Archive of Our Own ^beta

He leaps in the air, pipe raised high above his head. He seems to hang there, white hair floating gracefully over his head, violence etched on his face as he crests the top of the arc and starts to come down. But she’s faster.

The shot rings out and punches his trajectory out of shape, but he still crashes against her shoulder and sends her flying back to the ground. She rolls and rolls until she can plant her hands and feet where she wants and finds the gun that had skidded away, scrambling back to her feet ready to fight again. But no-one stands before her, just a dark body crumpled on the ground.

Jinx rushes forward as he drags himself heavily up and lunges for the pipe lying a few feet away. She kicks at his side but falters at the scream he lets out, as if he'd been stabbed in the gut. She almost forgets the swing he aims at her but manages to dodge and swat the pipe out of his grip with the butt of her revolver.

He collapses to the ground again, his movements too sluggish now. She pushes at his arm with her boot, making him slump on his back. He can only grab reflexively at the other side of his chestplate, failing to hide the dirty red stain growing from under his overalls. She looks away from it and raises the gun but his eyes are squeezed tightly shut—coward. He just tried to kill her, now he can’t even face her? And he thought he was some kind of saviour. 

Click.

Empty. Her finger curls fruitlessly around the trigger again but her breath quickens rather than calms. She’s done this countless times, finished off clumsy grunts and not even blinked. This should be easy, getting rid of him will save her and Silco so much trouble.

But Ekko isn’t some stupid grunt. This isn’t finishing off a fight.

Tying off loose ends?

She grits her teeth and snaps out the cylinder.

Just Vi left after him, then you’ll have killed all of us.

“Shut up!” she barks at Mylo and fumbles in her pouch for ammo, stuffing it hurriedly into the cylinder, “it's not the same—”

Do it then, do it. Kill him. Kill him like you killed everyone else.

“I CAN’T!” she cries out in a raw, broken voice. She has to. Silco needs her to do it. Her nostrils flare and seethe at her, her eyes haul to his face, her hand trembles, rebels against her. She barely defeats them, finally raises her pistol again—but he's not moving. The red stain is deeper, darker, wider now. It soaks his shirt and plasters it to his body. Her lungs overwhelm her and force her to her knees, the pistol slips out of her hand in favour of reaching the side of his neck. “No, no...” her fingers twitch at the weakening pulse. She shuffles quickly closer to his side and red streaks her palms as they graze his shirt. She dares not pull the hem up but she needs to, she has to, and blood slathers her fingers when she does so. She retches at the messy wound just by the edge of the metal plate on his chest and fumbles desperately at his scarf.

“No, this isn’t how it was supposed to—not, not like this—”

She drags it off and gathers it at the wound, bracing herself before applying pressure. His chest heaves weakly when she presses steadily down, and her head snaps up to find a sliver of brown and white showing between flagging lashes. “Stay awake, please!” she begs, only answered by a horrifyingly faint wheeze. She turns her attention back to the wound, spreading more evenly the orange scarf now marred red.

“Don't go,” comes a hoarse voice. 

“I-I won't,” she glances at him but his eyes are already shut again. “I won't, okay?”

Nothing. She dares not look at his face again, focusing on wrapping the wound. The best she can do is tighten the makeshift bandage and try to haul him up; that should be painful, but only a hollow groan leaves his lungs, expelled purely by the movement. She has to turn him around and hook her arms under his, dragging him slowly backwards to Zaun.

***

She’s never taken such a direct and risky route to her hideout, but even with how early she arrives it hardly makes a difference. He doesn't respond to anything she does or says, he's heavy and limp in her arms and when she lays him on the patched couch the rise and fall of his chest is almost imperceptible. 

She loathes to leave his side but she has to grab a medical bag. She quickly returns and unravels it, pulling out whatever tools and supplies she might need. And most important of all, a tiny vial of glowing purple liquid. 

Jinx never cared much for or about shimmer; it's just another product she has to protect for Silco. She's heard of what it does to people, but by Zaun’s standards it can't be that bad. Silco’s eye is proof of that. She needs that kind of miracle now.

She pops the cork and brings the vial to Ekko’s lips, tilting his head up and prying his mouth open. She holds her breath and tips most of it in with shaky hands, quickly shutting Ekko’s mouth and holding it there. His whole body shudders as soon as it goes down, his pulse throbs against her fingers and his chest heaves like that of the living. He still doesn't come to but Jinx can feel some semblance of relief.

She's still not done. She unwraps the blood soaked scarf to expose the ugly wound underneath still leaking bright red. She picks up a pair of tweezers and steels herself to undo her damage while he's still under.

The tool dips in; it catches on rubbery flesh, pokes at misshapen bone, agonisingly slow and fearful until it finds a lump of solid, slippery metal. She fumbles around it, trying to ease out the bullet a millimetre at a time. His absent stirs and groans grow more frequent as she pulls the bullet through mangled flesh it had buried itself into—she had buried it into. By the time she twists it free he’s able to let out a laboured grunt; it bursts into a loud growl when she pours the last few drops of shimmer into the wound.

“Argh, fuck...”

Ting.

He glances, bleary-eyed, to where the bullet rolls loud and rough on the steel floor, leaving a trail of dirty red, glistening bright and sharp back at him. A harsh sting rakes his side, and when he looks for the source he almost jolts out of his own skin. 

“Sit still idiot, I'm not done yet,” she drawls, rolling her eyes at his seething gasp from the pain provoked by his own sudden movement. 

“What're you—where am I?” he pants. He’s never seen anything like this; a huge dark chamber with a graffitied, cluttered column in the middle, connected to the walls by what look like giant fan blades.

“That's for me to know n’ you to shut up about.”

Another thin stab at his side but he keeps still this time. A glance at the thread and needles on the bag on the floor tell him she's stitching whatever is wrong with his side. He can hear each individual fibre passing through his skin, can feel the sticky shredded flesh knitting together. 

He takes a steadying breath, trying to ignore the racing beat rushing through his ears. “Alright, why am I here.”

She grits her teeth to keep her voice level. “You lost too easy. Make it fun next time.”

Now he remembers. “You shot me.”

“Duh.”

“Then why didn't you kill me?”

“I already told you,” she scoffs, being slightly less accurate with the needle.

He tightens his jaw. “So this is some kind of sick game to you?” he spits.

Her breath catches in her throat.

See? He hates you

“Is-is that all you have to say?” she clenches the needle hard enough to make it bend.

You should have killed him

“What am I supposed to say?”

Even Ekko knows you're a Jinx

“You-you-”

“This doesn't mean I can trust—”

You can't trust a Jinx

“You were bleeding out, I SAVED YOUR LIFE!” she shrieks, stabbing the needle into the couch just inches from Ekko’s thigh.

He falls silent, frozen at her seething breaths. At how her head rises up and down on her bowed neck, how her nails dig into the inside of her fist. Eventually he sits up, gingerly but unable to suppress a groan. He plants his palm beside his leg, pressing the fabric of the couch down slightly, right where the needle is buried into it. 

“Should've thanked you.”

Her head twitches. He feels for his side with his other arm. “Get your grubby paws away from it,” she snaps; he pulls back from the wound, though he can still feel his blood surging through it. 

“You gave me shimmer,” he says flatly as she finishes up with a new needle and wraps a thin rag around his waist and over the stitches.

She chokes out a mocking scoff. “Ironic, huh?”

He can’t help but let out a chuckle. “Guess so.” She doesn’t reciprocate, but he notices her fingers twirling round the bent needle.

“You didn’t have to help me.” 

She huffs and sits back against the arm of the couch, arms crossed. “Believe me, wasn’t in the plan. I’m just not in the habit of executions. Not yet anyway, hah!” she punches out the last word, her face twisting into a defensive sneer.

“My lucky day then,” He lets out a breath and winces again at the growing sting in his side, “Aside from you know, being shot ‘n all.”

“Don’t get used to it,” she mutters, entranced by the bloody scarf strewn across the couch.

“Hey,” his voice turns unexpectedly high, “up here for a sec?” She rolls her eyes and cocks her head, meeting a soft expression she hasn’t seen in years.

“Sorry ‘bout the outburst, just uh, wasn’t expecting this.” 

She shrugs out a brief hum and parts her lips as if to reject the apology, but quickly presses them back together. 

What’s the matter, cat got yer tongue?

Her eyes squeeze shut and her head falls back to point at the distant ceiling. “Shut up...”

Bet you can’t wait to get back to killing him

“I was only...”

“Not you—”

Just like everyone else who gets close

“But—”

“—I don’t want to!” she cries out, reverberating raw and hoarse around the chamber. Ekko waits for them to die down, for Jinx to come back to the present. 

“I never wanted this, either.”

She opens her eyes just a sliver, finding those twinkling chestnuts studying her. “Tough.”

“Come on, Powd—Jinx. We don't have to keep doing this.”

The slip-up doesn't evade her. “Yeah we do, little man. You and your bugs get in Silco’s way, we can't play nice just cause I patched you up one time.” There's a not insignificant amount of regret in her tone. 

He tried once, to save Powder from Silco. He thought he had her captive, that maybe he wanted information out of her, or at best that she simply had nowhere to go and no choice but to live under his cruelty. The reality was so much worse; Powder was all but dead, replaced by the girl in front of him, the girl that just blew up a bridge and shot him to boot. All wrapped around Silco’s finger, proudly and happily.

“We don't do it for fun you know, we take a risk every time. Those shipments hurt people.”

She scowls away from him. “If you're trying to convert me you're wasting your time.”

He sighs, wheezing a little from the burning in his side. “I’m just trying to talk.”

“Pah, like that ever worked.”

He huffs in defeat and braces himself. “Alright,” he starts to rise, wincing with every movement, “listen, anytime you want to—Ah—talk—”

“Where’re you going?” Jinx blurts out, her attention now fully fixed on him, her back rigid against the arm of the couch and fists curled tightly in its mottled cushions.

His mouth hangs half open for a moment before he gathers himself, still half-standing over the couch. “Figured I'd overstayed my welcome.”

She crosses her arms again and nods down at the spot he'd vacated. “Siddown, you'll open your stitches like that.”

“Heh,” he puffs out a chuckle and obliges, “guess you want to keep me around.”

“No,” she fires back as he settles slowly down, “I just don't do things halfway.”

“Apart from shooting me.”

“Shut up,” she says with a kick at his shin; it carries little force but the jolt is enough to nudge his wound and wipe the grin off his face.

He ends up complying, more out of awkwardness than anything else. Jinx, too, doesn't seem to want to say much or even look him in the eye, instead seemingly entranced by the makeshift bandage covering his waist, slightly padded at the side. Those familiar blue pupils are completely still, looking through him.

“So what now?”

They flick up to him for a brief moment then dart away, quivering as if cornered. It takes her a few seconds to find her voice. “You stay here ‘till it fully closes. Should only take a day or so with Shimmer.”

If only that was the only way it was used, he thinks. Maybe none of this would've happened. The undercity could have prospered from Shimmer. But Silco chose this instead.

“And after that?”

She shrugs. “You can buzz off or whatever.”

He nods, in acknowledgment rather than agreement. “We haven't talked this much in five years.”

That memory bites back into her mind. She'd told him to go away then, too, and cried away the regret right after. “I didn't let you get much of a word in then, either.” She says, shaking a cruel scoff to hide away her thoughts.

“Some things never change, I guess...” 

The quiet way he trails off bothers her, as does his wistful smile that fades into nothing. But she can't think of anything to say to stop it. 

“Wish I'd tried harder,” he says, his turn to look through her this time. She shifts uncomfortably, realising how close their legs have been this entire time they've been sitting at opposite ends of the couch.

“Leave it, Ekko,” she mutters, shoulders hunching a few inches, “we're not kids anymore.”

“I know,” he shifts too, instead propping his feet solidly in place, “I just, hoped we had got to do this sooner.”

Her eyebrows bunch together. “Do what?”

“Talk.”

“It doesn't matter.”

“It does!”

“We're only here because I shot you and couldn't—”

“So? What's wrong with it? Can you tell me what's wrong with talking?”

He didn't let her interrupt this time. She'd love to spit any manner of her usual snark at him but she just can't find an answer, and it pisses her off to no end. She decides instead to swivel away from his closeness and turn in her spot, crossing her arms and planting her feet firmly on the floor.

A low groan and a depression in the cushions and he's right beside her.

“It never works," she mutters, muted and unbearable.

"Y’know..." he breathes, “I never thought we'd get to do this again. Sometimes it doesn't have to work... Just these moments can be enough.”

She doesn't oppose him this time.

***

She works on her gadgets late into the night as always, sitting at her workshop in the centre of the huge chamber—but slightly at the side this time, keeping the couch in view.

She notices him trying to keep himself awake, still lying back on the couch. He's spying on her new weapons, no doubt. And she's keeping an eye on him in case he tries anything, no doubt.

He stares, she glances. He shifts, she fidgets. He breathes, she tenses.

When he wakes early as always she's not beyond the curtain behind the couch but instead still there, slumped over the desk. He realises he's only ever seen Jinx—not Powder—in battle or in defiance. Never this peaceful; cheek resting on the back of her hands, darkly painted eyelids shut quiet and relaxed, deep maroon lips parted and soft.

The harsh sting is gone now, just a dim warmth left in its place. So he doesn't make a sound when he gets up, nor when he pulls on his coat and starts to move away.

“Ekko." 

He turns; she hasn't moved at all, but her eyes... No more than half-open, wanting more to be seen than to see, glistening in their gaze on him. Hers are blue, his are brown, but otherwise they are the same.

He finds his voice. “Where we used to be. Anytime.” 

A nod and a blink, and he's gone.