Burning | CH.3

As days passed, Warren found how Boston slowly opened up to him oddly charming. A good few days had passed since they’d both woken at an ungodly hour, and since then, they’d gradually grown closer. Boston had taken the liberty of teaching Warren to make blueberry pancakes, which Warren somehow made even better than Boston ever had on his first shot. Short six-sentence conversations slowly turned into neither knowing how to stop talking to the other--minor taps and flinches turned into leaning onto eachother as music poured from a music box. Boston’s cold, empty bedroom turned into him climbing upstairs and requesting to climb in with Warren. Boston frequently felt cold, as his body didn’t burn as brightly as most others--yet, next to Warren, he never once did shiver throughout the night. The nightmares that would normally plague him never seemed to flare much in the other’s arms, and even if they did, Warren was there to ground him. Yet not a word was spoken between the two of how they might feel; the comfortable silence as they laid loosely in eachother’s arms said quite enough. And yet, Boston had noticed something. At the time, the two sat on a couch in Warren’s room.

“You’ve been fidgety lately,” he commented, watching Warren work away at a small wood carving. Warren looked up briefly before locking his gaze on the sculpture again.

“D’nno what y’r on about,” he replied, a small waver in his voice.

“Y’gotta talk t’me ‘f somethin’s goin’ on.” Boston shifted closer to him, placing a hand on his leg. Warren froze at the contact, drawing a short, shaky breath. He slowly looked up at Boston.

“Bad feelin’,” he admitted, gaze faltering to the ground. “Like somethin’ awful’s comin’ up.” Boston’s gaze turned sympathetic.

“Oh, ‘Ren,” he hummed, leaning on the other. “There’s nothin’ t’worry about.”

Warren shrugged weakly, fidgeting with the knife he was using to carve.

“I d’nno,” he muttered. “I d’nno.”

″...I coul’ try to take it off y’r mind,” Boston whispered, squeezing Warren’s leg lightly. Warren nodded lightly. ”...Aye. Y’got...any ideas?”

Boston cuddled up closer to him, plucking the knife and carving from his hand and pushing them aside. Warren sighed lightly and leaned into the hold, allowing his eyes to flutter shut. A comfortable orange glow grew from him. Boston purred softly, daring to shift his hand towards Warren’s thigh. Warren’s look flickered up at him again. Boston noted his fiery orange glow growing brighter.

“I--” Warren blinked. “Boston?” Boston drew back, heart pounding in his head.

“I--I, uh--”

Warren noticed Boston was glowing even brighter than himself. He raised an eyebrow. He moved a hand to cup Boston’s cheek, prompting a shuddering gasp from him. Warren’s gaze settled into something more inviting.

“I know good ‘n well ‘at ain’t what y’were suggestin’, Boston,” he whispered sweetly. Boston shivered again, and slowly moved to wrap his arms around Warren’s neck. Warren purred at how quickly he broke, and leaned in. When their lips met, they both felt their thoughts melt away in favor of feeling.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Captain Noble tapped his finger in sync with the beeping of a radar, staring outside a window as the ship drifted through the stars.

“Are you just gonna stand there?”

Noble looked back over his shoulder at the speaker, managing a small glare at the other.

″‘m thinkin’,” he replied, turning his gaze back outside.

“Thinking isn’t exactly the most efficient thing to do right now, Noble.”

“We’re ‘bout t’face someone who’s known for his kill count, Six,” Noble snapped back. “I think a lil’ bit of plannin’ ‘s worth th’ time.”

“You Novakids,” Six waved off, a smug grin lining their face. “Living cowboy glowsticks. So focused on what you can do with a gun.”

“Y’best watch y’r mouth, y’one-eyed fuck,” Noble grumbled. Six raised an eyebrow.

“Wow, you’re awfully rude.”

“An’ you ain’t?”

“I was just saying,” they shrugged, “you space cowboys sure do love your point-n-shooties.”

“Our huh?” Noble muttered to himself.

“And you can’t really get rid of me, either,” Six continued, “since I’m just about one of your best ’Keepers.”

“Y’get th’ job done,” Noble affirmed, “but y’act real fuckin’ stupid doin’ it.”

“I sure do,” Six grinned in reply.

Noble heaved a sigh.

“Listen, Six,” he began slowly. “This ain’ one of those ‘easy’ cases, as y’call it. This is th’ Burnin’ Bandit.”

“Is that what you call him?” Six snickered. “No wonder I thought this was stupid.”

“SIX! PLEASE!” Noble snapped, slamming a hand on the window. Six blinked, finally quieting down.

“He’s got over 50 kills ‘nd countin’,” he continued, “an’ anyone we’ve sent t’catch ‘m ‘re eith’r missin’ or dead.”

“And that’s why I’m here.”

“An’ at’s why you an’ the rest of our best ’re here.”

“Huh.” Six looked to the floor. “Huh,” they repeated. “So I might die?”

Noble didn’t respond.

″...Prepare f’r th’ worst,” he muttered, “but hope f’r th’ best.”

“Oh, yeah, your quotes from a soccer mom blog is gonna do me wonders on the battlefield.”

Noble shot another glare back at them.

“Alright, alright, I’ll stop,” Six chuckled, waving a hand dismissively. “So, how far away are we?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The music box, Warren noted, had such a wonderful tune. It was a shame he didn’t wind it as much as he did. He laid back comfortably on the couch, Boston curled on top of him, fast asleep in peaceful slumber. He pulled the blanket draped over them a little closer. Boston shifted lightly, huddling into the gentle warmth of the other. Warren smiled softly and petted a hand through his hair.

Yet, in this safety, the feeling of dread was insistent. Like a looming force, it never left his mind, always lingering just out of his sight. He sighed weakly and cast his gaze to the ceiling.

“Hell’re y’gonna do, Warren?” he mumbled to himself. “Y’r just puttin’ him in harm’s way.”

“They won’ find us,” he whispered, more to Boston than himself. “We’re safe ’ere. F’r now, we’re safe.”

Minutes seemed like hours as they ticked by, the music box slowly trailing off as 30 minutes passed. Finally, Boston shifted. Warren smiled.

“Mornin’, sunshine,” he hummed, ruffling Boston’s hair a little. Boston giggled lightly.

“Quit messin’ up m’ hair,” he fake-whined through a fit of laughter. Warren’s warm smile turned to a grin as he quickly went to continue messing up his hair. Boston squealed, trying to duck away from the assault, uncharacteristic laughter pouring from him. Eventually, Warren gave up his attack, leaning back into the couch. Boston shifted to lay his head on his partner’s chest, listening for a heartbeat.

“What woul’ I do without you?” he purred quietly.

“I’unno,” Warren replied, again petting at the other. “Y’tell me.”

“Wanna say it’d be awful lonely.”

Warren’s smile faltered slightly as the dread again struck him. In the back of his head, he heard the distinct humming of a Peacekeeper ship.

Yet, this time, Boston looked up as well.

“Shit,” Warren said.

“Warren?” Boston looked to him nervously, a question hanging in the air that he need not speak. Warren stared in fear at nothing. He sat up, pressing Boston’s head to his chest, glancing about, frantically trying to figure out a plan, an escape, anything--

“We need t’move quick,” Warren muttered, shooting to his feet with Boston in tow. “Grab y’r things, throw them in a bag.”

The humming grew ever-closer, and his own ship remained unmoving. He thrust a now-full bag into Boston’s arms, filled to the brim with clothes he wasn’t sure would fit and food to last him months. Blisfully unbeknownst to Warren, it was full to brim with red stimpaks, as well. Boston clutched it to his chest, staring up at Warren with a mix of confusion, sadness, and fear.

“Warren, what’s goin’--”

“No time,” Warren belted, half-shoving half-guiding Boston to a small beaming area where he first arrived through. He pulled up a small screen, frantically inputting a series of letters and numbers. A thin glass veil appeared around Boston--created to ensure that the person beaming off didn’t stumble out--and he immediately dropped the bag, pressing his hands to it. Warren hesitated a finger over the button to send him off.

“Warren, please--what’s happenin’?”

Warren didn’t answer.

“Warren...”

“Boston?”

“A...are y’gonna come with me?”

Warren smiled weakly and placed his hand over Boston’s.

″’Course,” he said. “Y’won’t even notice ’m gone.”

Boston smiled back through tears.

″...I love you,” he croaked.

Warren hesitated.

“I know,” he muttered back.

He pressed the button and watched as, in a burst of brilliant light, both the bag and Boston disappeared.

Warren hissed through his teeth, “I wish ’t were that simple.”

Warren flipped his gun from its holster and shot the control panel, so none would be able to follow. Just then, he heard doors being blown open all the way in the back. Warren had a plan. He always did. Rushing against better judgment, he tore to the cockpit, and slam-locked the door behind him. With a flip of a switch, the ship roared to life.

“Down that way,” he heard a Peacekeeper call.

Idiots.

He grabbed ahold of the wheel, eyes locked upon the stopped Peacekeeper ship. A suicide mission, maybe, but a mission’s a mission.

Full throttle, he tore towards the other ship, hurtling directly into its side. The unpleasant scream of metal meeting metal pierced his ears, causing him to hiss through his teeth. He thought for just a moment about what to do next, but his thoughts stopped when a roar of fire threw him from his chair and through the metal door separating the cockpit from everything else. His head spun, unable to tell where was up and what was down. He lashed out, clawing for a grip, fingers soon digging into a panel of the wall that was starting to come loose. He heard the distant stumbling and shock of the Peacekeepers further in the ship. He tried to pull himself to his feet and found the ship slowly yet surely tilting back. He noted quickly approaching footsteps, and without even looking up, pulled his gun and fired. He heard a pained cry and a thud, and only then did he glance--a strange figure, its one eye squeezed shut, blood gushing from its chest. He crawled towards the back of the ship, swinging a door open and coming face to face with--

“YOU!” Captain Noble lunged, throwing his hands around Warren’s throat, prompting an angered whine from the other. He fumbled for his gun, only for another massive jolt to launch both him and Noble from the ground and down the stretched hall. Warren heard a loud CRACK when he bashed into a wall head-first, a low groan uttering from him. He couldn’t see Noble anymore. He could hear Noble, yelling for someone to hold on, but nowhere near where he was now. He felt a warmth running down the back of his neck. A deep rumbling alerted him to what was about to happen. He heard several people beaming out of the ship. He wasn’t enough quick to the draw. The ships were engulfed in a massive explosion, which may look beautiful from a distance, but which Warren couldn’t notice nor care. He blinked, and he was hurtling away from the wreckage, what remained of an arm flaring and sparking in the lack of air, his broken bones screaming for death. Before his eyes shut again, he craned his aching neck to see he was plummetting towards a planet covered in greenery. His mind and his body burning, Warren only smiled.

And he blinked, and he hit the ground with a head-numbing crack.