"Give of yourself, and you will find all that you fear is missing." -Batteries Not Included


The journey to the medbay started off uneventfully enough with Meren leading the way at first, scribe in tow. Convinced she could find her way to the medical facilities, she dragged Variks down corridor after corridor. But after several short minutes, and several wrong turns, her overconfident lead came to an inglorious end when they ended up right back where they had started. It became painfully evident, then, that Meren had no idea where she was going. And at that point Variks was forced to intervene, begrudgingly muttering out occasional directional prompts at each subsequent junction lest they spend the rest of the afternoon wandering in circles.

With Variks' guidance, they eventually found the right lift and made their way up to the fourteenth floor. From there, they continued down a series of progressively narrowing corridors and past a row of vacant holding cells, coming to a stop only when they reached a secure set of doors at the end of the hall.

Freeing his wrist from Meren's hold, Variks stepped up to the keypad and began to enter the predictable passcode. As she waited for him to tap out the overly-long access sequence, an unexpected chime from somewhere in her pocket drew her gaze momentarily downwards.

It's probably just Cayde, she figured, trying to continue his nonsensical conversation from earlier.

But even if it wasn't nonsense, whatever he wanted to talk about would have to wait. First came the more pressing matter of treating Variks' injury.

Reaching into her pocket, she silenced her comm and looked up just in time to see the medbay door slide open.

Variks shot a disapproving look at her pocketed hand but said nothing as he stepped forward into the darkened room, reaching for another panel on the wall just inside the door. As Meren stepped across the threshold after him, the overhead lighting flickered to life, bathing the room in a harsh, white glow, forcing her to squint while her eyes adjusted.

In the middle of the room, a human-sized operating table was lit eerily by the glare of the surgical lighting overhead. Beyond it, along the far wall, there were a pair of deep metal wash basins flanked by cabinets of various shapes and sizes. Where the cabinetry ended, the walls curved inward slightly towards the room's solitary door, every last inch of them lined with medical apparatuses for which Meren had no name and knew no purpose.

Though Variks had made mention of the Prison's medical facilities once or twice in passing, he had never actually allowed her to visit any of them. (Maybe if he had, she wouldn't have gotten them so lost earlier) So as Variks continued into the room, passing a cluster of wheeled medical trays that had been abandoned between the door and the operating table, Meren lagged behind, looking around a second longer, marveling over how pristine it all looked.

Impeccable cleanliness was the last thing she had expected from such a place, but the room was so spotless that it was hard to imagine any of its contents had seen much use. Musing on it for a moment longer, she arrived at the conclusion that the Prison must have other medical facilities for the prisoners, such that this one went largely untouched. The only other possibility was that the wounds prisoners sustained in the arenas were going untreated.

She didn't much care for the latter idea. Rubbing her arms to ward off a sudden sterile chill, she pushed the exceedingly grim possibility out of her mind. She had other things to worry about.

To that end, she sprung into motion to head Variks off before he could make it much further into the room. As she caught up to him, her fingers closing around one of his forearms, he came to a stop alongside her, tilting his head back at her in silent inquiry.

Releasing her hold on his arm, she met his gaze and pointed at the operating table.

"Sit."

Variks' eyes rolled towards the ceiling in silent exasperation, but nonetheless, he shuffled his way over, ducking to avoid the low-hanging surgical lighting overhead, and complaisantly took a seat on the edge of the bare metal table.

As she watched him settle in, Meren tried desperately to keep the smirk off her face. The table was far too small to accommodate an Eliksni of his size - or any size, really - and he looked positively ridiculous sitting hunched over beneath the glaring lights. Still, this was hardly the time to joke about how the table clearly wasn't designed with Variks' kind in mind. So she kept the thought to herself.

Forcing a serious look back onto her face, Meren looked him in the eye and issued another curt order: "Stay."

Variks merely raised his brows in response.

When he offered no further complaint and seemed to intend to sit there as she'd ordered, Meren left him alone on the table and made her way to the row of cabinets along the far wall, grabbing one of the wheeled trays on the way. Pulling the first cabinet open, she found it full of surgical tools: forceps, scalpels, needles, and more.

Taking anything from that assortment seemed a little excessive, given that she only needed to patch up a single cut, but she grabbed a pair of forceps anyway before closing the door and moving on. In the next cabinet over, she found surgical drapes and gowns lining the shelves.

Useful but unnecessary, she thought as she promptly closed that door and opened the one beside it.

This one was a bit more promising. Greeted with boxes upon boxes of rudimentary first aid supplies, Meren set herself to rifling through the assortment, methodically checking every label with a critical eye to ensure that whatever she selected would be suitable for treating an Eliksni.

She only had a minute or two to peruse the cabinet in peace, however, before her search was interrupted by the telltale scuff of Variks' feet moving across the room's polished floor. Closer and closer still. Shaking her head, Meren set down the box she had been holding. Was it really so hard for him to follow her instructions?

But before Meren could turn to chastise him for his disobedience, he was at her back, close enough for her to feel the swirl of his robes brush against the back of her legs.

Rolling her eyes, she turned her head slightly to find Variks' masked face leaning in over her shoulder, his bright eyes grinning back at her.

Meren hardly found it funny. So she screwed her face into the most humorless look she could muster and grumbled, "Didn't I tell you to stay?"

"You were taking too long," he purred, much too close to her ear. "Thought I would see if you needed help. Offer to assist you."

"If I wanted your help, I'd ask for it," she replied sternly, grabbing the forceps off the tray and brandishing them in his face. "Now, go sit back down."

Intimidated by neither her tone nor the threat posed by the forceps in her hand, Variks leaned in a little more, testing his luck.

But Meren was having none of it, and in an effort to emphasize her point, she reached back over her shoulder and snapped the forceps briskly in his face.

That set him straight. With an indignant chuff, Variks immediately straightened up, safely distancing his face out of reach of Meren's weaponized medical implement. He lingered at her back for a second longer, silently looming over her, and then, without so much as a chitter of backtalk, he left her in peace.

Once she heard him clamber back onto the table, Meren resumed her foraging, piling the tray high with anything and everything she could get her hands on. Synthskin bandages. A bottle of concentrated disinfectant. A package of surgical sutures. Two bunched-up pairs of disposable exam gloves.

All of it was probably overkill, she realized. But when had it ever hurt to be prepared?

The haphazard pile grew steadily, and soon the tray was too full to hold anything more. Meren eyed the assortment for a second until she was satisfied she had all she needed. Then after steadying the precariously-balanced heap, she closed the cabinet and rolled everything back over to her waiting patient.

As she wheeled the tray around the table, Variks cast his dubious gaze upon the mountain of supplies. "Do you intend to use all of that?"

"Maybe." She glanced at him as she reached for the exam gloves.

Variks huffed doubtfully but said no more as he watched her give the gloves a brisk shake, forcing the wrinkles out of the bunched-up material.

Donning one of the disposable gloves, Meren held her hand up dramatically as she released the cuff, letting it snap back against her wrist with a sharp pop.

Variks' eyes widened and then immediately narrowed as she proceeded to repeat the performance with her other hand. "I have changed my mind," he said brusquely, bracing his mechanical hands against the edge of the table.

"Relax," Meren reassured, her words stopping him just short of pushing himself back off the table. "I'm technically a doctor..." She paused, watching Variks' squint intensify until his eyes were no more than slits. Unable to keep a grin from spreading across her face, she added, "...just not a medical one."

Variks squeezed his glowing eyes shut the rest of the way and let out a wheezing groan.

"What?" she said, trying to sound as innocent as she could.

One of his eyes snapped back open to glower at her. "If you cannot take this seriously, I will leave. Tend to my wound myself."

"No, you won't," Meren countered, confident. In spite of his blustering, his vanity would never allow him to risk losing one of his remaining Ether-and-blood arms by letting a wound fester.

Stepping up to the table, she rested a gloved hand on the cold, steel surface beside him. "Now, bring your hand over here. Let's see how bad it is."

With a sigh, Variks let his secondary arm flop over, palm up, onto the table before her.

Taking his hand gently in hers, she examined the shoddy dressing for a moment before tugging at the bandage's loose end. Beneath her careful fingers, the bloodied wrapping slowly unwound from his palm. When the bandage was completely unraveled, she set it aside, and then took a second to scrutinize the little blood-soaked pad of gauze that remained plastered to his skin.

Grasping a corner of the dressing between her fingertips, Meren steeled herself before giving the gauze a little tug. But even though she had prepared for the worst, as she peeled the dressing away, she couldn't stop her stomach from lurching at the sight of the wound that lay beneath.

Oozing blood, a deep, angry gash stretched across the width of his palm, far worse than the alleged "scratch" Variks had described earlier.

Staring at the wound, Meren drew in a long slow breath to settle her stomach. What had she gotten herself into?

Careful to hide her dismay, she looked him calmly in the eye and asked, "What happened?"

Variks hesitated, opening and closing his mouth wordlessly behind his mask before finally replying, "I cut myself...working on something."

"What sort of something?" she prodded.

"A trivial matter," he replied without missing a beat. "Mundane scribe's work. You would not care to hear the details."

A crease formed between her brows. "Yes, I would."

"Ah. Of course, but..." he paused, formulating his next words. "Even so, I... hesitate to tell you, for fear you would not understand the complexities of such tasks."

It was a flimsy excuse, and he knew it. But Meren exercised patience, all the same. "Then explain it to me, just like you've done with everything else."

"The explanation would be quite lengthy. Like the Creed, yes?"

"And?" She hadn't let go of his hand.

"And I fear, right now, we do not have adequate time. I do not want to do you a disservice, rushing the details."

Lack of time was hardly a valid excuse, either, and Meren grumbled, "So you're not going to tell me?"

"Some other time, perhaps," he purred all too sweetly.

Her patience with him finally ran out, then and her face twisted into a frown. "Why are you like this?"

Variks looked at her curiously. "What do you mean, 'like this'?'"

"Evasive. Cagey." Her frown deepened. "Never giving me a straight answer."

Variks chuffed. "Perhaps if you did not pry so much, you would not find me evasive."

"Well, maybe if you were more forthcoming in the first place," she countered, dropping her hold on his hand, "I wouldn't have to pry."

Variks snorted in return.

Meren matched his dismissive sound with a huff of her own, but as much as she wanted to continue prodding until the truth of what he'd been doing came out, she didn't much care to put up with the senseless bickering that was sure to transpire. So she left it at that.

Grabbing a bottle of disinfectant off the tray, she flicked a commanding finger towards the far wall. "Get up. Let's get your hand cleaned off."

Variks obliged, rising from the table and plodding his way over to the row of washbasins, Meren following close behind. Once they reached the leftmost sink, Meren set the bottle off to the side and leaned over the lip of the basin to open the tap.

As she waved her hand absently back and forth beneath the tepid stream of water, waiting for it to warm, she began again in an attempt at idle conversation. "You have thousands of Eliksni locked up in here, by my estimation. Some of them must have medical expertise," she said. "Couldn't you have had one of them tend to your hand instead of trying to handle it yourself?"

"Half of the prisoners want to see me dead. The other half, brutally maimed," he replied, "Medical experience or no, do you think it would be wise to let any one of them tend my wound?"

"I suppose not," she mused, "but there's other options besides the prisoners. You have friends among the Awoken, don't you? Like Petra? Why didn't you get her to help?"

Something flashed across his eyes at the mention of Petra's name. "Even if Petra wanted to aid me, she is no medic," he grumbled, looking away. "And she would likely make it worse. Not better."

"Alright, so not Petra." At that point, the water had become suitably warm, and Meren paused just long enough to guide Variks' hand beneath the steady stream. "But what about one of the other Corsairs, then? Surely one of them has enough medical expertise to-"

Variks interrupted her assessment with an abrupt shake of his head. "Most detest me just as much as the prisoners do. Perhaps more so. They would take greater pleasure in my suffering than Skolas did."

Feeling her patience beginning to wear thin again, Meren reached for the little bottle and began to unscrew the cap. "Well, then what about-"

"No," he cut in again. "There is no one here - in the Prison or in the Reef - that would help Variks."

All her compassion withered the instant he referred to himself by name. "You're really trying to rack up the pity points, aren't you?" she grumbled, tugging his hand out from under the torrent of water.

"I am not seeking your pity, Meren. I am being truthful," he said dismissively. "Eliksni have no love for traitors, and Awoken no love for Eliksni. And unfortunately for Variks-" He stopped abruptly, a sharp hiss of pain escaping his mouth as Meren emptied half the bottle of disinfectant into his open wound without warning.

"Sorry," she muttered, more out of reflex than actual sincerity.

Variks responded with a chatter of irritation. "You could not have warned me?"

"Maybe if you weren't so busy running your mouth, and let me get a word in, I would have."

"I was not 'running my mouth'. Was merely explaining why-" His words were cut short again, this time by a strained wheeze as Meren proceeded to dump the remainder of the disinfectant over his hand.

"Are you finished?" she asked dryly, shaking the last few drops from the bottle.

With his mandibles clicking in agitation, Variks let out an indignant huff, but blessedly said no more as she set the empty container aside and forced his hand back under the running water.

She kept it beneath the steady stream until the last of the sticky, half-dried blood was rinsed clean from his palm. Then, after shutting off the tap, she grabbed a sterile cloth from a dispenser on the wall and blotted the excess water from his hand.

Once it was dry, she took Variks by the wrist once more.

"Come on. Let's get this over with," she said, promptly leading him away from the sink.

By the time they reached the table, his wound had started oozing fresh, blue blood again. Consumed with a sudden sense of urgency at the sight of it, Meren waited just long enough for Variks to perch himself back on the edge of the table before beginning to rummage through the mountain of supplies on the tray, considering her treatment options.

She gravitated first toward a box of sterile dressings, but given the severity of his wound, applying another bandage or pressure dressing would likely be just as ineffectual as Variks' original attempt had been.

She eyed the next box over. Stitches or sutures might work, if executed properly. But even with how steady her hands had become after years of binding books, was she really skilled enough to perform minor surgery?

Finding herself at a momentary loss, she took a second to ponder other alternatives. Then after a moment of eyeing the row of medical apparatuses along the wall, a small piece of machinery caught her attention, and a grim solution popped into her mind.

"I'm going to have to cauterize it," she announced.

Variks' eyes widened slightly. "Have you done this before?"

"No."

She waited for him to protest, but to her surprise, all he did was sigh.

"Very well," he said. "Do what you must."

With Variks' blessing, she wasted no time retrieving the apparatus from where it sat on a tray against the far wall. Returning to his side, she stared down at the cauterizer in her palm for a handful of seconds, and then pressed a button that brought it crackling to life in her hand.

Variks stared at the beam of concentrated plasma arcing across the tip of the electrode for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, however reluctantly, he lowered his injured hand until it came to rest on the table before her.

Meren looked down at her workspace and licked her dry lips. If Variks so much as flinched during this procedure, it was going to end poorly for his hand. And possibly hers. So as she braced his wrist against the table, Meren met his eyes for a fleeting second, and in a tone befitting the gravity of the situation, advised him, "Hold still."

A barely discernible wince crossed his features as the words left her mouth, but his hand remained still as stone, pressed against the table.

Turning her full attention to the task at hand, Meren hesitated only a heartbeat longer, and then, before either of them could change their minds, she plunged the point of the cauterizer into the wound.

Almost immediately, the acrid smell of searing flesh stung her nostrils. Beneath the cauterizer's white hot tip, his skin glistened and sizzled as blood vessels were singed shut, stemming the flow of oozing blue blood.

Yet even as excruciating as the procedure must have been, Variks bore the pain with a solemn dignity, sitting still and silent as Meren drew the arcing electrode quickly over the remaining length of the glistening wound, in an effort to make short work of the procedure.

The second the cauterizer reached the end of the gash and the wound was closed, Meren jerked the medical implement away from his hand and allowed herself a sharp exhale of relief. As she shut off the power supply and waited for the machine's buzzing to die down, she took a moment to collect herself.

Once the little beam of arc energy at the cauterizer's tip had fizzled out, Meren turned her attention back to her patient, who was still sitting motionless as a statue.

Placing her hand on his lower forearm, she looked to his face, and in a voice softened by compassion, asked, "Are you alright?"

Variks looked away before she could meet his eyes and offered an almost imperceptible nod.

But Meren didn't believe it for a second.

The muscles in his shoulders and neck were uncharacteristically taut, his eyes locked in a thousand-yard stare. His body language was all but screaming what he refused to admit.

He was in pain.

As Meren stood frozen, her hand resting on his arm, unsure of what to say or do next, her gaze fell to where one of his mechanical hands was still holding a death grip on the edge of the table. Then to her horror, she noticed how the metal beneath it had been warped and twisted by the strength of his clenched fist.

Suddenly unable to bear the sight of his discomfort any longer, she rushed back to the cabinets and began digging through the shelves, searching for something that would ease his pain. After a moment, she located a tube of what appeared to be a topical anesthetic, pulled it from the cabinet, and began skimming through the list of active ingredients on the packaging, cross-referencing them against her own mental list of chemicals known to be toxic to Eliksni.

When nothing on the ingredient list seemed to be an exact match, and Meren felt assured that she wasn't about to unintentionally poison him, she rushed back to Variks' side, tube in hand.

He acknowledged her return with nothing more than a pained glance, and Meren wasted no time in twisting the cap off the tube, puncturing the security seal, and squeezing the pale blue cream out onto her gloved fingertips.

Variks didn't bother to protest as she seized his hand once more and began to slather the salve onto the seared line of flesh on his palm. She continued, smearing it around gently for a few seconds longer until his skin had absorbed most of it.

When the cream had all but disappeared, she tossed the tube aside. "There," she said, peeling the gloves from her hands. "Does that feel any better?"

"No."

Her heart sank. If topical anesthetic didn't work on Eliksni, what more could she do?

Consumed with pity, she did the first thing that sprung to mind; she took his hand in hers and gently rubbed her thumb over the butt of his palm, hoping to draw his attention away from the wound's searing pain. Thankfully, after a moment, her ministrations seemed to help, and the tension in Variks' shoulders began to ease.

Then, mercifully, after another handful of seconds, the anesthetic began to take effect, and Variks let out a barely audible sigh of relief.

But even as he sighed and visibly relaxed further, Meren didn't let go of his hand. She didn't want to. Finding herself enraptured by the unexpectedly soft suppleness of his alien flesh, Meren continued to draw her thumb slowly across the heel of his palm, all the way to one side and then back across to the other. Pausing, she marveled over how cool and smooth his skin felt beneath her thumb. And then, just as she began to draw her finger back over his palm once more-

"Meren?"

The instant Variks uttered her name, her hand froze and a flush rose to her cheeks. "I'm sorry, I-"

"Do not apologize," he purred, curling one of his clawed fingers inward to graze her thumb. "There is no harm in curiosity."

"I wasn't being curious," she said defensively, yanking her hand away as if she'd been burned by his touch. "I was trying to make you feel better."

"Ahh," Variks rumbled back in that smug, self-satisfied way. "Then please," he held his palm out to her, a glint in his eye, "continue."

Her nose wrinkled in distaste at his proffered hand. "I'd rather not."

His eyes grinned. "Suit yourself."

Meren huffed in annoyance, but at least he seemed to be feeling better.

Eager to wrap up the procedure and be away from him for good, she reached for an open box on the tray and pulled forth a bandage. With Variks looking on, she dispassionately lifted his hand from the table and hastily wound the wrapping once around his palm, covering the charred patch of skin.

"There. All finished."

Variks lifted his bandaged hand to his face, examining the dressing. He hummed, wiggling his fingers. After flexing his claws open and closed once, he finally asked, "How long will the anesthetic last?"

Meren retrieved the tube from where it lay on the tray and skimmed through the application instructions. "An hour. Maybe two, at most."

"Hmm."

She held the tube out to him. "When it wears off, just apply a little more according to the directions on the packaging. That should make the pain bearable until it starts to heal up in a day or two."

Variks took the tube from her hand and squinted at the tiny text on the label. After a moment, he looked up at her.

"These instructions seem com-pli-cated. Perhaps it would be for the best if you stayed...and helped reapply the medication in a few hours."

Meren shot him a withering look. "Don't push your luck, Variks."

Meren did her best to ignore the burbling chuckle that followed, and turned away from the scribe to place the extra bandages back on the tray. But just as she set herself to boxing them up and getting all the supplies back in order, a series of soft chimes cut in over the sound of Variks' amusement.

Her comm. Again.

Suddenly Variks wasn't chuckling anymore. Instead, he was just staring, his brows raised in an unspoken question.

"Cayde," she said absently, reaching into her pocket to silence the comm's trilling.

Variks' eyes scrunched in disapproval. "He must be very fond of you, to call so...frequently."

"The feeling's not mutual, believe me," she said quickly. The last thing she needed was for Variks to work himself up into a jealous, insufferable tizzy over a nonexistent relationship between her and the Hunter Vanguard.

Variks eyed her, a growl building in his throat. But after a moment of scrutiny, he thankfully took her at her word, and his rumbling gave way to silence once again.

When he pressed the issue no further, Meren turned back to the tray once more and resumed her task.

Just as the last of the supplies had been returned to their boxes, she heard Variks get to his feet behind her. Then the soft ruffle of his hands smoothing his robes back into place.

It wasn't long before the sounds of his fussing stopped. For the briefest moment, a silence hung between them.

"Meren…"

She turned her head just enough to look over her shoulder at him.

He met her eyes, hesitated, and slowly began, "Thank you. For…" One of his mechanical hands gestured to the bandaged palm. "...this. For your help."

His words brought the faintest of smiles to her lips.

"You're welcome," she replied. Then her normally gentle voice became stern. "But next time, be a little more careful with your 'scribe's work'. I won't be around to patch you up forever, you know."

A funny look crossed his face, but he responded to her advice with a faint nod, all the same.

Satisfied, Meren latched a hand onto the edge of the tray and wheeled it back to the row of cabinets on the other side of the room. She returned all the supplies to their rightful places, pushed the empty tray into a vacant corner, and then made for the sink to rinse off her hands.

As she leaned over the washbasin to pull a towel from the dispenser, it hardly came as a surprise when Variks appeared silently alongside her.

He watched quietly for a few seconds as she dried off her hands. Only when she had tossed the crumpled towel into the trash did he finally pipe up, "Will you leave now?"

She hadn't planned on bringing it up with Variks, but technically, her mission was complete. Now that she'd gotten the information she'd come for - and tended to Variks' wound - there was no reason to dawdle about the Prison any longer.

"I was planning on it…"

"I see," he replied, his voice betraying the slightest hint of disappointment. "But...you will come back tomorrow, yess? To visit me? To continue our research?"

No, she wanted to say. Absolutely not.

But after hearing the plaintive tone in his voice, she couldn't bring herself to say something so harsh.

"Variks, I-" Meren began instead. "It's not that I don't want to." Hesitating, she took a breath and searched for the vaguest words she could find to let him down gently. "But I don't think it's a good idea for me to come back to the Prison any time soon…"

He cocked his head. A feigned display of ignorance. "Why not?"

She hardly felt the need to recount his post-dinner proposition. "You know why not."

Variks straightened again with a sigh, putting an end to the charade.

He knew.

"Meren," he began, "if you are troubled by...what happened the other night. What I offered…"

He paused, and Meren felt herself tense. This was the last conversation she wanted to be a part of.

Variks shook his head slightly and continued. "Know the fault was mine. I misjudged your...interest." All four of his hands turned palm up, a display of genuine supplication. "And for that, I apologize. It was not my intention to put you in an uncomfortable position. It will not happen again."

"You sure about that?"

Variks stiffened slightly, clearly offended by her doubt. But when he spoke, there was no trace of irritation in his voice.

"You have my word," he replied. "I would never knowingly do anything that might...jeopardize our friendship."

Of course he wouldn't, Meren thought. Variks wasn't some mindless beast. He was a refined, courteous scribe, and would certainly conduct himself in a manner befitting his position.

Yet even with that in mind, Meren remained hesitant. His promise of chivalry wouldn't stop her from doing something stupid, after all.

"I appreciate that, Variks," she began. "I really do…"

But just as she'd begun to voice her continuing reservations, all four of his arms sprang open, and he cut in with, "No 'hard feelings', yes?"

The gesture, in human terms, could only be construed as an invitation for a hug, and Meren blinked at him in disbelief. Was he serious? After the conversation they'd just had?

"I'm not hugging you," she said, bristling.

Variks' claws twitched, betraying his surprise. "But...is this not what friends do? To make up after a misunderstanding?"

Ordinarily, his confusion might have warranted a thorough response detailing the nuances of hugging when it came to human argument resolution. But Meren didn't feel like getting herself into a full-blown discussion about the intricacies of human friendship, so she responded as succinctly as she could.

"In some cases, yes. In this case, no."

"No?" He cocked his head.

"No."

Variks met her piercing gaze and extended one of his lower hands, the bandaged one, a little past the others in what Meren recognized as an obvious play for sympathy.

"Not even if it would make me feel better?" he asked pitifully.

"Variks," she exhaled, exhausted by his theatrics.

But even despite her so obvious sigh of reluctance, Variks remained determined, holding his arms open, his head cocked playfully, until finally, after a protracted moment of hesitation, she caved.

"Fine," she huffed. "But just this once."

And never again, she privately resolved. If the two of them intended to continue on as friends as Variks had suggested, they didn't need to make a regular habit of hugging each other.

Shuffling forward all of three steps to meet him, Meren tentatively reached out and wrapped her arms loosely around Variks' midsection. They were both still for a moment. She stood there rigid, waiting for him to reciprocate, a little surprised that he would hesitate after such a confident invitation. But after a second, all four of his arms closed around her, holding her lightly against his chest.

Determined not to enjoy herself, she gritted her teeth and waited for the hug to be over. Yet as the seconds ticked by, wrapped in the surprising comfort of his embrace, his closeness stirred something in her. And suddenly, she found herself tightening her hold on him, pressing herself a little closer.

The last of her lingering reservations evaporated when a purr began to rumble in Variks' chest. Sinking further into his arms, Meren pulled herself closer still, burying her face in the fur that encircled his neck. His arms cradled her shoulders, her lower back, his hug enveloping her body.

Nestling her face deeper in the soft fur, she closed her eyes and drank in the sharp, crisp scent of his robes. He smelled like the rolling fields after a passing summer storm. Like the freshly tilled earth in the spring. The crisp falling leaves of autumn...

The reverie momentarily dissipated as his chin came to rest atop her head. A not unpleasant shiver ran down her spine as one of his hands began to trail lazily across her back, and then-

"Variks!" a voice cut through the air, shattering the moment between them.

With a strangled yelp, Variks instantly released her and recoiled a few steps backward, his eyes wide with panic. He stood frozen for a heartbeat before his head snapped in the direction of the door. Meren's gaze followed his, expecting to be met with the sight of the unwitting intruder.

But there was nobody there.

As she stared perplexed at the empty doorway, the voice came again, this time more distant and muffled beyond comprehension. Blinking away her confusion, her eyes darted back to Variks just in time to see him fishing around in the pockets of his robes, his face contorted in obvious agitation.

His search lasted all of three seconds before he found what he was looking for and pulled forth a blaring communicator.

"-get on the comms," Petra's now crystal-clear voice rang out from the device in Variks' hand. "Variks! Do you read me?"

His mandibles clicked for a second before he keyed a button on the communicator and croaked back, "Yes, yes, yes. I am here."

"It's about time." All business, Petra didn't bother to waste time with pleasantries. "A dropship with two Wolf detainees is inbound. More fodder for the arena. Prepare to receive."

"Of course, of course. Bay 27," Variks chattered. "Bring them in. Will prepare two pods for new...guests. Will meet you there."

"Copy that." Petra cut the feed without another word.

Variks stared wordlessly at the comm in his open hand for a long second before snapping his mechanical claws closed around it. Burying it back in his robes, he shot a glance in Meren's direction. "I must go."

Meren felt an unexpected stab of disappointment at the thought of him having to leave, and before she could stop herself, she found herself asking, "Can I come with you?"

"No," Variks snapped.

Meren flinched slightly at the sharpness of his tone.

Variks shook his head and began again. "No," he repeated, with none of his previous harshness. "Not this time."

For once, Meren didn't argue. His tone had made it all too clear that this was a matter where she wasn't welcome to tag along.

So as Variks turned and made for the medbay's exit, Meren went trotting quietly after, trying to keep pace with his long strides, keeping her protest to herself.

When Variks reached the door, he slowed to a stop and looked back at her. "I trust you can see yourself back to your room?"

Meren nodded.

"And…" He hesitated for a brief moment, fidgeting with his hands. "Will you come back again sometime soon? To visit me?"

Against her better judgement, Meren nodded again. "Tomorrow."

"Ahh, good." His hands relaxed. "Perhaps when you return, we could modify our...routine, and speak Eliksni together, for a change, while we continue our research. That way, you can get some practice."

A smile spread across her face. "I'd like that."

"As would I," Variks purred back softly. "Have a pleasant evening, Meren."

He inclined his head, and then he stepped out through the door and was gone.


Smiling despite herself, Meren retraced her steps back through the Prison's winding corridors, into the lift, and onward until she caught sight of the sprawling exit at the end of the final passage. Stepping outside, she paused just long enough to savor a few breaths of crisp, fresh air. Then she navigated her way around the few Guardians that lingered outside and continued on across the bridge, setting herself on a course back to her quarters.

She only made it all of halfway across the sprawling causeway, however, before the journey back to her room was brought to a halt by a familiar chime from somewhere in her pocket.

Damn it, she nearly cursed aloud.

Coming to an abrupt stop, she pulled out the comm. "What is it, Cayde?"

A burst of white noise hissed over the line, and then came a reply.

"This is notCayde," a deep, resonant voice responded over the crackling static.

Meren inhaled sharply. She recognized that voice all too well. It belonged to none other than the indomitable leader of the Vanguard. The unflinchingly surly Titan figurehead. The City's iron fist.

"Commander Zavala," she breathed.

"Professor Hale," he replied tersely. "I have been trying to reach you for two hours now. Does a call from the Vanguard not warrant your attention?"

"I'm sorry. I was tied up with a... research subject. I must not have heard my comm."

"I see."

Empty static fizzled across the connection again for an instant until Meren chimed in, "Was there...something you needed, Commander?"

Like Petra, Zavala had never been one for pleasantries and wasted no time getting to the point.

"A situation has come to the Vanguard's attention that necessitates the return of all essential personnel to the City," he drawled. "As it stands, this is a precautionary measure. But even still, in the interest of safety, we expect the compliance of all Guardians and contracted individuals. No exceptions."

Meren's head swam, barely able to comprehend what she had just heard. "I...I don't understand," she said stupidly. "You want me to come back to the City?"

That couldn't be right. No, she must have misheard him. She still had weeks left in the Reef. Until the start of the next semester. That's what the Speaker had said...

"Let me reiterate, as simply as I can." His voice was as cold as ice. " We are recalling everyone - including you, Professor Hale. Effective immediately."

Meren winced. "But-"

"No 'buts'," he cut in. "A transport will be waiting for you at the Vestian Outpost in six standard hours. Rendezvous with your escort and return to the City."

Meren reeled beneath the crushing weight of the order. Six hours? That wasn't nearly enough time! What about her research with Variks? What about all the questions she still wanted to ask? What about-

"We will speak further upon your return," Zavala cut into her spiraling thoughts. "Do I make myself clear?"

Meren didn't dare argue. "Yes, sir."

"Very good," he said. "I suggest you start packing your things, Professor Hale. The Vanguard will not tolerate tardiness."

Before Meren could reply with another "yes, sir", the comm clicked and the connection guttered out, leaving her with nothing but the sound of Zavala's final words ringing in her ears.

Staring down at the now-silent device in her hand, she let his orders play back in her head once. Twice. And then a third time over before the reality of the situation began to finally sink in.

The Vanguard was recalling her back to the City.

Regardless of what the Speaker had promised, in six hours, she was going home.

Shaking her head, she pocketed the comm and pushed the unpleasant reality from her mind long enough to glance back at the Prison.

But she couldn't just leave. Not now. Not like this.

Not without saying goodbye to Variks.

Her feet moving of their own accord, she took a single step back the way she had come, back toward the Prison. Back toward him.

But after another step, her own better sense stopped her in her tracks. As much as she wanted to tell Variks she was leaving, she couldn't just march back into the Prison and interrupt his business with Petra. Not after he'd been so adamantly against her tagging along.

Her shoulders sagged slightly. What was she supposed to do? She had to say goodbye. She had to!

But realistically there was nothing she could do, was there? Not short of barging in on Variks, or disobeying a direct order from the Vanguard. And both of those notions were completely out of the question.

So she stared, utterly torn, for a moment longer at the Prison's sprawling form, silhouetted against a background of roiling violet clouds. She took a deep breath. And then however resigned, she turned and trudged onward across the bridge, toward the residence sector.

Back to her room.


AN: Thank you to Keltoi for the edits!