Hello again! Things kept happening to delay me working on this chapter (including a literal train crash that I got called to attend, but don't worry, no one was injured) but here it finally is!

Hope you enjoy it.

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Night was falling quickly.

When Remi was satisfied that Ed– Edwina– was taken care of, she put the saddle blankets back over her and picked up the foil blanket, tipping out the last few drops and flattening it out again as quietly as she could. With a last gentle stroke of the horse's neck, she walked the few yards back to their shelter, the glow of the moon revealing Weller's tall form stretched out against the slope of the hill, staring up at the sky.

Almost wishing she knew what was going on in his head, she sat beside him, and without looking at her he silently held out half of a protein bar. She noticed that his own half was still uneaten, and it was only once she'd taken her portion that he took his first bite, his eyes on the sky.

It was at least another minute before he spoke, which for Weller was something of a rarity– or at least, for the Weller she'd known since the crash. The Weller of before had barely spoken to her; he'd tried to make conversation a few times in that first week she'd joined the squadron, but she'd shut him out just like she did with everyone else, and he soon stopped trying.

By the end of that first week, they had all come to dislike her to varying degrees, which had suited her just fine. After all, that was the entire point; she was here to fight a war, not make friends.

Which pretty much summed up her life, really.

All through the months they'd worked together, she'd thought Weller disliked her too– not with the animosity of a wounded ego like the rest of them, but more like the quiet disappointment that a saint might show a sinner, his solemn gaze following her wherever she went.

Now, she knew better. Whatever it was that she'd seen in his eyes all that time, it hadn't been judgment or disapproval, and certainly not dislike. That he liked her was now unquestionable; as to just how much, she still wasn't sure.

There was something she was sure of, though: she didn't often misjudge people, in fact almost never did, but she had misjudged him.

"See how bright Orion is?" he asked thoughtfully, pulling her out of her thoughts and back to the moment. "I feel like it's sending us a message, but I can't decide what it is."

To anyone else, she would have given a sarcastic reply, but instead she glanced upwards, and said what she knew he would most like to hear. "Maybe it means that rescue is on the way, and they're out there looking for us right now."

"Wow, Briggs, I'm impressed. That was positively optimistic of you," he told her, his reaction to her words so genuinely pleased that she couldn't regret speaking them.

"You must be contagious," she said with mock disgust, and for the second time in ten minutes he had to forcibly hold back his laughter, his chest shuddering with the effort. She was used to having power over others, to being able to evoke an entire range of involuntary actions and responses, but this was definitely a new one.

And she found she liked it.

When he'd controlled himself, he asked, "Do you know any of the others?"

Still distracted, she frowned down at him. "Other what?"

"Constellations," he replied, gesturing vaguely at the glittering sky above them, his voice turning almost wistful. "You see a few in Pennsylvania, but nothing so beautiful as this. And it's not just the stars, either. All the most beautiful things I've seen in my life, I've seen over here."

For a moment she paused, looking at him looking at the stars.

"I know most of them," she said, the admission surprising even herself.

He propped himself up a little, head turning to look up at her with wide eyes. "Really?"

Uncomfortable with the attention, she looked away, one shoulder lifting in a small shrug. "I learned them when I was young. For navigation."

It was mostly true; fifteen of the eighty-eight named constellations were used for navigation, and they were required learning in Shepherd's curriculum. The rest... well, she'd always liked stars, and the nights she'd spent staring up at them from the roof of the compound were some of the few moments of peace she ever got.

"Right. Of course you did," he responded, his voice wry.

Annoyed, she started to get up, but his hand was suddenly on her forearm, halting her.

"Sorry, sorry. I didn't mean to tease," he said quickly, his words sincere. "Would you show me some? Even just a couple?"

Slowly settling back down– she'd humor him this once, but one more comment like that from him and she was done– she looked again at Orion, then went for the next logical choice.

"That one is Canis Major," she began, pointing to the cluster below and a little to the left of Orion.

"Ah, Big Dog," he said knowingly, then bit back a laugh at her look. "Sorry, go on."

"Canis Major is said to represent the large dog following the hunter Orion," she told him, pulling from deep in her memory. "And above and to the left of it is Canis Minor, Orion's smaller dog."

That seemed to particularly pique his interest. "Where?"

"There," she said, pointing, the small collection of stars standing out as clearly to her as if they were the only ones in the sky.

He frowned. "I'm sorry, Briggs, I'm not seeing it. Where is it?"

He wasn't messing with her; she could hear in his voice that the question was genuine, that he truly wanted to see what she was trying to show him.

Which was the only reason why she did what she did.

Ignoring the growing awareness of their proximity, she lay down onto her back beside him, then pointed again, allowing him to follow the line of her finger to the bright glow of Procyon, Canis Minor's dominant star.

"There," she repeated, and felt their shoulders brush as he leaned his head a little towards hers, squinting at the sky.

"There? So that one and that one are literally Orion's dogs? Man, when were you gonna tell me they named constellations after us, Briggs?"

He'd tried to make it a joke, but she heard the faint bitterness that lay beneath it, the pain that he'd always kept carefully hidden. Feeling the sudden, irrational need to dispel it, she spoke without thinking.

"That's one myth about them. But another says that Canis Minor is actually the Teumessian fox, a fox so quick and clever it was destined never to be caught– except by the great dog Laelaps, which is the other name for Canis Major."

Belatedly realizing how that might have sounded, she bit her lip, cursing herself. For a long moment he was silent beside her, then finally turned to look at her. She could feel his eyes on her face, could feel him waiting for her to look at him.

She knew she should get up, should move away, but that would feel too much like surrender, like a concession that there was actually something passing between them, and she wouldn't allow it. So instead she turned her head and met his gaze squarely, their faces only inches apart.

"Thanks, Briggs," he murmured, eyes never leaving hers. "I like that version better."

"Yeah, well, you shouldn't, because the moment the dog catches the fox they both get turned to stone and put up in the sky for the rest of time," she retorted, her irritation rising at warmth in his voice, the soft way he was looking at her. "That's enough stargazing. I'm going to sleep."

Jaw clenched, she grabbed her rifle from beside her and rose briskly to her feet, determinedly concealing the pain that shot through her thigh and her ribs as she did so. He didn't say a word as she stalked past him, and in her last fleeting glimpse of him before the canvas separated them, he was still lying as unmoving as stone, staring at the sky.

Scowling into the total darkness of their hollow, she settled herself in through a combination of touch and spatial memory, finding the medkit down by her feet and placing her rifle beside it, leaning it against the earthen wall with the barrel pointed directly into dirt. She'd be able to grab it and utilize it in seconds if needed, but the risk of accidental fire was safely managed. With her own weapon it would never even be a concern, but with a poorly maintained, unfamiliar weapon it could not be dismissed as a possibility, and the last thing either of them needed was another injury, especially one that she could have prevented.

Settling on her side with her back to the canvas flap, she closed her eyes and willed herself to sleep– but for once her body defied her, remaining ready and alert. Her mind was no less of a problem, its attention still fixed on that conversation, and on all the ways that he managed to infuriate her.

It did not think about the expression she'd seen in his eyes in that moment, though, or what he might have seen in hers.

He was only a few more minutes in joining her, but she had already started to shiver, not even the coffin-like confines of their shelter managing to protect her from the rapidly falling temperature. She heard his quiet scuffling sounds as he tried to crawl into the shelter without disturbing her, clearly assuming her already asleep.

Which, she figured, was the only reason he was brave enough to spread the foil blanket over her. Fumbling a little in the pitch blackness, his fingers accidentally brushed her neck, and she couldn't control her flinch, or the fresh goosebumps that broke out across her skin.

"Jesus, Briggs," he whispered sharply. "Your skin is like ice."

If her skin was icy, her voice was even colder. "I'm fine."

"Uh, I'm–" he hesitated for a second, clearly uncertain, then drew a breath and pressed on. "I'm– I'm gonna move closer, alright?"

She felt him shift against the dirt, and then his chest was at her back, brushing against her with every inhalation, his thighs just barely touching hers. It was no closer than they'd been on the horse today, in fact it was a fraction less, yet it felt decidedly more intimate than that had felt.

And that had already felt far more intimate than she was comfortable with.

Seemingly judging himself safe for the moment, he carefully tugged on the foil blanket until it was mostly covering them both– though, she suspected, covering her significantly more than him– then drew the other frayed blanket over the top.

She hadn't moved since he'd spoken, every muscle tense, every nerve hyperalert. Reminding herself that she'd mocked him only the night before for having basically the exact same reaction she'd just had, she forced herself to relax, letting her body settle against his.

Then, with a small sound of disgust– at him or herself, she wasn't quite sure– she reached back and found his arm where it lay stiffly atop his side, and drew it around her waist, her reasons purely practical. Clearly caught off guard, Weller started slightly, the movement momentarily increasing their contact still further, before he quickly recovered himself, his tension easing.

Letting out a slow breath, she let her own tension gradually drain away.

And then, with Weller between her and the world, she simply closed her eyes and let sleep take her.

#########

Waking up was an experience.

His first groggy instinct was to press closer into the supple warmth of her body, to turn his face into the softness of her hair and drift back into his pleasant dreams.

The horrified panic followed half a second later, and it was only a lifetime of strict physical control that kept him from scuttling away from her like a terrified crab, that long-ingrained training making him go deathly still instead, giving him a moment to assess the level of danger he was in.

Which led to his next realization, one that hit him harder than either that had preceded it.

Briggs was still asleep.

The glow of his watch confirmed it was almost 0600, and yet Remi Crack-of-Dawn Briggs was still asleep. She was infamous in the squad for never sleeping past 0430, regardless of what time they'd hit their bunks, regardless of if they were on duty or R&R. The guys joked that it was because she was more machine than human, so she didn't need to sleep like they did.

Well, she'd never seemed more human than right now, with her long hair loose of its usual bun, her expression softened in sleep, her muscles devoid of their usual coiled tension. The next moment only added to his stunned wonderment, as she shifted unconsciously, closing the tiny gap he'd created between them, her body molding to his once more.

Well, shit.

Hardly daring to breathe, Weller kept his upper body carefully still, shifting his hips backward by tiny increments, just far enough to prevent a potential source of extreme awkwardness.

Not that his situation wasn't already awkward enough: his choices consisted of waking her, an action which could trigger her overactive fight response and cause her to murder him before she was even fully conscious; or stay here and let her sleep, which could also result in her murdering him when she woke to find he'd deliberately allowed their physical contact to continue longer than was strictly necessary.

No, he was sure there was only one way of getting out of a situation that involved this much shared physical intimacy alive, and that was to not be conscious when she woke.

Reassuring himself that he had no other choice, he settled his head back down onto his bicep and closed his eyes, a faint smile touching his lips before he slipped back into sleep.

He came alert instantly at the sound of his name, his body jerking slightly, his eyes opening to find he could now see, the dim light of sunrise creeping steadily under the canvas.

"It's past 0630," Briggs said crisply, all business. "We need to move."

"Right," he said, immediately withdrawing his arm from around her and rolling to his other side, only remembering his gun when he found himself half-lying on it. Shifting it from underneath him, he awkwardly belly-crawled out from under the canvas, turning back and lifting the flap just slightly to tell her of his intention to go scout the area.

Receiving an affirmative, he immediately headed for the opening to the valley, his stride awkward as he subtly adjusted himself. Waking up entangled with Remi Briggs was proving to be hell on his body's responses, and he sent up a silent prayer of thanks that– if they managed to survive the day– they would reach the village by sometime in the mid-afternoon.

He certainly didn't think he could survive another night.

Like the previous morning, he focused on assessing their surroundings for any danger, and by the five minute mark he was assured the coast was clear– both in regards to their upcoming route and his own physical state– so he turned back, making sure to pause and give Edwina an apologetic scratch behind the ears.

Glancing over, he could see Briggs had already dismantled their shelter, the canvas once more in a neat roll and her knives likely returned to their respective hiding places. As he approached, she silently held out his K-Bar and a canteen, and he accepted both with thanks.

While he drank, she carried the bedding back over to Ed's saddlebags, storing both the canvas and blankets securely, then returned to his side to trade half a protein bar for the canteen, their movements now in a practiced pattern.

As they stood there chewing their breakfast, his eyes fell again on the sandy hollow that had been their shelter, the space somehow seeming both larger and smaller than it had felt last night.

"Surprised we slept so late," he ventured, hoping that the slight recklessness of provoking her might be canceled out by the carefully cultivated innocence in his tone.

"I'm not," she said enigmatically, then simply handed him the medkit, tapping one of the pockets. "Your dose is in there. Make sure you put it back in the same pocket when you're done."

Then, she simply turned and headed for the horse, leaving him staring after her for a moment. Shaking himself out of it, he quickly pulled out the syringe and jabbed it into his leg, managing to wince only slightly this time. Watching her do a final check of all the saddlebags, he recapped the needle and tucked it away, then hurried over to join her.

He was just about to offer to lift the large rock so she could pull the end of the reins free when she did it herself, lifting the edge of the 50-pound rock with one hand like it was nothing. She'd already replaced the rock and was facing away from him, tying the end of the rope back to Ed's bridle, when she suddenly spoke.

"You're staring, Weller."

"Right. Sorry," he said sheepishly, and managed to be silent for about three whole seconds before the words burst out of him. "You deliberately downplay your strength during training, don't you?"

For a moment she simply looked over her shoulder at him, as if deciding how to answer. When she spoke, he knew instinctively that it was nothing but the truth.

"I downplay everything."

"Why? Christ, Briggs, you were already too good for your rank. You should have been running the show this whole time, not taking orders like any other grunt."

"Because it pays to be underestimated," she answered frankly, her expression unreadable. "And because beating men in any field where they believe women to be inferior, let alone beating them in every field, achieves nothing but unnecessary resentment and opposition. Letting men keep their egos keeps them out of my way."

Swinging herself easily up onto Ed's back, she shifted a little, then gathered the reins and nudged Ed forward, positioning her where Weller would be able to use the rock to mount.

But he was still distracted by what she'd said– and really, thinking of their former teammates, he could easily see her point. While pretty much any of them would be guaranteed to be envious of another man who could physically outmatch them in strength or skill, they would still respect him for it, even admire him. To be beaten by a woman, though? Even a woman like Remi Briggs? The whole squadron would have gone into complete meltdown.

And Briggs would have been the one to have to go.

Looking up at her, he met her eyes, and she must have seen some sign that he understood, that he was on her side, because the guardedness in her expression eased away a little, her eyes almost warm as she reached her hand out to him.

Taking it, he stepped up onto the rock and then swung into place behind her, his arm curling automatically around her waist, their bodies fitting together like it was how they were made to be.

"For the record," he began carefully, hoping she understood just how much he meant what he was about to say. "I've always known I was no match for you, Briggs. And even though I didn't realize just how true that was 'til just now, I've never had anything but respect for who you are and what you can do."

Well, that wasn't quite the truth. He'd had a hell of a lot more than respect. Admiration, awe, adoration...

"I know, Weller," she replied evenly, her eyes on the horizon as she directed Ed back towards open desert.

She knew now. But what about before? All those long months they'd lived, trained, and worked side by side, had she assumed he was just another sexist asshole, another two-faced guy who would turn on her the moment she stepped outside the neat box he'd put her in?

"Is that why you never talked to me? Because you thought I was like them?"

"No," she answered, and then was silent so long that he thought that was the end of it. But then she spoke again, her words making his heart leap.

"It was because I knew you weren't."

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So it was only when I started googling constellations for this chapter that I learned about Canis Major and Minor, and I literally could not believe my luck that they fit so perfectly with the kind of conversation that I wanted these two to have. Bless whatever long-dead people gave them their names and myths!

Also I hope everyone enjoyed the spooning haha

As always, thanks for reading!