Chapter Summary: Crocodile is back, and from the tone of his voice, he sounds angry. Shrike knows it can only be because of her, and she's determined to make it right. She hears something far different than expected... and how can she ever go back?
Author Notes: Welcome back! Reviews (good/bad/meh) always appreciated! I do really like knowing what you guys think and incorporate all feedback into my stories.
Shrike feels the color drain from her face. Her breath hitches, lungs stuttering from the anxiety running wild in her chest, coiling in her gut. She stands there frozen, only a few feet from the door-his door-close enough to hear the voices within but not what they're saying.
It's one voice that has her so terrified. A voice that's reminding her just how precarious her position of 'still alive' is.
Crocodile's voice.
An angry Crocodile's voice.
The man that'd been on the verge of killing her, his rage so palpable as to taste acidic on her tongue, is angry.
The man she's been wracking her heart and soul over, arguing with herself over this frustrating infatuation for, is angry.
Their mission for snacks has been all but forgotten. Even little Phoebe has stopped squirming about on Shrike's shoulders, now just as frozen as the human she's riding on is. They both know that an angry Crocodile is a dangerous one. Beloved pet or no, with a temper like his, even Phoebe does her best to avoid him in such a state.
This is bad.
Shrike knows she should just turn around. Leave before she attracts his attention, before he kills her to make up for earlier. She should just go back to the galley, grab their food, and head back to her bunk to pretend everything is okay.
...She can't.
Something keeps her rooted in place.
The contents of her nightmare linger fresh in her mind, the situation being far too uncomfortably similar for her to not notice. It's filled her with a dread that can only be described as existential, as if every fiber of her being has been reminded of her indisputable mortality. Her very spirit quivers under its oppressive weight.
She wants to run, and yet she just can't. All because of one thing: shame.
His anger has to be her fault. Everything that happened earlier was because she'd failed him, and to say that Shrike feels guilty about it would be an understatement. She cringes as his voice raises another bar, fiery and hot and venomous and so very angry. It's her fault and she knows it. It has to be.
Her fault. Hers alone.
'You promised yourself. You said you were going to fix this!' Confusing feelings for him aside, she did promise. She did.
Her fists tighten so hard that her palms sting, nails biting into the sensitive flesh. As soon as she recognized Hawken's shitty disguise for what it was, she'd resolved herself to own up for her mistakes and apologize. She told herself she'd do anything and everything to make this situation right.
Even if it leads to her getting killed, she has to try. On her honor, she has to try.
So, Shrike is going to walk up to that door. She is going to knock on that door. She is going to apologize to the man behind that door. And then she is going to fix this because Shrike is a woman that owns up to her mistakes, goddammit. If he kills her as soon as he sees her face, then that's that then. It won't be her problem to fix anymore.
She closes her eyes before steadying herself with a single, deep breath. The calming effect it has on her is slight, only just barely easing the thudding in her chest. It's better than nothing.
'Go. Before you chicken out.'
She nods, more at herself than for anyone else, and forces herself to move before what courage she's mustered peters out. Her footsteps make not a single sound. Even without her Shroud, she's near mastered the ability to move as only the shadows do.
With each step, the door draws ever closer, and the voices grow ever louder. The words forming them begin to take shape, though they're still too faint for her make out the details of the conversation at hand. It's only when she halts not a step away, hand poised to knock, that she finally takes note of the topic.
What she hears just about makes her soul leave her body.
Crocodile's tone is terse, almost at a growl. "Dote? I can assure you I do not dote on the girl."
The sound of Daz's laughter follows shortly. "Please. She's not stupid, boss. You'd never give that level of attention to anyone who was."
Croc' does growl this time. His voice conveys a level of frustration Shrike's never heard from him before: exasperation. "Your point being?"
"I'm saying that Shrike's noticed the preferential treatment, boss. She's noticed the-" His voice then takes on a mocking tone, emphasizing the ridiculousness of what he's saying. "-the doting."
Shrike's heart near stops in her chest. She hears the words as solely pure sound, their meaning not at all making sense to her mind as it desperately struggles to process them.
'Doting. On... me. They're... They're talking about me... Croc'... dotes... No he doe-no-yes he does.' Images of lovingly wrapped parcels flit about her head. Gifts found in her quarters, cleverly disguised as more tools for work; new clothing folded on her bed, 'work uniform' the note had said. The garments had been far too nice for just 'work'.
It's something he does only for her. None of the others in the crew receives such material attention. No one.
'He... He does. He dotes. On. Me.'
There's a sudden thwump that makes Shrike jump, probably Croc's fist slamming down on his desk. She's too enraptured by what she's hearing to have her usual masterful control over her body. The noise wouldn't have elicited such a reaction from her otherwise.
Phoebe hisses slightly at Shrike's abrupt movement, and her tail lightly smacks against the human's cheek in what must be admonishment.
But it's in vain.
Shrike's thoughts are far too overloaded to process the little reptile's warning. Nothing physical matters anymore. The only things that do are the words flitting into her ear from the conversation she definitely shouldn't be hearing. Her head screams no, 'stop listening, stop this at once'. She needs to turn around and leave, pretend like this never happened and that she heard nothing.
Her heart says otherwise. It throws itself against her sternum wildly, running out of control with what it's been hungering for all along: validation.
She doesn't want this. She doesn't want these feelings, doesn't want to feel excited and hopeful that maybe he feels the same way. The logical side of her wants this all to stop, knows it'll just get her broken or killed and definitely tossed aside like refuse just as everyone else has before.
Yet she just can't-stop-listening.
Croc' and Daz keep talking, their conversation a bewitching siren song leading her to her demise.
"It is not doting! I am only interested in-"
Daz cuts him off with another bark of laughter. "Oh, right. Interested. That's putting it a bit lightly."
The noise Croc' makes is of annoyance, tinged with equal parts frustration and disgust. "No, I've just invested a lot of time and resources in ensuring she's capable of performing her duties."
"Emphasis on the time. The rest of the crew struggles to find a single minute just to pass you information. Shrike gets a whole hour every other day just so you can hear her talk."
More memories. Images of him inviting her to his office, this very same one. It's early in the day and sun strikes across both their features warmly. A mug of coffee sits in her hands as he asks how she's acclimating, and the more he talks the more his eyes soften, his scar begins to wrinkle as the barest ghost of a smile tugs at his lips...
Only now does she notice that smile. Why does it make her heart race? Why!?
Phoebe's tail thwaps at her cheek more insistently this time. Shrike waves it away in annoyance, not really registering the little creature trying to get her attention.
"And what about the mission swap this morning?" Daz continues, his voice also growing impatient. The light thudding underneath his words indicates he's pacing about the cabin. "That last minute intel told you the warehouse mission was way more dangerous than planned, so you swapped us at the last minute! Worried it would be too difficult for her? That she'd go and get herself k-"
"That is enough!" There's a sudden screech of wood on wood, the sound of a chair being abruptly pushed back. Another loud thud sounds as Crocodile slams his fist down onto the desk once more. "You're lucky you're irreplaceable."
"Yeah? Well, it seems I'm not the only one you find that way." Daz, as always, remains ever fearless of his captain. "You would've let her go on that mission as planned, otherwise. Bringing the Butcher along to a place like that? As much as you're infatuated with her, you knew it had to be a bad idea."
The sound of Crocodile snarling raises every hair on the back of Shrike's neck. Never has she heard him filled with such ire. "Infatuation?! Is it so insidious to want my investment to reach its full potential?"
Daz huffs, his impatience clear in the rush of air. "Do you even believe what you're saying? You're usually better at lying than this."
A beat drops.
Then another.
Several full seconds pass, each heavier than the next. The sound of Shrike's heart thudding in her chest sounds as loud as war drums. She's unconsciously glad the air has frozen in her lungs, too afraid the slight sound of her breathing would shatter the delicate silence.
Little claws begin to release their death grip on the bruised flesh of her shoulders, patience all but run out.
Shrike doesn't notice.
The silence is finally broken by the rush of another sigh, one laden with exhaustion. "Why are you so interested in her, anyway? She's not your type."
There are a few more beats before Crocodile answers him. His voice is low, more of a mutter than anything else. "As if someone needs to be a 'type' to attract my attention."
"Ah! So you finally admit it then? You are interested in her?"
Crocodile's silence is the only answer she needs.
Shrike's mind is short-circuiting, too much overwhelming it at once. The overflow goes straight to her heart instead, where a just barely conscious part of her bristles in fury at herself for feeling this way. 'Don't lose yourself. This isn't what it seems like. It's not what you really want.'
Never has she felt more at war with herself. Never has she felt more like two entirely separate people instead of one; split into a perfect dichotomy of heart versus mind that has her tearing herself apart at the seams.
Only a wooden door separates her from the very real conversation going on before her. Talk of how the man she maybe kind of likes seems to maybe kind of like her back.
"If you do want what's best for her... then end this now. You aren't it."
Shrike would gasp if she weren't so utterly petrified. To hear Daz-the single most outspoken member of the crew upon her joining, the man who'd so heatedly left her beaten black and blue earlier-speak for her out of concern?
She doesn't understand. She can't. A maelstrom of confusing, conflicting feelings swirl in her chest: anger, relief, frustration, joy, indignation, gratitude…?
"You best speak plainly before I interpret your insinuations... poorly." Crocodile's response drips like honeyed venom, the words burning down Shrike's spine as they hit her ears.
"Fine. I'm saying th-"
*THWUMP*
A twenty-five pound of scales thuds to the floor.
Right at Shrike's feet.
The conversation in the room stops immediately.
Her heart rockets up into her throat, the noise constricting her lungs so tightly she can't help but gasp.
It's her nightmare all over again. That fateful night when this all began.
The door opens on its own. A flash of pink scampers into the room, and Shrike gives chase before she realizes what she's doing. The panic drives her forward too quickly for reason to catch up.
"PHOEBE NO! BA-"
Two pairs of eyes meet hers, and each bears two completely different, entirely opposite expressions. One's in elation, almost smugly so. The other... panicked horror.
Shrike stops dead in her tracks as soon as she realizes what's happened, still bent at the waist, hands outstretched in some desperate attempt to grab for that wicked little reptile. The pink menace continues scampering forward, dissatisfied hisses falling from her maw all the while until she disappears behind the desk.
The tension in the air is palpable, so thick as to be paste on the back of Shrike's tongue.
It's Crocodile that reacts first. The expression on his face begins to shift; horror then disbelief, before finally settling on absolute rage.
It makes her want to die right there on her feet.
Worse, it has her talking.
"I… I was just... Phoeb-Phobos got away from me and-and I was just trying to-"
The words die in her throat as Crocodile suddenly throws his arm outward in her direction. It dissolves into sand instantaneously, whizzing in a stream right towards her.
His snarl cuts right through Shrike's sternum down to her heart. She flinches before she can stop herself, throwing her arms up over her face in some futile attempt of protection.
There isn't even enough time for her life to flash in her eyes. It's just too sudden. With but a single little reptile's wanton bravado, Shrike is dead just like that. All those frustrations and feelings seem so trite now, so meaningless...
But it doesn't come. Just like before, the strike that would've, should've, been her doom does not come.
Instead, she's moving forward. Not of her own volition, but from being roughly dragged forward by a tendril of sand about her torso. It pulls her so quickly that her feet leave the ground, and her already irritated stomach lurches as the world around her does.
The sand releases from her midsection and she drops the few inches to land on her feet before his desk. Her shaking knees barely keep her upright as they tremble in a mix of pain and anxiety. All she can do is stare upward wide-eyed into the infuriated face of her captain.
The man she's foolishly developed feelings for.
"How much did you hear?! Answer, Agent!" He barks the question. Those dark eyes bore into her worse than any blade.
"I-I…" Her mouth flaps uselessly. How can she even answer? That she heard every bit of how much he's just as infatuated with her as she is with him?
Her usual sharp wit and reflexes are nowhere to be found. She's the terrified waitress all over again, standing there helplessly before the bar waiting for it to happen. Her years of experience, years of hardening her exterior, have fallen from her as if she's been stripped bare.
Crocodile huffs impatiently. His eyes narrow to knife files. "You'd best answer. Now."
It's a tone of voice that's sent her running before, running and hiding before she's found and made to hurt. She's never heard it from him before, yet she fears it all the same.
Shrike instinctively takes a step backwards, trying to flee the pain her past experiences say is coming.
Her knee buckles right as she lifts her leg, and she begins to fall.
His sand reforms into a hand poised right above her head. She can't help but flinch, so utterly conditioned to correlate that image with pain. The logical side in her still fighting to be heard roars as she does so.
'Unbelievable, you coward!'
It's all but overshadowed by the fear and anxieties of her past eating her from the inside out. Her eyes slam shut, and an utterly pitiful whimper escapes her.
This time he really is going to kill her. She's shown she can't be trusted, eavesdropping on his candid conversations. And her failures from earlier? What good is an incompetent, untrustworthy agen-
She's stopped falling.
Something's caught her by the small of her back. A wide, flat pressure caresses across her spine. It's the type of uniform pressure that can only be from one thing and one thing only: a hand.
Shrike's eyes shoot open wide, pupils dilating as she stares up into his own which are now far, far closer than they'd been but a second ago. A blaze of heat sparks through her chest so searingly hot that it creeps upwards to singe her cheeks.
Crocodile stands slightly bent over her, his hand holding her steady across her back. He'd sped over the desk and rushed to catch her as soon as she'd started to stumble backward. The anger had drained from his features sometime during it all. Now, he only looks down at her with undisguised concern.
"Careful, now." His voice has switched from honeyed venom to just pure, honeyed syrup. It's so rich and thick and low and charming that she can physically feel it dripping into her belly.
Shrike barely hears the words through the blood rushing in her ears, yet they finally cut through the flustered haze keeping her paralyzed. Her entire body shudders as it suddenly remembers she has to breathe.
"Haaaaah" A noise of genuine surprise bursts from her throat. Her entire body feels heated, a mixture of flustered embarrassment and panicky excitement swirl through her in a way that quickly has her trembling. The butterflies fly about her stomach so aggressively they've begun to invade her limbs, making them shake in jittery anticipation.
She'd swear her heart's beating loud enough for the whole damn ship to hear if she were lucid enough for such a thought.
Each and every neuron focuses on that hand at the small of her back, so much larger than hers and so impossibly warm. Positioned as far down as it is, it's somehow swept every coherent thought from her mind. Nothing remains but a panicked maelstrom of raw feeling. Even if she could manage a single thought in its storm, it'd only drown out the words with a roar.
...She doesn't like this. She doesn't like feeling this helpless. She doesn't like being lost under the tide of her own rampant feelings.
This has to stop.
Something in him must've agreed.
His expression abruptly hardens, that trademark displeased look of his returning to its rightful place on his face. He takes a step back, pulling her to a more stable position on her feet as he does so. As much as she'd wanted it to end, the sudden absence of his hand feels so empty as to feel like she's never been touched there ever at all.
"Have more care, Agent." His eyes lower to her legs, of which she's now painfully aware of just how short her shorts are. Yet, his gaze lingers not on her exposed thighs, but on the wrappings about her knees. "Report to Ellia in the morning for-" He pauses, before sighing the word with a distinct tone of impatience. "-proper treatment."
All Shrike can do is stand there, spine stiffened and jaw clenched in the hopes nothing stupid pours out of her mouth. Her sharp tongue has gotten her in more trouble before than she cares to admit.
Croc's gaze shifts back up to her wide-eyed stare, the yellows of her irises near overtaking her pupils. That predatory focus lingers there for but a few moments, before he then turns it over toward her left.
"Daz, you are dismissed for the evening. Next time, think before discussing matters pertaining to someone who can turn invisible."
Shrike near jumps out of her skin, having completely forgotten the vice-captain is even present. Her face heats even more, like someone's lit a flame beneath her cheeks. The mortification of it all threatens to bring tears to her eyes, and she can already feel the indignant rage bubbling inside because of it.
'Don't you dare fucking cry. Don't. Do. It.'
At the very least, it serves to sober her up a bit.
Daz looks her over before turning to look back at his captain. Half his face obscured from her as it is, Shrike can feel the distrust in his expression; a look of pure suspicion.
Without a word, he turns and makes a slow, lazy exit. It's not until he's halfway through the doorway that he finally stops. He turns mid-step, now sporting a more neutral expression, but the words from him are as ominous as the look he'd shot Crocodile just moments before: "Mind your words. Remember what I said."
And then, he's gone.
Leaving just her.
And just him.
Alone.
Together.
The one person she somehow both desperately wants to have and frantically wants to get away from more than anything else in the world.
The latter is winning. Her instincts scream at her as they always do in a fight she knows she can't hope to win: run.
"I-I really should go!" Shrike laughs nervously, shifting her gaze to the side as she points a thumb over her shoulder at the door. Her heart's thudding so hard it might give out at any second.
"I heard nothing, okay? Not a word! I'm just… going to go now… " She turns stiffly, eager to make her escape. Not a single toe has lifted from the floor before he puts all that to a halt.
"You have not been excused, Ms. Shrike." His voice has taken on an unexpected level of exhaustion, like he hasn't slept in not days but weeks.
"S-sorry!" She manages to stammer out, hoping beyond hope he can't see the inner turmoil wreaking havoc inside he. She turns slowly, too slowly, as prey does under the watchful gaze of a predator.
Only now that they're alone, is she able to get a better look at him.
Just as he sounds, Crocodile looks tired. So tired as to almost look defeated. His fingers knead at his brow as his features furrow in what looks to be a mixture of exhaustion and annoyance. He's returned to behind his desk, and its usual meticulously organized surface is now haphazardly covered in all manner of documents. The man himself looks just as muddled, like he's unraveling at the seams.
As alien as the appearance looks on him, Shrike can't help but swoon at it. Several strands of his normally slicked-back hair have come loose, falling forward to frame his face that's alluring for a reason she can't really describe.
'Natural. Raw. Handsome.'
His vest and coat lie thrown over the back of his chair, and even the top few buttons of his olive green shirt have been undone. The events of the day have left it slightly ruffled and wrinkled, the same as his pants. Those tight-fitting black slacks sit a bit lower on his hips than usual, something she notices with a fresh blaze of red to her face. That, combined with the casual state of his hair, has her heated all over again.
'Stop! Stop stop stop! You're making this worse!'
He suddenly lets loose a long, drawn-out sigh. The tension drops from his shoulder as he straightens up and finally turns his gaze back her way
It's… not at all what Shrike expected.
That look drains her of all color. It chills her right to the bone, erasing all the warmth that'd seeped into her from his hand just minutes before.
His eyes have drained of all previous emotion, now sporting the cool and calculated expression she's grown used to seeing in them. A look that's usually aimed at others. Never once has it ever been shot her way. Not even on the night they met.
He abruptly gestures at the chair on the forward side of the desk, one she's sat in tens of times for those lovely coffee chats she's come to adore so much.
"Sit. We need to discuss your…" His eyes slip closed, nostrils flaring as he takes a pointedly taken breath. "...insubordination, from this afternoon."
He says it coolly. Too coolly.
It's the way he talks to those he meets with. The ones he then sends you after.
It's the voice he uses when talking to his enemies.
Shrike stands frozen, now in confusion rather than fear. She doesn't even register his request. No, order.
Just moments before, he and Daz were bickering on his less than professional interest in her, and now he's treating her with just as much cool hostility as he did D'Lore earlier this afternoon. He's put on one of his many masks to deal with her just as he does the same to his enemies, as if she's nothing more than another body in his way.
It's one thing for him to attempt to sigh it all away, to take a moment and bury his pesky feelings underneath that callous persona of his, but for him to expect her to do the same?
It fills her with a myriad of emotions that has her chest aching. Sadness? Disappointment? Fear?
No.
Anger.
This is unacceptable.
And Shrike is acceptably pissed.
"You… You expect me to just… to just ignore-"
He cuts her off with a tone sharp enough to cut the very air. "I expect you to sit as you were ordered to, Agent."
He trains his dark eyes on her, daring her to say more. Such a look would normally cow anyone else into submission; force them to bend the knee and offer their necks in deference. Unfortunately for him, Shrike's always one to rise to a challenge. Especially if it's from him.
For but a moment, the Butcher had forgotten who she was.
Surely as the sun rises, the rage brings it all back.
"Take your order and stuff it!" Her fists ball at her side, shoulders tense as she defiantly meets his piercing glare with her own. "You will not treat me like this! Like I'm another one of your enemies! Just because you-"
"Do you really think it wise to defy my orders yet again?" His glare turns even more predatory, not at all pleased by her continued disobedience. The tone of his voice has taken on a downright venomous timbre.
All it does is piss her off even further. The fury burning in her heart has taken all that prior fear and turned it into kindling for the furnace.
"Or what?! You'll kill me? Oh, we saw how well that went earlier!" She snaps right back at him, beginning to pace about the middle of the room.
"You'd best not test my patience, Agent."
The way he's braced, near motionless on the other side of the desk, reminds her of beloved Deimos poised beneath the water, ready to strike. Lesser men and women would've thrown themselves at his feet just by the sight of his glower alone.
But Shrike is no 'lesser' woman.
She will not be cowed into submission by him, not after all she's heard tonight. She's far too incensed by his callous demeanor to dutifully kneel in obeisance at this point. Especially now that she knows he's toothless towards her.
"Just because you're too much of a coward to talk about anything even remotely adult like feelings doesn't mea-UFHH"
She doesn't get to finish her tirade.
Just as she passes before the chair he'd gestured at earlier, he flies at her from over his desk. He disintegrates and reforms with brutal speed, his hand clamping down roughly over her mouth as he pushes her backward. She's forced downward into the chair so hard her rear stings from the force of impact.
The shock of it all keeps her from immediately fighting back, blindsided so severely as to just sit there and stare upward wide-eyed.
Crocodile snarls, the sound of it suffused with brutally raw frustration and annoyance. The look he glares down at her contains far too many conflicting emotions for her to classify.
"For once in your life will you just listen?!" Crocodile practically shouts at her in a tone born of nigh desperate exasperation. "I ask you to shut your damn mouth and sit down but you're just so damn stubborn I have to physically do it FOR YOU."
Shrike's too shocked to respond. She's never seen him like this before. So… emotional. Even if she could form a coherent thought, his hand still covers her mouth.
She stares at him, it's all she can do. Her surprised eyes are still opened wide, yellow irises expanded such that her pupils look like pinheads. A few moments pass with just them looking at each other.
When he finally moves, he does so with a huff. He drops his shoulders, staying careful to keep her mouth firmly covered. "You are single-handedly the most exhausting, infuriated woman I've ever met."
His expression then shifts to a stern expression. An owner scolding their misbehaving pet.
"I am going to remove my hand, and you are going to stay silent." His words are much more even than before, leaving no room for misinterpretations or objections. "You are going to listen to me like a good girl, and only, only, speak to answer my questions."
It's funny, how instantaneously the shock melts away from her. Under the blaze of the raging inferno that's ignited inside her, there's simply no room for it. She almost begins to tremble from the might of it, so utterly enraged that her vision has gone stark red.
"Now. Do you underst-"
She bites his hand. Hard.
Crocodile flinches mid-sentence, though otherwise remains motionless as his words abruptly fall silent. The faint tang of iron on the tip of her tongue suggests she's broken the skin, yet the cool stare he fixes her with suggests he's rather unfazed.
She'd expected another incensed outburst, and this dead silence is unnerving in its absence.
A few seconds pass, little communicated between her stubborn glare and his otherwise impassive stare.
It's only when she begins to clamp down harder does he release a sigh, his shoulders slumping seemingly in defeat.
And then the coarse grit of sand fills Shrike's mouth.
She coughs and sputters, immediately falling out of the chair to crash onto her knees. A strangled shout crawls from her throat as the impact irritates her freshly bound injuries, though she barely cares about that right now.
Her hands desperately palm at the sand coating her tongue instead. Wet globs of the stuff fall from her mouth as she frantically tries to spit it out. Grains cling beneath her tongue and all about her gums, her panicked rubbing only making it stick in worse.
Crocodile has long since walked away at this point, though it's not like she's noticed. How can she, when everything about her existence has devolved to sand in her mouth.
She's pissed, unbelievably so. At both him and herself. He'd asked one thing of her and she couldn't even do that much. Just like she couldn't help along on the mission earlier… just like she wasn't strong enough to go on the mission he'd apparently planned for her to originally go on… just like she'll never be good enough for his expectations...
'Weak! Bratty! Arrogant! You're pathetic! No matter how hard you tr-"
The sound of approaching footfalls quickly attracts Shrike's attention. She growls from where she's still hunched on her knees, hoping he doesn't notice the frustrated tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. She's had enough humiliation for one day. Killing her now would be a mercy.
She looks upward, fully expecting to find his hook poised to gut her for her insolence only to find...
A glass of water.
Crocodile holds it before he, leaning down slightly to keep it level with her face.
"Here."
His eyes no longer convey that sense of angry desperation he'd flashed at her earlier. Now, they just look tired.
Shrike's gaze flits between the glass and his face, jaw slack in confused relief. Only after a few seconds does she gratefully take the glass, and it's only then that the raised red lines she'd bitten into his palm become visible. The sight causes what's left of her anger to melt right away, instead leaving her with just a cold feeling of shame.
Crocodile steps backward to give her space. Leaning back against his desk, his hand comes up to pinch at the bridge of his nose once more.
"I don't even know why I bother." He mutters the words. Shrike's not sure if she's meant to hear them, but they cut all the same.
She looks to the floor as she swishes the water about her mouth, too embarrassed now to even look at him. For as much she'd been quick to label him the "manchild" earlier, her own antics tonight have been no better. To have invested so much time and resources into her, a sick a starving no-name street urchin who just happened to be good at killing people, and for her to disrespect and fight him at every turn? She'd thrown all that goodwill back in his face.
It's only now, utterly humiliated and ashamed of herself on her bloodied knees, does she suddenly remember why she'd approached his door in the first place. She'd come to apologize.
Shrike knows now that it's time to grow up.
She pulls herself to her feet, biting deep into her lip to avoid any pained noises from escaping. Only, that hurts just as much, the plush flesh still bruised from the way her chin hit the floor earlier.
"I'm sorry, Captain." She starts, already cursing herself as her words come out wobbly. "You were expecting… a lot… from me earlier and… I couldn't deliver. Your expectations in me were ill-placed, and that's entirely my fault."
Crocodile lowers his hand from where he's been kneading his brow, revealing eyes more tired and soft than she'd ever seen from him. The usual piercing glower is nowhere to be seen. He crosses his arms before his chest, continuing to lean against his desk. Shrike takes the curious glimmer in his expression as a sign to continue.
"I didn't recognize the D'Lore heir. It was only after you… left… that I realized it was him. Still, I stood between you because I didn't… trust… your judgment."
Her heart begins to race again, tears gathering in number at the corners of her eyes. She doesn't dare reach up to wipe them away lest she draw his attention to them. Crying even once on a normal day was one in a million for her. Today was most certainly not a normal day.
"I said a lot of things I really shouldn't have." Her face heats up as she remembers just how colorful the words she'd used were. "It was extremely disrespectful and I apologize. I don't expect your forgiveness. That's more than I deserve."
He continues to just look at her, head slightly tilted to the side. Not a word comes out of his mouth. His scar crinkles beneath the corners of his eyes, locked as they are in that unwavering gaze.
"And… What happened just now… What you were talking about…" Shrike begins to fidget, her fingers picking at her cuticles and nails. The words sit at the tip of her tongue, too scared to take flight. It's only when she takes a deep breath-what feels to be the deepest she's ever taken-that they begin to loosen. "I-"
"You heard everything."
Everything begins to unravel. She sees it coming, feels it coming, and is utterly powerless to stop it.
"I did! I heard everything, okay? I just couldn't stop listening!" The words explode from her, and they just don't stop.
"Once I realized what you were talking about I just couldn't stop! I wanted to, I really did. I wanted to turn right back around and go to my room but PHOEBE-" She stops mid-pace, throwing her arm to point at the smug-looking reptile now sitting proudly on the desk. "-just had to rush in and make all this happen!"
It won't stop.
"And I just-just! I should've just left! I know I should've!"
She can't stop.
It's too late. It all comes tumbling out.
"Now I know you kind of like me and this is the worst because I kind of like you too but we both don't want this and how the hell can we just go back and pretend like this never happened-"
She wills herself to shut up, to stop the tide of words falling from her mouth but she just can't. 'Stop it! Stop stop stop stop stop!'
"And I just got so excited because how could someone like me attract someone like you when I'm just so defensive and stubborn and stupid and bitchy an-" A flood of insecurities and doubts fill the air as she runs her mouth, utterly powerless to stop them.
Her face grows hotter and hotter all the while. She wishes he had killed her earlier, if only to spare her the humiliation of this impulsive, unstoppable cathartic rant her body is unwittingly putting her though.
He seems to have had enough of it, too, as after a near solid minute of her mumbling, he begins to uncross his arms. It takes only a few steps for him to cross the gap between them, bringing him to a distance that is once again much too close for her to focus on anything else. The steam of words falling from her lips slows to a trickle, yet they only fully stop when he suddenly makes them.
His finger presses against her lips to shush her, much more gentle than his palm earlier, yet just as insistent. To be touched so… so… tenderly…? Twice in a single night? It's another touch that has both halves of her screaming internally: one 'yes!' and the other very much 'no!'.
Silence fills the cabin as she doesn't dare move her lips against that persistent digit. All she can do is stare at him, once fair cheeks now aflame with nervous emotion, both excited and appalled all at once. Her pallid gold eyes meet his darker ones, so dark as to be black, their true color hidden in the low light of the cabin.
He sighs suddenly, and slightly shakes his head side to side with half-lidded eyes.
"You know, Shrike. Half the time I don't know whether you make me want to kill you, or make me want to kiss you."
The world simultaneously ends and starts, everything a blessed contradiction of horror and elation.
If Shrike thought her cheeks had felt hot before, she has no words to describe the level of heat welling up beneath them now. It's nigh unbearable, a veritable inferno consuming her from the inside out until not even thoughts remain.
The look on his face only makes it all worse, so impossibly warm and utterly alien on him because of it. A faint trace of a smile, eyes just barely crinkled, eyebrows knitted together… it sends agonizingly sweet tingles down her spine and only stokes the storm of butterflies raging in her gut.
Out of it all, only one thought manages to finally surface.
'Fuck.'
Crocodile puffs amusedly, and slowly, gently removes the finger sealing her lips. His hand instead moves to lightly cup her cheek.
So tortuous, so rapturous... The sensation almost makes her want to die. Whether it's because she's horrified and wants it all to end, or because her life has peaked in this moment, she cannot possibly answer.
"Is this all it took to quiet you? I never took you as a romantic, Shrike."
Her breath hitches as she suddenly remembers to breathe. "O-oh."
The rush of air snaps her out of her dazed panic like a flick to the nose. She blinks, so much more conscious of him holding her face.
Except now… now she thinks she likes it. Between her two warring halves, one has since clearly won.
She begins to stammer, her mouth once again taking over with the very first thing that comes to her mind
"So, uh… Do… Do I get a choice? Between the killing me and the… the…"
She can't even finish, words drying up as quickly as they'd come. Her eyes flit to the side, unable to bear his look any longer lest she combusts from the inside.
'What are you even saying!? You are so lame!'
Shrike would've laughed had it been happening to anyone else. Unfortunately, it's not, and she's left standing shock-still in horrific awe of how incredibly cringe-inducing the line had been. The heat beneath her cheeks rages hot, her own personal purgatory burning wild off the mortification of her terrible awkwardness.
A few beats pass in total silence, save for the rush of blood in her ears and her heart hammering in her chest.
Her fight or flight instinct abruptly activates, shifting into overdrive with a roar telling her one thing and one thing only: 'RUN.' She needs to go, now; run far and fast away from this room before she dies of embarrassment right here and now.
Just as she's about to make a dash for it, throw herself overboard in some morbid act of melodrama, he makes his move first.
His hand shifts, quickly shifting to tilt her face upward to point at his.
She has no time to react as his lips crash into hers.
'!?!?'
Her eyes remain open at first, a mix of panic and shock keeping them wide as her heart hammers in her chest at a worrying speed.
This is happening. This is really happening. This is happening goddammit and she's way too overwhelmed to just sit back and enjoy it like she wants to.
'CALM, DAMMIT!'
Her eyes flutter shut as she forces herself to relax, to feel and just let her instincts take over. It's… it's everything she wanted it to be and more. Passionate and raw. Rough yet refined. Tender but insistent. He goes no further, keeping it at their lips, yet she tastes the faint sweetness of his cigars all the same.
She can't even remember the last time she'd been kissed. Pleasantly, that is. None of them had ever been as incredible as this, sent her heart rocketing into space and stolen the air from her lungs. How such a simple thing could convey so many ideas and feelings at once, it's swept her like a hurricane and it's all she can do to just stay standing.
And then, it's over.
He pulls back, eyes slowly opening to shoot her that characteristic smug grin of his… though warmer than it usually is.
"A choice? Not when you make a face as cute as that, you don't."
Shrike can only giggle.