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Cissnei was sat in the hallway, next to the door to the break room, back against the wall and legs outstretched. She was sucking on the straw of an iced coffee and scrolling on her phone.
“Reno’s in there,” she offered, by way of explanation. “And he’s asleep.”
Rude nodded. Reno was a light sleeper, and every Turk quickly learned not to wake him up unexpectedly. Alvis had needed 12 stitches the last time—though, in Rude’s opinion, anyone stupid enough to try and draw on Reno’s face while he was sleeping deserved everything they got.
It wasn’t surprising Reno was asleep. He had arrived at HQ twenty minutes ago, off the back of a solo mission—and after 52 hours awake, by Rude’s calculation. An operation in Wutai had gone tits up, and as the closest available pilot Reno had been pulled to run an unexpected exfil—which had turned into one crisis after another. Rude was just happy his partner had made it back in one piece, which was more than could be said for most of the troopers he’d had to rescue.
Rude untied his shoes, slid his feet out one at a time, and flexed his toes inside his socks. He peeled his gloves off, rolled them up, and put them into his pocket.
“Going in,” he said to Cissnei. She raised her hands in a gesture that meant, your funeral, not mine.
Quietly, Rude opened the door and stepped into the break room. He shut the door with a soft click, and paused, breath shallow.
Reno was sprawled out on the battered couch, neck craned at an uncomfortable angle, the heel of one shoe resting on the floor. He was covered in soot, there was a bruise forming on the side of his face, and his jacket and shirt were stained with blood. Hopefully, none of the blood was his; Reno was not good at getting injuries checked out.
Rude turned off the overhead lights, plunging the room into a darkness alleviated only by the lights of the microwave clock in the kitchenette. He took careful steps into the room, socked feet silent against the carpet, until he was standing next to the couch. Even in sleep Reno was not still. He twitched and trembled like a dog caught in a dream. Rude could see his eyelashes flickering.
Rude took his jacket off and draped it over Reno. Reno jerked as the fabric touched him, and his eyes flew open, pupils dark and dilated. He wasn’t really in the room, Rude knew.
“It’s me,” Rude said, voice low.
“Too much covering fire,” Reno said. “Can’t get to B-squad.”
“It’s okay,” Rude murmured. “You did what you could.”
Reno’s eyes closed, and a full body shiver went through him.
Rude sat next to the couch, careful not to touch Reno’s leg, and reached for Reno’s hand. Reno’s fingers closed around his automatically. Rude gave a reassuring squeeze. Reno sighed, and his head lolled to one side.
“Poor bastards,” he mumbled. But Rude could see the tension draining out of him, muscles relaxing. Rude watched as Reno’s body gradually stilled, and his breath deepened, even as he tightened his grip on Rude's hand.
Rude settled himself more comfortably on the floor. He would be here for a while.