The tears of thy innocence

What a Good Little Dog

It's kinda just angsty. You really don't need much explanation.
Spoilers for the Legend Series
Tws: death, blood, and minor swearing

———
The yell is what drew him over initially..

"Hey! Who's there? Are you hurt?" Thomas came barreling from out around the corner of the large medical facility. He had been called in the moment the alarms of the plague floor went off. Tasked of hopefully catching the culprit, if not, at least examining the scene.

He had just arrived from said floor, following the trail had been easy. The knives lodged into the walls had not only held potential finger prints, but also showed how the criminal had escaped. Through a tiny window above the stairwell, who would've thought?
He trailed after the scent like a good dog, following it outside to the spot where the criminal had landed, supposedly tucked and rolled, and still managed to get up and drag himself away in record time. Truly a feat many wouldn't possibly be able to achieve. I mean, jumping from the fifth floor and still being able to move so quickly afterwards.. in fact, Thomas could think of only one person able to do such a thing.

Then he'd heard that yell, or, more accurately a yelp. It had startled him truthfully. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard the sudden noise cut through the damp, humid air of the Republics climate. Luckily no one else was around, his troop having been sent off to deal with the patients causing a ruckus in the overcrowded waiting room. As well as speaking with the doctors present in the theft.

It took Thomas a minute to snap into action, but once he got out of his stupor he quickly made his way around the side of the building where he had tracked the noise from, hoping to find the culprit.
Well, he found something, but definitely not what he was expecting.
Instead of seeing the wounded criminal who had stolen from the hospital like he'd hoped, he instead saw the dark figure of a military general, thick black coat outlining his otherwise slim figure in the frail light.

"What the-" He muttered under his breath as he slowed significantly in his approach. "Sir or— uhm, ma'am? Are you alright, I heard a yell—" He stopped short once he had gotten close enough to make out the details of the soldiers face. This though, was not any soldier. No, no this was Metias. His soldier.
"Metias? Metias!"

He dropped to his knees beside the man, quickly bringing his hands up only to let them hang uselessly above the body, trembling. Shit, why now if all times has his training slipped from his mind!
"Metias, Metias please speak—" He rambled, finally letting his hands fall over the body, feeling around in the damp light to hopefully find the reason for his downing. His breath hitched a beat when his hand brushed over a wet spot on the jacket, at that moment a hand gripped his wrist causing his hand to go stiff, fingers splayed out still stained with blood.
"Stop that, yo—you're supposed to—" The man below him, Metias, had began to stutter out, hand still clasped around Thomas's wrist.

Thomas cut him off, dropping a quick peck to his lips as he continued to look on, prying his wrist free. "Great to see you're still alive, now keep your mouth shut until I can determine why you're on the ground." The mask had slipped back into his face, reigning in his emotions to reflect that of the commander he is. Metias gave a huff, he had never been one to favor the rules of keeping a straight laced personality. Always allowing his personality to flourish when not under the watchful eye of his superiors.
Thomas never liked that about Metias. His willingness to break rules and allowance of lenience on his troops. One of these days it's going to get him hurt.
And I think that might be today.

He'd finally determined the cause for the blood soaking Metias's coat, a particularly interesting looking dagger sat halfway inside the man's shoulder, the handle was a thick black rubber, rubbed away and picked at in some places reaching the white plastic that made up the hilt. The blade itself was slightly curved at the top, thin at the point and thicker at the base allowing for firm aerodynamics as if it were a throwing dagger while still being sturdy enough to keep from snapping off if one were to, let's say, scale a wall with few footholds with this blade as aid.
It had been lodged deep, immaculately thrown right into the center of his shoulder. No where close to a fatal mark, but enough to cause damage to the ligament and muscle of the arm and shoulder.

No doubt this was the doing of the Republics most notorious criminal, Day.

"How the hell did you manage to do this?" He grit out, teeth clenched together almost painfully. "Don't move, I'm going to remove it." He gave a quick warning before he shuffled his hand close to the affected area, a thick wad of cotton gauze ready to place upon the bleeding wound. A quick glance to Metias almost made him slip, how could he do such a thing to a kind, respected man that the government- no.. that he loved and respected.

He blinked hard, blowing out a heavy breath before he focused back on the task at hand. Settling his grip steadily on the grip of the blade, his hands suddenly steady despite the previous trembling, and yanked the blade out. Metias yelped, albeit quieter this time, and arched his back slightly. Thomas quickly pressed into the bleeding wound with the gauze, elocting another small hiss from Metias.

He held the blade still in his other hand, letting it sit almost threateningly above Metias's body. Thomas sighed, allowing his breathing to become more sporadic and quivering.
"I'm sorry. I truly am, but you must understand what I've been asked to do. I tried to get her to switch me out but.." he trailed off, hand holding the dagger sagging slightly.

Finally, he let his gaze slip down once more, eyes drifting over the injured soldiers face. He was staring at him, Icy blue eyes alight with confusion.
Thomas let another sigh fall from his nose, letting his head fall down to rest against Metias's own to provide a quick kiss to his nose, cheek, and finally his mouth.

Finally, he sat back up, spine ramrod straight as he worked through his own thoughts to build the courage to finally follow through with the task at hand.

Thomas's eyes blinked open, looking straight ahead as he let the knife fall straight into the chest of the commander below him. He heard a sputter, a quick, weak mutter of a word he didn't catch. Or perhaps one he refused to acknowledge.

His shoulders sagged, face crumpling into a silent sob. No tears fell, he'd been trained out of that long ago.
Like a good little dog, he's completed his task.