#basking in fuze's presence sounds pretty great to be honest

[kiruuuuu]

Fuze/Wolf oneshot in which Wolf can’t sleep and Fuze assists. (Rating G/T, emotional hurt/comfort + fluff, ~2.7k words) - written for @viral-marketer​!! ♥♥ Thank you for the commission and I’m very happy you enjoyed this piece :) I’ll link more information on Wolf as soon as it’s available, and you can find my commission info here!

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Sudden panic makes Wolf’s stomach drop. It’s as if she’s lost a limb, like the time a firecracker exploded in her hand because she didn’t realise the fuse actually took to the pitiful flame from her dying lighter and she couldn’t feel her fingers for ten minutes, like getting up too fast and almost blacking out. Like the time -

There’s no necessity to finish that thought, the memory burns white hot in her mind as it is, every time they’re on a mission, every time she shrinks away from a loud, unexpected noise, every time it happens with Boomer out of her sight. Just like now.

Her weapon falls to the ground with a clatter she barely hears as she dives head first into rubble, hitting her elbows on collapsed pieces of concrete, attempting to push past the debris, force her way through the entryway which is no more after part of the abandoned building collapsed to block it completely, trapping Wolf on this side and -

And Boomer on the other.

There are voices she doesn’t acknowledge, a hand on her upper arm she shakes off violently, and by now she’s drenched in sweat, frantic and desperate, claws at the obstacle hard enough to break a nail or two even through the gloves, hardly noticing the pain over the screeching in her head – it’s her own voice screaming at her, telling her she’s too late, she’s not going to make it, and it only ceases once an iron grip yanks her back, a tall figure towering over her and regarding her with concern.

“It’s alright, Grays”, Montagne informs her quietly yet doesn’t let her arm go, probably recognises the deafening static in her head, louder than the radio chatter, louder even than the pounding staccato of her heart. “Tina got him. Calm down.”

A myriad of questions pop up simultaneously but she gives the mountain of a man the benefit of the doubt, listens to comms for a moment and finds his words confirmed: the operators on the other side of the building sound carefree, relieved, someone mentions excited tail wagging and yes, Montagne speaks the truth. They just finished their mission successfully, the explosion separating her and Boomer marking the tail end of the fight.

Slowly, reality creeps back in, makes her feel the ground under her feet keenly as if it was something she’d been missing for the last week. Her breath evens out after a few deep inhales and eventually, Montagne lets her go with a reassuring nod, after which she looks around the room to gather her bearings. The sideglances she earns make her face flush and shame pool in her stomach – she must’ve been obvious in her panic, possibly pathetic in her flailing, certainly not behaving like a professional at all, but the noise and not being able to see her dog and the memories -

“Don’t worry about it, happens to all of us.” Montagne’s soothing baritone is doing wonders for her nerves. “You did well regardless.”

And the way he pats her shoulder stays with her until they’ve left the building, a reminder that people place their trust in her and she hasn’t let them down, a gesture she appreciates fiercely. She was focused when it counted, certainly assisting the organised assault, with Boomer even saving Blackbeard’s life at some point with his quick reflexes and instant reaction to her monosyllabic command. She did well indeed.

But she finds no rest until she spots Fuze, him of all people, carrying the energetic bundle of joy in his arms and struggling to hold on as Boomer tries to flail out of his grasp, eventually succeeding and rushing over to Wolf’s side for much-deserved ear scratches and praise.

“Your stupid mutt almost jumped out of the window when he saw you”, the Uzbek grumbles. It’s very clearly an invitation, a familiar song and dance they perform regularly, usually centred around Boomer – it started when Fuze first met her, not an hour after she arrived in Hereford, his first words being: I don’t like dogs. He might’ve claimed so but showcased very obviously that he does like bickering with a tiny American woman and thus Boomer has become a fantastic conversation starter between the two of them, with Fuze complaining about perfectly normal dog behaviour and Wolf enlightening him on this fact, and it usually ends in pancake recipes or the correct way to hide a body.

Normally, Wolf would gladly accept this invitation, but with her thoughts still in disarray, pulse too quick and fingers shaking, all she does is hug her dog and bury her face in his fur, seeking solace as well as support. He’s alive. He’s well. He made it.

It’s the mantra she repeats to herself all the way back to base.

.

That evening, she tidies up her kitchen. Not that it was necessary, not really, but taking out all the glassware and ceramics, lining them up on the counter and her table only to put them back in different places as if they were playing musical chairs soothes her, oddly enough. Cleaning isn’t a chore she enjoys and yet she dusts all the shelves, mops her entire flat and eventually catches herself eyeing the furniture in her bedroom, wondering whether she could rearrange it somehow to give it a new look and, most importantly, a new feel.

This is when she understands what she’s doing.

It doesn’t stop her, or else she wouldn’t choose to cook for herself after a day as stressful and exhausting like the one she had, and definitely not a recipe which requires her to chop a ridiculous amount of vegetables. She keeps herself busy. Not only that, she carries her phone around with her and makes it blare her favourite music, upbeat melodies accompanying the sizzling in the pan and tricking her into singing or humming along. When she eats, she does so in front of the TV, Boomer curled up next to her on the couch and doing what she’s desperately trying to avoid: sleeping.

Eyelids heavy, she forces herself to follow a generic action film, then another, playing around on her phone in the meantime, the stimulation keeping her distracted up to the point where she nearly dozes off despite the noise and flickering lights.

She’s scared, she realises belatedly. But she knows one person who can help.

Sometimes, Fuze can’t sleep either, though his condition sounds less like self-imposed insomnia and more like something out of his control, and maybe, just maybe, today is one of those days. Thumb hovering over the screen, she hesitates, mulls her decision over but eventually presses down, trepidation settling in her chest. She neither wants to be a bother nor come off as needy, but Fuze has never objected to her random messages, never once voiced any protest about early morning photos of sunrises or useless trivia she found online and, as she’s come to understand, lack of protest implies approval – at least with the Uzbek.

Communicating with him has been… strenuous at times. Anxiety and taciturnity usually don’t mix well and in the beginning, Fuze’s unflappable demeanour intimidated her immensely, but something pulled her towards the quiet man nonetheless, convinced her to keep trying. Being part of his friend group was the first step, allowing her to hover in his vicinity and direct questions at him now and then, though his monosyllabic replies briefly demotivated her. Glaz came to her rescue, however, by pointing out Fuze rarely even acknowledges others, let alone offer to do favours. And Wolf looked down at the phone Fuze voluntarily fixed after she’d dropped it the previous week; he didn’t require any prompting, merely overheard her mention it to Kapkan (who’d been enthusiastically petting Boomer, it seems the Russian really appreciates other hunters) and wordlessly held out his hand.

Over time, she’s come to realise that the silences between them are of a comfortable quality and the longer she watches him, the better she understands. Whenever anyone sits in his vicinity who’s too loud or whom he doesn’t like, he changes seats. If someone attempts to rope him into a conversation while he’s working, he lets them know not to bother him. His bluntness, too, was daunting – what if she incurred his ire herself? But despite her regularly barging in to ask him something while his clever fingers are tinkering away, he never turns her down, never once rebuked her.

And this is why she messages him, a simple: do you know the earliest man-made sonic boom?

She knows he enjoys fun facts like this, especially when it’s one he can figure out by himself. After pressing send, she stupidly waits and stares at the indicator telling her whether he’s received and read her question for entirely too long before deciding to relocate. Maybe she could go for a walk with Boomer, yet when she gets up and stretches her aching limbs, remnants of the bomb disposal mission they completed much too early in the day for her comfort, the animal by her side makes no move to follow her. Compassionate, dark eyes glance at her in defiance and Boomer makes himself as heavy as possible when she tries to pick him up. It’s his way of telling her it’s long past her usual bed time.

A small buzz catches her attention and she wakes up her phone to check Fuze’s answer, a simple, sincere: Let me think.

Wolf feels her lips stretch, her chest lighten, her restlessness diminish just knowing that he’s up, that he’s definitely thinking of her, holding his device in his steady fingers and pondering her prompt earnestly because it’s what he does. He’s always taken her seriously, it’s one of his traits she appreciates the most – not only is he honest, he also humours her whenever possible.

Spontaneously changing her plans, she gets ready for bed instead of forcing herself to stay up, going through her routine with a spring in her step and excitedly glancing at her phone repeatedly. It wouldn’t be the first time for her to text Fuze until she dozed off with it in her hand and more often than not, her sleep ended up uninterrupted as a result. She suddenly looks forward to diving under her covers and once she does, Boomer trots over now that the threat of her dragging him outside has vanished.

When instead of a soft vibration, the beginning chords of Rasputin begin to play (and whenever she hears it, she remembers Fuze’s adorable blush and mock indignation when she informed him of his new personalised ring tone), she jumps but accepts the call while snuggling deeper under her blankets.

“It’s a whip crack”, Fuze’s calm voice speaks into her ear, sparking a comfortable shudder running down her spine. “Isn’t it?”

“Did you look it up?” She knows he didn’t. He might be prideful but not arrogant, feels no need to appear smarter before her than he is.

“No. But it’s too loud and produces sound even in the air, so it’s not the end hitting the ground which causes the noise.”

“You’re right that it’s a sonic boom, but it’s not the earliest.”

She can almost hear his vague frustration and suppresses a giggle when she’s met with silence for a minute while he clearly racks his brain for the actual answer. There’s defeat underlining his words when he finally admits: “I give up. I don’t know.”

“It’s part of Glaz’ breakfast”, she hints and buries one of her hands in Boomer’s soft fur.

Another minute of silence. “Cornflakes?”

“Yes! Crunchy food breaks faster than the speed of sound. So if he ever chews again with his mouth open, tell him to turn down his sonic booms.”

Fuze snorts, audibly amused. “Tell that to your mutt. Sounds like he lives up to his name whenever he chomps on his dry food.”

They chat a little more, inconsequential and idle banter but Wolf eventually realises she hasn’t been this relaxed all day, never allowed her thoughts to wander for fear of where they’d land. But like this, surrounded by the safety of her home, listening to the even breaths of her dog and Fuze’s dry humour, it’s hard to imagine a world not filled with bliss and tranquillity.

“You should sleep, Grayson. It’s late enough”, Fuze reminds her after a lull in conversation.

“And what about you?”

“I’ll sleep too. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Wait”, she cuts in before he can end the call. Getting used to his direct style of communication was a process and she had to witness Fuze hanging up on people mid-sentence if he deemed their talk finished before realising that he extended her every courtesy in their calls. Words tingle on her tongue and uncertainty paralyses her momentarily but she’d somehow feel dishonest if she kept quiet about this. “I – had a flashback. Earlier today. Almost a panic attack. Did you hear -”

“Yes”, comes the instant reply and it’s obvious he’s been waiting for her to mention it – he wouldn’t done so himself, wouldn’t have wanted to make her feel weak. “Are you alright now?” She makes a soft affirmative noise and glances over at Boomer whose twitching paws indicate that he’s dreaming. “I’m worried.”

The admission makes her heart skip a beat, even though he’s probably referring to her work. Has to be. “Don’t be, I’ll get the job done no matter what.”

“I’m not worried about that, I know you’d never let any of us down.” The way he dismisses the implication of her potentially failing any of her colleagues causes pride and affection to bloom in her chest. There’s no room for doubt in his statement and she’s immensely grateful for the faith he places in her. “I’m worried about you. You can’t save everyone, you know. And you can’t let this fact weigh you down. I know you’re used to getting overlooked but you’re damn good at what you do – don’t let your past rule over your future. You might miss out on opportunities along the way.”

She knows what he’s referring to. After a long day, they sat alone in the workshop, Fuze’s project forgotten on the table between them, atmosphere serene and facilitating honesty – she admitted to being afraid of getting close to anyone in Rainbow. She talked about Nitro, about the helplessness she felt upon having to watch him die, and about the random visions of anyone she liked getting killed on a mission. About how she tries not to let this influence her behaviour; she still seeks people out, opens up to them, listens raptly. But the underlying fear is always there.

“Yeah”, she agrees quietly. “I’ll try.” It’s all she can promise him.

.

The next day is of a comfortingly different quality, allowing for genuine laughs, and is much more lenient with someone who only caught a few hours of sleep. She does chuckle at Fuze’s bleary face when they see each other for the first time, but it gets stuck in her throat when he wordlessly pulls her into a hug out of the blue. The embrace doesn’t last long but coming from him, it leaves her reeling nonetheless, unfocused for the first few hours and… dreamy. The feeling of his arms around her never really goes away.

At some point, Glaz joins her, notices her dazed expression and asks: “Bad sleep?” Following her tired nod, he adds: “I figured. I heard Shuhrat’s phone go off last night.”

“Oh, did he forget to mute it?”

The Russian sends her an odd look. “He never puts it on silence when he sleeps, in fact I think he even turns up the volume. And you’re the only one who messages him in the middle of the night. Otherwise he’d sleep like a baby.”

And oh. That’s -

It’s impossible, there have been so many nights which they texted away, yet she neglected to ask for details on his alleged insomnia, and this means -

She completely misses whatever it is he tells her next, merely nods along as her thoughts are going haywire until she eventually rudely interrupts him: “Sorry, I gotta go.” And as she gets up and hurries over to where she suspects the Uzbek to be, she remembers Fuze’s words from the night before.

He’s not an opportunity she’d ever forgive herself for missing out on.