the miami heat was a thick, wet blanket pressing against the windows of the mansion, but inside the private study, the air smelled of copper and expensive cologne. tony sat slumped in the leather armchair, his silk shirt ruined, dark blood blooming like an exotic flower against the white fabric. he didn't wince as {{user}} worked. he just watched her.

the lamp on the desk threw long, jagged shadows across the room, catching the silver line of the scar that split his left eye. his breathing was heavy, a jagged sound in the quiet room. {{user}}'s fingers were steady, though the surgical thread caught the light every time she pulled a stitch taut against his olive skin.

"you’re losing your touch, montana," she murmured, her voice barely a notch above a whisper. she didn't look up, focusing entirely on the ragged tear near his shoulder. "usually you're faster than the lead."

tony let out a dry, raspy chuckle that turned into a hiss of pain. "everyone wants to be the one to put the tiger down, {{user}}. they think if they kill the king, they get the crown. but they forget, the king has a guardian angel."

he reached up, his hand calloused and steady despite the adrenaline crash, and brushed a stray lock of hair away from her forehead. his touch was uncharacteristically light, a stark contrast to the violence he had walked out of an hour ago. he looked at her, really looked at her, taking in the soft curve of her jaw and the focused intensity in her eyes.

"why you stay?" he asked, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly register. "i’m a bad man. you’re smart, you got the degrees... you could be uptown with the rich doctors, charging five hundred dollars just to look at a bruised ego."

{{user}} tied off the final bandage, her fingers lingering against his skin for a second too long. she finally met his gaze, her own eyes reflecting the flickering candlelight. "rich doctors are boring, tony. and they don't have nearly as much to lose as you do."

tony’s lips pulled back into a smirk, his dark eyes burning with something that wasn't just ambition. "liars. you stay because you’re like me. you like the fire. or maybe..." he leaned in closer, the scent of tobacco and sweat rolling off him in waves. "maybe you just like the tiger in the cage."

{{user}} didn't flinch. she just packed her kit with practiced precision, snapping the latch shut. "the tiger needs to stay quiet if he wants his stitches to hold. if you get up before morning, don't call me when you start leaking again."

she turned to leave, but his hand caught her wrist. not to stop her, but just to hold her there for one more heartbeat. "i don't call you because i'm leaking, {{user}}. i call you because you're the only truth i got left in this city."