Chapter Text
The mug hits the floor with a crash and tea, hot enough to burn like all hells, splashes over his legs.
“Shit, oh, fuck, ma’am, Mrs. H, I’m so sorry,” he stammers, nearly knocking the chair over with the way he tries to jump away from the burning. He reaches down to pick up the biggest pieces of the fucking ruined mug, but she gets there first, bony, wrinkled hands wrapping around his wrists. “Ma’am, I’m so sorry, let me,” he tries again, but she actually shushes him, dragging him back up by the wrists to face her.
He’s panting, he realizes. Shaking.
“Nonsense, dear, it’s alright.” She puts his hands back in his lap and pats them twice, like a blessing. “It’s just a mug.”
It’s not just a mug, though, and the look on ‘77’s face won’t leave Faie’s head. He didn’t even know–
He hasn’t thought about that in years. Had no idea a cup of fucking tea would bring it back.
He hadn’t even remembered until today.
He’s gone straight past panting and into hyperventilating. Mrs. H has found a towel and she’s handing it to him, saying, “Here, dry yourself off, child,” but he can’t, he can’t, he can’t—
“I. I have to go check on my sergeant. Ma’am.” He bolts into the bathroom and locks the door behind him.
It’s a long time before Faie is able to open the bathroom door again. The sun touches the horizon and lights everything up orange, then dips below the edge. The world turns blue. Faie splashes water on his face and goes out to check on Penchant, who’s fine. Asleep, pale, but fine.
Then, gingerly, reluctantly, he returns to the kitchen.
There’s no evidence of the broken mug or spilled tea. There’s just Mrs. H, sitting in one of the pinkish chairs and gazing out the window as she knits something that might be a striped sweater. The chair scrapes against the floor when Faie pulls it out.
“Ma’am,” he murmurs when Mrs. H turns around to look at him. “I apologize for my earlier behavior.”
She looks at him for a long, unblinking moment. Then, she sets her knitting down and folds her hands on the table. “You’re not the first soldier I’ve met, Commander Faie,” she says. “You don’t need to apologize to me. Like I said, it’s just a mug. They break, we find new ones. Nothing is irreplaceable in a kitchen.”
Faie looks away. “Still,” he says. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting to, to react like that.”
Mrs. H smiles in the smallest way, more in the eyebrows than the mouth. “I thought as much. It’s alright, dear boy.” She picks her knitting up again, glancing over his shoulder into the living room. “Is your sergeant alright?”
“Yes, ma’am. He’s recovering well.”
“Good,” she says. “I’m afraid I don’t have a spare bedroom, but you’re more than welcome to bed down in the living room. I’ve brought some more blankets and pillows out.”
Faie nods. He saw them when he checked on Penchant, all folded in a neat little stack by his feet. “Thank you, ma’am,” he says, much too tired to protest.
“You’re very welcome, Commander Faie. Now, go sleep. I’ll wake you boys when the sun comes up.”