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    Summary

    Maria holds Tommy’s hand in hers, running her thumb over the calluses of his palm and back along the lineaments of his wrist. They sit in the half-light of a fire burned low, side-by-side on one of the logs in the middle of the atrium, which is notably and mercifully empty in the early hours before the dawn. Outside, the sky is dark and featureless, the stars blotted out by a uniform cloud bank that flows on the wind, rippling out endlessly to the horizon. There’s a damp chill in the air, and Tommy coughs, shivers.

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    The Tommy PTSD fic I've always wanted to write, with a heavy dose of found family cuddles and Maria being his port in the storm (I am absolutely inconsolable over these two honestly, do not send help)

    Language:
    English
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