THE JOURNEY BACK to the cave is just as grueling as the first, even though it's just the two of us, and so the handles can be adjusted to let us sit. We have supplies to survive the journey, and weapons in case of trouble, but the desert is still a relentless, unforgiving place.
We ride in silence, for the most part. There's no need for conversation, nothing really to say. We're both focused on the task at hand, on getting back to the cave, on retrieving the supplies we left behind. The hum of the transport is a constant, soothing sound, the only thing breaking the quiet of the desert night.
I'm tired, but it's a bone-deep exhaustion that's been building for days now. I've been running on adrenaline and sheer willpower, but now that we're away from the group, away from the constant need to be alert and on guard, the fatigue is setting in. My eyes keep drifting shut, my head nodding, only to jerk up again when the transport hits a rough patch of ground.
Alistair is driving, his hands steady on the controls, his gaze fixed on the desert ahead. He's quiet, but I can feel his presence next to me, a solid, reassuring presence that keeps me from drifting off completely.
We've been traveling for hours, the moons high in the sky, casting a cool, blue light over the landscape. The desert is a vast, empty expanse of sand and rock, the silence so complete it's almost deafening.
I shift in my seat, trying to get comfortable, my body aching with the strain of the journey. My eyes are heavy, my mind foggy with exhaustion. I know I should stay awake, keep an eye out for any signs of danger, but it's so hard...
"Sarah."
"Mmh."
"You're drooling on my shoulder." Alistair's voice is a low, amused rumble.
I blink, my eyes slowly focusing on him. When did his face get so close...? When did I lean on him?
"I am not," I mumble, my voice thick with sleep. I push myself upright, rubbing at my eyes, trying to shake off the fog of exhaustion. "I'm fine."
He chuckles, the sound a warm, pleasant rumble. "Sure you are."
I shoot him a glare, but it's half-hearted at best. I'm too tired to muster up any real indignation.
"We'll stop soon," he says, his gaze returning to the desert ahead. "Get some rest then."
I shake my head. "Mh. No...no. I can make it. We don't need to stop until we get to the caves." It's a lie, and we both know it. I'm barely keeping my eyes open, my body swaying with the movement of the transport. But I don't want to be the reason we stop, don't want to hold us back.
He doesn't argue, just nods, his expression thoughtful. "Alright. But if you fall off, don't blame me." There's a hint of amusement in his voice, but also an undercurrent of concern.
I don't respond, too tired to form a coherent sentence. Instead, I just lean against him, my head resting on his shoulder, my eyes closing. I can feel his surprise, his body tensing for a moment, then relaxing. He doesn't say anything, doesn't push me away. He just lets me rest, his body a warm, solid presence against mine.
The last thing I hear before I drift off is the hum of the transport, the sound of the desert wind, and the steady, reassuring beat of his heart.
I wake up with a start. I'm lying on my back, staring up at a dark, unfamiliar ceiling. Where...?
I blink, my mind groggy, my body aching. I push myself up, rubbing my eyes. I'm in the cave, on a blanket someone must have laid out for me. The memories slowly come back - the journey, the desert, falling asleep against Alistair...
I glance around, my gaze landing on the transport. He brought it all the way into the cave this time. I suppose it makes sense. So far there's no indication the aliens are tracking it, and trying to drag all the supplies up and down the cave walls with the two of us isn't a great use of time.
Alistair is sitting against the wall next to me, deep in sleep. His head is tilted back, his chest rising and falling with slow, steady breaths. The orange light of the fire flickers over his face, casting shadows that highlight the sharp, angular lines of his features. He looks so peaceful, so at ease, a stark contrast to the tension I've come to associate with him.
I can't help but stare, my gaze tracing the contours of his face, the curve of his lips, the line of his jaw. He's... nice to look at. It's a stupid, inane thought, but it's the first that comes to my mind.
There's no way in hell I'd tell him that. He'd somehow be even more insufferable. Of that, I'm sure.
Still...I can't help a bit of guilt. I must have passed out there at the end. I was supposed to keep him company, stay awake with him, but I couldn't do it. I just... couldn't. The exhaustion was too much, the need for sleep too overwhelming.
I sigh, running a hand through my hair. I should probably wake him up. We need to get moving, need to load up the transport and get back to the others. But I hesitate, watching him sleep. He looks so peaceful, so... vulnerable. It's a side of him I've never seen before, and it's... strangely endearing.
No, don't be stupid. We can't afford to sleep here, we can't linger. We're a target here, and on top of that we're responsible for these supplies. We need to move before the aliens decide to show up here, or start paying attention to us moving back and forth, or any myriad of other things that could go wrong. We can sleep as long as we want when we're back with the others, in a place that the aliens have never discovered and have no way of knowing.
I reach out and gently grab his shoulder, shaking him.
His hand snaps up, grabbing my wrist, and then my vision spins violently. So violently I can't even make a sound before my back slams painfully into the shale beneath me, knocking the breath out of me. A small blade presses to my neck, and Alistair's face is over mine, blond hair hanging down close enough to nearly touch me.
There's a raw, ugly hatred and rage burning in his hazel eyes as I gasp and wheeze, struggling to regain my breath and bearing.
His eyes widen in recognition, and he immediately drops the blade and scrambles backward, breathing hard.
"Fuck!" He runs his hands over his face, "Sorry! I'm so sorry, I didn't-" He shakes his head, "Didn't mean to..."
"You're..." I still can't breathe, my head is spinning from how quickly I was moved. "Fine. It's fine. I'm sorry I startled you." I wince, "Didn't mean to. Just. Wanted to get going." I'm not even sure I'm making sense. My words are stilted and breathy, and my lungs hurt. He probably could've killed me. I'm lucky that he didn't, that he recognized me before he did anything more than that. I'm not... I'm not mad at him. He's just as exhausted as I am, and probably far more likely to be on edge. I should know better than to go touching other survivors in their sleep. We've all suffered enough to be violent, I've just been... lucky that hasn't happened before.
"I'm. Still." He shakes his head. "I'll be more careful. I just. Fuck." He runs a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry. Did I hurt you...?" He leans over me, looking at me with concern in his eyes.
I shake my head. "N-No. Just knocked the wind out. I'll be alright."
He looks like he wants to argue, to protest, but eventually he just nods, sitting back. "Alright. Just...give me a few minutes to get my head on straight, alright? Then we'll get packed up and get out of here."
I nod, pushing myself into a sitting position. "Yeah. Okay."
He stands up, running a hand through his hair again, his expression troubled. "I'll... I'll get the fire going again. Make something for us to eat."
I don't argue, just watch him as he moves to the fire, his movements stiff, tense. I can still see the anger in his eyes, the lingering remnants of whatever nightmare he'd been having. Whatever he'd seen when he woke up.
I frown, rubbing at my wrist where he'd grabbed me. There's a bruise forming there, a stark, purple mark against my skin. But it's nothing. It'll heal. And I'll be more careful next time.
We eat in silence, the food tasteless and bland. My mind is elsewhere, on the journey ahead, on the tasks we need to complete. But there's a nagging thought in the back of my mind, a question I can't ignore.
"What were you dreaming about?" I ask, my voice quiet.
He pauses, his fork halfway to his mouth. He looks at me, his expression guarded. "Nothing."
"It wasn't nothing." I insist. "You were... angry. Scared."
He sighs, setting his fork down. "I don't want to talk about it."
I don't push. I know what it's like to have nightmares, to be haunted by the past. But I can't help but be worried. I care about him, more than I'd like to admit. And I hate seeing him like this, so tense and troubled.
"Just... if you ever want to talk about it," I say, my voice soft. "I'm here."
He looks at me for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he nods, a small, almost imperceptible movement. "Thanks."
We finish our meal, the silence between us no longer comfortable, but filled with unspoken words and lingering tension. I help him pack up, my movements quick, efficient. We need to get moving, need to put some distance between us and this place.
As we load up the transport, I can't help but steal glances at him, wondering what's going on in his head, what demons he's fighting. I don't know if he'll ever tell me, if he'll ever let me in. But I'll be here, waiting. Just in case.
It's the least I can do.