Miss Pauling’s favourite part came long after the sweat cooled, and their hearts steadied in their hammering. Medic would curl himself around her in his slumber, drifting off quickly while she lay awake for a few minutes longer, listening to his slow breathing.
They never spoke of love or other such childish fancies. But the way he shielded her in sleep, a bulwark of muscle and bone dwarfing her deceptively fragile frame, spoke silent volumes. He never flung an arm over her or clutched at her even in nightmares; even his dreaming self knew she was neither touchstone nor possession. But he would do his utmost to keep her safe.
As she would him.
How are you writing this!? I swear I’ve imagined these two exactly like this. Do you have a direct line to my thoughts!? Especially the last part. How do I even describe it? It’s not that Medic just sees her as a trinket, and he’s well aware of just how “helpless” Miss Pauling is (which is…a resounding not even a little bit nope, girl will decorate you with holes if she has to). I think it’s more like she allows him to protect her, if it makes him happy.
I really want to try and write it out, how it all works in my own headcanon. I need to try. Even if it’s shit, I have to now.
Muuuussss, you already know that I love your writing. This one really spoke volumes to me and how I imagine this pairing, though. Gah, I love you. This was beautiful! ♥