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Piers was intense in a way Chris hadn’t expected from someone that young. He had a sense of purpose and drive that constantly moved him forward. He was not motivated by guilt or fear but sheer determination. It both knocked Chris off kilter, and made him stand up straighter.
Chris was far more human than Piers had expected, and it made his teeth ache. The man was a living legend, a survivor of endless tragedy and horrors, and he was exhausted. He never let it show around his men, but Piers was like a dog with a bone. The moment he heard a rough sigh escape his Captain, or saw him rub his temples when no one was looking — he couldn’t forget it.
It had been a while since Chris had experienced that kind of respect from someone — where they valued you, and because they valued you, didn’t let you get away with shit. Piers fit right at home in Chris’ heart along side friends he had known for decades. He watched Chris like a hawk, whether it was through his scope or standing at his side. It made Chris want to lean forward and cover the kid’s eyes with his hand, shield himself from Piers’ gaze.
Shame had bubbled up inside Piers like a well the first time he caught himself thinking about how the cut of Chris’ jaw would feel in his hand. The coarse brush of his beard, the furrow of his brow. How far the scars went that peaked out from his collar, his sleeves. If they were pink and fresh, or white and silver form years ago. Piers wondered how the heat of his captain’s body would feel under his hands.
Piers was fast, and it was all Chris could do to keep up. Fast to draw and almost as fast to bite back. He could cover Chris’ back from three stories above, then in minutes be by his side again. His power was entirely in his arms and legs, hefting custom modified rifles over his shoulder while he sprinted across the field. It was strange, having someone that could make Chris work for it again. Piers didn’t make it look easy, but he never complained and never slowed down.
Chris once rested a hand on the back of Piers neck, gripping it firmly in equal parts thanks and reprimand after Piers pulled off something particularly stupid. The heat from his hand had raced down Piers’ spine, pooled wet and sickly sweet in his stomach. He really was a fucking dog, acting like he lived for his Captain’s praise. He didn’t bother trying to change it though. He was already screwed.
Chris does it unthinkingly one day, grabs Piers by the chin and holds him still so Chris can examine a nasty cut to the kid’s mouth. It’s not until he’s pulling away, have rubbed enough blood off the wound to determine it’d be fine without stitches, that he sees Piers eyes. They’re almost black, pupils blown wide. Chris didn’t even notice how Piers had frozen under his touch, had not taken a single breath into his lungs when Chris’ hands were on him. Something in Chris aches. He doesn’t touch Piers like that again until after he’s been proclaimed dead and buried.
It’s not a surprise to Chris, when they finally kiss — but it’s a shock that he’s the one that makes the first move. Or maybe it isn’t. Piers had been dead after all, and Chris isn’t sure that he’s not asleep right now, hovering in that place between a nightmare and a dream. But he’s not asleep, he’s wide awake, only a breath between them, before he presses a kiss to the lid of Piers’ unseeing eye, the dark scar embedded in his skin, the smile that’s slowing forming on his lips.
Piers hadn’t expected it. He knew — he knew that Chris cared. Of course Chris cared, he was all heart and that’s why it fucking hurt so much — but he didn’t think… He has a half a thought that the pain was worth it, dying was worth it, if this is what living a second life means. But there’s no point in thinking, not when his thoughts can finally be words spoken aloud, manifest as actions no longer only dreamt of. It is a different thing, to see his Captain, to see Chris, soft with sleep rather than weary with exhaustion, a half smile that’s sweet rather than bitter with regret.
Chris, for his part, feels something tugging him forward, pushing at his back to take step after step, that isn’t his past for once. But maybe, instead, what the future could look like.