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Summary
"Hello, all!" Francis said cheerfully, and looked around—it seemed that taking his trip to brush his teeth beforehand had made him the last to arrive. "Where should I sleep?"
"You're over here, Father," Hawkeye called, gesturing to the cot that was beside his own. "We drew straws for who'd get stuck snuggling up to who for body heat. And you," Hawkeye teased, "not being here to defend yourself, drew the short one by default." He was grinning crookedly at him in that way that always made Francis' face flush all the way up to his ears. Thank goodness for the frigid wind he'd just come in from that was surely offering him some amount of plausible deniability.
A freezing night and yet another fuel shortage means another night of huddling up in The Swamp.