Work Text:
"Tom, remember to breathe. And if you're going to puke, aim somewhere else." Sarah says with all the concern she can muster. She's being incredibly patient about the whole thing and the fact she's got a medic and Tom in her face. It's not like she wanted to get shot, but it what the armor was for, what she was for. Damn thing hurt like a bitch, but at least it went all the way through. At least the military kept her up to date on all her shots. Tetanus on top of everything else happening would just make her mood worse.
He's holding her hand and squeezing hard enough she can notice it through the gauntlet. The error codes her HUD hasn't stopped throwing in her face now subside as the Mjolnir's sensors on her palms analyze his touch and read out to his IFF tag. They both look and feel like shit, but that makes sense. It's been months with very little progress. No word about anyone else. What is happening out there on the other fragments of this damn Halo?
Thinking about it soured her already dismal mood. Her adrenaline keeps fading and she grimaces at the mess of her shoulder. Missed shot. She huffs a laugh and explains to a bewildered Tom, "Don't let Halsey see, or she'll offer to make us match."
"You're joking? I guess I should be happy about that." He sighs and rubs at his temples. His smile dies a quick death on his face as he looks her over again.
She and the medic attending the weeping wound in her shoulder both side eye the captain who's looking a bit green as he eyes her in return. Well, her wound and the spike round lodged into the rock behind her.
Tom opens his mouth to argue, his bloodshot eyes meeting hers, but the medic finishes taping her and immobilizing her left arm before he can. They spout off basic care. Keep it clean, keep it dry, do not try to poke it - typical instructions for a S-IV. They nod and leave the commander and captain locked in a silent conversation.
When the medic is far enough away, Sarah beats him to the punch. "I know you're freaking out, but I've had worse."
"That doesn't help and you know it."
"You're concerned over nothing. We're built to take hits. It's mostly cauterized anyway." She's losing ground in the argument and she knows it. She's used to silencing his worries and dealing with the puppy eyes he'd use instead of words. Now he's hovering and he won't stop talking. "Help me eat my lunch and I'll tell you how I saved an Admiral from a Chieftain and only got hit twice by someone not even in the fight."
"Sarah."
"Tom."
She scowls. If she had more energy she'd be pissed off, but these days it was harder and harder to hold onto anything that wasn't anger or revenge. Spite had fueled her a long time, but now there was hardly anything left. She and the armor had been running on empty. Her HUD squawks warnings and overdue updates. "I'm fine."
"You're not fine!" Tom bellows and it shocks her into silence. "Don't say it is. Don't lie. You know I can hear the warning, I can see you limping when the armor locks up. It's unpredictable but this all ends the same way."
He deflates, hand still locked in hers. "I hate seeing you in it and thinking about how it's going to be your coffin."
"Is that all?" She asks. Her voice only catches in her throat on the last word.
Tom's jaw flexes and he swallows hard. He's a mess. She can't really talk, but at least she's keeping up appearances.
"Then we do something about it. Like we always do." She pulls him closer, good arm wrapped over his shoulders. "Pry me out of the tin can and keep moving."
"Just like that?"
"Just like that."