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After all is said and done, Dessa Banks committing a crime for her is what makes Jen Kellen realize that she’s in love. The realization blows her over, and all she can do is stare at Banks in the low light of a Medil evening. Behind them, conversation hums between Dall, Zan, and a few resistance leaders. Crickets and frogs start to chorus, singing for a newly free Medil.
“Respectfully, fuck that.” She hears herself saying. Banks’ eyes widen, and Jen grabs her by the arm and tucks them both behind the supply truck. She glances out from the corner and sees Darrell just chilling on the broom. “Keep watch, Darrell,” she whispers. He blinks at her. She ducks back behind the corner. “Go back to your guy and get a passport! I’ll steal the money.”
Banks leans back, looking as casual as someone can after they’ve been slammed against a truck. “That’d be stupid.” She’s fiddling with a cigarette but hasn’t brought it to her lips. Jen takes this as a sign of victory, only Banks doesn’t know it yet.
Jen wants to grab Banks by the shoulders and shake her. She wants to yell and scream and rage against the resignation in Banks’ voice. She wants to kiss her. She wants to kill her. She settles for resting her hands on Banks’ upper arms and squeezing emphatically. “Attitude! That’s like the main factor with health stuff, isn’t it?”
“No, that’s comorbidity.” Banks deadpans. Now is not the time for her to start sprouting off medical degree words. Jen squeezes Banks’ arms again. The doctor is apparently more buff than she thought, or possibly just really, really tense. She’s going to hesitantly say it’s the second one until she sees proof otherwise.
“I’ve done alright so far,” Banks says, softer, like she’s trying to break bad news to Jen, “and I’ve been thinking about death the whole time.” In a flash Jen sees the doctor that Banks used to be, soft spoken when she’s breaking bad news to the families of people she couldn’t save. She sees that doctor and for a moment she hates that doctor because she is so fundamentally not the Banks that Jen knows.
“So imagine how long you’ll live with a better attitude!” It comes out more pleading than she intended, but Jen doesn’t want a redo. She wants Banks to understand. She wants Banks to live. She wants Banks to want to live.
“God, I’ve made a huge mistake.” Banks mutters, eyes cast up to the sky.
“You’re insufferable.” Jen bites out.
“So I’ve been told.” Banks seems peaceful, like she’s already accepted her death now that she got her revenge. And that’s. Well that’s just not acceptable.
Jen’s not exactly queen of the whole expressing your feelings racket, and Banks doesn’t seem the type either. So Jen just does what impulse is telling her to do.
She kisses Banks.
If Banks is startled by the motion she doesn’t show it, moving quickly to kiss her back. It’s everything Jen wanted and nothing like she expected at the same time. Banks’ lips are cool to the touch but underneath her careful exploration they turn scorchingly hot.
Jen only breaks away when breath becomes a necessity, lest she be accused of making Banks wait while reviving her. “You’re so-” she starts to say, but Banks just mumbles a quick “shut up” and pulls her closer again.
For how aloof and above it all she attempts to seem, Dessa kisses like a desperate, hungry thing. One hand scrabbles for purchase on Jen’s jawline, while the other pulls her closer by the hips. She’s not sure if this is the hunger of the near-dead or the bravado of the surgeon. Either way, she doesn’t fight it, gives herself over to the feeling of latex on her skin and Dessa’s hot breath on her neck.
“Couldn"t even take off the creepy gloves?” Jen quips when they separate. Banks doesn"t let her go far, keeps one hand firmly on her jaw to keep her near.
“You find my unsettling nature charming, which frankly says more about you than it does me.” Banks says. Then, a moment of silence before, “what are we doing Jen?”
“We’re starting a detective agency.” Jen says with an almost manic giggle. “You’re getting a forged passport, and we’re solving crimes.”
“And the other stuff?” Banks asks softly. The cigarette has long since fallen to the ground, her hands busy with finer pursuits. She brushes a thumb along Jen’s cheek, featherlight under latex, and it really shouldn’t cause Jen to shiver like this but she’s a simple woman with apparently undiscovered kinks.
“I prefer not to think that far ahead.” Jen sighs out, breath hitting Banks’ lips.
Banks’ eyes squint with a smile. It lights up her whole face and Jen is so far gone. “What a coincidence, I also prefer not to think that far ahead.”
“But I want to.” Jen admits. This is the scarier part to her, the admitting of want. The want of a future, of something beyond making out between supply crates. “I want to start a detective agency with you and get a shitty apartment and buy cat beds for Darrell that he’ll ignore completely and… this. More. If you want.” She mentally kicks herself, very smooth, Kellen.
Banks takes a long moment to answer, eyes darting away from Jen and looking out over the field of trucks and supply crates. Jen looks down, steeling herself for disappointment.
“That… sounds good.” Jen can’t look at Banks as she says it, “I think I’d like that.” Banks’ lips gently brush her forehead, less forceful than the desperate energy from a few short seconds ago.
Somewhere behind them, a shout of “ow! What the fuck, Zan?” breaks them apart. Jen reaches out, but Banks is already out of reach, striding towards the sound.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Jen hears Banks angrily ask whoever is right around the corner. Jen jogs to join them to see Dall rubbing the back of her head while Zan works to restack a pile of crates that had toppled over.
“Zan decided the best time to play Jenga was right when I was walking by.” Dall grumbles. “He can do a breach and clear operation in his sleep but Jenga isn’t his strong suit.”
Over the top of a crate, Zan gives Jen a look that means they need to talk later, so Jen can guess he had his reasons for doing what he did. She puts a hand at the back of Banks’ elbow, stilling her hand when she goes for her revolver.
“You don’t need to shoot her to get rid of a headache,” Jen says softly, then louder, “I’ll grab you an ice pack Dall.”
Zan perks up. “I’ll grab one too, my hand’s hurting something fierce.”
“The fuck did you do, punch the crate?” Dall wonders as they both hightail it away.
As soon as they"re out of sight, Jen grabs Zan’s ear, pulling him down to her height. “What the heck, Zan?”
“Ow, ow, ow! Will you let go of me?” He grumps, bent over and letting her pull him along. She doesn’t let him go until they’re in the compound kitchen.
“What did you see?” Jen asks. She can"t look fully at him, some little part of her still small and ashamed and fourteen all over again, so she looks down at the ground and looks at him only out of the corner of her eye.
His face goes red enough to confirm that he did see something, and he rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “Enough to know I should probably distract Dall before she stumbled upon y"all.”
Oh. That"s a shocker. “Dall? Is she…” Jen asks.
“Homophobic? Nah I don"t think so, she"s just loud and she would"ve made a scene, accidentally or not. And I know you"d hate that so—” Zan shrugs, grabbing an ice pack from the fridge to put over his ear, “I punched some crates, made a distraction, let you exfiltrate the area unnoticed.”
Jen snorts a laugh. “Yeah I"d like to infiltrate her—nope I heard how weird that was I"m reversing my dirty joke.”
Zan smiles. “You need me to give you the shovel talk?”
Jen laughs again, full bodied thing this time. “Nah, but please tell me when you"re going to try to give one to Banks, I wanna see how long it takes her to punch you in the face.”
“It’ll take less time than you think.” Banks announces her presence from the doorway. She looks between Jen, perched on the counter, and Zan, holding an ice pack up to his ear and arches an eyebrow.
“I am going to ignore that statement and go give this ice pack to Dall to apologize for throwing crates on her.” Zan says, grabbing the one out of Jen’s hands and scurrying towards the door. He stops and lays a hand on Banks’ shoulder, whispering something into her ear before he leaves and closes the door behind him.
“Do I have to worry about you actually punching Zan in the face?” Jen asks, swinging her legs gently.
“With these hands?” Banks wiggles her fingers as she saunters over to stand between Jen’s legs, leaning in slightly. “No, I’m a surgeon, these are very important hands to me.” She says with a smile. Her smile is a bit uneven, Jen notices now, one side of her cheek pulling back to reveal just the slightest hint of teeth. The bravado in her voice makes Jen’s heart beat overtime.
Jen reaches out to grab Banks’ hands, gathering them to rest against her chest. Banks’ hands twitch at random intervals, an uneven rhythm on Jen’s heart.
“Please don"t punch Zan.” She says.
Banks pretends to consider it before nodding. “I think I"ll be pretty busy with paperwork in the near future, I"ll take it off my to do list if I must.”