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"If you stay out here any longer you'll catch a cold."
McCree takes a long drag from his cigarillo before looking over at Angela from his spot on the skybridge, legs dangling over the edge. It was nearing almost three in the morning now, almost the entire facility had already gone to bed. McCree gives her a lopsided grin, but it lacked its usual warmth and jolly.
"Just came here for some peace and quiet, is all."
"And you couldn't find peace and quiet back in your bedroom?"
"The view here is better," McCree says, shrugging. He pats the spot next to him. "Care to join me?"
Angela only hesistates for a second before taking his offer. She settles down beside him and mirrors his posture, letting her legs dangle over the side. He's right about the view, Angela thinks, soaking in the scenary in front of her. From their spot on the bridge, they can see the vast ocean below the cliff where the the facilicy is located. The sun had long since set; the sky is now inked with dark navy blue, clusters of the stars here and there. The crescent moon is their only source of light, illuminating the water below them.
"It is quite beautiful here," Angela murmurs. "I'm not used to state of the art facilities these days."
McCree only hums in agreement, taking another drag from his cigarillo. Angela crinkles her nose when the wind blows the smoke into her face.
"Sorry," McCree mutters, stubbing it out on the bridge.
"Those will kill you, you know. You'll be dead by forty."
McCree chuckles dryly. "You think I'd make it to forty?"
Angela doesn't respond, doesn't really know how to. They had come back from a three-week grueling mission that day, the spirits and livelihood hood of the facility are at a nadir. The mission had been a success, but at the cost of too many agents and citizens. McCree and Angela were only twenty, and already they are thrust into a world of chaos and destruction.
Angela crosses her arm when a cold breeze passes over them, trying to hide the shiver that runs down her spine. She is still wearing her valkyrie suit, minus the wings, and while it was designed to protect her against bullets, it wasn't a great barrier against the cold.
McCree notices anyways and begins to shrug off his red serape. Angela opens her mouth to protest but before she could say anything, McCree throws the serape around them both, pulling Angela into his side so that she had no choice but to rest her head on his shoulder. She doesn't say anything for a while, only pulls her side of the serape tighter around herself and settles into McCree's half-embrace.
"I'm scared," Angela whispers, after a few minutes of companionable silence. They had only known each other for two years now, and despite their different backgrounds, they had found solidarity in each other, with them being the same age and also the youngest in the organization.
McCree's hand tightens on her shoulder, acting as a grounding force. "Me too. But we'll get through this."
She believes him.