Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

(greed is a sin against god, just as all mortal sins, in as much as man condemns things eternal for the sake of temporal things.)

You wake to a metallic ceiling with blaring lights, and it's a few blessed seconds before your mind catches up with your body and screams at you for the aches you are currently experiencing. You feel as if your head had been crushed by a rock. Back at the Drifter Camp, the adrenaline and sheer desire to survive kept you ignorant to the damage left across your body. Without any distraction left, you can now fully acknowledge the pain wracking through every one of your limbs.

"Broken ribs, broken arm, hip fracture, and hemorrhaging in the brain to top it off. Which one happened first, the falling or the brain trauma? I suspect the latter, given how eager you are to throw your life away," says a voice as sharp as knives. There are few who could make you feel like you're about to be carved open just by their words.

"Iron," you croak, and then try to swallow the scratch in your throat. "How..."

"You won't be going anywhere for at least one week, if you decide to behave and follow medical orders," Iron continues, essentially answering one of your questions.

Still, you complain. "That's too long."

"Such are the consequences for idiots. Do you have any other questions?"

"Yes. Where is Nightingale?" you ask.

"I don't monitor her nor do I have her contact. You'll have to ask someone else," Iron says, glancing at your vitals and jotting down on her clipboard.

"There's no need. I am right here, Chief." Nightingale walks into the room just in time, as if summoned by the mere mention of her name. Worry and relief swirls in tandem across her face.

Iron clicks the pen against the clipboard with a hard tap. "There you go. I'm leaving now. Anne will be here to administer your medicine at 6."

You watch as Iron turns around, her heels clicking against the floor like a soldier marching down the trenches. Is there anything this woman does that she doesn’t put every ounce of her being into? People are fortunate Iron chose to work in medical health.

Nightingale waits for Iron to close the door before asking, "How are you feeling, Chief?"

"Could be worse," you mutter, which isn't a lie. Before your encounter with Oak Casket, you were a breath away from dying.

Nightingale nods slowly, clutching her tablet close to her chest. There's an awkward pause that Nightingale has yet to master when she looks like she’s aiming to speak about something other than work. You try to help her.

“How are you doing? I hope my little accident didn’t cause you too much trouble.”

Nightingale shakes her head fervently. “Of course not. I am well and safe, Chief, as is the Drifter Camp, due in no small part to your efforts.”

A frown sinks into your face. It fills you with bile to even consider yourself a savior of anyone. You are good at destroying Black Rings and mania-infected beings, things that have long been unsalvageable, but all else tends to crumble in your hands when you try to keep them together. Would Julien have kept his legs if you’d been more careful? Would that vendor have lived if you had chosen your words wisely? Were all of these people’s losses necessary if you had been better? Questions like these were specters, doomed to silence as they follow you.

"What happened when I fell unconscious?" you decide to ask out of everything you could say. "How long have I been here?"

"I had just arrived when I saw Hella running with you on her back. According to her, you fainted as you were about to walk down a flight of stairs. Your body must not have been able to endure any more movement given your injuries..." She takes a brief glance at her wristwatch. "And it has been approximately 18 hours since you returned to MBCC."

18 hours? You bite down the urge to curse, instead inhaling a deep breath that you immediately regret as this sends waves of pain through your torso. Right. Almost every part of your body is broken.

"Thank you, Nightingale. Is there anything else you would like to report?" 

"Ah..." Nightingale's shoulders heave in a sigh. "Yes. That woman—the 9th Agency Director, will be visiting you soon."  

"Langley?" You can't help the way you pause, surprised but inevitably pleased to hear the sound of her name. Thankfully, Nightingale is looking at her tablet, flicking through the screen with a finger.

"If you would like some quiet, I will do my utmost to have her come at a later date. The 10th would be plausible."

You gently shake your head, careful to avoid inciting more pain. "It's okay. Send her in whenever she's here."

Nightingale nods. "Then that's all from me. I'll give you the space to rest now." She makes the move to turn, but then pauses and looks at you with a softened expression. "...I'm glad you're alright, Chief. Truly. Please let me know if there's anything I can do for you at all."

You smile at her. "Yes, there is. I order you to leave your worries at the door and get some rest yourself, Adjutant." Then, you add, "The paperwork that awaits you will be mountainous with me stuck in this bed."

A quiet laugh leaves Nightingale, hidden behind her knuckles. "It's nothing new. Rest assured, not a single piece of paper will land in your hand this week."

Just the idea of a day where you don't have to sift through various papers to sign brings you a fluttering sense of joy. Of all the things that are inconvenient about your injuries, at least there's this silver lining. 

Nightingale leaves you to yourself afterwards. Despite your best efforts to stay awake and ruminate on everything that has transpired in Drifter Camp, you are lulled into a sleep that, for the first time in weeks, quiets your mind from the thunders of an awaiting storm.

When next you wake, you feel something warm caress your cheek. Your eyes open to the colors of a winter sea.

"Langley...?" you breathe.  

She's sitting on the edge of the bed, her hat and coat placed down on your desk. In fact, if you were to stare closely, which you are because all of your inhibitions have been toppled down by painkillers, Langley looks more disheveled than she usually is. Her tie is looser, the first few buttons of her top are open, and her hair is more wind-tossed.

"I wouldn't mind if you went back to sleep and kept me waiting. It'll give me an excuse to skip my next meeting," Langley says with a smile. 

You chuckle a little. "Is that why you decided to come in person? Use me to avoid the 'geezers' you hate so much?" 

"You know me so well," Langley purrs, brushing her thumb over your cheek.

Like shore meets sand, your instinct is to lean into her palm. You don't have the clarity to wonder why she's being so tender with you, so you close your eyes and fall into her touch instead.

"Do you want my report?" you murmur. 

"Later." 

"Then what are you really doing here?" It would have been far more convenient for Langley to receive your report through a communication device.

"Am I not allowed to see you?"

"You are. Of course you are. I just... didn't think you would use your time like this." 

"Perhaps I'm just sentimental these days," Langley murmurs.

You have nothing to say to that. As much as you try, you can never fully decipher the truth behind Langley's words or actions. For all you know, she could be here for something else she's not telling you. 

You don't care, though. Not as much as you used to. You've faced death itself and promised it your soul to escape its cold grasp a moment longer. The least you can do as the sand creeps down the hourglass is indulge in your vices.

"Where did you go?" Langley says softly, drawing your attention back to her.

"Hm?"

"You're thinking about something."

“It’s nothing important.”

“You’ll be surprised by how much I value what you have to say.”

You open your eyes to look at her and wonder if she can sense the fear catching in your throat. Should you tell her your thoughts? Would it solve the puzzle between you and her, find the key and lock for her words? What would you do even if you received an answer? Desire is not something you’re supposed to cling to if you wanted to survive your feelings for Langley. You accepted what she gave in little pieces, and you strung them together like a necklace even as the sharpest parts pierced your skin. You would bleed for her. You didn't dare wish for her to shed a single drop for you... but she tempts you, with the warmth you feel through her glove, the handsome words that dance with your own, the devotion that is placed upon you from her eyes once you have her attention. 

She is, after all, a spy, and spies have always been good at soliciting information out of others.

"...I thought about you, when I was on the cusp of dying," you finally utter. "Of all my regrets, this was the only selfish one." 

Langley hums. "What made it so selfish?" 

"You're not in a position to share yourself with someone. Neither am I. We'll die far away from our beds, one way or another." Pain and swelling runs through your arm as you move it, but you lift it to capture Langley's hand in yours anyway. "Still, I..." 

“...would rather have you than not at all,” Langley finishes for you. “I know.” 

"Even if loss is the only certainty we have in the end," you murmur.

Langley takes a breath, her light green eyes staring intensely into you, trying to pry you wide open even as you're already baring yourself to her.

“Consider what this will do to you as well. You haven’t even begun to envision the secrets that lurk within DisCity. Involving yourself with me is to allow them to intertwine with your life. They will not be kind to you. I may not be kind to you, if you so choose to be with me the entire way. You still have the chance to escape from this, keep the blindfold on and continue your ways as the Chief of MBCC. Just say the word and I’ll forget we ever had this conversation.”

You only hold onto her hand tighter. “You know that the Chief of MBCC will wind up digging her way into places she shouldn’t be regardless.” 

Langley chuckles. “Indeed. A rookie to the very end.”

Then, Langley leans in close enough for her breath to brush against your skin, her other hand resting on the valley between your neck and shoulder, fingers pressed against your pulse. She speaks to you in such a soft and low voice that crawls over you, much like a spider as it approaches its captured prey. “I’m not one to stick to protocol. My hesitance was only for your sake. If you tempt me into breaking the rules I’ve set for myself, I’ll never respect them again. Is that something you’re ready for?”

“Only if you can accept that I wager my life as the Chief. I have promises I intend to fulfill,” you say, tilting your head higher towards her.

“Ah, and I wager mine for my own.”

You let out a laugh that drifts into a sigh. “What horrible lovers we are...”

Langley grins with teeth as she sinks lower. "I suppose that makes us perfect for each other, don't you think?"

Yes, you think so. 

In this selfish world, so bruised and bloodied by human sin, your lips on Langley's is the only greed you delight in.

Chapter Text

“Anne, what are you doing?”

Iron rests her hand on her hip as she stares at Anne, who seems to be idling about in the middle of the hallway with a tray.

“Oh, Iron! It’s good to see you,” she says, as if nothing is out of the ordinary.

“You’re acting suspicious,” Iron says. “Is the Chief refusing to take her medications?”

“No, it’s not that. The Chief has always been very good about listening to our instructions. It’s just...” Anne trails, looking off to ponder something.

Iron’s eyes narrow. Her patience is being quickly whittled down even with Anne. “Forget it. I’ll go and shove it in her mouth myself.”

“Iron, I don’t think that would be a good idea,” Anne says in that damned tone of voice when she is gently trying to persuade someone. Why exactly is it being directed at her?

“I don’t understand. You’re usually sterner about patients taking their medicine than even I am.”

“Yes, but, there is someone... important seeing the Chief right now. It’s a highly confidential matter. I simply worry that you might stumble into something that will just complicate your situation.”

As if that has ever stopped Iron from stepping in when medical attention is necessary. She has knocked a door down to drag a stubborn patient out, worked on patients who thrashed and threatened her. Before Iron has a chance to argue, Anne leans in closer and takes one of her hands.

“Please, dear?” she says, in a sickly sweet voice.

Iron forces herself to stare Anne down, acknowledge the light softly reflecting her eyes and the tenderness of her lips, and finds herself fighting a losing battle. She finally turns her head the other way, pinching the area between her brow.

“Something really troublesome must be going on if you’re trying to sweet talk me right now,” Iron mutters.

Anne smiles into the kiss she gives on Iron’s cheek. “Troublesome, maybe, but necessary for the Chief.”

“So much that it’s more important than the swift recovery she’s begging for?” Iron scoffs.

“You’ll understand in time.” Anne drags Iron by the hand, away from the halls and towards the elevator where warm food awaits. “Come now, we can come up with plenty of ways to admonish the Chief while we have dinner.”

Let it be said, Iron is not fully satisfied with what she’s just been swindled into. However, she has no doubt that, when night hits and they are laying on their bed to enjoy a taste of mundanity, Anne will share this little secret of hers that’s getting her so giddy. Complaining about the Chief will be gratifying, but it’s the laughter Anne allows herself to experience at the end of the day that Iron looks forward to most.