Chapter Text
In the bunkhouse the next night, Rowan woke to the sound of crying. After what had happened the last time he woke up unexpectedly at night, he was immediately alert.
Something rustled nearby and he turned to look. It was Preston, who gestured for him to come closer, to his cot. Rowan got up quietly, unsure of where the crying was coming from, even though he could still hear it.
Preston sat up too and leaned closer to Rowan to whisper. “It's MacCready.” He nodded across the room to where MacCready was asleep on another cot. “He's been at it for awhile, didn't want to wake him though.”
Rowan nodded his understanding, and crossed the room to MacCready, where he was tossing, tangled in his sheets, face caught in a grimace and tears streaming down his face.
He knelt beside him, trying to think what the best way to wake him was. Rowan had seen MacCready have nightmares before, but this one seemed worse than usual.
“Duncan!” The word broke from MacCready’s lips in a desperate plea. Rowan's heart twisted and he swallowed, reaching out to touch MacCready’s arm. He shook him a little, and when a little wasn’t enough, he was more firm.
Maccready woke with a start and looked around wildly, finding Rowan's face and locking onto it.
“Rowan?”
“You were having a nightmare, Mac.” Rowan said softly, reaching out to wipe some tears off of MacCready’s face.
MacCready pulled away from the touch and sat up, looking around the room. “Shi- damn.” He swallowed and wiped the remaining tears off himself.
“Are you okay?”
He swallowed hard, but didn't answer. MacCready looked away.
Rowan pulled him out of bed by the arm and outside onto the balcony adjoining the sleeping quarters of the bunk house. Outside, the clicking of a turret and it's accompanying searchlight were the only sounds. The balcony served as a lookout post, facing the front gates of Sanctuary.
Rowan shut the door behind them and pulled up a couple chairs that were stacked against the wall. He sat in one and watched as MacCready took his time sliding into the other. He didn’t sleep topless like Rowan, but he wore a sleeveless shirt that left his arms and neck glowing in the moonlight. Rowan's hair billowed around his face and he brushed it back.
MacCready’s lips fussed and trembled and Rowan knew he was going to cry again, as much as he was trying to fight it. His eyes were swiftly turning bloodshot with the effort.
“Tell me about it.”
MacCready inhaled deeply, looking out over the railing and toward the front gates. “Just about Duncan. I didn't get back to him on time.” He shook his head and shrugged, feigning nonchalance. His acting didn’t stop the tears from rolling down his cheeks again, though.
“I'm not going to let that happen.” Rowan told him firmly, reaching out to touch his knee. “We're going to get that cure, Mac.”
MacCready nodded, looking down at Rowan’s hand where is stroked his bare knee. They were both in their underwear, but Rowan didn't mind the cold.
Rowan appraised him. He was so small, so vulnerable - especially like this. He didn't have much in the way of muscle, but he was firm enough. Without his cap covering his forehead, Rowan could see the blue of his eyes vividly. He figured they were probably the purest thing in the wasteland.
“What?” MacCready asked, noticing Rowan’s eyes on him.
Rowan shook his head and smiled sheepishly, not bothering to answer the question. Instead, he edged his chair a little closer and asked his own.
“Can I kiss you?”
“Isn't it a bit late to ask permission?”
“I want to be sure.”
MacCready shrugged. “Alright then.”
Rowan took his time, starting by brushing the rest of the tears off of MacCready’s cheeks, and then smoothing over his brows and chin. He leaned in carefully, peppering tiny feather-light kisses across his brow, his cheeks, the sharp edges of his jaw. When he pulled back to look at the mercenary, he saw that he was crying again.
“Shh.” Rowan soothed, kissing his cheeks again, just as gently. When he settled on MacCready’s lips they tasted of salt and sleep. He took care, holding himself back, being as gentle and open as he could manage and holding space for MacCready.
When he pulled back, MacCready let out a sob and sagged into him, wrapping desperate arms around Rowan’s chest and holding on like something was trying to rip them apart. Rowan held him close, rubbing his back, his neck, his hair. He hummed low in his chest, a lullaby his Grandmother used to sing him.
Rowan wondered how many people MacCready had ever let himself be vulnerable around. He was willing to bet it wasn’t very many. He definitely wasn’t the type to let any sort of weakness show.
After a while, MacCready’s breath stilled into the crisp night, and his grip eased up. He leaned back, wiping off his face and staring down at his hands.
“Sorry.” He mumbled.
Rowan leaned forward and took both of MacCready’s small hands in his own, massaging his fingers over the calloused palms. “Don’t be.” He looked up at him, serious. “I’m honoured.”
MacCready scoffed, fingers twitching in Rowan’s grip. “Honoured?”
“Yeah,” Rowan nodded. “I like to know I can be here for you, when you’re upset.”
MacCready gazed up at him, considering, looking him over in the clear light from the moon. Rowan let him look, gathering his hair in one hand and letting it fall down his back. It reached down between his shoulder blades now.
“You’ve been growing your hair.” MacCready commented, having followed the motion with his eyes.
“I have.” Rowan confirmed, winking. “Keen observation.”
Realising he was being teased, MacCready sat taller, bristled. “You -” He started.
Rowan raised a hand and cut off the coming retort, shaking his head. “I’m growing it long because that was a tradition in my culture.” He swallowed, taking a few strands of it between his fingers. “To remind me where I came from. Where my life really started. And,” He paused, grinning. “Because I like it.”
MacCready reached out, touching it, too. Rowan dropped his hand and let him take over. He sifted his fingers through it, and then down Rowan’s cheek.
MacCready swallowed, frowning. “How did someone as handsome as you wind up sticking with someone as God-awful as me?”
Rowan shook his head. “Don’t compliment me and put yourself down in the same sentence.” He responded firmly. “You’re gorgeous.”
When MacCready looked away, Rowan touched his neck, where he could still see the marks from where he’d bitten him. “You have the cutest little lips.” Rowan added with a grin, pinching his cheek loosely.
MacCready brushed his hand away, trying to conceal a smile. “Shut up.”
“I mean it! Not unlike a turtle.” Rowan leaned forward and kissed him chastely. “The cutest.”
MacCready shoved his shoulder, face broken out in a full on grin, despite his best attempts to quell it. “You’re such a dickhe -” His nose scrunched up in concentration. “Idiot.” He decided.
“If you weren’t so cute I’d probably punch you.” Rowan laughed, but then winked. “But then again, you’d probably be into that.”
“Hey!” MacCready blushed ten shades of crimson. Rowan couldn’t stop laughing, and, after a while, MacCready joined in.
“Alright, back to bed. We’ve got a lot to do tomorrow.”
“What?”
“We’ve got a cure to find.” Rowan wagged his eyebrows and leaned forward to kiss him lightly again before they headed back inside.