unprompted!! II ALWAYS ACCEPTING!! II @sasorikigai sent: Hanzo's hand moves with the careful precision of a man who has held weapons more often than he has held another's face, his fingers barely ghosting over the swelling darkness that blooms across Olivia's cheekbone like some poisonous flower. The lamplight catches the split in her lip, makes it gleam wet and red, and something ancient and terrible unfurls in his chest - not the cold, calculated fury he summons in the field, but something far more primal, a beast with teeth and claws that has waited dormant in the spaces between his ribs.
His jaw works soundlessly, the muscles jumping beneath scarred skin, because every instinct honed by years of tactical precision screams at him to extract coordinates, names, faces, to reduce whoever did this to nothing more than a remembered regret. But he knows better than to speak those words aloud, knows the weight of violence promised can sometimes crush softer than violence delivered, so instead he breathes through his nose - once, twice - the way he does when zeroing a scope, when steadying himself for the shot that cannot miss.
"Tell me," he finally says, and his voice comes out raw, stripped of the command that usually rings through it like forged steel. His thumb traces the air just beside her injury with such reverence it might be a benediction, might be a vow, might be both - because Hanzo understands the language of wounds better than most men understand poetry, can read in the angle and depth of damage the entire story of how it was inflicted.
The dim light of her apartment makes shadows pool in the hollow of her throat where her pulse beats visible and alive, and he watches it like a man dying of thirst watches water, anchoring himself to that rhythm because it means she is here, she is whole enough to hurt, and he has not yet failed entirely in keeping sacred what little softness this world has allowed him to touch.
"Tell me everything, and I will unmake them from the earth so thoroughly that even their ghosts will forget they ever drew breath enough to speak your name."
(Modern AU. Have an extremely protective Hanzo)
Olivia winces when Hanzo barely touches her, not out of true discomfort, but out of how the sensitive the flesh is where the blood has stained her lips. There is no embarrassed or shame in the singer's gaze, but there is something that carries a flame. Perhaps annoyance. Perhaps discomfort. The leftover emotions that continue to surge through her silently after what had happened tonight.
A small thievery that left more bruised on her pride than her face. Some flunky that Olivia had seen a few times at the club but hadn't cared to think about personally. She figured the stranger was only there to do what most did: enjoy the spoils of music, liquor and maybe have a little fun with it. Security cameras, lists and the bouncers that worked within the club would be able to identify the man without much struggle but for the jazz singer? Olivia hadn't put any thought of the person, never thinking they were a true threat. Until tonight.
She should've known better, asked to be escorted, assuming the backstage exit wouldn't be crowded so late in the night, on an evening that it was slow and dreadfully doole. Where the songs she had performed were for the broken hearted, the depressed, and the ones who slowed danced with strangers into the night. The security remained strict, as per her contract, but with the laggard audience and the blues vibrating through The Blue Sax, none thought that any hostile customers would be in the wistful crowd.
That's when Olivia decided to take the back stage exit door, ready to be reunited with the commander at their apartment, knowing he was likely arriving after his own long hour shift, probably getting their home ready for her, jasmine tea and warm bedsheets.
Then, without seeing in the shadows, was ambushed by the man that had barely crossed her path, who grabbed for her purse and tried to pin her down. The drunkard had failed with the latter, only able to obtain her purse, which Olivia can't help but fume about silently. Olivia tried to fight back, using her self defense methods, but the thief had caught her off guard in a split second (already she can hear Hanzo's mention of how it only takes less than a second for any attacker to get an opening...) to backhand her across the face hard, which leads to the injuries on her face, only allowing herself to wince after it happened from her own ego. It ends with her falling against the brick wall of The Blue Sax, scraping her hand when she tries to catch herself, staining her dress, and hearing the noise of running as she tries to gain composure after what happened.
Purse stolen. Wallet and cash gone. Idiocy claiming her in a moment of weak excitement, tempted not to return to her apartment, shaking from it all.
Her own instincts of the past, which were ripe and skilled from her own experiences as a thief, should've perk up. But maybe it was the way life had changed. Feeling too safe. Comfortable and fortunate with what she has created for herself. An amateur move her past self would of likely laughed at her for today, mocking how she shakes and almost curls against the commander when she had arrived at their apartment door.
As Hanzo sits with her at their dining table, analyzing over the split lip and the bruise forming on her cheekbone. Blood cleaned and applying medicine to help with infection. A faint pink that will blossom within the next few hours into something purple and gross. Commanding her to know who did this, strict and to the point, and the singer can't help but reach for his hand that ghosts over her wounds, giving him a solemn expression of her own, knowing the importance of the matter, grips curling around the commander's hand, wishing to soothe that look on his face with her touch.
Though there isn't much comfort to give. Not when her hands are trembling when Olivia's squeezes his fingers, not when the scrape she had received it still fresh and red from when she fell against the wall. Yet what Hanzo says sends a chill down her body, not at all intimidated, but understanding the seriousness of what he is promising. That what the commander says, will happen, by his hands and his alone.
"I don't know his name. He's... some regular that comes to the club. A little shorter than you but not as big as you are. I could've taken 'em down but it was too dark an' I wasn't fast enough." She explains, mumbling, frowning now. "I didn't go through the front exits tonight. I didn't want to deal with whatever fans could be outside, ya know? I was.. tired. Ready to come home. I went out to the backstage exits where the crew an' band usually leave out of. It was stupid of me, I know darlin', but there usually isn't anyone out there except grunts havin' a cigarette break. They've never bothered me, you know this. They're just tryin' to have a moment away from their jobs."
There was no use in lying or hiding this from Hanzo. The love she feels for the commander, is too true and powerful, reinforced created from bonds that took months to years to remain steady even after so long. Lying would be an insult and denying what happened would be a burden to her darling commander. All that Olivia would never wish to do.
"This man wasn't a worker. Just some customer I should've kept an eye on. The bastard took my purse with my favorite lighter, cards an' my cash." She continues, grumbling, wincing again when she tries to scowl but feels the sting at her cheek. A small whimper escapes from her lips, painful and frustrating. "... my boss doesn't know yet. I wanted you to see you first after what happened. Figured you would know what to do about a filin' a report without gettin' my job involved. I'll call 'em tomorrow mornin' about work. Take up those sick days." Olivia had a ton to pull up that the club owner couldn't deny her anyway. Her mind continues to think about her attacker, trying her best not to grimace as to make the swelling worse, providing further details.
"Dark hair, I think. Maybe brunette or black. Didn't wear nothin' shady or outrageous but didn't wear expensive shoes either. It was odd to see him tonight actually. I usually see him when we have the uptown customers come in." Was the man a lackey for the upscale crime-bosses? No. Someone couldn't be that stupid when they worked for her high-class customers that adored the singer for her voice and performances. There would be grievances, now that Olivia thinks about it, with her cancelling her upcoming shows for next weekend because of her busted lip and bruised face.
"That's... all I can give you, my love. M'sorry. I should've kept a better eye out." Fingers that curled around Hanzo's hand, squeezes again, and she wishes she could lay against him somehow, without feeling that sting against her cheekbone. "... I think I'm ready for bed, darlin'. After what happened tonight I think all I wanna do is sleep for a bit."
Olivia doesn't ask Hanzo to join her. Not when his gaze and intentions are clear as the split lip on her face. Azure eyes meet with amber, softening and she brings her lover's fingertips to her lips, kissing softly, even when it aches and hurts when she does. Then, a small smile forms on her lips, this swelling within her chest that's filled with a strange pride in the commander, enamored by his protectiveness of her, and how nobody has ever bestowed to her such a devotion without hesitation.
"Take me to the bedroom, please?" She never requests Hanzo such fragility. "I think.. I could use your arms around me before you go, Hanzo."
