houseofmcallister presents
Enemy of my Enemy
Pairing: Uldren x Young Wolf
Category: One-Shot
Genre: Fluff
Rating: 13+
Warnings: No major warnings apply
Word Count: 951
Summary: Enemy of my enemy is… also my enemy?
they/them pronouns used for the Guardian. we're inclusive here.
author's note: I'm so abnormal about them it's probably not healthy. also arguably a reader insert cause you are the guardian?? whatever.
Enemy of my enemy, never been a friend to me.
There is an old saying from before the Golden Age. “The enemy of my enemy is my friend.”Most things from before the Golden Age had rotted into obscurity, meaningless memories of a past long dead, like old bones of interest only to historians and those who mourn its loss personally.
Unfortunately, this particular memory of the time long before was frustratingly still applicable.
The Guardian is a capable fighter, a worthwhile ally in the hunt for the House of Wolves. An ally if only by a common enemy because he’d be damned if they were anything more.
Uldren hates the Guardian, despises everything about them.The way they tilt their arm up when they grab their gun, it’s such a needless “trick”. Just hold your hands steady, and you won’t tilt the sights.
The way their gauntlets are so dented and scarred. Just take a bit of time to buff out your armor, it wouldn’t even take that long, it’s just lazy.
He hates the way they grow silent when analyzing a target. It’s so unsettling. Just… say things to your team. It makes missions more effective.
He tries to convince himself he hates the way they smile into the sunshine, tilting their head up just a bit to catch the light a bit more. He tries to convince himself that he hates how they lean in a bit when people speak to them, so quiet and so focused on listening. He tries to convince himself that he hates the way their voice rasps when they speak, unaccustomed to talking, quiet and rough, annoyingly so.
He’s starting to wonder if Mara is making him work with them because she’s mad at him right now. She knows how much he hates the Guardian.
“You don’t hate them, dear brother. If you did, you’d be quieter about them,” she had said when he raised issue with having to work with them again.
He hates that maybe she’s right.
Maybe the vain attempts to convince himself of how much he despises them aren’t working. But damn if he doesn’t try, taking every small flaw and amplifying it to infinity.
They walk too fast. They’re too confident. They’re so unsettlingly quiet so often. They’re constantly hyperactive. They’re so reckless on the battlefield. They have awful taste in music. What the hell even is Led Zeppelin? Their eyes are creepy, speckled with the Light, twining around the Iris like vines. Their smile is infuriatingly genuine. They almost never talk when they’re not on the field, preferring to let their Ghost do it for them. They don’t even have a proper name! What kind of hero doesn’t have a proper name?!
He repeats these small hatreds to himself, reminds himself of how they dance so stupidly at any given opportunity, how they drop the ground when they sit like their armor suddenly became too much weight to carry, reminds himself how they run about the Reef like a child every time they arrive.
And then they do things like this.
The mission had been complete, but the Guardian had insisted on staying behind just a bit longer because “the sun is about to set and it’s always so pretty out here.”
So, they sit on the ledge of a cliff, legs dangling over the edge, staring at the sky with rapt attention. And Uldren is standing a few feet away, impatiently waiting for the sun to set so they can get a move on already. He has things to do that aren’t… this.
“Stop sulking over there. I can feel your glare from here,” they call over their shoulder.
Uldren huffs. “I’m not sulking, I’m waiting.”
“Waiting, sulkily,” they counter, turning around to look at him. “Come on, sit down with me. Watch the sunset. Maybe seeing the glorious beauty of life will help fix that relentless hateful energy you have all the time,” they say and pat the ground next to them.
“I’d rather die,” Uldren all but hisses.
“Well, cliff’s right there,” they gesture. “Feel free to jump.”
He rolls his eyes and does his best to hide the hint of a smile battling its way onto his face. That was… a clever comeback. He has to give them that.
“Ah!” The Guardian cries, stumbling to their feet, pointing at him. “What’s that? Are you smiling?!”He bares his teeth at them. “No,” he growls.
“My god you were! And I thought you were allergic to happiness!” they tease, approaching him.
“I’m not, I didn’t smile, now go back to watching your sunset so we can leave. Please.”
They stretch their arms out, and shake their head. “Ah, I’ve seen plenty of sunsets before. And I got something way more valuable out of this,” they offer him a mischievous grin. “You have a pretty smile.”
He tenses, heat flushing his face. No, no! He doesn’t like them. They’re not even friends! They’re just an ally. Enemy of my enemy. They’re annoying and overconfident and only useful as a gunman and- and wow, they look pretty at sunset, the fading light catches beautifully on their face, glinting off their armor like paintings of gods and angels from before the Golden Age, like Ares with kinder eyes. No! No, don’t think like that!
They lean in, eyes teasing. “You know, you’re cute when you’re flustered.” He thinks his brain short-circuited for a second there.
They clap a hand on his shoulder, and begins to walk past them. “Come on, let’s get back, eh? I’d like to get back to the Tower before tomorrow.”
God, he hates the Guardian so much. Enemy of my enemy is my friend, but The Guardian is an enemy all their own.
Just discovered All Them Witches while porting this. Pretty good band.
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