Work Text:
“Haah. Of course it’s you.” Ishmael spoke as soon as the door opened.
Heathcliff was sitting on the floor, his head leaning against the wall, his eyes shut. He really thought no one would bother him here. The voice of Ishmael, excruciatingly familiar, pulled him away from the land of slumber. He was almost dreaming - at the point where thoughts slip out of your control and start drifting away onto the carousel of nonsense. A pleasant edge between reality and not. And Ishmael pulled him away from it. He clicked his tongue, already irritated by this, but gave her no answer.
“… What are you doing here? Sitting on the floor, no less. What are you, an orphan?”
He opened just one eye; his voice came out hoarse because of the drowsiness.
“What does it look like I'm doing, ya twat? I’m taking a nap. And you’re interruptin’.”
“More like interrupting your slacking off.” She closed the door behind her, watching Heathcliff with a worn out frown.
“Oi, I’ve been liftin’ and carrying those steel beams for like two hours. Heavy as shit, yeah? I’m taking an early lunch for this.”
“That’s like thirty-three minutes. Barely a nap.”
“Ya cuttin’ it down to thirty with your yapping. Let a bloke sleep, will ya?”
“Nah. I’m taking my lunch early to annoy you,” she sat down next to Heathcliff.
He now noticed a tired look in her eyes. For the last couple of days Ishmael’s been up before he even started working, so she was awake and alert at… at six in the morning? If not earlier. And she came back to her room much later than he did, too. She was good with tools: maybe the staff relied on her to make repairs no one on the LCB except her and Outis could do. Arseholes, if you ask him. They've got a whole department, yet still find ways to use sinners as free labor.
Ishmael threw something in his lap. Some kind of a protein bar.
“Here. Since you’re skipping lunch. Enrichment.” She put her head against the wall. Heathcliff picked the protein bar up, but his gaze stayed on the redhead.
“You’re dumb for trying to play assistant manager, and you’re dumber still for letting these bastards work ya to the bone, ya know that?”
“Someone has to work if your lazy ass won't.” Ishmael closed her eyes. Her words were meant to be an insult, but the tone was flat.
“Watcha even doing that for? They’re not hiring your arse after the contract’s closed, in case that's whatcha aiming for.” He huffed and started fiddling with the packaging of the bar, all attention suddenly on it. What the fuck? Who made this so hard to open? “We’re lucky if we even survive once the contract’s over and Clockhead can't rewind us anymore. Those rich arseholes don’t really care about blokes like you and I. Just because we get them their precious Golden Boughs doesn’t mean we’re valuable to them or somethin’. I’d bet that they will wipe our memories as soon as we're all done, assuming we ain't slowly throwing ourselves off the cliff at their expense already…”
Fucking wrappers. And what the fuck she meant, ‘enrichment’?! He turned his head to cuss her out, but found himself falling silent instead.
Ishmael was out like a light.
That exhausted, huh? He knew the feeling: tiredness so deep that the moment you sit down and rest your head against something, you fall asleep. Couldn’t help but feel bad for the lass. Heathcliff also knew from experience that this kind of sleep was pretty light, and he huffed in an annoyed realization that his impassioned speech was probably just white noise for Ish to fall asleep to.
Seems like they switched roles for today.
He opened the packaging in his usual way - with his teeth. She bought her rest with this protein bar, so he wouldn't bother returning the favor and waking her up. Plus, this was one of rare opportunities to exist in her vicinity and not listen to her bitch about something. He’ll take it.
He hated how she almost looked like a pretty woman the moment she’d shut up. He doesn't dwell on the thought.
He wondered instead what made her work so hard. Was it just her predisposition to obsession, reborn? Even the worst qualities can be tamed and put to a good use. Was it a simple desire to do her job well? So she can prove herself? To herself? Or was it just her shouldering a burden for her coworkers, finding herself caring for them more and more now that her turn was over, just like he has?
He’d ask her, some day. She can sleep for now. He inhaled his food like an animal starved, in a couple of big bites - Ishmael would've given him an earful about table manners, were she not asleep - and when he was done, he leaned his back against the wall once more.
There was still time for him to get some shut-eye. And then he has to find something to feed this workaholic, since she gave him his lunch and all. Heathcliff relaxed his weight against the wall next to Ishmael, and then closed his eyes. He'd offer her his shoulder but the bitch would probably get offended.
Ah, whatever.
In half an hour, Ishmael found herself awake with her cheek on Heathcliff’s shoulder. Her blood ran cold at the realization that while her consciousness was at rest, her body searched for warmth. She stiffened, taking a few torturous, embarrassed seconds to figure out whether Heathcliff was still asleep or not. It wasn't long till she concluded that he was: the idiot slept with his mouth open and therefore snored - although, admittedly, pretty softly.
It was a solid, dreamless nap. She couldn't really complain. Heathcliff made quite a good pillow, meaty enough in his shoulders that she couldn’t really feel his bones. And he was warm, pleasantly so, like a mid-summer’s evening. His hot-bloodedness finally gave her something except a reason for a headache.
Heathcliff’s much more pleasant company when he shuts up, she thought to herself.
If he weren’t sleeping, she’d have to make this a scene of pretend-disgust, probably. Something stung with shame in her chest, as if saying... that'd just be self-defense. She couldn’t stand him, sure, but not that much. It’s just that he’d probably find her being all snug next to him abhorrent.
She was professional, and professionals don't sleep on their coworkers’ shoulders. It muddied the relationships too much, and she was nothing if not her clean, sharp lines. And... she was worried that any attempt at closeness would offend Heathcliff, more than anything. She'd look like she was trying to fill the void left behind by her lost crew. Like any act of being close to this oaf, no matter how small, is an attempt to imitate the warmth of Queeqeg through him. Like it'd remind him too, painfully, of…
Her mind stutters. Of whom?
There’s a gap in her memory, and it closes itself very quickly.
Of no one, don’t you remember?
Heathcliff chased ghosts when it was his turn. A burnt up golden bough as proof that all his anger was aimed at nothing. Nothing at all.
Yes, that’s what happened.
Her head is suddenly so empty. But a feeling, a sensation of some shared pain is weirdly strong, even though it has no foundation.
There was something there, beyond their bickering - itself, admittedly, quite fun. They both thrived in conflict, after all. Ishmael doesn’t think that ‘something’ has a proper name. But it feels like understanding. It feels like a truce, like a hand held out. It feels like a warm mid-summer’s evening.
Ishmael waited for a bit before lifting her head off his shoulder, slowly and gently. Despite everything, if Heathcliff woke up to her slithering away from the warmth, like a spooked snake, she’d never live that down. Mercifully, his sleep was deep. She straightened her back against the wall, looking at Heathcliff. A little crumb of her donated lunch now clung to his cheek. Ishmael sighed. Heathcliff had table manners of an animal, and it drove her insane. She'll shove him in front of the mirror as soon as he's awake.
Ishmael gave his shoulder a little shake.
“Heath. Naptime’s over. Time to work.”
He blinked awake, quickly returning to his senses, a fast glance scanning his surroundings. A habit from his days in the backstreets, Ishmael surmised.
“... Yeah. Yeah,” he groaned and wiped his face with a palm, pushing himself then quickly onto his feet, groggy but alert. “I’m ready.”
He offers her a hand to help her up. She doesn’t decline.