Work Text:
Ambrosius had done a lot of research on disability and pain after everything. After Nimona took out the Director in a final blaze of glory, after he and Ballister held each other in the rubble and exchanged tearful apologies, after the healing and the relationship therapy and the rebuilding of the city. Well, all of that was still in progress. Especially the healing.
Ambrosius had done research, and so he knew when he woke up that morning that he was having what was called a bad pain day.
The Director's final laser blast had left a starburst scar across Ambrosius's shoulder, a burn stretching over his collarbone, lancing up his neck and down his upper arm. He had spent a night in the hospital directly afterward, but there were other people who had been injured in Nimona's inadvertent rampage, and the wound wasn't really that bad. A few months later, and the skin was tight, scar tissue still growing in, and his whole shoulder ached sometimes. But Ambrosius told himself that it was completely fine.
This morning, though, Ambrosius woke up with a dull tightness under his skin, and he knew today would be bad. The air had been dry the past few days, which was apparently bad for burn scars. Ambrosius was aware because Ballister's shoulder stump had burn scars where Bal had been forced to cauterize it himself after Ambrosius-- It still made Ambrosius sick to imagine Bal treating the wound all by himself, bleeding and crying and completely alone. Ambrosius could never be sorry enough for what he'd put Bal through.
Ambrosius slipped out of bed before Bal awoke. He washed his face and brushed his teeth. Then he unscrewed the lid on the jar of burn salve sitting on the bathroom counter and frowned at its contents. They were running out; he'd meant to pick up more yesterday but forgot. There was only enough for one person.
It had to be Bal, of course. Ambrosius knew that the prosthetic arm chafed if Bal didn't put salve on under it each day. With a wince, Ambrosius re-screwed the lid and made a mental note to get more burn salve later today.
He was already dressed by the time Bal's alarm went off, ready to kiss his sleepy boyfriend's forehead and make breakfast for them. Bal mumbled something unintelligible in an affectionate tone. He ran his fingers through Ambrosius's hair, pulling him in for another kiss. Ambrosius's heart melted for the thousandth time.
Now that the Institute was being dismantled, Ambrosius found his days filled with important meetings and reconstruction efforts. New government systems were being discussed in the wake of the queen's death. The role of knights was in question now that it seemed there were no monsters beyond the wall. As a noble and a descendant of Gloreth, Ambrosius was automatically given a say in matters. Ballister wasn't, but he reviewed policy proposals with Ambrosius in the evenings and added his opinions. Besides, Bal was busy pursuing science and keeping his returned sidekick from causing too much mischief.
Ambrosius wasn't sure how to feel about Nimona since her return about two weeks ago. She was a hero for sacrificing herself to save the city. She was also a monster straight out of the storybooks. She had injured dozens of knights, but she'd fought to protect Ballister when everyone else had turned against him. She was terrifying, and she was a much better friend to Bal than Ambrosius could ever be.
Nimona had told the true story of Gloreth to the provisionary council of nobles that currently ran the city. Ambrosius had championed the motion to tear down Gloreth's statue, which had passed by a narrow margin. However, the council recognized the importance of appearing unified, so today, all of its members would be publicly participating in the demolition of the statue. Ballister would join them, since he had a personal interest in removing the reminder of Nimona's darkest moment.
After breakfast, Ambrosius and Bal headed to the center of the city. On the subway, someone bumped against Ambrosius's shoulder, but he hid his pained grimace from Bal. He could get through the day. It was like back in knight training: push yourself to your limits, then push a little more. That's how you got stronger. That's how you lived up to Gloreth's legacy.
It was how Ambrosius and Bal had originally bonded. Their backgrounds couldn't have been more different, but they both felt the need to prove themselves more than the other students. While everyone else chatted with friends during lunch, they were both studying or training. When Ambrosius caught ten-year-old Bal trying to lift weights without a spotter, he offered to help him. A few days later, Ambrosius was crying over math homework in the library and Bal showed him how to solve the problem. It might not have been healthy, the late nights studying and silent acknowledgement that they'd keep training despite bruises and pulled muscles. But Ambrosius Goldenloin, descendant of Gloreth, was ranked second in their class, and he was happy to lose to Ballister Boldheart, first-ever commoner knight.
Ambrosius had absorbed the teachings of the Institute well. And so he reacted on instinct the awful night of the knighting ceremony. He wasn't even aware of his movement until the clang of sword against armor-- and then cutting through flesh-- and then clattering to the ground as he dropped it in horror.
Afterward, he'd tried to convince himself he'd done the right thing. He was disarming a weapon. Ballister had killed the queen. The Director said Ambrosius had done the right thing, and the Director was always right.
Until a shapeshifter had turned the world inside out and upended everything Ambrosius thought he knew. Ballister was innocent, of course. But the Director was guilty. The entire Institute was based on a flawed myth. The only monster the city had ever seen was just a girl who wanted to be understood. Who had nearly ended her own life on the blade of a statue of the city's hero.
Ambrosius didn't know whether he expected to see Nimona at the tearing-down of the statue, but she was there in the town square when he and Bal exited the subway station.
"Hey, Boss. Hey, Golden Boy," she said with a smirk which Ambrosius could never determine was affectionate or derisive. "Ready to break some stuff?"
"Yeah." Ambrosius wasn't sure what else to say. He was going to be giving a speech about the whole thing in a few minutes, and he was glad he'd prepared notes the day before.
In front of a crowd of reporters, nobles, and ordinary citizens, Ambrosius gave his speech, which recounted the real story of Gloreth and emphasized moving on from fear of the unknown. Then it was time to demolish the statue.
Nimona shifted into a dragon to tear the sword arm from the gigantic stone figure. A crew with power tools and small explosives went to work breaking apart the chunk of rock into smaller pieces. Ambrosius and Ballister were directed to carry bins of rubble from the arm to trucks that would take it away for reuse.
At first, the ache in his shoulder was bearable. He had pushed past similar pains a million times before. But each new load weighed on him more, pulling the skin taut and straining his still-weak muscles.
Bal was struggling too. His prosthetic was removable, which meant the place where it joined his flesh couldn't handle much weight on it. Before long, Bal's enthusiastic smiles for the press had turned to pained grimaces.
"Hey, do you need a break?" Ambrosius asked his boyfriend.
"I'm fine." Bal's hunched posture, his winces, the sweat glistening on his face, spoke otherwise.
"If you're in pain, keeping working will make it worse. It's okay to stop." Yes, Ambrosius was a massive hypocrite. But Bal deserved to rest. It was only a few months ago that his arm had been cut off--
"Fine. But only for a short time."
Ambrosius kissed him on the cheek. "Take as long as you need."
He watched as Bal walked toward the edge of the square, eventually disappearing in the crowd of workers and volunteers. Then Ambrosius turned back to his task.
On some level, he recognized that it was illogical to encourage Bal to take a break while refusing to take one himself. But it was overtaken by a seething tide of self-loathing. Ambrosius didn't deserve the same gentleness that Bal did. Bal had gone through so much pain, and it was Ambrosius's fault. If Ambrosius felt even a fraction of the agony he had caused, it was a fitting punishment. The burn in his muscles, each spike of pain that shot through the scar like the electricity from the Director's lance, was penance.
He wasn't aware of how much time passed. His world narrowed to the bins of rubble, the path from the statue to the trucks, the hammering of tools breaking apart stone, the throbbing ache in his shoulder. He just had to push through it.
A figure planted themself in Ambrosius's path and he almost crashed into them. "Golden Boy. You look awful."
Ambrosius blinked at Nimona. "Thanks?"
"Put those rocks down and sit for a second," she suggested. Or maybe ordered.
"I'm good." Sitting down for a second sounded nice, but he knew he wouldn't be able to get up again. And this project was important to Nimona; he wanted to make a good impression on her. Quitting would look weak.
"Nah." She grabbed the bin of rocks from him. "You look like you're gonna pass out. Go sit with your boyfriend, he'll take care of you."
"No!" Ambrosius didn't mean for it to come out so harsh, so desperate.
Nimona dropped the bin of rubble to devote her full attention to staring at Ambrosius in confusion.
"I... He shouldn't have to take care of me." The worst part was, Ambrosius knew that Bal would. If Ambrosius showed how much pain he was in, Bal would treat him with the same tenderness that Ambrosius tried to give to Bal every day. But Ambrosius had terrible mistakes to make up for, whereas Bal was the victim.
"You're boyfriends. Isn't the whole thing you take care of each other, you do sappy romantic stuff, yada yada?"
Ambrosius winced, mostly in pain but also from her simple distillation of what he and Bal had worked so hard to figure out. "It's complicated."
"Ugh, that's what he always says. You guys are so alike. Stupid idiots who would rather suffer in silence than communicate."
"I just-- Never mind. You're not our couples therapist."
"Yeah, I'm not. I'm just sick of watching your stupidity." She grabbed Ambrosius's hand-- not on the side with his injured shoulder-- and started to pull him along. Ambrosius resisted despite his muscles screaming at him to stop. "Relax. I'm not gonna bring you over to him if you really don't want to. But you need water and rest."
Nimona swiped a water bottle from a table as they passed and led Ambrosius to a bench on the opposite side of the square from where he'd last seen Ballister. He sank onto the bench in relief. The lukewarm water was the best thing he'd ever tasted.
"So," Nimona eventually said, "wanna talk about why you don't want to accept help from your loving boyfriend?"
"Not really," Ambrosius grumbled. Then, "I caused him so much pain. It feels selfish to make him take care of me."
Maybe that was why he was accepting care from Nimona. It would be impossible for him to force her into anything she didn't want to do.
"No one's making Bal do anything," Nimona pointed out.
"But... He just would. He's a good person like that."
Nimona kicked her feet back and forth, scuffing one heel against the concrete. "You know, I thought you didn't deserve him. I didn't get how he could possibly forgive you for cutting off his arm."
"I don't forgive myself."
"See, that's what's changing my mind."
"The fact that I know I have so much to make up for?" Ambrosius asked.
"Sort of. But mostly, you deserve each other." She turned to directly face Ambrosius. "You're both selfless idiots who hide your feelings because you're stupidly in love with each other!"
Oh.
Wait, had Ballister been hiding things from him too? Did Bal's scars also hurt more than he let on, because he didn't want Ambrosius to feel guilty? Did he not entirely forgive Ambrosius for chopping off his arm? That would be okay.
"You look like you're having a realization," Nimona said. "Does that mean you're ready to go talk to him now?"
Ambrosius nodded. His scars still ached. But maybe he and Bal would help each other-- not to push past the pain, but to make their way through it together.