[Backstory] Scars

Some locals in Shepherd’s Rest would call Seven Stars a brothel, but the proprietor would always - calmly, but with a tinge of exasperation - correct them to call it a guesthouse. Of course there were personal entertainers that would rent the rooms, but it wasn't up to Seven Stars to dictate what people did when they stayed.
 
It was a popular spot for Skirmishers on leave wanting a break away from the Tower if they didn’t have lodgings in Shepherd’s Rest, mainly for its proximity to Tashas and its private rooms. Those who weren’t heading straight for The Subtle Smile, anyway.
 
Romance between fellow Skirmishers wasn't forbidden - too many past Commanders had tried and failed at that sort of embargo - but there was the expectation that you be discreet and don't let it affect your duties. The latter was easy enough most days, but discretion was difficult in the barracks - so many would meet at the Stars instead. Not only was it reasonably priced, they also did an especially nice breakfast that they would bring to the room.
 
Robyn got up to answer the door, throwing on a shirt to be somewhat presentable, taking the breakfast with thanks from the service staff and shutting the door behind her.
 
“I could get used to seeing you in my shirt bringing me breakfast.”
 
Robyn snorted. “You’re lucky you have any shirts left with the way you were betting last night,” she said as she put the tray on the bedside table. “Also, who said I was bringing you breakfast?”
 
Brennan pouted comically, and swiped his arms to pull Robyn back into the bed when she was in reach. “You’d never let me starve.”
 
“You’re hardly in danger of that.”
 
“Oi! What’s with the cruelty this morning? You wound me.”
 
Robyn snorted, turning in the loop of his arms to face him and leaning in for a gentle kiss. “Better?”
 
“Mm. Much.”
 
They ate breakfast in companionable silence, Brennan propped up against the headboard and Robyn sat cross legged at the foot, flicking through one of the books from the shelves in the room. Brennan reached a foot out to nudge at Robyn’s thigh, pushing aside the cover enough to get a better look at the web of scarring there.
 
“That looks nasty. How did you get it?”
 
Robyn quirked an eyebrow. “Didn’t you notice it last night?”
 
“There may have been… other things that had my attention,” Brennan admitted. “Don’t mean you get to change the subject.”
 
She snorted. “Yeah, I got that before you joined and we got Named.”
 
“How?”
 
“Fell through a floorboard of an old tower,” she said casually, reaching for another pastry.
 
“What?” Brennan sat up straighter, attention piqued. “You don’t just say it like that, there must be more to the story.”
 
“Not everyone is a drama queen like you,” Robyn teased, catching his foot as he swiped at her playfully. “I was ahead of the squad and doing the usual, checking for any traps or wires and whatnot.”
 
“And you missed one?” Brennan looked incredulous.
 
“No, actually, but the floorboards were in bad shape and I took a wrong step. Fell down two floors into the cellar and landed on glass or something sharp and broken. Got knocked out cold, but Caine came down and fished me out, and that was that.”
 
Brennan whistled lowly. “You really are lucky.”
 
Robyn snorted, hopping out of the bed and tidying up the breakfast tray. “If I’d been luckier I’d have not fallen down at all.”
 
“Yeah, but then you’d never have any cool scars to talk about.”
 
She rolled her eyes in fond exasperation. “It’s generally not considered polite to wander around with no shirt on, so it’s not like anyone else would see them anyway.”
 
Brennan looked like he was going to make a crass quip for a moment, but in a rare show of genuine tenderness, he patted the bed beside him. “I’d like to know,” he said. “Tell me about them?”
 
“I’m pretty sure you were there for most of the rest.”
 
“I might not have been. C’mon. You share yours and I’ll share mine.”
 
Robyn hesitated, her hand going still on the tray. This was intimacy beyond what she and Brennan were here for - an intimacy she had not shared with anyone for years now. Her eyes flickered to where her rings were on the nightstand not too far away. For all that she wasn’t doing anything untoward (she was a widow, after all), it felt wrong to wear her wedding band when with other people, just as it still felt wrong to go through the day without it. If nothing else, it was a disservice to the people she spent time with to bring a ghost bed. Yet here she was, dwelling on that very same ghost.
 
Brennan, more astute than he normally let on, shuffled over so he was on the side of the bed closest to her, swinging his legs off and sitting up so he could reach her waist and pull her back into him. She didn’t resist, settling against his chest with a weary sigh.
 
“Too soon to be that close, huh?” he murmured into her hair.
 
“...I guess so.”
 
“That’s okay. I can wait.”
 
Robyn turned in his arms and looked at him, concerned. “Brennan -,”
 
“I know, I know,” he cut in, holding his hands up in surrender. “I didn’t mean, wait for you to move on. We know where you’re heading, Captain - ,”
 
“Ain’t there yet, Bren.”
 
“- and this’ll have to stop when you get close, and I know that. Doesn’t mean I won’t love you any less and you can’t have people you’re close to, Roby.” He reached up to tuck some of her hair behind her ear. “Don’t think we haven’t noticed you being all stern and serious. You’re still allowed to have fun.”
 
Robyn sighed, dropping her face to his shoulder to hide her frown. Plenty of Captains in the Skirmishers were notorious for working hard and playing hard. Why was it she felt she was being held to a different standard?
 
Brennan could only stay quiet for so long. “Sometimes you think so hard I swear someone would be able to notice it in the lowest ring of the Smithing District,” he whispered conspiratorially by her ear.
 
Robyn simply snorted. “Makes up for all those times you don’t think at all.”
 
“Hey!”