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She’s pressed against his chest; hair brushing against his unshaven cheek and tickling his collarbone. Tilts her head around to look up and her eyes are sparkling with her own unique brand of mischief. He can’t help but press his lips against her own and she laughs before playfully slapping him away.
“Emma-” He starts with an almost growl of exasperation, but she taps his mouth shut with a slender finger. Her eyes glitter in amusement – oh, she knows too well what she can do to him, he thinks wearily – but there is a touch of some other emotion there too. Concern for the third member that completes their trio, perhaps?
“He’s sleeping - finally,” her voice is husky and her words whispered as she throws a glance to their side. “We’ll wake him up.”
“Emma-” he makes sure to whisper himself this time because damn it, she’s right. He is apparently not quiet enough however for there is a sigh to his left and Emma rolls her eyes at him in a wonderful and typical ‘I told you so’ style. They appear to smoulder in the faint light.
Which reminds him, what time is it? They had clearly lost track again, curled up together as they were amid crumpled blankets and discarded clothes. They were a jumbled pile of warm bodies and Miles wasn’t too sure where he began and where the others ended. If he were pressed to admit it, he would say he liked that. It just felt… right. The jigsaw was never complete until all the pieces, even that little one that was always lost or pressed firmly into the wrong slot, clicked together.
Emma curls up against his chest again and he carelessly drapes an arm around her shoulders. She feels so small against him but Miles knows that her frame masks an iron will and determination. Just like him. Just like Bass. What they wanted, they got. It just so happened that they wanted each other.
There’s another sigh, more strained this time and Miles cranes his neck, pressing his back to the wall. His Bass is sleeping, but restlessly, eyes flickering under barely closed eyelids. The older man reaches out and gently strokes back the unruly curls from his best friend’s forehead.
“Another nightmare, do you think?” Their Emma whispers softly and Miles can feel her words vibrate at his neck. Watches as she tenderly reaches for the other man’s hand and weaves her fingers through his own.
Miles allows a sigh to escape his own lips. Twirls a solidary curl around a finger. The younger man’s hair is unruly and messy but soft to touch – much like Bass himself, Miles thinks, although he would never say that to his face - God, it's bad enough that he even thinks in such a corny fashion. Nor would Bass be too impressed with such a poetic metaphor. He would most likely snort and point out that he was a damn marine, thank you very much, and when did you become a professor of Literature, Matheson?
“Probably. Last tour was hard for him. For all of us.” He doesn’t want to think about it, because such thinking allows for memories to surface and that makes everything too damn real. He has to be the strong leader; has to fight back his own overwhelming urge to relive some of the most terrifying events of his life. That way, he can watch over Bass who he knows would willingly do the same for him. In turn, Emma watches over both her boys and tries not to let them see how much her heart breaks whenever the time comes for her to wave them both off again.
Seeing Bass’ fists beginning to clench and unclench, Miles resumes the slow, gentle strokes of his best friend’s hair. Emma tightens her grip on his fingers as if she could never bear to let him go.
“Hey, man. Hey, you’re alright, you’re safe,” Miles says firmly; soothingly in a quiet mantra as a lone whimper issues from Bass. “You’re safe, Bass. We’ve got you.”
The calm collection of words and touch that burst with love is a well-tested formula and once again works. Bass quietens, his breathing resuming a rhythmic rate. His hand subconsciously clasps around Emma’s and Miles from the corner of his eye catches sight of a small smile blooming on the woman’s face.
“It’s okay, see? We got you,” Miles says again, but he isn’t too sure who exactly his words are addressed to. With a yawn, he pulls Bass close to him and his own lips twitch into a smile when he feels the warm and reassuring weight of Bass’ head rest against his shoulder.
“Wha’…What time is it?” Bass mumbles blearily, keeping his eyes closed yet dragging a hand through his unruly hair. He stretches out like a cat before placing his head back on Miles’ pillow.
(Both of the younger man's bedmates know too well that he will not let on that he had been suffering in his sleep; let alone answer any of their questions on the subject. So they don't question him these days; they are content to lie together in silence and just hold on to each other instead.)
“Time enough for you both to go to sleep,” Emma laughs, leaning over to lightly drop a series of kisses on the younger man’s head. She won’t say it aloud, but she is worried by the dark circles under both of her boys’ eyes.
Bass yawns again and cracks open an eye. There is the beginning of slow, mischievous smirk playing about on his lips. “Yeah, yeah mom. The two of you are gonna wake me up anyway when you jump on each other-“
“Like you two didn’t wake me up yesterday, hmm?” she retorts, placing her head back against Miles’ chest.
“Well, if I remember you joined in so-“
The older man just listens to them bicker in a mixture of exasperation and amusement. Hearing them both chuckle and playfully snap at one another causes his smile to grow just that bit wider.
Bass seems more relaxed and laid back now, more like his normal sarcastic self. This in turn allows Emma to unwind and fully enjoy the company of her boys. Miles is just content to close his eyes and properly lie down, his arms full of Bass and Emma and his mind finally free from guns and sand and blood. He may not be too sure whether it's late at night or early in the morning, but Miles knows that with his arms full of the people he loves, he is finally home
Soon silence falls in the small room, the only sound being that of quiet breathing. For the three of them, they are at their most relaxed they have been in months. Emma’s boys may be scarred - with many of those scars invisible to her sharp eyes - but they are safe now beside her. For Miles and Bass, to finally be home again with Emma means they can shed their outer layer of being marines exposed to a daily survival for life in a harsh and unforgiving terrain that is home to a hidden and dangerous enemy. They can be themselves again. And it is Heaven.
Because, Miles thinks, with the soft curls of Bass stroking his arm and the gentle hum of Emma’s heartbeat at his fingertips, they had to be together to truly be themselves. They didn’t work unless they were together, not really.