Work Text:
The formalities of a proper military are only in so much use, within the resistance. Some choose to do more of the busywork involved than others, but Woz had been raised a spy, and so he notes as much as he can and writes down as little as possible.
Not that Ohma Zi-O and his robot army really need spies to face them. He has all the power, after all.
(Woz allows himself spite. It’s a good thing to have, to keep going. He doesn’t allow himself grief nearly as much.
Even if now is around the time where it tries to raise its ugly head.)
Most of Woz’s work is planning, and then figuring out how much of the plan to tell who. Like today, the plan is to get into Neo Fuuto, which he still doesn’t know why it was prioritized, being so close to Neo Tokyo itself. Perhaps some bias from Ohma Zi-O’s past. Woz wouldn’t know, and, frankly, doesn’t need to.
What he does need to know is when the shipment from the city will be, and how to make sure one of the few active spies is one of the drivers.
He’s been going for a while, actually, most so he doesn’t have to think about…
The sound of his work tent opening, and Woz looks up.
“Geiz,” he says, warmly and a little tired. His unit is small but advanced, so he’s close to them all, but Geiz is… special.
“You haven’t left this tent in two days,” Geiz says bluntly. Woz blinks. His personal clock had died about a month ago.
“Haven’t I?” He asks. “Well, I have been busy.”
Geiz rolls his eyes.
“The others are worried,” he says. “We need you to not pass out during the raid.”
“I will be fine, Geiz,” Woz argues, but when he stands up… he hastily catches himself on the very old fold-up table he uses as a desk, which immediately buckles under his weight. He curses.
“…Sure,” Geiz says, coming over and dragging him to his feet. “There is something known as working too much.”
“And when you aid 20 other units in half as many days, during our breaks?” Woz questions.
“Someone needs to fight,” Geiz replies, without a hint of irony. Woz doesn’t respond to that, letting the other half carry him over to their ten and deposit him on the cot.
Unfortunately, Geiz is right, and Woz can already feel himself falling asleep.
“…Two days, truly?” He asks.
“Yes,” Geiz says. “You aren’t usually this forgetful, is something… oh.”
“Did the math?” Woz asks, forcing himself to sit up. Geiz put him on the good cot, damn him.
“I forgot this was the time they left,” Geiz says. Woz sighs. Yes, the time the team that had taken him in as a child left on a mission and never came back. It’s been five years, now.
“You are right, I should sleep,” he says. “But I cannot leave anything to chance, for now.”
Maybe in a different time and place, where they weren’t scarred and fighting, this would be when Geiz offered comfort. Or maybe not, Geiz has always been like this. But still, Geiz shoves him down, and it feels like… connection, if nothing else.
“Sleep, Woz,” Geiz says. “I’ll wake you up in eight hours.”
And for whatever reason, Woz asks “and will you watch me?”
“I’ll protect us,” he says, and it could mean the collective. It should, even, the both of them understand their duty as combatants.
It’s enough.
Sometimes, when you live after the world ends, anything can be enough.