A/N: So, Blindspot-overwatch asked me to write a happy chapter and this is the best I could do seeing as it's pretty sad in bunker! Also, good timing for happy-ish because the next chapters are all angsty as f... Anyhow, this is sort of a companion to chapter 5, set sometime around s5e3.
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Jane had never really slept well but it had been particularly bad of late, with the nightmares stealing away so many hours of her nights. And sitting around in the dark with all her worries hadn't done anything good for her mental health so she'd been trying to find something quiet but productive to do when she was up by herself.
Recently Kurt had gotten her a blank book, some sketching pencils; so she was trying to get back into the habit of drawing away her troubles, all the endless questions of their current situation.
At first Jane hadn't felt very inspired, had just been doodling aimlessly. But recently she'd been searching hard for something to contribute, thought that would possibly inspire her to actually draw something.
Life in the bunker was tougher than she expected, mentally. Everyone was suffering in their own way and she was in charge of it all. It was a pressure unlike anything she'd been through before. When she'd been running things for Shepherd there had been no stress about losing people to the cause, even loved ones. It was the cost of business.
Now though, the thought of losing anyone else was paralyzing to her, froze her deep in her gut. She couldn't handle that, not even the idea of it.
So instead of thinking about it, Jane started to draw. Just put pencil to paper and found herself surprised when images started to appear.
She didn't know how long she drew for, but her hand ached by the end of the session. Yet when she looked at the results, Jane smiled at the end results and felt that the drawings captured what she'd wanted to express.
She just hoped everyone else felt the same.
###
Patterson was listening to her dad's recording yet again, teary-eyed but smiling too. It was so hard to think of him being on the run for what he had done for them. Especially now that the phone data hadn't come through and it could have all been for naught. Well, except for saving the National Security Advisor's life.
She was tempted to go looking through the web for pictures of her dad, even though it was a bad idea, no matter how many ways she hid her online activity. But it was hard knowing that there were so many photos of him out there when she didn't have even one and there was a chance she would never see him again in person.
Patterson sighed, forced herself to look away from the empty screen in front of her. Sometimes listening to her dad's voice cheered her up immensely. But at the moment she could only think of not seeing him again, how much she would miss all his particular facial expressions, the way he'd look at her with so much embarrassing fatherly pride.
Annoyed with herself for dwelling on something she couldn't change, she shoved her keyboard away and noticed a folded piece of paper protruding from underneath. It must have been tucked under the little keyboard legs, had only poked out when she'd just pushed it in frustration.
Patterson picked up the piece of paper and opened it suspiciously. If it was something from Rich it could easily be NSFW and unpleasant to look at.
But when she had it flipped it open and realized what it was, she felt a warmth grow in the pit of her stomach. She even remembered the moment, could picture the words on the screen as she tried to explain the database problem to her father.
He was looking at her so affectionately in the drawing, wearing that smug smile that loudly broadcasted how proud he was of her. Of course she'd been much too excited about the intricacies of the problem to notice her dad's expression at the time. But now she had a perfect moment of them together in her favourite place, with him wearing one of his trademark goofy looks.
It was a million times better than any photo she could find of him on the web, an instant together captured so perfectly. Patterson stared at the drawing and felt the moment pop out of her memory, could really feel being there with her dad.
She didn't feel the same melancholy she felt when listening to his recording; looking at the picture made her feel together with him somehow. Even if it was only in her memory, it brightened her mood to be with him in her head, tossing around ideas in the lab.
Patterson put the piece of paper down and smoothed it out, grinning as she ran her hand over her dad's silly expression. Staring at the drawing she thought about good places to stash her new prized possession, wanted to keep it near, in case they ever had to run.
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Rich was perfecting his tamping technique, or at least that's what he told himself about the excess coffee he'd been drinking. It was only a side benefit that the caffeine habit kept sleep at bay, definitely not the reason he'd obtained the espresso machine.
Of course the problem with being so awake was all the thinking that could go along with it, all that time to consider the impossibility of their situation, the unlikeliness of making it back to the life he'd come to love.
All his life he'd just wanted acceptance. The problem had been in how he tried to gain the respect of others.
The thing was, making a fortune on the dark web, having a gaggle of faux friends, nefarious contacts, and the need for ruthless security, that had just been the end result of extreme overcompensation. He just wanted to be liked, to be a part of a gang.
Of course it was extra ironic that he had landed himself in a CIA black site only after going over to the light side, joined up with the FBI. Still, pretty fitting when it came to his life so far.
As hard as it had been adjusting to life in Archie and the continued presence of recycled air in his existence, at least he was with his people. On more equal footing too, something that meant more to him than he wanted to admit.
The only part that hurt was not knowing anything about where Boston was. He'd gone off the grid when everything had gone down and he'd managed to avoid all of Rich's risky attempts to find some information about his current location, if he was okay.
Obviously Boston was fine, Rich told himself, he always seemed to land on his feet. Which, he had to admit, had driven him nuts in the past. Now though, Rich just wanted some kind of sign that they could still have a life together, if he ever escaped the bunker.
The espresso dripped like molten honey, almost a perfect pull. Rich admired the thick crema forming on top and was just about to bring it to his nose for a sniff when he noticed the edge of paper poking out from under the coffee machine.
His curiosity instantly piqued, Rich pulled the piece of paper out and unfolded it, then looked upwards with an expression of confused reverence on his face.
It was the two of them in SIOC, just after Boston had made a show with the metal filings. He looked so self-satisfied Rich wanted to reach right into the drawing and snatch it his smile off his face. Which was fitting since he remembered how irritated yet proud he'd been at the time, both turned on and upset about the fact that Boston had done so well.
Rich grinned to himself, staring at the picture and feeling all the conflicting emotions that the love of his life brought out in him. He couldn't have received a better sign in his time of need.
As he walked away with his coffee, Rich was so caught up in gaping at the perfect capture of Boston's shithead expression that it took him another few minutes to notice the out of place narwhal art adorning the walls of the SIOC. Laughing out loud at the perfect easter egg, he sipped his drink, suddenly sure that Boston was fine, that they'd find each other again.
###
Night was the worst for her - so much time, too much quiet. It led to feeling incredibly alone, regretting so much of the past. The years they had spent apart, because she had chosen to leave.
When she wasn't trying to exercise her brain into submission, Tasha would curl into the corner of her bunk and think about him. Cry into her pillow as she let herself remember, pored through her memories of him.
She had an anxiety about losing all that she had left of him, all those moments that now only existed in her head. Which she knew was ridiculous, yet it didn't make her any less worried about forgetting him; all those little nuances of his appearance, the way he looked at her at times.
Zapata sighed to herself in the darkness, flooded with the memories that she cherished and yet hurt her so much. As usual she couldn't sleep with everything that was going on in her head and her heart so she sat up in her bed, leaned back against the wall.
Grabbing her pillow to soften the feel of concrete against her back, Tasha was surprised to feel a piece of paper underneath it. She knew there hadn't been anything there just the previous night and she couldn't think of why anyone would put something there.
Her curiosity stoked, Tasha grabbed her headlamp from its spot above her and pulled the blanket over her head to keep the light confined. Then in her own personal cocoon, she opened the piece of paper and felt her mouth immediately curl into a smile even as tears started to appear as well.
It was them, at Weller's place, watching the game and drinking beer. A brief moment of relaxation in the midst of running a side op from the apartment, hiding their activity from Hirst.
Tasha had almost forgotten about it, that evening of reprieve where they'd all had a minute to just breathe. But looking at the drawing now, she could remember what teams were playing, could almost even identify what she was animatedly explaining to Reade.
What she didn't remember, what she had never seen in the first place, was the expression on his face, the lean of his body.
It wasn't some sappy look of adoration either, wouldn't have been right. But Reade looked relaxed, his shoulders loose and his shirt sleeves rolled up. Even though it was clear he didn't agree with whatever she was saying, his eyes and mouth indicated adoring amusement at her opinionated rant.
Tasha stared at the picture, reclaiming the moment back into her memories. She could feel the closeness, how relieved she'd been to be able to trust him again. And this time she didn't let the ever encroaching sadness drown out the embers of light she felt growing in her. She just kept looking at the drawing, each time remembering how it felt to be so free and easy with him that day, catching another part of his expression that made her smile.
###
Weller lay in bed with the lights still on, trying to chase away his worries by focusing his mind on picturing his daughter, all the hilarious facial expressions she'd recently started making. It was something he'd been trying ever since being on the run, thinking about Bethany before sleep because his only hope of seeing her was in his dreams.
He sighed as he struggled to see the nuances of her face, wished that he had something to remember her by other than the picture she had drawn for him. As sentimental as her artwork was to him, he worried about forgetting what she looked like, not being able to see her even in his own mind.
He knew it was just an anxiety, told himself that he would never let that happen. But he made sure to spend time thinking about her nightly, try and feel connected to his daughter even from thousands of miles away.
Kurt reached above him for Bee's drawing and pulled it out, noting that it felt thicker than usual. So he wasn't surprised to find another piece of paper tucked inside the picture, but he definitely wasn't ready for what it was.
Bethany was impishly excited in the picture, her eyes wide at the story being read to her. And of course he was beaming at her, looking relaxed and happy; so pleased just to be there with her. It could be any night when she was visiting, his favourite part of their nighttime ritual.
The drawing was so detailed it blew his mind away. Better than a photo to him, it captured Bethany's entire essence somehow, was a slice out of their life. Just holding it made him feel light, like he had another piece of his daughter with him.
Weller grinned to himself, extremely pleased that Jane had found use for his gift. She hadn't been drawing at all and he'd just wanted to help her find ways to de-stress. He'd wondered what she had been doing all those times he found her bunk empty but had figured she'd just needed time to think things through alone, hadn't considered she could be up creating something so perfect.
Kurt stared at the drawing for a long time, finding new details to appreciate in it as he took in every aspect of it. Then finally, when he was filled with the warmth of it, he tucked it away and went in search of his wife.