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The worst thing about these temporary field bases?
Not a single fucking door to slam your way through.
In the absence of wood and metal to take his frustrations out on, Chris stomps his way to med bay instead, heavy boots leaving an unsatisfyingly faint mark on the hard, dusty ground.
The operation had been a shit show. Too many casualties. Too much on the line. Way too many risks taken. And, hell, is he gonna let them know all about his opinion on that last part. Every single word of it. Starting with his sister and that idiot DSO agent of hers. What the fuck were they even doing there anyway?
She’s a damn activist, for Christ’s sake. She talks, she lobbies, she investigates. She rubs people up the wrong way until they agree to do what she wants just to shut her up.
She helps. She really does help people. Maybe more than he ever will and he’s so fucking proud of that but… she’s not a field agent. Not like this. Being able to take care of yourself isn’t the same as walking knowingly into danger, how many more times did he have to tell her that?
And Kennedy? Yeah, he should know better. He should know when to follow a goddamn order at least.
‘Get her out of there’. That’s all he’d been tasked with. Not ‘follow her around and give into her every last stubborn whim’.
Chris continues on at pace, forcing his way through yet another polyester curtain, each one making him more unreasonably angry than the last. The sight through the plastic window ahead doesn’t lighten his mood.
Kennedy’s right there, holding her so tight her heels aren’t even touching the ground.
His arms are steel tense around her. His face buried in her shoulder, whilst his own heave with hard breaths as though he’d sprinted all the way there. His soot covered hands are splayed wide across her small back, crushing her against him. Gripping onto her like she’s his entire anchor to the world and nothing could prise him away.
And then there’s Claire, battered and bruised. Exhausted. Clinging on to handfuls of his shirt and wincing at a hold that’s clearly too tight. Yet he’s apparently oblivious to her discomfort. Too lost in himself to notice what he’s doing to her.
Chris feels his fists twitch.
God damn it. Isn’t this what he’d been saying all along? Ever since he’d found out about this…thing they had.
She deserves better than this.
He sighs.
He gets it, he really does. After all the shit they’ve seen, wanting something to ground you? That was normal.
Kennedy had been little more than a kid when he’d been thrown into all this. A box fresh rookie right out of the academy. Chris had met so many of them back then; green, eager to please, wanting nothing but to help.
By the odds, he probably shouldn’t have survived. The fact he did and became a hell of an agent is all credit to him.
The fact he’s also a hell of a mess because of it is no surprise either.
But she wasn’t his life raft. It’s not her job to keep him held together. She’s not gonna throw herself on the fire just to keep him warm.
Chris won’t let her.
She deserves better.
He takes the smallest step. Going to her rescue yet again.
But Claire…maybe he really doesn’t give her enough credit for how she can handle herself.
A brief moment more passes before she eases Kennedy’s vice-like grasp on her, the lightest touch on his forearms a command that he obeys instantly. Chris sees the other man mouth the word ‘sorry’ as he draws back. She says something quiet in return that Chris can’t make out but he can see her slight smile. The way Kennedy’s ashen face lightens a little.
Her fingers are all tenderness as they reach up to brush his hair back out of his face and cup his cheek. Soothing as she strokes her thumb across his skin in comfort. Kennedy catches her hand as she withdraws it - trained reflexes being misused - kissing the pulse point on her wrist. Easily. Like it’s their thing.
He mumbles something and she visibly relaxes the tension she’s been carrying too, a heavy breath out as she wraps her arms around his mid section and turns her head to rest against his chest. The arms around her in return are gentler this time. Soothed. And soothing as he strokes her back.
Her eyes close. His shoulders drop, the readiness in them melting away.
Peaceful.
Chris pushes back the flap of the door.
“Hey.”
His voice is softer than he expected.
For his part, Kennedy has the good grace to look uncomfortable, palms dropping from the hips they’d come to rest on. A hint of the college kid caught by his girl’s big brother.
Claire is steady in comparison. Undeterred. Maybe she can see the protective anger still fading in Chris’ face. She reads people far too well.
Her hand entwines with Kennedy’s - an unspoken statement.
“Hey.”
Her smile is tired and calm. Nothing but normal things going on here. Nothing for him to comment on at all.
Chris hesitates, things he could - and probably should - still say urge him on.
He silences them.
It’s her life.
“We need a debrief on all this.”
Claire nods, a flicker of victory in her expression. He recognises the look from when they were kids and she’d got her own way.
“Sure”.
“Five minutes,” Kennedy insists, voice low and quiet. “Let us get cleaned up a bit first.”
Inwardly Chris grimaces, his brain momentarily choosing to ponder on what exactly they could get up to in that time. Oh he did not need that, thank you. She may be a woman in her thirties but she was still his little sister.
“Just five minutes,” he commands before walking away.
By the time he’s back in the corridor and glances through the plastic window once more, Claire is sitting on the edge of one of the gurneys.
They’re talking lightly now. Smiling at each other, hers slightly teasing and his wry. He’s already cleaning the grazes on her forearms with sterile wipes. When she winces he pauses to press a soft, easy kiss to the top of her head before continuing on.
The gesture turns her smile from a tease to something warmer.
Something honest. Happy.
Loved.
Okay, Chris decides, the guy has one chance.
Just one.