Chapter Text
After her morning rounds, Safiyah finds Zavala pored over documents. The table bears the strength of his fists as if they were in a boxing match, a deep frown set on his face. His Ghost hovers over his shoulder, silent yet equally as pensive.
It’s not the right time to approach him. Normally, she would not care to disturb him; no wound or illness cared whether or not there was a shortage of supplies. But today, she felt otherwise. Her request could wait.
“Did you need something?”
“It can wait,” she calls back over her shoulder.
“Safiyah. Don’t go.”
Something in his voice tugs at her, and she stops. What would have been perceived as a command for others, for her, it was a plea. Hearing him say her name was as pleasant as a wind chime in a gentle breeze.
She half-turns back, yet her feet remain in place, faced towards her tent. “I don’t want to disturb you.”
“I could use the relief,” he says, “I’ve been staring at this map for ages.”
His strong hands soften as he straightens, and he steps away from his work to come to her. Their eyes lock, and he gives her his full attention, waiting for her to speak.
She isn’t sure what to say. She waited for no one to get what she needed; time was as precious as medical supplies, yet he was offering his own to her. It was a gift she thought she’d never receive, until now.
Safiyah doesn’t look at him when she hands him a piece of scrap paper, containing her hastily written script. Neat, careful writing was not her gift; a trait that still lingered within her profession. While her preference was to say what she needed, she couldn’t risk someone forgetting a critical resource.
Zavala quickly reads it, and flips it over to the other side. When he sees it is blank, he looks at her again, this time with concern.
“Is this all?” he asks, holding it up.
“For now.”
He knows she’s reluctant to say more; that she needs more. “What else do you need?”
Gesturing towards the list, she says, “Nothing beyond my immediate concern—”
“Tell me everything you need, and I will get it for you.”
Safiyah knows this, somehow. Zavala was a man of his word, and he wasn’t asking only for her list of supplies, but for her trust—enough to let him provide for her. It was enough.
She is fully facing him now, and takes the pen and notepad he offers her. Her hand trembles as she writes, and he gives her as much time as she needs to capture everything. When she’s done, her list is two full pages long.
Several days later, crates appear outside the medical tent. He forgot nothing. Not even the yarn.