A/N: Here's an old Cresswell one-shot that I found. I wrote it ages ago; I must've forgotten about it. Anyhow, I hope it's properly fluffy. (I love Cresswell.)
Disclaimer: I own nothing. (NOTHING.)
Rating: T
My Dear Captain
Cress Darnel crept down the corridor of the Rampion, her feet padding on the cool metal floor. She felt a wave of exhaustion sweep over her, nearly knocking Cress off her feet. For a moment, she leaned against the wall, closing her eyes. But as soon as she did – as soon as she dared to shut them for a millisecond – she saw it all over again. Trapped in that control room the night of Levana's assassination with no way out. Boxed in yet again.
Her eyes snapped open, and she noticed light slipping out from beneath a door. Everyone else on the Rampion was asleep, save for Lonnie, who was manning the control room in event of an emergency. And except for Cress, who was wandering the hallways like a madwoman. She couldn't even remember why she'd left her bed. Food, probably. Eating something sometimes helped her fall asleep. She had been about to head toward the galley kitchen and fix something to eat from the reserves of canned food and nonperishables; maybe some stale crackers and water. (Yum.)
But there was clearly someone else awake. Cress narrowed her eyes. Yellow light pooled out in the hallway, leaking from a crack in the door. She tip-toed closer. This was Thorne's room. From inside, she could just barely hear a thud. Her eyebrows creased, now just a little more lucid than she had been a few moments ago, and she cracked the door open.
Thorne was awake. For a moment, she looked around his room. While she'd been expecting some sort of shmancy cabin, it was barely larger than the rest of the crew's rooms. A small bed was stashed in the corner, and there were posters up all over the walls—maps, dozens of them, some of the world, some of continents, some of countries, some of cities. Each map was covered in hastily scribbled circles, some with notes by them. On a map of Paris, she saw Feb. 14 written in sloppy handwriting.
But it wasn't the maps that caught her attention, not at first. It was Thorne. He was wearing a loose pair of pajama pants and a white cotton shirt that hugged his chest. Cress felt a familiar dryness spring up in the back her throat. She suddenly felt self-conscious in her plaid boxers and baggy t-shirt, her blonde hair mussed.
Thorne was standing in the middle of the room, a muscle in his jaw ticking. He was staring at what looked to be a long black cylinder hanging from the ceiling, and was wearing thick gloves on his hands. Before Cress could even say hello, he slammed his fist into the cylinder. It went flying backward, slamming against the wall. Her eyes widened, and he threw a series of punches at the cylinder, making it swing back and forth. He was sweating, beads of perspiration snaking their way down the back of his neck.
He was angry. Cress hadn't ever seen him like this. He attacked the cylinder with single-minded purpose for a good five minutes, before he finally let it swing back into place, panting. He swiped away some of the sweat on his forehead. It was then that he looked up and saw her in the doorway.
"Cress," he said, voice strangled. He stripped off the thick gloves, tossing them on the floor, and scratched the back of his neck. "That is to say – I mean –" He winced. "How long have you been here?"
"Just a few minutes," she said softly.
He twisted his mouth to one side, and then Cress had to find something else to look at. His mouth was not an option, not here in his room. She'd never even been in his room, not in all the time aboard the Rampion. If she started thinking about his mouth with the bed sitting in the corner…
"Um," she said, eyes flicking around the room for something to land on. Not Thorne. His shirt was nearly plastered to his skin, and she did not need that. His pajama pants were slung low on his hips—nope, not that either. His blue eyes were wide and just a little nervous, but in a frustratingly endearing way. Her gaze landed on the cylinder. "What's that?" she asked, pointing to the hanging object.
Nice. Intelligent, Cress. Way to floor him.
"It's… It's a punching bag," he said, clearing his throat, his eyes unfocused as if he, too, were having difficulty not looking at her. She felt a warm flush creep up her neck and cheeks. "From the second era. Kind of like a sofa cushion, but harder. You put on the boxing gloves – these," he said, retrieving the thick gloves from the floor. "And you punch the bag. I think, anyway. It's supposed to alleviate stress, I guess. Make some of it dissipate."
She found that her eyes had strayed back to him, and found that his eyes had been drawn back to her, too. "What are you still doing awake?" she asked.
"I could ask the same of you," he said, his lips twitching.
Cress studied him. "I asked you first."
He raked a hand through his hair. "I don't suppose you'd believe me if I told you that you kept me up most nights?"
"I don't want a lie, Thorne," Cress said, a little irked.
"It wasn't," he said quickly, and her heart stuttered. "Honest. That wasn't a lie."
"Oh" was the only thing Cress could think to say. There were a thousand more things she wanted to say, but mostly she just wanted to kiss him. Kissing him, however, late at night, in his bedroom, seemed more than a little bit dangerous.
"Now it's your turn," he said.
"My what?"
"Your turn," Thorne said, tilting his head. "Why are you up?"
She exhaled, leaning against the doorframe. "Nightmares," she said quietly. "Nothing new. Thought I'd go get something to eat in the kitchen, but then I saw that the light in your room was on, and I figured that…"
Thorne's gaze softened. "Come here," he said.
It was such a simple request—come here—and Cress did it, because stars, she loved him. It was moments like this when Cress had trouble getting over just how much she loved him, moments like this when all she wanted to do was wrap her arms around Thorne and never let him go. Moments like this when Cress's willpower caved, and she found herself walking to him and wrapping his arms around his chest.
His arms encircled her, and she buried her face in his shirt. He smelled like Thorne—too-expensive soap and a faint hint of cologne and aftershave and now, sweat, because he'd been beating the shit out of something called a punching bag. She let out an involuntary sigh, and he stroked her hair. She closed her eyes, and for the first time, she didn't see the nightmares coming for her. She just saw darkness and felt Thorne.
"I love you," Thorne whispered into her hair.
"I love you, too," Cress whispered back. "More than I think I probably should."
"I love you to Luna and back, Cress Darnel," Thorne said, holding her tighter before releasing her. Cress was about to squawk in protest, but then Thorne kissed her, and all she could think was soft and warm and Oh my stars and hmm.
"And," Thorne said, breaking apart, his eyes sparking with mischief, "you really do keep me up most nights."
"Shut up," Cress told him, and reached up on her tiptoes for another kiss. She could never quite get enough of kissing Thorne, no matter how often he kissed her, and he had a knack for stealing kisses. They broke apart, and Cress felt a wave of drowsiness, this one almost knocking her over. She closed her eyes, burying her face in his chest.
His laughter vibrated in his ribcage. "I get the feeling I'm not being used for my dazzling kissing skills so much as I'm being used for a pillow."
Cress smiled sleepily. "You make an excellent pillow."
"Really? When I'm sweaty and half-crazy from sleep deprivation?"
Cress opened her eyes. He looked exhausted – purple smudges lurked underneath his eyes, and he'd grown thinner in the past few weeks. She lifted her thumb and smoothed the creases in his forehead. His eyes fluttered shut, and he swayed a bit on his feet. "Even sweaty and half-crazy from sleep deprivation," she said softly.
Thorne opened his eyes, seeming reluctant to do so. His eyes flicked over to the bed in the corner, and Cress felt herself thinking about it wistfully, too. "So," she said, slowly. She met his eyes, nibbling her lower lip. "It's a long way back to my room."
"That it is," Thorne said diplomatically.
"And I'm really very tired. You've sapped my strength, you see."
His eyes waggled suggestively. "My tongue has a mind of its own—"
She swatted his chest. "Would you mind if I…" She trailed off. "Just… not, you know, actually… Just sleep, I mean?"
"Not at all," Thorne said. Cress sagged with relief. He reached over her and flicked off the light. His room plunged into darkness, and Cress leaned against him. She could feel him smiling as he kissed her hair. Before she could react, he swung her up easily and carried her over to the bed. She was asleep before he settled her down, their limbs entangled, covered in a mess of blankets.
Thorne shifted his weight, and Cress turned so that her cheek was pressed against his chest. "I love you, Captain," she said sleepily.
"Did you just call me Captain?" Thorne laughed a little.
"Shush," she said, stroking his hair. "You've earned it, my dear captain."
"I love you, too, Cress," Thorne said, his tone laced with drowsiness. "So much."
They were found like that in the morning, or what passed for it in space, each of them clinging to each other like a life raft in a choppy sea, faces smooth with no trace of nightmares, all evidence pointing to sweet, pleasant dreams.
A/N: I hope you all enjoyed it! Please review!
