Disclaimer: Not mine.
John blinked awake to the dim light that was a constant in this place and reached out to find nothing beside him but a warm spot in the threadbare sheets. He was instantly alert, grabbing the gun from under the makeshift bed and shoving his feet into boots. The man pushed the heavy iron door open that separated the alcove where he slept from the war room and strode through it, eyes sweeping about for the girl.
He found her in the hallway curled with her knees to her chest and a wistful look on her face. Kneeling in front of her, the general gazed at her, a question in his eyes.
"They're marching," she murmured absently, and it was only then that he heard the sounds from the surface that echoed down into the tunnels below. "It sounds like thunder. It's been years since I heard real thunder. Over a decade since I've felt rain on my face."
He remained silent and her expression turned thoughtful. "I'd kill for a shower."
"You'd kill for a lot of things," he replied.
"And yet I've never killed anything."
"But if they had a shower…"
She grinned, rare and fleeting, and he took a mental picture, storing it away in the back of his mind to keep with him after she was gone. Unlike a real photograph it would never become torn, would never fade, and could never be burnt to ash. It would always be there, ready to call up behind his eyelids for him to study so he could memorize every line on her face. So that he would be sure he was ready. So that he would instantly spot the difference when the machine came back wearing her features. So he would know when Cameron was his again.
Her eyes turned tender and he realized that his expression must have betrayed his inner thoughts. "If they had a shower I'd win this war for you," she whispered, leaning in and pressing her lips softly to his.
He kissed her for a moment before pulling back and crushing her to him in a hug.
"You may win it for me yet," he murmured.