Eyes and Ears
By xannychan
Disclaimer: Not. Mine.
Short A/N: Uhh...yeah. Freedom Fighters goodness.
Warnings: Does anyone know how old Longshot and Smellerbee are? I don't want to be writing pedophilia.
Smellerbee didn't count for much as a woman.
She didn't mind undressing in front of the men of her camp, her small breasts poking out about as much as her ribs. She didn't think much of the fold of skin between her thighs as much more that that.
Nor did she mind when the men of her camp undressed in front of her. Not that it ever stopped her from watching the muscles ripple under skin, the sliding of joint against joint, the curl of fingers and toes, the color of dry, calloused, bruised, injured skin. She didn't think too much of modesty, and when she could see men fully she didn't care much for it anyway.
She never really cared for being tender or caring. But she was understanding enough, through quiet flickers of eyes and soft changes of breath. She could hear as well as anyone, and just the slightest foreign rustle would catch her.
Being beautiful didn't count for much around here, being rebel fighters and all that. Not that Smellerbee wouldn't mind being more beautiful; It would just take up too much valuable time. But it never stopped her from looking into her reflection at times.
Her gaze would always stop at the stripes on her cheeks, the tattoo of a time that seemed to be so long ago. It was the mark of a woman in her old village, the mark of a woman born to be strong, revolutionary, beautiful. She's always sound that harshly ironic.
But sometimes, she got tired of watching. Some days, she got sick of listening. Every once in a while, she wanted to shut her eyes and cover her ears and scream her ugliness away. And it's always those times she finds the most sense in just watching and listening, looking into he face of a man who has been silent all his life. In those eyes, she saw everything she needed to know, heard the knowledge of the world in the wind of his breath. Just his touch cleared the fog from her mind.
After all, being a beautiful woman didn't count for much. But watching, listening, knowing, was everything.
Smellerbee can't remember the last time she looked at her reflection without Longshot by her side, smiling just slightly, his fingers tracing the stripes on her cheeks.
