WHEN: a bit after the event

WHERE: truck 

Even in sleep, he seemed restless. Distressed. Lines etched in his forehead and fists lightly clenched at his sides, as if he was fighting an enemy in his dreams. Shoulders slightly hunched inwards, and faintly she wondered if he could feel her presence even with his eyes shut. 

Faintly, she wondered if he was fighting her. The thought only brought a smile to her lips. 

Kennedy dabbed with the antibiotic soaked cotton to the small cuts on his face, his head rested on her lap. The sleeping quarters of the truck was quiet, most of the crew either tending to their wounds or debriefing with Cian. Gabriel had fallen unconscious as soon as the truck was safely on its way back to dust, his body seeming to sense that it was okay to collapse, registering the gunshot wound belatedly. Ever the loyal soldier, the selfless hero. 

She wondered if anyone had told him that heroes were always destined to fall. 

Some morbid, perverse part of her wanted to reach out and touch his wound. To press and press until the bandage was stained red. To see if she would hurt, knowing it had been her fault. To see if she cared. Kenna hadn’t been questioned when she’d volunteered to take care of Gabriel, and she supposed it was expected — he’d gotten shot covering for her, after all. But it wasn’t guilt or obligation that glittered in her eyes now. 

Instead, she studied his features with a sort of apt curiosity. Her fingers brushed away a stray lock of golden hair and she wondered if he could feel the insincerities in her actions, even as her touch was no less gentle, no less tender. Sometimes, Kenna managed to deceive even herself. Though if there was anyone that could discern the way her halo glowed a bit too bright, divinity nothing more than an artificial spotlight, she thought it would be him. 

She didn’t move away when she felt him stir awake, her fingers lingering against his skin. “Alexander.”