Chapter Text
Ballister had collapsed into Ambrosius' arms and he could do nothing but hold him and give him the comfort he so desperately craved. Ambrosius couldn't believe that Ballister trusted him enough to care for him like that, but he was helpless to refuse his boyfriend (were they still together?) at that moment. So he let it happen, knowing that the reckoning for all his actions was yet to come.
They watched as the first people of the city walked over the edge of the crumbling wall and then looked beyond it, catching sight of a wondrous sight no one had ever seen before. They sat in this position for a long time, watching the horizon that promised to open up a new territory of endless possibilities. They watched the sunrise together, holding each other without saying a word.
When Ambrosius saw the first medics and knights with rescue dogs on the scene, he shifted uneasily. Ballister looked up at him, then at the newly arrived knights, and immediately tensed.
"Come on, let's go home?" he asked, unsure if it was still home for Ballister.
He just nodded dazedly, his eyes still on the knights. They got up, Ambrosius helping Ballister with an arm around his upper body as he stood on wobbly legs. He glanced back at the knights and recognised one of them as Thodd. He unconsciously squeezed Ballister tighter, who grunted as pain shot through his side. He immediately released his grip.
"I'm sorry, Bal, I didn't mean..." he cut himself off. Apologies meant nothing if he couldn't stop hurting Bal. Why did he keep hurting him?
Ballister put his right hand on Ambrosius' shoulder, still not lifting his head. "It's all right, Am, let's just go."
Ambrosius nodded, and so they began the long walk back into the heart of the city. They were slow and tired, they had to take little breaks on benches, so it took them twice as long as it should have. They didn't talk the whole way.
Arriving at their front door, Ambrosius reached for the small hoop under his breastplate where a key could be safely stored. But the ring was bent sideways at the hinge and the key was missing.
"Shiiit," he let out a breath. He turned to Ballister. "I don't have my key, I must have lost it, with the explosion and all.
"Oh." With owlishly round eyes, Ballister blinked at him twice, very slowly. If it hadn't been for, well, everything, and the more immediate problem of not being able to enter their quarters, Ambrosius would have laughed and then kissed him affectionately. But that was no longer an option.
"I, uh, I'll go to my parents, yeah? They have a spare key. Just, uh," he looked around, "you can wait there on the windowsill. Twenty minutes tops, OK?" He'd started to walk back when he turned again. "I'll be back. Soon," he stressed. He was halfway down the stairs when he heard Ballister calling him back. He went back up, two steps at a time.
"What? What happened?" Worry lined his words.
"I, er, have the key." He had a surprised look on his face. "I forgot it was still there." He looked at Ambrosius, then back at the key in his hand. His face sobered in an instant. "I could have come here and explained everything to you, I could have, I don't know, done something else, something other than sneaking around the Director! Maybe," he swallowed hard, "maybe Nimona would have lived." He closed his eyes tightly.
Ambrosius' heart ached for Ballister. He went to him and took him in his arms. "Hey, hey, it's all right. I know, Bal, I know it hurts. But it's no use thinking about what if's and maybe's." Ballister sank into his arms, as if he'd been cut off from all the energy that sustained him. Ambrosius caught his weight and held him close. A minute passed like this, then Ambrosius gently took the key from Ballister's loose hand and shuffled him to the door of their apartment.
Once inside, he motioned for Ballister to sit on the couch so he could remove his armour. Ballister stared at the knee-high table without moving much. Ambrosius began to remove the black and grey armour, starting with his legs and working his way up. He lost himself in the familiar motions. They'd done this a thousand times for each other. When he finally reached Ballister's right shoulder, he stopped abruptly and stared at the mug. He realised then that he'd never imagined what it would look like, how it was scarred, or how the metal arm was attached to the body he himself had disarmed. He was afraid to know. He didn’t want to confront his biggest mistake. He didn't want to face the consequences of his split-second actions. He wanted to close his eyes, to hide from the accusing glare that Ballister was sure to be throwing at him right now. But all he could do was stare, shame and guilt written all over his face.
Surely it was wrong for Ambrosius to be near that shoulder, to be near Ballister , after all he had done. Surely no one in their right mind expected an amputator to have the right to care for his amputee. It should have been unthinkable. Yet here he was.
But who else could look after Ballister now? He had no one else , his mind provided.
It was true, too. Even before the allegations, Ballister had not had many friends. He had acquaintances, people he could work well with, but none he felt comfortable with, not while he was so vulnerable.
Do you really think he's comfortable now? Do you really think he could ever be again? With you? The man who cut off his arm?
No, no, I really don't, he replied to his own mind, but his life has been so unfair and now I'm the only one left in it. He remembered Nimona's chaotic and vibrant voice, and he remembered Ballister's face when he realised that she wasn't coming back, that Ballister's only true friend and ally in all his life had sacrificed herself for a city that they had every right to turn their backs on.
With that in mind, and with trembling fingers, he brought his hand up to the shoulder plate. Glancing at Ballister's face every few seconds, ready to retreat at the first sign of discomfort, he slowly loosened the strap holding it in place and lifted it up.
He set it aside, along with the rest of the metal pieces and the main breastplate. Ballister was clad only in a long-sleeved shirt and trousers, which were not the standard issue that every knight wore under their armour.
Ambrosius reached for the hem of the shirt at Ballister's hips, pausing before actually touching it. Reassured, he looked up at Ballister, who in turn had his eyes fixed on Ambrosius' hand close to his body.
"Bal? Can I...?" He raised his face to Ambrosius, his eyes a little unfocused. He nodded softly.
Ambrosius reached for his shirt. "Lift your arms." His tone was slightly questioning. But Ballister complied easily. He pulled the shirt off his torso and then, for the first time, looked at the wound he'd caused. The prosthetic arm was attached to a rounded piece of metal which covered the part of the limb still attached to his shoulder, which in turn was held in place by two leather straps. One ran across his chest, disappearing under his armpit, and the other was stitched to the centre of the first strap at an angle to run over his uninjured shoulder.
Although his other shoulder was uninjured in the sense that his arm hadn't been cut off, Ballister still had a plethora of bruises all over his torso. Combined with his black eye and split lip, he looked as if he'd been brutalised by a dozen oxen. What had happened to him?
"How did you get these, Bal?"
Bal looked at him, then at his chest. His eyes widened slightly.
"Oh." He swallowed hard. "After I left our meeting, I went back to our hideout. Thodd and a few others followed me there. And... well." He sighed.
So this too was his fault. He'd led them straight to Ballister, putting him in even more danger, when all he'd wanted to do was save him from the girl he'd thought was a monster. He closed his eyes and tried to stem the guilt to a manageable level. He focused on the medical procedure they'd learnt for field wounds. He took a deep breath.
"Do you have any nausea? Headaches? Any dizziness?"
"Mmh, yeah, my head hurts a bit and my eyes aren't focusing very well."
Damn, probably a concussion , Ambrosius thought. He put two fingers under Ballister's chin to lift his head into the light. His pupils were the same size. No serious brain damage. He let out a breath of relief.
"OK, are you hurt anywhere else I can't see?"
"Just my back, I think."
"Let me see?" Ballister turned on the couch. But when Ambrosius saw the extent of the bruising on his back, he couldn't help but suck air through his teeth in a long hiss.
"Okay." He took a deep breath. "Let me get the first aid kit and some bruising cream. Don't fall asleep, yeah?"
He went to the bathroom, quickly rinsed his face with cold water and took out the necessary materials, along with a fresh washcloth. He placed them on the low table in front of Ballister and went to the kitchen to fetch a salad bowl filled with lukewarm water. He settled with it on his lap on the table again, wetting the cloth. He held it up to Ballister's face and waited for him to nod again. He gave him a bird bath, washing away the sweat, dirt and a little blood that had seeped from his lip, eyebrow and hand. He tried to be gentle with the bruised parts of his skin, but Ballister couldn't help but hiss in pain. He disinfected any open wounds and bandaged the large abrasion on his hand.
"Bal, I'm going to check for broken ribs now, it might hurt a bit."
Ballister nodded again, this time pressing his jaw and lips together. Ambrosius placed his hands on Ballister's side, checking for any swelling or unusual protrusions. Fortunately, he had a very well-founded database on the usual shape of Ballister's body, so he wasn't as worried about missing something than if he had to check a stranger for broken ribs. He pressed lightly, moving his hands in a circular motion, and when he found nothing he moved on to the next spot. When he was done with the front, he applied the bruising cream that would help the body heal the arteries and the immune system remove the internal blood residue.
"Can you turn to your side?" Ballister did, and Ambrosius moved to the couch behind him. He repeated the same procedure, looking for broken bones and applying the cream again.
"So, um, I'd say your ribs are fine, Bal." Ballister turned around. "But there is severe bruising on your lower spine. I'd say we should get you to a hospital, have you checked out."
"I don't think that's necessary." Bal said wearily, lifting his fleshy hand to rub his eyebrow.
"Bal," he started, his tone was disapproving so he changed it. "Bal, I'm really not an expert at this."
"Am, I know that, but I can walk perfectly well, I can bend my spine. It's all right, I don't need to go to a hospital. And we'd just be wasting the medical staff's time and resources, which they need for all the other injured people".
"But you probably have a concussion too!"
“Am,” Ballister’s left corner of his mouth lifted minimally. "I'm fine. Really. I appreciate you looking after me, but I'm tired. I need sleep." Ambrosius' face softened at that. Bal didn't often ask for what he needed, so when he did, Ambrosius gave in immediately.
"Okay, okay. Fine. But you're going to have some water first."
Ballister laughed softly. "Yes, I will." Ambrosius' heart soared as he managed to bring a smile to Ballister's face, while an empty pit grew simultaneously in his stomach, knowing full well that this might be one of the last times he'd be allowed to see it.
Ambrosius turned quickly to the table, closed the first aid kit and gathered up the wrappings. He left the bruising cream and the kit, but picked up the salad bowl and the cloth and went into the kitchen. After cleaning up and filling a glass of water, he saw Ballister making himself comfortable on the couch with a light grey blanket.
"Er, no, no, no." Ballister looked up in surprise. "I'm not gonna make you sleep on the couch Bal." He swallowed again, hard. His throat was going to bruise at this rate. "Not even if you weren't hurt." A faint pink blush crept up Ballister's face. And Ambrosius couldn't help but stare. While his pale skin made him blush at the slightest exertion, it was a rare sight for Ambrosius, so he tried to imprint the image on his retinas.
"Oh, um, I wasn't sure..." Ballister got up, avoiding eye contact, and Ambrosius followed him into the bedroom. It occurred to him then that Ballister might have interpreted this as Ambrosius expecting him to sleep in the same bed. He cursed himself.
Once in the bedroom, he put down the glass of water and the bedside table and headed for the door.
"Well, um, good night then." He went to close the door. He heard Ballister shuffling about.
"Ambrosius."
He opened the door again. "Yes?" He looked everywhere but at Ballister.
"You said I might have a concussion, right?"
"Probably."
"So shouldn't you... monitor my symptoms?"
"I'll check on you, I promise." Ballister sighed.
"Ambrosius." He noticed Ballister moving towards him. His wide gaze caught his immediately.
"Yes?" He barely managed to keep a wobble out of his voice.
"Please come to bed with me?" Ballister looked steadily at Ambrosius, whose heart was in his throat by now, making it difficult to speak. And though it was all he wanted, he had to ask.
"I... Are you... Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"I... yes." Ballister smiled at him again, those expressive eyes still on him. "Let me just go to the bathroom and I'll be right there." He smiled back uncertainly.
So that's what he did. He took off his own armour, changed into his pajamas, drank water from his hands at the sink and went back to Ballister. The glass on the bedside table was empty and the night light was still on, but Ballister was out like a light. He hesitated for a moment but then slipped underneath the covers next to Ballister.
He tried to sleep too, but sleep eluded him and every time he closed his eyes he saw Ballister's face in shock and pain after he had butchered his arm. He saw Ballister's face after he'd refused to believe him. And he saw Ballister's face when he realised Nimona wasn't coming back this time.
He turned and looked at Ballister's serene face, trying to push those images away. And it worked. He was half asleep when his phone rang.
He turned to where his phone was on the bedside table, charging. 3:14 am.
He opened the message. It was the Deputy Director of the Institute, asking him to come to the breach in the wall. They needed more help organising the rescue workers and more hands to pull people out from under the rubble.
So he got up, put his clothes back on, then his armour and quietly left to join the rescue effort.