Chapter Text
“Oh, I could seriously just kiss you right now.”
Shamir draws in a breath through her nose. Her face remains passive even as she considers whether it would be worth it to leap across the campfire and strangle Catherine. She wouldn’t have a partner if she did. Not for a while, anyway, and while Catherine can be… a lot, Shamir can’t deny the woman has always had her back.
But this needs to stop.
Every time Shamir does something she really likes, it’s the same thing. Wow, I could kiss you right now.. Oh, man. I was so hungry. I could seriously kiss you right now. Thanks, Shamir. That’s a weight off my mind. I could kiss you.
Every. Time.
She might think the knight was trying to not-so-subtly tell her something, but Catherine is as obliviously obsessed with Rhea as ever. Rhea, who barely knows she exists. Who probably wouldn’t give a damn if Catherine threw herself on Thunderbrand to protect her the way she’s so fucking eager to.
It’s pathetic, but the last time she brought it up, Catherine froze her out for a week. Catherine, who can’t resist running her mouth at all hours of the day. She felt bad about it, sure, but not as bad as she maybe should have.
Shamir doesn’t deal in “should have”s though. It’s a waste of time. “Should have”s don’t bring back the people you love, and they don’t make it any easier to deal with a friend who’s throwing her life away for someone who will never appreciate it.
She prefers to deal with the moment-to-moment decisions. Like the decision to just let Catherine have that one. It is good wine, and Shamir went out of her way to get it. She probably should be kissed for that.
Her gaze lingers on Catherine’s lips, stained a deeper red from the wine. Her own are chapped from the cool weather and she runs her tongue over them. Catherine doesn’t notice. She never notices, and Shamir shouldn’t care.
But she doesn’t like lying to herself. That’s as much of a waste as “should have”s.
Shamir drinks in silence, just listening to Catherine talk. It’s like that most of the time. Catherine talks constantly. It used to bother her, but whenever she’s not on assignment with the knight, it feels too quiet. Unsafe. She hates that she’s come to depend on someone else again, but going it alone wasn’t working out for her.
So now she has Catherine, who gets a little tipsy off of half a bottle of wine. A woman built like her shouldn’t be that affected by wine, but it doesn’t matter. Shamir will take first watch while Catherine sleeps it off.
But Catherine doesn’t want to sleep. Catherine wants to talk.
“Hey. Shamir.”
Shamir stares up at the sky, her arms behind her head. Her bedroll is too close to Catherine’s. It needs to be, in case someone jumps them. But it’s too close.
“What.”
The pause is longer than she expects. Shamir refuses to feel anxious over it, but she feels… something.
“I know you don’t like all this sentimental shit, but… I’m glad you’re my partner.” The words are spoken softly. For Catherine, anyway. Shamir swallows, but says nothing. “You’re always there for me, even when it seems like no one else is. Sometimes I wonder if Lady Rhea even--”
She closes her eyes and draws in another breath. The last person she wants to hear about is Rhea. Even if Catherine is maybe coming close to acknowledging the truth. She’ll veer away from it. She always does.
“Ah, nevermind.” Catherine lets out a strained laugh. She hears the change in her voice, the knight shifting to her side. “Seriously, though. You did get me wine. I could--”
“Stop making threats you’re never going to do anything with, Catherine.”
The words leave her mouth before she can think better of it, but it doesn’t matter. Catherine won’t know what she means.
“Huh?”
Shamir rolls her eyes. Predictable. She turns onto her side--a miscalculation on her part. Catherine is right there. Too close.
I could just kiss you.
She turns onto the opposite side. She isn’t blushing. Shamir doesn’t blush.
“Hey.” She hears Catherine shift again, and suddenly the knight’s hand is on her shoulder. Too close. “What’s going on with you? You’ve been acting weird.”
“Go to sleep.” She tugs her bedroll more securely beneath her head and tries to ignore her partner.
“Come on, Shamir.”
Another measured breath. She turns onto her back, finding Catherine above her, blue eyes shining with concern. Too. Fucking. Close.
“You want to know what’s going on with me?” She’s going to regret this. She already does.
“I asked, didn’t I?”
“You’re what’s going on with me.” It’s rare for her to emote, but frustration is a powerful motivator. “Every time you say ‘I could just kiss you,’ I swear I want to murder you.”
Catherine blinks at her, then laughs. Shamir will never admit she likes that laugh. Especially not now.
“Oh, come on. I’m just fucking around!” she says, oblivious as always.
That’s the problem.
Something surfaces in Catherine’s eyes, her face going slack with it. It looks like understanding, and suddenly Shamir’s heart is beating too fast.
“Wait. You said ‘stop making threats you aren’t going to do anything with.’”
She can’t read the expression in Catherine’s eyes. It’s unsettling. Catherine’s always an open fucking book, to her own detriment.
She’s still too close, leaning over her. Shamir’s heart is still racing. She shouldn’t say anything. She should just turn over and go to sleep.
“Is the idea of me kissing you really that threatening?”
Shamir’s eyes close yet again. Gods damn this woman. “No.” Yes.
“Okay. Good. That’s… good.”
She opens her eyes to find Catherine just staring down at her, her tanned skin flushed with a light splash of crimson. She’s just flustered. It doesn’t mean anything. Shamir doesn’t want it to mean anything.
And why the fuck is she still so fucking close?
“Hey, Shamir.” The knight’s lips curve into a challenging smirk. “You know I could just--”
Shamir’s response is lightning fast. She reaches up, grabs a fistful of Catherine’s hair, and uses it to pull her closer before her lips crash to the other woman’s. They’re a little chapped, like her own, but warm. Warm and responsive, as Catherine finally makes good on her promise.
And very quickly, Shamir’s persistent thought is turned on its head.
She isn’t close enough.