Make sure to bury all that you can (make sure to leave a trace of a man)
Kent Zarneki x f!Button | mind blind | rating: T | post-canon, established relationships, hurt & comfort | summary: Kent returns home from a difficult mission.
***
Some missions, no matter the outcome, all took a piece. Sometimes those pieces were small, easily regenerated things, recovered with sleep and quiet boring days of paperwork and pencil pushing.
But some missions? Some missions took a big piece.
Button heard of some of the details, read the briefing on her tablet while she lounged, half-worry in bed. A gang fight had spilled into a residential area and in desperation, a Ment member had taken over the mind of a civilian... had used them as a cover. Made them appear to be part of the gang.
Unfortunately, this wasn’t something the team learned until after the civilian had been taken down. They were alive, but critical. Laying in a hospital, injured not by the “bad guys” but by the “good ones”.
And that alone was upsetting for anyone. But for Kent, it was a double edged sword.
He hadn’t even removed his tactical suit when he opened their bedroom door and after a moment, slowly crawled into bed with her. Even now he was still done up in black, the shielding heavy across Button’s lower body as he lay, completely still on top her, his face buried in the soft material of her sweater, just below her breasts.
The only reason she even knew he was still awake was because of his hands, bunched tightly in the fabric behind her back. Every once and awhile, his arms would tighten around her, his body rigid and growing with tension until she felt him tremble from it.
Button just held him. Soothed her fingers through his hair and rubbed circles on his upper back, sometimes softly murmuring, “I’ve got you.”
Kent relaxed into her, turning his cheek against her stomach with a deep sigh, the sound catching just barely in his throat.
“I know you don’t wanna hear this, but... it wasn’t your fault.”
He didn’t reply.
“How could you have known?”
“A Ment would have.”
And there it was. Button knew it was partly about the civilian, but it was partly about something else. Something closer, something more personal and more painful. When that man was taken over, forced to act against his will, it would be impossible for Kent not to see the similarities. To think of his mother.
“Grayson wouldn’t have and he is a Ment,” she said, “Or Sally. Even Nick would have needed more time and there wasn’t any. People were in danger. You saved them.”
“All except one.”
“They’re still alive, aren’t they?”
Kent breathed out slowly, “For now.”
“Bit grim and fatalistic of you, Kenzie.”
“I am grim and fatalistic.”
Her heart flickered sharply with worry.
“And dirty.” Button added, swiping her thumb across his cheek both in an effort to remove a trace of grit and for the sheer act of touching. His eyes were barely open to start and at the touch, he closed them entirely.
She used the back of her knuckles, drawing them across his face and back up into his hair line. Kent let out another slow breath.
“You’ll be more comfortable outta this getup.” Button suggested quietly, shifting to sit up only to feel his arms tighten further, holding her fast.
“Kent?”
He’d turned his face back into her stomach, hidden from view. His voice was muffled when he spoke.
“I’m tired.”
“I know. Let me help.”
There were straps easily accessible on his shoulders, so Button started with those, giving Kent time to will himself up to kneel astride her legs and let her tug the carbon polymer chest piece free. He wore more armor than Grayson, the suit designed to protect from knives or ballistics and covering more surface area.
Button was making work of the protective guards around his left forearm when Kent leaned forward and buried his face into her neck.
It wasn’t the most practical position, but she made it work, feeling the exhaustion radiating from him in every sluggish movement he made. It was more to do with the adrenaline come down than true physical exhaustion, something Button was familiar with from her own days right after the “incident” with her mother... so much time spent teetering between one anxiety attack and the next.
Button discarded the gauntlets off the edge of the bed, ignoring their harsh clatter as she reached around Kent and unattached the back piece that protected his spine. His silhouette was altered by the bulk of the armor, and now without it, he felt more like her Kent. The one she fell asleep next to every night, who smiled at her when he handed her a morning coffee and kissed her on the steps of Aeon before they parted to their respective places for the day.
Button sat up a bit taller, reaching behind Kent’s neck to tug on the high-necked black shirt he wore beneath. He got the message, ducking down and allowing her to pull it off over his head. Button hissed in sympathy when she noted a patch of quickly darkening bruises along the right side of his ribs.
“You got shot?” She says, her voice falling to a whisper.
“Yeah.” Kent said with a shrug, his nonchalance at taking one in the vest doing nothing to console her. She ghosted herself fingertips near the bruise, feeling his muscles flex as he shied away from the touch.
Button leaned forward and pressed a kiss against his chest. His bare hands also sported bruises, dotted over his knuckles, reddening his pale skin. Button kissed each one. She had moved to do the same to his other hand when Kent tugged them both free, tangled his fingers in her hair and pulled her head back and to the side. His mouth slanted against hers, lips already parted. Kent didn’t often kiss her this way. Hot, demanding, over eager. His tongue slid over her bottom lip, barely waiting for permission before he licked into her opened mouth.
The kiss was bruising, desperate and in short— not about kissing.
Button turned her face away, his lips trailing across her cheek at the movement. Whatever had come over him faded as quickly as it sparked.
“I’m… sorry. I didn’t— I…”
“You’re hyped up don’t be sorry. I get it. Normally I’d be downright thrilled.”
Kent didn't reply, but Button could tell it wasn’t because he had nothing to say.
“You need a release… but not like that.”
Kent swallowed hard and when he met her eyes, she could see the cracks forming behind them, breaking through the slate grey like a dam. His eyes wavered.
“It’s okay, baby,” she whispered, taking his face into her hands.
Three words and he was unmade.
Kent hardly ever made a sound when he cried, but every so often his arms would grasp around her so tightly it hurt to breathe. He gasped sometimes, the sound like a muffled hiccup against Button’s chest. She felt the breaking of the tension as keenly as Kent did, the flood of emotion falling off of him in waves.
She held him all the while.
