Work Text:
It was raining outside. The faint glimmer of sunlight was completely obstructed by a heavy curtain of wind and rain, overtaking what little warmth there was while the northern winds wrapped up the beginning of the year. A fine mist blanketed the earth, little cloudbanks dancing around the base of the landship like bunnies frolicking in the grass.
Rhodes Island was docked in Lungmen, a pharmaceutical remora hitching a ride on a geopolitical whale. This remora has just finished cleaning out the mobile city, successfully putting a stop to the terrorist group Reunion’s plans to crash the fallen city of Chernobog into Lungmem. Should they have failed, well, they wouldn’t be resting in the city now, would they?
These thoughts chased each other around the Doctor’s mind as they stared at the dreary resumes on their work desk. Her sleepy eyes have started to glaze over the documents, the words bouncing and dancing like the screen saver of a DVD player. Skills – certifications – Arts – medical status – former affiliations – they were all a blur before her eyes. For a moment, she wonders what life without war is like, but stifles the thought. There’s still so much to be done, they cannot afford to be distracted.
It was odd, not seeing the Doctor at all the entire day. On most days, when she had no paperwork to do (or avoid), she could be found wandering the halls of the landship, spending time with the various personnel onboard Rhodes Island. Sometimes, when they were inspired by a sudden muse, they could be found in various corners and heights, trying to capture the moments around them in ink and graphite and color.
But then, knowing how the Doctor has been ever since halting Chernobog, it was with mild surprise that Hoshiguma, currently looking for the Doctor, found her zonked out at her work desk, head on her arms as she was surrounded by towering mounds of paperwork, empty takeout boxes, cups with nothing but dregs of caffeine at the bottom, and if she squinted, she could see cans of alcohol haphazardly hidden underneath the desk. Inspector Hoshiguma, the ever reliable “Madam Oni” of the LGD, was no stranger to the sight of the Doctor dead to the world in the midst of work. But this is the first time she’s seen her passed out after days of little to no sleep. Is this how Amiya feels, fretting over the Doctor?
Speaking of…
//It’s alright Amiya, I’ve found her already. She’s asleep in her office// said the message she sent. Really, she’s surprised the Cautus hasn’t grayed with stress yet – worrying over the people you love really doesn’t do well for your health.
As she was doing last month, and as she is doing so now.
A ping from her phone.
//Ohthanky ou so much! They’ve been wrking all week long helping the Yetis and Guerillas fit in// said Amiya’s reply. The past month has been interesting, to say the least. Ever since the disbanding of Reunion, Rhodes Island has attracted the attention of more and more disenfranchised groups of the Infected – particularly, the remaining members of the Yeti and Guerilla Squadrons, former members of the Reunion movement looking for a cause to support now that their leader has betrayed them.
It did help that the Doctor had assisted and befriended their leaders in the middle of their skirmishes – and was the first to advocate on their behalf when they decided to turn their backs on Reunion. Hoshi still remembers when the Yetis finally called for a ceasefire – the time when their leader, the frigid FrostNova, was at the height of her oripathy. After a tense stand-off in the depths of the Lungmen slums, it was with great relief to many when the good Doctor returned to Rhodes Island alive, albeit exhausted. And it was even greater surprise when she returned not just alive, but with a critical FrostNova in her arms.
Hoshiguma also recalls what Rhodes Island did to halt the mobile city of Chernobog: an infiltration force made of a handful of recon squads, volunteers willing to risk their lives for the sake of protecting innocent lives and preventing the ensuing political upheaval between Lungmen and Ursus. However due to the recent assassination attempt that the double-agent W failed to pull off against the leader of Talulah, the fallen city has been on high alert for any outside intervention. Thus, the Guerilla Squadron caught wind of Rhodes Island, and mobilized to confront them. Led by the formidable Patriot, many assumed that nobody would be left standing. Fortunately, it appeared that the wendigo just wanted to have a few words with Rhodes.
//Yeah I can tell. Her desk is just a huge pile of CVs and medical records. I take it I’m gonna have to take her to her room?// Over thirty percent cell-originium assimilation? Any higher and he’d be just a statue, the oni marvels to herself. She has met this living legend once; when he went onboard the landship requesting both treatment for his death sentence and the opportunity to see his now bed-ridden daughter. It was a sight to behold, a giant of a man and his minuscule in comparison daughter sharing solace in one another’s presence, a silent reassurance that no matter what happens, they will never be separated again.
//That would be great actually! Im pretty sure that theyd appreciate the help :D// Well that’s good to know. After sending back a message confirming that she will help the Doc to her room, the person in question stirs awake. Talk about impeccable timing.
“Mmmm…. Hoooshi? ‘Sh that you?” asks the Doctor, looking up at the green pillar with bleary eyes. “Nneed shomethin?”
Hoshi looks down at the Doc and sighs. Why does this feel familiar?
“Yeah, actually. Amiya told me to look for you, what with it being really late into the night and all,” she answers. “I’m gonna get you to your room, alright?”
“Yyeah, shure…” her weary charge mutters, and reaches up to grab on to the oni. Hoshi, for her part, tries to pull the Doctor to her feet. Key word: tries. She may have misjudged her strength, as now the Doctor is slumped against the much taller inspector, drunkenly trying to remain upright while the oni supports her.
“Are you alright, Doctor?” asked the oni. Now that she’s gotten a whiff of the Doctor though, maybe the answer was too obvious. Just how much did they drink tonight?
“no…”
Right. Things are never easy, aren’t they? No devices open, files haphazardly resting in their folders, hell even their phone is snoozing. Now what to do…
“Look, we’re going to get you to your room, alright? I really don’t think sleeping on your work desk would be good for your back,” she said, wondering just how the hell is she supposed to get the Doctor to her room. Being on the same floor as the office means no difficulties navigating stairs, or even needing to use an elevator. “I’m pretty sure we could get there without much hassle – ”
“C-carry me.”
– and then came the record scratch. She glances down at the Doctor, who in turn was drunkenly leaning into her arm, clinging to it as if their life depended on it. It hasn’t been the first time she had to carry a colleague, and it sure as hell wasn’t the first time that she had to carry a drunken colleague. Considering that she’s light as a feather compared to Hannya, then maybe…
Sure, why the hell not?
“Alright then. Just please brace yourself,” said Hoshiguma, before reaching down and scooping up the Doctor, one arm under the legs and the other propping up her back. Could’ve just slung her across her back, but. That’s just rude at this point, right? Plus, carrying the Doctor like this is much more comfortable than being fireman-carried.
…A sentiment that the Doctor seems to agree with, reaching up to Hoshi’s neck and getting comfortable in her arms. Within moments, she was leaning into the much taller lady’s torso, using Hoshiguma as both bed and pillow while the alcohol-induced stupor led to her snoozing in relative peace.
[Well. Okay then. That happened.]
She did agree to carrying the Doctor. She just wasn’t expecting her to get comfortable while in her arms. Still, it could’ve been worse – they both could’ve been stuck in the rain, for instance. That really did a number on Ch’en’s health, she recalled – one of the rare times Ch’en allowed herself to be taken care of. At least this time, the person she’s carrying isn’t at mortal peril, right?
If only you could see them, Ch’en. You’d be surprised at how alike you two are.
She sighs and sets off towards the Doctor’s room, careful to not bump her on the office’s doorframe. There’s no point in idling in one’s thoughts – we all have to keep moving forward. Subconsciously, she holds the Doc closer to her. Maybe when we move forward, we should make sure not to leave the ones we love behind.
There weren’t any other people in the corridor. Very few people besides the Doctor would bother to stay up late during nights like this, and fewer still would bother to go back to their dorms and rooms, opting instead to sleep in their offices and workspaces – assuming that they even go to sleep at all. There were rumors going around that sleeping near your work enhances productivity, but all Hoshiguma has seen (and experienced) were heavy eyebags and ruined posture. So yes, bed rest it is for a drunken Doctor.
The Doctor’s room was locked, although it was no issue – a quick swipe of the Doctor’s ID through the electronic lock and they were let in, the taller lady making sure that her charge doesn’t bump the doorframe. It was dark inside the room, but the hallway lights bleeding in through the door gave Hoshi enough vision to discern the odd shapes within the room.
Scattered books danced around the bases of used easels, walls plastered with sheets of notes and diagrams of various prototypes and strategies, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with sketches of objects and people. In the dim light, Hoshi cannot exactly make out what the sketches were, but she does remember seeing the Doctor around the subjects of the pieces.
They were people they once knew. People they’ve lost, people who stayed, people they fought. People they care about.
She finds the bed tucked in the corner of the room, next to a crowded desk piled on by various books, knick-knacks, and curios – gifts and mementos from within the people within Rhodes Island. She could make out a weird medicinal vial, a music sheet, a plastic bow, a fuzzy hat, and – hmm, she recognizes those pages! So, she actually read it, huh? That’s a nice thought.
On the bed was a pile of sheets and pillows, a nest of sorts for someone who stays up so late. Hoshi untangles the Doctor from her arms so she could gently lay them down on the bed, wondering what to do with the sheets and pillows so as to let them settle down. Well, that’s what she would have done, if it weren’t for the fact that A. the Doctor didn’t let go of her arm, and B. she got pulled down with her onto the bed.
“Wait, what––”
A dull *thump* resounds across the room as both oni and Doctor crash onto the pile, the all-consuming pile of softness and safety cushioning their fall. The Doctor still hasn’t let go of Hoshi, instead opting to adjust her grip on the much taller lady’s arm, scooting into the green-head’s embrace. Hoshiguma, on the other hand, can only stare down at the Doctor’s head in surprise. What the Doctor says after settling down in her arms surprises her further.
“D-don’t leave. Please.”
Hoshiguma, Inspector of the Lungmen Guard Department, now the Chief Superintendent in Ch’en’s absence, has undergone many things in her life. She fought tooth and nail for the sake of her family, before being forced to turn against them. She has roamed the streets of Lungmen, a noble, unstoppable force of the criminal underground. She has watched almost all of her friends either die or leave her behind – and the ones remaining are the ones who have taken her in. Friends who have helped her become better than her past – a past that she can finally lay to rest as she faces the future almost alone.
Almost.
Yet not a single one of these experiences prepared her for this. What could, in all honesty? All she ever knew was a lifetime of conflict and strife – a never-ending cycle of grief dotted with brief moments of respite. How does a person sharpened and hardened by life answer to someone who wants to bring softness and warmth to the people they come across? How does Hoshiguma, a warrior who has lost almost everyone in her life, answer to the Doctor’s simple request?
She stays.
“It’s alright. I won’t,” she mutters, slightly pulling the Doctor closer to her. “I would never want to leave you.”
At these words, it was as if a hefty weight was lifted from the Doctor’s shoulders. Her grip on Hoshi’s arm loosens as the oni in turn wraps her other arm around the Doctor. Both Doctor and oni fall into an easy silence, a moment of peace between a world-weary couple as the heavy weight of sleep encroaches upon the two – one taking shelter in the embrace of her companion, the other silently swearing an oath to protect her companion.
If you look closely, you could see the exact moment the Doctor melts into a pile of goo.
That night, the good Doctor had a weird dream. She dreamt that she was adrift in the sky, aimlessly tossed around in the heavens as the turbulent winds slowly but surely shaped the currents that fill the sails of the world beneath her towards a harsher tomorrow. There was a myriad of voices calling out to her, an overlapping susurrus of static and concern, of worries and assurances and compromises and it all won’t stop, won’t slow down and it keeps getting louder and louder and faster and urgent and –
“It’s alright, Doctor. I am here.”
One voice rose above all the rest, a lighthouse of comfort amongst the sea of stress and confusion. A voice that brought comfort, one that anchored her and put her at ease once more. A gentleness that belied strength, fortitude that promised safety, dedication that sheltered faith. Only one such person could bear that voice.
Only one such person could give her that comfort.
And then, consciousness – a slow journey into wakefulness, of the lazy way a person tries to get back to sleep, of blissfully snuggling into the arms of their companion –
Wait, what.
Her eyes slam open, panic coursing through her veins. In that instant, her eyes are greeted by a shroud of green, a veil of hair trickling down her cheek as she was vaguely aware of someone’s chin resting on top of her head. Her face rapidly brightly contrasted the wreath of sea green, the bright rays of the morning sun shining down on her as she realized two things.
First, someone as hugging her in her sleep. Second, and more importantly, that someone is Hoshiguma. She’s being snuggled by Hoshiguma. Holy shit holy shit holy shit–
“Morning, Doctor,” said a voice that never failed to send their stomach into somersaults. Like listening to a gentle breeze in the midst of a storm. Like a firm grip pulling her out of the gooey mess known as her thoughts.
“m’rning”, she squeaked out. Maybe she was still dreaming? There’s no way they actually just– (A quick glance downwards showed that they, in fact, did not) So then why – is she really in Hoshi’s arms holy shit–
“If you don’t mind, Doctor,” said the oni, fidgeting slightly to adjust her arms around the Doctor. A quick yawn, before she continues, “I think I would just… stay here a bit longer. The rest of the day can wait.”
And with that, she returns to sleep, her gentle snoring lulling the Doctor as they mull over their thoughts.
She’s right. The rest of the day can wait. She could just ask questions later. She could. Get back to work later. Help Yelena and Buldrokkas’tee settle in better. Arrange visiting hours for Sasha to check up on Eno. Maybe even stop W from harassing Alex and Misha. Brainstorm with Kal’tsit and Amiya on how to prepare against Theresis.
Or.
.
.
She could just. Relax. She’s safe. Nothing could get to her. Her work could wait a bit longer.
Hoshi has her back.
.
.
She could get used to this.
Bonus:
The noble warrior finds herself amidst a fog-swallowed land. No matter which way she turned, there was nothing left to see but the gloomy haze smothering the world – nothing, except the cracked and worn road that she stood on. With nothing to do and nothing to lose, she sets off into the unknown, missing the familiar weight of her battered shield.
What felt like hours turned into days, and days into weeks, and weeks into months and on and on and eternity beckoned her deeper into the mists, reaching nothing yet hearing everything happening just outside her reach – of a myriad incomprehensible whispers clashing with each other in the winds, the stories of dead men riding amongst the roar of the damned getting louder and louder with every step on the road she travelled.
The farther she travelled, the more she recognized the voices – she hears her brother cursing the world as his greatest work was torn away from him, her dearest friend crying for her sister to return, her boss swearing to rebuild their city at the cost of his life. She slowly makes out other voices too – a child pleading for her brother’s life, a father challenging his country’s honor, a farmer wishing only to rest, a mighty beast answering its master’s call. There was more, so much more, coming from a vortex of conscious thought that draws her in the farther she travels forward.
But why? From what place do these voices and memories come from? Why is she compelled to follow them to their source? What should she expect to find? Is there even anything to find?
Her seemingly unending march yielded answers soon enough.
The fogs lifts, and at the end of the road she sees… something. A towering dome of fog and sound, swirling and churning great clouds of mist around itself and the approaching warrior. At the center of the dome, she sees the familiar shape of her Hannya, leaning against a small, huddled figure, as if they were using the shield to hide from the voices and the memories.
“I’m sorry… I’m sorry…” over and over again, a familiar voice coming from the figure next to the great shield.
The closer she went, the more she recognizes the figure, and the more she understands just who the voices belonged to. The clouds swirl and pull against her, yet they cannot stop her from breaking through and reaching out to person, shrugging off the cacophony of sound and recollection as the dome tries to bring her down like how it brought down the poor Doctor.
Instead, she arrives at her side and braces herself against her shield. With her immense strength she hefts it up and channels her arts into it, using the wind itself to power her shield and turning it against the howling gale of worry and memory. The Hannya answers her call, the manifold blades spinning like a windmill as the clouds of fog and noise and doubt were dissipated under the force of her will.
The Doctor stirs under her, looking up at the warrior as the sun broke through the clouds and shone down once more.
“Hoshi?”
Hoshiguma looks down at the Doc as the Hannya continuously shreds the fog, sunlight peeking around her muscular form as her hair is blown back by the wind, a sea of green framing the gentle gaze she gave to the one she swore to protect.
“It’s alright, Doctor. I am here.”
�End