Work Text:
After possibly the most embarrassing mission’s end that Sam has ever, ever led (well, alright, a few more spring to mind, notably that time with the previous Runner Eight and that question of mistaken vegetables, but this is definitely the worst), Sam just wants to sleep. He does, he really does. And more importantly, Janine is going to probably tear up to the booth in a moment and drag him bodily out of the control room. Wouldn’t be pleasant at any time. But certainly not when she went to bed only an hour ago. Needs her full four hours night’s sleep, does Janine. Or she gets almost grouchy.
Sam should head in for the night. He’s just taking a moment, that’s all. Just sitting with his hands cupped over the lip of the desk, thumb sweeping back and forth over that chip in the faux-wood. The pressed cork or whatever beneath it isn’t rough anymore; he’s practically polished it to a shine over too many nerve-wracking missions. Far, far too many. And after each one, like now, he can’t quite break the motion. Can’t quite amp down out of that mode. Runners knock right out, usually. Exhausted, coming down off an adrenaline and endorphine high, most of the ones he’s known sleep like the de— like babies. But Sam’s never found it so easy. And tonight, it’s worse than it’s been in a while.
Because Runner Five is alive, Runner Five had made it and is through the gates and not— and that’s just too much to pop into bed afterwards.
Besides, given just a moment of time to think any more about it, Sam knows the soul-cracking embarrassment of the whole thing will just kill him. It will. He will think about how he spilled his metaphorical guts to his not-even-a-friend Five, about his family and uni and his hopes and dreams, and his literal guts will actually curdle and he will die of embarrassment.
There’s a soft sound behind him, the unmistakably uncomfortable clearing of a throat. Sam spins around in his swivel chair. Sure that it is in fact Janine come to drag him off, or at least Rebekkah to relieve him at the controls, he’s surprised to see that it’s Five.
“Don’t usually see you here after a run,” Sam says, mouth going before he can really react properly, as usual. “Don’t you like to grab something to eat after coming back, get a nap?”
“Little late for a nap,” Five says. Not wearing the same clothes, which is good. Sam’s feelings on that particular red tank are conflicted now, that he thought it’d be the last thing he’d ever see Five wearing. And given his emotional reaction to seeing it reappear on his monitor. “Or a little early. And all the eating halls are locked up for the night.”
Five’s holding a towel, a ragged little thing that was maybe once blue or green, and brushes it over the back of their neck. Five’s hair is wet. Had time for a quick shower, then. Or maybe not so quick. Sam isn’t honestly sure what time it is anymore. How much time has passed.
Alright. He can admit it. It is so good to see Five standing in front of him. Same Five. The same sort of wary, concerned look, like you might have gone a bit mental. He thinks of it as Five’s usual look, but it might just be for Sam, of course. It’s a quiet kind of consideration, not quite evaluation, but a sort of taking in of everything. He’s not sure if that’s all Five’s essential... Five-ness, some sort of military thing picked up since the outbreak, or just a plain reaction to the destruction of civilization. Talking less, looking about you a bit more— there are worse ways to cope. They’ve all picked up similar skills.
Five’s close-cropped hair is standing straight up on end, not helped by the shower at all. Nervous habit, that. Sam’s noticed. Usually after he says something like “there’re ten coming up on your right, and nine more on your left, but if you sprint for that old and almost certainly structurally unsound barn you can probably beat them,” Five sends both hands through their hair. No breaking pace, no looking around. Just fists both hands tight against the scalp, sometimes pants a quiet “right,” then lets it go and keeps running.
Sensible, to keep your hair so short, days like these. Not so good for Five, who comes back from most missions looking like a tragic victim of the sort of primary school bullying that involved someone getting their head shoved down a toilet. Sam’s not sure if that actually happens, come to think of it. Or happened. Might be just an American TV thing. He’ll have to ask the Doc at some point.
Anyway. Hair a mess, already in the too-large sweatpants Five traded Jack for last week, it is still so good to see Five. Alive. Here.
“You’re not in bed yet,” Five says.
“Well, no,” Sam clears his throat, and shrugs. “You know. End-of-shift stuff to do. And. Not that tired, to be honest.”
“You look tired,” Five says.
“I haven’t been the one out running all night, have I?” Sam says, and then winces. Five doesn’t, though. Typical Five. They could be talking about a total stranger for all Five seems to care. “Sorry. I meant to say, why aren’t you in bed? Must be exhausted.”
Five cracks a small smile, and balls up the damp washcloth in one hand. “I’ll be fine. I’m going to crash in a little while, I just— I wanted to talk to you.”
Sam laughs nervously. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Listen,” Sam says, because he’s apparently lost all reservations when it comes to talking to Five anymore. “What I said, I wasn’t— It’s not a big deal. Least, it doesn’t have to be. I got down, you know, it happens, and when I’ve got the mic in front of me I just...”
“We don’t have to talk about it, if you don’t want to,” Five says calmly. And, though Sam didn’t think anything could have surprised him more after tonight, Five hesitates. “But I wanted to say something. To you. About that whole thing with, well, with your family. Who you were before.”
Not only is it possibly the most Five’s ever said to him at one go, Five’s never looked so...awkward before. Ever. And most people, most people have a few awkward moments. Living in a place like Abel, where you regularly run into your coworkers coming out of the shower and the walls are literally made of tin, there are plenty of awkward moments. Five, apart from the running thing, would be notable too in how the mundane embarrassing bullshit seems about as troubling as the ol’ morning commute. Just like taking the tube. Or however Five used to get around.
Sam says nothing. Forced to go on, Five sighs.
“I haven’t been here too long,” Five says. “And I didn’t know you before, so I don’t... we haven’t been so close, you’re right. For all that, you know, you’ve saved my life. A lot. But the people here, in Abel. They’re really proud of you, Sam. They know, they all know, what it is that you do for us here. And maybe you think it’s not... maybe it doesn’t make everything that you’ve been through okay, or anything. But when I first got here, most people I met would mention you. About how of course you got me back in safe, ‘that’s our Sam,’ sort of thing. And I think you should know that. We’re all really proud of you.”
Sam swallows heavily. His hands convulse around the arms of the swivel chair, like he needs to ground himself a little.
“Oh,” is all Sam can think to say. Talk about another first.
Five must be thinking something similar, if the slight smile’s anything to go by. “Yeah. And like I said, we don’t have to talk about it. Just. You should know that.”
“Said that already,” Sam says, smiling himself now.
Five frowns a little, and might even be blushing. Just a bit. “Get some sleep,” Five says, turning to head out. “Janine’s going to kick your ass if she finds you still here when she wakes up.”
Five leaves the door open, and Sam can hear the rattle of the old metal steps as Five heads down them. And then silence. Cool and dark, just the glow from the monitors behind him, the hum of the computer bank a pleasant white noise at his back.
Sam sighs. The sigh turns into a great, jaw-cracking yawn.
He gets to his feet, and shuts the door behind him as he goes. He's pretty sure he can get to sleep now.