Chapter Text
Ambrosius focuses much too hard on not letting his voice waver.
Ballister was tucked into his chest, sobbing with his face buried in the crook of his neck as the gold-clad knight gave orders on what to do and where to go. His first priority was the wounded – and at the top of that list was the battered and bruised man curled into him. Ambrosius barely registers the sting of cuts on his face as he cards a hand through Ballister’s dark hair in an attempt to soothe him, cringing at the stiffness and the amount of dust that falls out of it as he does so.
Ballister deserves a bath and treatment for his injuries and a hot meal and a million other things that Ambrosius should have already been giving him. He had fucked up. He had truly, royally fucked up. The man in his arms was missing one of his because of him. The guilt that he had shoved down rises to the surface and starts to gnaw at his very core as he just stares down at his boyfriend’s (did he still have the right to call him that?) trembling form.
The moment all the orders had been given and the other knights were off doing whatever task they were assigned, Ambrosius wastes no time scooping Ballister up into his arms – much to the shorter man’s surprise – and carrying him to the medical tent that had been set up. As they walk, he tries to think of something, anything, to say. He opens and shuts his mouth several times, and instead opts for just holding Ballister as close as he can, listening to the pounding of his own heart.
When they make it to the medical tent, nurses immediately start fussing over Ambrosius, but he quickly informs them that Ballister is injured worse. He lays him on a cot as instructed and helps him remove his armor and get him into the hospital gown, lips pressed into a thin line as Ballister occasionally winces or hisses in pain.
“I’m sorry…” Ambrosius whispers, and he isn’t too sure what he’s apologizing for. For Ballister’s arm? For not believing him? For trying to arrest him? For Nimona? For the pain he’s in? “For everything.” He settles on. He calls the nurses back in after Ballister’s armor is off, and they go to remove his prosthetic. This only causes Ballister to flinch away, holding it protectively.
“No, I-I…” He looks at Ambrosius, his doe-like eyes filled with something akin to fear. Ambrosius sighs, taking Ballister’s flesh hand in his own.
“Bal… you have to let them do their job.” He murmurs softly. “It’s the only way they can help.” It takes a little convincing, but Ballister eventually agrees, holding his robotic arm out to the nurses.
“Twist, then pull.” He instructs, and they do just that and set the arm over near his armor. They raise the sleeve of the hospital gown he donned, and Ambrosius can barely keep himself from breaking into tears at the site. The stump of Ballister’s arm was grotesque to say the least – the stitches had obviously been uneven and lumpy, and the skin bunched awkwardly around the wound.
(It was his fault. It was all his fault.
If he had gone after Ballister, if he had been there to help, maybe it would have healed better. The scar wouldn’t be harsh and jagged, it wouldn't look so painful.
Hell, maybe if Ambrosius had used his head for a second, Ballister wouldn’t have lost his arm in the first place. What kind of boyfriend chops off the arm of the man he loves? Why was that his first though?
What the hell is wrong with him?)
Ballister avoids Ambrosius’s eyes, staring down at their intertwined hands instead as the nurses inspects every inch of him.
“Thankfully, nothing looks broken.” One of the nurses tells them, “We’ll still do some x-rays, just to double check, but it looks like it’s just some nasty bruises from some form of beating.”
“Beating?!” Ambrosius turns his worried eyes to Ballister, who merely picks at a loose thread on the hospital gown. Ambrosius decides not to pry at the moment as the nurses take their x-rays and leave the two alone. The blonde turns so many different ideas of what to say over and over again in his mind, until Ballister breaks the silence.
“Thank you… for- for bringing me here. I…” He trails off, finally looking up at Ambrosius’s face, who nearly cries as he looks at him. Ballister looks so tired, eyes dull and full of a sadness that Ambrosius couldn’t even begin to understand. His face was marred with bruises, including a nasty one right over his eye. The circles under his eyes were darker than Ambrosius remembered.
“Bal…” He sniffs helplessly, shaking his head. He takes a deep breath. “I’m so fucking sorry. For everything. I-I don’t-” Before he can get another word out, Ballister is cutting him off.
“Stop. It’s okay. Really.” He insists, but Ambrosius doesn’t believe him. There’s no way he can just be okay with missing an arm and having the man he was in love with (was he still…?) being the reason for it. There’s no way he can be okay with Ambrosius trying to arrest him.
“I…” Ambrosius uses his other hand to wipe at the tears before they fall. “A-Are you sure? I-I just-”
“Yes, ‘Rose, I’m sure.” Ballister shifts a bit, only to hiss in pain as he moves. Ambrosius immediately hovers his hands over him in worry, but Ballister waves him off. “I’m fine. I promise.”
“At least come home… er, to my house. You deserve a bath and some food.”
“Mm…” Ballister hums in response, nodding a bit. “Okay.”
“Okay.” Ambrosius agrees.
–
The nurses, after confirming that nothing was broken, sent the pair on their way so they could tend to the more seriously injured.
Ambrosius supports Ballister the entire way to their… his apartment, not wanting him to overwork himself when he probably ached all over. When they make it through the door, Ballister’s first instinct is to head to the couch and collapse, but Ambrosius drags him up the stairs to the bathroom before he can get two steps towards the piece of furniture. He gently assists his boyfriend (the uncertainty in that word hurt) in getting undressed and slipping into the hot bath that was drawn for him. He sits awkwardly for a second as Ballister relaxes in the bathtub before speaking again.
“Do… Do you want some privacy?” He asks quietly, and Ballister merely shakes his head. He didn’t want to be alone right now, not after everything. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to handle it. Ambrosius just nods and continues to sit there with him as he soaks his aching body in the warm water. Eventually, Ambrosius stands and grabs a rag out of the small closet, coming back over and kneeling next to the bathtub. Wordlessly, he soaks in the rag in the water and gently, carefully, runs it over the bruises marring Ballister’s back and chest. He’s as gentle as he can be, and when he’s done he sets the wet rag in the sink and goes back to just sitting on the floor.
“Thank you…” Ballister hums, and Ambrosius only nods, afraid he wouldn’t be able to keep his voice steady if he responded verbally.
When he gets out of the bath, Ballister is happy to find that his vision is no longer swimming and the aches throughout his body have dulled to be more bearable. Ambrosius says he’ll go start on dinner and informs the other that their closet still has his clothes in it before leaving Ballister to his own devices.
The one armed man steps into the familiar bedroom across the hall, breath catching at the way it almost seemed like the room was frozen in time. Pictures of him and Ambrosius were up on the corkboard on the wall, every inch of it covered in memories. The notes they passed between each other on napkins and gum wrappers during classes had their own little section on one of the walls. Trinkets and knick knacks from the both of them covered the shelves and the huge bookshelf was just as he remembered it.
(They really loved each other.
They still do. Or at least, he hoped Ambrosius still loved him. That’s what he said at The Antlered Serpent right before Nimona…
He didn’t want to think about it.)
He shakes his head, warding off the sour thoughts and re-attaches his robotic arm, the familiar buzzing of it clicking into place working to soothe him. He roots through the closet, pointedly deciding that he did not want to wear any of his own pajamas. Sifting through the blonde’s side, he comes up with a pair of silky, cream colored pajamas. Ballister throws them on quickly and then slowly makes his way downstairs, following the smell of whatever food Ambrosius decided to cook for the two of them.
“What’re you making?” Ballister asks, startling the blonde out of his thoughts.
“Oh, nothing fancy. Just some pasta.” He shrugs, turning around and blinking at Ballister’s choice of clothes. “Those are my pajamas.” He notes.
“Yes.”
“You know that all of your clothes, including your pajamas, are still in the closet right?”
“Mhm.”
“And you chose my pajamas.”
“Yeah.”
That small action alone is enough to give Ambrosius hope that, maybe, Ballister was still in love with him. The shorter man hadn’t said it back when he told him at The Antlered Serpent, but that didn’t mean anything, as far as he was concerned. He’d cling to that hope for as long as it took to fix things.
He really had a lot to make up for.
They eat mostly in silence, Ambrosius’s eyes darting between his meal and Ballister’s robotic arm. Eventually, he can’t stand it anymore.
“I-I’m–”
“‘Rose, I swear to Gloreth, if you apologize again–”
“Just listen to me for a second, Bal.” The dark haired man raises an eyebrow. “I-I chopped off your whole fucking arm. Why do you still trust me? Why are you letting me take care of you? I-I mean, don’t get me wrong! I’m glad you are! I just…” He trails off, staring very intently at his napkin.
“I never said I trusted you.” The words are like knives in Ambrosius’s heart, and his shoulders visibly slump. Ballister sighs, reaching across the small table and taking one of the blonde’s hands in his robotic one. “Listen. I love you, I promise you that, but I’m still working on trusting you again. It’s…” He fumbles for a moment, trying to find the right words.
(What were the right words in a situation like this?
Getting your arm cut off by your lover wasn’t exactly something you just… got over. Of course he still loved Ambrosius, and of course he wanted nothing more than to just go right back to the way things were, but that’s not how the world works. This relationship was going to need a lot of effort put into it in order to get back to a semblance of normal, and part of that effort was learning to trust the man before him again.
He was sure he’d get there, he just wasn’t sure how long it would take.)
“It’s… hard.” He settles for eventually, squeezing Ambrosius’s hand gently.
“I-I understand. Really, I do. I-I just… I look at your arm and I’m so full of… guilt.”
“Listen to me, it’s what we were trained to do. I understand why you did it. I don’t hold it against you.”
“You should.”
“But I don’t.” Ballister smiles softly, and Ambrosius is fairly certain this is the first time he’s seen the man smile since the knighting ceremony. “I’m learning to trust you again, but not because of the arm, but because you thought I was capable of cold-blooded murder in front of thousands of people.” It was meant to come off as a joke, but Ambrosius’s expression momentarily twists into one of pain and guilt.
“Right. Of course. That makes sense.” Ambrosius nods, and Ballister feels a bit bad about making a joke like that, but that feeling quickly subsides as the blonde smiles softly at him.
“I’m glad we had this talk.” He says.
“Me, too.” Ballister agrees easily. Ambrosius’s spirits were much higher than they were a few hours ago as he looks at the man across from him.
Maybe as they fixed the city, Ambrosius could fix this relationship, too.