Return
There was a box on her bunk. Small. A three inch cube if that. Wrapped in blue paper and tied with a silver ribbon. Ricochet stared at it for a good five minutes after she closed the door behind her, while she racked and stowed her gear. She took her time, cleaning and inspecting Esmerelda before racking the Barrett M107 sniper rifle in it's cabinet. The box remained on her bunk, taunting her from the neatly folded and crisp linens.
Upon visual inspection, there were no identifying marks. No tag to tell her who it was from, no indication of who had trespassed on her space. The barracks doors didn't lock. Very few people had access to the Pit, and those that did, were vetted and trusted and... personal quarters were generally universal no-go zones.
Sitting on her bed, Ricochet considered having Mainframe pull security footage of the hallway. What if they'd been breached? What if there was an intruder? They would have been caught long before they made it into the barracks. She had to remind herself that she was five stories underground, with three tactical levels and the expansive hangar floor above her. Which meant she needed to open the box to find out what was in it, and who could have placed it here.
Untying the ribbon, and carefully tearing the paper away from the top, revealed a plain white box. Inside that, was nestled a black velvet jewelry clamshell. She had ideas forming as to who was responsible. Those ideas solidified as she snapped the clamshell open.
A necklace, the pendant front and center, with the gold chain coiled behind it. The pendant bore the seated figure backed by holy rays of Saint Frances Cabrini. The patron saint of orphans. Ricochet snapped the clamshell shut again, and tucked it back into the box. The paper and ribbon she discarded into the trash.
Ten minutes later, she was knocking on a door in a different hallway of the barracks level. The small velvet box clasped in her left hand. It was close enough to lights-out. She figured he'd be in. And she wasn't disappointed. Low-Light answered his door shirtless, and damp, freshly showered with a toothbrush sticking out of his mouth.
"I can't accept this," Ricochet blurted out without preamble, holding the box flat on her hand to him.
He was distressingly pretty, scars on his torso only seemed to accentuate the lean cut of his body. She prayed her cheeks weren't as red as she thought they might be. Memory of a cornfield kiss skipped through her mind, chased by the memory of how unapologetic he had been in the moment.
Low-Light recovered from being stunned fairly quickly. The toothbrush was discarded to the side, onto his desk. He wiped his mouth, then wiped his hand on his shorts. He caught her left hand, supporting it, as he folded her fingers back over the velvet box.
"I want you to have it." He spoke quietly, giving her hand a slight squeeze. She could feel the callouses on his fingers. "Sister Catherine said she gives every kid one. I figured you probably lost yours."
"Low-Light... Coop.. I.." She false started, making the mistake of looking up to meet his gaze. Something in his eyes stopped her from continuing.
"You don't have to wear it, but.. I just want you to have it. Okay?" He released her hand, reaching out to brush a curl out of her face. "Maybe it'll protect you out there, who knows? Just.. keep it, okay? For the sisters? For Mother Superior."
When he put it like that, Ricochet could feel her resolve caving. If it wasn't from him, then she couldn't really return it to him, could she? If it was from the Sisters of Mercy, who was she to deny it? Slowly, she drew the box back to her body, clasping it with both hands against her abdomen. Low-Light smiled then, triumphant.
"Go get some rest, you," he scolded, threatening to close the door on her. They both knew that neither would be sleeping much that night. He gave her a chance to unstick her tongue from her mouth, but Ricochet couldn't force herself to speak. Finally, Low-Light eased his door closed, leaning fully against it.
Tipping his head back to the ceiling, he silently scolded himself for not inviting her in. For not asking her to stay, for not talking about them. He had to, he realized. He couldn't let it go. Something about her had sunk hooks into him and now he couldn't get free. Turning, he swiftly pulled his door open again. But the hallway was empty. She was gone.