" last night "

Chapter 20

     After a few days of purposely avoiding Darion, Windham specifically requested to not be paired with any Watchmen when on duty. He was glad nobody asked questions because most overseers didn't really care for the guards anyways.
     Well, he was an entirely different story, but that point was made very clearly.
     However, what Windham didn't know was that Darion also specifically requested to be put on duty with a particular overseer. More like demanded, really, but when he found out Windham was no longer patrolling with a Watchman, his heart sunk to his stomach. He couldn't shake the feeling that this was all his fault, couldn't shake that look of terrified vulnerability in Windham's eyes when he...
     Darion shook himself, his jaw tightening subconsciously. Now, he was already a rather intimidating man, despite his short stature, but once some of the younger guards (likely forced by their starving families to work) saw his piercing glare, they quickly made themselves scarce.
     He was jerked abruptly from his self-misery from a deliberately loud stomp. He turned to give whoever it was a good tongue lashing, but his cynical remark died on his tongue when he saw it was Kamala Begum, a sergeant. She was much younger than Darion, but something about her made her seem much wiser than he could ever hope to be.
     "Oh, hey. Sorry, y'spooked me a bit there."
     "I could tell. Why are you so jumpy these days?" She frowned slightly, her wide brown eyes full of concern. Despite how young she was, she acted like the mother of their squad.
     Nobody protested, surprisingly.
     "Probably smoked too much."
     She rolled her eyes. "Cigars won't do that to you, Mil. What else have you been smoking?"
     He only responded with a crooked grin that earned him another roll of her eyes.
     "Anyway, I didn't just come here to annoy you, as much as I would have loved to. Petrov told me about your friend, the overseer? I'm sorry to hear that."
     He sighed and absentmindedly kicked up some mud with the tip of his boot. "It's...a lot worse than you think, Begum. I just... I really, really like him, and the fact that I screwed up his confession so badly that he probably doesn't wanna talk to me ever again is...Fuck, it just hurts, you know?"
     She slid her helmet off to inspect a scratch and rub off some mud. "I think I understand. I was somewhat like that with my first boyfriend. It was just a big back and forth game, until we both just got sick of it and very, very slowly warmed up to each other again." Begum used a small handkerchief to clean off the imperfections in her helmet. "Just give it time, Milyukov, and chances are everything will work out."
     He sighed, anxiously running his finger along the scar on his lip. He tried not to think about what it would be like to feel Windham run his lips along that scar...
     "I hope you're right, I really do."
     "Since when am I wrong, hmm?" She smirked and set her helmet down for a moment to pull her veil a bit more securely on her head.
     "Whatever, lady," Darion joked, averting his gaze from her a bit. He chuckled softly when she cursed under her breath at some bug flying around her before politely nodding and continuing his set path.
     Everything was quiet, but there seemed to be a slight buzz in the air, like everything was coated with static. It was probably just him, but it still made him feel sick to his stomach.
     He needed to talk to Windham, and fast.

*

     Despite how much Windham hated doing rounds in the Abbey building, he was quite pleased that he was with the hounds for the next two nights.
     See, like a lot of overseers when they were young, they had no one. They were just given a uniform, force-fed the strictures until their will-power collapsed, and taught how to kill.
     However, a lot of them were given hounds, or, at least, they spent time around the hounds. To any non-overseer, wolfhounds were just like their masters, bloodthirsty and savage. Only they walked on four legs and had teeth twice as sharp. There weren't many other differences for the most part; there were rumors that the most dedicated overseers could smell fear on a heretic from miles away, just like hounds.
     To the overseers, though, the canines were just toothy companions with tails. Especially to Windham, he always had a soft spot for animals.
     So when it came time to open a few of the hounds' kennels, he couldn't wipe the smile off his face. Sure, he left the kennels smelling like a dog, but that's nothing a long shower can't fix.
     He was getting ready to give one of the sickly hounds some medicine hidden in a slab of meat when he heard the heavy iron door opening and then slamming shut behind someone.
     "Outsider's eyes, how d'you stand that?" A voice came from not too far away, silky yet threatening.
     "Stand what, getting animal blood on my hands? At least it isn't human blood," Windham replied, glancing over his shoulder.
     The man's name was Declan, a doctor-turned holy man when his family pressured him to. He didn't want to give up his work, and for good reason, but he wasn't one to deny the remainder of his family a service. He opted for working mainly in the infirmary, though.
     "Well, seeing as I'm a surgeon, human blood don't bother me too much."
     Windham unlocked the kennel of the sick hound, Lockjaw, and carefully slid it over to him. He rinsed bloodox remains off of his hands as Declan continued talking.
     "But anyway, I have something to tell you."
     Windham feigned surprise. "Really now? I thought you came in here just to enjoy my company."
     "Please, witchboy, y'r the one who hates social interaction, not me," Declan snapped, rolling his eyes.
     "Actually, we both do."
     The older man frowned. "...Fair point. What was I saying?"
     "You had to tell me something?"
     "Right, right. Overholt won't stop pestering everyone to talk to you for a moment. Something about a Watch officer?" He crossed his arms, quirking an eyebrow curiously.
     Windham slung the dirty rag he used to scrub his hands over at Declan, nearly hitting him square in the face. He ducked just in time.
     Declan gave him an obscene gesture and grumbled, "You know that won't work on me anymore, why try?"
     Something akin to a grin spread across Windham's face, but there was no actual happiness. Just amusement.
     "Because it's hilarious seeing you irritated, doc."
     Declan laughed, hand-sharpened canines peeking out the corner of his somewhat malicious smile. "I'll keep that in mind next time I have to pull a bullet from your body."