Chapter Text
“Don’t fucking talk to me.” Natalie's stern voice intimidated the small curly-headed blonde.
“Right..” she managed to respond in a stutter.
Misty felt terrible and couldn’t figure out why Nat didn’t tell everyone about the transponder. It’s been a few days since Nat snuck up on Misty in the woods. A few days of awkward tension in the air. Misty couldn’t not talk to Natalie. She forced herself not to anyway.
Natalie was basically the only one who treated Misty as an equal. Nat grew more and more important to Misty since she started treating Misty as part of the team those first couple weeks of being stranded in the wilderness. So much to the point Misty’d follow Nat around most of the time of each day. Natalie didn’t particularly like it at first, but she got used to it after the first week of Misty doing this. Over time she actually didn’t mind the company of the team's freak, they had some interesting conversations that Nat quite enjoyed.
—
After supper– or what passed for it, Misty turned in early.
That’s what she told the others.
The sniffing gave her away.
“You’re so stupid,” she hissed to herself, voice cracking. “Of course you ruin it. You ruin everything.”
Her hands knotted in her hair. She yanked once. Hard.
Outside, someone shifted. Then boots on dirt.
Misty didn’t look up at first.
“What?” she snapped thickly. “I thought we weren’t talking.”
Silence hung in the doorway.
“Misty.”
Of course it was her.
Misty wiped at her face with the heel of her palm and shoved her glasses on. “What do you want, Natalie?”
Nat stood there for a second too long. Jaw tight. Shoulders tense like she might leave.
“I didn’t mean to hit you that hard,” she muttered finally.
Not sorry.
Just that.
Misty let out a brittle laugh. “You should’ve.”
Nat’s head snapped up. “Don’t.”
“Why? It’s true.” Misty’s fingers curled back into her hair. “I broke the one thing that could’ve gotten us out of here. I deserve worse than that.”
She pulled again.
Nat crossed the space before she thought about it. Grabbed her wrists.
“Stop it.”
Her grip wasn’t gentle, but it wasn’t violent either. Just firm. Grounding.
For a second they were too close. Knees almost touching. Misty’s breathing uneven. Nat’s thumb pressed into the pulse point of her wrist without realizing.
“You think I don’t know why you did it?” Nat said, quieter now. Not soft. Just lower.
Misty’s eyes flickered.
“I was angry,” Nat admitted. The word looked uncomfortable on her. “Still am. A little.”
Honest. Not resolved.
“But…” She exhaled sharply through her nose. “That doesn’t mean you get to tear yourself apart over it.”
Misty swallowed. “You hate me.”
“If I hated you,” Nat shot back, “I wouldn’t be here.”
Misty blinked at her.
The air shifted, but it didn’t warm.
Nat let go of her wrists slowly. Her hands lingered a second too long before pulling back to her own lap.
“I don’t like what you did,” she said. “But I don’t–” She stopped herself. Jaw tightening again.
Misty waited.
Nat looked away first.
“Just… don’t do that,” she muttered, nodding toward Misty’s hair.
Silence settled between them. Not fixed. Just thinner than before.
Misty wiped at her face again. “You don’t have to babysit me.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“Shut up.”
There was no hug.
Just proximity.
Just the sound of both of them breathing in the small hut.
After a moment, Nat pushed herself to her feet.
“Get some sleep,” she said, like an order.
She hesitated at the doorway. Almost turned back, but didn’t.
When she lay down later, staring at the ceiling, she could still feel the shape of Misty’s wrists under her hands.
She told herself it didn’t mean anything.
It didn’t make the tightness in her chest go away.
—
The next morning, no one mentioned the night before.
Misty moved through chores like nothing had happened. Quick. Eager. A little too precise. She volunteered before being asked, stacked wood in careful lines, kept herself useful.
Nat tried not to notice.
She failed.
Misty had this habit, rubbing the back of her hand after she helped someone, like she was smoothing something invisible flat. Natalie wasn’t sure when she’d started paying attention to that.
Probably always been there.
When Misty bent to lift a bucket, her sleeve snagged on a nail. Nat stepped in automatically, steadying it before the water could spill.
Their hands brushed.
Misty froze for half a second before pulling back. “Thanks.”
Nat shrugged. “Watch it.”
She stayed close after that. Close enough to grab the next thing before Misty could drop it. Close enough to see the crease between her brows when she concentrated.
It doesn’t mean anything, she told herself.
Misty laughed too loudly at something Van said. Nat’s head turned before she could stop it.
Misty noticed.
Their eyes met.
Nat cleared her throat and looked away. “Dust,” she muttered.
There wasn’t any.
Chores ended. The others drifted off. Misty lingered near the woodpile like she was deciding something.
Nat stretched, staring at the treeline instead of at her.
Everything’s normal, she told herself.
It wasn’t. Not exactly.
But it was quieter.
—
By nightfall, Nat escaped to the animal pen. The goats didn’t ask questions. They didn’t hold grudges. They just existed.
“Hey..” Misty’s voice came from behind her. Softer this time. “Can I sit?”
Nat didn’t jump. “Do what you want, Misty.”
Misty took that as permission.
She launched into something about goats. Digestive systems, rectangular pupils, some fact about how they can climb almost anything. Nat let the words blur together, watching one of the smaller ones nose at the fence.
“Nat?”
“Yeah.”
“Thanks. For earlier.”
Nat shrugged. “You were gonna spill it.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Nat didn’t answer.
The quiet stretched, thinner than it used to be.
Misty shifted closer, close enough that their shoulders almost touched. “You don’t have to keep helping me,” she said carefully. “I can handle it.”
“I know.”
“Then why do you?”
Nat exhaled through her nose. “You ask a lot of questions.”
Misty smiled at that. Small. Nervous.
“Natalie?”
“What.”
Misty hesitated like she was weighing the risk. “It feels warmer when you’re around.”
Not soft. Not flirty in the slightest.
Just honest.
Nat’s chest tightened anyway.
Fuck.