No spoilers really for any of the series or PKwars, but it is set in the future.
The sky is alight with the glow of fire from buildings that once stood proudly reaching for the bonosphere. She doesn't need to look through the crumbled roof above her to know.
She sees it in his silhouette, the outline of muscle tensed, fingers occasionally tracing the curve of the pulse pistol at his side.
He doesn't sleep. He's afraid to. Afraid of a lot of things that are beyond his control once more.
But he doesn't speak of his fear. It’s laying in wait, coiled tight. Dangerous.
It should be her standing watch. Her training would guarantee that no one breaks the perimeter they kept lined with makeshift shrapnel filled grenades.
He adapted so well, and a part of her still mourns the loss of the man he used to be.
Soft words and heart, gone.
He’d told her once that she could be more. It had been beyond him then that he could be the same. She doesn’t revel in that metamorphosis. Something deep inside, hidden amongst lost opportunities, cries for what he's become.
She should tell him. Now. Before it’s too late.
But she won't. She doesn’t have to. She sees it in his eyes every time they fall on her.
Without a sound, he turns away from the fires and patrols searching for survivors. His face is dark, made more so by the dim lighting of the room.
Reaching out, she waits for him to take her hand. Fingers intertwine and tighten, as if in loosening his grip she would be gone in the blink of an eye.
Too much loss has already happened in their short time together. She will fight wherever, whenever, whoever to keep him beside her, to keep her heart beating deep within her chest.
To keep from drowning in more ways than one.
He sinks to his knees, pushing away disheveled dark hair, two fingers trailing their way through the dust and blood along the jaw line. His thumb touches her lip, traces the outline. She closes her eyes as his lips replace fingers, opens her mouth, grants him entry.
He's paying homage to her in the only way he knows. Through tenderness and touch, things he will ever reveal only, ever to her.
She welcomes him; hands sliding down along the curve of his spine, the narrow flare of his hips. Waits to see if he wants, needs more. If he does, then maybe all is lost, and they will be dead by morning light.
His eyes take in every facet of body, kneeling in filth and ignoring the smell of death all around them.
Lips press against her roughly; tongues intertwine as he whispers his love for her. She swallows the words whole. Takes them inside where no one will ever reach them.
They are hers alone, as is he.
She pulls him down onto the bedding made of dead men's clothing, presses against him, their bodies intertwining as one. That is all she needs at this moment.
The rest of the world can wait.