veryroundbirdfics | Arknights | Hand in Unlovable Hand, Chapter 23

Rating: Spicy
Chapter: 23/28
Characters: Doctor (F), Kal'tsit, Amiya, various others
Relationships: Doctor/Kal'tsit, Kal'tsit/Theresa, Theresa/Doctor
Summary: Dr. Lau returns to Rhodes Island a stranger in a strange land, in a labyrinth of things that feel like they should be familiar but aren't—and at the center is Dr. Kal'tsit and all the things she's not saying. Even if amnesia's changed her, though, the Doctor wouldn't be the Doctor if she didn't have an impulse to solve for the missing variable.
Notes: while this fic is marked as "spicy" the only actual sexual content is in chapters 8, 9, 17, 23 and 27, and there's cliff notes for the scenes at the bottom of the chapter. sexual content is noted in the start of chapters where it appears.

The arrival of the rest of the squad assigned to this mission is a relief. And therefore, Kal'tsit has room to think about a few things other than the present, and about people who keep coming back to haunt her—

Even though things are going well—for a given value of well, for all the scorched earth battles you've fought—there's something in the air that feels wrong. A tension in the air that isn't just plain exhaustion.

Some of it's exhaustion, though. Uneasiness leads to restless, leads to you staying up later, working more hours, trying to outstrip that looming feeling of disaster.

It doesn't help that Theresa's been busy, as of late—bouncing between the Speaker's Office and the battlefield and the bridge. Normally, she still finds time to spend together—but there's a sense of... distance, in her expression, when she doesn't think anyone's watching. So it's a small relief when she pulls you aside after a meeting.

"Kal'tsit," she says, and in spite of everything, still hasn't lost the warmth in her smile—the genuine delight in seeing you. "Walk with me?"

And you'd be hard-pressed not to relax a little with Theresa by her side, rubbing light circles with her thumb at the nape of your neck. You try to keep an air of professionalism, but the landship is a large enough place that there's a feeling of privacy.

"People call all kinds of vehicles 'she,' don't they?" says Theresa, absently, running her other hand along the bulkhead. "Rhodes Island... she feels like she's really coming into her own. Don't you think?"

"I think she could stand to cooperate more with our Chief Engineer's attempts to fix up her electrical system," you say, dry, and Theresa laughs.

"True, true. Still, though—there's a satisfaction in building on a foundation like her, isn't there?" She shrugs, in a gentle and unassuming way that belies her litany of titles. "After all, that's what everyone is here for."

You reach up to take her hand, lifting it from your shoulders to clasp between both of your own. "We're here for you," you say.

Always her. Even that one mercenary who's more trouble than she's probably worth—you wouldn't question her loyalty. Theresa and Babel are the hope of the Sarkaz—the hope that might someday make a real homeland for their people. You understand very keenly that though you might find a place to survive, or even live—it's not what makes a home.

Theresa seems like she's going to protest your statement, but it dies on her lips as you tug her shoulders down to kiss her. The tension you could see in her posture fades a little bit as you guide her along to the destination you'd both intended in the first place.

Which is to say, your quarters. Despite her position, Theresa's are hardly any larger or more comfortable, and you suspect she also doesn't want you to know that she hasn't been getting proper sleep recently. You steer her to the bed, and... for a moment, just hold her, arms around her shoulders.

"Kal'tsit?" she murmurs, quietly, and then, dips her head in a slightly embarrassed way. "I worry you too much, don't I."

"All of you worry me too much," you grumble, and kiss the join of her neck and jaw while loosening the closures of her dress.

She sighs as your hands run down her back, and then punctuates it with a light, breathless laugh, reaching up to cup your breasts with her soft hands. "I was intending to do something nice for you, you know."

Your breath hitches, as her fingers gently knead through the fabric of your dress. "This is nice for me," you murmur, and pull her dress off her shoulders.

In truth, you're a little surprised she doesn't try to make good on what she intended, as you kiss your way down her abdomen, sinking to your knees. She's always thinking of what she can do for others, but today—you can be glad she's indulging you, gasping in a gratifying way as you close your mouth over the head of her cock, hands spreading her thighs apart before you.

Her hands find purchase in your hair, gently curling behind your ears in a way that sets a purr going in the back of your throat against her—you'd be a little indignant, but her breathing quickens even further, and her toes curl agains the floor, and... well, when she keeps murmuring your name in the way that she's doing, it's hard to complain.

You want to give her everything; at least you can give her this.

Finally spent, she murmurs for you to come to her; she cups your face in her hand and draws you down with her onto your bed. "You know," she starts, dreamily, "what I was trying to say, earlier..."

She curls her head in against you. "It's not that I don't know... how much I mean to everyone here. But no king can rule forever, Kal'tsit, so... I thought, it would be nice to build something that could see people through years and years to come. To build something here, in this landship... that's what people expect from me."

"All we can do is focus on what lies next," you say, frowning slightly. "Not on hyperbolic supposition. You're here, now. There's so much you can do for them already."

"I know," she says, and her gaze goes far away again. "There will be many difficulties ahead, but—" She folds her arms around you, tucking her face against your shoulder so you can't see her expression. "I have always been your companion," she says. "And I always will be."

The next day, everything comes crashing down. The next day—and the next day, and the next all blur into one, because all that's left is you.

You don't cry, when you find her. You don't cry, when you explain to Amiya that more of the adults in her life are gone. You don't cry during your desperate stealth trip to Chernobog; you don't cry as you shove Zhanchi into that metal box and for a moment (and for a long while after) fervently wish you'll never see her again, either.

It's only weeks later, when Rhodes Island has fled and you finally have a moment to put your head down on your desk, that you find the note in that familiar, elegant script—

Kal'tsit:
The moment you read this, the ending act must already be played—

And the floodgates of your anguish and rage and sorrow break, for no one to hear.

You don't cry again for a long, long time.