ekko’s view into the room, and his eyes go wide. “Hey, sorry to… wake you,” he hesitates, and you cock your head at him until he regains his composure, “I wanted to check in on you. Eve said she saw you get shot, are you okay?”

            Looking down at yourself, you realize too late that you neglected to put pants on. Thankfully the shirt drapes down to your mid thighs, but still what the fuck was I thinking? You lift the shirt just high enough to display the bandage, “Yeah. Bullet grazed me. I’m fine.”

            He sucks in a breath, “Right… are you sure?” He doesn’t look convinced.

            You pull the bandage down slightly to show him the wound. It looks… not as bad as last night. The gash is no longer bleeding, but it’s red and angry looking. “Seriously, this is nothing.” You look back up into those concerned, brown eyes and offer him a smile, “I promise, Ekko. I’m okay.”

            He rubs the back of his neck and nods. “There’s something else.” His eyes dart away uncertainly. You don’t like that one bit. Ekko is many things, but he isn’t unsure of himself. “It’s about Scar.” Your stomach drops. Does he know? Were you too loud last night? He continues, “I saw the two of you fighting last night and… I didn’t wanna have to say this again, but you two seriously need to work out whatever the hell you’ve got going on. I can’t have these issues between my soldiers.”

            A laugh threatens to bubble up in your throat, but you swallow it back down. “Understood sir. I let it get out of hand last night.” Your face flushes, not like that dammit. “I’ll… talk to him.”

            He exhales and seems to relax slightly, “Thank you. I hate having to be on peoples’ asses about stuff like that.” He drops a hand to your shoulder, “You and Scar are both invaluable to the Firelights, and I really think you could do amazing things together if you could get over your issues.” You bite down at the inside of your cheek to keep from squealing at the compliment, I’m important to the Firelights!

            Unfortunately, the glow of his praise is stamped out by a thump behind you, coming from inside of your room. You cringe and Ekko looks at you with a mix of humor and disbelief, “Is there someone in there?”

            You can feel the blood drain out of your face, “Nope! I gotta shower, see you later?” You blurt out before shutting the door in his face.

            Scar is standing behind you, one leg in his pants and a hand grasping the wall for support. This fucking idiot couldn’t wait five seconds? You bring a hand to the bridge of your nose and wait for Ekko’s footsteps to fade down the hall.

            Once it’s quiet outside the door, you stomp forward towards Scar who is still fighting back a laugh. “You fucking idiot,” you hiss, pressing a finger into the bare skin of his chest, “You think this is funny?”

            He breaks into a laugh, unable to contain himself anymore. Your heart clenches despite your irritation. This is the first time you’ve seen him really, truly laugh and… fuck you could get used to it. The way his chest shakes as he throws a hand back onto the wall to support himself as he bends over. You press your tongue into your cheek to keep from giggling yourself, I’m mad at him dammit.

            “Are you done?” You ask, cocking a hip and looking up at him.

            He runs a hand down his face and looks at you, “Go look at yourself in the mirror, Kir.”

            With a glare you walk into the bathroom and for the second time in two days, nearly scream at the person looking back at you. The low cut of your shirt reveals the splatter of red and purple marks along your neck, evidence of Scar’s lips and teeth on your skin. You bring a hand to your mouth to stifle your gasp. “Oh fuck, I look like I was attacked by a suckerfish!” You spin around to glare at the man who is still doubled over laughing. “Asshole! Don’t laugh!” You slam your fists into his chest, which only manages to hurt your knuckles instead of him.

            It’s not that you’re embarrassed to sleep with him… it’s just… you’re shocked by your own behavior. Really, the guy knows nothing about you. He could be crazy, you could be crazy. The two of you barely know each other and you let him fuck you? What were you thinking? What are the other Firelights gonna think? That you’re some Hush Company whore that went from one man to the next probably. Maybe you should just leave… leave Zaun and go somewhere totally different. I’ve heard people like me can disappear in Bilgewater.

            Scar seemed to notice your spiraling, “Kirranari!” His voice is harsh, in contrast to the gentle hand placed on your cheek to bring your gaze up to him. “You okay?”

            You nod wordlessly, eyes still unfocused.

            He shakes you this time and you snap your attention back to him. “What’s going on?”

            You shake your head, pushing his hands away, “I’m okay. Promise. Just a bit outa sorts.” You glance down at your leg, you’ve gotta clean that. “You should get back to Aster. I can take care of myself, honest.” You offer him a half-assed smile.

            Concern flashes over his face before his features return to their usual stoic posture. “Right.”

            He steps away and something squeezes around your gut painfully. Ignore that. He throws the rest of his clothes on and opens the door to leave, “Come to my room once you’re cleaned up. And don’t run away again, okay? I can’t stand that shit.” He leaves before you can ask where exactly his quarters are.

            Showering is more difficult than you were expecting. Yes, the water stings the bullet wound, but that you can handle. It’s the complete ache in your body that sets you off kilter. Even after you have scrubbed Scar’s smell off of your skin, his presence remains deep inside of you. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t love it.

            You take care to bandage your leg up like Scar did last night and once you’re satisfied that the bandage won’t fall off on its own, you turn your attention to the rest of your appearance. There isn’t much you can do about the angry red welts along your neck, and it’s too fucking hot out to get away with wearing a sweater. You’ll just have to own it… whatever that means.

            “It’s fine,” you tell your reflection as you pull a shirt over your head, “You’re an adult, and it’s no one’s business anyways.” You’re not so sure you believe yourself.

            The sun beats down heavily as you walk out into the courtyard; summer is rearing its ugly, stinking head. Summer is pretty tolerable when you’re topside, but down in the undercity it wafts the perpetual stink of the sumps up through the whole fucking city. Not even the hideout is safe, although you have to admit it’s a hell of a lot better under the shade of the tree than the rest of the city.

            You hold your head high as you walk out, determined to not let your appearance get to you. You need to find someone to tell you where the hell Scar lives, sure you could go door to door in your hallway, but you aren’t in the mood to see twenty faces and answer all their questions before you’ve even eaten. Instead, you decide, you’ll find someone nonjudgemental, swallow your pride, and ask them where you can find Scar.

            Unfortunately, someone finds you before you get five steps out into the morning air. “Heya pip, you do- woah!” It’s Jordyn, “Looks like you had a good night.” They put their hands on their hips and beam a toothy smile down at you.

            Blonde waves spill down from the messy knot you usually see them wearing, but shockingly, you feel nothing. Strange, yesterday I coulda been convinced to jump their bones if they asked nice enough. You glare up at them—purely for appearances—and they laugh. “Raid went well, thanks for asking,” you fold your arms over your chest, suddenly feeling self-conscious despite all your mental encouragement.

            “Yeah, about that, you alright? Heard you took a hit.” Sharp blue eyes trail down your form, probably trying to assess your condition.

            “I wish people would stop asking me that, I’m fine, okay?” Your voice is harsher than you meant it to be and they shrink back slightly. You sigh, “Sorry, it was just… a long night.”

            “I can tell,” they quip.

            You sigh, pushing your still wet hair back, “Look, can you just tell me where Scar lives?”

            They shoot you a suspicious look, “Why do you wanna know, Pip Squeak?”

            “We got into a fight last night, and I wanna go and apologize.”

            You were clearly not as convincing as you wanted to be because their left eyebrow rockets up, “Uh huh,” you glare at them again, “He lives in the top hut on the tree,” they point to a wooden structure hanging off the trunk, above Ekko’s workshop, “I would tell you to not bother, ‘cuz he hates people in his space, but somethin tells me that isn’t really an issue.”

            “Thank you, Jordyn,” it’s forced, but you don’t care. Humiliation creeps up your spine and if you don’t go now, you’ll probably actually take off for Bilgewater.

            There is probably an intended way to get up to the top of the tree, but you can’t be bothered to look for it, so you grab a hoverboard and float up to the top.

            The door to the balcony is open, but the glare of the sunlight makes it impossible to see inside, so you dismount silently and lean your board against the wooden railing of the balcony and step in.

            Scar’s back is to the door as he sits on the floor, completely captivated by what he’s doing. A squeal of joy catches your attention and you realize he’s sitting across from Aster. A smile breaks out on your face as you watch the young girl struggle to stand as her father pulls lightly on her arms. You rarely see her out of her bundle of blankets—your visits to the nursery always coincided with her naps—and you realize she’s a bit older than you originally thought. You couldn’t say with any certainty how old she is even if she was human, but she’s certainly not an infant.

            “You gonna just stand there?” Of course he knew you were there.

            “Took me a bit to find you, coulda told me where you lived,” you say, walking into the room. It’s larger than your quarters by quite a bit. A bed sits off to the corner separated by a folding screen. Aster coos when she sees you and you beam at her, dropping to your knees next to the two chireans.

            “I had a feeling you’d figure it out,” he answers, not taking his eyes off his daughter who is stamping her chubby feet on the floor and trying to pry her arms out of his gentle but firm grip. He finally lets her go and she drops back onto all fours, crawling over to you.

            With a considerable amount of effort, she pulls herself towards your lap, grinning at you with a handful of sharp, short teeth. You pick her up and pull her onto your legs, “Hiya squirt,” you coo at the small form clambering towards your chest. You don’t take your eyes off her as you talk to her father, “Jordyn told me you never have people over.”

            He shifts himself to sit across from you, leaning his broad back against the wall, one arm outstretched on his bent knee, “You’re here.”

            “Yeah,” you reply, feeling a bit stupid all the sudden. Aster pulls at your hair that has fallen down into her grasp. You wince and pry the strand out of her fingers, giving her your pinky instead. She laughs.

            “She likes you.” You finally look up, his eyes are focused solely on you, and you feel yourself blush, bringing your gaze back to the baby who is trying to get your finger into her mouth.

            Pulling back slightly—knowing better than to let her bite—you say, “She tell you that, huh?”

            From the edges of his vision, you can see him shake his head, “Aster hates strangers,” you smile down at her, she was perfectly happy to settle in your arms from the moment you met her, “She never lets anyone hold her. It took almost a month to get her to warm up to Jess.”

            You pick her up by her armpits and hold her out in front of you to dangle, she kicks her feet happily. “Isn’t it scary?” You blurt out before you can stop yourself, “I mean… leaving her with someone else, to go on raids.”

            He answers immediately, “Yes. It’s the hardest thing I do every single day, it kills me.”

            You look up at him, surprised by the raw honesty of his answer. You pass Aster back to him and she only looks slightly put off to be out of your arms before she turns her attention to her dad. He rests his head against the wall and looks to you.

            “I… I can’t imagine it. It took me years to get the courage to even make a friend out there. But to love someone? And leave them, not knowing if you’ll be back.” Maybe I shouldn’t push it.

            He shakes his head, smoothing down the tussle of black hair on Aster’s head, “It’s worth it, Kir. Everything is worth it. For her. For my family.” You twist your lips, family. It hurts a bit more than you’ll admit. Not just the idea that there is someone—besides his daughter—that he is devoted to, but the whole concept of it. You’ve never had the luxury of a family.

            Aster’s eyes begin to droop and he stands, scooping her gently into his arms. “I’m gonna put her down.” He looks down as he towers over you, “Don’t go anywhere.” You nod.

            He leaves the room, and you push yourself back to your feet. The room is…boring. You aren’t even being rude there’s just absolutely no personality to the space. Blank walls, gray bedspread, bare floors. Honestly, it looks like your room, but you have the excuse of only living here for a couple weeks; Scar’s had—presumably—years.

            You catch yourself in the middle of rearranging the furniture in your mind, why the fuck do I care? It’s not like you live here. You have no plans to live here. You couldn’t care less if the room was completely empty, and he slept on the floor. Okay, maybe I’d care a bit, but only because that’d be fucking weird.

            Scar shuts the door softly behind him and walks back into his bedroom. He stops a few feet away from you, looking down his nose. “Why do you always do that?” He gives you a look, “Loom over me, I mean. Make you feel real powerful?”

            He breathes out a laugh through his nose and sits down on the floor like how he had been earlier. Now you tower over him and it… isn’t as triumphant as you thought it would be. “Aster also gets nervous when people are taller than her,” he says. It takes you a bit too long to realize he’s mocking you.

            You scowl and plop down next to him, leaning against the wall with your head angled just enough to look at him sidelong. “Did you want me to come over just to make fun of me? Cuz I’m sure Jordyn or Geo would happily take over for you.”

            His eyes dart to you and then back to the floor, but it doesn’t look skittish like when you do. It looks… jealous? “We need to talk.”

            “Is that not what were doing? Maybe it’s a language barrier… talking refers to conversation. Shoot, I don’t know the chireanese translation.”

            He gives you yet another look, “One, its chireanai; two, I barely speak it; and three, you know what I mean. Stop acting dumb.” You glare but let him keep talking, “We need to talk about this.” He grabs your arm and pushes the sleeve up, revealing the scarred skin.

            “There’s nothing to talk about,” you try to pull your arm back, but his grip is strong.

            “Don’t shut down on me, Kirranari. I’m not trying to pressure you here, but you need to talk about it at some point, okay?”

            You dig your fingers under his claws and manage to pry your arm away, “Like you’re an open book. Gimme a break. Is this about me being a dealer? I thought I told you, I made mistakes but I’m not a fucking child so don’t treat me like one.” That familiar rage begins to bubble up from your gut.

            You stand up and walk towards the balcony but a hand on your shoulder stops you, spinning you around to face him. “Fucking stop it,” he bites, and you actually flinch, after last night you forgot how terrifying he is. “This isn’t about you being a dealer, it’s about you having a branding from one of the most notorious crime syndicates in Zaun. It’s about you hiding your past like it’ll kill you.” Because it will. “It’s about me giving a shit about you.”

            “And I already told you, I don’t know why you care about me, but it’s misplaced. Find some other girl to save.” Your voice is venomous.

            He doesn’t back down, “I’m not trying to save you, I thought I made that clear last night.”

            “Oh right, when you patched me up and then fucked me because you felt bad for me. That wasn’t saving me? Fuck you!” You yell, pushing his hand off your shoulder. The other one clamps down on your upper arm.

            “Keep your voice down.” He hisses, “I fucked you last night because I wanted to fuck you. Not out of pity, got it? The fact you even think that means you’ve got shit to work through. You think that low of me? Of yourself?”

            “I don’t know what to think, Scar.”

            He loosens his grip on your arm just enough so it stops hurting, but he doesn’t let go. “You told me that you’d accept help. Start here, that’s all I’m asking.”

            “Fine.” You let him lead you to a small wooden table and you slump down into a chair across from him. “What do you wanna know?”

            “Why you have that branding,” his voice is firm but lacking the harshness it had just a moment ago.

            “Pretty obvious. It’s from the Hush Company.” You scratch at the mark absently. It’s been years, but you could swear you can still smell the fumes of burnt flesh and feel the hot iron sear into the skin of your arm.

            “Wanna tell me why you have it?”

            “Why? So you can go tell everyone?” He doesn’t react and you sigh. “Sorry. It’s… a long story. I know you’re a very busy man, I would absolutely hate to take up your time with such a boring ta-”

            “Indulge me,” his eyes are humorless and you sigh yet again. Doesn’t look like you’re getting out of it.

            “I was born in Piltover. I know… shocker,” you gasp in mock surprise and he again refuses to react. You roll your eyes and continue, “I don’t know much about my parents, besides the fact that they were rich and stupid with their money. Hush Company had some pretty serious dirt on them that threatened to topple their entire business. So instead of solving their problems the legal way, they offered me—their youngest daughter—up and in exchange, Chross promised to forget everything he knew about them.” Maybe the story should upset you, but it’s been a constant as long as you can remember, you don’t really care about the life you could have had at this point.

            “What would Chross want with you?” Rude. Scar doesn’t say it like an insult, but you take it as one, if only to try and sort out the whirlwind of emotions the asshole makes you feel.

            “I’m incredibly useful, thank you very much. But you’re right. He didn’t want me, initially. But I guess my parents weren’t a big enough problem to warrant anything violent and I don’t know. Maybe the old fuck was getting bored, thought it’d be exciting having a piltie’s kid. Anyways, I became useful to them. Not like I had much of a choice… it was be useful or die and what can I say, I’m a stubborn bitch.” He laughs at that, which is relieving. “I was good at getting in and out of offices and had a knack for picking locks; everything needed for a little intel rat, which is what I became.”

            “What made you stop?” What the fuck is this, an interview?

            “When I turned seventeen, I realized I’d had enough of the beatings and ridicule and old man smell, so we parted ways.”

            “Just like that?” He looks unconvinced.

            You shrug your shoulders, “Yeah. I’m sure the boss wasn’t thrilled, but people come and go, wasn’t much he could do about it.” That’s a fucking lie. From what you heard in the months following your escape, Chross was turning the whole city up looking for you. It was flattering, really.

            “And you just decided to start dealing shimmer?” That bite is back in his voice, he can really hold a godsdammed grudge.

            “Yeah, sounded like a lot of fun, exploiting addicts,” you say sarcastically. He snarls and you glare, it’s truly a match made in heaven. “I don’t think it’s that far of a stretch. I had the skillset to get into the storehouses. And Silco produces so fucking much of the stuff, he never noticed a few inches skimmed off the top. Not to mention the idiots on the topside who don’t wanna deal with the big bad barons. A girl like me is pretty low risk, they didn’t even know they were getting scammed.” He opens his mouth, but you cut him off before he can start., “Before you lecture me about how ‘evil’ my choices were, don’t. I had enough of that crap from you and Ekko to last a fucking lifetime.”

            “I wasn’t gonna lecture you.”

            You raise an eyebrow, “No? Cuz you’ve proved to be pretty good at it.”

            “I was gonna apologize,” his jaw twitches.

            “Don’t make me laugh.”

            “Shut up.” You raise your hands in surrender, “I was gonna apologize for how I acted when we first met. I judged you too harshly. You did everything you could to survive, most can’t say the same.”

            A bit more of that anger dissipates, “Didn’t know you knew how to apologize.”

            “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

            You cross your legs and lean back in your chair, “Well, you officially know more about me than anyone else in this city, a little bit of reciprocation wouldn’t be the worst.”

            He smirks and matches your posture, “I’ve got nothing as interesting as you. I grew up like any other sump rat; parents worked in the mines, died when I was young. I met Ekko when I was in my teens, we’ve been together ever since.” He catches the glint of mischief in your eyes, “Fuck you. Not like that.”

            The voice inside you screams to ask about Aster’s mom, who is she, do you still love her, where is she, how do I compare? But you bite your tongue, not in the mood to argue anymore. “That can’t be everything.”

            He smirks and rests his chin on his hand, propping his elbow on the table, “Course there’s more. How else am I gonna keep you around?”

            You scoff, “Right, cuz I’m leaving as soon as you get boring.”

            The feet of his chair scrape against the floor as he stands up and walks around the table to sit in front of you. “I thought I told you to quit towering over me,” you scold as you stand, still not coming to his full height.

            He flashes his teeth, “I need you to make me a promise.”

            Your exasperation is evident in your voice, “What? That I’m never gonna leave you? Gonna dedicate my life to you and the Firelights?” You’re joking—obviously—but it’s still thrilling, to toe such a dangerous line. Falling could be fatal, for you and him.

            He pauses for a moment, eyes searching yours, “No.” You try not to deflate, “Promise me that you’ll come to me when you need help. I won’t ask questions or pry anymore into your life until you’re ready, but I want you to know that you can come to me.”

            You consider his offer. In all honesty, you’re considering more than just his offer. The implications of it all… trusting someone so completely. Are you even wired for that? There is literally no way of knowing, you’ve never gotten close enough to someone to confide anything in them… much less trust them. Sure, you’ve gotten physically close with people; you’re not a godsdamn monk. But what Scar is asking, it’s fucking terrifying. “Fine,” you finally say, “Yeah okay. I promise. I’ll come to you if I need help.”

            He nods but doesn’t go so far as to smile. “Good.”

            Gods it’s sometimes like talking to a brick wall. “I still don’t know your angle, Scar.” You look him up and down, one eyebrow cocked.

            “Who says I’ve got an angle? “

            You roll your eyes, “Everyone’s got an angle, it’s like… a requirement of being a sentient being.”

            He folds his arms over his chest, “What’s your angle then, Kirranari?”

            You smile deviously and his eyes darken, “Right now? Get a good look at what you so rudely kept me from seeing last night.”

            Now he smiles, and it’s a toe curling, animalistic smile as he palms your ass, encouraging you to jump so he can lift you into his arms. Immediately, you wrap your legs around his torso and let him carry you to the bed. You attack his neck with the same enthusiasm he held last night, but when you pull back, you’re disappointed to see not a single mark sticks, stupid human teeth.

            He drops you onto the bed, which is shockingly comfortable, nicer than mine for sure. “Damn, who do you have to fuck to get digs like these anyways?” His eyes darken even further. I could be convinced.

            He drops to his knees in front of the bed and begins working at the drawstring of your pants when you sit up and pull back. “Hey, where’s your sense of fairness?” You press your hands into his cheeks and pull gently, guiding him up onto the bed. He doesn’t try and stop you as you move to straddle him, but your tongue working against the pulsing vein in his neck probably helps.

            The buckles on his vest provide an interesting problem, and you fiddle with them long enough for him to move his hands up in an attempt to help. You slap them away before they can reach their target and shoot him a look, he huffs out a laugh and leans back with his hands behind his head. I could get into a locked safe in under a minute, but these fucking buckles are giving me trouble?

            You finally get them undone and chuck the offending garment behind you, taking a moment to appreciate his chest because holy shit. You drag your nails down his pecs and stomach, smiling at the way he tenses up under the pressure, muscles rippling at the lightest contact.

            His pants are much easier—buttons you can handle—and you slide them off his feet along with his boots, leaving him in nothing but a pair of gray boxers. Your eyes naturally gravitate towards the prominent bulge, but you resist the temptation to palm him through the fabric right away.

            Instead you slide off his body and kneel between his legs that hang off the bed. Slowly, you lower your mouth to his stomach and press a line of soft kisses along the waistband. His breath hitches as your breath fans over the velvety skin. Tentatively you slip your tongue out to taste his skin and you find yourself slightly disappointed when it tastes like… nothing. Maybe a hint of soap? Finally giving into the temptations, you give him a firm squeeze, causing his abs to tighten and his breath to catch once more. You smirk up at him, but he remains almost motionless, simply watching you with heavy, green eyes.

            Redirecting your attention, you begin to drag the fabric down his hips, enamored by the way it catches on his cock, lowering them just enough for it to spring free and slap against his stomach. Your patience eventually runs out and you pull the boxers the rest of the way down his legs, throwing them over your shoulder to join the pile of other discarded garments. You sit back on your heels and lay a hand on each thigh, digging your nails into the skin lightly, as you take in the sight in front of you.

            It’s huge. You knew that, obviously; felt the way he nearly split you open, but actually seeing it? You worry you won’t be able to get even half of it down your throat. Stop stalling, you chide yourself. Gently, you take the shaft into your hand, simply feeling the texture in your palm. It’s nearly the same gray as the rest of his skin and just as velvety smooth.

            Scar shifts and you look up to see him sitting up on his elbows, “Were you planning on just staring?”

            You glare up at him, sitting up just enough to push him back horizontal, “Shut up.” He laughs and lets you push him back. You return to your work.

            You take another breath and finally work up the courage. It’s not like you haven’t done this before but he’s bigger than any you’ve seen before, maybe it’s a chirean thing? You pull his cock from his stomach and press a kiss to the light gray tip, tongue darting out to catch the small pearl of precum accumulated on the tip. The taste coating the very tip of your tongue fills your mouth and you could probably cum right there if you weren’t so focused on making him feel good first. Priorities or whatever.

            He doesn’t react until you wrap your lips around the tip, sucking the feverish flesh into your mouth to rest, fluttering your tongue against the slit. At the first entrance into your mouth, his stomach clenches and his back nearly arches off the bed. You hum a laugh around his dick and he spasms again, one hand going to your hair, scraping his claws against your scalp.

            With a sudden burst of confidence, you lower your head, taking nearly all of him in one fell swoop and resting your nose almost against his stomach. Pretty impressive, if I do say so myself. You bring your head back up before bobbing down again, finding a rhythm as your tongue explores the unfamiliar appendage in your mouth.

            The tension in your hair is a wonderful map; the more he pulls at your hair, the more you repeat whatever the hell it was that you just did. It’s actually kinda like picking a lock. Just… if picking locks suddenly made you feel like you were going to cum in your pants and beg the lock to let you bear its future children. What the FUCK?

            The thought is so shocking, you actually gag around his cock and have to pull your head back to keep from hurling, coughing as you wipe the spit from your mouth. He sits up, a sheen of sweat on his forehead and chest heaving. He had been close, till I ruined it. “You okay?” He sounds genuinely concerned.

            You nod, feeling your face flush, “Yeah sorry… you’re just… really big.”

            His hand slides from your hair down to your cheek, “You don’t have to do this, Kir.”

            You actually smile this time instead of glaring, “I want to do this, okay? It’s just been awhile.”

            You take him back into your mouth and he flops back onto the mattress. This time, you keep your mind focused solely on his pleasure. Redoubling your previous efforts, you take him as far as you can manage, flattening your tongue against the thick vein on the bottom of his cock. Tentatively, you reach a hand under your head to cup his balls, rolling them gently between dexterous fingers. “Mmm fuck… just like that.” His encouragement sends lightening through your veins, and you moan around him, digging the nails of your free hand into his thigh.

            “Gonna cum,” he murmurs, barely audible in your ears over the wetness of your mouth. You squeeze the rapidly tightening skin of his balls as your own form of encouragement, never stopping the movement of your head despite the muscles in your cheeks and neck cramping.

            His fingers pull your hair taught as he pushes your head down, pumping thick, salty cum directly down your throat. To your credit, you don’t gag this time. In fact, you swallow each drop dutifully, tongue pressing lightly against the pulsing flesh.

            You hold him gently in your mouth, waiting for his fingers to release their death grip on your head and his cock to stop spasming. He hisses as you pull your head up even as you’re careful not to linger on the sensitive skin.

            He is sitting up fully by the time you can raise your head enough to look at him. Lidded but piercing eyes gaze down at you for a second before he cups your face in his hands and kisses you, forcing his tongue between your swollen lips. “Fuck… you’re… I can’t…” he mumbles against your lips and you fight the urge to squeal, knowing you were able to reduce him to just as much of a puddle as he brought you too last night.

            You ease up on to the bed, straddling his naked hips once again. “You alright?” Your voice is light and soft despite the fire burning deep in your belly.

            His hand moves up to squeeze your still clothed breast and you arch into the contact. “Be better in a second,” he mutters, kissing your neck gently along the marks he made last night. “Be better once I take care of you same way you took care of me.”

            You sigh as his lips settle on the skin just below your ear, “You don’t… have to. I- uh,” a claw slips under your shirt and he groans when he realizes you’ve foregone a bra, “I wanted to… mmm… do that for you.”

            That earns you a nip. “And I want to do this for you, so shut up,” your laugh is cut off by a sharp wail from the other room. Scar groans and pushes you gently off his body so he can pull his pants over his softening cock. “I’ll be right back,” he mutters, walking towards Aster’s room.

            You’re sitting up in bed, much calmer now, when he walks out with his daughter cradled to his bare chest. So much for calm. Something strange and unknown twists itself in your gut: the same feeling that nearly made you spew all over his bedsheets. But can you really blame yourself? The sight of such a strong, dangerous man holding such a delicate form in his arms, eyes practically burning with love as he looks down at her. Maybe it’s envy you feel? Envy for this little girl and the love she will grow around. But… there’s something more than just the envy. Sure, you want that same, unconditional love, you’ve always known that, despite your attempts to push that fragile side of you down.

            What you feel is more than just a desire to experience a love of that caliber, you find yourself longing to join in on this love, the one you see in front of you. Which is… crazy. You don’t even know the man and you suddenly want to be a part of this delicate, perfect relationship. What gives me the right?

            Scar sits on the bed next to you, leaning against the wall and kicking his legs in front of himself, still holding Aster. “C’mere,” he jerks his head to the space next to him.

            “No that’s okay. I’ll head out, I wouldn’t wanna intrude,” you say, moving to stand. It feels too… personal. To be invited into this space as a relative stranger. Aster’s cries have reduced to sniffles, and she slots herself comfortably between Scar’s arms and his chest, leaving plenty of room for you to scoot up into his side. It’s so fucking tempting. From the sleepy smile on the girl, you could almost believe she knew what she was doing.

            “If I wanted you to leave, I woulda said so.” He looks at you like you are simultaneously the stupidest and the most perfect person in the world and your resolve melts.

            His arm wraps around your smaller frame and you rest your head on his chest, smiling as he traces his claw into the skin of your shoulder. Over the planes of his chest, Aster looks at you and you reach a hand over to ruffle her hair. The longer you stare at her sleepy smile, the more tired you feel yourself become, and before you can help it, you fall asleep, cuddled into Scar’s body, encased in his scent and the slow rise and fall of his chest.

            You blink your eyes open slowly and find your body curled around Aster, and Scar completely absent. Sitting up gently, you tuck the girl into your arms and pad bare footed across the room. She stirs lightly but finds a comfortable position in your arms. “Where did your dad run off to, bug?” She coos but says nothing helpful.

            You walk to the window and look down at the Firelights below. It all feels oddly reminiscent of your first morning, when Ekko was still trying to convince you to join. Warm air hits your face as you step out into the shaded balcony, and you shift Aster, so her body is pressed against your chest. A breeze blows your face into your line of sight, and you rest her on your hip to push it away. It startles you how natural it is beginning to feel. All of it: living with the Firelights, holding Aster, even being with Scar. I need to slow the fuck down, I just got here.

            A blur of white and green catches your attention and before you can move back into the small apartment, Ekko is landing on the balcony right next to your abandoned hoverboard. He doesn’t seem to even acknowledge you until he’s stepped off and leaned the board against the railing. “Oh. Hey?” He looks confused, “Have you… seen Scar around?”

            Your face flushes. How can the same fucking thing happen twice in one day? Do the gods just hate me? You scramble to think of an answer. “Yeah, he just er- stepped out for a sec. Asked me to keep an eye on Aster for him.” The small gray child in your arms has opened her eyes at the commotion, she eyes Ekko but doesn’t squirm to leave your arms.

            He looks... bewildered, eyes wide and brown skin flushing almost inperceptively. “Right. Well, I was just gonna tell him the same thing I told him this morning, but I guess you two already worked it out.”

            Is it that obvious? “Yup! All good we’re al-” A door opening behind you cuts you off. Both you and Ekko turn to see Scar walking out of the bathroom, hair and skin still wet from his shower, towel slung low over his hips. It’s that obvious.

            The whole situation is probably incredibly comical, the way Scar freezes to look between the two of you, eyes going wide and then narrowing, trying to understand what the hell is happening. Unfortunately, you aren’t exactly in a headspace to see it that way. You’re actually beginning to consider shoving Aster into Ekko’s hands and jumping right off the balcony when Ekko finally breaks the awkward silence. “I’ll go then… see you two—er three—later.”

            He is already half the way down the tree by the time you turn to face Scar. He isn’t laughing this time, so that’s a plus? It’s so hard to tell with him.

            “Sorry.” Your voice comes out weaker than you wanted.

            He looks confused for a moment and shakes his head, “Why are you sorry?”

            Your mouth opens and closes twice before you can get an answer out and you feel quite a bit like a fish, “Because… Ekko and… he saw me here.”

            “You think I give a shit that he saw you here?”

            “I- no. Er well…”

            “Well I don’t. And I don’t get why you think I’d have a problem with it.” He looks at you like you’re stupid and even still, you feel like you could melt for what seems to be the hundredth time today. He isn’t embarrassed to have me around? Not that he should, of course. I’m a fucking catch. But still, you find yourself slightly baffled. He shrugs and grabs Aster from your hands before turning and laying her down on the bed. “Besides, not like Ekko gives a shit either.”

            He walks to his dresser and drops the towel on the ground. You blink at the sight in front of you, worrying you may have to physically pick your jaw up. This man is beautiful, like… holy shit. It’s honestly unfair that one being can hold so much beauty. Must be a mistake on the gods’ or something.

            “Quit staring.” He says, not turning around, but you can hear the smirk in his voice.

            You scoff and stick your tongue out at him, turning to walk to the balcony. “See you at dinner, Scar.” You call over your shoulder before stepping onto your board and taking off. You think that if you don’t leave at this moment, you’ll never leave. The urge to jump him again is too strong and you’d like to have at least a semi-productive day.