Work Text:
You were always told to muscle through it. From a young age, the phrase “grin and bear it” was seared into your mind. And you did. You bore the weight of the world with outward facing grace, whether it was balancing school and multiple jobs or holding it together for the sake of others, you did it with minimal complaint. It’s no different now that you’re with the 141. You’d do whatever was asked of you with no qualms, you’d bear the weight simply because it was your Captain or your Lieutenant that asked you to. You’d do anything for them, for your team, even if it meant swallowing your own tears after a mission gone sideways just to ease the ache of others. You’d do it.
Someone told you once that the thing they appreciated the most about you was your ability to keep it together for the sake of others. You’ve been riding that compliment for years.
And while it was certainly appreciated among your team, there was one who despised it. The rage would build in his stomach when you’d accept a task, knowing damn well you’re overwhelmed with everything else you’ve taken on. His jaw would clench when he’d see you willingly take over for others, molars threatening to crack under the pressure.
It needs to get done anyway, sir, what’s one more item on the list?
You ignored your body’s cry for a reprieve, you ignored your mind’s plea for a single moment of nothing, you ignored the squeeze in your chest that longed for a chance to catch your breath. I can do this for them. I don’t need a moment. I can’t stop because if I do, I might not be able to start back up again.
You were sat in your room, leg bouncing under your desk as you typed away report after report, empty styrofoam cups littered along your desk, you chased your coffee with more coffee, just one more and then I can finish this. A knock on your door couldn’t even force your eyes away from your computer but still you invited them in,
“We need to talk.”
Fuck, how you hated that phrase. It plunged your stomach to your heels, but you took a deep breath, saved your document, and turned to face a very pissed off Ghost.
“What about, sir?”
And then he saw it, he truly saw it. The dark rings under your eyes, the empty coffee cups strewn about your desk, the almost imperceptible tremor in your hands as you picked at lint on your shirt.
“This needs to stop.”
“I’m sorry?”
“I know what you’re doing, and you need to fucking stop.”
Why was it so terrifying to be seen? Shouldn’t it have been a relief? But the accusation forced a lump to form in your throat and made your heart rate pick up speed,
“I don’t-”
“Don’t argue, shut the fuck up and listen.”
You’ve heard your Lieutenant snap at people, but he’s never directed it at you. It was terrifying and it invited the tears you’ve long since buried to come forth and join the fray,
“The last thing I need is for you to fall over, half dead, because you don’t know how to stop.” His words were harsh but you knew him. You knew how to read between the lines. He cares, he sees how hard you struggle, and it kills him.
“I just wa-” You bit your lip to try to keep it from quivering, a last ditch effort to keep your tears at bay,
“I know.” He walked in and stood in front of you, “I need you well. And you’re no good to us buried in a grave of your own making.” He placed a hand on your shoulder and that was it. That simple touch is what broke the dam. Without realizing you slumped forward, head pressed into his abdomen as the tears started to fall.
“It’s alright. I get it, I do.” His voice was low, his rich tenor soothing you as his hand moved to rub soothing circles into your back. Your own came up and balled the hem of his shirt into your fists, the fabric wrinkling instantly in your white knuckle grip. His self-proclaimed cold heart ached in his chest,
“Just breathe, sergeant, I’ve got you.”