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How Ezra has the energy to do anything right now—much less be upright in bed and greeting Moses upon her entry—Moses does not know.
“Detective!”
“Good morning.” Approaching her now, Moses thinks of the sound Ezra’s blood had made hitting the ground— like an overturned bucket of paint pouring out rivulets of red, metallic in color and dense like candle wax. She remembers how Ezra had stared, frozen, grabbing at her gaping shoulder to find nothing there. She swallows. “You shouldn't be up. How’s your arm?”
“Ehe... It’s definitely been better.”
Moses sighs. “I’m here to check on it. Eat first.”
Moses sets a paper bag on the bedside table, pushing it to Ezra’s side. Ezra pulls it into her lap with her good hand, finding a beautiful assortment of pastries, cakes, and cookies. Moses had been daunted by the sprawling glass display cases of the bakery. Figuring there was no harm in giving Ezra some options, she’d left with a combination of her own favorites and a couple cute-looking ones, certain there'd be something among them to charm her partner.
Ezra, for her part, looks like a kid on Christmas with half of a chocolate croissant in hand. Moses watches placidly as crumbs gather on the sheets.
“Detective…” Ezra sounds ridiculous, speaking with her mouth full. “You spoil me too much.”
Moses has to agree.
True to her word, she lets Ezra finish before pulling up a chair, inspecting the opening of her bandages.
Ezra fidgets slightly. “Nurse Moses?”
“What?”
“Did HQ give you an earful for what happened?”
Moses begins to undo the dressing, slowly and methodically. “You’re not in trouble, if that’s what you mean. Not with them at least. Neither am I.”
“Good.” Ezra still looks nervous. “Nurse Mo—”
“Not my title.” Moses cuts her off. She’d seen Ezra’s treatment file, left open on a nearby desk. About half a day had passed since her operation; doubtless the anesthetic has started to wear off. She makes a mental note to administer her follow-up soon. “I need to check on your arm. Stop moving.”
Ezra withdraws slightly. “We’ve got a team of doctors now, you know? You really don’t have to do this.”
“I’m responsible for everything that happens to you, company or not. If you were worried about me, you might've considered that before getting your arm cut off.” Moses extends an expectant palm. “Let me see.”
Resigned, Ezra offers her shoulder. Save for a light bandeau that affords her some modesty, her whole torso is bare, providing easy access to the area. Augmentations and old scars look similar under her skin, like the shadows of beasts on the surface of the sea. Moses’ jaw clenches. Ezra’s sustained all conceivable manner of fracture and bruising, has probably inflicted thousands times worse unto others; nothing that comes to mind has ever gone as far as to completely dismember her like last night.
Once discarded, Moses understands why they’d left the gauze covering her injury so loose. She studies the intersection of Ezra’s arm and shoulder, a curious tapestry of skin and muscle, the seam no longer agape but terribly new. She grumbles out a terse quit moving and grabs Ezra’s wrist firmly in one hand, lifting it. Ezra grows flustered when touched, torn between relishing in Moses’ close attention and wincing from apparent pain. It’s making Moses’ job much harder.
The arm—it's stable. Unusable, maybe, but far from the perilous state it'd been in upon their extraction. Moses exhales, feeling a year’s worth of tension leave her body.
“Detective.” Ezra starts, a lilt in her voice. “I know someone was really excited that we might get matching prosthetics, but… I think I want to keep my human arm after all.”
“Not a time to be joking, Ezra.” Moses sighs. “It hasn’t healed enough to inspire any real confidence. Don’t expect to be using it for a while. How does this feel?”
She presses the intact area around the injury with her thumb, checking for intact nerve endings. The smile leaves Ezra’s face in an instant.
“That’s fine. Ow. Really tender. Right there’s sore, sore… soresore—!” She hisses sharply. Moses stops moving, fingers featherlight on Ezra’s skin. She’s all hard muscle.
Ezra’s breathing comes back to level. “That hurt.”
Moses releases Ezra with a quiet huff. Plenty of blood flow, and sensation in the once-severed arm. For as tough of a time as she’s given her partner, Ezra’s vitals, symptoms, and all other signs point to what Moses had wanted to hear, to know: Ezra’s on track to make a full recovery.
“I’ll be right back,” Moses stands briskly, taking the empty paper bag with her. “Don’t move.”
They're no longer the opt-in Fixers they had been formerly. The LCD, so new and its trajectory so uncertain, has become something of a beast of burden for the company’s higher-ups, saddling Moses’ party with miscellaneous tasks of wildly fluctuating degrees of difficulty and danger. The Distortion from last night, she’d never have agreed to take it on under different circumstances—too many variables to account for, like the stray attack that had nearly killed Ezra. Moses’ lips set around her pipe. She can only lament that she no longer has a choice.
In the few minutes it takes Moses to send a brief report to YuRia, step out for a drag on her pipe, and retrieve some fresh bandages, Ezra has managed to drift off, her breathing quiet and shallow. She must've been fighting to stay awake.
Moses tugs the blanket over her. The last thing she needs is a cold.
When it isn’t tied up, Ezra’s hair frames her beautifully. It brings to Moses’ mind a level of serenity that she can’t bring herself to wholly indulge in, short scenes from her memories, sprawling wheat fields and sandy beaches by the ocean. It’s always been this impossibly soft texture, too, whether cleaved short by her shoulders or left long and unruly, cascading down her back in a waterfall of yellow. Ezra, now awake, catches Moses running her fingers through her hair and leans into her touch with a contented hum.
It’s still early in the afternoon. Moses, mouthing her pipe, can only imagine Ezra’s expression, hidden under her Distortion.
“I’m sorry, detective…” Ezra mumbles, suddenly. “I caused you a lot of trouble.”
“We completed the mission in the end, so it wasn’t for nothing.” Moses starts. “But if you ever, ever try something that reckless again, consider yourself out of a job.”
“I was protecting you, though.” Ezra insists. “That’s my job.”
“Under the LCD, it’s only your responsibility to dispatch Distortions, not be my personal bodyguard. Your actions yesterday put both you and Vespa in serious danger.”
Ezra seems to wake further, turning to face Moses, searching for understanding anywhere in the detective’s expression. “That kid can hold his own just fine. But you? That blade would’ve cut you in half!”
Moses’ eyebrow raises. “You think I won’t fend for myself, Ezra? That I’ll just stand and take it?”
“I didn’t see you react when it attacked!” Ezra winces, having moved her arm without thinking. She doesn’t relent. “...I wasn’t going to stand by and watch. My body moved before I could think.”
Moses blows smoke towards the open window. “Let’s talk about this tomorrow. You need to start your follow-up.”
“No.” Her good hand grabs hold of Moses’ wrist, a childish gesture.
Ezra’s affront is so rare now that Moses can’t help but be reminded of when her partner was younger—petulant and irascible, a far cry from the competent woman by her side now. Moses can’t remember a time since then that they’d struggled to keep up communication or coordination like this. Perhaps it’s a growing pain of leaving the comfort of their Office and joining Limbus Company; Ezra’s learned to dig her heels in again, no longer carrying out her mentor’s will uncontested, at a crossroads of genuinely believing in her and refusing to let her exert full control.
Moses closes her eyes and wraps her fingers delicately around her pipe, contemplative. There was a time she wouldn’t have dodged—would’ve let any willing body strike her down—her life a fruitless endeavor, unable to be forgiven for her transgression. Ezra would remember that. It could be that she’s unable to part with this visage of the former Captain Moses, a woman that no longer exists, in the same way that Moses catches herself struck by afterimages of Ezra in her youth.
“I don’t want you leaping into danger where it’s not necessary.” She takes Ezra’s hand from her wrist, intertwining their fingers. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate the effort. Thank you for looking out for me, Ezra.”
If Ezra had a tail, it’d be wagging. Moses sighs in relief.
“Well, you’re very welcome, detective!” Ezra giggles. “Still, for the record, I’d be happy to lose an arm for you, if it ever comes to that.”
“When, and only when we have the proper medical equipment to do something about it, be my guest.”
Ezra’s brows narrow. “What’s with you today? You haven't mentioned docking my salary once.”
Is she in a good mood? She really shouldn’t be, all things considered, but she admits this whole confrontation wasn’t a terrible affair. With Ezra bedridden, they’ve got a achingly long backlog of LCD tasks to get through and one less person to count on, but she’s on track to make a slow but full recovery and at some point Moses decided she needed to be thankful they’re all alive at all. The targets of the new L Corp on its journey to Nesthood have more than demonstrated they’re not enemies to underestimate.
“Who knows.” Moses dissembles. She stands. “I can't stay. You’ve got at least another day of bedrest ahead of you, so get comfortable. I’ll have YuRia come by soon, so ask her to take a look at your augments and get an ETA on any repairs.” She makes for the door. “And please, put something on before you catch a cold.”
She’s halfway into thoughts of reports when Ezra calls her back, wielding her incompetence as if it were one of her many workshop armaments.
“Detective… Can I get you to help me put this on?” Ezra pouts.
It isn’t easy to hold her smoking pipe between her teeth for so long, but she manages. She takes the top from among Ezra’s things and pulls it over her, mindful of her injury, and begins fixing the buttons one by one. It’s not strange for them to get this close, brushing up against one another—both literally and figuratively, by accident or by design. But Moses’ thoughts hang in the air, intrusive like the smoke that always tickles Ezra’s throat. She's terribly distracted, her partner’s barely-covered chest just centimeters away. With demonstrated effort, she looks only at the cloth between her fingers and nothing else, praying Ezra will tolerate the silence.
She steps away when she’s done. Almost joking: “Anything else?”
“Can you tie my hair up too? It’s been getting my way.”
A far greater ask, but Moses can't imagine she'd be able to do it herself. She sets her pipe on the side table and she shifts onto the bed behind Ezra, crossing her legs underneath her for stability. With Ezra reclining slightly, she’s at the perfect height to let Moses tend to her. Moses, not bothering to disguise her admiration, imagines this is what it feels like to weave chains of silk, pliant and soft, almost liquid as it falls between her diligent fingers. She feels especially at ease, muscle memory taking over, contemplative and quiet.
“You haven’t done this in ages,” Ezra says. Moses can’t see her full expression, not from this angle nor from behind her mask, but she can hear her smile.
Moses hums, locking down a fugitive strand.
“Detective.” Ezra turns to look back at Moses wistfully.
“I’m almost done.”
“Detective.”
Moses slips the hair tie she’s offered—a band with a cute, teddy bear charm—around Ezra’s low ponytail with finality. Ezra pats the space on her lap cheerfully.
“Thank you. Come sit?”
This is becoming absurd, Moses thinks, dreading the timely obligations that await her outside Ezra's room. But it comes to the surprise of neither woman that she accepts, straddling Ezra’s lap, the boundary of the sheets still between them.
Moses grabs the wrist that Ezra suggestively rests on her hip, trapping it in the air.
“Enough. You’re supposed to be resting.”
“I will, I will, I promise.” Ezra’s eyes flutter closed, finally seeming to succumb to Moses’ resistance. Or perhaps drowsiness. She leans back against the bed, rescinding her hand. The spot where Ezra been holding her is warm. “Just—trying to distract myself, Miss Team Leader.”
Ah. She’d almost left without a renewal on Ezra’s anesthetic.
“I’m getting your medication.”
“Thank youuu…”
Ezra sounds delirious. With the state of her arm, it’s not a surprise. Moses slips away. Returning, she holds up an assortment of pills to Ezra’s mouth.
“Open up.” Ezra complies with an ahhh, like a pet taking treats from her owner's palm. It’s so rare that Moses sees her mouth, unobscured. “Those should kick in quickly. They’re the fast-acting kind.”
Moses doesn’t pull away. She studies her partner with interest; aesthetic, scientific, personal. She finds she quite likes Ezra’s smile when it peeks out from under her Distortion, the pink of her cheeks she’s only shown on rare occasions. Her golden hair, wrangled together like straw, Moses’ handiwork. Moses wants to feel it between her fingers again.
Moses goes still. Maybe, just maybe… she can, no, should indulge her partner's advances a little longer. She's more than earned it.
Briskly, Moses moves to sit on the bed once more—this time on Ezra, straddling her lap.
“Ezra.”
“Yes?”
“I’m checking for any additional injuries. Sit still.” She begins unbuttoning Ezra’s shirt. “Tell me if anything hurts.”
“But you just put this o— ah.”
Moses leans in, pressing her lips to the side of Ezra’s neck. Her partner smells mildly of antiseptic but mostly of sweat, probably from her nervous fidgeting; Moses finds the pulse under her lips so grounding, a reminder that Ezra’s still with her, full of life. Their hips meet as she leans onto Ezra further, kissing her outright, chaste until it isn’t anymore. Moses sucks at a particularly sensitive spot that makes Ezra gasp, high and airy. Her one good hand flies to Moses’ waist and settles there, anchoring herself with more contact, their bodies flush against one another. Moses continues to undo Ezra’s top, kissing her way over her neck and jaw, taking advantage of Ezra’s sensitivity to make a map of the skin of her sides and stomach, exploring with curious palms.
Ezra’s head falls. “Detective…”
“Anything sore?”
“Nooo, it feels so good…” Ezra’s hand is settled at the back of Moses’ neck, pulling her face closer to her neck again. “Keep going?”
The fingers of one hand tease at her navel, the other holding down Ezra’s hips as they try to meet her halfway. Moses pulls back. “If you relax, I will.”
“I’m relaxed!” Ezra’s fist clenches behind her head. “What, do you want to do all the work?”
“Let me.” Moses’ face is right by her own, now; every word is a whisper that goes straight to Ezra’s spine. “Trust me, you’ll like it.”
Ezra’s hand falls, whimpering through Moses’ movements as her lips brush on the untouched skin of her ear. One of Moses’ legs repositions between Ezra’s, pressing her knee against her core. It’s slow but insistent, the pressure between her partner’s legs, but the mewls that Ezra lets loose go straight to her head. She presses a hand under the elastic of Ezra’s bandeau and pulls it up and over her breasts, large and plush against Moses’ own clothed body. With a firm hand she squeezes, brushing confidently over Ezra’s nipples, the sensation electric.
Ezra’s always so noisy with Moses’ hands on her tits. Moans come quicker than breaths, only slightly slower than her racing heartbeat. She desperately wants something to hold onto, Moses notes, watching her hand fist in the sheets, but Ezra’s so good, she can wait a while longer—Moses has her exactly where she wants right now, Ezra hanging onto her every word and movement like it’s her only lifeline, straining her legs to keep from bucking up against Moses’ slow thrusts against her crotch. Moses sucks another bruise into her collar as she grinds forward shallowly; plenty of stimulation, but far from enough to fully satisfy.
“Dying would have been better,” Ezra starts, groaning as Moses begins groping her chest in earnest, “than letting them get you.”
Moses separates from Ezra’s neck. “You did a fine job, Ezra. I’m safe and sound.”
“D-did it feel bad?” Ezra gasps as Moses runs her thumb over her nipple again, making her hiccup. “Watching me—get hurt.”
“It did.” Moses says. Her heart had been torn in two. “Watching them get your arm, it was like… there were thousands of needles, all stabbing into my gut.”
Ezra laughs, panting. “That’s… good to hear.”
What an odd thing to say. Between the injury and the medication, she must be delirious, Moses’ touch on her body her only anchor against the pain. Moses sets aside any reservations of her own, shelving even her own arousal, tending dutifully to her partner.
The hand on Ezra’s navel wanders down, below her stomach and over her strong thighs. Two fingers lazily graze the spot between her legs, finding it slick to the touch, to which Ezra whines, spreading her legs eagerly and pleading for more. Moses hums before pulling her underwear to the side, almost in awe of the wetness she finds.
To her credit, Ezra keeps fairly still despite the overwhelming pleasure Moses’ skilled fingers bring. Moses wishes she could see her partner’s face as she moans, the beautiful, submissive sound dampened behind her mask. The ultimate demonstration of subservience, loyalty, attachment—red eyes tearing up as she’s kissed and held, crying out Moses’ name as the older woman moves to leave marks on her tender nipples with her teeth, all the while easing her longest finger inside.
“H—ahh, detective,” Ezra groans. “You’re… a meanie...”
“How so?” Nonchalant, as if Ezra’s desperate cunt isn’t clenched around her.
“How am I supposed to relax, like this?”
“I’ll get you there.” Moses exhales. “Just breathe. You’re taking it well.”
She draws her hand back before slowly sliding two fingers in, her thumb brushing against Ezra’s clit. Moses watches both fingers disappear inside, Ezra’s strong legs flexing and gradually relaxing—until they stiffen suddenly, and Ezra’s back arches with a sudden insistence. Moses knows she’s found the right spot with the pads of her fingers then, Ezra’s gasp and drawn-out groan signaling it before her voice can.
“There, please…!”
And so Moses bullies it, over and over, in a heartbeat rhythm.
So gorgeous, so strong, the perfect partner… They’re not Moses’ exact words, not Moses’ words at all— simply Ezra’s warped, odd interpretation of them. The silent praise sinks like honey into her psyche, a slow, rich sensation of satisfaction, wringing her of the capacity for thought. There’s nothing but her and Moses now, their bodies melding, Moses sucking on her chest and pistoning her fingers like she means to break her, combined with the possessive murmurs of 'my Ezra' — it’s a scene straight out of the fantasies that come to her on quiet, lonely nights.
She’s close, Moses observes, her own heart slamming in her chest. They’re never this shameless with their sounds. The noise her palm makes against Ezra’s groin is obscene, and Moses hears herself pant slightly with exertion, having gotten worked up to Ezra’s sounds. This isn’t the best angle for her wrist, or her legs, or her back , but her partner’s worked so hard for her orgasm that holding out a little longer is the least she can do. She fucks Ezra faster, with more finality, there being barely any resistance to her fingers left with how wet Ezra’s gotten, surrendered fully to her touch.
“Come, Ezra.”
“D-detective—!”
When Ezra does, it’s with a loud cry, clenching around Moses’ wrist and trapping her fingers at the deepest point inside. Moses stills for a moment, simply watching Ezra unwind before easing her through it, her lips against Ezra’s cheek and her thumb rubbing gentle, lazy circles against her. She pulls back when she’s allowed to as Ezra releases her hand from a death grasp. Moses wipes it on the comforter before she can think not to. She needs a cold shower before she can think properly; she reeks intensely of sweat and sex.
Moses straightens up, her spine protesting from being hunched over so long, and tries to shrug off Ezra’s hold.
“Where are you going?”
“I need to get back to work.” She’ll need a change of clothes, too.
Ezra sounds personally offended. “You didn’t finish.”
“You’re asking a lot from me. This was meant to be a reward.”
Moses, exasperated, makes a valiant effort to dismount, but doesn’t get very far; Ezra drags her back onto her lap with one hand, as if it were the easiest thing in the world.
“Last request, I promise…” Ezra’s laughter is pleasant, like the sound of wind chimes.
This time, Ezra shifts, angling her thigh between Moses’ legs and pressing against the neglected nerves of her boss' groin, still fully clothed. Moses gasps, sharp and audible— she’s incredibly sensitive, impossibly so, arousal hitting her full force as Ezra starts to tense the muscle that brushes her sex, the most agency she can have over Moses’ pleasure with only one working arm. Moses wraps her arms around Ezra’s neck, still mindful of her injured side, the precursor to everything. She lets Ezra tug her forward, the rest of her body limp, setting a slow, sensual precedent.
“Well, detective? Think you can do it?” Ezra asks, cheeky.
“I won’t last,” Moses breathes. “Ezra…”
“You’re too erotic,” Ezra laments, resting her hand on the small of Moses’ back. Her body is so firm, all practiced muscle, filling perfectly the space between Moses’ thighs. “Kiss me?”
“Not with that on,” Moses huffs, a nod to her Distortion.
Ezra frowns. “Can’t you do something about it?”
“Pulling it off will be unpleasant… for us both.”
“But I wanna kiss you,” Ezra mumbles, pulling Moses harder against her leg. “I don’t care if it hurts. I can bear it if it’s you, detective.”
“Quiet. I’m close.”
Moses is so hot under her clothes, she’s melting. She bites Ezra’s neck again, licking the sweat there, unsure what compels her to do so. The friction of Ezra’s bare body against her crotch is absurd with how it sets her body alight—she wants Ezra’s hands on her forever, never straying. She gasps as she’s pulled and held against the curve of Ezra’s hip, the woman determined to use the rest of her body to make Moses feel ecstasy in ways her lips could never.
“Ezra—”
Her body goes taut, folding into Ezra’s welcoming chest. Warbling groans and aborted thrusts from her betray the intensity of her orgasm, much to Ezra’s delight. Sounds from Moses during sex that aren’t muted sighs or ohs are rare, much less ones this intense.
She sinks against Ezra, her partner, her sea, good and right. She marvels at how they fit together seamlessly, feeling Ezra trace patterns into the back of her shirt aimlessly, breaths returning to level. Moses swats Ezra’s leg when she flexes it again, intentional or not, overstimulation having set in.
“You’re not getting another out of me,” Moses warns, lacking any real ire.
“No harm in trying.” Ezra sing-songs. “Detectiv~e. Who knows when I’ll catch you in a good mood again?”
…She’s never getting back on track.