[ She'd been bracing herself for this to end, to have to get up, walk out, go to the elevator and to her own room, huge and empty and without Tom on the other side of the wall to knock out their signal before going to bed.
She wipes her face, sniffing, trying to get an embarrassingly runny nose under control. Then she nods, because going back to sleep in an empty room after telling him all of that feels like a nightmare in itself. ]
[John dabs at her wet face with the hem of his shirt, it's not like he isn't already wet, and he couldn't care less if there's some snot in the mix. There are worse body fluids to be covered in. Like her blood.
He doesn't want it on his hands, or to even think about it right now. Can't. John knows what happened to Chyler now, knows the loss she's experienced on some level, that she's already been hurt, but he still can't stand the thought of it happening. Not while he's living and breathing.]
Take off your boots, cadet. I don't want dirt in my damn bed.
[She's still practically in uniform, but since when has that stopped a soldier from getting sleep? John rubs at his face, substantially more tired now than he was before this conversation. Emotions.]
Do you need a t-shirt, track pants, something more comfortable, or are you good?
[ Wearing John's clothes would be just too weird. She has her uniform. She'll just have to suffer through wearing yesterday's clothes to the PG in the morning, and all things considered, that's a small enough price to pay.
Chyler wipes her eyes with her fingertips and leans down to unlace her boots, kicking them off instead of pulling them off properly. Apparently it's a night for going against established habits. ]
I can sleep on the couch, sir. Or on the bean bag.
[ She's taken by surprise and goes down with a startled noise. For a second she just lays there, exhausted, staring at the roof. Then she looks at John. ]
My friend Tom... we shared a wall in the dormitories. [ She stops, suddenly not sure she wants to give away a memory that small and precious. What if John thinks it's stupid? ]
We would knock on the wall before bed, he started it, one day when I was mad at him. Three knocks, over and over, until I knocked back. And then we just... We kept doing it.
[ She looks back at the ceiling. ] When I go to bed I keep waiting for him to knock. [ Almost too quickly: ] It's stupid, I know it is.
No. It's not stupid. Stuff like that is what's important. What keeps you fighting for the right reasons. Those are the details you don't want to forget. I don't keep track of how many battles I've won or lost, or the people I've killed, those aren't the things I want to remember.
[John grabs the comforter, folded back at the end of the bed, and drapes it up over her. He doesn't linger, it would be too much to linger, for both of them, so he stands up and turns the lights off instead. Rodney's bed creaks in the dark as he collapses on top of it, not uncomfortable with the way that it smells like him.
Glad Rodney is still here, and it isn't all he has left of him, because sometimes that's all you have, when you lose someone.
The crackle of their voice over a radio, the scent of their sweat, or three knocks on a wall.]
Goodnight, sir. [ She curls under the blanket, running her fingers along its hem, back to him, face to the wall. And she waits. She waits until she thinks it's safe, until she thinks he's probably asleep and can't hear her do it.
Then she reaches out and very softly knocks against the wall. Under her breath: ] Goodnight, Tom.
[ Chyler turns her face toward the pillow, closes her eyes, and sleeps. ]
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She wipes her face, sniffing, trying to get an embarrassingly runny nose under control. Then she nods, because going back to sleep in an empty room after telling him all of that feels like a nightmare in itself. ]
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He doesn't want it on his hands, or to even think about it right now. Can't. John knows what happened to Chyler now, knows the loss she's experienced on some level, that she's already been hurt, but he still can't stand the thought of it happening. Not while he's living and breathing.]
Take off your boots, cadet. I don't want dirt in my damn bed.
[She's still practically in uniform, but since when has that stopped a soldier from getting sleep? John rubs at his face, substantially more tired now than he was before this conversation. Emotions.]
Do you need a t-shirt, track pants, something more comfortable, or are you good?
no subject
[ Wearing John's clothes would be just too weird. She has her uniform. She'll just have to suffer through wearing yesterday's clothes to the PG in the morning, and all things considered, that's a small enough price to pay.
Chyler wipes her eyes with her fingertips and leans down to unlace her boots, kicking them off instead of pulling them off properly. Apparently it's a night for going against established habits. ]
I can sleep on the couch, sir. Or on the bean bag.
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[He knows her. Tomorrow, she'll probably be beating herself up about this. John could never be harder on Chyler than she is on herself.
To punctuate his point, he shoves Chyler by one shoulder and back onto the bed. He's a lightweight, but she's a feather. A seventeen-year-old girl.]
I'll take Rodney's bunk, he won't be back until tomorrow afternoon anyway.
And I'm not taking complaints.
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My friend Tom... we shared a wall in the dormitories. [ She stops, suddenly not sure she wants to give away a memory that small and precious. What if John thinks it's stupid? ]
We would knock on the wall before bed, he started it, one day when I was mad at him. Three knocks, over and over, until I knocked back. And then we just... We kept doing it.
[ She looks back at the ceiling. ] When I go to bed I keep waiting for him to knock. [ Almost too quickly: ] It's stupid, I know it is.
no subject
[John grabs the comforter, folded back at the end of the bed, and drapes it up over her. He doesn't linger, it would be too much to linger, for both of them, so he stands up and turns the lights off instead. Rodney's bed creaks in the dark as he collapses on top of it, not uncomfortable with the way that it smells like him.
Glad Rodney is still here, and it isn't all he has left of him, because sometimes that's all you have, when you lose someone.
The crackle of their voice over a radio, the scent of their sweat, or three knocks on a wall.]
Goodnight, Chy.
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Then she reaches out and very softly knocks against the wall. Under her breath: ] Goodnight, Tom.
[ Chyler turns her face toward the pillow, closes her eyes, and sleeps. ]