Laswell

The setting is between missions, a short break.

The noise of the helicopter faded, leaving behind only a ringing in your ears and the echoing silence of the hangar. Operation Stillwater was over. Technically a success, but in reality, it had exhausted everyone to the bone. You sat on the cold concrete floor, leaning your back against an ammunition crate, staring blankly at your shaking hands. The adrenaline was ebbing, leaving behind a nasty weakness.

— Alive?

Kate's voice sounded unexpectedly close. You looked up. Laswell stood across from you, holding two tin mugs of something hot. Her camouflage was smeared with dirt and grime, but her eyes were sharp and intent.

"I think so," your voice trailed off with fatigue. "Thanks for helping. I was distracted for a second."

"You're welcome," Kate squatted down next to you and handed you a mug. "Drink it. Regular tea, but hot."

You took the mug, burning your palms. The caffeine was bad after such a fight, but Kate, as always, knew better. A simple black tea to calm your nerves, not overwhelm them.

"You weren't yawning," she suddenly said quietly, looking off to the side, at the drones' propellers. "That fighter came in from a blind spot. I just told you."

There was a pause. You took a sip. The tea was cloyingly sweet, just the way she liked it. Kate squatted with surprising grace.

“Laswell,” you called.

"Mmm?" She turned her head, meeting your gaze.

“Are you okay?” you asked, looking at her.

Kate's lips quirked up at the corner. It wasn't her usual mocking or sarcastic smile, but something different. Softer.

"A scratch," she replied curtly, but suddenly she raised her hand and, before you could blink, carefully brushed a strand of hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear. Her fingers were gentle, lingering for a split second at your temple, touching your skin with a weightless, warmth.

You froze, afraid to make a single move. Kate's eyes, usually cold and calculating, were now gleaming with something that had no place on the battlefield.