The Eagle and The Rat [Arno Victor Dorain]

XVI - Karòn:ta

Maxime forced herself to hold back a wince every time Arno had to dig his tweezers into her sore hands, and every time without fail, she'd try to snatch the tweezers out of his hands.

"Give it," she demanded.

"No," he snapped back at her, slapping her hand away as if she were an impatient child grabbing at pastries that were just out of the oven and still scalding, "if your lock-picking skills are anything to go by, you'll be just as terrible at this."

"Slap my hand again and watch what happens," she growled out, going for the tweezers again, and Arno (wisely) pulled his hand and tweezers out of her reach. Guilt still ate her from the inside out, her admiration of Shay now being the least of her concerns. She'd let Arno's quest for revenge almost kill him, and... "I can't let you continue on like this."

"I'm taking these splinters out whether you want me to or not-"

"The search for all of De La Serre's conspirators," she corrected him, her usual snapping tone unable to sustain itself after all of this, "it stops here."

His jaw clenched, but he did not stop tending to her wounds. "Let's not have this discussion now-"

"It's not a discussion," she stated, voice scratchy and quiet, "it's an order."

"You think you're in any state to order me around right now?" he asked, trying to stay light-hearted. He thought things between them were getting better. This mission had been a big step forward. How could-

"You think you're in any state not to take them?" she bit back. Maybe she was the one lying on his thigh with her eyes closed, but out of the two of them, she had suffered the least severe injuries. Her splinters would heal over in days, but his ribs would take weeks. "Don't you realize how close you were to death this time?"

"So what?" he said, dropping the tweezers as he looked down at her, "all's well that ends well."

"And when it doesn't? What then?" she asked, hauling herself upright as she realized she was no longer welcome to lie down. Synnøve's eyes opened to reveal what the dirty waters of the Seine had done to her, her sclera red at the edges. "I won't be there to save you every time. One day the Council will stop asking me to hold your hand on these missions, and then it'll be up to you to not drown."

He huffed, shaking his head in disbelief. "Last I checked, you were the one who led us to that alley-"

"And you were the one not looking over your back!" she yelled at him, "do you think I have no shame? What do you think the Council will say to me- do to me when I tell them I let you follow a lead that almost killed you when it was my specific job to not let you get deluded in some hellbent quest for vengeance as I did?!"

Perhaps it really was always meant to end in a screaming match between the two of them, Arno thought. "Then let me die," he said, as he picked up the tweezers and tried to get her to give him back her hand. Maybe if he didn't entertain her outburst, she'd stop.

"Let you... Fy faen-" She let out a breathless laugh. For some reason, she couldn't bring herself to say it. "-You must think I'm heartless."

"I think you're... brash, but I don't think you're heartless," he clarified, "I'm just saying that I think you'd find it easier if you let me do as I pleased instead of trying to stop me from doing something I've made abundantly clear I wouldn't be stopped from doing."

"So you do think I'm heartless-" She was about to yell more, but Synnøve stopped herself. Arno thought she was clearing her throat at first, the river water having dried up the soft lining of their esophagus, but she squeezed her eyes shut, rubbing the inner corners of them with the tips of her fingers, and spoke with more care this time. "How could that possibly be easier for me?