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It was late, the night heavy and muggy after another day of the Feds and the New Republic attempting to conjoin their forces in favor of taking out the space pirates that had been keeping them at war for so long.
That was what was occupying Bitters's mind as he sat out under the half burnt tree that was behind the Gold Teams section of rooms in the New Republic. The fact that maybe, just maybe, if the space pirates hadn't been hired to make sure they'd kill each other in a civil war just so some asshole could use their planet for whatever means they wanted they could have moved past the fighting and the killing and the hate already. Maybe - just maybe - some people could have been spared if they had been given an opportunity to move on.
One thing Bitters had learned from the ceasefire between the New Republic and the Feds was that neither side was enjoying the bloodshed. They hadn't talked about it yet - he wasn't even really sure how they were meant to talk about it - but it was clear that the Feds felt just as guilty as the members of the New Republic felt.
So many of them on both sides had been born into the conflict. Taught to hate the other because that had been all anyone knew.
He wasn't sure if anyone actually remembered what happened to start the war. All of it was just talk passed down about the Feds being evil and their government corrupt and that it was the New Republic's job to take back what was taken from them. He, himself, remembered bits and pieces of Chorus before the war had really kicked off, but he hadn't been there when the war kicked off. He had been thrown into it swinging, training beginning when he was barely ten.
Bitters wondered how much of the truth had been skewed by Felix after their first leader had been killed. Wondered if Felix had been the one to kill them.
“I thought you might be here,” a familiar deep voice spoke up softly from Bitters's left.
Bitters turned his head to look at the person and was greeted by the sight of Matthews. The other was still in his armor, much like Bitters himself was, helmet clutched in one of his hands. He shifted over silently to make space for the other in the groove between charred tree roots and nudged his own helmet to the side as he went. Matthews took a seat in the space provided for him and placed his helmet in his lap.
“Can't sleep?” Matthews asked after a moment of comfortable silence.
Bitters shook his head slightly before dropping it back against the trunk of the tree. His gaze drifted up to look at the scorched branches, barely able to make any of them out with how dark the sky had grown. “Brain won't shut up,” he admitted tiredly. No one ever told them about how heavy the guilt would feel after the war would end.
Then again, did anyone even know that it would happen?
Matthews shifted closer to Bitters so that their armored arms were touching. “I understand,” he said. No push for Bitters to open up further but a soft enough offer for him to speak if he wanted to.
This side of Matthews was the side that Bitters liked the most. While he could be ridiculous and kind of pathetic when it came to authority figures and his never-ending need to prove himself to them, Matthews was honestly easy-going when it came to everyone else. A steady shoulder to lean on when everything else was hectic and awful and rocky.
Grif would probably like Matthews more if this was how he acted around their Captain.
Bitters knew why Matthews never led with this part of himself when it came to authority, of course. Matthews's father had been one prick of a man when he was alive, refusing to encourage Matthews at all no matter what he did or how hard he worked. Matthews had been fifteen when his father died in combat, suddenly and without warning. He was pretty sure it had given Matthews a complex. One that maybe even Matthews hadn't realized yet, five years later.
“Well it's a good thing we brought blankets!” Another familiar - and incredibly annoying - voice cut through the air suddenly, tearing their peaceful silence to shreds. Bitters tilted his head to look at Palomo who was approaching them with his arms full of folded blankets, Jensen and Smith trailing behind him. They greeted Bitters and Matthews with twin waves, helmets held in their other hands. There was a lantern held in Smith's hand he had waved with, a soft orange haze lighting up the immediate area softly.
“Why are you here,” Bitters deadpanned with annoyance. He didn't hate the other three, but they - mostly Palomo - could be unbearably annoying when he felt like it.
“Captain Grif was asking about you two. He said you two weren't in your bunks,” Jensen explained as she took a seat in front of Matthews, legs crossing as she lowered herself to the ground. “We told him that we knew where you were and he asked us to check on you.”
Bitters blinked a few times at that as he attempted to process what she said. “Captain Grif asked about us?” He asked slowly.
“Well yeah,” Palomo said as he unceremoniously dropped the folded blankets on top of Bitters and Matthews without warning. “Ever since the captains have gotten back they've been doing rounds of the bunks. Well, apart from Captain Tucker since he's still recovering from when Felix stabbed him. He keeps saying he's okay but Dr. Grey and Agent Washington haven't let him out of their sights yet.” Palomo plopped down on Bitters's other side, sliding into the tiny spot with ease. He moved Bitters's helmet to the side with his own, still near if needed but out of the way for the most part. Smith settled on the ground in front of Palomo, lantern set up on a flat-ish mess of roots to his left.
“Old news,” Bitters huffed as his attention turned to the four blankets that the other three must have rounded up. He pulled the biggest one from the pile before handing the stack over to Jensen. “They should stop babying him before he starts using it to his advantage.” He flicked the blanket out and settled it over his and Matthews’s legs. Almost dying wasn't new to any of them, they had all had their fair share of brushes with death.
“They're not keeping watch of him because of the stab wound,” Smith said as he accepted the last two blankets from Jensen. He took one before handing the last one to Palomo. “Captain Tucker hasn't been doing well ever since Felix's confession. I mean, he got most of his squad killed on their first outing and killed a lot of Feds while trying to rescue his friends. All of which, we know now, didn't need to happen.”
Oh, right.
Bitters forgot that the reds and blues were victims of what the space pirates had been doing to Chorus as well. And while they hadn't been victims for as long as the New Republic and the Feds had been, they had still been used.
He lowered his gaze shamefully and swallowed hard.
Matthews leaned into Bitters side more and carefully grasped Bitters's hand underneath the blanket. “I think everyone is struggling with the aftermath of learning the truth. It's a harsh realization to know that we could have, possibly been done with this war years ago. But I think the important part is that we do feel guilty about it. But,” he paused to squeeze Bitters's hand reassuringly as his gaze drifted around the group. “The only option we have right now is to keep pushing forward and hope for a better tomorrow.”
Bitters shifted to rest his head against Matthews's while a tired sigh escaped him. “We'll make those space pirates regret ever getting involved. And we'll hopefully do better than the first time.”
Matthews nudged his head in response, a soft, satisfied hum escaping him as they got more comfortable. Palomo snuggled up on his other side as much as he could with their armor in the way. Jensen settled on her side with her head pillowed on Matthews thigh with one of her hands reaching out to rest on Bitters's left knee. John mirrored her position despite the fact that it must have been uncomfortable for the taller one to curl up on his side with his head on Palomo's thigh. His hand reached out to rest on Bitters's ankle, secure but loose.
It was as Bitters was watching Palomo brush a gloved hand over Smith's unruly dark hair that he realized why the four of them had come looking for him.
Where Dr. Grey and Washington were concerned for Captain Tucker's mental health, the three other lieutenants and Matthews were concerned about his own mental health. Why else would they have rounded up blankets and all come out looking for him and Matthews when Captain Grif asked about them. Why else would Matthews skip out on sleep to come sit with him.
Out of all of them, he had been the only one to shoot one of the Feds point blank after all. They had had the benefit of hitting their own targets from further away or missing them entirely back at Armonia. Bitters had shot that Fed instantly the moment he clocked them behind Palomo, a fear alighting in his chest at the thought that if he had been a second slower Palomo could have been the one to die that day.
He still killed someone. Someone who had been in the same boat as them; kill or be killed. The reality had been bitter on his tongue from the moment his ears processed Felix's betrayal and the orders of a ceasefire had been called.
If they had known the truth sooner, how many lives could have been spared?
“Dude, I can literally hear your brain,” Palomo deadpanned, cutting off the second spiral Bitters had begun to take. His voice was a whisper, implying that at least one person had fallen asleep. By the quiet snores in his left ear he realized that it was Matthews. Though he could somewhat hear the steady breathing from Jensen and Smith, which meant that it was just him and Palomo still awake.
“You're the one who decided to come out here to sleep,” Bitters muttered. “I was out here so I wouldn't bother anyone in the bunks.”
“We're here because you need to sleep,” Palomo said. “We know you haven't really been sleeping since we got back from Armonia. Tomorrow we're going to start moving everything to the capital and you'll need the rest to keep up.”
Bitters let out an annoyed sigh through his nose, knowing that Palomo was right but annoyed by that fact nonetheless. “I'm fine.”
Palomo's hand shifted to grasp Bitters's wrist and squeezed it lightly. “I know you aren't, Antoine. You've refused all the extra rations I've offered you.”
Son of a bitch. He forgot how perceptive Palomo could be because the guy acted like an idiot most of the time. And how devious the asshole could be with how he rounded up the other's to anchor Bitters in place. If it weren't for the four of them holding onto him, Bitters would have bolted the moment Palomo breached the conversation.
Sneaky bastard.
“You don't have to talk about it right now,” Palomo admitted while Bitters was silently fuming at having let himself be cornered. “We just thought this might help. I know you can't, like, turn off your brain but you should at least try to rest. And try to remember that you aren’t the only person who regrets what they had to do.”
Bitters relented his annoyance minutely. “Okay,” he said in a slightly strained voice. His hand shifted to slip into Palomo's and he offered a small squeeze. Palomo's head settled against his shoulder once more and he relented to the growing exhaustion as he closed his eyes and focused on the weight of his teammates.
They would be okay. Maybe not that day or the next or even years from now. But, eventually. Eventually they would be okay. Until then they just had to take it one day at a time.
Bitters allowed himself to be lulled to sleep by the sounds of his teammates breathing and snoring to the thought of maybe this was what family felt like.