Thanks to those that have read and especially to the reviewers. All comments are loved.
#3: Back
by Maaya
The ache flares up at the most tiresome moments. When Hawkeye is reaching for her gun, when she in jerking movements aims, when she is ducking, looking for cover. It comes with a snap and ruthlessly seats itself along her backbone. It is endurable, she wouldn't breathe today if it wasn't, but it does not to encourage her.
Hawkeye is still young. She doesn't want to feel the first course towards constant pain already.
She hasn't told anyone because of the fear of being placed in a dusty military archive somewhere, far away from fieldwork and far away from her tight-knit group of trustworthy companions. They know, she is certain, the Colonel and his group are aware. Thankfully, they won't mention it, not even when she has to massage sore spots with both hands.
Because it is a cunning pain, not merely shocking and instant. Sometimes it comes sneaking, settles in muscles made stiff and tired from deskwork.
It doesn't come as a surprise when Hawkeye can finally stand, finished with the papers and ready to go home, but she has looks up to confirm no one heard her muscles creak. It is not surprising at all because she has spent the whole day with these papers, only took a break for lunch at eleven o'clock.
No one has looked up so Hawkeye assumes she didn't groan out aloud and that the muscles didn't creak as loudly as it felt like they had.
She rolls her shoulder discreetly as she throws a glance out the window. It is dark and has probably been for a while. Depressing, somewhat embarrassing, that Hawkeye is the one to leave first. Depressing, because it is late before the first one leaves. Embarrassing, because she is usually among the last ones. It is often only her and the Colonel left, at last. She looks around at the faces.
Havoc has an unlit cigarette in his mouth, is chewing on it, wiggling it up and down restlessly as his moves from the left to the right, only pausing when he has to change paper. Fury cleans his glasses with a yawn – will probably go home soon. Breda has opened his jacket, and Farman plays a melody with his fingers on the tabletop.
She moves on to he Colonel is reasting an elbow on his desk and strokes his cheek thoughtfully. He looks up, and for a moment, their eyes meet. He nods.
"Have a good weekend, First Lieutenant."
Hawkeye removes her supporting hand from her back (she can't remember when she had placed it there) and comes to attention.
"Yes. You too, sir."
She ignores Havoc's joking goodbye-wriggle with his fingers and fetches her coat (it has gotten colder recently, she has found she needs it) and puts it on without visible problems. She doesn't wince when she moves, doesn't do it awkwardly.
If possible, Hawkeye will handle the ache.
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