“Don’t give me that,” he said coyly. Given her size, she might as well have been wearing the bed sheets. Not that he didn’t mind feeling a small sense of pride whenever she steals something of his.

A finger tapped against the rim of her cup, gently pushing it aside to steal a quick kiss. “I just hope you left me something to wear.” Brick chuckled, backing away from Pierce while tugging along the bottom of his shirt. “Guys and I worked up a sweat clearing out Old Haven.” Finally pulling his head out the collar, making his way to the bathrooms.

Her careful composure cracked as he approached, an impish grin lighting her face as she rested the cup on her thigh and leaned in to meet him for a quick kiss. 

“Well...” she mused, mischief in her eye as she watched him retreat. “I can’t make any promises.” She shrugged, sipping her tea, though her gaze lingered fondly on Brick as he began working out of his shirt. Another playful taunt rose to her lips, but fled as quickly as it came at his mention of Old Haven.

She’s never set much stock in machismo. It’s a tedious arrogance that begets more bloodshed, more violence, more paperwork on her desk and more families to ECHO with the grim news of another life snuffed out too early. 

Yet the berserker’s words seem to soften the exhaustion in Helena’s eyes, and in spite of herself the ghost of a smile quirks the corner of her mouth as she looks up from the map of New Haven to meet Brick’s eye.

She’s never set much stock in machismo, but what she sees in his face is not a mindless declaration of might, but the solemn sincerity of a man unequivocally on her side. For all that she knows that his fists are no match for an orbital barrage if Hyperion ever decides to turn its wrath on New Haven, she can’t help but feel safer in his presence.

She paused at the sound of the berserker’s voice, her cup of tea raised halfway to her lips as she caught sight of him. She glanced down at the shirt in question - swamping her, even tied as it was at the waist - and hid her smile with a sip of tea.

But there was no disguising the smugness in her voice, even as she adopted the most unassuming expression she could muster.

“I know, Brick.” Her arms tightened around the berserker’s neck; her grip as fierce as her trembling arms could muster. Tears carved twin trails down her cheeks, but for all her pride she dared not break the hug to wipe away the offending wetness. She could feel the lump rising in her throat; but for all her effort, she couldn’t keep the tremor from her voice.

Marci chuckled as she settled down on the floor in front of Brick, legs crossed, leaning back on her palms. She was tiny compared to him, and most of the things in the room, yet she didn’t seem to notice.