sing for me, my meadowlark
"Was suplexing him really necessary, sweetheart?"
She shrugs, typing on her Scroll and showing him the screen. "He called me short," she justifies firmly.
"Noted. He deserves it, then," Roman replies, glaring at Cinder's henchman, the young Mercury Black groaning in pain from where Neo had tossed him unceremoniously. Roman does not move to help the young man; if he had mocked Neo, then he deserves far more than simply being thrown.
His fingers itch against the trigger of his cane. He stays his hand. He cannot afford to earn Cinder's ire.
Their duties for the day are done, however, and it is time to go home. There is only so much his pacing and yelling within their central warehouse can accomplish, after all, and his men already have their orders to finish unloading all of the stolen Dust which Cinder has tasked him with collecting.
Neo follows him without complaint, but the moment they are out of Cinder's sights and back on the street, her forehead creases, fingers flying across the screen of her Scroll. "We've been helping them prepare for over a year now!" she says, her expression pleading and disconcerted. "Why?"
He shakes his head, tucking a hand into his pocket as they slip into the back alleys that shall lead them home away from security cameras. He understands why she is terrified; together, they saw the full extent of Cinder's powers as the Fall Maiden that day, and Roman has never been further in over his head. Cinder Fall is a complete monster, her ability to wield golden magic and flame completely separate from her Semblance's control over heating and reforming objections to her whims. Watching her set fire to an entire Faunus camp that morning had been gut-turning, even after everything Roman has ever done.
Neo's fear is completely natural. So, he announces, "We're doing what we need to."
She does not even need to type for him to understand. They have been together for too long now; miscommunication is a thing of the far-off past. "What are you talking about?" her eyes scream at him, accusing, fearful. "What are we trying to accomplish?!"
He pauses underneath a dim light situated at the top of one of the buildings surrounding them. In the flickering yellow sheen, he can see the streaks of white she has layered into her hair for cosmetic reasons using her Semblance. He can see the glitter upon her lids which he knows she adds painstakingly every morning, as much as he teases her about it. He can see every frill and bow on her outfit, one which she has halfway sewn herself in order to be able to wear fabric that is both stylish and resistant to Dust and weapons.
She still barely goes up to his armpit. She shall forever be his tiny little girl.
And he wants to hear her voice.
…or, if nothing else, he wants to be able to protect her, even just a little, as Salem and her monsters like Cinder bring the world crashing down around them.
He smiles, but there is no lie in his eyes, no persona to play. He simply reaches out and strokes her hair, pushing it tenderly out of her face, careful to not disrupt the white streaks precariously laced through pink strands with her Aura. "You're good at disguises now," he breathes.
She frowns, but waits patiently for him to continue.
"You told me you'd learn to use them so you could be useful for me."
She sucks in a breath, then nods, worry and anxiety creeping into her expression.
Cupping her cheek with one hand, he strokes the skin lightly, careful to not disturb her powder. "I've never wanted to accomplish a goal more in my life. So, I'm working with them," he says simply.
The doubt in her eyes stings him far more than any of Cinder's magic ever could. Still, she nods, taking in a deep breath, pulling out her Scroll, and typing her response. "Okay," she writes. "I'm with you."
He does not deserve her, he thinks. "I know you are, Neo," he whispers. "I know you are."
Faintly, he wonders if her life would've been better if he had left her in that alleyway a decade before. He knows it isn't true. That thought still haunts him all the way home.