(( TW for brief mention of needles through skin

also this is kind of a skeleton i will work on later too lalala ))

She was new.

He had never seen her before.

Why had he never seen her before? He was there almost daily. He spoke constantly to the Witch Doctor. They were nearly best friends. There had been no indication that something would change. Yet something had changed, and that something took the form of an Apprentice. She was stunning to him. Deep brown skin, thick purple hair braided down her back, and a piercingly focused pair of black eyes only slightly magnified by the glasses she wore. Her jewellery was modest, and her colourful clothes were simple though already bloodied - all the markings of a low-level, fresh witch doctor apprentice.

And, currently, she was pushing a needle through the skin on his arm, just on the outskirts of a long, deep gash. Right. He had been testing something out, and then…well, his memory ended with a literal flash of light, so it couldn't have been good. He couldn't even form the words to ask what had happened; he could move his eyes, but the rest of him had been overcome with a paralytic, no doubt to keep him still through the pain. All he could do was watch her, and the way she painstakingly made sure each stitch was perfect (even though it was absolute agony when she didn't, and unthreaded to try again), and those black eyes of hers never wavered from her work on his arm.

Eventually the sheer pain of her work made him pass out again, but not without thinking that she was quite pretty.

+++

She was the Shaman's niece, and she wanted to be one of the Witch Doctors that hovered ever-close to the Alchemists. The ones who waited for the inevitable, and did their best to patch up the wounds that sprang from the unknown. She strove for relentless perfection, which lead to some questionable 'treatments'. Salbei approved of her methods, even when he was on the receiving end of her work. He almost always left with more holes in his skin than when he started, but he couldn't argue with her methods. A Mare after his own heart. She knew her paralytics, which never hurt.

Well, not permanently, anyway.

+++

Eventually, she became his go-to. If he needed anything, he ended up going to her first. Her work was helpful most of the time, and more often than not his requests ended up forgotten in the busy nature of being a dedicated Alchemist-Doctor, but that only meant he could go and see her again to remind her. It wasn't a terrible way to go about things. It got him out of his tent, and he usually got to see her subjecting some poor sap to a too-dull suture needle, or a disinfectant so strong it seared the skin around the minor wounds.

Some days, he would catch her laughing with the wounded Alchemist's friends. Her laugh was sharp and cruel, but it was music to his ears. Sometimes, she would laugh with him, or indulge him with a very heated debate over the venom that works best for medicinal purposes. Those days were the best days. Her intellect was as dazzling as her dedication.

+++

It wasn't the first time he considered asking her on a date. Nor would it be the last. Today he managed to make it to the Witch Doctor's tent, which was a feat on its own. The moment he saw her though, and the moment she gave him a welcoming smile, he changed his mind. No, what they had was perfect. It didn't need anything more than what was already there.

He faked his injuries acting up again - the horrible, blood-spewing cough he'd acquired in the last year or so - and had a small, harmless chat about their research over waiting for cultures to come back.

+++

Decades passed. It had all become a routine. Comfortable. Normal. He became a Sage and gained a steady Apprentice of his own, while she was about to take over for the Elderly Witch Doctor, and their friendship remained intact and unaltered. She was still his go-to, and he was still hers when it came to needing materials form other clans. He had long since buried the urge to ask her on a date, or to push their friendship any further. There was no reason. It was perfect the way it was. Neither of them needed anything more than they already had.

He should have known that all good things come to an end. There was a reason that saying was cliche: because it was true.

The Hunters attacked the islands. The Clans crumbled.

He never got to see her again.