[They'll be okay. He won't let things end here. (She won't either.)
He does not topple when she eases out from under him, but he has to readjust his weight to lean back against the hull of the rover instead. Eren's always been good at ignoring his limits, trying to work past them. The stakes are too high for anything else, both here and back home. It still wasn't enough, this time.
He had been sleeping, before the hail of corpses had started. It's unlikely that he'll manage it again very easily, not now. It's about the last thing he wants to do, for all he's still worn thin from the previous few days. It already feels wrong, that there's little he can do but sit in useless frustration, in choked outrage on behalf of the people outside they'd failed to save. That he won't be able to put a name to for hours. Until then—
He shakes his head, despite the dark marks under his eyes like bruises, the slow tilt to his reactions. He lifts his head to seek her out, watching with a furrowed brow and his mouth set in a grim line as she rids herself of her bloodied jacket and follows it with the familiar motions of unbuckling her harness.]
[ It's not really about sleeping easy. Mikasa can't remember the last time she slept easy; it's not a luxury afforded to those at war. (And she's still struggling to determine whether or not she finds the CDC more or less safe than living within those walls.) But it's a necessity, because a soldier that cannot fight is useless.
But she just shrugs, putting her harness away, easy, methodical. ] I'll shower then sleep.
[ The exertion of the day lingered on her enough, and the fatigue of constant vigilance so a shower would do her good - hopefully. It was a space where she could at least close her eyes and ignore whatever was going on outside, maybe plan her next route for a run, think of new ways to improve on her aim with the gun.
(She doesn't think about what's after this, about the future beyond the fighting, because she knows that she will die before it reaches her.) ]
You should rest, Eren. [ She casts a glance back toward him as she walks toward her locker to pull out the clothes for after her shower. ] You don't want to get sick again.
[That's about how it goes. Work yourself hard enough during the day and maybe you'll get a full night's sleep before the next one. (You won't twist or turn with worries or start awake with nightmares.) His answer comes on a kneejerk. A familiar small frustration muted and distracted by a newer and larger one.]
I'm not a kid, Mikasa.
[He doesn't need coddling, or ordering around, or putting to bed. He isn't going to get sick. (He will, and it'll land him in medical for days. By the time she's out of her shower he'll be dozing. Propped up against the cool hull of the rover, arms crossed over his bent knees, head nodding down toward his chest. Just where she left him.)]
[ She knows. And she'll be treating him like this until he's old and grey (ha, well Eren will make it; if no one else, Eren will—) But she knows. Even though some of the others in the camp cry outrage about child soldiers, she knows that they're not children. There's no such luxury, not where they come from, nor here.
There's no response from her to his comment, instead she lets him be; let's him doze off while she showers, hoping that he actually does sleep while she's in there, and unable to deny the relief when she sees him after she walks out, towel around her shoulders to protect them from the water dripping down from her hair, cooling rapidly against the air.
And she's silent as she walks over to stand by his side, just watching; Eren in Armin's bunk. Marvelling that he's still here, despite every time that she'd gotten so scared, despite every inane mission that he'd been sent on. He's here and she can't know for how long. (She tells herself forever in her head sometimes, even though she hopelessly knows it isn't true. He'd died once already, and she's even more helpless now than she had been then. She'll die or he'll die eventually, and she'll be alone, a family broken when that's the last thing)
If nothing else, she's glad that he's able to get some rest, and it's only because she knows that he's a light sleeper that she doesn't move him into a more comfortable position or nestle him under the blanket. She might've, if they were still children back in their home with Carla and Grisha.
But they're not. They're soldiers now, so instead she just murmurs a quiet goodnight before turning away and retreating to her own bunk for the night. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no that tag is cute.......
He does not topple when she eases out from under him, but he has to readjust his weight to lean back against the hull of the rover instead. Eren's always been good at ignoring his limits, trying to work past them. The stakes are too high for anything else, both here and back home. It still wasn't enough, this time.
He had been sleeping, before the hail of corpses had started. It's unlikely that he'll manage it again very easily, not now. It's about the last thing he wants to do, for all he's still worn thin from the previous few days. It already feels wrong, that there's little he can do but sit in useless frustration, in choked outrage on behalf of the people outside they'd failed to save. That he won't be able to put a name to for hours. Until then—
He shakes his head, despite the dark marks under his eyes like bruises, the slow tilt to his reactions. He lifts his head to seek her out, watching with a furrowed brow and his mouth set in a grim line as she rids herself of her bloodied jacket and follows it with the familiar motions of unbuckling her harness.]
Are you?
[Could you? Sleep easy after this?]
no subject
But she just shrugs, putting her harness away, easy, methodical. ] I'll shower then sleep.
[ The exertion of the day lingered on her enough, and the fatigue of constant vigilance so a shower would do her good - hopefully. It was a space where she could at least close her eyes and ignore whatever was going on outside, maybe plan her next route for a run, think of new ways to improve on her aim with the gun.
(She doesn't think about what's after this, about the future beyond the fighting, because she knows that she will die before it reaches her.) ]
You should rest, Eren. [ She casts a glance back toward him as she walks toward her locker to pull out the clothes for after her shower. ] You don't want to get sick again.
no subject
I'm not a kid, Mikasa.
[He doesn't need coddling, or ordering around, or putting to bed. He isn't going to get sick. (He will, and it'll land him in medical for days. By the time she's out of her shower he'll be dozing. Propped up against the cool hull of the rover, arms crossed over his bent knees, head nodding down toward his chest. Just where she left him.)]
no subject
There's no response from her to his comment, instead she lets him be; let's him doze off while she showers, hoping that he actually does sleep while she's in there, and unable to deny the relief when she sees him after she walks out, towel around her shoulders to protect them from the water dripping down from her hair, cooling rapidly against the air.
And she's silent as she walks over to stand by his side, just watching; Eren in Armin's bunk. Marvelling that he's still here, despite every time that she'd gotten so scared, despite every inane mission that he'd been sent on. He's here and she can't know for how long. (She tells herself forever in her head sometimes, even though she hopelessly knows it isn't true. He'd died once already, and she's even more helpless now than she had been then. She'll die or he'll die eventually, and she'll be alone, a family broken when that's the last thing)
If nothing else, she's glad that he's able to get some rest, and it's only because she knows that he's a light sleeper that she doesn't move him into a more comfortable position or nestle him under the blanket. She might've, if they were still children back in their home with Carla and Grisha.
But they're not. They're soldiers now, so instead she just murmurs a quiet goodnight before turning away and retreating to her own bunk for the night. ]