Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

           “Remind me again why I’m here.”

           “Because you love me,” she replies smartly before fixing a determined gaze on the hunt board.

           He sighs loudly, dramatically, as he is wont to do when he is around her. “An S-rank? Really? You know that I’m a Bard, right?”

           “And I’m gonna be a Dancer. What’s your point?” Millie side-eyes him.

           Yu Q’wilson stares back at her, wondering for the umpteenth time whether she is being serious or playing at being obtuse to get a rise out of him. There really is no telling for sure with Millie Parfait. “The point is: do you honestly think that a Dancer and a Bard could take down an S-rank on our own? People advertise for parties for that kind of thing. Full, proper ones. You know, with tanks and healers?”

           “And they have to split the bounty ten ways or whatever because of that. If it’s just the two of us, that’s more of the reward for us both.”

           “If we even come back alive,” the tia mutters, fighting the urge to rub at his markings in frustration.

           Millie twirls her chakrams in front of him, nearly catching his nose. “Hey, Dancer, remember? I got you, Willy! You just focus on firing those arrows and leave the support to me.”

           Famous last words, he thinks a few hours later as he lets loose an arrow and flips away from the enemy, just in time to avoid the swipe of a tail. By a stroke of luck (good or bad, he has yet to decide), the weather conditions were just right to lure their mark out. Unfortunately, the heavy rain also meant that their visibility was compromised, and they lost the element of surprise when the serpent bore down on them instead of the other way around.

           “Watch out!” Millie’s voice calls out from somewhere to his right. A chakram whips through the air, knocking the Laideronnette’s head out of its path. He curses under his breath, dashing away from where the monster near swallowed him whole.

           “You got any ideas?” Wilson asks as he scans the glade for any signs of movement.

           “Uh… keep attacking?” Millie laughs nervously, catching the chakram as it whirls back towards her.

           “Seven hells–”

           A hiss is their only warning before the serpent lashes out at them. They dive in opposite directions to avoid the attack, Wilson using his momentum to flip up into the sturdy branches of an elm tree. He manages to regain his bearings before the Laideronnette changes direction, glancing between the two of them.

           It fixes its eyes on Millie, who is backed up against a tree trunk, and seems to make up its mind. The flash of pink light around him means Millie has thrown up a Shield Samba, but he knows it will only keep her from passing out at best.

           “Go,” he spots her mouthing at him. “Save yourself.”

           Like hell , he thinks to himself, and notches an arrow in his bow. He waits for the serpent to rear its head back, its eyes wide open in anticipation of its easy victory, and lets the arrow fly right into its eye socket.

           The rest is history. It’s still a long, ugly slog of chipping away at the monster’s health, but eventually the Laideronnette shudders and stays still. Wilson pries a scale from its hide as proof of their conquest before flopping down on the grassy floor of the Shroud, completely exhausted.

           Light washes over him – white magic this time, much more potent than the meagre heals she had been throwing at him earlier. The cuts and bruises on his body begin closing and fading, and he starts breathing easier.

           Wilson turns his head to peer at Millie through sweat-slick bangs, taking in her drooped ears and the sheepish swish of her tail. “Let’s never do that again.”

Chapter Text

           “Pegging for your thoughts.”

           “I’m pretty sure that’s not how the saying goes,” he mutters, giving his coworker a half-hearted glare as she rounds the corner into the alleyway where he is cooling his head off. “Not in the mood, Millie.”

           She tosses him a cannolo anyway: a peace offering which he begrudgingly accepts, if only for the fact that Zali makes these things so damn irresistible. Besides, since she’s the one that snitched it from the stock, he can always pin the blame on her if anyone finds out.

           Millie sits on the stack of boxes across from him, her gaze eerily catlike with her slow, careful blinks as she watches him take a bite from the dessert. “You okay?” she asks in a softer voice once the furrow in his brow eases.

           He sighs, leaning back against the wall. “Maybe. I don’t know. Still feel kinda shitty but that’s life.”

           Her gaze turns apologetic. “I’m sorry for getting you into trouble.”

           Wilson shrugs and takes another bite from the cannolo. “Eh, I was the one who threw the dough at you.” Perhaps it is the cool afternoon breeze or the sinfully delicious dessert, but he is feeling generous enough to admit to his own faults. Maybe because she is the only one to hear it, away from the scrutiny of their boss and coworkers.

           Her lips quirk up at the edges, a flash of a fleeting, genuine thing that momentarily captivates him before it morphs into the familiar teasing grin that she turns on him most of the time. “I always knew you had a soft spot for me,” she croons in her purposefully horrible attempt at sounding alluring.

           He rolls his eyes and the moment is gone. “I should have thrown the sauce, too.”

           She chortles, loud and bright. “Aw, come on, Willy, you don’t have to—”

           There is a flare of light behind her, coming from the vent above where she is seated. His expression must look something awful because she abruptly falls silent.

           He does not remember much of what happens in the immediate aftermath, only that his next memory is of holding his hands over her head while she trembles like a leaf against him. The ends of her blonde hair are singed, and there is the smell of gas and fire and the sound of an alarm going off.

           After some time, he hears sirens ringing in the distance, coming closer towards them, and then there are people pulling them out of the alleyway and shock blankets being wrapped around their shoulders.

           A freak accident, he is told later. Some wire that just happened to be worn out enough to cause a mechanical failure. He doesn’t really understand, is just glad that no one was seriously injured and that Mr Bringer deems it enough reason to close early.

           But he thinks he will never forget the way Millie looked that day, paler than a ghost.

Chapter Text

           “I’m gonna look for anything we missed,” she says, and he barely catches the server she drops on him before she dashes off into the darkness.

           “Okay, Millie, have fun getting killed,” Wilson mutters, dragging the item back towards the extraction point. At this point, it isn’t worth cautioning her. He already half-expects to come across her tin head in a corner, or holding an item worth a quarter of its original value, or tearfully trying to explain how she had dropped something or other into a vat of acid.

           Still, he supposes she’s getting better at this. Maybe. At the very least, she doesn’t scream her head off when a monster crawls into view anymore. She’s always on their juniors’ backs about keeping their health up even when she forgets to mind her own, and she’ll go back to retrieve a squadmate as much as she can. Part of the reason why she’s often the first to go is because she’s scouting ahead, trying to find the furthest extraction to make their work easier.

           And, yeah, he can admit to it: it’s better than going at it alone. Misery loves company, and plumbing the depths of mankind’s remains to satiate the demands of the Taxman is more bearable with an ally. Even if it is someone as perplexing and unpredictable as Millie Parfait.

           He checks his monitors and finds that they are nearly to the required quota. It’s a good run, all things considered, and if they get lucky, they might just be able to afford the cannon. Wilson’s been itching to get his hands on it - not even the Headman would stand a chance against a point-blank cannon blast.

           The rest of them are already gathered around the next extraction point, and between the goods already dropped into the area, the mix of valuables and monster orbs tucked safely into the C.A.R.T. and the server he is holding, they’re good to go. The area lights up green as the Taxman assesses their accumulated treasures, then red as the extraction begins.

           “Alright, we’re leaving!”

           Wilson turns to face his team, taking in the sight of their metal faces scrunched up in expressions of delight as the numbers roll in. Just beyond the doorway, behind Millie’s Semibot form jumping up and down in celebration, something moves. The sound of clacking teeth comes to a stop, and yellow eyes gleam in the darkness.

           Millie shrieks, sharp and high, as he pulls out the tranq gun and aims it at her. “Willy, what the hell–?”

           The roar of the Headman is cut off abruptly as Wilson finds his mark, paralyzing the monster.

           “Help me push it!”

           The others spring into action, working together to roll the Headman into the gaping void behind it. There’s no time for celebration, not when the laboratory is plunged into darkness and the Headman is not the last monster out to get them.

           “You owe me an energy crystal for this,” Wilson grumbles, dragging Millie along. Her head blinks at him, but for once, she has the good sense to stay quiet.

           Until they get back to the truck, at least.

Chapter Text

           “What are you doing all the way back here?”

           “Gah–! Where did you come from?” the Narrator glares as a voluptuous Potions Seller saunters in from beyond the curtains, her potions jiggling in her chest .

           The witch, er, sexy Potions Seller , tosses her luxurious hair over her shoulder and laughs. “From the beyond, of course. I saw you skulking around and thought I might as well follow you. A girl gets bored sitting around in the forest all day, you know.”

           The Narrator shakes his head and folds his book closed, a hand resting impatiently on his hip. “Thank goodness it’s full of exposition ahead. Ahem. Be that as it may, you can’t just break the fourth wall willy-nilly.”

           Millandra snorts with laughter, repeating “ willy ” softly to herself before she clears her throat and declares impe– imperatively– imperiously, with her lovely voice , “Why not? It’s not as if I am the only one doing it anyway. Besides, no one is stopping me. Not even you.”

           “And would you quit messing with the script already?” the Narrator crashes out , no, he does not, the Narrator exclaims in very understandable frustration and taps her lightly in the head with his book.

           Millandra pouts, but seems to get over it quickly. She gathers her skirts and hops up on what appears to be a chair made out of thin air, dangling her legs idly. “It’s very kind of you.”

           “To let you stay here and bother me while I’m trying to keep the story going?” he replies without missing a beat, peering out from behind the curtain as the King launches into a monologue. “Why, yes, it is quite magnanimous of me, I agree.”

           “Magna– Don’t use big words like that, it confuses me ,” she chides him without any heat. “I mean for you to watch over everyone like this. Though I must admit that it is quite creepy. Are you sure you are not a stalker? Do you work for the Demon Lord as well?”

           The Narrator turns his attention for a brief moment away from the stage to side-eye her. “Work for Vox ? No way.”

           “Then, King Barrenhart? Are you waiting to join the adventurers on their quest? You have your work quite cut out for you in my opinion.”

           The Narrator seems to consider his next words carefully. Even as the characters onstage begin to banter with each other, his attention is fully on her now. “I don’t belong here. None of us do.”

           Millandra huffs. “Tell me about it! All I ever wanted was to mind my own business and trap–er, cater to adventurers that pass through the forest, and now I’ve been dragged into this play. I don’t even know when my next cue will be. ”

           “What was that?” he asks, staring at her like a deer caught by lamplight.

           “What is what?” Millandra blinks. Her eyes narrow in accusation. “Ah, don’t think I don’t see you worming your way out of an introduction! It is terribly impolite to leave a lady like myself hanging.”

           The Narrator’s gaze loses a bit of its intensity, his eyes crinkling at the edges as though he is amused despite himself. “Think of me like the Pied Piper. Except good, I guess. I’m trying to lead us out instead of in. Better than sitting around doing nothing, waiting for help to come.”

           “ Come ,” she snickers softly, unable to help herself.

           The Narrator shakes his head. The movement loosens his hood enough that it falls back to expose a shock of golden hair. Bright blue eyes watch her pensively, and all of a sudden, it is as if she knows this man, or something in her knows him, even though he is just the Narrator no he is not and it is the first time they have met I know him, but not yet, but I know him–

           “You’re so stupid,” he huffs quietly, much too fondly for a stranger, before he sweeps back out onstage.

           (Later on, when they all tumble out of the dimensional rift triggered by an unstable dream experiment at the XSOLEIL Institute, she finally remembers.)

Chapter Text

           “Come in, do you read me?”

           The crackling noise from the walkie-talkie is nearly enough to make him drop his flashlight.

           “Yu Q Wilson, do you read me?” The voice from the walkie-talkie repeats, but directly addresses him this time, and he would be lying if he said he wasn’t tempted to run away.

           He swallows down his fear and reaches out to pick up the device. “Yu… Yu Q Wilson here.”

           ”Good, I was hoping to talk to you,” the voice sighs. The person on the other end sounds male, older than him and with a distinct accent.

           ”Have you been spying on me?” Wilson asks suspiciously, spotting the CCTV camera in the corner of the room.

           Whoever is on the other end gives a sharp bark of laughter. “To be clear, I have been occupying these premises for far longer than your little group has even thought of invading. If anything, you are on my territory.”

           The man definitely has the advantage here if he has been able to survive a mall full of zombies for this long. Not only that, but it appears he has been able to tap into the security system of the mall, a feat that would require a significant amount of technical knowledge and skill.

           “What do you want?” Wilson asks warily.

           The red journal that had lain under the walkie-talkie waits to be opened. “I knew you could be reasoned with, Mister Wilson.”

           ”That’s the last of it, I think,” Alban grunts, pushing a hefty bag of food into the back of the van and shutting the door quickly before it could roll out of the pile.

           “We have to get going soon. I don’t want to risk driving in complete darkness on the way back.” Sonny looks at the sky pensively, noting the nearness of the sun to the horizon.

           “Where’s Willy though?” Millie looks around as if the man could be summoned just by calling his name. “Has anyone seen him?”

           Enna shrugs from her place in the driver’s seat. “I last saw him heading towards the admin offices. I figured he knew what he was doing and went to look for more supplies I could carry back.”

           “Let’s get out of here. This place gives me the creeps,” Wilson says. They all turn to see him emerge from the mall, knapsacks fit to bursting with loot.

           “Good. We were just about to leave you behind,” Millie teases, but he doesn’t even pay her any attention, instead making a beeline for Sonny’s car and trying to see where his supplies could still fit.

           Millie shrugs it off—not the first time he’s pretended not to hear her, or perhaps he’s just not in the mood for it—and turns back to the mall. For the umpteenth time, her eyes flit between each of the windows, as if she could suddenly spot a flash of silver hair beyond the glass.

           A gloved hand ruffles her hair. For a moment, her heart skips a beat — but then Alban comes into view, a sad smile on his face.

           “Sorry,” he tells her. “I… I was hoping too.”

           She closes her eyes and breathes in, fighting the sting of tears rising behind her eyelids. “Maybe he’s somewhere else. I’m sure he’s just waiting out there somewhere. He’s always been more patient than us.”

           A huff of laughter escapes Alban.

           ”Oi, you two. Get in, we’re heading back now,” Sonny bids them, closing the trunk door of his sedan.

           ”Coming!” Alban calls out cheerfully and scrambles for the passenger seat, but Millie stays behind a little longer.

           “Millie, come on. It’ll be dark soon. I don’t want to ruin my van running over zombies,” Wilson frowns from where he is leaning against the cheerfully-decorated vehicle.

           “Just one more minute,” she tells him.

           He sighs dramatically, impatiently, and stomps over to fetch her. “One minute could cost us this entire mission. Come on, let’s go. The others are waiting for us.”

           “I just wanna see something, okay?” Millie replies, bewildered at his insistence. “Why are you rushing me?”

           Whatever reply he is about to give is cut off by an explosion, so loud and intense it ruffles their hair. Millie whirls around, catching sight of glass shattering outwards from the building, smoke and fire billowing out into the fresh air in its wake. The force is enough to eject some zombies as well, their corpses soaring through the air before landing on the ground with sickening thumps and crunches.

           “What the hell?” Enna screeches in the background while Sonny helps pick Alban off the ground.

           Millie’s eyes, however, are fixed on the next explosion that comes, barely flinching as the blast shatters yet another row of windows. It is as though the first blast has set off a delayed chain reaction, the building seemingly imploding on itself and taking out the zombies along with it. If it weren’t so terrifying, it might even be awe-inspiring. Perhaps the work of a genius, one well-versed in electronics and explosives. Someone like…

           Wilson is prepared, catching Millie around the waist before she can even begin to run. She shrieks and thrashes in his grasp, demanding to be set free; he winces as her fist catches his cheek, but keeps a firm hold on her as he slowly drags her back to the van.

           “Enna, start the car! Sonny, Alban, we’re going back to the base!” he shouts.

           “No! No, let me go, he’s in there!” Millie howls, digging her nails into the meat of Wilson’s forearms.

           Wilson sacrifices the grip of one hand to cup it over her eyes, breaking her line of sight so that she is unable to see the mall starting to collapse in on itself. Enna looks torn between helping her best friend and demanding answers from him, but she stays put in the driver seat, waiting for Wilson to haul Millie inside and kick the door close behind them.

           Sonny and Alban have already gone ahead, but by the somber expressions on their faces, they have come to the same conclusion. There would be nothing to return to in that burning place – no one alive left behind.

           Enna drives steadily, even as the chorus of Millie’s screaming turns to choked sobs. Wilson keeps her in his grip the whole time, saying nothing as she curses at him, then pleads with him, then weeps in his arms.

           He only takes his hand off her eyes when he feels her slip into an uneasy slumber. Millie is a mess, her eyes swollen from crying, dirt mixing in with her tears and snot. He shifts so that her head is seated more comfortably in his lap, allowing her some reprieve before she returns to the nightmare of their waking world.

           Perhaps she will understand when he gives her the journal containing the meticulous notes of a diligent archivist: pages upon pages of observations on everything from zombie behavior to likely safe spots to records of messages intercepted from a lonely security room, and in the pocket of the journal, more personal last letters, one addressed to a younger sister and the other to a lover left behind. Perhaps someday, she will forgive him.

           Regardless of whether or not she ever does, Wilson will fulfill his promise to protect her. In his stead.

Chapter Text

           There is nothing particularly outstanding about the contract when he first receives it. Another profile, another mugshot, another target to be disposed of in the way he is best capable of.

           This one is a little challenging, they tell him. A witch. Not meant as an insult, but an honest-to-goodness witch. If it isn’t his handler telling him this, he might have shot them for daring to fill his head with nonsense like magic.

           As it is, he is still pretty skeptical. The blonde-haired, blue-eyed face that smiles up at him from the dossier looks more suited to a young girl than someone who practices witchcraft. Maybe this appearance is an illusion, too, and her true form is that of a bedraggled old woman. One that wears a big witch hat and rides around on a broom with her black cat familiar in tow.

           If he were any less of a professional hitman, he might have laughed his head off. But money is money, and he is one of the best in this shadowy underground business, after all.

           If she truly is a witch, he’ll burn her if he has to. She’s his mark now, after all, and the first tranche of the payment wired through to his account only seals her place in her grave.

           Apparently, his quarry is particularly elusive. However, he thinks that whoever his employer was previously hiring is just particularly incompetent. It’s a small matter for him to determine that she is targeting a particular kind of power source, and an even easier task to deduce which places would carry such a rare and valuable item.

           With Tentapod’s assistance, he manages to narrow the locations down to her next target. The building’s facade is an unassuming warehouse, but beneath the surface is a series of tunnels that lead to a massive underground laboratory focused on nuclear energy research.

           What a witch could possibly have to do with so much science is beyond him. If anything, he figures she should be able to wave her wand or staff or whatsoever and simply magic away any of her problems, but perhaps that is only further proof that she is actually a hack. No matter: he does not care for a mark’s motivations beyond how he can use them to track his objective down.

           He manages to confront her in front of a giant steel vault. The dagger embeds itself into the metal just a whisper away from where her fingers are poised over the keypad – intentional, just to get her attention before he kills her.

           She whirls around, turquoise meeting brilliant blue. The dark smudges under her eyes are made starker by the harsh light of the facility. Even through her exhaustion, she looks surprised to see him, but here is where he is thrown a little off-kilter: she looks at him not just as though she hasn’t been expecting to see anyone there, but that she hasn’t been expecting to see him there. There is a strange recognition in her eyes that discomfits him – it makes him pull out another set of daggers, but she is able to teleport away before they even hit the wall.

           Tentapod beeps, having tapped into the closed-circuit television system of the facility in order to spot where she has moved to. His mark truly must be drained because she is only able to move as far as the next room, and that is enough to spur on his pursuit.

           There is no letting go now: she has seen his face, and is in bad enough condition that whatever magical powers she holds will not be enough against a human like him. Their cat-and-mouse chase leads them out of the facility, into the surrounding areas, until she is backed into an abandoned garage.

           She raises her hand, holding up a fork of all things, but a deftly-thrown dagger knocks it out of her grip. The next one knocks a large container off a shelf and douses her entirely, the smell of gasoline rising pungent in the night air.

           “Do you believe in soulmates?”

           He stares at her, caught off guard. He wonders if this is some last ditch effort to save her own skin, some wild act borne of desperation–

           your share , she grins and tosses him a hefty bag of gil , half-and-half, as promised–

           thank you , she whispers, wiping a smudge of soot from his nose –

           you’re my best friend , she tells him as soon as he throws her back into the truck and her metallic body springs back to life , male best friend, but still–

           you really tried to save me? she rasps out, face still pale from being nearly drained of mana in the pocket dimension, i must be so special to you–

           get in! she laughs maniacally like some sort of guardian angel from hell as she pulls up in his precious van , i’ll drive properly this time, i swear–

           Wilson blinks away the memories visions and scowls. She truly is a witch, trying to poison his mind to the very end.

           “No, I don’t,” he tells her, and flicks a lighter onto the gas puddle.

           His job is done. No need to stay and see things through to the end – the bones she will leave among the ashes will be enough proof of yet another contract completed successfully. No need to heed the screaming. No need to look back.

           (Somewhere in the pockets between time and space, a girl awakens to the lingering scent of death. A black cat emerges from the shadows and leaps into her arms.

           “That’s a shame,” she says, her tears dripping onto the cat’s fur. “Maybe next time.”)