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callsign-rogueone · 3 days ago

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unfit to serve

Sawyer Henrick x reader (peach!) words: 3.0k 🏷: no book spoilers, getting into october in the iron flame timeline. mentions of a self-inflicted wound (not described in detail / not shown "on screen"), everyone's least favorite infantry cadet makes an appearance, stalking / unhealthy obsession behaviors, sawyer to the rescue. I promise these two will figure their ish out, but today is not that day.

“There’s nothing we can do — nothing he’s done has been an explicit violation of the infantry code of conduct. I suggest you make it clear to him that you aren’t interested -- no more mixed signals. Now run along. Believe it or not, you have patients to attend to.”

“She really said that to you?” the younger healer asks, slack-jawed.

“Word for word.”

She looks both ways, leaning forward to whisper to you. “What a heinous bitch.”

You raise your hands in playful surrender. “You said it, not me. She’s the one person I won’t miss when I graduate.”

“Besides him.”

“Besides him,” you agree. “Alright. Your turn to go eat. I can hold down the fort for a while. Sawyer will be here in a bit, anyway.”

“Are you ever going to make a move on him? If I had a handsome rider boy making me jewelry in his free time, I’d definitely kiss him. And it would be so cute. It already is cute. Childhood friends to college sweethearts to cute old married couple. Just like the colonel and his wife!”

“I told you—”

“It’s just pretend,” she says, sighing, “I know. But don’t you want it to be real? Even a little bit?”

“Get out of here before I change my mind,” you say dryly, and she laughs, scampering off.

“See you in half an hour!”

Speak of the devil and he may appear. You’d hide, but it’s too late — you’ve already made eye contact. You pull your gaze away, down to the bloodied towel he’s holding around his left arm. So he’s actually injured this time — but you really don’t feel like being behind a closed door with him, and going to ask one of the senior healers to do it for you wouldn’t be a great idea. It feels like they’re already out to get you.

Thankfully there’s supplies in every room here, including the intake area.

You nod to one of the chairs, turning to wash your hands. “Have a seat.”

“Haven’t seen you in a while,” he starts, sitting down. “How have you been?”

“Well, thank you.”

No details, no extra pleasantries -- no information he could use to keep the conversation going, or to be creepy about at a later date.

He lays his arm across the table, unwrapping the towel. It’s not gushing blood, thankfully, but it’s a nasty scratch that will definitely need stitches. You turn to scratch out a note, needing a break from his stare. Friday October 5th, 634 -- 11:20am. Laceration, left forearm, ≈4 inches long, ¼ in deep.

It occurs to you that all the injuries you’ve treated for him, bar the first one, have been to his left side. You flip back through the thickened folder that holds his records, confirming; left arm, left leg, left side, left leg, left arm… And the times… 9:07, 8:19, 7:45, 9:24, 8:21… always when you’re on shift. Once is an incidence, twice is a coincidence, and three times is a pattern, but five? Five is getting toward concrete proof.

“James,” you ask gently, and he perks right up — you never call him by his name, one of the lines you’d attempted to draw that he’d breezed right past without even noticing. “Can you tell me how this happened?”

He blinks at you for a second before he makes a recovery that isn’t as smooth as he thinks it is. “I was helping some of the first years with sword fighting. They’re pretty good.”

“Uh-huh,” you reply, looking back at the wound. You’ve held a sword before — not that you know how to use it — but if he was in a proper stance, using two hands, they would have come down against his right arm, not his left, and it wouldn’t have been so straight, or so deep. This wasn’t sideways pressure, but downward, into the muscle.

But he wouldn’t… Would he?

“I’m just concerned about you, is all,” you say carefully. “You’ve been in here a lot lately.” You tap the folder with a fingernail to illustrate your point.

You really don’t know where to go with this, but you’re letting him steer the conversation, to see what he’ll tell you. You’ve watched the older healers do this dozens of times; empathize with the first complaint and wait to see if they tell you something serious. You’d fallen for it yourself once as a younger cadet, having mentioned how tired you were that week — and then when Winifred asked more questions, and you told her that you’d been having dizzy spells, you were promptly whisked away for examination and given supplements to take. You felt perfectly fine again within three days.

“Occupational hazards,” he offers with a smile.

“Yeah,” you reply distantly. “Guess so.” You’re just jumping to conclusions. There’s no way that he did this to himself. It would hurt like hell, for a start. But he doesn’t show any signs of discomfort, smiling at you even as you apply the extra-strong disinfectant that you’ve seen make even the toughest riders wince. You press near the edge of the wound with a gentle fingertip — no reaction to that, either. He remains completely straight-faced, his eyes not leaving yours.

He takes advantage of the lull in the conversation, changing the subject. “Did you get my letter?” He looks genuinely eager, and for a moment you almost feel guilty for letting Sawyer have Sliseag torch it.

“I did,” you answer, regretting it immediately when you realize that you just confirmed which room you sleep in. “James… I’m sorry, but this isn’t happening. And I’ve told you before, I already have a boyfriend.”

He laughs. “That rider friend of yours? Please. You do know that he was held back a year, right? Couldn’t hack it the first time, so they made him start over again. I guess the second time’s the charm, not the third.”

Your jaw clenches, but you remain silent.

“You deserve better than some second-pick farm boy, anyway. What you need is stability,” he offers. “Someone who has enough so you won’t have to work, and who won’t be in service for the rest of their life — and won’t break their neck falling off a dragon, and leave you to raise the kids alone.”

You can’t hold it back. “You don’t know anything about me. You don’t know what I want, because you’ve never bothered to ask, and you certainly don’t know what I need. I made my choice, and I love him. I’m sorry that you don’t understand, but you don’t have to.”

He sighs. “What’s it gonna take for you to stop playing hard to get? I’m tired of this game. And it’s such a bitch to change bandages every time I shower.”

He thinks this is all a game?

So you were right, after all.

“You did this yourself?”

“Of course I did. They were turning me away when I needed anything less than stitches, so I didn’t really have a choice.”

There’s a soft rustle from the other side of the room, and you come back to your senses just in time to see someone slip down the hallway, a blur of black and auburn. That can only be Sawyer. Did he hear all of that? If the gods haven’t forgotten about you, then he did, and he’s going to get… someone. But will the older healers even believe him, after they’d dismissed your complaints weeks ago? And what are you supposed to do in the meantime, sitting alone with him?

Finish stitching, you suppose. The bleeding has slowed to a trickle, and he’d made a clean cut, so it’ll be easy enough. You occupy yourself with preparing your supplies, hoping he won’t press you further — you still haven’t responded to his question, or expressed any reaction to what he just told you.

Thankfully he seems content to just be sitting in your presence, but the feeling of his eyes on you is incredibly unsettling — like you’re being watched by a wolf who’s ready to strike.

But a wolf would only kill out of necessity, and make it quick. Men like to play with their food.

Just breathe. The odds of someone walking in right now are pretty high, and if it’s anyone but his two infantry friends, you’ll be safe physically.

You just need to tell someone what he told you. Someone with authority.

“Cadet Lowen,” the mender greets, and you stand too quickly, hands behind your back in the position of attention.

“Colonel Colbersy,” you reply, trying not to sound too relieved. Caleb is with him. He’ll believe you. He has to.

The mender looks exhausted, and so he, but they still offer James disarming smiles. “Let's get you fixed up, son. Come back to my office.”

As soon as he’s turned away from you, you catch the healer by the elbow, signing — he did it. hurt himself.

Caleb nods. Your rider told me.

You press the file into his hands, continuing. Five times.

His eyes widen.

Because of me.

His lips part to speak, but Nolon beckons him forward, steering James through the double doors leading to the exam rooms. You hold your breath until he’s out of sight, releasing it in a soft shudder as soon as they’re gone.

You strip off the healer’s robes with trembling hands, tossing them aside carelessly and striding toward the sink. You finally start to cry, your vision blurring with tears as you lather up to your elbows, desperate to get this terrible feeling off of you.

“Peach,” Sawyer begins delicately, laying a hand on your arm to stop you from scrubbing your skin raw, and you flinch away.

“I’m sorry, I just… I don’t want to be touched right now,” you sniff.

He retracts his hand immediately. “I understand. Say the word and I’ll leave.”

“No,” you whisper, watching the water run, “I don’t want to be alone.”

“Okay.” He leans against the counter beside you, a few feet away, speaking softly. “From what I saw, you handled that incredibly well. And you did the right thing. The leadership is going to get him help.”

You nod numbly, rinsing the soap from your skin and turning the tap off. He hands you a towel, and you take it silently, drying your hands. You feel like you need a full shower after the last ten minutes, your skin still feeling unclean despite being washed thoroughly with soap and water — maybe too thoroughly. Your hands feel dry and irritated, stinging from the steaming water you’d used.

You’re still trying to wrap your head around all of this. “He was injuring himself because of me. Because he wanted an excuse to see me.”

Sawyer doesn’t hesitate with his response. “He did those things because he’s unwell. None of this was your fault, peach. I need you to understand that.”

You don’t respond, still wrestling with the guilt, wracking your brain to think of anything you could have done differently. But if he hadn’t gotten so attached to you, would he have become obsessed with another of your classmates instead? Any girl who smiled at him and listened when he spoke, like all healers are instructed to? Would another girl have accepted his advances, and unknowingly walked into his trap? What would he have done if she realized who he really was inside and decided she wanted out?

“Lowen,” the colonel says gently.

You look up at him through teary eyes, placing your hands behind your back again — regretting taking off your robe. “Yes, sir?”

“You did the right thing. He’s going to be declared unfit to serve, and he’ll get the help he needs.”

You nod quietly, not sure what to say.

“I’m grateful that your friend found me before anything else could happen. And I’m sorry that I hadn’t had a proper handle on this situation until now. I hadn’t realized how serious it was. Take tomorrow off, and get some rest. I need my best third-year in good condition,” he says warmly.

The compliment doesn’t fill you with pride like it usually would — you just feel numb, hollow except for the guilt churning in your stomach that still hasn’t gone away. “Thank you, sir.”

You remain at attention until he leaves, disappearing back down the hall to whence he came.

You look up at Sawyer. “I’ll be okay,” you say softly. “He’s right, I just need to wash it off.” Literally. You’ll take the longest shower of your life, and probably cry again, and that will help — hopefully. “Thank you. For all of this. If you hadn’t been there to see me… I’m just so relieved that this is over.”

“Of course, sweet girl.” He picks up your hastily-discarded robe, draping it over his arm. “Let’s get you out of here, hm?”

“I still need to clean up and do some paperwork,” you say softly. “You go on ahead— I don’t want you to be late for class, and I’ll be fine to walk back on my own now that he’s gone.”

“Okay,” he responds quietly.

You take the robe back from him. “Tell the others I say hi.”

“I will,” he promises, still lingering.

You offer him a sad smile, starting to clean up the supplies you’d used. You’ll need to wash your hands yet again after this, but you need to occupy yourself with something or you’re going to start crying again — and you can’t bear to watch Sawyer leave right now.

Hearing his footsteps retreat is hard enough.

Sleep doesn’t come easily to either of you that night — you both lie awake for a while in your matching beds across campus from one another, thinking about the day’s events, and wondering what this will mean for you and your little ruse of a relationship.

——————

“It’s almost eleven thirty, dude. Scoot,” Ridoc reminds, but Sawyer makes no move to leave. “Okay, something is definitely up with you. Spit.”

“James is being declared unfit to serve,” he answers tiredly, still looking at his textbook. “Turns out he was injuring himself just to have an excuse to see her.”

There’s a collective inhale from the table. “Yikes.”

Rhiannon looks at him, confused. “So he’s finally going to be out of her hair. That’s good — why are you so bummed?”

“She doesn’t need me anymore.”

Oh.

There’s a short silence before his friends jump in to help. “Did she tell you that?” Violet asks.

“She thanked me for everything, and said she’d be fine on her own. This whole thing was supposed to get him out of her hair, and now he’s getting discharged, so the logical conclusion is that it’s over.”

“So that’s a no,” Ridoc says. “Got it.”

Sawyer ignores him, continuing to scratch out notes half-heartedly.

“You don’t have to stop seeing her, you just might stop the boyfriend stuff for a while,” Violet reasons.

He finally looks up at them. “I can’t.”

Three sets of eyes blink back at him, confused.

He sighs, shutting the textbook. “You don’t get it, guys, I’m screwed. So, so screwed. I look at her and I just want to take care of her. It’s been like this ever since I saw her again at land-nav. When she told us about that infantry creep, I was ready to go over there and knock his fucking teeth out, but she looked so scared that all I wanted to do was hold her, because she is so good and pure-hearted and she doesn’t deserve to be scared or in pain, ever. And now that we started this whole fake-boyfriend thing, and I get to take her out to town and pick her flowers and all that, I can’t just stop and go back to being friends. I want to do that stuff for her forever, but I know she doesn’t want anything real with me, and even if she did, in less than a year she’s gonna graduate and leave to gods-know-where, and it’ll all be over like that, all because I wasn’t good enough to be chosen at Threshing the first time around.”

“Okay, first of all, breathe,” Rhiannon instructs, “and quit the self-deprecation thing. That’s water under the bridge. If you hadn’t repeated, you wouldn’t have seen her at land-nav, and you wouldn’t have been able to protect her from that creep, because you wouldn’t even have known about him.”

The thought makes him feel sick. What would have happened if nobody had seen you with James yesterday and gotten help? If Sliseag hadn’t protected you in the forest? Would James have hurt you for declining his advances, or hurt himself again?

“Second, did she tell you that she doesn’t want you? Or are you just assuming?”

Sawyer is quiet in a way that the table interprets as another no.

Ridoc chimes in, never one to stay silent. “Just take her out again, drop some line about wishing this was real, and boom. Instant happily-ever-after. It was so easy for you guys to click again after two years apart — you can handle a year of long distance! And then if you get married, they have to station you together for the rest of your service,” he adds. “And they pay you more.”

Sawyer doesn’t look convinced. “I can’t just pretend that this never happened. I don’t want to. She’s fragile right now. The way she looked yesterday… I haven’t seen her cry like that in years. And she didn't want me to touch her, which isn’t like her at all. It was scary, honestly.”

“Poor girl,” Rhiannon frowns. “This all must have been traumatic for her.”

“So be there for her,” their newest squadmate stresses, finally speaking. “Keep showing up, and let her talk to you about all this. She doesn’t need a boyfriend right now, or a bodyguard, but she does need someone, and that should be you.”

Everyone turns to her, having forgotten she was there — she flushes at the attention, returning to her sketch.

Sawyer sighs. “Nolon gave her the day off today, but I might go by tomorrow and see her.”

#sawyer and peach #mine #fourth wing #fourth wing x reader #sawyer henrick

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