Work Text:
“Sorry for taking your shirt,” she said casually, easing the door closed behind her. “When I heard the knocking, I grabbed the first thing I could find.” She started to take her pink jacket off her shoulders, paused. “What is it?”
The question was met with an irritated grunt. “Did you really have to tell him all that, Lieutenant?”
She did not make the mistake of thinking that his anger was directed at her. Instead, her mind went back to that morning at Central Command, shortly after their transfer, when he hadn’t found it in himself to tell Edward and his brother the truth about Hughes’ murder. She had berated him, then. She didn’t think it would do to do the same now.
She calmly walked over to the bed, and sat down by his side. “He won’t admire you any less, you know.”
He grimaced in what she recognized as true, unfiltered shame, and wearily covered his eyes with his hand, bracing his elbow on his knee.
She waited for a few moments for a response that never came, and finally gave in with a quiet sigh. “Just remember to act surprised when he confronts you about your plans, sir.”
He briefly glanced at her through his fingers. “You think he will?”
“I’m sure he will. You heard him. He’s worried about us. And for all the air of bravado and nonchalance that he puts up with you, he looks up to you. Possibly more than he does anyone else.” She paused meaningfully. “Such a mulish boy. Almost reminds me of someone.”
It was his turn to sigh, which he did, typically, with far more theatricality than she ever could have mustered. Almost an entire minute passed before he murmured, in a tone subdued but also somewhat amused, if bitterly so: “'Not about martyrdom,’ huh?”
Her eyebrows drew involuntarily together. “I was just stating a fact, sir.”
He laughed, but the sound was laced with sorrow. He hadn’t even lifted his head, his face stubbornly hidden behind his palm. Slowly, he moved his free arm toward her and wrapped his fingers around her hands, which rested in her lap, clasped together. The rest of him still didn’t move. “Knowing ourselves, we should probably try and keep those words in mind.”
She understood both his meaning and the sentiment behind it, but found herself unable, or perhaps unwilling, to fall for the tricky, reassuring fantasy that it implied. And besides, it was dubious whether he himself believed that they would ever actually find the strength to follow on that particular piece of advice. For people like them and in a position such as theirs, it took a special kind of bravery to act in one’s own self-interest.
She voiced none of these thoughts. “Of course, sir.”
He laughed again, as hopelessly as before, not fooled in the slightest. “I’m afraid I won’t be much use if I don’t get some more rest while I can, Lieutenant. My wound aches.”
She took his words in and eyed her transfer papers, lying innocuously on the otherwise bare surface of her dresser. “Yes. It seems that neither of us will be able to sleep for a long time, come tomorrow.”
“Let’s go to bed, then.”
The street outside had gone unusually quiet, and for a few moments her apartment was perfectly peaceful and still, Hayate himself having probably gone to sleep. Rarely had she felt so disconnected from her surroundings. “Let’s.”
They could delay their goodbyes a little bit longer.