Greet the day | Miles, Bass, Charlie| Last watch| PG |
She takes the last watch, the one that lets her see dawn creep into the camp, the gentle fingers of light soft and forgiving on their faces. Miles would frown and Bass would froth at the mouth if they knew how much of her four hours she spends watching them, but she doesn't neglect her duty, not really. She simply lets her gaze settle on them between sweeps of the camp, and wonders.
She's seen them sleep before, beds and couches and random corners in innumerable safe houses, but this - isn't that. They don't avoid each other, or glare across the room for hours before hunkering down into resentful silence. They don't stay awake, staring out into the night, as if they'd rather take on its terrors than be forced to talk.
Deep into enemy territory, just her to watch their backs, they seem … happy. Relaxed, at least. Enough to actually sleep. Charlie watches, mesmerised, as their bodies turn into each other, arms and hands tangling together, faces smoothing into contentment, united against the cold. She can't look away, the warmth in her chest more than making up for the frozen fingers she curls inside her jacket.
She craves this, during the day. These moments before they wake make it easier to endure the bullshit fights, the endless sniping, and the inevitable alcoholic catatonia they retreat to before collapsing into their bedrolls at night.
(They drop them so carelessly, those bedrolls. They bounce and tumble off each other, but manage to find a strange order, fanning out from the fire. Charlie is closest, warmest, then behind her, Bass, and behind him, Miles. Always.)
Bass takes the first watch, Miles sitting up with him for an hour or two as Charlie lets their low-voiced arguments soothe her to sleep. Eight hours later, Miles wakes her, a question in his eyes as she climbs out of the shelter of Bass' warm body.
She has questions of her own.
Where does she fit, in the predawn light? She takes the last watch, craves it, seeing them like this, but every time she does …
She wants to slide in between them, say goodbye to the dawn, and greet the day.
She takes the last watch, the one that lets her see dawn creep into the camp, the gentle fingers of light soft and forgiving on their faces. Miles would frown and Bass would froth at the mouth if they knew how much of her four hours she spends watching them, but she doesn't neglect her duty, not really. She simply lets her gaze settle on them between sweeps of the camp, and wonders.
She's seen them sleep before, beds and couches and random corners in innumerable safe houses, but this - isn't that. They don't avoid each other, or glare across the room for hours before hunkering down into resentful silence. They don't stay awake, staring out into the night, as if they'd rather take on its terrors than be forced to talk.
Deep into enemy territory, just her to watch their backs, they seem … happy. Relaxed, at least. Enough to actually sleep. Charlie watches, mesmerised, as their bodies turn into each other, arms and hands tangling together, faces smoothing into contentment, united against the cold. She can't look away, the warmth in her chest more than making up for the frozen fingers she curls inside her jacket.
She craves this, during the day. These moments before they wake make it easier to endure the bullshit fights, the endless sniping, and the inevitable alcoholic catatonia they retreat to before collapsing into their bedrolls at night.
(They drop them so carelessly, those bedrolls. They bounce and tumble off each other, but manage to find a strange order, fanning out from the fire. Charlie is closest, warmest, then behind her, Bass, and behind him, Miles. Always.)
Bass takes the first watch, Miles sitting up with him for an hour or two as Charlie lets their low-voiced arguments soothe her to sleep. Eight hours later, Miles wakes her, a question in his eyes as she climbs out of the shelter of Bass' warm body.
She has questions of her own.
Where does she fit, in the predawn light? She takes the last watch, craves it, seeing them like this, but every time she does …
She wants to slide in between them, say goodbye to the dawn, and greet the day.
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My ot3 ♥!
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