Spades Slick
There were a few more knocks on the door, before the impatient guest opened it themselves. You were sliding on the sweater from earlier, and looked up to meet eyes with a familiar dersite. He stood, left eye covered with that eyepatch and grimace set on his face. Slick's eyes scanned you carefully, before resting back on your face.
"What are you doing?"
"Now isn't a good time Slick." You replied, your voice peaking briefly.
"Well, damn. Looks like it doesn't matter. What are you doing?" He asked again, closing the front door and making his way over to you, your posture frozen. "Did somebody hurt you?" He asked, voice making a brief jump, worry being heard. He was normally more distant than that. You had only ever heard him really worry like that a handful of times.
"No-"
"Because if they did I have more than enough knives. I can fuck them up. Stab 'em real good." He was standing just to your side now, hands gently hovering near your arms.
"Slick, I did it." You say, trying to seem strong while your voice shook like a leaf.
"What?" He looked up from your forearms to meet your eyes. His black face contrasted so much with the familiar expression of what he called 'human worry.'
"I-I did it to myself."
"Why the hell would you do that?" He asked, and you could tell he was close to yelling. His black hand moved out now, roughly grabbing your wrist and holding it tight. His cold almost ceramic like fingers were welcoming in that painful way, and you winced. "Dame, why the hell did you claw up your arms?"
"I deserve it..." You voice faltering, returning to it's frightened state.
"That's just stupid." He grumbled. "Nobody deserves something like this. Pain without a cause, that's what this is." His grip eased, releasing your arm. "You gotta clean this up, and not do it again." He was less calm and detatched than usual, the killer you knew he was replaced with an almost doting partner. His hands rested anxiously in his suit pockets, a habit he displayed in states of fear or nervousness.
"But I deserve it!" You snapped, as the dersite was turning to shuffle for some bandages for your arms. He turned back immediately, and almost snarled.
"No, you don't! Fuck... I'm not the best with words, anythin' I can't understand I stab, and I haven’t been able to stab words yet so here me out.” His left arm moved to adjust the black hat sitting on his head, metal clinking slightly as it bent. “You’re awful nice, and you don’t run away or scream when I show up covered in blood, or lock your door when I come around, fuckin’ hell ______, you’re just a really nice, gentle lady.”
His face seemed to flush a gentle deep red, as if he was embarrassed, and you felt a heat climb across your own cheeks. You were about to respond with how you felt; the thoughts, the unhealthy wants, when he honestly shooshed you. His metal finger pressed against your lips, an almost pout on his own lips.”I really wish I could stab whatever words you’re about to say. You ain’t some trash, and you are worth at least seventy scottie dogs.”
“Seventy scottie dogs?” You said, wiping the tears from your eyes.
“At least.” His speech may have seemed lackluster, but you could tell the effort and emotion he tried to put in. For him, it was better than any long or detailed speech anyone could give. Your hands moved to pull the sweater fabric around you tightly, and let out a small smile. Spades extended his arms delicately, looking away from you. With a slight giggle, you took a step closer to the dersite, who wrapped his arms around you. The metal felt cold against your back, but the knowledge of being protected and cared for more than made up for it.
“I really like you Slick.” You murmured against his black suit jacket, letting out that finally bit of pensive emotion. “Thank you for everything.”
“’s not a problem. You’re not gonna do shit like this anymore, okay?” You nod in response. “Now come on, I want to get you cleaned up. Fix you up.”
“I think you’ve fixed me up a lot already.” You replied, finally letting your tears flow down your cheeks.
“Shit, did I do something wrong? I didn’t mean to make you cry.” He turned into that doting partner again, and held one hand against the back of your neck.
“No, Slick, don’t worry.”
“Too bad, all I’m gonna worry the shit about you every damn day now. And you don’t gotta keep calling me Slick. Spades is just fine.” He still seemed embarrassed, but his robotic hand moved down to hold your own. “Can I get you cleaned up now?” You nodded again. “I can get blood out of anything, record time. Deuce thinks he can do it quicker, but he can’t if his shirt gets sliced to bits first.” His mischievous grin made a small laugh bubble up from your chest, and his grin grew even brighter. “I really like you too ______.”
He looked so happy, and the feeling of wholeness that filled you as he led you to where your first aid kit was, was pleasant. In that moment he was so human for someone who never was, and it made you smile.