#maaggiieeee

        The pain bloomed in his side, aching from a tear in his ribs that was fresh. He kept his face turned away from her, saturated bruising staining the skin beneath his eye and down his jaw, smeared on his neck like watercolor. Thomas had crept in before Maggie arrived, waiting as he usually did, but this time turned away from the door, hoping she’d not catch sight. It’d been a rough run, fleeing after a shot, running from a group hellbent on catching and claiming his head as a prize. 

      And as he was running, rifle slung over his back, sliding down ravines and tripping over debris with fire in his lungs... he only thought of one thing. Maggie fucking Sweetwater. Who’d tell her what happened? Would she know? Who’d sing her to sleep, make stupid jokes? Make sure she’s eating, even when she forgets? Someone else? Some other... person? No. Absolutely fuckin’ not. 

     Thomas listened to her speak, each word from her tightening his throat. He was so, so happy to hear her talk again. He almost thought he wouldn’t. Heat tore through him as he stood suddenly, balancing carefully, barely swaying through the discomfort. He turned on a heel, the dim light finally catching the sharp angles of his face as he strode toward her on uneven steps. There was still metal in his side, a clear hole through his duster, the darkness spreading over the leather making him lightheaded. 

      But he made it to her without a pause, gloved hands cupping her cheeks gently, though with an urgency that was clear. “Maggie...” He started, thumb swiped beneath her eye, back and forth just on the crest of her cheek. A breath was drawn in shakily and held, summoning up his last ounce of courage. Then, he leaned in, hesitating only a moment before pressing chapped lips to hers in a soft kiss.