Chapter Summary: Shrike returns to the ship, but Crocodile isn't there. Her biggest critic is though, and he's plenty eager to hear just how she's messed it all up this time.
Author Notes: Reviews/comments appreciated! Let me know what you think.
"You're really sure he's not here." It's more of an affirmation than a question at this point. He's more than made himself clear already.
"For the last time: no, he's not. But the longer you keep asking, the more time he has to show up."
Shrike doesn't have the best relationship with Daz Bones, that much is certain. He's been more than vocal in his concerns about her joining the crew, thinking she'd just try to kill the captain in his sleep. Not say that wasn't a wrong assumption to make... she'd certainly thought of it.
Over the past year, Daz has taken to keeping an uncomfortably close eye on her. A wary, distrustful one that's left her little opportunity for wholesome camaraderie.
Sure, he'd taken up most of Shrike's training-teaching her a variety of martial arts alongside her swordplay-but his lessons have been nothing short of draconian. He'd only just recently semi-warmed up to her in the past few months. While their relationship is not yet 'friendly', it's no longer active animosity, either.
Right now, though, it's clear that Shrike's repeated badgering is just annoying him.
She groans, anxiety driving her to pace about the little sparring ring. This cleared out half of the cargo hold serves as a perfectly adequate space for the crew to train in. It's far enough below the main decks that it muffles any noises that would annoy The Croc. When not loyally dogging at his captain's side, Daz spends much of his time down here working out or meditating, as he is now.
That is until she barged in.
As soon as Shrike got back, she'd scoured the whole ship searching for Crocodile. There'd been nary a trace of him, though it did appear as though he'd torn through his office in a hurry-even leaving the door slightly ajar. In one last-ditch effort to find him, she'd stumbled upon Daz while searching the cargo hold, much to his annoyance.
He rolls his shoulders, not even bothering to open an eye and look at her. "What happened, Shrike? What did you do?"
"What did I do?! Why are you always so quick to assume that I did something?!" She whirls on her heel to glare at him, anger sparking through her chest. So distrustful of him that she can't help but grow defensive at his assumption that she'd fucked up somehow... even if he's completely right.
Because she did do something.
This time.
"You always do this! I've been pulling my weight around here for months now, and it's never good enough for you! I make one mistake and that's enough for you to throw me overboard!" Shrike glares at him, though she knows her ghastly yellow eyes don't have quite the same effect on him as they do to others.
"A mistake?" He cracks one of his steely grey ones open. It looks at her full to the brim with smug judgment. "So you did do something."
He says it so matter of fact, Shrike can feel what little patience she has left for him snap. A bowstring pulled so tautly that the frame itself has shattered into a thousand tiny splinters.
She takes a few menacing steps towards him, reason completely overshadowed by insulted fury. "I am so sick and tired of your shit, Daz! What makes you so special?! So unquestionable?! You think you're soooo infallible!"
His shoulders shift as his lungs heave out a tired sigh. "As hot-headed as usual. Lashing out at others for your own mistakes again? You never learn, kitty."
Rage jolts through her like lightning.
That nickname. She absolutely hates it. It's nothing but a reminder that he only thinks of her as the dirty street cat the captain picked up. Like she's no better than some stray that Crocodile thought he could make into a loyal lap beast just like he did his fearsome pet gators.
All of Shrike's frustrations over the past year come exploding out in the form of a roaring snarl. "DON'T-CALL-ME-THAT!"
He rolls his eyes, and that's it.
Well, she wants that to be it.
Her hand flies to the hilt of her saber, but she goes no further. Everything in her wants to draw on him; wants to show him that she's capable of more than just hissing, that she has claws too.
But that would only be proving him right. Drawing on him outside of a training session would only validate all those nasty assumptions he has of her. Prove that she's just an arrogant brat incapable of learning, unable to leash herself and maintain control.
She'd rather die than prove him right.
Her eyes slip closed as she forcibly swallows down the incensed bile bubbling in her throat. Shrike can feel him looking at her. Judging her. Those steely eyes pierce straight into her soul, waiting for her to show him her true character.
The breath she takes is so deep it cocks her head to the side, neck popping from the strain of her muscles trying to contain herself. Whatever Daz thinks of her, she's better than that.
Her hand falls away from the saber, fingers tensing into a fist before relaxing at her side. She opens her eyes to meet his own, and the tension in the air is palpable as yellow clashes with silver.
Daz's face is no longer impassive, now bearing a tight-lipped smirk. "Well now, and here I was hoping to teach you another lesson."
His words stoke the fury still smoldering in her chest, but she knows better than to take the bait. Lunging at him now would just leave her bloody and bruised on the floor. She merely crosses her arms, rocking back to recline on a heel as she fights to contain herself.
"I know I'm just one big joke to you. No matter what I do, I'm nothing but that mangy stray trying to play at being a professional." She clucks her tongue, shaking her head in a show of mock disapproval. "Well, I've disappointed one person today, might as well disappoint you too."
He frowns, expression turning serious. "The kitty's using her words instead of her claws? What happened must've really humbled you."
Shrike gives a noncommittal shrug of her shoulders. "Yeah, well. I don't want to talk about it. I'm sure Croc' will tell you all about it later."
With that, she turns to make her exit, heading to the stairs leading out of the cargo hold. She makes it about halfway across the hull before her senses blare in high alert. Even as immature as her newly awakened perception haki is, she'd have to be completely comatose not to notice the object hurtling toward her head from behind.
Her hand dives up her sleeve at the same time she begins to pivot in place. Just as the tips of her fingers brush against the blade hidden there, it's sliding into the palm of her hand. She flips it between her knuckles before snapping her wrist forward just as she completes her turn. It glides from between her fingers, smooth as silk, expertly slicing the thrown apple into two perfect halves.
A thud echoes about the hold as the dagger embeds into the wood of the hull, just past Daz's head. Shrike meets his tight-lipped frown with a fearsome scowl.
The two halves of the apple hit the floor with thuds of their own.
Daz pulls himself to his feet, making a show of stretching up to his full height. Even with her six foot two figure, he towers over Shrike just as her captain does.
A fact she absolutely detests.
He cracks his neck, taking a casual step forward while he rolls his shoulders a few times. "Now now, kitty. I want to hear it from you. Tell me what happened."
"I don't have time for this, mutt." She growls, sliding another dagger down from her other arm. It glints in the low, dusky light of the hold, catching the glow of the nearby lantern. Shrike has no intention of starting a fight, but she sure as hell has no problems finishing one.
He crosses his arms about his chest before cocking a brow. "In a rush? Almost like you don't want to be here when he gets back? What you did was bad, wasn't it."
She bites her cheek, relying on the sting to keep her grounded. This is just him testing her even harder. She knows he just wants to see how long she can hold out before he gets another rise out of her.
Well, he's not going to get it.
Without a word, Shrike turns on her heel and resumes her exit. Daz will hear all about it tonight, she's sure, or whenever the captain gets back. Whether that's before or after he's killed her...
From over her shoulder, Daz tsks his tongue. "I always knew you'd be a disappointment, Shrike. Just a waste of our time."
Her vision goes red, flushed hot with pure, undiluted rage. With a snarl, she whirls around and whips the other dagger straight at his head. A hard, metallic clang echoes about the hold as he deflects with a bladed arm.
Just as she knew he would.
Just as he knew she'd cave in the end. Shrike never could resist a challenge, no matter the size. And right now, he's challenging her pride.
Daz drops into a brawling stance, lightly bouncing on the balls of his feet. "That's it. There's the claws. C'mon, get it all out." His hand extends outwards, palm towards the ceiling as he makes a beckoning motion with his fingers.
'The only thing I need to get out is you from my life!' But she doesn't say it. She instead channels all her rage into a furious snarl that tears itself from her throat.
Shrike closes the distance between the two of them in a single bound, simultaneously wrenching her saber free from its sheath. But Daz moves quickly, far more quickly than she'd anticipated. Nor is she thinking clearly enough to maintain her battle composure.
His hand snaps out, chopping down at hers right at the wrist. It's unbladed, luckily, but the force of the strike forces Shrike's grip to relax. Her saber falls to the ground with a rattling clang as she takes a leap backward.
"No weapons. No running away. You're going to get these childish frustrations out the old fashioned way." He kicks the blade across the floor with a frown, sending it away to rest against the sloped curve of the hull. The disrespect only has her seething even more, but before she can open her mouth, he's driving forward with a punch aimed straight for her gut.
She quickly pivots to the side. Daz's fist finds only air where her torso had just been, but he's far too experienced for something like that to have upset his balance. He corrects his movement gracefully, leg sweeping up for a roundhouse kick targeted at her upper arm.
His leg soars over her head as she drops to a crouch just in time. She quickly throws herself forward before he can follow with another blow. The world blurs into a whorl as she rolls beneath Daz's outswung leg, deftly maneuvering behind him.
Shrike lands in a crouch on the other side, where she rushes to spring backward and put some space between the two of them. Right as she kicks off the ground, he spins around with a speed bordering on disturbing; a reminder that his training sessions have just been him toying with her.
But now? Now, he's taking this seriously.
His fingers wrap around her ankle right as she begins to spring away. It halts all her forward movement, whiplash tearing the world out from beneath her. Shrike's chin hits the ground with the tinny click of teeth and a resounding thud. Everything flashes white from the shock of it, and her hands immediately fly up to paw at her jaw.
Through the stunned haze, she can dimly make out the clucking of a tongue. "I said no running, kitty."
The pain fades immediately. He's utterly incensed her at this point. She rolls onto her back to glare up at the arrogant jackass with a rolling snarl. "Fuck you!"
Daz drops to a crouch, flicking a finger across her nose roughly. "The yowling isn't necessary either. Now, how about you tell me what you did out there, hm?"
Like hell she will, not after all this. He doesn't deserve to hear a single word of it from her lips. Things have progressed beyond mean words and harsh glares. If he wants answers, he's going to have to work for them.
She promptly smacks his outstretched hand away.
Daz grumbles, head lolling backward from the force of his eye roll. "Stubborn as usual. Look, either you can tell me, now. Or I'm going to beat that pride out of you, and then you'll tell me."
Her continued silence tells him her answer.
Right as he begins to huff another exasperated sigh, Shrike rolls her legs upward and springs back to her feet. The surprised look on his face quickly shifts to an excited grin as she drops into a brawling stance none too dissimilar from the one he'd adopted earlier.
"Fine. I'll play your stupid game."
Crocodile would never approve of the two going at each other seriously, but Shrike has a feeling Daz cares about that as little as she does right now. The issues between them have gotten to the point that they can't be solved over some well-placed words and a shared drink.
Daz is right about one thing: they need to get this out the old-fashioned way.
"You never were one to resist a challenge." Daz muses, all the while filling the hold with the cracking of his knuckles. "Beatdown it is, then."
Shrike had meant to take the initiative-try to keep him on his toes-but Daz surges forward with a speed that doesn't give her much of a choice.
The assault he launches on her is nothing short of overwhelming. It's all she can do just to look for an opening and attempt to make at least a glancing blow in return, but even that proves to be nigh impossible. Every iota of her focus is spent on dodging and blocking, turning and weaving. She can't find a single spot for a counterstrike of her own, her forearms growing more battered by the second as she struggles to block the onslaught.
During training sessions, Daz is a diligent enough tutor to purposefully leave her some openings.
But this isn't training.
As he so tactfully put, this is a 'beat down.'
"You were assigned a simple tag-along mission, you're first I might add!" He drops to his haunches, aiming to knock Shrike to the ground with a leg sweep.
She clears it easily with a short hop.
"-and instead of coming back successful-" The next blow, another punch, he aims right for her chin. A would-be fight ending hit. She's forced to block it with her forearms, and the radiating ache along them tells her there'll be a nasty bruise. "-the captain tears back in here seething mad, damn near about to tear someone's head off-"
Shrike keeps trying to find spots to retaliate, but his words are getting to her. His goading has her too rattled to slip into her honed battle focus.
'I'm better than this, dammit!' She grits her teeth as the fury within her builds. The raging frustration chews away at her composure with each suffered blow. 'NO. Stop! Breathe! Focus!' She wills herself to steady her breathing despite the tide of blows she's only just barely stemming. 'Look for your opening!'
It's then that she remembers. A lesson he'd taught her, one of the very first: 'Know when to take a hit.'
He aims a jab right for her gut that has her awkwardly contorting her spine to dodge out of the way. She manages to avoid the worst of it, though a minor bout of pain flares up as his fist glances her right side.
All according to plan.
Shrike strikes before he can adjust. Daz stumbles on his feet as she yanks him forward, both hands latched onto his outstretched arm. A harsh grunt fills the hold as her knee connects with his torso.
But she knows not to celebrate too soon. His size and experience have him at far more of an advantage than she does.
His arms wrap around her thigh in a flash, locking her in tight.
"You're gonna' have to hit harder than that if you want it to hurt." He grins, lips smugly contorted as he tuts at her.
'Shit!' Shrike wants to kick herself, falling for the same type of trap she'd just used on him. He grips about her leg tighter to let her know just how struck she is.
"Now, tell me what happened." The last of his words come out as an aggressive growl.
She hurriedly kicks her other foot off the ground, hoping to plant it against his chest and push him off balance. "Fuck. Off!"
It seems that's exactly what he's been waiting for.
Right as her foot leaves the ground, Daz bends backward, all the while pulling her leg with him. He doesn't stop at the halfway point either. His body contorts itself as if he were attempting to slam her into a suplex. But, he can't be, she's in the wrong position to do that.
He instead lets her go right at the top of the arch, and her forward momentum sends her sailing across the hold.
Shrike can't help but flail, desperately trying to correct her position and land on her feet. The way he's thrown her has her spinning off center, and a tip of her foot touches the ground a hair off balance. It's not enough for friction to slow her down. Her toes promptly slide right out from underneath her.
Her knee makes contact next. A painful jolt vibrates all the way from the cap to her pelvis. The ricochet arks so strongly up her body that she wonders if it's shaken her apart, a doll that's had its limbs popped out.
The other knee shortly follows with a shuddering crack of its own. Her momentum carries her forward a few feet, shins mercilessly grinding across the rough wooden floor as the coarseness of the wood shreds her leggings wide open. The skin beneath splits next as the fabric rips away.
An agonized cry wells up in her throat, but she chokes it down as if it were bitter medicine. Shrike's teeth bite down into her lower lip so hard she tastes blood trying to keep that noise from escaping. She'd never let him have the satisfaction of hearing her scream again.
That first night was already one time too many.
She folds into herself, forehead pressing against the floor as her hands desperately rub at the biting sting radiating from her legs. The fair skin of her knees will be mottled black and blue for weeks.
Footsteps from behind snatch her focus.
"I know that hurt, Shrike. Why don't you tell me what happened so we can get those cuts cleaned up?" His voice has lost some of its bite, now tinged with a hint of concern.
It utterly infuriates her.
"Don't. Pity. Me." Her nails bite hard enough into her thighs that the sting cleaves right through the thudding ache from her fall. She pushes herself off the floor with barely contained groans, only just now noticing the bloody less running down her shins. Her lip and chin are wet too, from what she can only assume to be more blood.
"Shrike, swallow your pride just this once. If you're this worked up, it has to be serious. Let me help."
The glare she levels his way would make any lesser man shrink in fear. His eyes merely narrow with an expression she can't really place. Right now, she doesn't even care about her problems with Crocodile. Not even Daz's incendiary comments.
Right now, Shrike just wants to win. Win solely for the sake of winning.
But, a hand to hand brawl is not the way to do that. Shrike's expertise lies in killing as quietly and efficiently as possible, all without the target even knowing she's there. Her close combat skills are thanks to Daz himself, and they're but a shadow of his. Turning them back his way? Folly from the start. No, she needs to pull out a different trick to turn the odds in her favor.
She only hopes she can keep it under control.
The last she sees as her eyes slip closed is Daz cocking a brow. Her nostrils flare from the steadying exhale pushed from her lungs. What she's about to do requires absolute focus. Unshaken control.
His voice pierces through the darkness of her lids. "We both know you can't control your haki. You really want to try it on me?"
Shrike tunes him out, concentrating solely on her breathing. 'Focus.'
Daz huffs, yet makes no move to stop her. For as much as he has an advantage in this fight, he knows she's not a pushover. He's felt first hand what she's capable of when pushed, having suffered more than a few sobering blows over the past year as her tutor.
So far, Shrike has managed to deflect, dodge, or at least block nearly every blow he's aimed her way. Now, it's time for her to strike back.
On the next exhale, a low hum reverberates from her throat. It's an even, low note that somehow resonates with her entire being, awakening a level of sensory awareness that can only be described as supernatural.
Her senses explode to life; hearing, vision, touch all more than tripling in sensitivity. So much so, that the darkness of her eyelids has taken on a level of sight she's never before experienced. Streams of color dance around the blackness, each one roughly painting the shapes and locations of the objects around her.
It's almost too much. Almost.
Daz is right, as much as she hates to admit it. Using her newly awakened perception haki in a fight is way more than just a gamble. If she loses control, the resulting sensory overload will flood her mind and leave her a dazed mess on the floor.
But she needs it if she wants to win.
Her eyes open to find the contents of the hold in hyper-focus. It's to such a degree that everything appears edged, as if just touching the corner of a crate would slice her open from wrist to elbow. The dim light from the electric lanterns has amplified to nearly daylight levels. Even the shadows seem to have lost a touch of their blackness.
Daz is still at the other side of the arena, arms crossed over his chest. In the absence of the hold's gloom, Shrike spies the faintest of smirks on his face.
"Have it your way, then." He breathes the words out more than speaks them, but she hears them as clearly as if they'd been uttered right into her ears.
Shrike's breathing starts to waver, focus already struggling to keep her senses from overloading. One slight mistake and it'll shatter. She'll go crashing right to the floor as her conscious mind shorts out from the streams of sensory information filling it full to overflow.
"I can see you struggling over there." Still, Daz drops into a defensive form. Cautious.
"Shut. Up." She chokes the words out through grit teeth. Her enhanced hearing is picking up far too many distractions, everything from the waves lapping against the ship's hull to the chattering of the crew gossiping about what's going on down here.
She desperately shakes her head in an attempt to clear the distractions away. 'Focus. Calm. Breathe.'
The first move has to be hers if she wants to win this. She has to strike before she loses focus, end it all before her senses white out.
Shrike drops to her haunches, springing forward with a kick off the floor. Daz starts to move, and she can see his muscles twitch as he does so. His minuscule movements send off more of those colorful waves with each twitch. Each one streams in the direction of his motion, a prediction of his line of action.
It's not exactly seeing the future, but a good enough approximation, nonetheless.
She lands at a crouch right in front of him, rolling to the left as he lifts his leg for a kick. She's already striking before he can launch a remise: a feigned kick of her own to his left flank, immediately dropping her leg as soon as he's locked into the block.
This time, Shrike is the one with the advantage. Someone of Daz's size could never hope to match her speed.
With a small roar, her right fist hooks upward into the left side of his jaw. The forceful click of his teeth is music to her ear. A tune she nearly dances away to as she disengages to avoid any counters of his own.
Getting into a grapple with him would without a doubt end this fight, with him as the clear victor. While she can throw a punch-and take one too-Daz's side would dwarf the speedy advantage she has over him should he manage to lock her into close quarters.
"What's the matter, dog? Can't take a punch from a kitty two-thirds your size?" Shrike bounces on the balls of her feet in anticipation. Riling him up could either throw him off balance. Or, worse, it could just make him an even bigger threat.
She's gambling on it being the former.
Daz looks almost thoughtful as he rubs his jaw, head still turned in the position she'd knocked it to. His eyes slip closed in what appears to be contemplation, like he's musing over the ache left behind from her fist. When he turns to look at her, those steely eyes are shaped with a mixture of both amusement and heated anger.
And a little bit of something else.
'Pride?'
In a split second, he closes the distance between them. There's barely enough time to dart to the side, Shrike's brain struggling to process the haki streams in such a short amount of time.
She narrowly avoids a knee to her gut, but in doing so crashes into a crate on the perimeter of the ring. It happens so quickly it's impossible to resist the urge to scream as her bloodied knee scrapes against the rough wood. She channels it into a growling curse, letting the frustration fuel her drive.
Her focus wavers, though, the light of the hold suddenly growing a few hues brighter as she struggles to reign in the visual aspect of her haki.
He keeps pressing her back, forcing her to dive to the floor. She expertly rolls right underneath him, springing to her feet at his backside. Her haki waves lead ahead of his actual movements, and she pivots to the left to get in position for another strike.
Daz grunts painfully as he turns towards her, Shrike's elbow meeting him right in the chest.
She leaps backward as he tries to grab her, still too quick despite the ragged breaths heaving from her lungs. He seems entirely unfazed, his own breathing as even as if he were taking a light stroll.
"Getting tired?" He mocks, a cocky grin splitting across his face. "Just tell me what happened and we can end this right now."
"As if, bastard." Shrike spits the words at his feet, vision going again white again as her hearing turns static. It's getting harder and harder to maintain control. One hit from him would be enough to disrupt the already tenuous control she has.
She needs to end this. Now.
A quick dart forward and a pivot to the side brings her to his right flank. 'Strike, before he can move!'
Her fist shoots forward.
A metallic clang resounds about the hold. Blistering pain shoots all the way up to her elbow from her knuckles. Rather than striking the soft flesh of his side, the flat edge of his bladed arm has stopped her fist dead in its tracks. She cries out from the pain of it, senses fizzling in and out of focus.
He clucks his tongue. "You should have just told me what happened, kitty."
Before Shrike can gain the composure to pull herself away, his hands begin to rise. With an almost bored expression, he brings them both before her face and-
'NO NO NO-'
Her agonized scream echoes about the confines of the hold. She stumbles backward, flailing as she desperately tries to somehow cover both her eyes and ears at the same time.
What should have been an innocuous clap was nothing short of devastating to her heightened senses. She's simply too tired and pained to brace herself for the sensory overload. Each wave of sound bouncing about the narrow space of the sparring ring batters her ears, drowning out the world around her until there's nothing left but harsh ringing.
It's a deafening clarion that consumes all.
Her vision follows immediately. Upon losing control, Shrike's pupils blew completely. The once dim light of the hold becomes utterly blinding, and not even closing her eyes helps. Everything turns blazing white.
Her entire existence has been rendered to nothing but impossible noise and blinding light.
It's pure hell.
She feels a blow to the back of her legs, one that sends her tumbling into the air. The wind is knocked clean from her lungs as she lands roughly on her shoulders.
Something pins her down, but she can barely even think let alone defend herself. She's completely and utterly at the mercy of the dog that's disabled her with a mere clap. Rather than defend herself, Shrike's hands instinctively clamp down over her eyes, palms glued tight in an attempt to drown out the light assailing her despite her closed lids.
The ringing continues in earnest, too, though slightly muffled. She's faintly aware of pressure over her ears, though from what, she can't tell. It's all she can do to just lie there gasping, trying to stay afloat amid the tidal wave of sensory input.
"...Turn...off." The words faintly reach her through the din clanging about her skull. "...haki...off."
The pressure over her ears loosens a bit-"Shrike, relax"-before returning to its muffling relief once more.
She can do little else but obey, swallowing mouthfuls of air as she attempts to relax as ordered.
"Focus on...pressure..."
She does.
As her breathing finds a steadier rhythm, Shrike directs all her heightened sensory input to focus on touch rather than sight and sound. The consistent pressure over her eyes and ears anchors her to reality among the cacophonous ringing and blinding light ravaging her conscious. The aches and pains dotting her body, too, flare in intensity as she redirects her senses to touch. They only help ground herself even more.
After what feels like a millennium, the world finally quiets. Light and sound recede back to normal. The darkness returns to her eyelids, and all she can hear is the muted sound of her deep, gasping breaths.
With a groan, she pulls her hands from her face and warily opens an eye. Daz is still pinning her down, his large hands pressed over her ears. The expression on his face is stern, yet concerned. That of a parent scolding a child after they've hurt themselves doing something stupid... but still concerned about the hurt, nonetheless. Normally, such a look would've pissed her off. As she is now, she's far too exhausted to care.
She gives his hands a light tap. 'I'm fine now...'
His hands pull away, though he says nothing. Nor does he make a move to release her, still keeping her pinned to the floor. She doesn't bother resisting, not like she has enough energy to anyways. The ordeal she's just suffered through has sapped her of any fighting spirit.
Silence fills the hold as she looks up at him, pale yellow meeting steely grey in a moment of understanding.
And then, she's speaking.
"I... I fucked up, Daz." She manages to say, though each work shakily falls from her lips. The weak timbre of her voice disturbs her, how absolutely defeated she sounds. From the way Daz's eyes narrow-not with anger, but with concern-she gets the feeling he's made just as uncomfortable by it as she is.
"Things went from bad to... to more bad. I... I... he was so mad... I drew my blade on him!"
Daz is off her with a single, swift movement. He leans down to offer her a hand, to which she takes it gladly. Her body screams and aches as she rises, groans pushing from her throat as the soreness reminds her of its presence. The way he'd pinned her-with his knees tightly digging into her sides-will leave her mottled black and blue in no time. And that's not even considering the state of her knees, her forearms, her shoulders...
And all she has to show for it is the light bruise beginning to blossom along his jawline.
"Bruises never killed anyone, kitty." Though he says it softly, not with the edge his jabs typically bear.
She meets him with silence, not even having the energy the sass him back. It's just not there.
Shrike grips onto her left forearm, nervously looking at the floor as she struggles to keep from sinking back down it. Everything hurts way more than expected.
Daz places a hand on her shoulder after a few tense moments, where he gently guides her over to one of the crates. His arm quickly scoops about her waist, effortlessly depositing her on the crate's edge such that her legs dangle off the side. At this height, she can look at him without straining her neck, making her feel just a little less small.
It's appreciated.
"Alright, Shrike. You need to tell me what happened."
So she does. She spares him on details, telling him everything that happened this morning. From when she and Croc' left the ship early that afternoon, to their explosive confrontation, to even being watched after she'd mistakenly blown her cover, Shrike tells Daz everything.
He has little to say during it, and even less after.
Her head slumps into her hands upon finishing. Just the act of recounting her day has exhausted her even further. Not to mention, it's left her burning with shame, making the embarrassment of her failure feel fresh once more.
'He thinks even worse of me now, I know it. My first big break and I blew it just as he expected. Like he wanted me to. He's probably ecstatic, he's always wanted me to fail-' Shrike's thoughts race uncontrollably. Every ugly insecurity and self-doubt rear their ugly heads all at once.
Her breathing picks up, chest tightening in that tell-tale sign.
'NO. No way in hell will I let him see me like this!'
It's been months upon months since she last had a panic attack. They'd been common enough while she was still living on the streets, a hair's breadth from starving to death or freezing in the snow. Even in the early days of joining the crew, she'd find herself sneaking away below deck to panic in private. As she's healed, grown stronger and faster and smarter, their frequency has waned almost entirely, save for the nigh-constant nagging of her own self-doubt.
But today has shaken her hardened nerves... a panic attack is imminent.
She needs to be alone and fast.
Without so much as a word, Shrike shoves him out of the way and drops to the floor. He stops her with a hand on her shoulder. "Wait."
That simple action rekindles all the suppressed fury anew, reignites her smoldering indignation.
She whips around, ready to shove him some more only to see that he's not looking at her with anger... but with reassurance?
"I... I don't get it... isn't this what you wanted?!" Her words begin to shake every so slightly, composure quickly unraveling. "Didn't you want to see me fail?! I'm nothing but a 'waste of time', remember?!" She begins to shout at him as her jaw wobbles precariously.
Her teeth grit tight, desperate to keep herself steady as the tears threaten to build up in her eyes. 'Damn this. Damn all of this.'
He's silent for a few moments, as if choosing his words carefully.
"No. I... I only said that to get a reaction out of you. You're not a waste of time, Shrike. You never have been."
But she's already pushing past him. She doesn't have the time or care to listen to his lies right now.
"Shrike, listen. Listen to me." His hand clamps down on her arm this time, keeping her from escaping. "I worried you'd carelessly thrown away the opportunity you'd been given. I need answers, to know for sure."
His words hang in the air.
She mulls over them, tossing them about her mind as she tries to find rhyme or reason in what he's saying. "...You thought me ungrateful?"
His lips press together into a thin line, silent a moment more before replying. "You have a lot of potential. I don't want you to squander it."
Shrike almost shivers at that, not exactly expecting such a compliment here and now.
"The captain especially... he sees a lot in you. I'd rather you not disappoint him."
Her mind goes blank, mouth falling open. Crocodile... Crocodile sees potential in her?
She feels herself growing more flustered by the second.
"Learn from this, Shrike. This wasn't as big a failure as you fear it is. You can use it to grow."
His words sober her up a bit, the fluttering making way for heat once more. She snaps at him with barely restrained bitterness. "I'm sorry, but I thought failure on this ship meant a one-way ticket overboard? Croc' may not have killed me earlier but he can still get rid of me later!"
What comes next just about kills her dead on her feet.
Daz laughs.
A short burst, but a laugh nonetheless. He shakes his head, planting his hands on his hips. "Like he could ever do such a thing to you. Everyone else, sure. But not to you, kitty... never to you." The last bit he says more to himself, under his breath.
Shrike stumbled backward, stuttering with her mouth agape. She has no idea how to react to such words, much less how to even begin interpreting just what he's saying.
"I... I... ahh... hahhhhh" Her chest tightens again, panic threatening to return. The burning in her chest blossoms on her face, now hot in embarrassment as the meaning of his words begins to dawn on her. Every fiber of her being screams: 'YOU NEED TO GO.'
She turns and runs. Despite the thudding ache in her limbs, she hurtles herself up the stairs in her desperation to get out of this hold and into the safety of her quarters.
But she's met solely with despair.
The top of the stairs is blocked by a small gaggle of the crew excitedly trying to peek down into the hold.
Ezra-the most antagonistic of the bunch-stands proud front and center. His sea-green eyes bore into Shrike with glee, peering out from beneath his tousled mop of red hair as he looks over the bloodied mess of his rival.
"Hah! Look how beat up she is! Daz kicked your ass, didn't h-" Shrike punches him right in the gut as she shoves past him. He doubles over as a raucous chorus of laughter sounds about the narrow hallway. Shinda-the navigator-and Axen-the chef-mock him relentlessly as he rolls about the floor.
"Doesn't look like that pride of hers been tempered any!"-"You really were asking for that, Ezzie!"
They shout and laugh as she hurriedly runs down the hall to her quarters. Their laughter chases her all the way, biting at her heels.
Tears already drip down the corners of her eyes by the time she reaches her door. Right as she slams it shut, the last she hears from the hall is Daz's deep voice abruptly cutting into their fun. "...That is enough!"
Shrike's back slides down the closed door until she comes to rest on the floor, all the while releasing what feels like the longest sigh of her life. The tears roll down her heated cheeks in earnest now, covering the rosy flesh in streaks of wet. Her chest stutters as the panic tears each breath out, a hammer forcing her lungs open and shut as a pace she can't quite fulfill.
Eventually, not for near half an hour later, it fades. It fades just as it always does.
Its absence leaves her sitting there, feeling nothing but that cold emptiness as if all feeling has been spilled from her lungs and tears. The events of the day wash over her, though she feels dissociated from them. Like they happened to someone else.
Only one thing stirs something within her: a heavy thump in her chest.
It comes out, barely above a whisper: "...never... you..."