Work Text:
It wasn't a good time to pass out, she knew that. Scarlett kept blinking her eyes over and over, hoping that it and the countless too-sugary energy drinks would be enough. Because behind the wheel wasn't a good place to pass out either. She could wake someone up; make it their problem. But she was too damn stubborn, and she refused to do anything less than her share of mileage. They were all tired, they didn't have the luxury of giving up. She just had to tough it out, practice meditation or something. Just one more mile, several hundred times. Just a few more minutes until it was hours until it was dawn and someone else's turn to drive them across the desert. But for now, it was just her.
Her and the endless vortex of flat terrain, the road, the repeating white strip down the middle, the cat eyes flashing at her over and over. It was hypnotic really, the tunnel the headlights created, narrowed the world down to. There wasnt a street light for miles. There weren't any stars. There wasnt anything.
She leaned back in the van's driving seat, half closing her eyes. It wasnt like you really needed to see to drive in a straight line. They had laser guns, but not self-driving cars, the world was crazy. She closed her eyes, just for a second. Just long enough for her heart to restart and make her jerk the wheel as she shot awake.
Scarlett held her breath, hoping it hadn't woken any of her team. Or maybe that it had and someone would offer her a break, a reprieve.
Her eyes really burned, and she was staring so hard and wide they might just roll out onto the dash. Maybe she should pull over. What was she trying to prove, anyway? Her foot eased off the accelerator. She could take a nap, 15 minutes, nobody had to know.
The rattling vibrating hunk of metal came to a stop on the hard shoulder, the engine begrudgingly drowned out by crickets.
Exhaustion hit immediately. Dizzingly so. Melting into the seat, which wasnt even comfortable but it would do, she reached for her watch to set an alarm. Periodically forcing her eyes open so she could see the buttons, accidentally pressing the wrong ones. Started again. Closed her eyes. Opened them. Started again, closed her eyes
.
.
.
The van was moving. She was horizontal, lying in one of the fold-down bunks in the back as the van rhythmically rocked her in and out of sleep. It was also light, bright even. Someone was driving.
Her pride told her to get embarrassed, defensive, angry. Her pride had also told her to drive 70 miles per hour with her eyes closed and damn the consequences.
She could get up, start snapping about insubordination, about undermining her decisions, insist on taking the wheel, punish her team for giving her a break.
Instead, she buried her face into the scratchy cheap pillow and let herself fall back into that blessed, dreamless sleep.