"Connor!!" Although he'd heard Malkov's shouts from afar, he couldn't be bothered to care; the person in his arms took precedence, after all.
He gazed sadly at Mariya, her beautiful face jarringly marred with tears and snot, "C-Connor... P-Please just kill me and get it over—"
"Shh... don't say that. You'll be okay... you'll be okay,"
"I'm not okay! Y-Y-Y-You... because of me, you have to give yourself over to them! A-A-And I don't wanna make you c-c-choose!" She sobbed, somehow nuzzling even further into his chest, her tears had already soaked his shirt, but he didn't move to stop her.
He spoke as tenderly as possible, "Choose what? There wasn't even a choice to begin with... After all, the living is far more valuable than... than the dead," He tried to smile, but even through the tears, Mariya knew he was forcing himself.
"No!" She tried hitting his chest, however: a combination of fatigue, injuries and him hugging her tight stopped any would-be attempts dead in their tracks.
"...I admit, I would've been at a crossroads if I was the Connor of the past. But Malkov's helped me see that: the relationships forged today are far more important than the ones lost in the past," He gently brushed the stray strands of hair lying limply on her face to the side, allowing him to get a better look of her.
"Plus, I owe you my life: I would've died to Gerard's poison if you didn't warn me!" He smiled, "It'd be remiss of me if I didn't save yours, hm?"
Before she could reply, they were interrupted by the voice of a clearly irritated Malkov, "Huff... Huff... Guys... hah... Goddamnit, I know you guys heard me! Honestly, I was worried si..." Annoyed as he was, he still knew to take a hint when he saw one and trailed off.
Connor rolled his eyes at his friend's insensitivity, then focused his attention back on Mariya, "We'll continue the conversation later; let's get you some well-deserved rest first, 'kay?"
"...Mn," She obeyed, though she did try to quip, "But... how am I going to get back to camp? I can't move— ahh?!" And was suitably punished for it by being abruptly getting picked up princess-carry style.
Connor smirked, "Hmph! I can carry you myself! I got stronger after... after... Zzzzz" Before falling unconscious from exhaustion himself.
When she felt his grip loosening, she frowned, "Connor?" He didn't answer, "Connor?!"
"Hup!" Fortunately, Malkov caught them both in time, "I got you!"
She sighed, looking at him gratefully, "Thank you very much, Malkov,"
"It's nothing," he replied before putting them on both his shoulders. He tapped Connor's body playfully, saying, "Hehe! I can't wait for him to get up; we'll never let him live it down!"
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She gazed fondly at Connor's sleeping face, who reminded her greatly of a certain oblivious main character from a book she'd read once, "Yeah, we'll never... let him live... Zzzzz" She couldn't finish her sentence, fatigue finally catching up.
Hearing them both snore, Malkov shook his head, "Aish... these guys really are similar! Fuggin' lovebirds and their fuggin' similar habits..." He muttered tiredly to himself as he carried three people's worth of weight(along with what's left of their supplies) back to camp.
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It took a good ten hours of rest before the pair showed any signs of waking. In this time, Malkov began to prepare for what's to come. This, weirdly, came in the form of a purplish-blue falcon. After taking the piece of paper from its foot, he sent it off, left alone with his thoughts.
He'd seen what happened, and although he didn't know the specifics(he was going to have to wait for his friends to regain agency before finding that out) but from the scene of Mariya crying and shouting for Connor to kill her at the top of her lungs, he surmised... it was probably really, really, really bad.
Now, his friends didn't know this... but Malkov had made some very unusual friends during his tenure as a prisoner in Waterfront: ranging from cat-burglars to murderers, spies to rebels, idiots to mad geniuses and a handful more! And while he's lost contact with many of them, the few that didn't were the few that mattered...
One of them, a Khalaiyan revolutionary by the name of Sans-Culottes, who made the horrible mistake of seeking asylum from her pursuers by coming to the Kulerain region. Naturally, the Hysanntines(a fellow empire) didn't take too kindly to a rebel trying to overthrow another empire. Safe to say, she was going to be kept in that prison for a very long time. But after convincing(seducing. Shut up, he hated himself for doing this) the warden, a diehard simp of his, Malkov managed to lessen her sentence to a respectable five years. In return, the two became very close friends, and when he escaped, they still kept in contact via the tonnerre-falcon.
Just now, the falcon returned bringing good tidings for everyone: according to the letter attached to its foot, the first guardian: Don Khai, was no longer on Aite's side, and maybe he would know what to do about their problem.
As he was musing about his problems, his ears picked up the sound of shuffling in the tent beside him.
He smiled, thinking to himself, 'It's good they woke up; I need a run-down of the situation before being able to decide anything,' And went to unzip the tent's opening.
Inside were Connor and Mariya, both awake albeit a bit groggy.
"Yo," He raised a hand to greet them.
Connor only groaned in response, his eyes darting from Mariya, then him, then Mariya again. And like an idiot, he asked, "Sex?"
-Bonk!-
"Ow!!" He grabbed the top of his head in pain, rolling on the tent while whining, "What was that for?!"
"Hum!" Next to him, Mariya was blowing on her steaming fist, mumbling in response, "...Hentai,"
"Eh?! It was an innoce—"
-Bonk!!-
"Ow!! Sto-o-o-op iiiit!!"
"Tch! Innocent, my ass!" She turned to the snickering Malkov, her arms akimbo and an eyebrow raised, "And what're you doing here? I still haven't held you accountable for being the world's most horrible wingman,"
Malkov cleared his throat nervously, looking away in shame, "L-Let's talk while we eat; it's been a while since you've actually eaten, right?"
She thought the offer over for a bit, her hand placed under her chin, "What do we have to eat?"
He shrugged, "Oh, you know... salty jerky and teeth-breaking biscuits; the usual five-star food,"
She grinned, "Sounds good!" Holding up her hand, she spoke in a posh tone similar to when she was posing as Merriam the detective, "Will you do the honours, good sir?"
He returned the smile, "My pleasure, madam," Taking her hand, he pulled her up and—
-Bonk!-
"Tssss!!" ...She struck him hard upside the head, leaving him rolling on the ground like a certain person he'd made fun of.
She huffed, "There! You've all been accounted for. Now then, let's get some grub," With that, she left the two men to languish in pain, a furtive smile on her face and a rosy blush on her pale cheeks...