Work Text:
She's spent a lot of time as night watch since she joined Aluis. Certainly more than she had as part of Persica. Part of it is because she always volunteers, and part of it is because she's Lakedaimonian. Her home planet's day is just shy of three standard days, so she can go much longer without sleeping than her fellows can. The regular sleep schedule feels like running on cat naps.
Part of it is because it allows her to watch.
There's a lot to learn from watching a soldier sleep, and Aluis is no exception. Lead, for example, sleeps like the dead. Once she's asleep, only the sound of blaster fire or the specific alarm she has in her helmet will wake her up. She doesn't so much as flinch, and wakes up in the same position she fell asleep in. Usually, she's on her stomach, and it's a running joke that she'll suffocate herself one day with her own pillow. It's an incredible talent, second only to being able to fall asleep whenever and wherever there's downtime. No, Lead's worries and fears are written across her face when she's awake.
Black snores like there's hyperdrives in each nostril. It only took him revealing their camp's location once for Lead to ensure he gets watch whenever they're in unsecured territory. He usually starfishes as much as he can, a leg and an arm always hanging off his bunk. He shifts positions sometimes, but generally he lays on his back, always managing to look like he was thrown into position. His nightmares are marked by a lack of snores, worry lines creasing his face before he wakes in cold sweat, silent and shivering. He never goes back to sleep after them, always moving to relieve the watch. In the quiet, she'd asked him about them once. He'd only shaken his head and hoarsely replied, "They're bad. Real bad."
Talker sleeps like every bed she's ever been in is made of brambles, rusty nails and broken glass. She twitches constantly, flinching and wincing at sounds real and imaginary. She sleeps on her side, her legs pulled up instead of stretched out. She's a decently light sleeper, enough to respond to her name being called and to be violently annoyed to have to sleep near Black. Her face remains neutral in sleep, but her body reacts like there's constant starts surrounding her, high strung on nerves. Perhaps it's her Mirilian heritage - the Force messing with her - or maybe some other dark secret. For all her ability with languages, she's not a great conversationalist.
Deadshot is perhaps the worst of them all. He sleeps so lightly, brushing her fingers against him wakes him up. He snaps into action almost immediately, though his awareness takes a second to catch up with him. On the rare occasions he reaches deep sleep, it's always full of nightmares. On those nights, he never makes it over an hour. But the damning thing about Deadshot is that he talks in his sleep. Not much, not really. Normal people would make nothing of a few names, some slurred words. He always wakes from them gasping, breathing hard and fast. He always collapses back onto his bed, arm thrown over his eyes if he doesn't think anyone else is watching. He's haunted.
As for herself, she has a hard time sleeping in the open. Lakedaimonian beds are recessed into the walls, with cushioned lips along the edges. It's easier in a bunk, but in sleeping bags? Nah. The restless and uneasy sleep makes her mouthy. One day, it's going to get her in trouble, saying something she shouldn't. Until she's decided, everything's gotta stay under wraps.
Tonight, though, seems to be a deep-sleep kind of night both for Black and Deadshot. It's a good thing they're only camped out down here while they wait for the Telos Harbinger to get its hyperdrive core replaced. Lead would have a fit if she was awake to hear how loud Black was snoring.
Unfortunately, Talker is not nearly as forgiving.
There's a small fire situated in the middle of their camp, with the four sleeping bags set up in an arrow-ish formation around it, with Lead and Black up top and Talker and Deadshot flanking further down. She herself sits against a tree at the ass end of the formation, looking over them. As such, she gets a prime view of Talker flipping over, grabbing one of her boots and throwing it at Black. It hits him right in his face and he sputters awake. She takes the other one and throws it at Deadshot, who's just starting to jerk and mutter.
She barely misses intercepting it, but it hits Deadshot anyway. He jolts upright, knife in hand.
"Sorry." She says softly, with a sympathetic smile. "I tried to intercept it."
"Did you just- with your fucking boot?" Black sputters.
"Yeah, I did. Shut up." Talker barks.
"I was having a nightmare." Deadshot says to her, but Talker responds instead.
"I don't give a damn. Stop, or I'll throw a knife next time."
"Cut the old man some slack. You sleep like you're in a hive of bees." Black pokes back.
"Only because you make that much fucking noise." Talker spits, rolling so her back faces the fire.
"I'm going to snore extra loud from now on." Black mutters, flopping back down on his bedroll.
She can't help but chuckle. Deadshot rolls his eyes, but also lays back down. She offers him another smile. "I'll make sure to wake you up if the nightmares start again."
"Thanks." He answers tersely, then stubbornly lays back down to pretend - like with everything else - that nothing happened.
She lets him and returns to her place. Lead remains unmoved.
She lets her thoughts drift in the quiet and calm, and they wind up back with Persica. She considers her former team, the fate they met. She glances over at Deadshot and considers the suspicion Lead had confessed to her about Deadshot's involvement in the deaths of their former team.
She wonders what else he might be able to do.
Once their ship is up and running, they leave the planet without a second glance. The ride back to the Harbinger to report in will be a long one, though, and Black very swiftly gets bored and falls back on his favourite needle to poke her with.
"C'mon, Det. What really happened to your former team?"
She hums. "What excuses have I already given you?"
"Last time, you said they were water soluble."
"Ah, yes. Turns out, they were all deathly allergic to poppy seeds. I suppose they failed to inform command, because the planet we were sent to was just infested with the buggers. Swelled up like tomatoes and popped before I could say a word."
"Eugh, gross." Black sticks his tongue out. "Be serious!"
Deadshot, sitting beside her, heaves a leaden sigh. "Just answer him, Det. He'll never let up."
She considers him for a moment, then smiles at Black. "Oh, you wanted the truth. I see. Well, truth is, I killed them."
Black blinks. "What?"
"Yup. We were about to air-drop out onto the target, and I shot each of them in the back."
Black stares at her for a moment before groaning loudly and dramatically. "Fine, don't tell me. I'll get it out of you one day."
She laughs. "One day."
Deadshot is eyeing her, but seems to decide it doesn't matter whether she's telling the truth or not.
She doesn't mind. She doesn't sleep enough for them to ever hear it from her again.