Work Text:
Engineer sat alone in the workshop beneath the yellow glow of a hanging lamp, sleeves rolled to his elbows while he soldered wiring back into a busted dispenser. The radio on the shelf crackled softly through static, barely audible country music humming under the noise.
Rain tapped against the corrugated roof. It wasn’t often they got storms out here. When they did, the whole base seemed to tense around it.
He rubbed tired eyes with the heel of his hand and checked the clock.
1:17 AM.
“Hell,” he muttered. He’d promised himself he’d sleep before one tonight. That made four broken promises this week. The dispenser sparked angrily in front of him. “Yeah, yeah, I hear you.”
He reached for the wrench beside him—
—and paused when he heard boots outside the garage.
Heavy ones—slow.
Not Scout. Too deliberate.
Not Heavy. Too uneven.
Engineer frowned toward the door just as three sharp knocks echoed through the metal.
“Engineer.”
Of course.
Engineer looked toward the ceiling like God himself had personally arranged this inconvenience. “What.”
“Open the door.”
“You know there’s a storm out there?”
“Yes.”
“Then why are you in it?”
“Those rotten BLUs won’t give our troops the freedom to rest. I am keeping watch.”
“At one in the mornin’.”
“The enemy operates in darkness.”
“The enemy’s asleep, Jane.”
Engineer pushed back from the workbench. His knees popped when he stood. He crossed the room and unlocked the side door. Soldier nearly stumbled inside with the force of the wind behind him. Rainwater dripped from his helmet onto the concrete floor. His jacket was soaked dark. Mud streaked his boots nearly to the knees.
Engineer shut the door fast against the rain. “Good lord.”
“Engineer.”
“You look terrible.”
“Thank you.”
“That ain’t a compliment.”
Soldier removed his helmet. Wet hair flattened awkwardly against his forehead before springing in several impossible directions. Engineer had the sudden, deeply inconvenient urge to smooth it down. He ignored that immediately.
“You get struck by lightning on the way over here?”
“No. The lightning fears my American blood.”
“Mm-hm.”
Soldier looked around the workshop slowly, shoulders loosening inch by inch now that he was inside. Engineer noticed that happened a lot. Soldier walked around the rest of the team wound tight as barbed wire—loud and rigid and ready to explode at any second. But here, in his workshop—something in him softened. Engineer pretended not to notice.
“There’s coffee,” he said instead, jerking his chin toward the pot near the back counter. “Don’t touch anythin’ expensive.”
Soldier saluted sharply. “Understood.”
Engineer shook his head and returned to the workbench while Soldier poured coffee with the concentration of a man defusing a bomb.
Rain hammered the roof harder overhead. For a while, neither spoke. Engineer worked while Soldier wandered.
That usually meant trouble, but tonight Soldier moved slower than normal, coffee mug cradled in both hands while he examined half-built machines around the garage with quiet curiosity.
Most people saw Soldier and stopped there, at the yelling, the unruly violence, the bizarre speeches about patriotism and raccoons and sun conspiracies. Engineer had too, at first. Then he’d started noticing things. Soldier always carried extra ammunition for Heavy because “a patriot protects his nation’s strongest assets.” He remembered everyone’s favorite meals despite pretending not to care. He always checked the perimeter personally every night after Spy got cornered during an ambush three months ago.
And he looked at Dell like he hung the damn moon. That part was the problem.
Engineer tightened a bolt too hard. The metal squealed.
“You’re tired,” Soldier observed.
“I’m workin’.”
“You’ve been working for seventeen hours.”
Engineer glanced over. “You countin’?”
“Yes.”
“…Why?”
Soldier frowned slightly into his coffee like the answer should’ve been obvious. “Because you forget to stop.”
The rain softened outside into a low steady hiss.
“You should sleep too,” Engineer muttered.
“I took a short nap earlier.”
“When?”
“During Spy’s lecture.”
“That don’t count.”
“It restored my combat readiness.”
Engineer smiled faintly to himself and reached for another tool. His shoulder ached. Hell, everything ached lately.
Soldier noticed that too.
Of course he did.
“You’re injured.”
“I’m old.”
“That is worse.”
Engineer huffed. “Careful now. I can still outbuild everybody on this base.”
“I know.” Soldier stepped closer to the workbench, lowering his voice dramatically. “You are the backbone of American infrastructure.”
“I build murder machines for gravel wars.”
“Exactly.”
Engineer laughed again. It slipped out easier around Soldier these days.
Too easy. That was another problem.
He wasn’t sure when it started getting dangerous.
Maybe the late nights in the workshop while Soldier sat nearby cleaning rocket launchers and rambling about cryptids.
Maybe the mornings after bad missions when Soldier hovered outside the infirmary until Engineer woke up.
Maybe the way Soldier always said Engineer like it meant something specific, like it belonged to him.
Engineer swallowed hard and focused back on the dispenser.
“You’re drippin’ on my floor,” he muttered.
Soldier looked down. “The storm has assaulted me.”
“You got dry clothes?”
“I have a spare pair of socks in my locker.”
“That ain’t enough clothing for a human being.”
“It has worked so far.”
Engineer muttered several things under his breath about military intelligence and crossed toward his locker. He dug through stacks of folded shirts before tossing one over.
A flannel. Red.One of Engineer’s favorites, unfortunately.
Soldier stared at it, then at him. “You’re lending me civilian attire.”
“It’s temporary.”
“This is an act of profound trust.”
“It’s a shirt, Jane.”
Engineer turned away before he could think too much about how fond that made him feel.
Behind him came fabric rustling and the heavy sound of soaked gear hitting the floor.
Engineer absolutely did not glance over his shoulder.
Not once.
Absolutely not.
A few minutes later he emerged from behind the shelves wearing Engineer’s flannel half-buttoned over dry clothes from somewhere. The sleeves sat too short on his forearms.
Soldier wandered back over and leaned against the bench beside him, sipping coffee.
“Comfortable?” Engineer asked.
“Yes.” Soldier looked down at the shirt. “It smells like you.”
Engineer’s wrench slipped from his hand and clattered loudly onto the floor. Neither of them moved.
Soldier blinked. “Was that incorrect to say?”
“No,” Engineer said weakly. “Just… unexpected.”
“Oh.” Soldier considered that seriously. “I can stop noticing things aloud.”
“No, don’t—”
Engineer stopped himself. Soldier tilted his head slightly. The storm rumbled overhead.
He suddenly became very aware of how close they were standing.
Of Soldier’s damp hair.
Of the warmth coming off him.
Of the fact that if he leaned forward even a little—
“Well,” Engineer coughed. “Coffee any good?”
“It tastes like gasoline.”
“That means yes.”
“Yes.”
They fell quiet again. Outside, lightning flashed white through the garage windows. Thunder cracked immediately after, close enough to shake the shelves.
Soldier startled. Just slightly.
“Hate storms?” he asked softly.
Soldier stared into his mug for a moment. “I dislike not seeing the sky.”
“Why?”
“Because then I can’t tell where things are coming from.”
Engineer looked at him properly then. There were dark circles under Soldier’s eyes too. Tension in his shoulders. Tiny signs of exhaustion most people missed because he carried himself so loudly. People forgot loudness could hide things. Engineer knew better.
Slowly, he nudged the coffee pot closer. Soldier looked at the gesture for a second before smiling faintly. Small smiles from Soldier always felt strangely private.
“You worry about everyone,” Engineer said quietly.
“I am the team’s commanding officer.”
“You ain’t commandin’ anybody.”
“I command emotionally.”
Engineer laughed softly through his nose.
“I worry about you most,” Soldier continued.
The room went still.
Rain against metal.
The low hum of machinery.
Engineer’s heartbeat suddenly too loud in his ears.
Soldier seemed unaware of what he’d done. Or maybe he knew exactly.
Engineer looked down at his hands. Grease stains. Tiny cuts across his knuckles. Shaking a little from exhaustion.
Then Soldier’s hand landed over one of his.
Warm. Solid.
Gentle.
Soldier rarely touched people carefully. Everything he did was too much by nature—too loud, too strong, too intense.
This was cautious. Like he was afraid Engineer might disappear.
“You should rest,” Soldier murmured.
Engineer swallowed hard. “Can’t.”
“Yes you can.”
“Machines don’t fix themselves.”
“I can guard them.”
He smiled weakly. “From what?”
“Sabotage.”
“You mean Spy?”
“Yes.”
“You know he’s on our team.”
Soldier narrowed his eyes. “For now.”
Engineer laughed again, quieter this time. He was gone for this man.
Soldier’s thumb brushed accidentally against Engineer’s wrist.
Both of them froze.
Then he said, very carefully, “I can leave.”
Engineer looked at him. At the sincerity written plainly across his face. At the uncertainty underneath all the noise. At the way Soldier stood like someone braced for rejection but willing to endure it quietly. And suddenly Engineer understood something that hurt a little—Soldier loved loudly because he expected nobody to take it seriously.
He stepped closer before he could think himself out of it.
“You know,” Engineer murmured, “for a fella who talks nonstop, you sure get nervous when things matter.”
Soldier blinked. “I—”
Engineer kissed him before he could finish. Soldier made a startled sound low in his throat. Then he kissed back all at once.
One hand landed carefully against Engineer’s jaw while the other hovered uncertainly near his waist like he didn’t know where he was allowed to touch. Engineer solved that problem himself by grabbing the front of Soldier’s borrowed flannel and pulling him closer.
When they finally pulled apart, Soldier looked genuinely stunned.
“…Engineer,” he said breathlessly.
Engineer leaned back against the workbench, grinning despite the heat in his face. “Yeah?”
“I believe I am having a heart attack.”
“That’s called emotions.”
“Horrifying.”
The storm outside had softened to a low steady rain now. Soldier glanced toward the door briefly before looking back at him.
“Should I still leave?”
Engineer reached up and fixed the crooked collar of his own flannel on Soldier’s shoulders.
“Nah,” he said softly. “Stay awhile. If you want to.”
Soldier’s entire expression lit up.
He nodded once and leaned beside Engineer at the workbench while rain whispered against the roof above them.
And for the first time all night, Dell finally stopped working.