The checkpoint between the Ark proper and the Outer Rim looked exactly as Arthur remembered—armored gates, bored security personnel, and the subtle shift in air quality that marked the transition from regulated comfort to controlled decay. He presented his credentials, endured the suspicious looks that came with being a Commander slumming it in exile territory, and stepped through.
Crow leaned against a familiar vehicle, her arms crossed, a predatory smile on her lips.
Arthur's car. The one he'd driven for three years as a mercenary, a battered but reliable ground transport with reinforced plating and an engine that purred like a content predator. Seeing it again felt like encountering an old friend.
"Figured you'd want your ride back," Crow said, tossing him the keys. "Kept her running for you. You're welcome."
"Didn't ask you to," Arthur replied, catching the keys with his goddesium hand. But his smile betrayed his gratitude.
"No, but Moran did." Crow pushed off the car, circling around to the passenger side. "She's been waiting. Getting impatient, actually, which is dangerous when you're talking about an Underworld Queen."
Arthur slid into the driver's seat, the familiar contours fitting his frame like a second skin. Crow settled beside him, already reaching for his belt.
"Right now?" Arthur asked, though his body was already responding to her directness.
"You've got a two-week leave and you spent the first three days fucking your squad," Crow said bluntly, her fingers working his buckle with practiced efficiency. "I'm not waiting until after your reunion with Moran. Consider this a welcome home."
She moved with the same ruthless efficiency she applied to everything—no romance, no pretense, just mutual need and the kind of honesty that only came from people who'd survived the Outer Rim together. Arthur gripped the steering wheel with his prosthetic hands as Crow straddled him in the cramped front seat, her movements quick and deliberate.
It was over in minutes, both of them breathing hard, Crow's satisfied smirk inches from his face.
"There," she said, climbing back into the passenger seat and straightening her clothes. "Now you can go see your crime lord with a clear head."
"You're impossible," Arthur muttered, adjusting himself and starting the engine.
"You love it." Crow settled back, boots on the dashboard. "Drive, Commander. Let's see if you remember the way."
He did. The route to Peony Association headquarters was burned into his muscle memory—through the industrial sectors, past the flickering neon signs of bars and ripper doc clinics, around the territories marked by rival gang tags. The Outer Rim operated on different rules than the Ark proper: visible hierarchies, open violence, and a brutal honesty about what people were worth.
Crow hopped out two blocks from headquarters. "I'll tell Moran you're close. She'll want to look perfect when you arrive." She paused, her expression turning serious. "Arthur. She missed you. More than she'll admit."
"I missed her too."
"Then don't fuck it up." Crow disappeared into an alley, leaving Arthur alone with his thoughts and the rumbling engine.
Peony Association headquarters occupied a converted industrial complex, its exterior deceptively plain, its interior a fortress. Arthur parked in the reinforced garage, noting the familiar security systems and the guards who recognized him with nods of acknowledgment. He'd earned their respect the hard way, through competence and loyalty to Moran.
Inside, the aesthetic shifted—traditional elements mixing with modern security, the scent of incense cutting through recycled air. Arthur made it three steps before a massive figure blocked his path.
Jin. Young, bulky, with the kind of muscle that came from Nikke-grade augmentation and a face that had stopped more fists than Arthur cared to count. Moran's right hand, enforcer, and the closest thing she had to family.
"Commander Cousland," Jin said, his voice a rumbling bass. "Been a while."
"Jin. You get bigger every time I see you."
A slight smile cracked Jin's severe expression. "Boss's orders. She wants me intimidating." He gestured toward the stairs. "She's waiting. You know the way, but I'll walk you anyway. Protocol."
They climbed in companionable silence, past the operational floors where Peony Association business happened—logistics, territory management, the legitimate fronts that funded Moran's less legal activities. The top floor belonged to Moran alone, her private domain.
Jin stopped at the ornate door to her office. "Fifteen minutes ago, she was pacing. Five minutes ago, she sat down and pretended to review reports. Now she's probably holding her breath." He knocked once, formal and precise. "Commander Cousland to see you, Boss."
"Send him in," came Moran's voice, steady and professional.
Jin opened the door, stepped aside, and gave Arthur a look that clearly said *don't hurt her*. Arthur nodded understanding and entered.
The office was exactly as he remembered—traditional aesthetics meeting practical functionality, screens hidden behind decorative panels, weapons concealed in elegant furniture. And behind the broad desk, backlit by soft light filtering through decorative screens, sat Moran.
Arthur took a moment just to look at her.
Long black hair cascaded over her shoulders, perfectly straight, framing a face that managed to be both beautiful and dangerous. Red eyes—the telltale sign of her Nikke nature, though few in the Outer Rim knew the truth—tracked his approach with barely contained emotion. Large gold earrings caught the light as she tilted her head slightly. She wore a yellow kimono with an intricate flower motif, its deep neckline revealing the curve of her collarbones and the upper swell of her breasts. An open black coat draped over her shoulders completed the look—traditional authority meeting modern power.
She tried to maintain her serious expression, the face of an Underworld Queen greeting a valued associate. It lasted about three seconds.
"You look different," Moran blurted, then immediately looked annoyed with herself. "I mean, welcome back. Your leave was approved?"
Arthur smiled. There it was—the airheaded goofball lurking beneath the ruthless crime lord exterior. The genuine, unfiltered Moran who'd captured his interest years ago when she'd tried to intimidate him during their first meeting and accidentally complimented his jacket instead.
"Two weeks mandatory," Arthur confirmed, crossing the office in long strides. "Killed a Tyrant-class Rapture. Command thinks I need rest."
Moran stood, her professionalism crumbling further. "A Tyrant? Arthur, that's—you could have died!"
"Didn't though." He reached her desk, saw the reports she'd been pretending to read were upside down, and felt warmth flood through him. "Missed you, Moran."
Her red eyes widened, then softened. "Missed you too. So much. I tried to keep track through my contacts but information from the Ark proper is always limited and—"
He kissed her, cutting off the rambling with lips against lips, his goddesium hands cupping her face gently. Moran melted into him immediately, all pretense abandoned, her arms wrapping around his neck.
When they broke apart, she was breathless, her careful composure completely destroyed. "That was... I mean... we should catch up properly. Talk. There's so much—"
"Talk," Arthur agreed, settling into the chair across from her desk. "Tell me everything."
So she did. The Outer Rim's political landscape had shifted in his absence—minor territorial disputes, a new gang trying to establish itself in neutral ground, routine enforcement actions. But Peony Association remained strong, Moran's reputation keeping most challenges at bay.
Arthur shared what he could—his graduation, Squad Thirteen, the missions, the growing recognition. He carefully edited around classified details but gave her enough to understand his new life.
"And your squad," Moran said carefully, her expression neutral in a way that meant she was actively managing her emotions. "Crow mentioned you're... close with them."
"Some of them," Arthur admitted. "Scarlet and Nyx. It's... complicated."
"Complicated like us?" Moran's smile was fragile.
"Different. But not replacing you." Arthur leaned forward. "Moran, you've always known what I am. What we are. I don't do exclusivity well, but I don't do dishonesty either. They know about you. And I'm here, aren't I?"
Moran's smile strengthened. "You are." She stood, circling her desk with deliberate grace. "And I've been very patient, Arthur. Very understanding. But you've been gone for months, and I am *not* patient by nature."
"No?" Arthur watched her approach, heat building in his gut.
"No." She straddled him in the chair, her kimono riding up over her thighs, her hands framing his face. "I'm selfish. Possessive. And right now, I want you to remind me why I let you leave in the first place."
Arthur's hands found her hips, goddesium fingers gripping synthetic flesh with perfect control. "I can do that."
Their second kiss was hungrier, all the restraint burning away in mutual need. Arthur stood, lifting Moran with him—her Nikke body weighed more than human, but his prosthetic strength handled it easily. He turned, setting her on the desk, scattering the useless reports.
Moran's fingers worked his clothes with fumbling eagerness, her usual grace abandoned in favor of desperate speed. "Missed this," she gasped against his mouth. "Missed you. Missed—"
"Show me," Arthur growled, his hands pushing aside silk and synthetic skin, finding the heat beneath.
They came together on her desk like countless times before—urgent and raw, the connection between them forged through years of trust and mutual understanding. Moran wrapped her legs around him, her red eyes locked on his, every barrier between crime lord and lover stripped away.
Afterward, they lay tangled on the desk, breathing hard, Moran's kimono hopelessly disheveled, Arthur's clothes half-removed.
"Definitely missed that," Moran murmured, her fingers tracing the seams where Arthur's goddesium prosthetics met flesh. "Two weeks?"
"Two weeks," Arthur confirmed.
"Then stay. Here. With me." Moran's vulnerability showed through, the woman beneath the Underworld Queen. "I know you have your squad, your new life. But give me this time. Please."
Arthur kissed her forehead. "That's why I came."
Moran's smile was radiant and real, the genuine emotion that had captured him years ago. "Good."