Work Text:
Dutch walked alone, slowly through the filthy streets of Westerly, her eyes methodically taking in her surroundings in a way that had become second nature over the years. The three of them had just finished their most recent warrant for some extra Joy, but, in hindsight, chasing a ship around for three days straight didn’t seem worth it for what they’d been paid.
But, at least it was over now, and she could finally get a drink, or several, and relax for the evening. John and D’avin would have normally joined her at the Royale, but John was fixing up Lucy, while D’avin had gone to his room to “sleep for two days” or whatever he’d said.
That just left her to make her way down the route she usually took to get to Pree’s bar, and she paid little attention to the usual commotion surrounding her, just taking it all in passively. To her left was an old man who looked innocent enough if she didn’t already know he was a dealer, and just ahead of him were two women whispering to each other with rotted-out teeth.
Nothing out of the ordinary until she suddenly heard stumbling footsteps to her right, and she’d only just moved to grab her knife before a small girl bumped into her. The child let out a startled cry, her body trembling as if it took effort to remain standing, before tearful eyes glanced up at Dutch.
“H-Help me, please,” she rasped, her voice cracking as if it hurt to speak, and Dutch’s eyes narrowed, but she didn’t remove her hand from her blade.
This could be a trick or a trap; both were common in Westerly. For all she knew, this girl could be working for a group, or, even if it was just her, a child was still easily capable of killing someone and stealing everything they owned. The unsuspecting victim just had to let their guard down first.
But then, Dutch looked closer, and she noticed the fever-flush on the girl’s cheeks in contrast to her pale skin, sheen with dirt and sweat. More than that, the girl had felt light when she’d stumbled into her, and Dutch knew that under those rags, this six-or-so-year-old child was likely skin and bones.
“Are you alone?” Dutch asked bluntly, nothing slipping through her tone, and the girl nodded, tears now slipping down her cheeks and leaving streaks.
“You’re a Killjoy, right? You can help me? Please, I-I don’t know what to do,” the girl wheezed, hands coming up to wipe at her face. Dutch spotted the blueish tint of the child’s cracked fingernails, and she pursed her lips.
She may have been a child once, but she’d hardly interacted with them, and didn’t have the capacity to care for people who weren’t directly in her life. It was safer that way, easier. She could walk away right now, and her life would be no different, and she could pretend none of this had happened.
But then John’s voice echoed in her mind, and she paused.
You know, Dutch, being kind sometimes wouldn’t kill you. And anyway, the world could use more of it, I think.
He’d clapped her on the shoulder and grinned in the way that made her pity him and his soft heart. However, with that image fresh in her mind, Dutch didn’t hesitate to scoop the girl into her arms as the child swayed.
“I know someone who can help you,” she said, as softly as she knew how to, and the girl sagged against her, her eyes slipping shut.
“Thank you,” she murmured, taking a shaky breath before she suddenly coughed. It was a harsh, hacking sound, and Dutch didn’t have time to turn her face away to avoid the spittle. But, she still kept walking and didn’t say a word until she reached the Royale and went straight upstairs.
“Pawter, you in there?” She called, not pausing for even a moment as she shoved the door open with her foot and was met with the sight of a grown man getting his ass stitched on the table.
Pawter glanced up with a raised eyebrow, unimpressed. “You couldn’t have knock-”
But then her gaze fell to the child in Dutch’s arms, and her expression hardened. She laid down her tools quickly and took a step forward, already pulling off her bloodied gloves. “What happened? Who is this?”
Dutch shrugged, the child still held tightly against her chest. “I don’t know. She bumped into me, and I decided to follow John’s advice to do a good deed, or whatever. She’s sick.”
Pawter blinked, likely surprised Dutch would do such a thing, before she motioned for Dutch to set the girl on the table. The man, previously being taken care of, shuffled out of the way with his pants still pulled down to his knees.
“Hey, what about me?” He demanded, and Pawter shot him a glare before pointing toward the door.
“I finished the suture, so you can leave,” she said, and the man grumbled something profane, but pulled his pants up and waddled out without another word.
Now that he was gone, Dutch did as she was told and placed the girl down on the table. She’d fallen unconscious on the way, and now she was breathing in short, quick puffs through her mouth, and Pawter began taking vitals immediately. Dutch didn’t like the slight frown that appeared on the doctor’s face, but she stepped back anyway, letting Pawter work.
After a few minutes, Pawter turned toward Dutch, standing straight. “It’s a good thing you brought her here. A day or so longer and she probably would have died.”
“So, can you help her?” Dutch asked, hating that the answer mattered to her.
Still, to her relief, Pawter nodded. “Yes, I happen to have some of the medicine that can treat her. I’m almost out, but it should be enough given her size.”
“Good, then,” Dutch said, shifting somewhat stiffly as she glanced toward the door. “Well, I came here to drink, so I’ll be downstairs…want anything?”
Pawter’s lips curled up into a slight smile. “You know, you could just say thank you. Even if you don’t like me.”
“Yeah, sure,” Dutch replied noncommittally, now already one step out the door. “So, is that a yes or a no on a drink?”
“No, for now, but I’ll hold you to it,” Pawter said with an airy gesture of her hand before she turned around, and Dutch took that as an opportunity to leave.
Making her way downstairs, she took a seat at her usual spot at the bar with a sigh. She thumbed the handle of her gun for a moment, scanning the room before she allowed herself to relax some and called over Pree. “Hey, got anything special today?”
The man in question sauntered over, a grin on his face. “Not for free, but I heard you just finished a warrant, so I’m sure that won’t be a problem.”
“Come on, not even a discount for me?” Dutch asked, smiling as Pree poured a mixture of various liquors into a tall glass.
“Alright, for you, I’ll give you a small one,” he said with a wink and handed her the glass. “Enjoy.”
***
Dutch woke to the sound of knocking on her door and John’s muffled voice through the metal. “Dutch? You up?”
She blinked her eyes open, biting back a groan. Her neck felt stiff, and there was a sharp pain between her eyes as if someone had taken a knife and stabbed straight through. Her body also ached, and it reminded her of the pain after the training sessions she’d been subjected to as a child and the ones she still forced herself to do even now.
“What is it?” She called, grimacing as her voice cracked. She turned her head and rolled over, taking a long sip of water from the glass by her bed. It did little to ease the soreness of her throat.
“Nothing, it’s just not like you to sleep late,” John replied, sounding somewhat concerned, and Dutch’s eyebrows furrowed.
Surely it couldn’t be that late, considering how tired she still felt. Honestly, she wouldn’t be surprised if it were 5am, as it felt like she’d hardly slept at all. But then she glanced at the time and her eyes widened as she realized it was already 11am, far past her usual wake-up time.
“I’m good, Johnny, be out in a sec,” she said, already sitting up even as her body protested the movement. She blinked back the vertigo and forced herself to her feet anyway.
“Okay, well, D’av and I made some food if you wanna join,” he replied, and Dutch took a long breath as she heard his footsteps retreating.
She was fine. Just hungover, or something. It wasn’t like she hadn’t been to the bars every night since their last warrant a few days back, and whatever specials Pree had dreamed up must have been stronger than usual.
That had to be it. She wouldn’t entertain any other idea of weakness.
Getting dressed as usual, she left her room without further ceremony and headed to the kitchen. As she stepped through the door, she was met with the sight of D’avin leaning back in his chair with his feet kicked up on the table while John looked at him in disgust.
“You know we eat on that table, right?” John said, nose scrunched up, but D’avin just shrugged.
“My feet are in socks, so they’re basically clean,” he said before he realized Dutch had come in and grinned. “Finally up, sleeping beauty?”
“Shut up,” she grumbled, attempting to hide the hoarseness in her voice, but, of course, both boys caught on quickly.
“You sound like shit,” D’avin said, cocking his head to the side. “Are you hungover or something?”
“As if Dutch could ever get hungover,” John commented, smirking, but he also looked worried as he took a step toward her. “But seriously, what’s up with you?”
“Nothing, I’m fine,” she replied as evenly as she could, pouring herself a cup of coffee. “Just didn’t sleep well.”
That explanation seemed to make perfect sense as D’avin mouthed “Ohhh” to John while the other man relaxed. After all, it wasn’t like any of them were strangers to nightmares, Dutch especially. And if she’d had nightmares, it would make sense that she’d be more tired than usual.
“Anyway, do you want breakfast?” John asked, picking up some packets in his hands. “Restocked on ration packs, and we got some good ones this time.”
“The peach one is the best,” D’avin attested, holding his half-finished one up in show, but the idea of food made Dutch’s stomach flip nauseatingly, and she swallowed back spit as it pooled in her mouth.
However, she forced a smile and held up her coffee in defense. “I think I’ll stick to this for now. Just woke up anyway.”
Again, they looked at her strangely, too perceptive for their own good, but, after a moment, John shrugged, letting it go. “Well, your loss when we eat all the best ones first.”
She nodded, about to go back to her room, before John suddenly face-palmed and spoke up, stopping her. “Oh, wait, I forgot to tell you. Pawter was asking to talk to you. Something about needing help getting some supplies.”
Dutch paused, frowning. “Why does she need me? Can’t one of you two go?”
Unhelpfully, John just shrugged. “Dunno,” he said before a shit-eating grin appeared on his face. “Guess you’ll just have to go ask her.”
Dutch sighed heavily, annoyed, but then again, she did owe Pawter for helping that kid. And maybe getting out and moving would get rid of her soreness and wake her up. Anything was worth a shot.
“Fine, is she at her clinic?” Dutch asked, and both boys’ eyebrows raised, clearly surprised that Dutch hadn’t put up more of a fight. After all, it’s not like the two women got along that well.
But John recovered first and nodded. “Yeah, she said to meet her there.”
“Okay, well, see you both later then,” she replied, walking out the door with a lazy wave. “Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone.”
“Ha, we should be saying that to you,” D’avin laughed, and Dutch just flipped him off before disappearing around the corner.
***
Dressed in full combat gear, Dutch trudged through the streets of Westerly the same as she’d done hundreds of times before, but this time, with far less carelessness. She felt on edge now that her senses were dulled and her body felt as if she was at 50% of her best, none of which made her comfortable being alone in Old Town.
But, she owed Pawter a favor, and she would be damned if she owed anyone a debt longer than she had to. And, besides, she would be fine. She’d get this request handled, and then she could go hide in her room and ride out whatever this was.
Reaching the Royale, Dutch walked through the doors of the bar, intending to head right upstairs before Pree’s voice stopped her.
“Drink too much last night, Peach?” He asked, the easy-going smirk on his face masking his concern, but the way his eyes narrowed made her all too wary of his gaze.
“Something like that,” she deflected, not slowing her pace, but Pree had never been one to back down easily.
“I’ve never known you as someone who couldn’t hold their liquor,” he pressed, but she just rolled her eyes, ignoring how the motion made her head spike with pain.
“I didn’t sleep well,” she said, finally offering a half-explanation, the same as she’d given the boys. It wasn’t exactly a lie—she hadn’t slept much of all last night and had tossed and turned to get comfortable—but it wasn’t the truth either. However, Pree didn’t need to know, and she just wanted to get this job done and be debt-free.
“If you say so,” Pree hummed, still likely unconvinced, but he was letting it be, and that was enough for her as she continued her way up the stairs to Pawter’s clinic.
This time, though, once she got there, she knocked hard three times instead of just barging in. After a second, she heard footsteps, and Pawter opened the door, looking wary for a moment before she realized who was there, and her shoulders relaxed.
“Oh, I didn’t think it was you,” she said, and Dutch raised her eyebrow, arms crossed.
“You asked for me, remember?” She snapped, the words coming out sharper than intended as the headache pulsed.
However, Pawter just smirked. “You normally don’t knock,” she explained before she walked out and locked the door behind her. “Now, did John fill you in?”
Dutch shook her head. “Not really. He just mentioned something about you needing help getting supplies, and since you asked for me, I figured it’s for protection.”
“You’re right,” she said, already walking toward the stairs. “I need to get some more medications since I’m out after treating the child you brought in, but where I’m going isn’t exactly Company-sanctioned.”
Dutch listened half-mindedly until the mention of the girl, and she straightened. “Did she survive?”
Pawter nodded, although she looked at Dutch with a hint of a smile on her face that made Dutch want to pretend she’d never cared to ask. “Yes, and I sent her to live with some people I trust and have treated before in the Quad. They owed me several favors, so they took her in without much complaint.”
Dutch just nodded, satisfied even if her expression betrayed nothing. And, seeing that Dutch wasn’t going to say anything more on the topic, Pawter continued explaining the details of her request. “I’m in contact with some people who should have what I need, but there’s always the risk that something goes wrong, and if it does, I need someone who can handle it. So, I called in my favor early.”
“So, where exactly are we going?” Dutch asked, following Pawter down the stairs without so much as a hitch in her breath, even as her limbs felt heavier with each step.
“To the Bazaar in Leith,” Pawter replied curtly. “I have a company ship I’m renting, so we can take that. It should be done quickly, and we can be free of each other by the evening.”
Dutch just hummed in acknowledgement, preferring to speak as little as possible. The soft skin in the back of her throat scraped like sandpaper with each swallow, and talking was no better.
Trees, she was tired.
The two left the bar and made their way to the docking station with no further conversation, but as they walked, Dutch was keenly aware of Pawter’s eyes glancing at her every minute or so. It was unnerving, and Dutch knew that despite being a Jakk-addicted exile, Pawter was still a doctor—and a good one at that.
So, when Dutch stumbled just slightly over a patch of uneven ground, she already knew that had been one misstep too many as Pawter’s eyes narrowed.
“Are you alright?” She asked, direct as always, and Dutch exhaled slowly through her mouth with a stiff nod.
She was getting increasingly irritated by being asked the same question phrased in different ways. Her head was foggy enough as it was, and she was struggling to think beyond just scanning their surroundings. And, most of all, she simply didn’t have the energy to keep spouting the same excuse, which no one seemed to want to believe.
But, like always, Dutch was nothing if not a perfect pretender.
“Yep, all good,” she replied, forcing her voice smooth and strong. Any stranger would be none the wiser, although Dutch doubted Pawter was the same.
However, while Pawter stared at her a moment longer with that clinical sharpness Dutch had come to recognize from the woman, she eventually nodded and faced forward again without another word. And, after a few minutes more, they reached Pawter’s ship and boarded, with Dutch taking the co-pilot seat while Pawter took the head.
“We’ll reach the Bazaar in about two hours,” Pawter informed, her fingers already typing in their destination with familiarity. “So, just do whatever you need to do before we get there.”
“Sure,” Dutch replied shortly, already leaning her head back against the headrest. The seat was surprisingly comfortable for a rented ship, but then again, she bet she could sleep on the floor without problems, given how heavy her limbs felt.
As they took off, Dutch blinked slowly, watching as Westerly became a small dot before disappearing completely with a sort of dizzying lack of awareness she wasn’t used to. Her eyelids felt heavy, and she leaned back further, crossing her arms tightly across her chest as she closed her eyes.
Maybe a small nap wouldn’t hurt.
***
“Dutch, wake up. We’re here.” Pawter’s voice roused Dutch from her sleep, and she immediately regretted coming on this mission at all.
Her head felt worse, more like someone had taken a pickaxe to her brain than just a knife, and her mouth was as dry as cotton. She was almost certain that if she talked, nothing would come out, and the moment she swallowed, tears threatened to spring to her eyes at the pain from it.
She opened her eyes slowly as she sat up, and the motion sent stars sparking through her vision in black and white flashes that did nothing to ease the already roiling nausea and vertigo. Sweat was also pooling at her back, causing her clothing to stick to her skin uncomfortably in a way that made her feel claustrophobic and disgusting all at once.
“Dutch? You don’t look good,” Pawter said, leaning closer—too close—and Dutch shrank back, her guard up.
“Don’t touch me,” she snapped, venom in her tone, before the situation finally registered in her fogged brain and she pinched her nose, taking a breath. “No, sorry, I didn’t mean that. We’re here then?”
“Yeah, we are, but I don’t think you’re in a state to come, much less defend me,” Pawter said, her lips pressed together in a thin line, but she didn’t come any closer despite her hands twitching slightly at her sides like she wanted to.
“No, I’m good, I just woke up slow,” Dutch insisted, getting to her feet in one motion, and, for one terrifying moment, her vision went pure white, but she forced herself steady all the same and remained standing.
“Dutch, you’re pale, sweating, and if I had to bet, I’d say you’re running a fever,” she said, not falling for it. “You’re in no condition to be moving around.”
“I said I’m fine, just leave it be,” she said harshly, feeling somewhat akin to a cornered animal. She just needed to get this done, and it would all be over, and she could finally go to sleep.
Dutch moved to take a step toward the door, then another, but on the third, her knees gave out, and her head would have smashed into the floor had Pawter not reached out just in time and caught her. Both of them fell to the ground with Pawter holding Dutch’s head in her hands, and, through blurred vision, Dutch watched as Pawter’s face shifted from surprise to alarm.
“Trees, Dutch, you’re burning,” she hissed, several curses slipping past her tongue as she grabbed her med scanner out of her pocket without wasting a second.
Dutch tried to move, to squirm away, but Pawter was quicker and had her pinned before she could even think of how to evade.
“Dutch, I’m serious, stop moving,” she ordered, and something in her tone made Dutch freeze, and she finally stopped fighting, allowing herself to go limp as the scanner beeped.
“Temp 102.8, your BP is down, and you're dehydrated and tachycardic,” Pawter said, reading Dutch’s vitals. Her knuckles clenched the machine tightly, going white. “Dammit, why didn’t you say anything?”
Dutch swallowed hard. “Thought it would go away.”
“Well, you thought wrong,” Pawter huffed, exasperated. She rifled through her bag and pulled out some rehydrating pills and gave them to Dutch to swallow. “You definitely caught what that child had, and, of course, I have nothing to treat you with besides these.”
Dutch shoved herself up to a sitting position, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. “Then let’s go get it. You said it’s here, right?”
“No, I’ll go get it. You’re not leaving this ship like this,” Pawter said, leaving no room for negotiation as she lifted Dutch to her feet with a grunt of effort and sat her back down in the co-pilot seat. “And, if all goes well, I’ll be back in under an hour.”
Pawter moved to leave, but Dutch’s hand was suddenly around her wrist, surprisingly tight given the woman’s condition, and she glanced back, startled. “What is it?”
Dutch licked her chapped lips, forcing her gaze to focus. “Just call John or D’avin. You shouldn’t go alone. You already said it wasn’t always safe here.”
But Pawter just smiled. “I’m not a complete damsel, Dutch. And, this deal is time-sensitive, so it’s now or never. So, sorry, I can’t wait, but if you don’t hear back from me in an hour, call them.”
But Dutch still didn’t let go, and Pawter’s eyes narrowed in impatience before Dutch suddenly reached for her holster and grabbed out her gun. “Take this. It’s better than any shit weapon you have.”
Pawter’s mouth slipped open, slightly agape in her shock.
Dutch never gave away her weapons, much less her gun. She was completely possessive of them, and for her to even consider giving Pawter one either meant the fever had made her delirious or she actually cared.
And Pawter wasn’t sure which idea she wanted to believe.
“I’ll be back,” she said after a moment’s pause, accepting the gun from Dutch’s shaking fingers. “Just hang tight until then.”
Dutch just hummed in reply, her eyes already shutting, and Pawter forced down the sharp pang in her gut as she left.
Dutch would be fine. She would get the medicine and come right back, and everything would be fine.
***
A beeping aroused Dutch from her restless sleep, and she blinked her eyes open with a groan, her eyes flicking to her communicator. She vaguely remembered having the sense to set a one-hour alarm, just so she could map the time when time currently felt non-linear to her fevered mind.
She glanced around the dimly lit ship for any sign of Pawter, and her heart thudded heavily in her chest as she realized the doctor still hadn’t returned. Grunting as she forced herself upright, she stumbled toward the back of the ship, ignoring as the world blurred and her muscles felt like they were ripping.
“Pawter?” She croaked, her own voice sounding foreign to her ears. “Hey, answer me.”
No reply, and Dutch’s gut sank as she realized what that could mean.
That something bad really did happen, and she was useless for the very reason she’d come on this damned mission. Her job had been to protect Pawter, and she’d been bested by some illness and failed at it.
She swallowed hard, blinking back the spots in her vision as she headed toward the exit. She’d fought through worse before. She’d kept fighting even when she’d been dying, back when she’d been trained to claw her way to victory by any means necessary.
This was nothing. And she’d refused to let Pawter get hurt because of her weakness.
She clicked a button in her comms, indicating a distress call to the boys who, assuming they received it immediately, would likely reach them in about an hour if all went well, or shorter if they met them halfway and docked together.
Checking the rest of her weapons, spare her gun, Dutch left the ship and sucked in a sharp breath as the evening sun glared down at her, but she ignored it and entered the busy Bazaar. She shoved her way through the crowds, her eyes focused on the small beacon on her device that indicated Pawter’s location, grateful that the woman had the foresight to bring a tracker with her.
She wasn’t far off, if the location proved correct, but the distance felt miles longer to Dutch as her head spiked with pain with every step, and her limbs felt like she’d been put in a ten-times-stronger gravity field. It was miserable, it hurt, but she would never stop. Not until she knew Pawter was alright.
And, as she approached the area, she forced herself to focus and distantly heard what sounded like laughing, and, shortly after, she managed to hear their conversation.
“So, bitch, are you going to pay the ‘release fee’ or not?” A man’s voice sneered, clearly enjoying whatever farce he was playing.
“Go to hell,” followed by a spitting sound, and Dutch recognized the voice immediately. Pawter. And she was still alive.
A loud slap sounded in the air just after, and Dutch knew all too well the sound of fist hitting flesh, and, despite her weakness, adrenaline flooded through her veins like hot fire.
She looked around, taking in four, no, five opponents, plus a large man who Dutch assumed was the leader, and, judging by the blood on his knuckles, had been the one to hit Pawter. And then she finally caught sight of the woman as she crept closer, and Dutch bit the inside of her cheek, furious.
Pawter’s eye was swollen, and blood was dripping from her nose and a split lip down her chin, staining the front of her shirt. Dutch tried to look closer, but she didn’t see any other injuries beyond those, and the only others could be from the rope cutting into her wrists and torso, tying her to the chair.
Dutch took a quick mental stock and noticed they each had a gun, whereas she just had her knives. But she’d worked with less before, and she would make do with them now, illness or not.
Gritting her teeth, she pulled out her throwing knives and, before any of them had realized her approach, she threw them expertly, killing three of the men as the weapons embedded in their necks. Their bodies slumped to the ground, and only then did the others realize what was happening as they shouted at each other, and Dutch threw herself to the side as they began firing at her.
One grazed her shoulder, her reflexes dulled considerably, and she sucked in a pained breath before shoving herself back out there. One of the lackeys was close to her, and she stepped past his guard and slammed her elbow down hard on his extended arm, snapping it in an instant. He let out a scream before she used his own gun to shoot him in the head, silencing him as blood and brain matter splattered onto her skin.
She turned, her usually fluid movements shaky, and managed to kill one other, just leaving the large man. Except, he was nowhere to be found, and she stumbled, looking around with eyes that could hardly see before something heavy slammed down on the back of her head, sending her crashing onto the floor.
The pain was like no other, like someone had embedded a pickaxe in her skull, and she gagged, vomit threatening to spill out of her before she felt the tip of a hard boot slam into her ribs. It knocked the breath out of her, and she heard someone call her name in a tone she’d never heard before.
It was something desperate, something afraid, and through half-lidded eyes and with blood trickling from her mouth, she could just barely see Pawter staring at her. Her eyes were wide, those deep brown eyes filled with something Dutch couldn’t name, as she struggled against her restraints.
“Dutch! Dutch move! You have to move!” Pawter cried, her tone almost begging, and Dutch tilted her head to see the man leering over her, gun in hand.
It seemed he was done toying with her, and Dutch watched, chest heaving, as the man grinned.
“You fucking cunt, you killed my men. And now, I’m going to return the favor,” he said, voice low, yet tinged with something resembling amusement, and Dutch’s heart flew into her throat as the man suddenly pointed his gun at Pawter.
Pawter’s eyes grew wide with fear, the pupils blown, and something in Dutch snapped. Her body moved, almost like it was no longer under her control, and she kicked out with all the force she could muster into the man’s knee just as he fired his gun.
The bullet whizzed by into the wall, missing as he fell next to her, his knee bent at an unnatural angle as he let out a string of curses. But he hardly had the time before Dutch flipped her body over in one fluid motion and brought down her knife straight into his jugular.
He gurgled on the blood, his mouth opening and closing vainly, before he finally twitched and went still. Dutch ripped out her knife and fell back, lying there on the cold, stone floor for just a moment as the nauseating taste of iron filled her mouth.
Her limbs felt useless, her body ignoring her every command as pain fired through her nerves, a warning that she’d pushed herself too far. Sweat was soaking her, and she felt so cold, her body trembling as her vision flittered between seeing and the darkness that wanted to pull her under.
“Dut…Dutch!” Her name suddenly came through the static, and she forced her eyes open and turned her head over to see Pawter.
Right, Pawter. She was still tied up, and she was hurt. Dutch needed to…she needed to untie her.
Thoughts came to her slowly, but that one stuck at the forefront, and Dutch propped herself up on her elbow, biting back the cry of pain as the movement jostled her likely cracked ribs. She still couldn’t quite hide her grimace, though, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw Pawter flinch.
She staggered fully upright, taking short, quick breaths to ward off the vertigo threatening to yank her back down, and stumbled over to Pawter. She knelt down next to the woman and began untying her with fumbling fingers, and Pawter stayed silent, but her eyes never left Dutch for even a moment.
And, the second she was free, she immediately knelt down next to Dutch, her hand flying up to the other woman’s cheek.
“Shit, you’re burning,” she hissed, sucking in a sharp breath as anxiety coiled in her gut. “Hey, stay awake, Dutch. Stay awake.”
Dutch blinked slowly as Pawter tapped her cheek gently, and leaned into the cool, soft touch of the other woman’s hand before she could even stop herself. She was so tired. Everything hurt. Cold had seeped into her bones, and she couldn’t stop trembling.
But, even still, all she could see were the cuts and bruises marring Pawter’s smooth skin, and the question slurred past her lips all the same. “Are you…Are you okay?”
“Am I…Am I okay?” Pawter stuttered, caught entirely off guard by the question. Dutch was dying in front of her, and all the other woman could think about was whether she was okay.
It was absurd. It was absurd, and so entirely Dutch that Pawter almost felt angry. Because she should never have called Dutch here. She should have noticed Dutch was sick long before they’d gotten on the ship. She should have sent her home and brought one of the boys, and this never would have happened.
Because Dutch was so selfless. So painfully self-sacrificing if it meant the people she cared about were safe. And, maybe, foolishly, Pawter had thought she wasn’t one of those people. That Dutch would be rational when it came to her, and that’s why she’d wanted Dutch instead of one of the boys who fawned over her.
And that had been her error. Her near-fatal miscalculation because Dutch, for all the front and walls she erected, was no less devoted than the boys were. And Pawter hadn’t realized it until it was too late.
Dutch leaned more heavily into her hand, and Pawter hurriedly moved to catch the woman as she slumped, shifting to prop Dutch up against her own chest. The assassin’s skin was clammy and boiling far hotter than even before, and Pawter reached into her pocket for the new meds she’d acquired before she’d been kidnapped by the now-dead men strewn around the room.
“Dutch, I need you to take these,” she urged, bringing the pills to Dutch’s lips, and, thankfully, the woman was still conscious to obey and swallowed them.
But the meds needed time to work and more than one dose, and Dutch needed to be anywhere but here. She needed to be hydrated and put under cooling blankets, and to get back to the clinic where Pawter could actually help her.
Pawter clenched her jaw, set on dragging Dutch back to the ship if that’s what it took. “Dutch, we have to move, okay? Stand up with me.”
Dutch just mumbled in reply, her eyes fluttering open just long enough for Pawter to figure she’d understood, and, in the next second, Pawter pulled Dutch to her feet. The woman was mostly dead weight, and Pawter grunted as she threw Dutch’s arm over her shoulder while she wrapped her arm around Dutch’s waist.
And then, slowly, painfully, they made their trek back to the ship. It wasn’t easy, especially not with people staring at them, but, for the most part, people averted their gaze just as quickly. No one wanted to get involved.
Eventually, they finally made it back, and Pawter dropped Dutch’s limp form as carefully as she could into the co-pilot seat before she realized audio was coming through Dutch’s device.
She picked it up, and Johnny’s face appeared on the screen, his face pinching once he saw Pawter’s injuries. “What’s going on? Where’s Dutch? She sent a distress signal, and we’re on our way to you. ETA about 30 minutes, but if you can meet us halfway, we’d get to you quicker.”
“Dutch is sick, and she got injured protecting me,” Pawter explained, her voice trembling just slightly even though she tried to keep it steady. “I need to get her back to my clinic and treat her, but I’ll do the best I can for now.”
Distantly, Pawter heard D’avin curse in the background, and the blood leeched from Johnny’s face as he listened before he gave a stiff nod. “Okay, meet us at these coordinates, and we’ll prep Lucy for medical. Just…keep her alive.”
“I will,” Pawter replied before the call cut off, and she hurriedly moved to the control panel and typed in the coordinates.
The ship undocked, and they flew into open space before Pawter turned her attention back to Dutch’s ashen form. The woman's breathing was shallow, and it took all of Pawter’s willpower to detach her emotions from the patient.
Dutch needed her to be a doctor; she didn’t need her panic.
And, kneeling down next to the woman, Pawter made a silent promise.
She would save her, everything else be damned.
***
“Pawter!” Johnny’s voice echoed from the back as the two ships docked together, and she turned her attention from Dutch long enough to shout back.
“Over here!”
No sooner had she spoken, she heard clamouring footsteps quickly approaching before D’avin burst into the cockpit with Johnny right behind him.
They froze the moment they got eyes on Dutch, and Pawter didn’t blame them. Dutch looked dead already, if not for her fever-flushed cheeks in contrast to her grey, waxy skin. But she didn’t let them freeze for long, already barking orders.
“Help me move her, we don’t have time to spare,” she snapped, and the boys surged forward, and D’avin picked Dutch up bridal-style like she was the most fragile thing in the world.
The rest was a blur of motion as they transferred to Lucy and auto-routed her rented ship back to Westerly. Dutch was brought to Lucy’s medbay, which was stocked enough for Pawter to stabilize and treat her. Besides, she could get the other odds and ends she might need from her clinic later, as she already had the right meds with her, and Lucy was equipped with the standard IV lines, oxygen ports, and such else already.
She set to work immediately, putting in several IV lines for fluids, fever-reducing, and pain medication, as well as placing an oxygen mask over Dutch’s mouth and nose. The woman’s breathing eased after that, but Pawter still didn’t stop until Dutch was underneath cooling blankets and she’d carefully treated her ribs and gunshot graze with a cellular healing device.
Only then did she allow herself to step back, her gaze scanning Dutch’s sleeping form before landing on the monitors, whose neon numbers were finally back into an acceptable range. The adrenaline spurring her forward for the past hour faded suddenly then, like a pulled plug to a drain, and she grew dizzy, stumbling back slightly as she lost her balance.
However, steady hands caught her a moment later, and she glanced back to see D’avin looking down at her worriedly. John came up in front of her right after as she leaned back against D’avin, and he brought up one hand to gently brush his thumb against the cut on her lip.
“Pawter, what happened?” He asked quietly, needing to know, to understand, if only to make sense of things, and she sighed.
“Just let me sit down, and I’ll explain everything,” she said tiredly, resigned to start from the beginning, and the boys nodded before Johnny grabbed the healing device to begin treating her facial wounds.
The device’s rays were warm against her skin as Johnny turned it on, and Pawter glanced past his shoulder briefly to stare at Dutch. She was so still, so weak compared to her usual strength.
But she was still beautiful. She was always beautiful.
The thought hit her sharply, but she didn’t shove it down. She couldn’t bring herself to deny it, because it was true even if she didn’t know what it meant.
Letting out a slow breath, she fixed her attention back on the boys and began her retelling of the events.
***
Dutch awoke slowly, her awareness coming back in fragments. Her body still ached, but not nearly as much as before, and she didn’t feel cold anymore.
She breathed in, and a familiar smell hit her, a hint of cool metal and chemicals, and she knew instantly that she was in Lucy’s medbay. She’d made it back home.
And then another scent, one she didn’t recognize immediately. Something floral mixed with rubbing alcohol, and she knew it was something she’d smelled before, something close, something that had been warm, and then the image suddenly snapped into her mind.
Pawter.
Her eyes snapped open, and her gaze flickered from left to right before she caught sight of the woman. Her face was healed of her wounds now, but there were deep bruises under her eyes that hadn’t been there before. She looked tired, but her eyes widened with alertness once she realized Dutch was looking at her, and she stood up out of her chair to shine a light in Dutch’s eyes.
“Follow the light,” she ordered, clinical as always, and Dutch grumbled a small noise of annoyance, but did as she’d asked.
And, seemingly, she passed the doctor’s test because Pawter’s lips curled up into a slight smile, satisfied, before she brought her hand up to cup Dutch’s cheek. The contact was unexpected, and Dutch jerked back slightly before she registered that the touch was nothing harmful.
Still, Pawter seemed to pause before she pulled her hand back, and Dutch surprised herself by how close she came to telling Pawter to stop. To put her hand back, just so she could feel its warmth.
And that startled her far more than the sudden touch ever had.
Pawter moved over to the other side of the room to get Dutch some water, seemingly unaware of the assassin’s inner turmoil, and cleared her throat. “So, how are you feeling?”
Dutch swallowed, her throat dry, and accepted the water as Pawter brought it carefully to her lips to drink. She let herself be sat up, attempting in vain to ignore the feeling of the other woman’s hand on the small of her back. But the water soothed her throat, and she tried to focus on that.
“Better than before,” she replied, her voice still rough, before she glanced around, confused. “Where are the boys?”
Pawter hummed, motioning airily toward the door. “They’re sleeping. I told them to get some rest.”
“And what about you? Have you slept at all?” Dutch asked suddenly, twisting the attention onto Pawter. “How long have I been out?”
Pawter pursed her lips, although Dutch wasn’t sure which question had Pawter pausing. However, after only a slight pause, the doctor spoke. “You’ve been unconscious for two days now, and, as for my sleeping habits, someone had to take care of you, and no one else could.”
Her throat worked around another swallow, and Dutch didn’t miss as her hands gripped the hem of her coat. “I don’t know if you realized, Dutch, but it was close. Too close.”
Dutch nodded slowly, aware, before she froze. There were tears in the corners of Pawter’s eyes.
She was crying. She was crying for her.
“I’m okay,” Dutch said, almost uncomfortable. She wasn’t worth the tears, and, besides, they were both alive. Everything had worked out.
“But that’s not the point,” Pawter stressed, her voice cracking on the final word, and the pain in her eyes took Dutch’s breath away. “You almost died because of me, because I asked you to come, and I was useless. And you were so sick, and I should have noticed.”
She wiped her eyes furiously with her sleeve. “Dammit,” she whispered under her breath, but Dutch still heard it. And she heard the inflections in Pawter’s tone, and the way her voice rose as if she’d been stuffing the words down and they’d finally forced their way out.
And her own throat tightened, a tratorious lump forming from feelings she’d thought she’d thwarted long ago. Because it wasn’t Pawter’s fault—it was hers. She’s the one who had ignored her symptoms and had lied to Pawter and continued on the mission when she knew her limits better than anyone and still hadn’t listened.
“It’s not your fault, don’t say that,” she said forcefully, as if the way she spoke them could break through Pawter’s guilt. “And you saved me. You saved me, and we’re both okay now. Let’s just leave it there.”
But Pawter just shook her head. “No. I can’t just drop it, Dutch. You were willing to die to save me, and I don’t understand why. I’m not one of the boys, I’m not one of your people. So why? Why would you risk yourself to save me like you’re own life didn’t matter?”
The words came out in a rush, flooding through Dutch’s mind, and she finally couldn’t hold it back anymore. “Because I care about you! Okay? I care about you, and I owed you, and I wasn’t about to let you down. And, Trees, Pawter, I wasn’t about to let you die because I made a mistake.”
Pawter’s mouth dropped open, slightly agape, and Dutch averted her gaze to her lap. Still, she continued, although quieter this time. “I should have sent one of the boys instead. Then you wouldn’t have gotten hurt, and none of this would have happened. But I was stubborn, and I couldn’t protect you, and you paid for it.”
“I’m…” I’m sorry. But the words wouldn’t come, because she’d never apologized to anyone, and she didn’t know how. All she knew was the guilt heavy in her stomach, and the knowledge that her rush to repay her debt had never nearly gotten Pawter and herself killed.
But Pawter seemed to understand, and Dutch sucked in a sharp breath as Pawter’s fingers gently touched her chin and lifted it until she was staring at Pawter.
“Consider your debt repaid,” she said quietly, smiling in her usual way that was somewhere between a smirk and something more genuine. “Although with what I’ve done to save you, I’m tempted to say you owe me another one.”
Dutch licked her lips, not breaking Pawter’s gaze. “I’d pay it back.”
Pawter merely nodded, humming lightly. “I know. You always give so much of yourself away.”
And she finally released her hold on Dutch’s chin, and Dutch let out the breath she’d been holding as Pawter backed away toward the door. “Get some rest, and I’ll let the boys know you’re awake.”
Dutch watched her go, but before the woman could disappear out the door, Dutch spoke. “Thank you.”
Pawter turned and glanced back, just for a moment, before that smirk she normally wore so well shifted into something honest. “Anytime, Dutch.”
And then she was gone, leaving Dutch with a feeling of warmth so foreign she didn’t know what to do with it.