Chapter Text
She finds him after four hours.
The satellite they were on didn't give him a lot of places to hide, and that would barely matter but this mission was strictly information retrieval, Elio was very clear. All Blade was supposed to do was make sure Silver Wolf could do her job in safety. He felt the mara coil around his bones as soon as they got on the station.
Silver Wolf worked quick, which he always appreciated. He couldn't talk, when he got like this, but no one ever expected him too anyway. His grip on his sword was too tight, joints locking. Silver Wolf, while very talented, wasn't Kafka. Kafka would have noticed right away, because she was used to him, and because she was horrifically attentive.
Silver Wolf finishes her work when his vision swims golden. As soon as Silver Wolf coms Kafka to let her know it's all finished, Blade bolts.
He doesn't want to hurt his coworker. He cared less about the people milling about the station, but Elio said to keep any blood to a minimum, so he had to go somewhere where he can't hurt anyone.
He finds a small dark room with no windows and a door that locks from the inside, and Kafka finds him four hours later.
“Oh dear.” His breathing catches when he hears her. The pain was unimaginable, every nerve ending on fire, every muscle pulled too tight, every joint twisted wrong. “How have we let it get this bad?”
“I don't-” That's Silver Wolf, probably working on the lock. Trying to, at least. The door doesn't budge. Blade had curled into a ball, pressed to the side of a cold wall, grateful for the dark. Before her, he would resort to hurting himself to stave off the madness, to keep him grounded and present. Kafka had said he wasn't allowed to do that when she found out. Had promised she'd take care of it for him. His flare ups were fewer, but they seemed to hit so much harder. “I don't know. I thought you said you got it.”
“I do have it. That's why I'm here.” She hadn't been on the station. She hadn't even been in the galaxy. It took her four hours to find him because she was on the other end of the universe and Silver Wolf had to be the one to explain this mess. “Bladie?”
He opens his mouth- nothing comes out.
“No one's mad.” She says. “You just gave Wolfie a tiny freak out.”
“I'm already over it.”
“She's already over it, see?” Her voice light, he can hear the smile on her face. “I know it's hard right now. I know. But you need to unlock the door for me.”
He tries again, and a sound like choking escapes his mouth.
“Oh, Bladie, I know.” Sympathetic. Gentle. “We can break the door down, but that would bring too much attention. I can whisper you up.” He nods to no one. Her voice gets a little louder, a lot closer, breath on his ear. “I know it hurts, but Listen. I need you to stand up and open the door.” His limbs jolt into obedience, and he roboticaly shuffles to the door.
“Oh shit-” Silver Wolf jolts away when the door swings open. “Sorry-” Kafka looks at her. “Sorry I didn't notice.”
His nods to her, he knows it's not her fault, he could have said, should have said- the warmth of the whisper dissipates, and Blade slumps forward, almost falling.
“We'll be alright.” Kafka catches him. “You can go on your ship to pass the time.”
“And just leave you guys- what if you have to drag him back?”
“Alright, play a game for a while out here on lookout.”
And then he's pushed back into the dark room, spots in his vision from the light. She sits down, Blade is laid out with his head in her lap. One of her hands closes and then covers his eyes. The other rests at his throat, fingers on his pulse point. She took her gloves off at some point.
“You did so good, Blade. So good. No one got hurt. Such a good boy, talking care of Wolfie when I was busy. I'm very proud.” Under her gentle praise, another voice echos and splinters, a whole tonal range. It whispers in a language he doesn't know, but that's fine. It's not talking to him. The voice calls to the mara, talks it down from the roiling ocean to a still lake that sits quiet and calm at the bottom of his soul. “You did everything right, waiting for me.”
He hums, or tries to at least. It comes out as a moan. Kafka sighs through her nose.
“The pain's never fun, is it?”
Even if the mara settled, the damage it wrought through him doesn't disappear. Everything still hurts, still ached, dull throbbing and burning needles.
“I wish I could take that away too, I really do.” He's going to be useless for the next few days, unhelpful, mostly immobile. He would feel more guilt about it if Kafka didn't have as much fun as she did, doting on him.
He barely understands why, but it's not his job to understand why she does anything.
“Poor thing.” The hand on his eyes starts to move away. He tries to follow it, wincing, before she returns it. Cool and soft and so grounding. “Oh, sweetheart.” Laughable. Silly. He loves the petnames more than he could ever admit. “We should get you back, make sure there's nothing wrong.”
He doesn't want to move, though. He wants to sit here in this cold dark room, with his head in her lap, with her hands on his face.
“Well...” It must show on his face. Or maybe she's so attentive she really can read his mind. “We can stay a few more minutes. But only because you're so good for me, okay?”
“Mm.” He says and even if he can't see her he knows she's smiling.
“Sweet little thing.”
…
He sleeps in her room.
He has his own, but it's utilitarian. Barren, everyone else says. Blade doesn't care. He doesn't spend that much time in it anyway.
Kafka's bed- at least the current one- is large and round and soft. Silk sheets, plush pillows, low lighting, consistent air conditioning and a humidifier providing white noise. He's been here for two days, pampered and doted on.
Well.
Kafka would call it that. Blade and Silver Wolf, who had to do most of the pampering and doting because Kafka did still have work on that mission he pulled her off of, would not. Silver Wolf, apparently still feeling slightly guilty, volunteered because Elio was too busy and Sam was on a backwater planet somewhere. Her bedside manner was.
Fine.
It wasn't as bad as she said it was, but it wasn't Kafka.
But it was fine. He had food, he had water, Silver Wolf would lay on top of the covers next to him and play her countless games so that he had something to watch. And, with the pain killers Kafka had left, he was mostly floaty and comfortable. He wouldn't complain either way, but everyone was happy when Kafka finished her job and took over his care with her usual ease.
“How has my good boy been?” She asked once she cleaned up and showered the work off of herself. “Was Wolfie good to you?”
Blade nods, and Kafka crawls into bed beside him, even nudging him a little to the side. He moves, almost painlessly and she gives him a smile. Her skin is warm against his, she smells clean, floral, today. She switches her soaps too often for him to get too used to anything.
“What still hurts? Knees? It's usually your knees, right?”
“And back.”
“Oh, you sound healthy again!” She kisses his temple. “I missed your voice, sweetness.” He sounds like he gargled gravel, but at least he can form words again. That's what healthy sounds like, lately. Then she repeats, “Was Wolfie good to you?”
“Mm. She played her games for me.”
“For you, huh?”
“It was nice.”
“Bet the drugs made it nicer.”
“...They didn't hurt.” She laughs and kisses his temple again. He likes that too. It reminds him of the way someone else used to- Blade squeezes his eyes shut, shakes the memory of him away.
A sigh. He doesn't know which one of them makes the noise
“I know what will cheer you up.” And she holds up the tiny little pill he's taken three times already. “Open.”
He opens his mouth, expecting her to just slide it past his lips. Instead, he watches as she pops into her own mouth like it's candy, and kisses it into his. Her tongue dances against his, then along his teeth, and then it's gone. A quick peck on his lips after his swallows the pill, and she settles back down at his side.
“Such a good boy.” She breathes out. It tickles his ear. “So obedient.”
He... he knows he shouldn't, but everything is good right now. Everything always feels better once the mara ebbs away. So he asks.
“That isn't boring for you?”
Silence, for a moment. The hum of the air conditioning and the humidifier. Everything here for his comfort.
“No, sweetheart. I like when you listen. I know you're very one track minded, so whenever you get off of that track and do your work that makes me happy. Whenever you let me help you, whenever you let me dote on you, it's never something I have complete assurance on, so every time you get like this, trust me enough to be vulnerable around me- it's not boring, baby. It's really fun.”
“Oh.” He says.
The drug is fast acting, that's why they use it. The ache in his knees and the burning in his back subsides. The silk sheets are cool against his skin. Kafka is warm against his side, skin on skin. She reaches up to brush the tears out of his eyes.
“Sweetling.” She says, fond.
“Mm.”
“Tired?”
“I don't know.”
“Oh, it's kicked in, huh?” He nods and she laughs a little. “I brought some books back.” She moves away and it feels like half the universe tilts. There's a moment of nauseating blinding vertigo, but then shes back, the book lying on top of the blankets, and she's shushing him calm again. “I'm right here, Blade.”
“I know. I can...” Feel you. It's stupid to say, so he doesn't, but his eyes are wet again.
“Tender little thing.” She says, and moves them around until he's on his side, head in the crook of her neck. “I'm sorry for being mean and leaving for two seconds.”
“It was at least four.”
“Oh, I'm just awful aren't I?” She kisses the crown of his head. “I'll stay with you until you feel all the way better, how about that?”
“...Don't-” He doesn't even know how to say what he needs.
“I won't overwhelm you again, baby. I'll be good, I promise. Best behavior.” Oh course she knows. Of course she understands.
“Okay.”
“Okay! Here.” She reaches for the book and cracks open the spine. “Sam said we'd really like it.”
Her voice fixes him better than any medicine ever could.