Scalpels

MCU, during Infinity War

“Welcome to Terra, my love.”

Proxima cocked her head to the side, eyes scanning the surface of the planet below through their ship’s windows.  The lights of the nearby city were blurred by the heavy rain.  The sharp tap-tap of her husband’s footfalls stopped as he reached her, the metallic floor echoing slightly.  She could feel his warmth, rolling off his body in waves.  “It’s raining.”

“Perhaps it will cease before we have to head down.”

Arching a brow, she turned to fully face Corvus.  “I doubt that.”

He reached out to her cheek, careful to turn his armored claws outward as he caressed her, tracing up the scar from her lips, following the curve of her horn, and finally tucking away a stray piece of cobalt hair.  Her flesh prickled, and she leaned into the unnaturally warm metal covering his hand.  The corner of Proxima’s lips quirked upwards as she met his eyes.

BEEP!

Both of their heads snapped to the console of the ship.  The moment broken, Proxima synced her wristband to the coordinates on the computer screen, initiating the tracking sequence as they closed in on the stone’s location.

“Put your cloak on husband, it seems we have our mark.”

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The rain let up as they trekked further into the city, Edinburgh according to their maps.  Despite the chilly weather and lateness of night, they kept to the shadows, favoring rooftops over the empty streets.  Rounding a corner, Proxima’s wristband thrummed sharply against her skin.  Throwing up her hand, Corvus stopped behind her.  She pivoted to face him.  His eyes glowed in sharp relief of the shadows cast over his face.

“What are they?”

Proxima sucked in her breath, pressing her back further into the wet stone wall even though their targets were clearly on the other side and below them.  She glanced to her right and could almost see the thoughts racing through Corvus’ head, every angle of attack, every possible outcome.  His brow furrowed slightly, his mouth settled into a frown, and his molten eyes stared off at some unknown point in space.  Watching Corvus work, watching her husband do what he was the best in the galaxy at, at strategizing, at leading and conquering, was rapture.  A moment later, she broke her own brief reverie and tapped a finger gently against the blunt side of the glaive fragment framing his head.

“Do you have a plan?”  She had leaned in so close to him that she could feel his breath on her cheek, the need for quiet communication ever present.  Being married certainly makes these moments easier, she thought wryly.

“I will take the stonekeeper, my glaive should pierce his shell easily.  Blast the witch away.  We cannot let her interfere,” Corvus breathed, lips against her horn, just above her ear.

Footage of the robot and witch had been hard to find.  Despite the failure the Asgardian god had wrought in New York, the battle had provided a deluge of information on the ragtag group of Terran defenders.  But this pair was newer, their battles not broadcast as widely, their fighting styles not as easily analyzed.  The robot and the witch were largely unknown enemies, making a successful ambush all the more vital.

Proxima nodded her assent.

“…then maybe going isn’t the best idea.”

And then, with one last glance at each other, they split, creeping to opposite sides of the old stone building before leaping to the ground below.

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She couldn’t say the blast that the red witch had thrown at her was notably painful, but she wasn’t expecting it, and it socked her in the stomach, taking the breath out of her with ease.  The cobblestone bit into her body with each roll, battering her around until she flopped onto her stomach beside Corvus.

She wheezed (pitiful, her mind supplied), her lungs were trying to bring in air but they weren’t and there was so much air but she got none of it and her eyes were watering and-

“Midnight?”

And then he was there.

Corvus was helping her stand upright, the wind which had been knocked out of her slowly coming back in.  His hand had once again found her face, and she leaned deeply into his palm as he steadied her.

“Ready?”

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She didn’t know where three more enemies had come from, but she knew that Corvus had all of them on him as she crashed through the cheap wooden tables and chairs.  An unholy sounding snarl ripped through her as she saw the blonde woman fighting with her spear.  The snarl bubbled up and was let loose as a full-throated yell as she watched Corvus collapse in pain.  Proxima called her spear back to her (mine, you wench), relishing the surprise in the other woman’s eye.  And then the man, the captain from years ago, was there, Corvus’ glaive in his hand.  He blocked the deathblow meant for the blonde woman, and Proxima let up ever so slightly, instinctively worried about breaking the glaive as the metals creaked and groaned in protest.

And then there was war.

And she parried and thrust and slashed and blocked, forcing her two opponents on defense and the other two were against the railings and where was-

WHAM!

She grunted in pain as the strange winged man knocked her off of her feet.

Every nerve in her body screamed to get back up and fight, but she felt Corvus behind her, still on the ground.  Why is he not getting up?

So she scrambled, like a Hurr on all fours, shielding her body over his as though she was the one with immortality.

“Get up!”

“I can’t.”  Whatever else he wanted to say was caught in a growl in his throat.

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They landed hard on the floor of the ship, his glaive and her spear clattering loudly onto the floor beside them. 

She frantically grasped at the hole in his stomach.  Tears started to stream down her cheeks as she realized why he was so slow to heal on the surface of the planet – it wasn’t a normal stab wound.

He was gutted with the force of a star.

His chest had stopped rising.

And even though she knew he would be back (he always comes back, always), there was a profound and sharp pain in her heart because this time he died because of her.

Angrily swiping the tears away from her face, she stood slowly.  With heavy steps, she lugged his body to their bed, pulling off his ratty, torn cloak before laying him down.

With one last look at her husband, his chest not yet rising with breath though she could see his flesh twitching as it started to mend, she moved to their shower unit.

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Proxima stood under the flow of hot water until it cooled.  With a sigh, she turned the shower off, running her hands through her hair and over her horns.  A soft rustling sound caught her attention.  Snatching her towel, she wrapped it around her body before making her way back to the bed, a trail of water dripping behind her as she prowled out of the bathroom unit.

Corvus had shifted in his sleep, not yet awake but clearly back in the land of the living.

She backtracked to wipe up the stray water that followed her from the shower before turning her attention to the slumbering form of her husband.  Gently climbing onto the bed, she poked at and inspected his wound, pleased to see that it was essentially nonexistent, the only evidence of it ever having happened being his shredded armor.

She methodically began to remove the pieces of his armor, careful not to wake him.  Each piece removed revealed the long, lanky form of the man she loved most.  His body was taut with sinewy muscles, limber and powerful, a complete antithesis to his brother and the master they followed.  Where Thanos and Cull were swollen, hulking masses of power, Corvus was wiry and quick.  Not that it makes him any less deadly.

When he was finally disrobed, she traced down the lines of the glaive pieces bonded to his head.  Aware that an errant twitch could slice her finger open, she moved her feather-light exploration to his face, feeling the leathery skin under her hand.

He stirred as she leaned over him, and she quickly withdrew.

“Wife… my love.” He muttered, eyes still closed.

Her eyes danced, and she laid down to snuggle tight against his side, immediately comforted by the skin-to-skin contact, pulling the light blanket over them.

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Proxima woke shortly after she had dozed off, her personal space warmer gone from his spot in bed.  She blearily sat up, hand grasping at the divot left in the mattress where he had lay.

“Corvus?”

“Just a drink, my dear.”

Her throat tightened uncomfortably, a foreign feeling for the ever confident warrior.

Corvus strolled back into the room, as naked as the day he was born.  The teasing grin he had been wearing faded as he took in the stormy expression on Proxima’s face.

“What bothers you, Midnight?”

“It is my fault that we lost, Corvus.  I was foolish enough to lose my spear, and my mistake cost you your life!”  Her voice had raised throughout her speech, ending in a raw, hoarse yell.

Corvus edged closer to the bed, approaching his wife as if she was a cornered animal.  Her chest was heaving with emotion, an uncharacteristic sight.  Midnight was always deliberate, calculated, confident.  She rarely lost control of herself.

Finally he was close enough to grasp at her hand, its cold metal meeting his warmth.

“No, my love, we win as a team, we lose as a team.  You cannot blame yourself.”

He reclaimed his spot on the bed, eyes still drawn on his wife.  Her eyes were downcast, resolutely looking at anything but him.  A swell of anger rose up in him.  But not at her, never at her.  Irritated that those mettlesome Terrans had caused her to fall into this funk.  A low growl clicked through his throat as he pulled her chin towards him, too forcefully to be gentle but never enough to hurt her.

“Do not think long on it.  We will have another battle, another chance, very shortly, I can feel it.”

And before she had a chance to respond, he captured her mouth with his own.

He pulled her over to him, and she obligingly straddled his lap.

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He rolled them over, and her legs instantly tightened around his waist like a vice, her arms looped around his neck as she clung to him.  His thrusts were long and slow, savoring each inch, as she quietly mewled into his ear.

They were tired, the ache of battle worn down to their bones, but her body welcomed him just as easily as it had every time for the past hundreds of years.

And as he began to build his pace, release inching ever closer, as he reached down between them to stroke her and bring her over the edge with him, he could only think that they needed this, despite the exhaustion that muted their generally enthusiastic couplings.

They needed this.

They needed each other, and for some reason it had never felt more obvious, more piercing, than tonight.

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Corvus gently traced his claw down Proxima’s spine, relishing the trail of bumps that followed his touch.

“Feel better, my love?”

He watched her as she exhaled deeply before rolling over to face him.

“Much.”  She scooted closer to him, seeking his warmth, throwing her arm haphazardly over his torso, lazily intertwining her leg through his.  “We should rest.  I’m sure we will have marching orders soon, Thanos will not want to wait...  And I will kill that witch when we next meet, even if I must do it with my bare hands.”

“I have no doubt, my lady Midnight.”