Chapter Text
Chris had arrived in a fighter jet – ideal for a “guns blazing” type of scenario, but not so much for the fix they were in now. At least the back tandem seat could fit two, albeit with some tight squeezing.
“Let me know if it’s too cramped back there,” Chris yells as he starts up the jet, “It’ll be several hours before we land in Australia.”
“All good!” Claire shouts back, straightening her spine and sliding forward. Steve is already half collapsed against the back cushion, breath shallow and eyes shut. It’d be better to make as much space for him as possible.
“You can… lean back a little,” he says, eyes fluttering open at the movement. Shoot, she should've been more subtle.
“Sorry for startling you,” she says, looking back. He seems even more exhausted than before – fatigue was likely settling in. It’s strange – throughout their escape, he had been the antsy and energetic half. Now it’s painfully obvious how much this has taken out of him. “But I’m all good. Really.”
He shakes his head. “S’… not enough room,” he murmurs, slurring his words but staring at her with the fiercest insistence he could muster. The teenage stubbornness is endearing, if not hindering his much-needed rest.
“Well, if you’re sure,” she says, manually tilting back a few degrees. After all, it’d help if her center of mass wasn’t so focused on his knees.
There’s a gentle nudge on her shoulder as Steve leans forward, his chin lightly resting on her jacket. Claire realizes it must be an awkward position for both of them, but Steve looks perfectly content in his half-bent state. It’s not the best time or place for it, but it feels nice.
“You’re warm.” His voice is small, vulnerable. She smiles to herself.
His fingers are still deathly cold to the touch, but she draws them over her stomach as she leans further. Steve falls back with her, until his head lies snug between the seat cushion and the crook of her neck. “Better?” she asks, and he hums contentedly.
“Good,” she says, drawing her hands over his own. “No smartass quips about my weight this time?” she adds in good humor, remembering the similar situation with the gun trade back on Rockfort.
Steve breathes out loudly through his nostrils, perhaps in surprise, perhaps in embarrassment. “M’sorry Claire. Shouldn’t have said that.”
She laughs, the sound vibrating against both of their bodies. “Don’t worry about it,” she whispers, brushing her thumb over his knuckles. “Get some sleep. It’ll do you good.”