Chapter Text
The days stretch out endlessly. Ajax screams and wails until the pain gets too much and he gets lost, reduced to whimpers and whines and soft little sobs of pain. Capitano screams, begs, pleads. He threatens and jabs and pokes, trying desperately to distract the beast from its pray. It’s all for nothing. He doesn’t lay a hand on Capitano, doesn’t even ask him that god forsaken question, he’s just there to witness the destruction of the Tsarista’s Bloodhound.
Days turn to weeks and Capitano loses track, Ajax hasn’t spoken in a long time. Capitano keeps talking, about everything and nothing, just to keep his mind somewhat present; even if he lost the kid when they disemboweled him. He keeps talking, he doesn’t care if he sounds pathetic, stories of Khaenri’ah falling upon deaf ears, he’ll keep going until his flesh rots to nothing.
They’re in the middle of a ‘session’ as Mikhail started calling them when he hears it. Hears them. The door is thrown open and his chest swells with hope and relief. He can’t see them, but he can feel them, he learnt their energy signatures centuries ago. Pierro, Signora and Dottore.
It’s all a blur, the second someone undoes the chains around his wrists and ankles he’s up, darting for Ajax even as his joints scream at the first movement in weeks. He tears away the chains, his knees buckling as he scoops the kid into his arms, cradling him to his chest.
“Shit- Archon’s what did they do-“ He hears Signora say, but he’s not paying attention, his hand cups Ajax’s cheek, pleading for those lost eyes to find his, to finally focus.
“Kid- Look at me. You’re safe, it’s over-“ Ajax doesn’t move, tucked into Capitano’s chest. A mess of blood and dirt and vomit. They’d been in the middle of skinning his stomach, he tries to avoid touching the area.
Pierro crouches down in front of him, hand hovering uselessly, before looking into Capitano’s eyes. “Is he…”
“Alive.” Is all he says, looking back down as strokes back his cheek. Ajax whines, leaning into his hand. “There we go… Come back to me, Kid. Come back.” He looks up to see Dottore and his clone sedating their captors. “Keep them alive. They’re mine.”
“We need to sedate him.” Signora says, crouched beside Pierro. “How long has he been like this?”
“I don’t know. How long has it been?” Ajax whimpers in his arms, having enough of his mind to press his face into the crook of Capitano’s neck. He hushes him softly, a hand cradling the back of his head.
“Two months.” Dottore answers, rummaging around in his bag, holding a needle and bottle.
Two months. Two fucking months. “Then… a month, estimated.” They all know the implications of that. The possibility of Ajax returning to them after a month of his mind shutting off is slim at best. Capitano tries not to think about that, keeping his eyes glued on the kid in his arms as Dottore wipes blood away from his neck and presses the needle into his skin, hands gentler than he’s ever seen.
He’s out in seconds, and the relief is instant. Ajax hasn’t slept in 2 months, part of him worries he’ll never wake.
“Sandrone is outside, let’s go.” He hears someone say, a hand on his arm, pulling him up. He cradles Ajax to his chest, keeping his face tucked into his neck; Pierro strips off his coat, huddling it around the kid like a blanket as they finally, finally leave.
The sun is blinding as he steps outside, he squints through the haze to find the carriage waiting for them. Sandrone is quiet as she helps him get settled. He doesn’t like that one bit.
Ajax drifts in a scatter of awareness. The fever ravishes his body, sweat pooling in his collarbones, his frame trembling beneath the sheets as someone wipes a cool cloth along his forehead.
Someone sits him up, arranges his arms like a ragdoll into a sweater. It’s warm and soft.
Someone’s holding his hand, singing a soft lullaby as he makes small, distressed noises, before he presses his cheek into the softness beneath his head.
Something prods at his lips. He thinks it’s pliers. He opens them anyway, and something warm and savoury pools into his mouth and he swallows.
When he finally, finally comes to, it’s to the sound of voices. He keeps his eyes closed, instinctively cataloguing. He’s laid down, he’s warm, comfortable. Archon’s- he hasn’t been warm in so long. He’s got all of his limbs, he thinks he’s got his eyes, though he won’t know until he opens them. He doesn’t hurt, so either he’s been given some pretty heavy pain killers and his skin is still missing, or he’s actually not just a sack of bloody muscle.
The voices drift to his ears, he strains to listen. Someone’s holding his hand, cold fingers intertwined with his, a thumb rubbing over the back of his hand.
“It could be weeks until he wakes up.” That sounds like Dottore. He groans inwardly at the thought.
“Doesn’t matter. It might not be Tartaglia that wakes up.” Hm… Arlecchino…? Weird.
“Let’s have hope.” Capitano. He knows that voice like the back of his hand. He yearns to hear it again.
“Don’t get your hopes up, Cap. We need to be patient, whether he comes back to us or not.” Signora. Archon’s how many people are in this room?
He peels his eyes open, squinting at the soft lighting as he presses his cheek into the pillow. No one’s looking at him, but Signora is perched on the edge of his bed, her hand holding his. Capitano is sat beside him, one leg crossed over the other, his brow furrowed. The others are stood around them.
He interrupts them, wets his lips as he prepares to do something with his throat that isn’t screaming. “Talkin’ ‘bout me..? ‘M right here, y’know.” The way their heads snap towards him is comical, and a smirk tugs at his lips.
“Holy shit-“
“Tartaglia-!”
He groans as the room erupts, sagging back against the bed and throwing an arm over his eyes, the iv tugging at his skin. When he opens them again, it’s just Dottore and Capitano- he lets out a small sigh of relief.
Dottore smacks his arm way, grumbling under his breath as he shines a light in his eyes, fiddling around with things Ajax does not care about, not when Capitano is sat on the edge of his bed, one hand holding his whilst the other lays atop his thigh.
“With me, kiddo?” He asks, that voice… deep and warm and rumbling something safe in Ajax’s chest. He hums, looking up at him, committing his face to memory before he inevitably covers it with his mask again.
“Mhm… how long…?” He swallows, wetting his dry lips. The man gets the hint, cradling the back of his head as he helps him drink, before Ajax sighs.
“Two months.”
“Two-“
“You’ve been out for a week.”
Two fucking months? “I don’t remember most of it.” He admits with a frown, the memories are hazy, and there certainly aren't two months of them.
“I lost you about a month in.” Oh. “How do you feel?” It’s a stupid question, Ajax humours him simply to hear his voice.
“Like Bina through her moon at me.” Capitano smiles, squeezing his hand. There he is. There’s their Ajax.
He lays his head back, scratches at the iv in the crook of his elbow and gets a light slap for his trouble. And then Dottore appears, and he has just enough energy to summon a glare. He’s holding a clipboard, looking bored to tears already as he taps his pen against it.
“What did I say to you when you first joined the Harbinger’s?” Ajax blinks, raises a brow, watches as Dottore huffs indignantly. “Answer the fucking question.”
“…You asked if I had a working appendix.”
“Very good.” He keeps rattling off questions, and Ajax feels something coil in his chest, tight and unnerving. Where does the Tsaritsa keep the gnosis’, Tartaglia? Where does the Tsaritsa keep the- Where does the Tsaritsa- Where does- Where- Where- Where-
Someone squeezes his hand, and he realises he’s squeezing his eyes shut. Shit. He swallows, blinking them open to see Capitano frowning down at him, Dottore already walking away. “I think that’s enough questions for now.” Ajax nods in thanks. They remain quiet for awhile, it reminds him of the silence after the torture. When he couldn’t speak, or breathe, or form a coherent thought beyond please let me die.
“I was supposed to visit my family.” He whispers, closing his eyes for a moment before staring up at the ceiling.
“You’ll have plenty of time to do that.” Capitano soothes.
“Is she mad at me?” He finds himself asking, gaze finding his, almost desperate.
“Her Majesty?” He nods, cheek pressed into his pillow. “No, Ajax. Though I’ve had some words with her.” He snorts at the implication, Capitano smiles back. “She wants to see you when you’re more… alive.”
“And then I can see my family?”
“And then you can see your family.”
Ajax stays in the infirmary for a week, with Capitano all but fluttering around him distantly like an anxious butterfly. When he can finally walk, which takes far more effort than he remembers, Her Majesty summons him for a meeting. She praises him, thanks him, gives him a pay rise he doesn’t really care about and two months leave- effective immediately. Ajax frowns at that, but she reminds him that it’s a reward, not a punishment. Anyway, apparently his mother has been badgering Pulccina. The thought makes him smile.
He stays at home for a week, he can’t last any longer. He wakes up screaming one night, like he did when he first came back from the abyss, and decides that he can’t stay here. He can’t disrupt them again. Not when he flinches at the sight of his father’s hammer and nearly pins his brother to the wall when he startles him.
He’s gotten weaker. That’s all he can think as he jams his fist into the punching bag, over and over and over again, until sweat drips at his brow and his knuckles are bloody through the wraps. He’s weaker. Weak. Two months is all it took.
He slices through the dummies with his spear, decapitating one of them when he notices Capitano stood at the door of the training hall. He vanishes his weapon, chest heaving as he looks over at him.
“I promised you a spar.” He says, straightening up as he strolls over to Ajax, who perks up with a grin.
“I’m surprised you remember that.” He grins, rolling his shoulders. The man simply shrugs off his coat, summoning his sword.
“I’m not going easy on you.”
And he certainly doesn’t. Ajax is thrown on his ass more times than he count, always bouncing back up with that wild, gleeful look in his eyes. He’s dreamed of this, too bad it took two months of hell to get it. Capitano blocks each of his blows with ease, but he won’t deny he’s impressed. He’s been impressed with the kid since the day they were taken, to stay so loyal through the torture, even when he his mind shut off. The strength the boy possesses, mind and body, is astounding- he won’t admit it, partly because it’s far too sappy, partly because he doesn’t want Ajax to think unwavering loyalty is all he’s good for.
They fight until the morning, until Ajax struggles to lift himself off of the floor, Capitano helping him up with a hand on his back. “Good job.” He says simply, patting his shoulder. And oh how Ajax beams. He aches to see it more.
Ajax wakes with a scream, legs kicking out as he flails, pushing himself back against the headboard, bedsheets pooled and knotted in his lap as he pants. He jumps from his bed, stumbles to the bathroom like a dying man as he flicks on the light and stares at himself through the mirror. He’s still got his eyes. He’s still got his skin. He taps his fingers against each one, counting, wiggles his toes and feels for his limbs. He’s okay. He’s fine. He’s not bleeding. He’s not hurt.
His knees buckle as he sags in defeat, sitting back against the tiled wall with his head bowed between his knees. His hands won’t stop shaking. There’s indents on his wrists from the chains- he rubs them raw to try and raise the skin.
He’s fine. He’s home. He’s safe. He’s probably just woken half the palace.
He’s too busy counting his breath, holding them in his lungs simply to make sure they’re still there, to notice Capitano stood at his bathroom door. He looks up between his sweaty bangs, flinching before he sags.
“Did I wake you?” He mumbles, his voice wavering treacherously.
“No.” The man says, walking over and helping him up. He trembles against his side as he leads him back to bed, calloused, corroded fingers helping him change into dry clothes. He wants to protest, wants to throw a jab or joke or push him away, but he can’t get his voice to work. Can’t summon the courage to send him away. Not when he’s peeling his sweat soaked shirt from his skin, replacing it with an old sweatshirt Ajax forgot he had.
He’s too busy caught in the daze of his memories and the gentleness of Capitano’s presence to notice the man is climbing into bed with him. Oh how he’s ached for these days.
His head is pillowed on his lap, the man’s fingers brushing through sweaty strands of ginger hair, unruly and sticking up at every angle.
“Sleep. You’re safe.” And who is Ajax to refuse? He can’t protest when his fingers are scratching his scalp, when the blankets are tugged over his trembling body, when he leans into him like a whimpering dog.
“Stay?” He whispers, pressing his face into Capitano’s stomach, nosing at the fabric of his shirt as his eyes drift closed.
“Always.”