Page 23 of Battle of Hearts

Mirren pushed off the doorframe and walked toward Sawyer, her boots making quiet thuds against the floor. "You look as if you could use some real food," Mirren said, trying to hide the flood of emotions that came rushing to her whenever she was near Sawyer. The woman had become a constant in her thoughts, an anchor, especially in the storm’s darkest moments. It felt strange now to stand side by side without the snow biting at their skin or the terror of not making it out alive hanging over them.

Sawyer chuckled softly, her lips pulling into a half-smile. "I could eat." There was a gentleness in her voice now, a soft cadence that Mirren hadn’t heard before. "I think we both deserve a proper meal after...everything." They had spent the evening prior in the hospital regaining their energy. Now they were both ready to stuff their faces.

Mirren nodded, grateful that the air between them had lightened, even if only slightly. "Dining hall?"

"Dining hall," Sawyer agreed.

The walk to the dining hall was quiet, but the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. It felt more like a shared moment of peace, a time to gather their thoughts after everything that had happened. As they ducked into corridor after corridor, they received glances from the many men and women who they passed. Not glances of judgement, however, but respect. Pure, unwavering respect. Word had spread fast in this base, and it was clear to the women that people had rather quickly found out about the horrors they’d survived.

When they finally reached the mess hall, it was nearly empty save for a few stragglers finishing their dinners who couldn’t help but look their way for a couple of seconds before returning to what remained of their meals. The low hum of chatter filled the room, along with the clinking of cutlery and the smell of warm food. In the corner, the workers behind the counter packed up the leftovers for the night.

Mirren grabbed a tray and filled it with whatever was left — roasted vegetables, mashed potatoes, and what looked like some kind of stew. It wasn’t gourmet by any means, but after surviving on rations and adrenaline, it felt like a feast. Sawyer grabbed a tray, as well, her movements slower than usual, fatigue evident in her every step. They sat across from each other at one of the long tables near the back of the hall away from prying eyes.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. They simply ate, savoring the warmth of the food and the simplicity of the moment.

"It still feels strange," Mirren finally said, breaking the silence. She looked up at Sawyer, her fork hovering over her plate. "Being back here. It’s almost as if the storm was a dream...or a nightmare, more like."

Sawyer’s green eyes met hers, and she nodded slowly. "Yeah. It doesn’t feel real, does it? One moment we were out there, thinking we might not make it...and now, we're just here eating dinner." She stabbed a piece of vegetable with her fork but didn’t bring it to her mouth, her gaze distant. "But we did make it."

Mirren set her fork down, her heart pounding slightly. "We did." Her voice softened, and she leaned in slightly. "Because of you, Sawyer. If it hadn’t been for your quick thinking...I don’t know if we would’ve made it."

Sawyer shook her head, brushing off the compliment like she always did. "Stop saying that. It was both of us, Mirren. Youkept me going. I don’t think I would’ve had the strength to keep pushing if you hadn’t been there."

Mirren wanted to argue, wanted to insist it was purely the captain, but she instead bit her tongue. She smiled at that, her heart swelling with warmth. "Well, then...I guess we make a good team."

Sawyer’s lips twitched into a smile, and for the first time since the storm, there was a lightness in her expression. "Yeah," she murmured, "we do."

They fell into a comfortable silence again, their conversation trailing off into the gentle rhythm of the dining hall. The weight of their ordeal still lingered, but it felt distant now, like a shadow that could no longer reach them. Mirren glanced at Sawyer’s hand resting on the table, her fingers slightly curled around her spoon.

There had been moments during the storm when she wasn’t sure she’d ever get to see Sawyer again, let alone sit across from her like this in the safety of the base.

But now, here she was. Alive, with Sawyer. The potential of a future together lingering the air.

After a few minutes, Mirren cleared her throat, her thoughts drifting back to their mission. "What do you think the debrief will look like?" she asked, trying to steer the conversation to something practical, though the last thing she wanted to think about was more military protocol.

Sawyer raised an eyebrow, then chuckled, finishing the last of her stew. "Probably lengthy. Command will want to know every detail from the moment we left to the second we got back. They’ll probably grill us about why we didn’t turn back sooner."

Mirren sighed, nodding. "They’ll probably want to dissect everything. I’m not looking forward to explaining how we got caught in the storm."

"You did everything right, Mirren," Sawyer said firmly, her voice dropping an octave. "The storm was unpredictable. No one could’ve seen it coming on that fast. We did the best we could under the circumstances." She forked her food once more. “Believe me, it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been caught in a storm I’d predicted to be light. It happens. And you played your role exceptionally well.”

Mirren felt a swell of gratitude at Sawyer’s words. "Thanks," she whispered.

The mess hall had started to empty out, the clattering of trays and utensils growing quieter. Mirren took a deep breath and glanced out one of the small windows, where the night sky was clear, the stars twinkling faintly against the inky darkness. She knew they had more to talk about — not just the mission, but everything that had happened between them during the storm. But for now, it was enough just to be here, to be together.

Sawyer’s voice broke through her thoughts. "You ready to head back?"

Mirren nodded, though her heart picked up speed. She wasn’t sure what would come next, but the prospect of going back to Sawyer’s quarters felt like a natural progression. They had been through so much together, and now, it was as if the storm had left them with something unspoken, something that hung in the air between them waiting to be acknowledged.

"Yeah," Mirren said, standing up and grabbing her tray. "Let’s go."

Mirren followed Sawyer down the long corridor, her heart beating faster with every step they took toward Sawyer’s quarters. The base was eerily quiet at this hour, with most of the soldiers either asleep or keeping to themselves after the day’s events. The heavy atmosphere of the storm had dissipated, but something else lingered in the air — a different kind of tension,one that made Mirren hyper-aware of every movement, of every breath she took.

They reached Sawyer’s door, and for a moment neither of them moved. Sawyer’s hand rested on the doorknob, her posture rigid but not in the way it usually was. There was something raw about the way she stood there, like she was holding herself together by sheer willpower. Mirren felt the same crackling energy building between them, an undercurrent of emotion that had been buried for too long.

Sawyer opened the door, and Mirren stepped inside, feeling the warmth of the room wrap around her. The familiar scent of Sawyer—a mix of leather, pine, and something uniquely her—filled her senses. It grounded her, but only just. Her pulse was still racing, her thoughts tangled in the memory of all they had been through together, all the things left unsaid.

Sawyer shut the door behind them, and the soft click echoed in the small space. They were alone now, truly alone, without the storm or the threat of death to distract them from what was happening between them.

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