At the sink, he twisted the facet on. The steady drum of water flowing into the stainless steel basin drowned out further conversation. His back to her, Abigail watched him quietly as he rolled his sleeves up to his elbows with quick, practiced movements and briskly started washing his hands. Something about him was different, she noted with a curious tip of her head.
His jacket!
Absent was his familiar green suit coat, the one he always wore. Instead, he was clad in just a white, faintly wrinkled button-down shirt and tan trousers.
A strange twinge swelled within her, seeing him out of his usual wardrobe. It reminded her of when she was a child, and would happen upon one of her teachers outside of school. She’d always found it bizarre to imagine them with lives of their own outside of the interactions she had with them.
Reflecting on it, Abigail supposed the informality of his appearance shouldn’t have come as much of a surprise, considering the time of night. It clearly being after office hours, he must have been up in his apartment when she had been dropped off at the clinic.
The line of his shoulders shifted in a gentle rhythm as he scrubbed his hands, drawing her eye. Maybe it was seeing him out of his typical attire, but she couldn’t help noticing how broad his back looked as it flexed with the movement. That peculiar twinge morphed into a hum in her blood as something unfurled in her belly, flooding her system with a startling but pleasant rush.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
This is an entirely self indulgent fic I wrote for myself. You can read it too, if you want. 😆
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This Piece of You (A Saugust One-shot)
I’ll take this piece of you
And hold for all eternity
For just one second I felt whole
As you flew right through me
Sorrow — Flyleaf
Eyes on the couple in the corner, August watched her from behind the bar as he idly wiped the counter. The rag in his hand did little to clean the scarred wooden surface since the filthy scrap of cloth was dirtier than it by far, but his lazy swipes were more an attempt at busywork than actual washing.
Although they were too far away for him to hear what was being said, he could read her body language, and he recognized the tricks in her arsenal with an irked familiarity. She’d started off flirtatious to soften up the man across from her, coyly teasing with a subtle brush of a finger against his, a smile paired with the coquettish tip of her head, batting long pretty lashes over those fathomless green eyes. But as the negotiation furthered, the act shifted from demure to dogged, her expression hardening as she sat up straighter and kept her hands on her side of the square plank of a table. Clearly their conversation was getting serious.
“I’ll have ‘nother," Rocco said, drawing August’s attention momentarily to the sop perched with his elbows on the bar. “That is if you can spare a minute to reel your eyes back into your head, old boy.”
August grunted in reply, pulling a bottle from under the counter and tipping it into Rocco’s tumbler. Amber liquid splashed out, turning the dingy grey of the empty glass a foggy honey.
“Must be some sight to be pulling your focus like that,” Rocco grinned widely, pink gums shining wetly as his blackout goggles shifted with the movement of his round cheeks. “Who is she?”
“Nobody,” August muttered gruffly. Having given up a long time ago on making sense of how the old man could be so perceptive despite his blindness, he didn't bother asking the drunk how he knew it was a woman that had arrested August’s attention. “Just somebody I used to know.”
“Ah, a ghost from the past, eh?”
“Something like that.” Making an effort to concentrate, he shifted his piercing blue gaze to Rocco. “What’s it to you, old boy?”
“Oh, nothing, nothing. No reason at all.” Rocco picked up his glass and took a dainty sip of the watery contents. “Just find it interesting that she’s driving such a hard bargain when he’s got that gun trained on her so diligently. She’s either very brave or incredibly stupid. Either way, she sounds just like your type.”
Rocco let out a hoarse laugh, a rusty saw slicing through the relative hush of the bar. August’s attention snapped to the man seated opposite Sasha, eyes narrowing as he tried to spot the weapon Rocco had picked up on.
Sure enough, a gray metal barrel poked out of the meaty fist balled on his thigh, hidden in the shadows under the table.
August was rounding the bar before he even realized he’d moved. Behind him, he heard Rocco make a crack about knights in shining armor.
“If you think you’re gonna be able to get any stock off-world at that price, you’re better off selling whatever it is you’ve been smoking lately,” Sasha was saying to her companion. Leaning back in her chair with her arms crossed, the chill in her imperious gaze could have formed ice crystals on the abandoned bottles between them.
“Listen here, you little bi—”
August’s hand met the stranger’s shoulder with a loud thud, knocking the man’s balance off as well as his words.
“It’s time for you to leave.” August’s tone invited no argument.
He barely acknowledged the mute shock in Sasha’s gaze, his focus intent on the scum bag still seated in his bar.
“What the hell, pal? Can’t you see we’re in the middle of something here,” the man protested, turning his head to look up at August. His bulbous, veiny nose looked like it had been broken a time or two before and August was tempted to see how many slams against the table it would take to turn it into paste.
“I said it’s time to go,” August growled, tightening his grip on the man’s sloped shoulder. “Bar’s closing.”
“Funny, I don’t remember hearing the shout for last call.” The stranger stared at August challengingly, his thin lips pressed into a hard line. “And what kind of bar closes this early anyhow?”
August’s body tensed, muscles flexing as his mind blanked in preparation for a fight. He was about to make good on the idea of squashing this asshole’s fat, red nose like an overripe tomato when Rocco appeared on the other side of the man.
Plucking at the stranger’s sleeve, he said, “C’mon, old boy. Help a blind fool find the door and I’ll buy you a drink elsewheres. I know a place nearby that’s open late. The servers might be just as mean, but they aren’t nearly as ugly, or so I’m told.”
His grating scratch of a laugh cleaved through the growing tension, effectively diffusing it.
“Fine, whatever,” the stranger muttered as he twisted August’s heavy hand from his shoulder and stood. Small angry eyes flicked towards Sasha and he spit out, “And fuck you very much too.”
As soon as the door creaked shut behind the two men, the loud slam of Sasha’s twin fists on the table followed.
“What the hell, August?”
He didn’t reply, just turned on his heel and stomped away.
“You do realize you just cost me a huge pay day, right?” she yelled after him, quickly gaining her own feet. “Are you going to explain yourself?”
He just grunted, frustration hiking his shoulders to his ears as he kept his back to her. Adrenaline riding high in his body, his hands gripped the edge of the counter, knuckles turning white with the effort to hold his temper.
“You heard me,” he said. “I’m shutting down early.”
“Good luck with that, because I’m not leaving until you tell me what that was all about.”
He spared her a sidelong glance over his shoulder. As expected, everything about her screamed defiance, from the tip of her chin to the cock of her hip.
“Asshole had a gun,” he finally muttered. “Under the table.”
She let out an incredulous snort. “That’s it? August, this is Pandora. Everyone has a gun.”
“He had it aimed at you while you were sitting there egging him on,” he sneered. “What was I supposed to do, just let him shoot you for mouthin’ off?”
Venting a long-suffering sigh, he could almost hear the roll of her eyes to the ceiling.
“Did it ever occur to you that I might have a shield in my pocket meant for just such an occasion?” Although her forethought in the matter did come as a surprise to him, she continued, the question rhetorical, “Obviously, this isn’t my first rodeo. I’ve been meeting creeps like that for a while now. It’s the cost of doing business.”
“Yeah, well, maybe you need to get into a different business.”
A bark of a laugh burst from her, humorless and angry. “Wow, okay. You know, when I asked to arrange meet-ups here, I didn’t realize the crappy beer on tap came with free life advice and a belligerent bodyguard.”
“Why are you meeting people here?” he questioned, whirling around to face her.
To her credit, she didn’t back up when he stalked closer, eager to hear the explanation for the mystery that had been baffling him.
“What? What do you mean? This is a bar, right? Liquor usually makes people more willing to negotiate. That is when they aren’t getting chased out by the owner. Is that why this place is so empty? Because if that’s some new business strategy, you might want to rethink it.”
“You know exactly what I mean. Why this place specifically? I don’t hear from you for months, and then all of sudden, here you are,” he flicked his hand at her, the gesture meant to encompass not only her presence in his bar but also in his life, “out of the blue, looking to run smuggling deals at my table. You could go anywhere on this godforsaken planet— hell, even in this shithole of a town. So why here?”
Under his unwavering scrutiny, her angry glare faltered. She opened her mouth as if to say something, then closed it, sealing her reply behind the tight line of her frown.
“Well?” he demanded, gratified to have her on the verbal backfoot.
“I–” She stopped. Bringing a hand to her face, she pinched the bridge of her nose, then turned for the door. “It doesn’t matter now. I have to go.”
“Wait a damn minute,” he demanded, snagging her elbow and spinning her to face him. His hands formed a firm cinch around her biceps to keep her from fleeing. “You were all in a tizzy for an answer from me. Well, now it’s my turn. You’re not running away this time. Tell me why you’re here.”
She looked up at him for a moment and he was surprised to see the fiery indignation in her eyes fizzle into withdrawn resignation.
“All right, fine. I asked because…” Her head dipped down as she looked away, “because I needed a safe place to meet with clients and I…I knew you’d have my back if things ever got sticky.”
His brows knit together as what she said slowly sunk in.
“Hang on...” He shook his head in confusion. “You’re telling me that you’re pissed because I stepped in when that’s exactly why you came to me in the first place?”
Her cheeks were rosy pink as her head snapped up. “Well, you didn’t exactly have the best timing on when you interfered. I had that handled but you blew it. Now I have to go find him and try to undo the mess you made.”
She jerked in a bid for freedom but he held fast. Heat unfurled in his chest, a lingering ribbon of warmth that enveloped his heart and soothed the persistent ache that had taken up residence there so very long ago.
As with everything about her, nothing was as it seemed: a simple request was never just a favor, a smile could be a prelude to a blade at your throat, and an argument held the echo of affection. He’d been slow in realizing it — slow in a lot of things, if he was being honest with himself — but now that understanding had taken hold, he saw the signs.
“Sasha.”
Even spoken in his gruff voice, her name was a pretty winged thing as beautiful as she was. She stilled instantly at the sound.
Her eyes found his in the quiet that followed. Gone was the rage and fire; spirit and vigor replaced by a keen awareness. The tender teeth of her allure, that fanged bite of her magnetism that had sunk into him from the beginning, pulled him in once more, drawing him closer even while standing still.
“You trust me,” he breathed.
It was a simple statement, a rather inane one in light of the revelation, yet August had never been one for words. Actions were his language, fluent in brute force and fists. Following that same instinct for touch to voice the emotion that overwhelmed him, he lifted a hand to cup her cheek, skimming the smooth plane of her skin with his calloused thumb.
She blinked at the contact, clearly surprised by his delicate touch, but she didn’t twist away. Brows pulled together, a wry half grin tugged the corner of her mouth up, a sight that never failed to charm his churlish heart.
“That’s a stupid thing to say. Of course, I d—”
Afraid of what the rest of the sentence might entail, he didn’t let her finish, trapping the last of her reply with his lips against hers. He savored the tiny gasp of her shock that whispered against his mouth, drinking in the sweet feeling of her astonishment. His other hand rose of its own accord to frame her face, cradling her like the precious treasure she was.
He may have been a brute, but even he understood the poetry in pleasure and kissing her again was like coming home. Overcome, he wanted to bottle this feeling, to keep this bliss close for when she inevitably ran away once more, leaving him fractured and incomplete.
As if on cue, her fingers circled around his wrists, so reminiscent of the shackles of his ardor for her. He anticipated the imminent withdrawal, half expecting her to peel his hands away from her cheeks, to spit in his eye, and curse him as a fool.
Looking to spare himself the further heartache, he pulled away first. His hands dropped, clenching into fists at his sides as he stepped back.
In the air between them, her sharp exhale sounded like the beginning of a word.
He swallowed a swear, unable to look her in the eye for fear of what he might find there. The unfamiliar taste of an apology thickened on his tongue, but before he could utter the foreign word of regret, she spoke.
“Why’d you stop?”
He caught the briefest of glimpses at the impish smile that rested naturally on her mouth. Then her hands were fisted in the front of his shirt and she yanked him down to meet her waiting lips. The return of her kiss burned away his apprehension with its feverish heat.
Greedily, his arms slipped around her waist to pull her closer. Her lithe frame fit against him as snugly as a glove. She rose on her toes for better leverage, her kisses tenacious and bold.
Her entire body pressed into him, forcing him to take it. His hands roamed down her back, cupping under her rear to lift her up. She didn’t hesitate to wrap her legs around his hips, enclosing him as tightly as noose.
Rocking back to accommodate the forward shift of weight, his back hit the bar behind him and he pivoted around to place her seated on the counter. Her hands were in his hair, fisting the short locks to make him tip his head to deepen their kiss. The hot lathe of her tongue against his reawakened something inside him, a dormant but ceaseless hunger that infused him with a powerful desire to take, to feast, to ruin.
She seemed to sense the change within him. With the practiced shift of her chin, she broke contact to bare her throat, allowing him access to the smooth column of her neck. Haunted by the ghost of deja vu, he buried himself in the secret hollow under her ear, breathing in the heady scent of her. The subtle blend of her aroma flooded his brain, feeling equal parts familiar and necessary, like a lungful of oxygen after a long dive.
Restless in the increment submission, she was at his clothes, tugging and pushing fabric with a haste that spoke to her own overwhelming need, never spending enough effort to get very far before moving on. Her questing fingers eventually landed at his belt buckle and she immediately set to work unfastening it.
Even as he tracked harsh little nips and wet slips of his tongue against her pulse and along her collarbone, somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew this wasn’t a good idea. This was not the solution to his persistent yearning, nor a guarantee of security. Deep down, he wanted more than just this one time, this flash of fleeting satisfaction.
But the future held little interest for him in that moment, while he was so immersed in echoes of the past. The time would come when he would have to answer for these actions later. For now, he gave himself willingly, stepping off that ledge once more to plummet into the swirling chaos that came from loving her so completely.
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(Header Art created by me. 🤭 Check out my art account @swe-made)
Branded
“Mornin’,” Fiona garbled past a huge yawn. Rhys glanced over his shoulder in surprise to see her padding into the kitchen in her stockinged feet. Despite her lack of footwear, she was fully dressed in her best suit, a gift for their recent anniversary he’d had tailored just for her. A full complement of make-up did wonders to hide the shadows under her eyes.
“Hey,” he replied with soft affection. “You’re up early. And dressed? What’s the special occasion? You got in so late last night, I didn’t expect to see you until at least lunchtime.”
“Hmm,” she grumbled, heading around the counter where he was seated, straight to the coffee maker. “Athena.”
She didn’t elaborate but Rhys understood. There was little that got his girlfriend out of bed before ten, especially after returning home the night before from a long venture chasing down vault clues, but the fearsome ex-mercenary was one who could do it.
Taking a greedy gulp from the mug she’d just filled with fragrant coffee, Fiona closed her eyes in satisfaction. He shuddered at the thought of the bitter brew taken black and took a sip of his own blonde sugary concoction to wash the imagined flavor out of his mouth.
“Are you hungry?” Rhys asked, setting down his cup. “I could make you something to eat before I go.”
He was rewarded with a sardonic half smile as she leaned across the counter from the opposite side and snagged a jellied slice of perfectly toasted bread from the breakfast plate before him. Stuffing it into her mouth, she downed half of it in one bite, all while he frowned disapprovingly.
“No, thanks,” she said amusedly. Her mood seemed to have improved significantly with the caffeine and stolen food. “I just ate.”
He rolled his eyes but a goodnatured smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
“So what have you got planned for the day, Mr. Big Shot?” She regarded him with her cool green gaze as she took another bite of toast and swallowed. ”Lots of hiring and firing, mergers and acquisitions, I suppose.”
The smile on his lips deepened, touched that, although she didn’t give one hoot about the minutiae of his day-to-day worklife, she still asked.
“Something like that.”
“You know,” she paused to lick a crumb off her finger, “I would assume, being the head guy in charge, that you would be allowed to make your own schedule. Why in the hell would you choose to get up before the sun?”
“Well, it's actually more convenient for… everyone… if we….” his words started to trickle out of his mouth as he watched her round the corner of the counter and come to his side. The look in her eye had his train of thought completely derailed by the time she touched his shoulder, coaxing him to turn her way. His hands found her hips automatically, his knees parting slightly to allow her to slip between them. Her palms met his upturned cheeks and she leaned down to graze his lips with hers with the softest of kisses.
Instinctively, he tried to follow her retreat, eager for more. His fingers tightened into the smooth fabric of her trousers.
“It seems to me,” she whispered, the coffee rich scent of her breath sweetened with jelly feathered against his mouth, “That you could probably afford to be late once in a while, right?
“Wha—What about Athena,” he asked, breathlessly.
A devilish smile spread across her beautiful face as she smoothed her fingers into his hair, tracing the shell of his ear with her thumb. The delicate touch kindled a fire in his chest, warming his heart with a pleasant ache. “She can wait. Besides, it has been a while since you and I have seen each other after all. I imagine she expects me to be late anyway. Why disappoint her?”
He almost nodded, about to give in to the silly self-serving logic. She was hypnotic like that; the crook of her finger and he would come running.
Beep-beep, beep-beep, beep-beep!
A shrill buzzing broke the spell. Rhys jumped at the sound. “Oh, sh– I didn’t realize it was so late. I–I have to get going.”
She stepped back as he silenced the alarm on his wristwatch. He said a silent thank you to his past self for setting the alert, knowing himself well enough that such an occasion like this morning was likely to occur when Fiona was home. She typically tried her best to keep him in bed with her as long as possible. It was a wonder he ever got any work done with her around.
Hurriedly, he stood and tugged his vest from the back of his stool. Stuffing his arms through the sleeves, he dashed from the kitchen to the entryway where he’d left his briefcase, all the while muttering apologies, incoherent explanations about the busy day ahead, and hasty farewells.
“Wait,” Fiona called to him as his hand met the doorknob.
He paused, turning at the touch at his elbow. Her arms wrapped around him for a brief but firm hug. She leaned back and smiled up at him.
“Rain check?” she said, cocking that scarred brow suggestively.
A flush crept up his neck as she telegraphed her meaning with a squeeze at his rear. A goofy grin stretched across his face.
“Absolutely,” he promised.
“Good. Bring wine and I’ll grab something for dinner.” She rose to her toes to plant a sweet kiss on his cheek. “Don’t be late. I will eat without you.”
“Anything but pizza and you’re on,” he said as he opened the door. “I gotta go. See you later.”
He dropped a quick parting kiss to her lips and headed for the elevator. As he walked, his attention was already focused on the holographic interface projecting from his cybernetic palm.
“Uh, Rhys,” she called from their doorway.
He glanced at her questioningly, just as the elevator doors opened and he stepped inside. “Yeah?”
An impish smile lit her face but she shook her head. “Never mind. Have a good day.”
The doors closed as he sent her a little half wave.
()()()
“Good morning, Mr. Strongfork.”
“Morning, Rhys.”
“Good morning, sir.”
Rhys fielded the salutations with aplomb, sending finger guns, waves, and replies as his employees greeted him. He hurried across the campus of Atlas’ headquarters, evenly splitting his time between reviewing the latest headlines on the financial times and his company’s stock portfolio on his palm interface.
As he approached his private elevator, he tossed a glance to the helmeted guard seated behind the desk nearby.
“Morning, Mr. Strongfork,” the guard’s voice sounded tinny through his helmet’s microphone but his tone was jovial.
“Hey, Jer! How’s Tonya doing?”
“Stronger everyday, sir. The treatments are working. The docs think she’s going to beat it for good this time.”
“Really? That’s fantastic! Hey, when she’s up for it, take her to that new fusion place on 8th. I think she’d love it. Tell them it’s on me.”
“Really, sir,” Jerry began to defer, “that’s not—”
“Nonsense,” Rhys waved away the guard’s words as the elevator doors opened and he stepped inside. “You guys need to celebrate. See you around.”
“Oh, wait, Mr. Strongfork, you’ve got—” Jerry started to get to his feet, his age making him ungainly, but the doors closed before Rhys heard him.
Rhys returned to his palm interface and started swiping through his emails on the ride up to his top-floor office. An instant message chimed, accompanied by a small envelope icon with a little F at the corner. Smiling, he opened the message.
Hey, handsome. Looked in a mirror lately?
F
The short message was punctuated with a red lipstick kiss emoji.
His brows pulled together, even as a smile spread across his face. He was set to type a reply when, having reached the top floor, the elevator dinged and the shiny metal doors slid open soundlessly.
“Ayoo, boss,” his office’s personal guard greeted him boisterously from his station beside the elevator.
“Good morning, Steve,” Rhys returned the salutation with a grin. Opting to reply to Fiona’s message once he was alone, he closed his palm interface and nodded towards his office, “I need to run some things by you. Walk with me.”
“Sure thing,” Steve fell in step beside him, his heavy boots sending out reverberant echoes against the plate glass walls of the aquarium corridor. “What’s on your mind, boss?”
“It’s about that incident with Knightcore. Now I know cybersecurity is not under your command but, I think we need to beef up security around the campus at least until we know for sure how they got in last time,” Rhys continued detailing his concerns as they crossed the threshold of his expansive office. Knightcore were a band of renegade hackers bent on digging around in corporate affairs under the guise of altruistic integrity. Atlas had been their latest target, infiltrating the company’s data banks, much to Rhys’ chagrin. He’d help build the firewalls himself after all.
“I don’t care about the overtime expense,” Rhys concluded. “Hire more people if need be, but I want this place locked down for the time being.”
“I’ll get on it, boss, right away,” Steve said, fumbling an attempt at a stiff arm salute. Despite the seriousness of their meeting, Rhys had to bite back the urge to smile. Steve was one of his best employees and incredibly competent at his duty as Atlas’ head of security, but as a former Pandoran bandit, he was terrible at formality.
“Thanks, Steve.” The matter settled, Rhys turned his attention to the desk before him and pulled out his chair, ready to officially start his day. Before he could take his seat, however, he glanced up to find Steve still lingering in his office.
“Is there something else, Steve?”
“Well, yeah, kinda,” Steve said slowly. “Would you, uh, tell Fiona I said hi?”
Rhys startled at the request. To his knowledge, no one knew Fiona was back in town, at least not yet.
“Ho—How did you know she was back,” he asked. “She just arrived last night.”
His brows pulled together as Steve approached his desk and laid a crisp white handkerchief on the gleaming surface beside his framed photo of Fiona.
“You, uh, you might need this, boss.” Even through the microphone, Steve’s amusement was evident. He mimed a swiping gesture at the approximate location of where his cheek would be under his helmet.
Hastily, Rhys touched his cheek. The tips of his fingers bore a familiar red hue. Aghast, he tugged open a drawer in his desk and withdrew a small compact mirror, curses backing up on the tip of his tongue.
To his growing horror, he saw a deep red lipstick kiss, now slightly blurred from the graze of his fingers, imprinted on the plane of his cheek. His lips held similar smudges, mercifully smeared enough to be less noticeable. He groaned as he realized he’d marched all the way across Atlas’ quad with his girlfriend’s brand upon his face, his cheeks flushing with a prickly heat.
“Don’t sweat it, boss,” Steve tossed over his shoulder as he headed back to his post, “That shade looks good on you.”
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Summer Feelings
I'm melting like ice cream
The stress is gone from me
Nowhere I'd rather be
-Summer Feeling by Lennon Stella
Endless miles of beachfront stretched ceaselessly to both Rhys’ right and left. The gentle curve of the ocean as it followed the line of the beach and lapped against the sand offered a pleasing complement to the rolling mountains in the distance; the majesty of the slopes appearing as an optical illusion, its highest peaks seeming to be within a short stroll’s distance. Palm trees punctuated the idyllic scene, reaching their shaggy heads towards the azure blank of sky. A lone fluff of a cloud lazed overhead, moving imperceptibly as it inched its way toward the horizon line. The sun shone down from on high, warming his shoulders through the thin fabric of his shirt.
“Incredible,” Vaughn exhaled beside him. “This place is amazing, bro. It’s kind of hard to believe none of it’s real.”
A stray breeze danced down the beach, skimming against their skin, as if to further underline the surreality of their surroundings. Artificial landscape development had been a boom business and Rhys was all too happy to cash in a favor for this weekend trip on the intergalactic pleasure yacht, The Resplendency.
Rhys nodded his agreement. He leaned back in his beach chair and adjusted his sunglasses. “What can I say,” he grinned cheekily. “Being CEO does have its perks.”
“Well, I, for one, am glad to be invited. You had great timing too, with this trip. I really did need a vacation. Things were hectic there for a while, what with that blood feud with the Sand Rippers...”
While Rhys listened with half an ear to the recent trials of Vaughn’s bandit clan, his focus remained on the line of cabana style quick-change stations that bordered the entrance to the beachfront from the hotel.
“And my second in command, Corpse Feaster — his real name is Joel by the way. I told him that was a perfectly fine name but do you think he listens to me —”
“Yeah, bro. That’s, uh, that’s something else,” Rhys interjected, disrupting his friend’s chatter. “Hey, do you know if, um, the girls were planning on coming?”
“Oh, yeah, they’re here. We came up on the same shuttle. Sasha said they’d be down as soon as they settled in.”
“Cool. Cool,” Rhys tried to project an air of indifference. “So… F–Fiona was with her?”
The silence that answered his query had him finally turning his wandering concentration to his companion. Vaughn’s knowing look greeted him as soon as they locked eyes.
“Bro,” Vaughn admonished.
“What?” Rhys’ gaze skittered away and he stared straight ahead at the sea. He shrugged, making a poor attempt at nonchalance, one hand scratching at the back of his neck. “I only asked because I don’t want Sasha to feel like a third wheel around us. And– and,” he started excitedly as a new thought occurred to him, “didn’t she say that Fiona was getting a little burnt out from all the running around she’d been doing with that scary Athena woman for her wedding? I’d need a vacation too, if I were her. I’d just hate for her to miss out. That’s all.”
“Sure, dude.” The tilt of Vaughn’s eyebrows made it clear he wasn’t buying it.
“Shut up,” Rhys gave up with a shake of his head. He grimaced as he mumbled to himself, “I’m just trying to be a nice guy. See if I offer to take you on an all expense paid trip on a luxury pleasure yacht ever again.”
“Listen,” Vaughn swung his short legs over the edge of his lounger and leaned over to put his hand on Rhys’ shoulder. “If you want a chance with Fiona, you have to try and be less — I don’t know — obvious.”
Rhys shrugged the hand away. “I’m not obvi—”
Vaughn cut off the protest with a let-me-finish gesture. A long suffering sigh blew past Rhys’ lips.
“And how, oh wise one, should I do that?” Although his tone was deeply sarcastic, a spark of genuine curiosity flamed within him. He’d never admit it out loud, but, when it came to Fiona, he was far outside of his depths. She wasn’t like any woman he’d ever tried to woo before— hell, she was unlike any woman he’d ever known. The only other person he could equate with her was Sasha, and he was not about to ask her sister for dating advice. Rhys shuddered at the thought. She’d never let him live it down.
“Just try to play it cool,” Vaughn advised. “Fiona doesn’t strike me as the kind of person who appreciates aggressive flirting.”
“Vaughn,” Rhys deadpanned, looking at his friend over his sunglasses. “How long have you known me? When have I ever aggressively flirted with anyone?”
“That’s… that’s fair,” Vaughn conceded with a slow nod. He was silent for a moment, then let out his own exasperated gust of air. “Just don’t be weird about it, okay? We are all trying to have a nice, friendly vacation here and it’s going to be really awkward if you spend most of the time drooling over Fiona.”
Rhys opened his mouth, ready to launch into a hearty denial about his tendency to drool when a voice called to them.
“Hey, boys!” A pair of women dressed in sunglasses and elegant beachwear waved from the entrance to the beachfront.
“Hi, Sasha.” Vaughn waved back.
Rhys and Vaughn got to their feet to await the rest of their party’s imminent arrival. “And another thing,” Vaughn hissed under his breath, “don’t offer to put sunblock on her back unless she asks. That’s such a lame move.”
“It’s a pleasure yacht,” Rhys grumbled. “The sun is fake. It doesn’t even emit UV rays, you id— Hi, girls! ” He cut himself off as the two women approached. Sasha was wearing a one piece bathing suit of dusky pink with a tropical patterned sarong wrapped around her waist. Her dreads were piled on her head artfully accessorized with a silk scarf. Fiona, at her side, was enrobed in a thin tunic of golden linen belted in the front. Their feet bare, their brightly painted toenails looked like gems nestled in the sand.
“This place is…” Sasha opened her arms broadly to include the entirety of the breathtaking landscape. “Just wow.”
“I know, right,” Vaughn agreed. “Did you see the bathroom in the suites? It has a shower with a tub and then another tub in the room. A second one! My whole clan could bathe at the same time if they were here.”
As Sasha cracked a joke about Vaughn’s clan’s hygiene habits, Rhys exchanged a glance with Fiona. Oversized dark sunglasses shielded him from taking the brunt of her sardonic gaze. Her plush lips tipped up in the corner with a wry smile. He wasn’t sure whether she was bemused by their surroundings or entertained by the banter flying between their companions.
“Rhys,” she greeted him with a gentle tilt of her head. An expansive sun hat threw her face in shadow momentarily. “Thanks for inviting us.”
“Of course, of course,” An ache had taken up residence in his cheeks. He tried to school the stupid grin on his face to something more composed but he couldn’t seem to relax. “I, uh, I’m happy you could make it.”
“Nice shirt,” she said, one hand brushing her bangs from her eye.
“Huh? Oh, thanks,” he replied, self consciously smoothing down a hand over the busy pattern covering his chest. Scattered pell-mell across the background of repeating palm leaves were turtles wearing various styles of bathing suits and using their shells as pool floats; in their claws, umbrella drinks raised in toast. “I thought it was funny because of the turtles.”
Remembering his manners, he stepped aside and dropped a hand on the back of the lounger he’d just vacated. “Uh, would you like a seat?”
“Sure.” Her smile brightened.
She slipped the tote bag from her shoulder and set it on the sand beside the chair’s legs. Her fingers reached for the belt of her beach tunic. Rhys told himself to look away, not to stare like a pervert panting at a pretty girl’s bedroom window. He even managed to turn his head to give the illusion of apathy, yet he couldn’t abstain entirely and kept her at the edge of his vision. His heart started a marching rhythm, the echo of it sounding in his ears as clearly as if his head was under the waters before them. The shimmery gold fabric whispered from her shoulders and his brain melted into a warm gooey puddle that dripped down from his skull to pool in his chest.
Skin.
There was so much skin. He’d never seen her this bare before. The russet red bikini she wore complimented the tan of her complexion, offering his eyes brief respite from the roaming he was failing miserably to suppress. Occasionally, small lines and divots of puckered, lighter colored flesh dotted the otherwise smooth surface of her slender body; scars that were no doubt each accompanied by an entertaining or harrowing story. Gold hoops winked in the sunlight, securing the thin ties of her suit around her hips and above the cups of her top.
Something smacked into Rhys’ shoulder, severing his concentration from counting the staccato line of freckles that trailed along her collarbone. The pinched expression on Vaughn’s face sent a wave of shame crashing in on him. He cleared his throat and looked around desperately for a distraction.
Like a benediction from heaven, soft music filtered down the beach. A jaunty tune meant to accentuate the relaxing island atmosphere with its steel drums and guitars heralded the arrival of one of the several server bots that patrolled the beachfront. The gleaming white robot floated steadily across the sand; its rounded bottom hovered a safe distance from the coarse, unstable ground. A small lei of beautiful flowers was wreathed around its pole of a neck.
“Can I get anybody anything?” Rhys waved a hand towards it, hailing it closer. “It’s on me. I’m thirsty.”
He chose to ignore the muttered comment from Vaughn. “I bet.”
“How does it work?” Fiona eyed the gleaming white robot curiously. “Does it take our order back to the bar?”
“No, even better. It makes them right here.” Rhys addressed the little robot, “One Island Pucker, please.”
“Right away, esteemed guest.” The robot’s tinny voice replied. A whirring sound started up as it hovered in place, followed by a chime. Then a small door slid open in the chassis of the machine to reveal a multihued cocktail complete with a red and white striped straw and tiny green umbrella. “Your Island Pucker. May I be of further assistance?”
Rhys retrieved the drink from the compartment and took a sip. Fruit and liquor played on his tongue, the perfect blend of sour and sweet. “It’s really good. Do you guys want one?”
He fielded drink orders and relayed them to the automated waiter: a Sangria Sunset for Sasha, a Bay Breeze for Vaughn, and a Lucky Devil for Fiona. With drinks in hand, they all lounged in their chairs and chatted idly.
A few sunsoaked moments passed as they sipped and joked. Rhys could feel the tension in his shoulders melt away in the company of good drinks and close friends.
“I’m getting in the water,” Sasha said, a statement of fact. “Who’s going to join me?”
“I’m good here,” Fiona begged off. “Maybe later.”
“I’ll come. It’s been a while since I’ve gone swimming.” Vaughn jumped up and pulled his shirt over the top of his head. His toned abdomen gleamed magnificently in the sunshine. Rhys still found himself caught off guard at how buff his friend was. It looked like life as a Pandoran war chief still left plenty of time for fitness.
Vaughn tossed his shirt and glasses on his chair and ran full sprint towards the lapping waves. Sasha untied the sarong from her waist and followed slowly after, laughing as he dived into the water and remerged shaking water from his hair like a dog.
“C’mon! The water feels amazing,” he called to the pair left sitting on the beach.
Sasha tiptoed in, introducing herself to the water cautiously. “Ooo, it’s warmer than I expected,” she said, and gingerly ventured a little further until the water covered her knees.
“Are you not going in either?” Fiona asked, turning to glance at Rhys.
“Not really much of a swimmer. I have a tendency to sink now.” He lifted his cybernetic arm and wiggled his metal fingers. “You?”
She shook her head, a wry smile on her face. “I don’t know how. Pandora isn’t exactly known for its beaches.”
Rhys nodded his understanding and the pair fell into a companionable silence.
Further down the beach, a child’s squeals of delight rang up over the gently ambient crashing of the waves, drawing their attention. Two little girls darted away from the surf as it splashed up. As the tide withdrew, they turned and chased it, only to retreat as another wave surged forward. Their laughter tinkled like music as the water kissed their ankles, too slow in their flight away.
A smile tugged at Rhys’ lips. He glanced at Fiona, curious as to her reaction; her expression a mirror image of his own. Warmth unfurled behind his ribcage. The merriment seemed to be contagious. From the water, they heard the sputtering laughter and friendly admonishments of Sasha and Vaughn as they splashed each other in the shallows.
A soft exhaled sigh pulled Rhys' attention back to Fiona. She spared him a quick look. “Thank you again for this, Rhys.” Sincerity weighed her words. “I haven’t seen Sasha this happy in a long time.”
“Really, it was no trouble.” Rhys replied. “When the opportunity came up for this weekend, I didn’t want to go with anyone but you.” The quirk of her eyebrow had him stammering as he realized his slip. “You all. Everyone. You, Sasha, Vaughn. I invited LB and Gortys but they had plans already. Said something about touring an ice giant. I wasn’t sure if they meant a planet or a creature. You never can tell with those two, am I right?” He ended his babbling with a forced chuckle and took a sip of his mostly ice diluted drink.
“Well, I'd say you need to get out more, if the only people you want to go on a vacation with are a pair of robots, some con artists who swindled you once, and a bandit leader. But then, I’d be missing out.” Fiona sat forward and stretched like a cat, her arms lifting to the sky. Rhys forgot to swallow the liquid in his mouth, his entire concentration on her movements. She dropped her hands to the nape of her neck and fiddled with the tie there. “God, this thing is digging into me.” Head tilted down as she pulled at the strings of her bikini, her sharp green eyes captured his gaze over the frames of her sunglasses. It sent a jolt through his system like he’d touched a live wire. She shot him a sly grin. “What do you think the resort’s policy is on topless sunbathing?”
Rhys coughed, spewing liquor out of his mouth in surprise. The resulting spray drenched his shirt and shorts with sticky liquid. Startled, he jerked, upending the drink in his hand, adding its contents to the mess on his clothes.
“Whoa,” Fiona laughed. “I was only kidding.”
He shook the remaining droplets from his sticky fingers and picked at the sopping fabric of his shirt. A dark stain was setting into it, making the affable turtles look as if a storm cloud had materialized over their silly grinning heads.
“I–uh– I better go get cleaned up,” he murmured, humiliated.
As he trudged towards the amenities, the endless litany of self deprecation streamed from his lips. Idiot, idiot, idiot.
After a brief stopover at the restrooms to wash away the syrupy gunk, he crossed the narrow corridor to the room containing the quick-change station. He stepped inside, shut the door behind him and approached the machine. After cycling through the options, considering and rejecting several outfits, he opted for a loose buttoned-down style with a striped pattern of alternating cherry red and tropical turquoise. As a chime sounded followed by a peppy automated voice thanking him for his purchase, the new clothes materialized around him. He rolled his shoulders, testing the fit. Satisfied, he exited the changing room and stepped right into Fiona’s path. The umbrella’d drink in her hand sloshed gently in the glass as she pulled up short in an effort to avoid a collision. Her unbelted tunic slipped off her shoulder.
“Sorry, sorry.” He reached out to steady her. “That was my fault.”
“Geez, Rhys,” She exhaled exasperatedly. ”You know when you said drinks were on you, I didn’t think you intended it to be so literal.” The glass was pushed at him. “Here. I got this for you.”
“Oh, thanks.” He took it automatically, although he wasn’t interested in more liquor. The heat and booze were already mixing with the embarrassment he’d suffered, making his head spin and his thoughts sluggish.
“Try not to wear it this time,” she quipped. Sunglasses perched on the brim of her hat, he wasn’t spared the impact of her assessing gaze as she surveyed him, looking him up and down. “You changed,” she stated matter of factly.
“Uh, yeah. I kind of had to.” He glanced down at his new attire, questioning if he’d made the right choice after all.
“It’s a shame about the other shirt.” The corner of her mouth kicked up in that all too familiar smirk. “I have to admit, as ridiculous as they were, the turtles were kind of growing on me.”
“Well, you know,” He huffed, annoyed, “we can’t all look amazing in a bikini like some people."
As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted them. Her scarred brow quirked. She tilted her head slightly. “What are you implying?”
“Uh—um,” he stammered, desperately trying to gauge the reply she was looking for. Vaughn’s advice rang in his ears. Play it cool. “Well, isn’t that kind of obvious. I mean, look at you.”
Rhys resisted the urge to do just that. His instincts screamed with the desire to rake over every inch of her smooth, tan skin with more than just his eyes. Instead, he tried to flash her a hesitant grin.
“Are you…” Her enigmatic green eyes narrowed a bit as she paused. “Are you flirting with me?”
Not exactly the reaction he had been anticipating but he decided to stay the course. The most that she could do was laugh at him. Or slap him. Or worse yet, punch him. With the memory of her right hook rising from the depths of his past, he figured he better hedge his bets.
“Um, well, I guess… that depends.” His smile felt a little strained around the edges. “Is— is it… working?”
A beat passed as they stared at each other. Rhys wrestled with the almost overwhelming compulsion to shift his weight from foot to foot but he stood his ground. Fiona regarded him through her lashes, her head still tipped at that inquisitive angle. Something in her gaze pulled at him. It made him feel dangerous, like he was sticking his head in a skag’s jaws, hoping he’d get away unharmed. A warmth blossomed in his stomach, heat pooling behind his ribcage as he endured this interminable silence. Finally, she spoke.
“What if,” She took a step closer. Her gaze dropped to the open collar of his shirt. One painted nail reached up to trace the shape of a button, “I said yes? What would you do then?”
He blinked in surprise. His heart, already racing, ratcheted up another notch.
“Then I’d— I’d try to,” he swallowed in an attempt to quench the parched desert of his throat, “kiss you.”
“Try?” That inscrutable little smirk made a reappearance. She rose to her toes and wrapped her hand around the back of his neck to steady herself. Her breath, laced with alcohol and fruit, feathered against his lips. “What’s stopping you?”
Their lips met, sea salt infusing with the sweet residuals of the liquor. The drink slipped from his grasp as he captured her upper arms in his hands and dragged her closer. Her hand gripped into his lapel, tugging the fabric off center, while the other sifted into the hair at the nape of his neck. She pressed into him wantonly. The sunwarmed skin of her body heated through the material of his clothes, equal parts enticing and comforting. His touch grazed the back of her arms, settling at her hips, where he brazenly tugged her up to meet him. A gasp escaped her mouth and he seized the advantage, tilting his mouth to deepen the kiss. Her hat tipped off the back of her head as she clung to him. Their tongues shifted and slid in one velvety caress before a coordinated retreat, only to meet again for another savoring glide. She tasted like sunshine, booze, and an undefinable essence that was surely all her own. It painted his tongue, flooding his body with desire.
Following an primal instinct for privacy he wasn’t even aware of, he backed them into the cabana changing room. The door closed behind her and he had her trapped against it, trailing kisses down her neck and up again. She hummed a satisfied sound in the back of her throat.
“Rhys,” she sighed. A fresh rush of sensual fulfillment saturated his senses at the quiet gasp of the sound. Her hands clutched as his shoulders, the fabric bunching in her fingers. “Just—hmm,” His kisses smothered the words on her lips. She eased away slightly, offering him her neck again with a tilt of her head. “Just— just know,” she continued in soft panting breaths, “that I’m not doing this because you paid for this vacation.”
He murmured his appreciation, entirely too distracted trailing kisses along that mesmerizing trickle of freckles along her collarbone. “Trust me…” kiss “when I say…” kiss “that I would pay…” kiss “for a hundred more vacations…,” he paused to trace his nose up the side of her neck, earning another gentle gasp as he nibbled at her earlobe. “God, Fiona, I’d buy my own yacht if it meant I could spend time with you.”
Her hands were against his shoulders suddenly, insistent and firm. He let out a small groan of protest but let her put distance between them. Inquisitive green eyes blinked up at him, her surprise clear on her beautifully flushed face.
“Really?” she asked.
So much for subtlety. He swallowed and tried to wrangle his thoughts in order.
“Um, well, yeah,” The words stammered out. He hurried to clarify, “And I don’t mean because of this.” He gestured between them. “This is great but it’s a bonus. An amazing, unexpected, dream-come-true of a bonus. But even if this hadn’t happened, I still would have invited you here. I… I just like being with you.”
Something shifted in her gaze as he stumbled over his confession. A tenderness softened her expression. She cupped his face in her hands, the comforting but foreign press of her fingers against his cheeks startling him. The kiss she gave him was soft; a sweet assertion of her gratitude.
“I like spending time with you too,” she whispered with a smile. “And,” she drew the word out slightly as she smoothed her hands over his shoulders and down his chest towards the buttons on his shirt. “I can think of something we can do together to spend that time. Just the two of us.”
()()()
“All right, All right. I’m done,” Sasha said, the words of defeat were offset by the chuckle in her voice. “You win.”
Soaked from head to toe, she slogged her way up from the waist-high depths where she and Vaughn had been timing how long they could hold their breath underwater. The game seemed simple enough, despite her lack of aquatic prowess but she’d quickly learned she was woefully out of her depth; Vaughn was far more experienced in the water than she.
Her hair was a dripping mess, so she undid the scarf from around her temples and lay it over the back of her beach chair alongside the sarong she’d left there earlier. Toweling off with one of the fluffy hotel towels provided under the enclosed compartment below the chaise, she watched Vaughn drag himself out of the sea. It fascinated her that water that deep could have such a disparate effect on the body, even on someone as physically fit as him. It was nothing like the experience of floating through the zero gravity atmosphere when she was aboard her smuggling shuttle, as she had previously assumed.
There she was weightless, but in the water she felt lighter, more graceful while submerged. Yet, as soon as she attempted to wade through it, it sucked at her legs, pulling at her and making her feel heavy and clumsy.
Properly toweled off, she plopped down on the beach chair.
“Ah, I could get used to this,” she sighed. The sun was already baking away the last sheen of the moisture on her arms, warming her skin.
“Tell me about it,” Vaughn agreed heartily, rubbing a towel across his torso. He glanced around the beach, his head turning one way and then the other. “Hey, where did Rhys and Fiona go?”
Sasha lifted a lazy hand and gestured languidly towards the hotel. “Apparently Rhys spilled something on his shirt and went to change. Fiona said she was going to check on him.”
“Oh,” Vaughn said, the one little word weighty with meaning. Sasha tipped her head up from its lounging position against the chair and gave him a knowing look.
“You don’t think…” He seemed stricken. “I mean we just got here.” Perching on the edge of a lounger, his eyes scanned the entrance of the beach.
“Afraid you’ve lost already?” Sasha teased.
“If I have, I call foul because you cheated,” Vaughn shot her a perturbed sneer. At her questioning expression, he elaborated, “That bikini? I mean, c’mon, Sasha. You had to have something to do with that. I’ve never seen Fiona’s bare arms, let alone her entire midriff on display!”
“What can I say?” Sasha laughed. “When my sister asks what she should pack for a beach vacation, what am I going to tell her? ‘Just bring your normal clothes.’ Get real. Besides,” she continued as she slipped her sunglasses on and lay her head down again, “I think Rhys needs the extra little push.”
Unable to argue that fact, Vaughn switched tactics. “Don’t you think it's a little, I don’t know, wrong to be manipulating people like that? It feels…” He trailed off as Sasha pulled her sunglasses down her nose to look at him. Her brow arched. “I know, I know. Con artist, smuggler, all around liar. But this is your sister.”
“And she needs all the help she can get too. She’s just as painfully clueless as your ‘bro.’ Aren’t you also a little tired of the lingering stares and the fights that are actually flirting? It’s exhausting to be around them sometimes.”
“Well, yeah, but to gamble on their love lives? It feels inappropriate."
“You’re just trying to back out because you are afraid you've lost already!
The bet in question had begun as more of a running jest between them. Long ago, they’d recognized the burgeoning chemistry amongst Fiona and Rhys. Over the years it had become almost a joke, the classic will they/won’t they conundrum. But, when Rhys had proposed this vacation, extending an invitation to all included, the opportunity had allowed them to secretly solidify their fun into something with real stakes. Sasha had bet that Rhys and Fiona would find themselves in each other’s arms by the end of the first night, falling victim to the relaxed atmosphere of the resort and the bottomless drinks. Vaughn, for his part, was convinced the couple would waffle longer and manage to hold out until at least the second evening of the weekend trip.
Now in light of the missing pair, Vaughn chewed at his bottom lip in consternation. Although he was also guilty of trying to influence his friend, coaching Rhys to remain aloof just for a while longer, he opened his mouth with the intent of continuing the disagreement, when he spotted Fiona strolling towards them from the beach’s entrance. A bubble of relief surfaced within him seeing she was alone. To all appearances she looked normal, dressed in her gold tunic and sunglasses, exactly as unruffled as when last he’d seen her. A fresh drink was in her hand, its umbrella jostling slightly as she picked her way across the sand.
Appeased that the same bet he was willing to abandon just moments ago was still on, he relaxed. Although the terms of the gamble had very low stakes, Vaughn loathed the idea of losing to Sasha. She had a terrible tendency to gloat. And he’d already made promises to his second in command that he would get Sasha to DJ Joel’s upcoming birthday bash, an arrangement that would only likely happen if he won this silly wager. If he did lose, he had agreed to alter Sasha’s shipping manifests for a month. She had been nagging him for assistance on doctoring the logs ever since she’d gone into the smuggling business but Vaughn had deferred, unwilling to take on yet more responsibility, especially one that reminded him so much of his old corporate life.
“Hey, guys,” Fiona murmured as she approached. “Did I miss anything?”
“Not really,” Vaughn said casually. Despite his nonchalance, he eyed her suspiciously. Her cheeks were flushed in the shadow of her sun hat, but she appeared otherwise unmolested.
Did she seem more sedate than normal?
Mentally, he shook his head. More than likely she was just under the influence of fine liquor and the powerful tranquility of their surroundings.
“Where’s Rhys?” Sasha voiced the question that was also on Vaughn’s mind.
“Oh, I don’t know. I went to take him another drink but he spilled it on himself again,” Fiona pushed out a forced laugh as she took up a seat on her abandoned lounge chair between them. “Your buddy is awfully clumsy, isn’t he, Vaughn?”
Vaughn pasted on an agreeable face but held his tongue. His eyes snagged on Fiona’s shoulder. A small alarm bell began to ring in his head. From under the edge of the shimmering fabric of Fiona’s wrap peeked the darkening pink of a bruise on the curve where her shoulder met her neck. Dismay rocked him.
Had the son of bitch actually pulled it off?
As he struggled to string together an inconspicuous line of questioning, one that would get past Fiona’s formidable power for bullshiting, Rhys joined them.
“Hi, everybody!” he exclaimed. Stopping just past their chairs, he put his hands on his hips, looked out towards the horizon, and took a chest expanding inhale of air into his lungs. “God, this place is great, huh? I could live here, it’s just so beautiful.”
He turned and, unsurprisingly, his eyes landed on Fiona first. His smile softened into something far soppier than his usual pining expression, one he always seemed to sport when she was around. A small smirk graced Fiona’s lips in return, before she raised the glass in her hand to take a sip.
The buttons on Rhys’ new shirt, Vaughn noted with growing horror, hadn’t been buttoned correctly. A small loop of fabric stuck out from the error midway down and the tail end of the column of buttons hung crookedly from each other at his hips, one higher than the other.
Automatically, Vaughn’s gaze found Sasha’s. The gleam in her eye told him she must have reached the same conclusion he had.
Defeated, he crossed his arms and sank back into his chair, already mentally rifling through his calendar in an effort to allot time for his new illicit duties in Sasha’s service. A fresh wave of dejection settled over his mood as he realized he’d have to break the news to Joel about his birthday party. He could perfectly visualize the disappointment on his clan mate’s metalstudded, tattooed face.
In his glum, he barely acknowledged the people around him as they went about their vacation, instead staring sullenly out to sea. In the corner of his eye, he spotted Rhys and Fiona idly together at the water’s edge, exchanging furtive glances and secret smiles as they dipped their toes in the tickling surf. His joy for his friends was far outweighed by his own misfortune.
A hand waved in front of his vision, drawing him out of his thoughts as well as his stare away from the endless horizon. He glanced over to find Sasha seated beside him on the edge of Rhys’ vacant chaise. She grinned as she chuffed him on the shoulder. Victory brightened her features.
Rolling his eyes, he started to speak, ready to fend off her inevitable boasts. “I know, I know. You won. I’m—”
“I’ll still do the birthday party for Carrion Muncher,” she cut in amiably.
“Corpse Feaster,” he corrected automatically. His brows drew together in confusion. “But why?”
Her shoulder lifted in a shrug as her eyes flicked towards the happy couple. A mild look of distaste tightened her lips. “Honestly, I don’t think I can handle those two alone, and if I don’t do it, you’re going to mope for the rest of the trip. So,” Her gaze met his again and she smiled softly, “I guess you could say us sidekicks have to stick together.”
He returned her smile warmly. “Thanks, Sasha.”
“You still owe me,” she said pointedly. “I’m thinking you can pay me back with an extra week tacked onto the month with the books you already agreed to.”
Vaughn gave a begrudging nod. It was the least he could do for the favor.
Pleased, she settled back on her hands against the seat of the lounger. Tipping her chin in their friends’ direction, she murmured, “Who do you think is going to trip up first and tell us?”
Vaughn’s smile lengthened to a grin. “Oh, Rhys, most definitely.”
She nodded approvingly. “I think so too. Wanna bet he breaks before dinner tonight?”
His eyes narrowed as he asked, “What do I get if I win?”
Sasha pursed her lips as she deliberated. “I’ll… Oh, you know what, there’s a 6 A.M. yoga class tomorrow morning, I will go to that with you. Bright and early,” she sing-songed the last words.
“And if you win?”
“Easy,” she said triumphantly. “You’ll have to teach me how to swim.”
“Hmm.” Vaughn made a show of considering the proposition. Even though he knew it was a likely loss, the thrill of the speculation was too tempting to resist. And he was flattered that Sasha trusted him to teach her a new skill, something he would have done anyway had she only asked. “Okay, but I think he can keep it together until at least breakfast tomorrow. You know they are going to find some excuse to ditch us for the night, right?”
A giggle bubbled out of Sasha. “Absolutely. So it’s a deal?” She offered out her hand.
He took it and gave her a quick shake. “You’re on.”
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The Darkness, The Dawn
I'll wait
So show me while you're strong
Ignore everybody else
We're alone now
-Retrograde by James Blake
The walls shook as another bombardment rained down from above. Fiona’s eyes tracked over the thick concrete walls of the underground drainage pipe. She breathed a sigh of relief that they held. Her solace was temporary, however, as muffled gun fire echoed from somewhere deeper in the pipe.
“Wait here,” she commanded the small group of civilians she’d been escorting to safety. “Keep your heads low and stay together. I’ll be back for you when it's safe.”
Amongst the huddle of dirt smeared faces, a mother clutched her child closer, the pair shivering in the ankle deep water. Fiona caught the little girl’s wide frightened gaze. In an effort to soothe the child, she forced a reassuring smile. It felt false on her face, like an ill fitting mask. Truth be told, she was just as terrified as these innocent bystanders. Although she'd confronted all manner of insane bandits and ill-tempered beasts in her recent adventures, this battle scared her more than she’d expected. If given the time to contemplate it, she might have concluded it was because of what was at stake or because the enemy she faced on Promethea was far better armed and more organized than any foe she’d gone against to date.
But she didn’t have time for such introspection. Instead, she wiped sweat from her brow and pushed off from her crouch. In a low run, she moved deeper into the gloom and closer to the fight.
()()()
“Nice work out there, mate," Lorelei exclaimed. Their jaunty accent and chipper attitude was at odds with the dark circles under their eyes and the lines that bracketed their mouth. “Can’t say I know what we’d have done if you hadn’t landed when you did. You’ve got good timing. Those civvies are certainly better for it.”
Fiona was too exhausted to respond with more than a nod. The firefight and mad dash to safety she’d just executed with her tiny band of refugees had taken everything out of her. She slumped against the wall with her hands on her knees, willing her racing heart to slow.
“Listen,” Lorelei leaned in. “You look like proper shit, Fiona. I suggest you take a fiver and get some rest, okay?”
Battling back the urge to succumb to her fatigue and take advantage of the offer, Fiona shook her head. “I– I can’t. I have to get to Rhys.”
Lorelei considered her for a moment and then with a slow exhale, they nodded. “A’right then, if it’s Rhys you want, then you best be going soon. Atlas headquarters was taking a right beating before those new vault hunters showed up but it seems they’ve chased Mailwan off for the time being.” They dug into a pocket of their pants and withdrew a drive chip on a keyring. “Take my Cyclone.”
“Thank you,” Fiona said gratefully and took the key.
Lorelei clasped her on the shoulder and gave it a quick squeeze. “Take care of yourself out there. You’re one of the good ones.”
As Fiona started to walk away, Lorelei called her name.
“While you’re there — at Atlas, I mean — can you talk to Rhys about sending us a little bit of help down here. More people keep flooding in and we need supplies,” Lorelei sighed and rubbed a hand over their eyes. “I know it's asking a lot but anything he can spare we could use. We’re, uh, we’re getting a little desperate.”
“Of course,” Fiona said. “I’ll talk to him.”
()()()
“Who are you?” The Atlas guard hefted his rifle in his grip as he asked the question. Fiona couldn’t see his face behind the helmet but judging by the pitch of his voice, he sounded young. “Only authorized personnel are allowed beyond this point.”
Beneath the bravado, she could hear the strain in his voice. His cush door-watching gig turned into bodyguarding a VIP in an all out corporate war and the poor kid must be pissing himself in terror. Fiona opened her mouth to introduce herself, but her words were cut off by a booming voice.
“Ayoo, Miss Fiona!”
Spinning, Fiona was confronted by another helmeted guard, this one carrying a cardboard beverage carrier loaded with steaming cups of fragrant coffee. The smell wafted to Fiona as the man approached, making her head spin with its delicious caffeinated aroma.
“Hey, Steve,” she greeted the guard with a tired grin.
“What are you doing here? I thought Mailiwan had Promethea locked down tighter than a ratch’s asshole. How did you get planetside?”
“Long story. I’ll tell you later if you can spare one of those coffees.” She gestured to his enticing cargo.
“Sure thing.” He passed her a paper cup. The warmth of the liquid inside heated her hands, offering a modicum of soothing comfort. “Here to see the big man, right? What are you doing out here?”
“Well,” Fiona turned to give the young guard who’d blocked her entrance a pointed look.
He shifted from one foot to the other, the grip on his gun less threatening and more uncertain. “Uh, it’s authorized personnel only, Steve,” he reiterated. “And Rhys— I mean Mr. Strongfork said he didn’t want to be disturbed. He’s in a meeting.”
“Trust me, kid,” Steve's modulated voice took an amused tone, “She’s authorized and he’s going to want to see her. Now, take your coffee and hang here for a few more minutes. I’ll be back to relieve you after I escort Miss Fiona.” He pushed a cup at the younger man and nodded to Fiona to follow him.
“O-okay.” As she passed, the kid mumbled, “Sorry, ma’am, I was just doing my job.”
She gave him a forgiving pat on the cool metal of his shoulder armor before following Steve to the elevator. Once aboard, he inserted his key into the top of the column of the buttons, unlocking access to the uppermost floor.
“Heck of time to be a newbie,” Fiona cracked. She blew on the coffee before taking a tentative sip. The rich bitter brew coated her tongue and instantly zipped to her brain.
“Yeah, that’s why we got him on door duty. He’s a good kid. Just a bit of an overachiever.” They rode in companionable silence for a couple of floors before Steve spoke again. His habitual cheery tone was absent as he said, “Any news about Miss Sasha?”
Fiona’s insides clenched in all too familiar fear. Her mouth pulled down in a frown. “No,” she rasped. “That’s why I’m here. I‘m hoping Rhys has heard something.”
“I– I see. I’m sorry to hear that. Hopefully he has.” Something in his tone told Fiona their optimism was likely in vain. She gave him a brief nod in reply, all traces of levity snuffed out by the simple question.
Sasha.
It had been simple to push the anxiety for her sister aside momentarily while she was actively fighting for her life and the lives of others. And the exhaustion saturating her psyche offered some solace in the relative peace of her trip to Atlas headquarters. But now in the stark confines of this tiny metal box on her way to what she hoped would be the next step in her quest for answers, she was confronted once more with that inescapable dread.
She kept her eyes straight ahead, actively abstaining from letting her imagination conjure the worst possible outcomes. The warped reflection off the shiny metal doors offered her the first glimpse of how terrible she looked. Her boots were darkened at the ankles from the brackish water she’d been stomping through just hours ago. Scattered smears and drops of rusty brown marred the fabric of her clothes. Uncertain whether it was blood or dirt, she prayed it was the latter. Her hat had long since disappeared, lost early in one firefight or another. She mourned its absence, feeling a little naked without it.
At last, the elevator halted, having reached their destination at the top floor and the CEO’s office. A chime sounded and the doors opened. Although Fiona had visited Promethea frequently, she never quite got over the luxury of the modern architecture of Atlas’ headquarters.
In light of the war and its resultant devastation that she’s just witnessed, the clean lines and gleaming steel everywhere felt vulgar in its perfection, an insult almost. The sight of it twisted something inside her. Heat chased over her body, flushing her nerves with prickly sensation. Bile rose in the back of her throat as the memory of that frightened young girl, her terrified mother, and Lorelei’s overwhelmed expression became a slide show behind her eyes. All played out over the undercurrent of her concern for her little sister.
Her fists clenched as she stalked past the lobby and down the hall to Rhys’ office. People outside these walls were dying, families ran in fear abandoning the lives they worked so hard to achieve, while Rhys sat up here, safe from it all in his ostentatious tower, surrounded by people who would lay down their lives for him.
For what? So he could keep his name on the door as Atlas’ CEO? Was that worth the lives being lost? The destruction of the city itself? To what end, did he deserve to push these people so far? What gave him the right to play god?
With these questions dogging her thoughts, true bitterness blossomed, ugly and poisonous, nourished by her fear, fatigue, and frustration. Her heavy footsteps matched the beat of her heart, down the long, narrow corridor with the peaceful aquarium walls. In the distance, she could see Rhys’ desk, that symbol of power further fueling her ire. She barely acknowledged Steve as he hurried behind her, walking at full stride to keep up with her.
“Uh, maybe I should check in before we— or not,” Steve muttered as Fiona pushed the half empty coffee cup back at him and stepped into the expansive open room that was Rhys’ office.
Seated in plush armchairs and perched atop wide sofas in the seating area to the left of the desk, the attendees of the meeting turned at the intrusion, shock marring their eager, smooth faces. Without breaking her stride, she marched up to them and crossed her arms. A tall, slender man dressed in a white button down shirt and blue Atlas vest rose from his seat, his jaw open in surprise. Fiona almost didn’t recognize him for the ridiculous moustache adorning his upper lip. It was so out of place on his face that she would have laughed out loud, if she hadn’t been so pissed off.
“Where is my sister, Rhys?” she growled.
“Fi–Fiona,” he stammered. “What— what are you doing here?”
Her eyes narrowed in challenge. “My. Sister. Where is she?”
Instead of answering her, he turned to the people assembled before him. “Uh, I think we should reconvene on this later. I’ll be in touch very soon. Thank you for your time today.” He gestured at Steve, who had wisely chosen to loiter near the entrance. “Steve, will you please arrange for everyone to have an escort to their offices.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Strongfork,” Steve confirmed formally. “Folks, if you will follow me, we will get you back to work safe and sound.”
As the attendees filed past, some clutching data pads tightly to their chests, only a couple spared Fiona more than a passing glance. Their plain mistrust was clear in the sweeping assessments; their lips curling in disgust at her messy appearance. She ignored them. Her eyes stayed trained on their boss, who was trying his best to avoid looking at her in return.
“Um, for you, Chief,” Steve held a paper coffee cup up by its lid and gave a gentle swish before putting it down on a credenza along the wall. “Extra sugar and cream, as you like it.”
Rhys gave him a grateful smile. “Thanks, Steve.”
Silence reigned as the guard made his exit, leaving Fiona and Rhys alone. She waited as he fidgeted, pulling on his shirt cuff and clicking his metal fingers together.
“Uh, well, this— this is a surprise,” he said, swiping at the back of his neck nervously, still avoiding Fiona’s penetrating gaze. “I didn’t think I’d be seeing you any time soon, what with all that’s going on.”
For want of something to do, he strode to the credenza and picked up the coffee. He took an experimental sip, nodded his approval.
“Have you tried this?” he asked, gesturing with the cup. “It’s not too bad. Not as good as Sunstags but it’s—”
“Where is my sister, Rhys?” Fiona repeated the question, biting off each word like an animal tearing flesh.
He sighed, the gust of breath leaving his body making him sag slightly. “I— I don’t know.”
Fiona scoffed. “Don’t lie to me.”
He looked at her now, the first time since she’d stormed in. “I’m not lying.”
“The last time I spoke to Sasha, she was on Promethea. Considering the two of you used to date,” she spit the word out like it left a bad taste in her mouth, “naturally I assumed that she was here to see you.”
“Whoa,” Rhys held up his hand in defense. “We never dated. Your sister and I are—”
“Just friends,” she finished his sentence for him with a sneer. She’d heard that line from the both of them so many times over the years, she’d lost count. “Frankly, I don’t care what your relationship is right now. All I want to know is where she is. What was she doing here?”
“It’s true; she was here to see me. She,” he paused, picking over his next words carefully, “She wanted my help.”
“With what?” Fiona took a step closer; her nerves on high alert. The half cup of coffee she’d drank on the elevator made her blood sing and her brain zip from possibility to possibility.
“She wanted help — you know, she swore me to secrecy, Fiona. I don’t think I should be —”
“Rhys.” His name came out like a hiss, the warning of a predator about to strike.
“Fine, fine.” He made a placating gesture. “She’s been looking for someone and she wanted me to ask a few questions, grease some palms, stuff like that.”
“Who was she–” The question died on her lips. Felix. “Did– Did you find him?”
“Well, no. Everything concrete I could find says he died on Pandora.”
“But?” She knew there was more to the story, otherwise where was her sister.
“But… Here.” He walked over to his desk and opened a drawer. From it, he held up a data drive. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed it to her. “This is everything I found. I gave the exact same information to Sasha. After that, she left Promethea and I haven’t heard from her since.”
She spun the little drive over in her hands. The information on it could lead her to one heck of a family reunion. In the years since opening the vault, Sasha had never seemed to fully forgive Felix of his betrayal. Despite her adamant denials, Fiona knew that her sister still carried the resentment around like old luggage. In the early days following the event, Fiona tried to draw Sasha out, to get her to talk about it, but her efforts were always met with strained smiles and feigned apathy. Eventually, she gave up, telling herself that maybe she was making something out of nothing after all. Seems she'd been wrong about that.
“I’m worried too, you know.” Rhys muttered.
“What?” Fiona asked, pulled from her reverie.
“About Sasha. I’m worried too,” he clarified. “I’ve been trying to find her. I have people looking for her as we speak, but so far, it’s like she’s fallen off the face of the galaxy. When I gave her that information, I didn’t think that she would disappear like this.”
Fiona knew best how good Sasha was at becoming lost. There was a reason she was always the one tasked with getting close to a mark. She had a knack for adopting a role and folding herself into a community, insinuating herself so deeply it seemed like she’d always been there. Every time in the past, however, Fiona was in on the con. The pair of them had each other’s backs. To be left in the cold on this, to realize that her little sister didn’t trust her with this search felt like a knife in the ribs.
“It’s not your problem,” she said brusquely. Hurt made her prickly. What right did Rhys have to be concerned for her sister? Especially, when he was in the middle of a war, a war that only continued because of what was likely just his ego. She’d heard the whispers among the refugees. If Rhys would only surrender and allow Mailiwan to merge with Atlas, all of this would be over.
“Wow, okay,” Rhys shook his head in annoyance. “I know you don’t like that Sasha and I are friends, and never have, but that doesn’t mean that I can’t care about her.”
“Why would you waste your time, huh?” she demanded nastily. “Aren’t you busy waging war? There must be other, more important people you should be concerned about right now than your ex-girlfriend?”
“How many times do I have to tell—”
Fiona barreled over his protest. “Maybe you wouldn’t be losing this dick measuring contest with Maliwan if you got your priorities straight and stopped messing around in other people’s business!”
He blinked at her in shock, staring at her like she’d just thrown the coffee from his abandoned cup in his face. Something shifted in his expression. He shut down, shuttering before her eyes.
“You don’t know anything about what’s going on with Maliwan,” he stated coldly, standing up straighter. He turned away, giving her his back as he faced the floor to ceiling windows behind his desk. Addressing her while taking in the expansive view of Promethea, he said, “I think you should leave.”
Suddenly Fiona realized she wasn’t speaking to her friend anymore, the lovable, accident-prone goofball whom she’d spent countless hours fleecing at cards and roleplaying Bunkers and Badasses with. The man who stood before her now was Atlas’ CEO, a calculating businessman, cutthroat and ambitious. This, she recognized with a start, was exactly the kind of person that could stand idly by while people in that city below his windows went hungry, ran scared, died all for the company’s bottom line and plaque on a door with his name on it. The realization enraged her.
“Typical,” she snarled, shaking her head. “What, you don’t like being confronted with the truth? You say I don’t know anything about what’s going on with Maliwan but you’re wrong. I was down there, Rhys, up to my ankles in shit and filth, dodging bullets and praying that I got through it, just for the chance to see my sister alive again. I met with Lorelei, by the way. They’re barely keeping it together, you know. Refugees from the city keep pouring into those tunnels and they’re running on empty to take care of them all. They even begged me to ask you for anything you could spare.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” was the only reply. He didn’t even bother to toss her a glance over his shoulder.
“Of course,” she said snidely. “It’s the least you could do, right? God forbid you give an inch. As if this is affecting you at all, up here with your fancy office surrounded by yes-men and coffee delivery. For god’s sakes, Rhys, people are dying and you—-”
“Don’t you think I know that!” he exploded, clearly having reached his limits. He spun around to confront her. With his hands flat on his desktop, he leaned forward and glared. “Don’t you dare come in here and begin to tell me about the sacrifices that are being made out there. I’m well aware. I have up to the minute reports from every section of the city. I’m drowning in requests for aid, each person needing it just a little bit more than the last. I am doing the best I can here. That meeting you just barged in on was with my R & D department. They are working around the clock to try to keep up with Maliwan, which is next to impossible, considering the sheer amount of firepower they have at their disposal.”
“Then why fight,” she asked with sincerity. “If it’s so impossible, why are you resisting? It’s just a company.”
He looked at her like she’d unexpectedly grown a second head. “‘Just a company?’ Fiona, do you know me at all? This isn’t ‘just a company’ to me. This is my life. You’re asking me to give up everything I’ve worked so hard to achieve. To Maliwan? To some nepo-baby with a god complex? Absolutely not. I’d rather die.”
“So your ambition is worth people’s lives?” She folded her arms across her chest and lifted her chin defiantly. “You may be willing to die for this but why should they?”
He stared at her for a moment, breathing heavily through his nose. His mismatched eyes narrowed slightly. “What do you think will happen to those people if Maliwan wins?”
The question threw her. She frowned, realizing that in her fury, she hadn’t really thought that far.
“Do you honestly believe that if Maliwan merged with Atlas, everyone who works here will just get a new name badge? That they will take on the thousands of people and their families who live in this city? Sure, some of them. The ones who are irreplaceable at their jobs, they would probably get to stay, if they’re lucky.” He leaned forward, his expression as sharp as broken glass. “But what about people like Steve or Lorelei? Maliwan wouldn’t just fire them, Fiona. They would be executed.”
Fiona scoffed at the drama of his statement, despite the cold finger of apprehension sliding down her spine that told her what he said was likely the truth.
“It probably wouldn’t be immediately. They may even put in the effort to make it look like an accident for some of them. But the end results would be the same. Maliwan doesn’t want leftovers,” he finished gravely. “And you think I…” He trailed off as he rose to his full height once more and pinched the bridge of his nose.
Finally, Fiona looked at her friend, really looked at him since storming in, and saw the strain radiating from him. Despite the trappings of a successful businessman with his fancy office and tailored clothes, he was just as frayed around the edges as she was. He looked like he’d aged years since the last time she’d seen him a few months ago. Dark circles ringed the bottom of his eyes and his hair had that dissonant quality of being flattened and ruffled from too many jittery swipes of his hand through it. There was a small smudge of a stain on his wrinkled shirt. His tie was tugged slightly askew as if he’d been loosening it and straightening it frequently.
Empathy snuffed out the final ember of her wrath. Everything he’d just said to her finally sunk past the surface of her indignation.
“Rhys, I…” She started softly but the apology clung to her tongue, weighing it down. Shame heated her cheeks.
He didn’t seem to hear her. Instead, he gestured to the exit behind her with a pained expression and said, “Now, if you’re done lecturing me about matters which frankly you have no clue about and don’t concern you at all, please see yourself out. I’ve told you everything I know about Sasha and the rest is on that data drive. Transport can be arranged to get you off Promethea safely, if need be. Just talk to Steve. Good bye, Fiona.”
With that, he turned to the windows once more. The stony dismissal stung as if he’d slapped her in the face. Fiona looked down at the data drive in her hand. The little plastic case had left an indent in her palm; she had been gripping it so tightly during their fight. To her surprise, her hand trembled. Ignoring it, she tucked the drive in her pocket, swallowed around the lump in her throat, and spun on her heel.
As her feet moved automatically down the narrow aquatic corridor, a ceaseless loop of his words repeated in her mind. Each step brought a fresh pang of humbling unease until she couldn’t continue forward. She paused at the entrance of the spacious lobby, halfway between the elevator in front of her and Rhys’ office behind.
A brief glance back afforded the view of Rhys standing behind his desk. His back was still turned, a solitary figure against the landscape of the city. Beyond the panes, she noticed for the first time, Maliwan’s war fleet blotted out the sky.
Something broke in her chest, almost with a tangible snap. Before she could question her actions, she had turned around again. Her footsteps were soft but quick, ringing in her ears as she strode back down the corridor.
He let out a long suffering sigh as she crossed the threshold of his office. For just a moment, she hesitated on the opposite side of his desk.
“You’ve made your point, Fiona. I—” His words trailed off as her hand met his shoulder. She stepped to his side, shifting her touch to his elbow to coax him to face her.
Confusion clouded his tired eyes as he looked down at her. Wordlessly, she rose to her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck. She pressed close, holding his stiff body to hers. He remained inert; stunned by her advancement. Despite his rigidity, she clung to him, willing him to accept the contact.
Incrementally, he began to relax. His arms circled around her hesitantly and he leaned down slightly, allowing her a better grip on his shoulders. After a moment, he shifted his weight back but she ignored the signal to part, remaining steadfast. Her pulse hammered in her ears.
Finally, he yielded. His hold around her back tightened until they were flush against each other, returning the embrace in full. Tears pricked at the back of her eyes as emotions welled up inside her.
“I’m…” She swallowed and tried again. Her words felt thick and ineffectual as she whispered, “I’m sorry.”
He tensed at the apology and she feared he’d pull away. Instead, the band of his arms fitted around her more snugly. He tilted his chin, burying his face into her neck. The intimacy of the act put an almost painful squeeze around her heart. She closed her eyes to the tears that threatened and fisted her hands into his vest.
In the silent moments of their connection, a remarkable calm began to settle over her. She felt… safe. Chasing that peace, she shifted her arms tighter around his neck. His chest expanded against hers as he took a deep breath. A slow exhale followed and the gentle gust of it tickled against her throat. The tension in his shoulders seemed to melt under her touch. She picked up the rhythm of his pulse through his body, the steady drum offering a soothing soundtrack to the comfort of being held.
At last, she eased back, relinquishing her clutch on him. Trapped in the circle of his arms, however, she didn’t get far and her hands remained at his shoulders. Their eyes met.
Butterflies awakened in her stomach. Her breath became shallow. Some primal instinct pleaded within her to disengage, to distance herself from this moment as it danced too close for comfort, but she couldn’t look away from his beautiful disparate gaze. It held her as succinctly as his embrace. The tickle of his breath, coffee scented and soft, brushed against her cheek and she registered the proximity of his face to hers. With a flush of heat, she realized he was close enough to kiss.
She blinked. Uncertainty buoyed inside her, making a strange brew of attraction, apprehension, and excitement.
In her mind, she saw herself reaching up to touch his cheek, urging him to close the distance between them again, this time with their lips. The idea terrified her as deeply as the gunfights she had experienced mere hours ago. The difference being not whether she was going to die but how could she live, having crossed that line with him.
Unbiddened, images of her sister invaded her brisk contemplation: Sasha sending sly smiles at Rhys, touching his arm, laughing openly with him. The clutter of thoughts soured her temptation. She pushed her musings aside, stuffing them back into that place deep inside her she’d gotten so good at ignoring over the years.
“I know,” she started to speak, pasting a smirk on her face, “that you probably don’t want to hear this. But I have one final piece of advice for you.”
Rhys’ mouth turned down in a pout. An annoying zip of attraction chased over her skin without a whisper of acknowledgement from her. Weariness shadowed his tone as he replied, “And that would be?”
"You really should shave.” The tension adequately diffused, she made to reach for the offending patch of facial hair but he jerked back, dropping his arms from her body and stepping away. A laugh unexpectedly bubbled up inside her, turning her smile genuine, despite the hollow feeling that saturated her upon losing his closeness.
“Unbelievable.That has got to be one of the meanest things you’ve ever said to me,” he scoffed, playing up his outrage to allay any lingering tension that may have lurked between them. “I’ll have you know that a lot of people like my moustache. I’ve gotten quite a few compliments, in fact.”
“From who?” she snorted, falling easily into their familiar banter.
“Well, Steve for one.”
“Uh huh,” she intoned skeptically. Her hands landed on her hips as she tipped her head inquisitively. “This is the same Steve who said you looked good in plaid, right?
An abrupt look of vexation flashed across Rhys’ face. “Um…”
“Trust me on this one.” Fiona gave a weary shake of her head. “Don’t take fashion advice from people who cash your checks. Shave the moustache. It’s awful.”
He opened his mouth, ready to retort, when a buzz from his desk shrilled into the room. The grim line his mouth made as he read the latest update drained all the ebullience from their exchange. His shoulders inched up slightly in the stiff posture again, causing Fiona to tense in commiseration.
“What’s happened,” she asked, taking a step closer.
He spared her a brief glance over his shoulder before flicking open his palm and activating the digital interface on his cybernetic arm. “I have to take care of this,” he murmured, ignoring her question. “You should probably get off Promethea soon. Talk to Steve when you leave. He’ll help.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” The words were out before she even realized she’d spoken. As her brain caught up with her mouth, her determination solidified. As much as she was worried about Sasha, she couldn’t turn tail and abandon her friend at a time like this, not with so much on the line. “I can help. What do you need?”
A pinched line formed between his brows as he finally gave his full attention. Seeing her conviction, he nodded. “Okay. Right now, Zero is working on tracking down some intel that could help us get ahead of Maliwan. He could use a hand. Meet him down at the docks. I can fill you in along the way.”
“I’m on it,” she said, striding across his office towards the exit.
“Fiona,” he called, halting her in her tracks. She turned to find him staring at her. A half smile kicked up the corner of that ridiculous moustache. “Thanks.”
A pleasant warmth surrounded her heart. She stamped down the sappy reaction and threw him a wry grin. “You can thank me properly by getting rid of that dead mouse on your face.”
“It’s actually very masculine and sophisticated!” His outraged reply chased her down the hall.
There was a newfound lightness in her step, despite the precarious situation awaiting her beyond the safety of his office. She was going to see this through for Rhys because, despite her reservations, he was family. And she never turned her back on family.
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Strange Bedfellows
Her face crumpled as she threw herself at Rhys again. Shoulders shaking, she started wailing muffled words against his armor. He caught Vaughn’s bewildered gaze over her shoulder, who raised his hands in perplexment. Murmuring platitudes, Rhys gently but firmly pushed the floundering woman upright again.
“It was awful,” she moaned. Her voice sounded hoarse. “I was on my way to visit my— and then we were set upon by– and they tied me up and—-” She continued to babble. Her words became incoherent again as she pressed her face to her hands, then gestured to the woods she’d just emerged from.
“My lady,” Rhys captured her shoulders in a bracing grasp. The clutch seemed to settle her somewhat, quieting the stream of her muttering and allowing him to ask, ”What happened to you?”
“The Dragon,” was all she managed to utter before dissolving into a mess in Rhys’ arms again.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Content Warning! This chapter contains mature themes including grief, kidnapping, vulgar language, misogyny, non consensual groping, attempted sexual assault, murder, and blood. Reader, please be advised.
Chapter Summary:
Left alone in the world once more, Mina contemplates the state of her life. She tucks into bed that evening with the hope that a good night's rest will offer her clear thinking in the morning to sort out her next move. Little does she know the wolves are at the door and her life will never be the same.
Caution turned Mina’s head back as she sprinted through trees, afraid the stranger was chasing her. In the glow of the open door of the shack, she saw he remained where she’d left him; his silhouette leaning against the doorframe for support. Relief sparked a tiny flare of hope within her.
I’m free.
Her attention over her shoulder, she didn’t see the person step out from behind a large oak tree, right into her path. She collided into him at full speed; sending them both into a tailspin. He caught her in his arms; her momentum driving him back a few staggering steps.
Breathless, Mina withdrew quickly. Before she could get away, two muscular arms wrapped around her from behind, ensnaring her in a firm embrace. Panic set in as she struggled for freedom.
“Nonononono, no, no, no,” she croaked; the word echoing like a scream through her mind.
Trapped by the twin bands of iron that were her new captor’s clutch, she bucked and twisted in a desperate bid for deliverance. She beat futilely at the arms encircling her. Her scratches were harmless through the thick leather of his coat. Rapidly, she exhausted herself; her tenacity wilting in the face of such rigid strength. Over the frantic crash of her pulse, she distantly heard the soft rumble of a man’s voice.
“Whoa, now. You’re okay,” he spoke soothingly. His breath fluttered against her hair. “You’re all right now, girl. It’s okay. I’m not gonna hurt you.”
Header Compilation Created by AdmiralSweko
Flourish Addition Credited to @pixopix
The Heart Recognizes Home
by: AdmiralSweko
Chapters: 2/?
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Fandom: Red Dead Redemption 2, RDR2
Rating: Mature
Relationships: Arthur Morgan/Original Female Character, Arthur Morgan/Mina Hawthorne, Ship Name: Arthina
Characters: Arhur Morgan, Philomina (Mina) Hawthorne, Various Original Characters, Van Der Linde Gang Members (Red Dead Redemption)
Additional Tags: OC X CANON, Medium to High Honor Arthur Morgan, Original Female Character, Semi-Canon Divergent, Grief/Mourning, Slow Burn Romance, Multiple Content Warnings (listed in chapter notes before relevant chapters), Tags to be Updated as Fic Progresses
Summary:
Mina Hawthorne is a woman haunted by grief. With the death of her parents at a young age, loneliness stood as close and persistent as a shadow. In an effort to change her plight, she'd answered an ad from a respectable gentleman seeking a wife, assuming this would be her new lease on life. But after his months long absence shortly after their marriage, she is forced to take up the search herself, traveling to his last known location. Upon arriving in the town of Ambrose, she will find not everyone is quite what they seem and events will lead her into the company of an dangerous outlaw with the kindest eyes she's ever seen.
