#if it prods your conscience then don’t violate your conscience.

[rabbits-of-negative-euphoria]

“Halloween is a celebration of death” why would finite human beings who have no hope of an afterlife celebrate the very thing they fear the most. Halloween can be a celebration of sin, like any other holiday, but Halloween (All Hallows’ Eve) has always been, and remains, a mockery of death.

[xx-thedarklord-xx]

Saving the Pieces

Can be read on Ao3

“Excuse me, mister, but are you Harry Potter?”

Harry wanted to groan, he wanted to apparate away, he wanted to scream, but what he wanted the most was to disappear and be somebody else.

But he wasn’t.

So instead, he turned around and smiled down at the child who spoke; she couldn’t have been more than ten. Her smile was radiant, and her hands were waving around excitedly as he nodded in affirmation.

“My mum says you saved the world.”

Harry couldn’t be upset at the adoration in her eyes, nor the hesitant way she reached out for his hand with her own small fingers.

“Your mum thinks too highly of me.”

She shook her head so fast that the bobble in her hair slipped and her braid unravelled.

“Nu-uh. You are the hero of the bedtime stories she reads me. My mum says that the healers will save me, just like you saved us.”

Harry knew it would be a bad idea to open his mouth, he could already hear Malfoy’s lecture in the back of his mind, but as he stared down at the child, he felt his heart lurch.

“Healers? Are you sick?”

“My magic needs mending. The healers said I perform like a squib because there’s a block. They just need a donation. I’m on a list, at least that’s what my mum says.”

Harry winced. He knew that most people on a magical donation didn’t survive long enough to get the magic needed. It didn’t use to be a problem, at least not until after the war. No one wanted to give up magic, even if it would save a neighbour.

He knelt down, so he could peer into her face. “How about you bring me to your mum, and we’ll see about getting you that donation?”

 ----------

 The door slammed open with a bang as it hit the wall and Harry had to fight the urge to flee. No other Healer would be so rude, unless it was Malfoy.

“Want to tell me why I have a transplant scheduled for tomorrow with you down as a donor?”

Harry couldn’t look up, not if Malfoy’s expression matched the anger in his tone.

“It’s just a sliver of magic. That’s all I’m donating.”

“You don’t have any spare magic to give, Potter.”

Harry clenched his fists as he glared up at Malfoy.

“I know that, I can’t ever forget,” He spat out, the anger causing his tone to come out far harsher than intended.

Malfoy’s face morphed into several emotions, and Harry hated each one of them. It wasn’t fair. Malfoy wasn’t allowed to feel anything when it came to Harry’s situation. It made it more real.

“Every month you come in here and I have to tell you the same speech, the same warnings and the same bad news.”

“Malfoy—”

“No, Potter.” Malfoy closed the door with a snap before he slumped against the door. “I can’t in good conscience allow you to do this.”

“It’s not your choice.”

Malfoy clenched his teeth, and Harry knew it would be wise to give in, but he couldn’t—not when he thought of the little girl.

“Potter, your magic is dying out, you know this. Every time you say a spell, mutter an incantation, use your wand, or wave your hand with the intent to call upon your magic, it slowly disappears.”

“I know—”

“Do you?” Malfoy asked, sneer in place and anger in his eyes. Honestly, Harry wasn’t sure who allowed Malfoy to be a healer, especially with that kind of bedside manner.

“Because I advised you to only use your magic under dire circumstances. Whatever happened to you that night mucked up your ability to regenerate the magic that resides in your magical core.”

Harry looked down the worn, ugly, and mismatched tiles of the floor. He knew magic was like a muscle, the more you use it, the broader your abilities become—but magic requires rest, as does any muscle. Instead of regenerating magic like his body would regenerate energy, his magic slowly decreased with each new spell used.

When he chose to come back instead of moving on all those years ago in the forest, he didn’t think it would have repercussions. But that was his price to pay, his burden to bear.

“Every time you come in, your magic has decreased at an alarming rate. Your idiotic Gryffindor morals can’t let you see someone suffer without offering aid.”

“I can’t help it,” Harry stressed as his fingers dug into his palms. “Malfoy, you don’t know what it’s like. I have this urge to help people, to be of use, and what I do best is the one thing you tell me I can’t do.”

His eyes stung, whether due to anger or something else, he wasn’t sure.

“I want to make a difference. I want to be somebody besides the bloody saviour of the world.” Harry’s voice caught as he screwed up his eyes and his forehead wrinkled. “But what good am I in wizarding society if I can’t perform magic?”

“Potter.” The delicacy to Malfoy’s voice should have been soothing, it should have calmed his emotions, but it only angered Harry further. He didn’t want to be understood, didn’t want to be pitied.

“I’m useless as I am. The only thing I can offer is my magic, and I’m going to do it until I have none left.”

Malfoy closed his eyes as his shoulders slumped.

“I can’t let you, Potter. It goes against every violation we have. You aren’t magically fit to be giving pieces of yourself away.”

Dread filled Harry, but he refused to take no for an answer.

“But I don’t care. I’m okay with that, okay with giving all that I have.”

Malfoy shook his head before crossing his arms.

“I won’t do it. I won’t cypher away your already limited magic.”

Harry wanted to be bothered by that, more so than the annoyance already inside him, but Malfoy was always like that—always attempting to lengthen his magic, and it was nice having someone to look after him.

“Then I’ll fight the decision to the Director of St. Mungos. You know how this is going to turn out, Malfoy.”

He didn’t like using his status against others, but Harry would if he had to—and he was going to. He didn’t care if he had to take it to the Wizengamot, it was his body, his magic, and he would be damned if someone tried to tell him what to do with it.

Malfoy pursed his lips. “You do that. When I’m ordered to perform the transplant, then we can talk. But until then, it’s my decision.”

Harry could respect that, he wasn’t sure what he would do if the situation were reversed.

When Malfoy walked to the door, Harry began to gather his things.

“I’m just trying to keep you alive, Potter.”

“I know,” Harry whispered softly. “And I appreciate that.”

They both knew he’d get his way in the end but having Malfoy fight so strongly meant a lot to Harry. It meant everything.

 ----------

“Healer Malfoy says it will be painless!” Estrella exclaimed, eyes bright and a happiness Harry wasn’t used to seeing oozing outward.

They only had a few minutes before the transplant, and Harry was rather pleased to have gotten to know Estrella better. It had been a rocky few weeks for the both of them as Harry had to petition St. Mungos.

He knew Malfoy was upset, and didn’t want to perform the transplant, but Harry knew that Malfoy would end up doing it.

“Has Malfoy said anything else?”

Estrella hummed a tune Harry wasn’t familiar with as her legs kicked back and forth from the hospital bed.

“Just that he admires you.”

Harry’s mouth parted, and he wondered if he could take her words at face value. Just last week she talked about her best friend who was a hybrid dragon and gorilla combination—so he wasn’t quick to believe her.

“Now, I don’t remember quite saying it like that.” The drawling tone had both Harry and Estrella sitting up straighter.

Malfoy was in the doorway, a clipboard in his hands and a few healers in training behind him.

“But you did, Mister Malfoy! Remember? I said that Harry Potter was so cool, and you said—”

“How about we forget what I said, alright?” Malfoy asked, a beautiful flush to his cheeks that had Harry unable to look away.

“I’d like to hear what it was that you said.”

Malfoy’s flush increased past his neck and Harry had to wonder if that was where it stopped.

“Can we hurry up?” A healer behind Malfoy asked. “I’ve got a patient in Creature-Induced Injuries who’s got a bad Chimera bite that needs to be drained in a few hours, and Merlin knows you two will flirt for that long.”

It was Harry’s turn to flush as Malfoy turned to glare at the healer.

Malfoy cleared his throat. “It’s a routine transplant, but I’ve got a few healers on standby due to your low magical levels. Odds are still in your favour, but it’s better to be safe.”

Harry smiled at Estrella when she frowned at Malfoy’s words. He didn’t want her to worry about him.

“Are you ready?”

When they both nodded, Malfoy brought his hands together before gesturing for them to lay down.

“Alright then, let’s begin.”

--------

Clammy. Harry felt sticky, his palms felt wet and he wondered why he was so sweaty. His mind was foggy, and he couldn’t remember where he was. Was he at home?

—“He’s seizing! The limited magic won’t separate from his core.”—

Something prodded at his mind as if urging him to remember, but nothing made sense, nothing stuck out. What was the last thing he had done?

—“He’s not breathing. Murphy, I need an Anapneo right away.”

“But sir, there’s no blockage.”—

Panic seized Harry as his mind blanked. He couldn’t remember anything.

—“Lower his heart rate. Marsh, I need respiration potions, half a vial.”—

Something wet touched his lips and he tried to move his head but his body wouldn’t cooperate.

—“We’ll have to rip the magic out of the core.”

“That could send him into shock.”—

As liquid seared his throat, Harry wanted to scream, he wanted his body to listen to him. What was happening?

—“Immobilize his heart, I can’t get his core to respond accordingly.”—

The more Harry fought, the more things began to hurt. Nothing made sense, not even his own mind.

—“Potter, I need you to stop fighting me, please.”—

Time meant nothing as he tried to grapple with his surroundings. If he concentrated he could make out a buzzing of noises, but nothing made sense and he didn’t know what it was.

—“He’s not going to make it. His magic is creating a shield and with how little there is it’ll take his natural energy.” —

The urge to fight was strong, but he didn’t have the will to keep it going. Why was he so tired? What was causing the lethargy? Harry just wanted to sleep, maybe he should, that seemed like a good idea.

—“Potter’s going to need an emergency supply of magic. If his core doesn’t stabilize then there will be nothing we can do.”

“We’ll need to place him in a stasis, sir, we don’t have a match on hand.”—

His body felt heavy, and Harry decided that giving in would be the smartest move. Conserve his energy for another time. There would be another time.

—“There’s no time, we’re losing him. Turner, I need you to take over, Lynn I need you to prep another bed.”

“What? Sir?”

“I’ll donate the magic myself.”—

The heaviness increased, but it was comforting in a way. It meant giving up responsibility when he was tired, oh so tired. It was nice to not have to keep fighting.

—“Potter don’t you dare give up now. Come on you stubborn bastard.”—

---------

Harry opened his eyes and quickly shut them again as the pain of the light stung his eyes. A noise of disgust left him, and his mouth felt gross as he tried to swallow past the uncomfortable feeling of sleep.

“Oh, you are up.”

He startled slightly at the sound of Malfoy’s voice. He squinted to the left of him as he tried to figure out if the blurry lump was really Malfoy.

It wasn’t until Malfoy chuckled, the noise sounding close to fond as his glasses were placed in his hands was Harry actually able to see.

“You look like shit,” Harry blurted when his eyes focused and he could see Malfoy’s pristine hair ruffled and sticking up in places, purple spots underneath Malfoy’s eyes, and an exhausted expression made him look years older.

Malfoy’s right eye twitched and Harry had to bite his lip to stop from laughing.

“Thank you, Potter. Your manners are spot on as usual.”

“Are you alright? What happened to you?”

“Me?” Malfoy asked, voice incredulous. “You almost died, you moron.”

“What?” Harry asked as he tilted his head to the side. “I thought you said it was a routine transplant.”

“Yeah, for those with normal magical reserves. Your magic refused to separate.”

Harry’s hands gripped his chest, as if he could feel the magic, but he just needed to hold onto something.

“But what about Estrella? And her transplant? Does that mean she didn’t get any magic?”

Malfoy clenched his jaw as he looked away.

“I tell you that you almost died, and your first question is about someone else.”

“Malfoy,” Harry sighed, not wanting to get into a fight. “Just please tell me—”

“She’s fine. I was able to separate enough magic to fix her blockage.”

He exhaled a shaky breath of relief. But when Malfoy didn’t relax, he began to worry.

“But?”

“You flatlined, Potter,” Malfoy’s voice cracked, and Harry watched in awe as Malfoy blinked rapidly. “You were dying and there was nothing I could do to help. Your magic was killing you as much as it tried to save you.”

Harry looked down at the bed as he fiddled with his fingers.

“But I’m still here.”

A hollow laugh left Malfoy, and he hated the noise, hated that he missed the normal laugh, the one that usually at his own expense.

“Only because I gave you some of my magic.”

Harry’s head snapped up and his mouth parted at the intense look in Malfoy’s eyes.

“But I thought that—” He paused as he tried to recall the ethics of something like that. There were rules on donors, and he didn’t think that was something allowed.

“I’ve been suspended.”

“What?” Harry asked aghast. “But—but you saved me.”

A small quirk of Malfoy’s lips could be seen before it mellowed out.

“I broke six hospital violations and committed a peccadillo that could be punishable by the Wizengamot.”

Harry frowned heavily. “They aren’t going to charge you with anything, are they?”

Malfoy shrugged. “I doubt it. I did save Harry Potter’s life after all. The papers haven’t vilified me, and the hospital is up by 50% in donations since it was announced.”

“I still don’t understand why saving me got you in so much trouble.”

“Donors are screened, prepped, advised and forced to sign waivers before ever being allowed to offer magic. Tests are run to ensure the recipient is compatible, and the other person must be aware.”

Harry ran his fingers through his hair as the realization of it all came crashing down.

“I injected you with my own magic on the hope that it would be enough. You were dying, Potter. If I had followed hospital rules, your friends would be burying you in the ground right now. I did what I thought was right, and that, unfortunately, meant breaking guidelines.”

“Why?” Harry whispered, eyes a little wet. “Why did you risk so much for me?”

“You aren’t the only one who can’t help but save others.” It was said with an accompanying sad smile, and Harry’s heart lurched at the sight.

“Maybe you’ve rubbed off on me. All I could hear was your damn mentality of giving pieces of yourself away, and I knew that I had to try, I had to do something!”

“Thank you,” Harry said as he closed his eyes and blindly reached for Malfoy’s hand. He wanted to thank him for caring, for being there, for yelling at him when it got rough, for listening when he needed to vent, for being the best healer and friend that Malfoy could have been.

“Thank you for everything.” He hoped that was enough.

When Malfoy entwined their fingers and moved onto the bed with him, Harry knew that Malfoy had understood.

It took many years of always being on the wrong page to synch up, and now, there was an understanding that went both ways.

An understanding that he wouldn’t change for the world.

---------

Bonus Scene

“Hurry up, Harry!” Estrella yelled as she rushed through the halls of St. Mungos.

“We have time, Draco’s shift isn’t over for another few hours.”

Estrella sighed as she slowed down to a brisk walk instead of the near run it had been before.

“Draco was right, you do suck the fun out of things.”

Harry gasped, the sound far more offended than he felt. “I resent that.”

When she laughed brightly, he decided to let that one go and just blame Draco.

As they rounded the corner, Harry waved at the welcome witch, Jeni.

“He’s on break for the next few minutes. I’d catch him now before he starts his rotation in the Artifact Accident wing,”

“Thank you!” Harry called over his shoulder as he decided to make treacle tart later and send it over for the staff. He would make sure to give Jeni the biggest one.

“Estrella!” Harry yelled as she pushed open the staff room without a second care or thought.

When he walked in, he was glad to see it was empty except for Draco who barely had enough time to catch Estrella as she launched forward to hug him.

“What are my two favourite people doing here?” Draco asked as he grinned at Harry before giving him a soft kiss in greeting.

“Show him, Harry,” Estrella demanded as her arms wrapped around Draco’s neck.

“Estrella’s mum sent her over with this.”

Harry pulled out the recognizable letter and watched Draco suck in a sharp breath.

“Dear Estrella,

We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed—”

Harry cut off when Draco stepped forward, arms still wrapped around Estrella.

Estrella beamed as Harry showed Draco the letter.

“You did it Draco!”

“No, I—” Draco shook his head. “All I did was do the transplant. Your magic got you into Hogwarts, not me.”

“You saved me,” Estrella argued, a small frown on her face. “You saved Harry too. Just accept the compliment.”

Harry grinned at her fiery disposition as Draco laughed, the sound a little wet.

When Draco pulled Harry into a one-armed hug as he held onto Estrella and whispered, “Thank you,” Harry didn’t need any clarification.

He understood, and when it came to them, he always would.

---------

I am a day early, but I want to wish @rmh8402 a very happy birthday. I hope your day will be just as wonderful as you. I love you! Thank you @unicornsandphoenix for being a great beta and looking this over for me.

This ficlet was inspired by the song Anpanman, and the message behind it is something that has stuck with me for a while now. 

[decorous-biohazart]

Ruffled Hair, Bloody Nose, Empty Heart.

More shameless Cell and Dingo bromance. 

It was so dark, but Cell’s eyes still hurt like she was staring into the sun. 

The blonde woman felt heavy as she sank into the covers of her bed, one leg stuck out from beneath her sheets in the cold air yet her entire body was covered in goosebumps. Her head pounded like an orchestra without a conductor and her stomach churned in protest of things ingested she couldn’t remember. 

As she sat up one of the straps of her tank top slid off her shoulder loosely and a pair of shorts were askew on her hips. Her head immediately halted the movement as she became dizzy and her vision filled with black spots. She brushed a few locks of hair out of her face as her sense of conscious returned, immediately unable to recall if she had just done the previous action and went to move her hair again to find nothing. 

Cell flexed her toes trying to get feeling back in her bare feet, the sound of shuffling sheets deafening in her ringing ears. The posters on her wall no longer had the familiar images of skylines or album covers and instead were indistinguishable masses of color. The blinds were sealed shut but the faint, blurry slivers of silver from the moon crept through the sides of the curtains. 

‘It’s still night.’ she tried to say but her dry throat caught the words and replaced them with a weak coughing fit. Her mind raced to try and remember what caused her to be in such a state when she heard the clatter of a glass bottle falling off the mattress and thunked against the carpet floor. Immediately after the door to her room clicked before it began to swing open, pouring in the light of a thousand suns from the hallway passed a silhouette. 

Cell held up a hand and squinted her eyes as she tried to identify the figure but was only given the sound of a voice that she couldn’t decipher the words of. By the accent she could deduce that it was Dingo and immediately her cheeks went hot in embarrassment as she tried with clunky movement to use a foot to push the bottle aside but her muscles did not respond to the impulses she tried to send before she gave up with a sigh. 

The inebriated girl’s eyes cleared to find Dingo leaning against the door frame with crossed arms and a raised eyebrow. The knee pad still on his right knee and ammunition pouches strewn across his vest showed that he had just returned from a mission and had to come to check on her. His words were finally audible, even if they did still painfully vibrate on Cell’s eardrums. 

“Missed you at the mission today.” the Australian said, his accent much less present than usual signaling that he wasn’t happy; his voice an indistinguishable cross between concern and annoyance. 

Cell opened her mouth to defend herself but only was able to release a parched hiss before Dingo rolled his eyes and tossed her a bottle of water. Her hands missed the plastic container as it bounced off her chest and landed on the covers before she greedily grabbed at the bottle and began to chug it down, the plastic crinkling in her tight grip. 

“C’mon Cell, look at you, you look like ya just had your prison cell opened.” Dingo scolded as Cell wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. 

“I’m not... I could have gotten up whenever I wanted,” she finally managed to say, “Besides, look at the window I’ve only been down a couple hours. I went to bed at 1 AM.” 

“Yesterday,” Dingo corrected. 

“What?” Cell breathed as if she misheard him. 

“You hit the sack at 1 AM yesterday. It’s Wednesday night.” Dingo elaborated. 

“... Oh,” Was all Cell could say as she deflated. “I was really tired, so what? You sleep enough for three people I can pass out for 15 hours once in awhile.” she argued with a furrowed brow, rubbing her nose with the back of her hand. 

She glared at her teammate for a moment before she felt warm moisture start to drip down the back of her hand as her eyes widened a bit to see a drip of red and quickly brought her other hand up to prevent it from staining her sheets. 

“I take it that white powder on the counter wasn’t ‘cause you botched a cake recipe.” Dingo observed with narrowed eyes as he turned on his heel back into the hall. 

“My kitchen is none of your business.” Cell muttered with now two blood stained hands held on top of one another under her chin. She could feel her chest going tight regardless of how hard she tried to keep cool; she was a mess there was no denying that. 

Dingo returned with a roll of toilet paper in one hand and a waste basket in the other, setting the metal container on the floor by Cell’s bedside. 

“Our kitchen,” Dingo corrected again as he tore a few squares from the paper roll and waded them into a ball. “Now hold still.” 

Cell let her hands plop down in her lap as she closed her eyes as Dingo started patting the soft tissue against her nose and upper lip. 

“So you gonna give me a ticket, officer?” Cell asked in a dramatically slurred voice, making Dingo unable to distinguish if she were serious or not. 

“Nah... You already got a violation for missing work but with how much I’ve missed I’m sure you’ll just get a slap on the wrist,” Dingo said as he tossed the bloody tissue into the waste bin and retrieved a fresh wad. “But I am gonna have t’ ask you to step out of the car an’ tell me what the hell you were thinking.” 

Normally Cell would have had an immediate answer, serious or sarcastic, but this time she had nothing. Even with her ability to speak returned her words failed her. 

“You took drugs that we’ve got rules put down not to have in camp and then drink yourself into a coma.” Dingo prodded again for an answer by stressing the dire nature of her actions. 

“I mean... A girl can’t have a little fun?” Cell asked with a sheepish smile and a shrug, clearly not even convincing herself with that answer. 

“Wanna try that again?” Dingo offered, dabbing more paper with water from the canteen on his belt and gently taking one of Cell’s bloody hands. Despite the fresh blood on her hand her palm was cold and clammy and he stopped for a moment with a look of concern crossing his face before he started scrubbing the crimson stains away. 

“I just... I don’t know I had a little too much and someone told me that a line could balance it out but I guess I just got sick.” Cell relented with a sigh, her head turning to avoid Dingo’s eyes even though his were fixated on her hand. “You sure did, that stain on the rug in th’ bathroom is gonna be hard to explain to Sharpy and Socket.” The marksman said, causing Cell’s back to go rigid as her eyes darted to the door in consideration of if she should go remove the rug. Possibly even burn it. 

“I know what you’re thinkin’ and they’re gonna notice the rug’s gone.” Dingo shut down Cell’s thoughts as if he could hear them, leaving her only to hang her head in guilt. 

“Look, I get that sometimes you just need a good time t’ kick you back into gear and keep your head in the game. A job like this don’t come without its price and it’s one we all gotta pay,” Dingo took hold of Cell’s other hand before he continued, “But tryin’ to cope with the job by doin’ things that keep you from doin’ the job isn’t gonna make it easier. It’s gonna get you on probation and give you nothing but time to think about it.”

“What are you my dad, Dingo?” Cell asked with a joking twinge to her voice. 

“No, I’m your partner; I’m allowed to tell you off because we’re on a more even playing field.” Dingo’s voice was cold as he stopped and glared at the woman with blue eyes just as frigid as his tone. 

“Alright fine... I got trashed once, are you just here to make me feel bad because my stomach and my head are already on full-time duty handling that job.” Cell countered. 

“I came to check up on you and instead got punched in the gut seeing my friend passed out with blood and puke stains.” Dingo reiterated before he sighed and tossed the last of the paper into the trash can as Cell overlapped her now clean hands together in her lap. 

“Look,” Dingo said as his voice got softer, “I get that out of the four of us you’ve always had the hardest time with what we do. Plus this ain’t the first time that you’ve sought less than healthy ways of coping.” 

“Are you trying to say I’m weak?” Cell challenged. 

“I’m trying to say you’ve still got the most conscience.” Dingo replied, parrying the striking comment and causing Cell to flinch back slightly. 

“Dec’s a man that’s on a life-pledged mission to fix what’s broke, Socket is a machine, and I’ve got other things on my rap sheet for why I’m here. You got an attempted suicide and a feeling that you had to repay people that stabbed you in the back and then tagged along with us because it was where you were safe. We were prepared for the end of the world because we were able to make peace with the fact the world was takin’ a headfirst dive into Hell but you’re still young. 

“You had a long life ahead of you an’ that got taken away, I can only imagine what that feels like.”

Cell’s eyes were shadowed by her bangs as they hung loose around her features but Dingo was able to catch the glint of a tear as it landed on one of her thighs. 

“... Maybe I laid that on a little too thick.” Dingo semi-apologized. 

“You think?” Cell responded, rubbing her eyes with the base of her palm. “You think that when you get everything ripped away from you that you won’t take what you can to, even just a little bit, try and replace it?” 

“If you had nothing would I have come walkin’ through that door to clean you up and help you take a good look at yourself?” Dingo questioned, a slight and gentle smile forming on his face as he caught the orange-ish brown glint of Cell’s eyes locking with his through the dark blanket over her face as he gave her knee a gentle nudge with his fist. 

“Oi, you know I don’t like being discredited. I’m not here to get you in trouble. Just ask you next time you decide to crack a bottle open at least let me share it with ya next time. Nobody likes drinkin’ alone. Fair?” 

Cell nodded as she rubbed her tear ducts try with her thumb, a giggle escaping her lips. “Fair.” she affirmed. 

Dingo sighed with relief as he wrapped a toned arm around the woman’s shoulders as she rested her head on his shoulder. “You’re the strongest gal I know, Cell, don’t worry about always proving that.” 

“With how many times I’ve cried in front of you you’re lucky I haven’t killed you.” The woman responded jokingly, warranting a chuckle from Dingo. 

“Aye you’re probably right, but wait to try that ‘til you can even walk let alone hold a knife. I’ll raid provisions here in a few, I got just the hangover cure for ya!”

Cell’s stomach responded before she could with a violently loud grumble as her face flushed of color. Like a shot of adrenaline with a lump in her throat Cell shot to her feet, tripped over the bottle, and stabilized herself on the door as she pushed passed it down the hallway. Dingo could hear the porcelain lid of the toilet slam against the back followed by a grotesque heaving. 

“Well... Maybe suggesting food wasn’t the smartest thing.” Dingo said exasperated, his arm still hanging in the air. He heard Cell yell words between bouts of vomit, catching only a few like ‘I hate myself’ and ‘I hope you brought your gun’. A moment later Dingo heard the front door click open and shut, feeling his heart begin to race as he jumped up and dashed for Cell’s door, nearly colliding with Socket. 

The two men stood with noses almost touching as Socket stood with raised eyebrows over his engineering goggles as Dingo sweated nervously with a crooked grin. 

“... Did you try and cook again?” Socket asked, pointing behind him before Dingo placed his hands on the other man’s shoulders with a sigh as he hung his head.