A/N: This is a fluffy little Miles and Tom drabble, based on this post on Tumblr: post/87390070280/partybarackisinthehousetonight-you-wanna-fight. Also apologies to The Killers for the blatant theft and use of my favourite lyric of theirs in this story. It's from Read My Mind, if anyone's interested.
It was the apathy of the man that Thomas could not stand. He could put up with the flirting, the snoring, the incessant chatter – but it was Miles' lack of care about surgery itself that really bothered Thomas, especially when he himself had worked so hard to even get to this point. Miles had had it all given to him on a plate from the day he was born, and yet the man could not have made it more obvious that he would rather be doing anything else with his life, and right now Thomas had had enough of it.
"Miles," Tom growled, and Miles stopped talking abruptly, "If you have nothing better to do with your time than blether on to me about movie starlets and Tarzan, then I'd rather you did it somewhere other than here. I'm trying to work."
Miles paused, looking as if he was about to say something. He must have thought better of it, however, for he swallowed his words, nodded once, and quickly shut Tarzan Of The Apes and exited the tent, leaving Tom surprised and a little chagrined at how easy that had been.
Miles let out a sigh of frustration as he left the tent to collect his golf balls and club from the Quartermaster's store. He knew Tom found his lack of interest in talking about surgery and medicine all the damn time frustrating and maybe he came across as not caring about the work they were doing, but that couldn't be further from the truth. He cared a bloody lot about the work they were doing, and more importantly, the lives they were saving, but he thinking of it and talking of it constantly was an impossibility for Miles – he had to get away from the work that they did at the hospital, just for a little while, just so he could face every day with optimism and a fresh perspective. If it weren't for losing himself in the jungle with Tarzan, he'd end up rocking in a corner and wouldn't ever be able to get up in the morning. Of course, Tom would say it was struggle enough as it was to pull him from the depths of slumber, but that was why the blasted man ought to give in to his chatter.
Miles looked up at the clouds rolling softly across the sky and out to sea, painting a wash of dark, dark night behind them, sprinkled with stars. He didn't want to bother Tom – he respected the man greatly, he was honestly one of the best and most hard-working surgeons he had ever met, and he wanted Tom's respect as well. No, more than that – he wanted his friendship. Settling his last golf ball on the ground in front of him and swinging the club, he remembered the only thing, other than his work, he had ever heard Tom talk about with passion, and looking up at the sky he had an idea.
Tom had retired to bed early – not that he would ever admit it, but he had missed Miles' ceaseless chatter that night, and to his surprise he found it much harder to concentrate on writing his thesis without Miles' steady presence in the background. He was just drifting off to sleep when Miles sauntered back into the tent, stowed his golf club under his bed, and walked over to Tom's bedside.
"Tom," Miles whispered, "Tom, are you awake?" Miles put his hand on Tom's shoulder and shook it gently. Tom groaned and opened his eyes, emerging from his semi-conscious state.
"What is it, Miles?" Tom mumbled, voice softer than it had been earlier, but still sounding slightly irritated, for form's sake at least.
"Come with me!" exclaimed Miles, practically dragging Tom out of bed so he was forced to obey Miles' command. Muttering insults at Miles under his breath for pulling him from his slumber, Tom followed Miles outside to a spot of grass a little way away from the main camp, where all of the sudden he lay down on the floor.
"Miles...what are you doing?"
"You'll see! Come on, lie down next to me!" Miles patted the ground next to him to emphasise his point, and Tom had no choice but to do as Miles asked. Miles grinned widely as Tom lowered himself to the floor and slowly lay back.
"Ugh, Miles, the grass is wet...what are we doing here?"
Miles smiled. "Be quiet and look up."
Thomas sighed at the man's obstinacy but did as he said. And saw why he had brought Tom out here in the first place.
The stars winked and twinkled up above as the crescent sliver of the moon glowed bright to the right of Tom's vision. When he was younger, his father had taken him onto the roof of their tenement block in Glasgow (after warning him strongly not to tell his mother, or anyone else for that matter) and they had gazed up at the stars, his father telling him stories of the constellations. But they had always been slightly obscured or dimmed by the smog and grime of the city. He had never seen a sky as clear as this.
He had once mentioned to Miles, in an uncharacteristic moment of openness, his passion for stargazing, but he had no idea the man had remembered, or even taken anything he had said in amongst his mindless chatter about Tarzan and pretty girls. Clearly, he had been wrong. Now he noticed Miles was not looking at the stars with him, but looking expectantly at his face. When Miles noticed Tom had seen him, he looked quickly away, but couldn't help looking back, gazing at the face that was looking up at the sky with such wonder...and when Tom glanced back at Miles, he saw that same wonder reflected in Miles' face. He swallowed a lump in his throat and looked up at the stars again.
Pointing directly upwards, he said "That's Ursa Major. It's the first constellation my dad taught me, when I was young. And Ursa Minor. Oh, and there's Cassiopeia, and Andromeda." Tom was pointing in all different directions, enthusiasm lighting up his eyes and raising his voice, the passion he had for this childhood hobby unmistakable. "You know, my father used to say stars were like diamonds, cut out of the sun. He called me his rebel diamond." He smiled, remembering the man who had quietly and steadily encouraged him in his endeavours to become a doctor, then a surgeon, who had supported him when he joined the army. He missed his whole family, of course – his brothers and sisters, his mother, even his very old-fashioned grandma – but it was his father he missed the most.
After a while, Tom realised that Miles had not spoken in sometime – in fact, he thought he hadn't spoken since he had told him to look at the sky, for once allowing Tom to chatter on for once. It was such a stark reversal, however, that Tom couldn't help but notice and looked over at Miles to see what was wrong. Miles was smiling up at the sky but his eyes were full of tears, reflecting the starlight above them.
Tom opened his mouth to ask his friend what was wrong, but at the last moment thought better of it, instead simply slipping his rough hand into Miles' much smoother one and squeezing it in gratitude. Miles squeezed back.