Work Text:
Blood on her hands is supposed to be metaphorical, yet Kat's fumbling with the sonic cleanser.
Philippa takes it from her hands, wiping it clean. "You're getting blood on it."
"There's blood everywhere."
"Blades are messy." Philippa lays Kat's hands in her lap, cleaning them methodically. "You did better than I thought."
"You thought I couldn't handle it?"
"I knew you could, but the choice was yours."
Their work is difficult, more visceral than broken ships floating lost.
Philippa strokes her cheek. "You did well."
"We accomplished the mission."
Victory - and something else - lights Philippa's dark eyes. "We saved lives."