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They don’t travel together. They don’t consciously pick the same destinations. Boothill has his bounties and Argenti has his Aeon of Beauty, and they don’t travel together. But sometimes… sometimes it almost feels like it.
The first time they meet, it doesn’t mean much. Boothill is after a couple of mid ranking IPC officers. He’s watching them in some bar on some planet when the knight sits beside him. Boothill takes one look at the gleaming silver armor and the red hair and those sparkling green eyes and he thinks, what is someone like that doing in a place like this? And then they talk. Argenti introduces himself with a deep bow and a kiss on the hand, calling Boothill beautiful, and then the IPC officers get up from their seats and Boothill decides it’s time to head out.
The second time they meet feels a lot like a coincidence. A new bounty on a new planet, this one hot and dry and desolate. And there’s Argenti, red and gold and silver and looking for his lost Aeon even in a place like this. When Boothill asks, he says something like, my dear friend, is there not beauty to be found everywhere? You’re here, are you not? And he says it so seriously too, like he genuinely looks at Boothill and all his scrap metal and sees beauty there. Sure, Boothill’s aware he isn’t bad looking, at least from the neck up, but beautiful? That’s a first.
So he laughs, and Argenti frowns, and he leaves again. Twice is something, but there won’t be a third time. He’s pretty sure of that.
There’s a third time. Another planet. Another bounty. Another meeting with this red and gold and silver Knight of Beauty. He smiles like seeing Boothill makes him happy. He offers a rose and Boothill almost shoots him out of reflex.
The fourth time is a bit less rocky. They become friends of a sort, after running into each other some many times. Boothill buys Argenti a drink as an apology for the last time. They talk. They find that they have a lot more in common than it seems at first glance. And that knight, that fudging Knight of Beauty… he won’t stop calling Boothill beautiful.
△
This time they meet on the Astral Express, of all places. Boothill barely steps foot on the thing when he catches red hair in the corner of his eye. At first he thinks it’s Himeko, but her hair isn’t wild like that. She’s not quite so tall. She doesn’t dress in gleaming silver and gold armor. She doesn’t… Well, she doesn’t make Boothill feel quite this way either.
Argenti notices him pretty quickly and smiles. His eyes kind of sparkle with it. They always do. He’s got stars in them, or something like it.
They talk. Argenti excuses himself from his conversation with Dan Heng and crosses the length of the train. Walking makes his armor clink. Metal on metal. Boothill spreads his fingers. They clink like that too.
The crew seems surprised that they know each other. Boothill lets out a hearty laugh. Argenti describes him as a dear friend. It’s nice. Boothill doesn’t have many of those. He thinks Argenti might be the only one who really gets it, the way this kind of lifestyle feels. Their goals are different, but the feeling is probably the same. Understanding is pretty important when it comes to friendship. Argenti probably calls everyone he meets a friend. Boothill does too, but he doesn’t mean it for very many.
“I see this son of a gun out on the field every now and then,” Boothill says, half-smiling. Argenti is smiling too. Boothill told him to, once. Something like keep smiling, darlin’. Suits you. Sometimes he’s brave. Other times not so much. The light in those eyes still scares him a bit sometimes. “Heaven, he’s saved my behind a handful of times.”
“It’s a mutual exchange,” Argenti corrects him. “You’ve assisted me a great deal as well.” He bows, just a little. The picture of politeness and chivalry. Boothill should find him a rose the next time they meet.
“Right,” he says, “I reckon I have.” Mutual exchange. Allies. Friends. It’s funny. A Knight of Beauty and a Galaxy Ranger. “I guess we’re even then, ain’t we.”
Argenti only shakes his head, bringing a hand to his breast. “There is no need for a score to be kept between us,” he says. “I will always lend my aid to you if I am able.”
“Fudge.” It comes out a bit quiet. Boothill’s heart doesn’t beat. The whirring of his cooling fans gets a bit louder. Hopefully only Boothill can hear it. “Guess I’ll count you as an ally.”
Later, they’re left alone in the lounge for a little while. Himeko makes them coffee. Boothill quite likes a cup of jet fuel every now and then, but this might be a bit too far. Argenti manages to hold back a grimace, but his eyes grow a bit wet and glassy as he thanks her. It’s funny. It’s nice. Boothill feels kind of light for the first time in a while. He likes these Astral Express folks. He likes Argenti.
“How’s the search?” Boothill asks.
“Endless,” Argenti tells him, “And yet every day I know I am getting closer.” He could talk about this for hours. Idrila. He has. Boothill let him once, tucked away in some quiet bar on some quiet planet, content to just listen to someone else’s voice for a while. The time they met after that, Argenti told him about music, and Boothill was tempted to sing him a song. He hasn’t done that in a while, though. His voice doesn’t quite sound the same.
“And what about you?” Argenti asks. “How’s the hunt?”
“Same as you,” Boothill says. He leans back and folds his arms behind his head, tipping his head up to stare at the ceiling of the express. The lighting forms a whale. It’s kind of cool. Beautiful, maybe. “Endless. Everytime I think I got a lead it’s the wrong one. But I’ll find a way.”
“You have a strong will.” Argenti’s doing that thing again, a hand folded over his heart. “Truly,” he continues, “it’s beautiful.”
“What,” Boothill laughs, “my bloodlust?”
Argenti shakes his head. “Your dedication to justice.” He reaches out to take Boothill’s hand. “You have a beautiful spirit, my friend. You awe me with every encounter.”
Again with this. No one really talks to Boothill like this. He gets that it’s just how Argenti is, but… Well… “Fudge.” A laugh. “You flatter me, darlin’. You’re pretty strong-willed yourself.”
Argenti chuckles. The conversation lulls between them, but it’s comfortable. Boothill tips his cup so he can watch the way the coffee inside moves. It smells nice, he’ll give it that, even if the taste is a bit too much, even for him. He sets it back on the table without taking a sip and asks, “So where’s your next stop?”
Argenti smiles. “Melustanin,” he answers. “The site of Idrila’s ascendance. Perhaps THEIR disappearance as well.”
“Funny,” Boothill says, “I reckon I’ve got a bounty or two over there.”
△
Coincidence, maybe. They’ve got the same destination again. This time Boothill hitches a ride on the One and Only.
It’s a beautiful ship. Sleek, polished silver. The entire thing is engraved with painstaking detail. Thorned vines, roses, and patterns like the ones on Argenti’s armor. Befitting of a Knight of Beauty. Boothill can’t imagine how long the carvings must’ve taken. When he comments on it, Argenti lets out a regretful laugh.
“Not only did the initial engravings take quite some time,” he says, “but, admittedly, the maintenance is a bit… Well. There is beauty in simplicity too, is there not?”
It startles a laugh out of Boothill as they approach the entrance of the ship. “I’ll be forked,” he chuckles. “That’s about the closest I think I’ll ever get to hearin’ you complain.”
Argenti rubs the back of his neck. “I love my ship, truly,” he insists. Boothill just laughs a little harder. He can see that, though. Argenti might complain about the upkeep on those beautiful engravings, but it doesn’t look like he’s ever cut corners or neglected it. There’s love there. Argenti isn’t the kind of man who would neglect his ship. He treats it like Boothill treats his guns, and that’s durn handsome of him.
“Not doubtin’ you, darlin’,” Boothill says. “Takes a dedicated man to care for a ship like this. ‘Strong-willed’ like you said earlier.”
“Oh,” Argenti says. When Boothill looks at him, he seems pleased. It’s nice, saying the right things. Boothill hasn’t had anyone to be sweet to for a while now. Not since… Well.
“She’s beautiful, I’ll give you that,” he adds.
Argenti smiles slightly and clasps a hand to his chest. It’s a softer smile, an almost bashful one. “Thank you,” he tells Boothill, charming as always. “That’s quite the compliment, coming from someone such as yourself.”
“What, do I look like someone who can’t appreciate beauty?” Boothill jokes. Or, he means it as a joke, but Argenti doesn’t seem to catch that.
“Not at all,” he’s quick to correct. “You’re simply far more beautiful than my ship. It’s an honor to have you recognize her.”
Fudge if Boothill doesn’t know what to say to that. His innards might be overheating. The whirring of his fans gets a little louder. “Aw shucks,” he says, “you’ll make me blush.”
“Red is a beautiful color on you.”
Nevermind that Boothill’s blood is blue. He’s no stranger to being flirted with, just not… Not like this. Not once people realize he’s metal from the neck down. Aeons. Red. He wants to touch Argenti’s hair. There’s no point when he won’t even be able to feel it, but he wants to anyway. Best not. It might get caught in his knuckle joints.
△
The inside of the One and Only isn’t nearly as flashy as the outside. It’s still beautiful, but it’s beautiful in that simple way Argenti had mentioned before. Not too much upkeep necessary.
It’s a bit too late to set off, so they settle in the main living area, Boothill sprawled on a soft cream colored couch, Argenti flitting about. Metal clinks. Boothill tracks him with his gaze.
“You ever take that stuff off at home?” he wonders. Argenti turns to him. The lighting in here is dimmer than outside, softer. It casts him in gold. His eyes are so fudging green. Boothill has never wanted to touch somebody quite so bad as this. Not since he became… this. “Doesn’t it get heavy, carryin’ all that around?”
“Ah.” Argenti looks down at his armor. “In truth, I’ve grown quite accustomed to it.” At Boothill’s look, he smiles. “I don’t sleep in it, no.”
“Well that’s a relief.”
Argenti laughs and gives up on whatever he’d been doing to come sit beside Boothill instead. “I suppose I don’t need it at the moment,” he says, beginning the likely arduous process of stripping it all off, starting with his gauntlets. There’s a box under the table, which he pulls out now, taking the lid off. Inside are rags and a couple of bottles. “Unless you had plans for that gun of yours.” Teasing, just a bit. Boothill can smell the oil and cleaner in those bottles, and really, he shouldn’t find it as attractive as he does that Argenti knows how to care for his armor. Obviously, he knows how to care for it when he wears it everyday, but… Boothill is made of metal too. He’s only a man.
“Nah,” he says. “I don’t see any roses, so I think we’re good.”
It makes Argenti laugh as he frees his other hand from its gauntlet. He’s left in black gloves, but he peels these off. His hands aren’t particularly soft looking or slender; they’re strong and calloused, used to work like Boothill’s used to be. They’ve got a lot in common, the two of them. Boothill watches as Argenti does a quick wipedown his gauntlets before reaching for the bottle of cleaner and scrubbing them more thoroughly.
The chemical smell is kind of comforting, for some reason. That, and lonely. Boothill has to do this too, to keep his metal body from rusting. Not as often because he doesn’t sweat the way humans do, but every now and then. He thinks of long nights spent doing this by himself. After successful bounties or drinks at the tavern or nothing at all, really.
“You’re pretty consistent with that, ain’t you,” he comments.
Argenti stops scrubbing. He wipes the grime away and reaches for the oil instead. A couple drops, a bit of polishing, and the silver gleams like new. “A knight’s armor is his greatest ally,” he says, and meets Boothill’s gaze. Those fudging green eyes. He’s got a whole galaxy in them. “Treating it with respect is of utmost importance. I’m sure you understand.”
“‘Course,” Boothill says. “Gotta take care of this body of mine ‘else I’ll rust up and get myself killed.”
Argenti nods solemnly, setting his gauntlets on the table. His vambraces are next, and he repeats the process. Wipe, cleaner, scrub, wipe, oil, polish. He doesn’t cut corners. He’s patient and methodical. Boothill shouldn’t be so fascinated by it.
“Care for some help with that?” he offers.
Argenti shakes his head. “There’s no need to trouble yourself.”
“But see, I feel a bit useless just sittin’ here. I want to help if you’ll let me. Promise I know what I’m doin’.”
Argenti raises his eyes from his work, expression softening. “I have no doubt,” he says, pushing the box to the middle of the table and trusting Boothill with his other vambrace as he begins to remove his pauldrons. When Boothill sets to work with a rag, he smiles but doesn’t say anything.
It’s a long process, but faster with two. Boothill is careful and meticulous, a bit more than he is with himself, because, well. This is Argenti. They talk about nothing, and it’s peaceful.
When Argenti’s breastplate comes off, he’s left in a deep red undershirt. Boothill can smell roses and sweat. Cleaner and oil. It’s been at least half a system hour, just for this. He wonders if Argenti really does this all by himself every night. He wonders, briefly, if Argenti is as lonely as he is. He probably shouldn’t ask. It’s not his business.
△
It’s a while before they finish. By the time they do, there’s not an inch of space left on the table that isn’t covered in gleaming gold and silver. Boothill tosses his rags back in the box and leans back. Metal clinks. Argenti sits in his red undershirt and black pants. Human now. Boothill hasn’t ever seen him like this, but it suits him. His lines are so much softer. Boothill still wants to touch him, even though he knows he won’t feel much.
“Guess only one of us is made of metal now,” he says. It’s late. Argenti is probably tired. Boothill is too, but he doesn’t really sleep and he’s not due for a charge for another night.
He expects Argenti to excuse himself, but he doesn’t seem interested in going anywhere. He just turns to Boothill, soft around the edges and as comfortable as Boothill has ever seen him, and he says, “I’m curious about you.”
Boothill raises an eyebrow. “Me?” he asks. “There ain’t all that much to wonder about, but I’ll answer whatever questions you’ve got.”
Argenti shakes his head. “You, my friend, are a work of art. I believe I have more questions than I do answers.”
Boothill doesn’t know why. Once you get past the fact that he’s metal, there’s not much to wonder about, except for maybe whether there’s anything in his pants or not. He can’t imagine a gentleman like Argenti asking a question like that, though. He thinks it’s pretty obvious anyway.
“Aight,” he says. “So shoot.”
They’re sitting close enough to touch. Boothill isn’t sure when that happened. The couch is more than big enough for two.
A bare hand flattens against his chest. Argenti’s eyelashes are a bit longer than they need to be, Boothill realizes this now. Their eyes meet. No question is asked, but Argenti’s gaze is curious. I’m curious about you.
“I don’t have a heart anymore,” Boothill says, “if that’s what you’re wonderin’.” His internal fans kick on a notch higher. “Not a human one, anyway. I’ve got a pump, but it sits a little lower.”
Argenti blinks. He slides his fingers a little lower, past the edge of Boothill’s jacket. It doesn’t feel like much, but there’s something about watching it happen. The closeness.
“Not quite,” Boothill says. He reaches for Argenti’s hand and guides it to the right spot, just beneath where his ribs would separate if he had any. “It’s there. You probably can’t feel it workin’.”
“No,” Argenti agrees. Slowly, he shifts, leaning closer, ducking until his ear hovers close to Boothill’s chest. “Beautiful,” he murmurs. Listening. Hearing all of Boothill’s inner workings, and if that isn’t a bit…
“Argenti,” Boothill says, a bit strained. His systems start to feel a bit warm. His fans whir harder. “Darlin’, please. You’ll kill me if you keep that up.”
“Apologies,” Argenti says, but he pulls back slowly. His hand still rests against Boothill’s sternum. They’re still too close. His eyes still have bits of the stars in them. “Have I offended you?”
“Nah,” Boothill breathes, “nothin’ like that.”
“Then…” Argenti’s hand flattens and turns to cup the side of Boothill’s rib. There's that question in his eyes again. Boothill pricks his tongue on one of his teeth.
“I don’t have lungs either,” he answers. “Head’s the only piece of me that needs air anyway. The pump just mixes that in from outside.”
“Fascinating,” Argenti says. He’s oddly reverent with his touch, or, it looks that way. “Do you breathe?”
“Uh… Kinda?” Boothill offers. “It’s habit, but it doesn’t really work without lungs attached.”
“I see…” Argenti’s hand moves lower, stopping above Boothill’s hip. “And these ports?”
“Classic USB,” Boothill says. “Works with pretty much whatever. Chargin’ port is in the back.” It’s strange, telling someone all these things. Maybe it’s knowledge that could get him killed. Argenti knows exactly where to aim to end him for good, and yet…
“Beautiful,” he says again. He keeps touching Boothill nicely and calling him beautiful and looking at him like… Like… He looks at Boothill in a way he hasn’t been looked at in a long, long time.
“You really mean that?” he wonders.
“A Knight never lies,” Argenti says, bringing his hand to his chest. “I mean it, Boothill. To me, you are living proof that the Beauty still exists in this world.”
Boothill laughs, a bit embarrassed. Argenti calls everything beautiful, but that’s a bit far, isn’t it? A bit… “Not quite livin’, I don’t think.”
“No.” Argenti shakes his head. “You may not have a heart that beats or a body made of flesh, but you’re alive.”
“I died a long time ago.”
“You’re right here.”
“Even so, I—” Boothill pauses. Argenti frowns at him, unarmored and softened and human and telling Boothill that he is too. “You really mean that.”
“I do.”
Aeons.
“I—”
“I think you’re beautiful,” Argenti says, like it’s some kind of oath. The look in his eyes is determined. A hand cups Boothill’s cheek, and he almost startles from the raw sensation. Argenti keeps looking at him, and Aeons, he’s just— “Boothill, you’re—”
“I think I’m gonna kiss you if you don’t move over real quick.”
Argenti blinks. He lets out this little puff of breath and closes his mouth. Boothill gives him a second or two, but he doesn’t move away, so he gives him a bit longer. Still nothing, so Boothill reaches out to touch a lock of hair with the backs of his fingers. He can’t feel it. He wasn’t expecting to. Argenti’s eyelashes are probably long enough to touch his cheeks.
“What, you’re just gonna let me?” Boothill asks. He traces Argenti’s jaw, leaving his hand at the side of his neck. He’s careful, since his hands are rougher now.
Argenti cocks his head a bit. “Yes,” he says. “I think I’d quite like it if you did.”
Boothill smiles. “Even with these teeth?”
“You aren’t planning on biting me, are you?”
“Nah,” Boothill tells him, already leaning in. “Not unless you ask.”
△
They don’t travel together. Not always, not usually. Just this time. Boothill has his bounties, and Argenti has his Aeon of Beauty. They just happen to match up every now and then, is all.
The One and Only takes off for Melustanin the next morning. It’s a week long flight. When they get there, they’ll probably go their separate ways. They’ll meet again, though. They always do. Boothill’s not particularly worried.