Work Text:
It started with just a small sneeze. Light and high-pitched—even she was surprised she could make such a sound. Only Lucia was present in the Gray Raven lounge at that time, her head darting up to meet her commandant’s eyes with mild concern, not even paying attention to how amusing it was for a military officer to make such a feeble noise.
“Are you alright, Commandant?”
She smiled and nodded. “Yes, fine.” She rubbed the bottom of her nose and sniffed. “There must just be something in the air.” Lucia quickly stood to check the airflow, opening the sliding door just a fraction due to the lack of movable windows in the room. “No need to go through all that trouble,” Commandant assured her. “Besides, you might jam the door that way…”
But Lucia simply waved her off. “Lee can fix it.” They stifled their laughs, simply exchanging smiles, until Lucia’s expression took on a more serious tone. “You are the core of our team. I’m sure he would agree.”
It was hard to break away from showers of praise once they started to fall. Denying being such a pivotal figure or even trying to share the spotlight with the rest of her team only made the downpour last longer—so she accepted it with a practised nod and smile. She loved her team. But sometimes she wished they’d let her care for them as well.
Then came a light cough. It was later in the day, Babylonia’s artificial sky a deep, honey-like orange. The whole of Gray Raven was gathered, doing simple evening duties with no deployments scheduled for the immediate future, granting a rare but certainly well-deserved reprieve from the frontline. She was busy wondering if anyone she knew was down on the surface, admittedly slacking off from the report Celica was practically begging to be submitted on time, when an odd feeling began to rise in her chest.
She attempted to disguise the cough as a clearing of her throat. It was only small. She, a high-ranking military official, the Gray Raven Commandant, should be able to handle one little cough. Nothing serious at all—though the other three on her team appeared to disagree, seeing through her instantly. All three of them looked over at once, Liv a fraction of a second quicker than the other two, her sharp gaze already roving her face from afar for any telltale signs of medical issues and/or conditions.
“Commandant?” Liv’s soft voice spoke first.
“Is the air still…” Lucia began—but decided to not even bother asking, checking around the lounge for herself.
Lee stood, observing the room, probably monitoring things like moisture levels and the rate of airflow, searching for anything out of place.
“Guys, I’m fine.” She tried to diffuse their concern with a slight laugh; of course, she should know better than to try. The next thing she knew, Liv was by her side, checking her over—but being careful not to protrude into her personal space.
She knew they wanted to trust her words. On the battlefield, they followed her orders without question. It wasn’t that they trusted her blindly, but neither did they feel the need to consider her commands deeply to assess their worth. It was that the bond between them was as strong as an iron chain, their faith in her unshakeable. Unfortunately, she thought with a light sigh, that didn’t seem to extend to their life in Babylonia.
“Am I… irritating you, Commandant?” Liv asked carefully, retreating from her close inspection.
Immediately, she waved her hands in objection. “No, not at all! I just mean to assure you that I feel fine.”
“Are you sure?”
Commandant nodded. “Yes. I promise.” She said that to all of them, meeting their eyes one by one, holding their gazes until they accepted her word—or pretended to at least.
How many promises had she given them only to be broken? She saw that thought appear in Lee’s mildly exasperated expression. He sighed, slowly sitting back down on the couch and going back to surveying mission data from previous deployments, inciting the other two to also back away and return to what they had been doing.
Well, now she just felt bad. She made it up to them later by forcing them all to take a break under the pretence of them taking care of her, making her coffee and sharing two fruit-flavoured electrolytes between them and eating snacks; though they didn’t need to eat and had prepared it all for her, she insisted they join her.
When she woke up, she felt worse. Maybe the sneeze and cough had been a warning for the relentless pounding in her temples. It was like a horrible wake-up alarm that had no snooze. In fact, it didn’t seem to be able to be turned off at all. Carefully, she rubbed at her eyes that ached, not even bothering to check the digital clock on the monitor beside her bed. Earth deployments messed up her day-night time cycle recognition, but she still knew it was a stupid time to be awake.
This was just awful. Military officers didn’t get sick. They stood on pedestals and shone as beacons for the world—for the lowly and the weak, for the forsaken and condemned. They were the messengers—the heralds for the future in which Earth was rightfully theirs once more.
She coughed, her throat drying out. It felt like something was dragging against her larynx, scratching it, clawing it. It was a clear sign she needed water. She probably didn’t drink enough in her daily life. All it took was her getting sick to force her to drink more.
Liv always gave her a glass of water to take to bed—probably aware of her lacking drinking habits—and she reached over to quickly down half of it, soothing her suddenly parched throat. The reprieve was momentary, a fleeting moment of freedom, before it felt dry and itchy again. Slowly, she could feel whatever she had creeping into her nose.
Urgh, why couldn’t she have suffered injury instead? At least, that would seem heroic. To be put out of commission by a head cold had to be incredibly pathetic for the Gray Raven Commandant.
She rationed her water, too weak to make what felt like an arduous mission to the kitchen, knowing that the longer she was awake, the longer she’d have to put up with that terrible feeling in her throat. Only problem was she wasn’t able to sleep while it was there. Just kill her already! Well, that was what she wanted to say, but she didn’t want to accidentally invite some bad omen or whatever and actually end up dead on their next mission.
Her brain was sore. It hurt to think—so she stopped, sitting there with a pillow propped up behind her like a lifeless doll, waiting out the hours as they ticked slowly by, one dreadful second at a time, dry coughs interspersed throughout. At some point, she found herself breathing through her mouth, a telltale sign that it had reached her sinuses. As if on cue, she sneezed, needing to blow her nose clean. Done for. Whatever resistance she had before completely fell, victim to the head cold. It was like someone had built a dam up in the back of her nose. It felt so watery up there, like she was going to suffocate and drown in her own filth. If it was so watery, why didn’t it just flow freely?!
There was movement in the lounge: the quiet shuffling of feet, the murmur of the coffee machine, a soft-spoken curse as something made contact with the lacquered desk. It was morning. She’d been awake, suffering alone in silence, unable to grasp even just a few more hours of rest necessary for her recovery. As if to add insult to injury, the alarm on her terminal went off, mocking her sleepless night. She’d set it to just a quiet, charming ringtone, since she had grown accustomed to being a light sleeper and waking at the smallest movement—but it felt like it was ringing in her ears, the sound bouncing in the cavities of her head, blaring like an emergency siren.
With a groggy groan, she hauled herself out of her bed and towards the main area of the lounge. The door to her tiny private quarters whisked open—she was barely ever in Babylonia for long and didn’t really need much space—and she was met with the blinding overhead lights, so starkly different to her dark room. She lifted her head to find Lee closely monitoring the coffee machine. The others were not in the lounge.
Her mouth was so dry, lips cracked, slightly parted so she could breathe, a light wheeze heard every time she inhaled. Every breath uncomfortably tickled her scratchy throat, making her want to cough violently, but she suppressed the urge, wanting to get her hands on some form of liquid first.
“You… don’t sound good.” Lee’s voice drew her to attention, the blue lights on his frame blinking softly. He turned with a mug of coffee, and his eyes narrowed in worry as he saw her. Placing it down, he made his way to her in two large steps, his hands hovering by her sides. “You don’t look good, either.” He placed a hand on her forehead, monitoring her temperature.
She reached for his wrist, pulling it down and patting it with her other hand. “Lee, I’m okay.”
“How do you manage to so obviously lie to my face with such sincerity?”
“You’re not a medic. Don’t stress yourself out.”
“I can still take care of you fine.” He easily slipped from her grasp, bracing a hand on her back and guiding her weakened figure to the couch.
Once she had sat down, her eyes sore and vision blurring at random as she stared at the table surface, she asked, “What was that noise earlier?”
“I hit my elbow on the corner of the table.” He spoke matter-of-factly as he walked back to the kitchenette, unafraid to answer her question and not embarrassed by it at all.
“So even Constructs like you hurt yourself like that,” she said smugly.
“Our pain receptors are modelled to be the same as yours.”
“Where are Lucia and Liv?”
“Asimov asked for them. They left early. I can call them back if you need me to.”
She waved a hand dismissively. “No, what they’re doing will be important.” Her throat cracked mid-sentence, killing her voice and making the rest of her words hoarsely spoken. Immediately after, it was followed by a cough she wasn’t able to hold back. More than one, actually. It felt like her body wouldn’t be satisfied until she had hurled up her stomach onto the desk.
A hand began to rub her upper back, its motion soothing but ultimately useless. She did appreciate Lee’s presence—and the coffee mug he had returned with, its steam a welcome sensation on her face. She wanted to drown in the brown liquid. She drank, needing something to try and smooth out the scratches in her throat. Lee always made flawless coffee. It was beyond scientific perfection, and it was almost as if he was unable to make a bad cup.
She could barely taste it today, a sullen frown taking place on her face as she put the plain ceramic mug to the side. “I think I’ll just stay in the lounge today…” It was like her voice box had just completely broken down, grinding out sounds that vaguely sounded like words.
Lee hummed in agreement, his hand falling still just beneath the base of her neck. She’d need the rest—though she’d likely spend the entire time awake. Plus, she still had her duties.
“Did you finish that report for Celica?”
With a loud groan, her head collapsed onto the table, a childishly obvious answer to his question. “Ugh, I don’t wanna…” she sobbed.
“Please don’t behave like a juvenile, Commandant.”
“You’re the only one here.” Her voice was muffled as her body lay face down. “So I don’t care.”
He seemed to still beside her, quieted by her comment. He left for a brief moment—a moment in which she managed to get her weary head up and sip more of the coffee—and returned with her terminal. She scooted over on the couch as he made to sit down, giving him room as he placed the terminal on the table between them.
She pouted at him—something she barely had the energy to do—and he simply shook his head at her. “I'm going to help you.”
She blinked at him. “Really?” She rubbed her aching eyes.
Lee nodded. “Just as well, Constructs don't get sick.” The smallest of smiles crept onto his face, an emotion perhaps even he was unsure of present in his features. “I can still get close to you.”
It lifted her spirits ever so slightly, and she reciprocated it with a weak grin. “Aren't you getting bold?”
He blinked at her, as if not understanding what was so strange about the comment he had made. “How am I supposed to help you from afar?” Naturally.
With a little gentle but firm prompting, Commandant made to open the report file, as well as the data required to fill it out. Technically, it was a really easy and simple assignment; it was just really boring and hardly important in the grand scheme of things. That on its own was enough to kill her motivation—but with a head cold now mixed in and the approaching deadline increasing her stress and making everything feel so much worse, she really did not want to even be near the terminal. Every press on its screen seemed to take several seconds, and a little bit of extra force had to be applied behind every tap, her fingers refusing to cooperate with their usual dexterity.
Beside her, Lee had opened some of the files on a holographic screen projected from his arm, filtering through the data. “The sooner we get this done, the sooner you can rest.” She supposed that was his way of encouraging her.
Every breath wheezed out of her, and she was so close to cursing herself that it wasn’t even funny. Only the Construct beside her kept her from doing so—to spare him from succumbing to whatever curse she spouted, and also to spare herself from any unnecessary attention.
“Library catalogues?” he muttered. “You even have to fill this out?”
“They asked that anything recovered by Gray Raven on this mission be processed… including literary material…” While she was speaking, Lee rose from his seat. She continued, as if barely registering that he had left her side, “I need to ensure any illegal and restricted material aren’t handed to the public librarians…”
A glass of water was placed in front of her. “Drink this. You sound even worse.” She wasted no time in doing so, grateful to have something there. It hardly alleviated the scratch in her throat, but she was starting to be appreciative of the simple emotional comfort it brought. “All literature was found in City 052. The data should be there.”
“City 052…” She repeated the words, running the very idea of such a place existing in her mind.
“Commandant, under what section would the data for City 052 be?” Lee gently prompted her to search, or at least tell him where to look.
She hummed lowly to herself. She remembered the mission. She remembered collecting the books—even checking and scanning them for Punishing and biohazards. She remembered filing the data away… but where? Her mind seemed to fog over as she tried to recall that simple memory, knowing the data existed somewhere obvious yet unable to think about it beyond that.
Lee waited patiently beside her. “Commandant?” he asked once more.
She knew this! Normally, it would be so simple—but right now, her brain just… didn't work. Like it was incapable of processing such a straightforward command.
He began to type something on his holographic screen—a message, it seemed, from the beep that sounded from it—then turned his attention back to her. “A break, Commandant?”
“We've barely started,” she insisted, despite her initial reluctance to begin. Being frustrated with herself seemed to have given her the necessary motivation to continue.
“You are in no shape to work. Rest will be a far better use of your time.”
The terminal’s screen began to blur, patches of colour appearing in her vision, lines of light trailing in the air. She blinked slowly, trying to digest what was in front of her, but Lee slowly pushed the terminal away, disappearing from the range of her gaze. Her head was thumping tremendously. She braced a hand on her forehead. “I think…” She needed medicine. They must’ve had some somewhere. “Lee…”
She could feel him watching her carefully, hearing the vulnerability in her cracked voice. She hated that feeling—hated the look in his eyes. Because it meant she was burdening her team once more.
Her eyelids fluttered, and she made to grasp for one of the two cups that were beside her, downing whatever was inside instantly. Breathing deeply was a chore, every inhale an unstable wheeze, but she needed the air. The screen projected from Lee’s arm chimed, and his attention turned towards it. “I will be right back,” he reassured her. “Please rest your eyes for the moment, Commandant.”
His voice was soft and gentle in her ears. She didn’t usually pay attention to such details—didn’t have the privilege to. But as Commandant closed her eyes and leaned wearily against the couch backrest, suddenly sound was her only input, her only distraction from the incessant banging in her brain. Quiet whirring, melodic beeping, subtle shuffling, obnoxious sniffling—these made up her world for the time being.
The sound of a third glass being set in front of her brought her back into the moment. “Here, Commandant.” She opened her eyes to see Lee holding a small, white pill in his metallic hand. She reached for it wordlessly, unconsciously brushing her fingers over his as she carefully held the tiny thing. He felt cold to her—or maybe she was just really hot. “Do you need help?”
She shook her head immediately, and her world instantly spun. “I’m fine,” she managed, holding both the pill and glass of water in shaky hands. Her throat felt tight as the pill went down, and for a moment, she was afraid she’d choke. She took another sip just to be sure. “See? Fine.”
They both knew she was anything but. For her sake, Lee didn’t comment on it. “Liv said the medicine would make you drowsy. Perhaps you should retreat to your bed.”
She waved him off. Apparently, her condition looked so bad from the outside perspective that Lee had messaged Liv for help. And to be honest, it probably was as bad as it looked—but she refused to admit so. “I’ll be fine. Just… need to finish the report first… then I’ll rest. Duties and all.” She forced out full sentences as clearly as she could. She was the Gray Raven Commandant, dammit! “I’m fine,” she said again. “I had my medicine.”
Lee frowned at her as she pulled her terminal back in front of her, still as blurry as it was before. “You’re going to get sleepy no matter what you do.”
“I’ll finish this… before then…” A harsh cough only made him frown deeper—but he knew there was nothing he could do to get her to rest short of carrying her to bed himself. She imagined his strong arms wrapped around her, cushioned by the fabric of his coating, Gray Raven emblem stitched on by his careful hands, warmth from his frame processors cradling her gently… “How nice…”
“Commandant?”
The words—barely a breath—slipped out before she even knew she was talking, Lee staring at her in mild confusion. She blinked slowly. Dammit, she could already feel the effects of the medicine slowly eating at her consciousness. She refused to let her head droop, typing sentences onto her terminal, filling out the report line by line.
“Commandant, what you just wrote made no sense.”
She hushed him, not sharply or unkindly, though her fingers slowed at his words nonetheless.
“The medicine is fast-acting, Commandant. Please consider getting into a position suitable for rest.”
“I’m fine.”
A hand gripped her wrist. She met Lee’s stern gaze, which quickly softened along with his hold. “Sorry. I just…” She frustrated him. He didn’t need to say so for her to tell. As cloudy as her mind was, she knew her teammates well enough to see. “Please… can you take care of yourself… for once?” He was careful with his words, but he didn’t need to be. She would always soak in what he said, no matter how he said it, because she knew he was always earnest. As much as she wanted to keep up her failing, stoic appearance, she could feel herself mulling over his words.
“I…” Her hands stilled over the terminal screen. It probably didn’t matter what she wrote. She’d have to rewrite it again later when her head was clear. His hand moved to her shoulder, then to the base of her neck, rubbing his fingers there. Top-tier Babylonian medicine had near-instant effects. Little by little, her consciousness slipped away, forced into a state of mind kinder to her mental being and body. With a sigh, she hung her head. He seemed to pull her slightly closer, maybe intending to have her rest on his shoulder to lessen the risk of neck injury. He was always considerate of such things.
But as she made to lie down, she missed his shoulder, head falling limply onto his thigh. He said nothing, frozen on the spot. “Comman…dant?” His words were barely a breath, not wanting to shatter the fragile moment. He didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands, finally deciding on resting one of them atop her head, tucking a strand of her untidy hair behind her ear. He rubbed circles on her temple, massaging away the pain rooted deeply in her head. His touch was soothing. Her mouth parted slightly as if she wanted to say something, but nothing came out, just a quiet, rhythmic wheeze. His voice had a lulling tone. “Please, rest well, Commandant.”
⁜※⁜
Slowly, Commandant opened her eyes. Her head exploded with pain, momentarily distracting her from the fact that she was not where she should be when resting. The fuzz slowly disappeared from her mind, her senses and thoughts clearing up as she fully regained consciousness. She tried to rise. “Where…”
But a hand gently pushed her back down. “Careful.” Lee’s steady voice warned her. Confirming his presence dispelled the alarm that had begun to gather in her mind. “How are you feeling?”
“My brain feels like it’s splitting,” she mumbled quietly, though his heightened audio modules could no doubt still pick up what she said. “But… I feel better than I did before.”
“Your brain fog has cleared, then.” His hand kept still on her face, a comforting constant presence.
“For the most part.” She hated to admit that the rest she had been forced to take had done her good. She wasted so much time sleeping. While she grappled with a simple cold, others were fighting just to stay alive.
“Your voice is still hoarse,” Lee remarked.
“It’s not going away any time soon.” Despite the coaxing from his hand, she continued to attempt to force herself up. She loosed a slight chuckle at his wordless protest. “Lee.”
He sighed slightly before insisting that he help her, holding her beneath her shoulders to guide her to a sitting position. She wondered if he knew how close he was holding her—how he was refusing to let go until he knew for absolute certain she was okay.
She glanced at the terminal, its screen having shut down. “Let’s try again.”
“You should continue resting.”
She knew she should—but she had a responsibility. “As you said, the sooner we get this done, the sooner I can rest.”
He scrutinised her. “But you don't plan to rest.”
She didn't respond to his comment, typing away at her terminal, fixing horrendous mistakes she had let slip through in her moment of haziness. Time was of the essence. Every idle second that passed was a life that was lost. As the Gray Raven Commandant, she needed to do her part, even if it brought humanity only a smidge closer to victory.
Her work passed in an absence of talk, harsh, dry coughs filling the emptiness routinely. Her glass of water was regularly refilled, and her second coffee of the day slightly lifted the dullness hanging over her. Lee would sit by her, watching over her like a silent sentinel. She had begun to refuse his help—much to his frustration—so he busied himself with other duties.
Like taking care of his Commandant.
He only did small things. She knew it was because if he spent all his time looking after her, she'd give him something else to do—something that could separate them. He wanted nothing less. Though she continued to tell him she was fine, she still wished to respect his thoughts and his concerns. Pushing him away to save her own pride was selfish and cruel. She could never do that to him—so she let him quietly fuss over her in his own subtle way.
Her cough hid the terminal's chime as she sent the finally finished report to Celica. A small weight had been lifted—but there was still much to do for a Task Force commandant. She reached for the water glass to find it empty. Odd, she thought. “Lee?” She slowly rose, ignoring the waves that formed in her vision. Nothing but ringing filled her ears. She knew instantly that he wasn’t there. No matter how soft her voice was, he would have heard. No matter how hard of hearing she might have become, his light touch would have ensured she knew he was near.
Dread filled her, even as mucus clogged her throat and a dizziness washed over her, and she quickened her pace. She called again, checked her sleeping pod, circled on the spot in the middle of the lounge in case she missed him, then darted for the exit. The last thing she should’ve done was leave and expose others to her cold and her sorry state—but Lee was gone.
Commandant’s larynx felt dry as the door quietly whooshed open. She had barely taken a panicked step before bumping right into the person she was looking for, her head slamming right into his metallic chest, blue lights wavering and spinning and twisting and turning and—
She felt his solid grip, and she was ushered back into the lounge. “Commandant?” His tone felt neither harsh nor pitying—simply questioning.
She waited for her vision to solidify before she even attempted to digest the information presented to her. “I noticed you were gone,” she managed. What a horribly cheesy thing to say.
“I just got called out for a moment. I’m sorry. I should have let you know beforehand.” He didn’t even mention how she hadn’t noticed him leave the room. She was so out of it; had she not seen the empty cup, he probably could have returned, and she wouldn’t have batted an eye. “Are you alright? What happened?”
She shook her head—only slightly, her dull headache quietly eating away at her spirit. “Nothing. I just want to know where my team is.”
She could feel him frowning at her even as she maintained her eyes on the contours of his frame, steadying herself. The head cold must have been messing with her brain. They were in the middle of Babylonia—on a planned vacation! Even if Lee had been in trouble, he was more than capable of handling it.
“Have you submitted your report for Celica?”
“Ah? Yes, I have.”
“Then you won’t object to me making you take a break, right?” His voice was firm this time, not even giving her the option to say no.
Despite that, she still tried. “I still have other duties to tend to—”
“Which can all be done later,” he interjected. He guided her back to the sofa, probably imprinted with her figure from how long she had been sitting there, and he made himself comfortable beside her. Her terminal shut off and extended beyond her reach, all Commandant could do was sit there and stare blankly at the desk, the sound of her breathing overshadowing everything.
What should they be doing? What should she be doing? For a Task Force commandant who was always on the go, sitting down and biding her time for instruction and healing just felt incredibly wasteful. She coughed harshly, and with a light groan, she slipped her body forward, bracing her head with her hand, thumb massaging her temple, cementing her body in place.
She felt Lee’s uncertainty beside her. Perhaps he was asking himself the same question: what should he be doing?
He seemed to settle with planting a hand on her shoulder, his touch familiar, allowing her to focus on his physical presence. She thought it awful of her to be so dissatisfied. Her Constructs went out of their way to look out for her—but all she could think about was returning to the field.
At that moment, Lee asked a bold question—by his standards, at least. “Commandant… Can I ask you why?”
Her eye cracked open as she shifted her gaze to look at him. “Why?” He didn’t need to elaborate. Lee was often aloft and distant, but as her teammate, she read the questions and the concerns and the ideas on his face instantly.
Why would she push herself to the brink even when they were not on deployment? Even at the cost of herself?
The answer was right there—but saying it out loud felt incredibly stupid. But she took another look at the Construct waiting patiently beside her. It didn’t matter. Not one bit. She could say the most moronic thing, and he’d still try to understand—and if it truly was the thought of an imbecile, he’d do his best to correct her thinking. Because thinking and problem-solving were what he did best—and her life was still in her hands because of it.
“Maybe… I feel guilty.” Her gaze drifted back to the desk, slowly steadying as she came clean with the thoughts that plagued her. “An injury would physically stop me, but a common cold… I’m here doing nothing… because of that?”
“It happens to be called a common cold for a reason.”
She let herself chuckle lightly at his dry sense of humour before her smile was swallowed by the pain in her head. “Don’t you feel it? Their stares? The pedestal they place you on continues to grow. Your beacon shines brighter—and more people can see you. Everyone can see how you waste your time in the Sky Garden while they die pointless deaths on the ground. How can it be fair? How dare you live life in such luxury while their hopes are driven to the ground, squashed and mauled beyond recognition?”
Of course, “you” was really “her”. Lee was quiet, thoughtful. He didn’t answer—so she didn’t know if he had ever felt the same way. Though she knew the last thing he wanted to do was to make it about himself, even though she had invited his input had he something to give.
“The walls have ears. The hills have eyes—and they watch my every move. One mistake, and they’ll devour me next. The higher the mountain of achievements, the farther I fall when everything blows apart.” She took a slight breath as she steadied herself—and she noticed how Lee had drawn slightly closer to offer more intimate comfort to match what she had allowed herself to share. “It just feels wrong… How can I possibly stay here and rest… when every second I’m here not leading the charge, someone dies?”
Lee let her words hang in the air for a while, letting her mind settle and his thoughts conjure the right thing to say so that when he spoke, she would take it all in. “There will always be those eyes watching you.” He didn’t have to say who. Who knew what Kurono was plotting? Who knew what the Babylonian sovereign citizens were saying in their polls? Who knew what the citizens trapped on Earth were spouting as they cursed out the privileged living in the Sky Garden? “But maybe… a lot of those eyes are your own.”
At that, her posture straightened, and she faced him fully. “Huh?”
Something akin to sadness entered his eyes, knowing she hadn't even entertained the possibility. “I'm not saying it's all in your head, because truthfully, it's not. But I know you well enough, Commandant, to see when the things you tell yourself are far worse than what others say.”
The way he could validate her and comfort her at the same time was something she couldn't understand. Maybe it was because he was so straightforward. He always just said it how it was, never beating around the bush. It was instinct to trust him.
She felt tender, a slab of meat on the chopping block. Weird. It wasn't something she was familiar with. Being strong and stoic was easy. Facing adversities, big or small, was just her day-to-day routine. So why did this small, insignificant moment… make her want to cry?
Head colds… Such harbingers of trouble. She tried to smile to hide the brewing tsunami behind her eyes—but it felt far too unnatural. Lee's eyes immediately filled with alarm, and he made to reach for her but didn't touch her, unsure what was going on. Emotionally, he still had a way to go before he fully grasped what others and even himself were thinking—but in this moment, she could give him a pass. As she covered her eyes as if it'd hide the tears, not even she knew what came over her.
She didn't have many tears to shed before her eyes began to dry. To her surprise, it was Lee who wiped the remaining ones away, his thumb coarse on her skin but the gesture intimate and soothing. Her lips curved a little. “I'm glad Constructs don't get sick, too, Lee.”
He blinked at her as she repeated what he had said earlier, his hand still in contact with her cheek. “Huh?”
“I don't know what I'd do if you weren't by my side.”
“.. Perish, most likely.”
She whacked him lightly, her muscles still weak, and it elicited a tiny smile out of him. Then she entered another coughing fit—like her head cold was offended it had been forgotten and was now doing its best to remind her of its presence.
Lee rose immediately, typing on his terminal and receiving an instant reply. “Liv just sent me a recipe for a drink that will help soothe your throat. She's worried that too much medication will mess with your system, so she suggested this natural remedy instead.”
Commandant nodded. “Please.” She might actually die if she has to put up with the stupid cold any longer. So he left her side for the kitchenette, and she settled herself on the table, finally taking his advice and resting her body willingly.
She heard his rummaging for ingredients, blending things together with precision. “Tsk, a millilitre off…”
“Lee..!” She half-groaned, half-cried his name. A perfectionist in every way—but right now she didn't need him to succumb to his meticulous tendencies.
He sighed a little, put off by the slight imperfection. “Alright, I'm coming now.”
The glass was warm in her hands as he placed it in front of her, brown liquid like tea and smelling slightly of honey. She sipped. It was like a miracle elixir. Why didn't Liv tell him to make it sooner?!
“It works?” he asked.
Commandant nodded immediately—and her headache didn't get worse because of it. An improvement! “It's incredible.”
A faint smile bloomed on Lee's face. “It is Liv, after all.”
She nodded in agreement. “Absolutely.” She then patted the space beside her. “If you don't mind keeping a sad, lonely commandant company for a little longer…”
He complied without complaint. “You know I have no issue being by your side.” Enjoyed it, even, though he'd never say that without her accusing him of being sappy. With that thought, she sidled a little closer, clearing her throat, their thighs touching, his hands within reach. Hands that would hold and support her no matter what. “Allow me to share your burden, Commandant. Just as you promised to share mine.” She stared into his eyes, finding only determination. “You think you don't do enough for us—but ask any of us, and we'll tell you. Lucia, Liv… and me… We wouldn't be here without you.”
She took that as a sign to lean her weary head on his shoulder. Slowly, hesitantly, his arm moved around her body, embracing her.
“The hills might have eyes… but really, who are they to judge?”