Though great weight pressed down upon Sanctum, the monolithic golden form did not shake. It knelt, legs tensed and shoulders braced, a faint telekinetic field shimmering around it, as it held off the crushing force of a still collapsing building. Muffled through the crumbled concrete surrounding it other crashes could be heard. They sent tremors through the ground, little pieces of debris scraping and scattering with each shudder. Still, Sanctum did not move. If it were him alone he could have blasted back the rubble and relied upon his armoured suit to protect from any other debris, but he was not alone. He could not risk those unstablised debris harming another.
Cradled in the hollow formed by his body, safely beneath a shield of metal and magic, was a civilian. Not just any civilian. Veerle.
Within the suit, Maxim gritted his teeth. Sanctum’s blank visage showed nothing of his pounding heart or constant worried glances. Thankfully, Veerle seemed unharmed despite how he’d been knocked around.
Sanctum had arrived on the scene as always, not needing to fight anyone but instead save people and mitigate damage caused by an already delt with attack. A crumbling building was no small foe, but it was one his powers were well suited for. But then he’d seen Veerle. Why he was there, darting through the fire and rubble with clear purpose, he had no idea, but Sanctum was glad to have spotted him. If he hadn’t the clumsy professor would surely have been crushed by the sudden collapse of the ceiling.
In that moment he’d acted less on training and battle instinct, but more so raw terror. Strangers dying was one thing. Unpleasant and guilt inducing, but recoverable. But a colleague? A friend? That he would not tolerate. It was a miracle Sanctum hadn’t caused any injury himself with how he’d slammed Veerle to the ground beneath the bulk of the suit, shielding him as concrete cracked against his spine.
Maxim has felt the impact through the padding and supports, wincing at the sharp ache. It would surely bruise, but he’d live. More importantly, so would Veerle.
He studied him from behind the mask, checking for the umpteenth time for injury. There were some minor reddish scrapes and dirty clothes, his silvered hair was a dusty mess and he’d be needing new glasses if the crooked set of his current ones were to go by, but he was breathing fine. He shuffled beneath him, expression evidently tense. Sanctum couldn’t blame him for feeling awkward. Other than some stiff reassurances that he’d get him out when the rubble settled to a safer stabler condition, he’d been silent.
Being stared at by a looming sentinel holding one’s life in their hands probably wasn’t the most calming thing in the world. Inside, Maxim winced. There wasn’t much he could do though. He wasn’t good with being reassurring at the best of times, let alone when worried over a friend. Kind words were always more a Coruscate thing.
Instead he waited, listening carefully and occasionally nudging Veerle back to safety each time his curiosity drew him out. Though he could only feel basic sensations through the suit, the pressure of a body leaning against him, even one as light and boney as the professor’s, was evident. It settled his heart to feel him lean against his torso, hearing an endearingly disgruntled huff as he did. To Maxim he was a man of nearly the same height, but to Sanctum he was tiny. Thin and fragile. Terrifyingly breakable.
But he wouldn’t let that happen.
With great caution Sanctum settled into a sort of sitting position, Maxim sighing as it eased the awkward angle of his legs. With a free hand he coaxed a faintly protesting Veerle back into place. In his half hearted struggles to retain some foolhardy freedom the professor grasped at Sanctums hand. He paused, staring at the simmering point of contact.
Sanctum was, to say the least, constructed on an unrealistic scale. He was made to be literal monolith. A statue. A symbol. And for that he stool heads above any normal person. Veerle had thin long fingers, still smudged with ink from what was likely late night marking and decorated with a few rings. They clutched at the gold, barely able to properly grasp his hand. If he were to clench his fist they’d easily be crushed. Hell, so would the rest of him.
Maxim’s chest tightened, and despite the sounds of displeasure he sequestered Veerle firmly against him. Like it or not, this way he’d be safe. He could keep his friend safe, as was his duty. Veerle would likely wander into his office tomorrow afternoon and complain to him about being manhandled by some hero, and he’d gladly let him.
A concept: a big boy all curled up with his head on my chest after a big meal. He gets to be sleepy and cute while I stroke his hair and call him baby.
