promptfic: s/d, blush

[sword_logic]

Aunor ducks into the warrens lining the Annex, flexing her hand. The Aura is still active, buzzing around and through her, and she deeply resents how much she's come to enjoy this aposematic thrill. Fear me, written in iridescent green scales rippling across her shoulders; I hunt the enemies of humanity in Vanguard blue. Don't count yourself among them.

Drifter's end of the Annex is quiet; Aunor's become an expert at waiting out the post-match crowds full of wannabe Dredgens and off-season Crucible upstarts, all clamoring for a compliment or a new gun. Aunor doesn't want a new gun, and she wants Drifter's compliments even less.

She rounds the corner just in time to see the smile disappear off of Drifter's face, lost behind the drape of a very familiar Hunter's hood as he leans in, the echo of a quiet laugh fading into the corners of this dingy room.

She considers coming back later (Drifter's "friend" runs a hand down his lapel like he's got all the time in the world), but she's already here (Drifter tucks a hand into the hood, pushing it back), and there's no sense leaving just to come back. Aunor has interrupted Guardians doing much worse than sharing affection.

Before Aunor can clear her throat, Drifter's eyes cut over to her, glinting in the light of the bank, and – wonder upon wonders – a dash of pink gathers high in his cheeks as he leans away.

Interesting. She'd thought the man incapable of embarrassment.

Neither of them had jumped or flinched, but Drifter looks close to it anyways, something cagey in his expression taking root when his partner (in crime or otherwise, Aunor doesn't really know and doesn't really care) doesn't move away from him, just shifts so he can see her.

"Miss Aunor," Shin says politely, nodding at her.

"Hunter," she replies, keenly aware of the Praxic surveillance presiding over these halls, and she nods back. "Good game, earlier."

"Couldn't have done it without you," he says, dropping politeness for sheer honesty. "Wasn't sure we were gonna make it after our Sentry fumbled that first invasion."

Drifter scoffs and rolls his eyes before Aunor can reply that it was his sharp eye and quick hand that let them recover after their Sentry's blunder.

"You got a reason for bein' here, Miss Aunor?" he asks. "Or you just fishin' for compliments?"

Aunor ignores his words entirely and gestures for Bahaghari to transmit over their stack of finished bounties. Drifter squints at a display, then sends back a modest pile of Glimmer and some armor schematics she dismantles immediately.

"You should try Sentry some time," he says, fishing in a pocket. "You'd be good at it."

He tosses a bright yellow token at her, then holds up three of the Reaper-green ones she's after between his knuckles, like a taunt. Shin hums in thoughtful agreement and leans back, bracing one hand against the railing behind Drifter.

"I have no interest in killing Guardians," Aunor replies, tossing the Sentry token back.

"Not in Gambit," Drifter mutters.

"Not ever," she says sharply. "Don't confuse my sense of justice for your partner's."

The flush creeps further up Drifter's cheeks. Maybe it is indignant, not embarrassed. Oh well. Not her problem to sort out. The tokens in his hand fizzle away into data as he finally transmats them to her, expression shuttering. Shin looks over at him, curious, eyes lowering as he follows the flush now curling under the collar of Drifter's robes.

"Huh," he says, then looks back at Aunor. "Can't contest that. Different strokes."

"I'll be back next week," Aunor says, turning away. "You can get back to what you were doing."

She doesn't take much more than three steps out into the hall before the two blips on her radar disappear simultaneously. Aunor shakes her head and makes her way towards the stairs, pulling up her notes for Ikora.