Skadi woke slowly, her body stirring as her mind caught up to the unfamiliar stillness of the blanket. That was the telltale sign—Jonathan was gone. The way he tugged and twisted the blanket in his sleep made it impossible to ignore his absence. The moment her subconscious stopped fighting him for it, she knew he wasn’t there.
She sighed, rubbing her face as she sat up, staring at the darkened ceiling. Jonathan didn’t have guard duty, not officially, but ever since he’d returned from Gotland, people found him on the wall at the oddest hours. He’d take over watch duty from others without being asked, standing there like the cold night air and the emptiness beyond the walls were the only things that made sense to him. She glanced at the clock. 4 a.m. Early enough to feel like she could still sleep, but late enough that the effort would be wasted. Might as well wake up, she thought.
Whatever had happened in Norrkoping and Gotland had shaken him to his core. She didn’t know the full details—no one did, except maybe Przemek and Sofia, the ones who had known him the longest. They didn’t talk about it, not outright, but their watchful glances and quiet concern told her enough. The way they acted with him and Amir was a dead giveaway. They were still close but Skadi could see the look in Sofia or Jonathan's eyes sometimes. Whatever had happened there had changed him, left something behind that gnawed at him, dragging him to the wall night after night.
Skadi swung her legs over the side of the bed and reached for the flashlight duct-taped above Jonathan’s bunk. The harsh beam illuminated the ceiling, bouncing off the walls and casting long shadows. She squinted, wincing at the brightness, and made a mental note to replace the batteries and bring them to the charging station tomorrow. A dead flashlight was the last thing anyone needed.
She shuffled toward the mirror in the corner, avoiding her reflection as she grabbed the small jar of locally made toothpaste. Opening the lid released the faint, bitter smell of baking soda, a smell she had grown to resent. They called it toothpaste, but to her, it was nothing more than salty, gritty baking soda mixed with herbs that did little to mask the unpleasant taste. Still, it was all they had, and hygiene was a necessity, not a luxury.
She dabbed a bit onto her toothbrush and grimaced as she started brushing. The salty, metallic tang coated her tongue, and she winced with every stroke, swallowing the urge to spit too soon. "Better than nothing," she thought to herself, though it was hardly convincing. The taste made the chore feel endless, but as she brushed, she couldn’t avoid the mirror any longer.
Her eyes flicked to her reflection and locked onto the scars that ran across her face. They were as familiar as they were alien, jagged reminders of moments she couldn’t forget even if she wanted to. They itched again, that faint, crawling sensation under her skin that never seemed to leave her. The psychiatrist in Oksj? had called it a stress response, a product of her mind coping with trauma. Knowing that didn’t help. The diagnosis didn’t make it stop or make her life any easier. It just put a name to something she still had to deal with every day.
She spat into the sink, rinsing the brush with a sigh as the itch continued to crawl over her scars, relentless as ever. Her fingers twitched with the urge to scratch, but she clenched them into a fist instead, gripping the sink edge until her knuckles turned white. She hated how it never stopped—how nothing ever truly stopped.
The room was silent, save for the faint hum of the generator outside and the drip of water in the sink. Jonathan’s empty bed loomed behind her, a quiet reminder of his absence. For a moment, she thought about going to look for him, to pull him off the wall and tell him to sleep like a normal person. But she knew better. Whatever was driving him out there wasn’t something she could fix. Not yet, anyway. She clicked off the flashlight, plunging the room back into darkness, and sat on the edge of her bed, staring into nothing, her mind restless as the scars itched and the bitter taste of baking soda lingered on her tongue.
With a simple hoodie pulled over her head, sneakers scuffing against the dirt, and a pair of worn cargo pants tucked snugly into the tops of her socks, Skadi stepped outside into the cool early morning air. The locally produced battle belt sat securely around her hips, holding a few spare magazines and a first-aid pouch, while her G36C hung close to her chest. The rifle swayed slightly on its sling as she moved, her steps quiet on the gravel path.
The thought of heading to the cafeteria sparked in her mind—grabbing a steaming mug of coffee to shake off the remnants of sleep, warming her hands in the chilly dawn air. But just as quickly as the idea came, reality stomped it out. They had run out weeks ago, and the bitter truth was that she’d probably never taste coffee again. The realization settled over her like a dull ache, one of those small, unnecessary losses that somehow managed to feel bigger than it should.
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Skadi pushed the thought aside, her fingers adjusting the sling across her chest as her eyes scanned the faint glow of the horizon. The camp was quiet at this hour, the only sounds the occasional rustle of trees and the faint hum of the generator.
Skadi walked toward the wall, her steps steady but deliberate, the gravel crunching faintly under her sneakers. The early morning chill lingered in the air, her hoodie doing just enough to keep it from biting through. She adjusted the sling of her G36C, letting it rest more comfortably against her chest as her eyes drifted up to the silhouette perched on the wall ahead.
Jonathan sat casually on top, his long legs stretched out in front of him and his arms resting lazily on the arms of a beat-up camping chair. He wore a weird mix of camouflaged cargo pants, a blue black adidas stripped rain jacket under his webbing holding a water bottle and spare magazines. His rifle leaned against the railing beside him next to extra magazines, a few grenades and his helmet with his Night vision goggles. To not wear them off, he would only wear them if he suspected something. It had taken him long enough to repair them and he didn’t want to be left holding the bag again if they broke. All within reach but untouched for the moment. The faint orange glow of a rising sun edged the horizon behind him, casting shadows across his figure and the walls of the camp. As she got closer, he looked down at her, a small smirk creeping onto his face.
“No coffee?” he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
It was the same joke. The exact same one he’d made every time she’d walked out here to find him. His tone, his expression—it never changed. She knew it was his way of deflecting, of keeping things light, but it still grated on her nerves in the way only repeated inside jokes can. Still, she didn’t let it show. She’d learned to pick her battles.
“Not unless you’ve got a stash hidden up there,” she shot back, her voice dry as she kept walking. Her hands rested lightly on her belt, fingers brushing the first-aid pouch as she let the silence stretch for a moment.
Jonathan chuckled faintly, leaning back in the creaking chair, his eyes following her as she approached the base of the wall. “Figures. Guess it’s another day without the good stuff, huh?”
“Who’d you replace this time?” Skadi asked, her voice cutting through the early morning quiet as she reached the top of the wall.
“Kasla,” Jonathan said without much inflection, his eyes scanning the distant valleys.
“The mechanic?” she clarified, glancing at him as she grabbed the folded camping chair tucked into the wall panel in front of them.
“Mhm,” he nodded, leaning back into his own chair, his body relaxed but his gaze distant.
“You not tired?” he asked, watching as she unfolded the chair and sat down beside him.
“No,” she replied curtly, her tone clipped and almost annoyed. She wasn’t here for her pleasure, and she wanted him to know it.
As the silence settled between them, Skadi began scratching at her face and hands again, her nails running absently over the scars on her skin. It was a habit she couldn’t seem to break, and one Jonathan had noticed more and more lately. She always brushed it off when anyone brought it up, insisting it was no big deal, but the raw patches and redness told a different story.
Jonathan sighed quietly, his eyes shifting from the horizon to her. Without a word, he leaned over and grabbed the edge of her chair, dragging it closer to his. The sudden motion made her stop scratching, her hand frozen mid-air as he reached for it. His fingers, rough but gentle, wrapped around hers, his touch both grounding and tender. The calloused skin of his hands—scarred from work and fighting—contrasted with the delicate way he caressed her.
Skadi’s gaze flicked to him, her lips tightening as though she were about to protest, but something in his calm demeanor stopped her. They both turned their eyes back to the valleys and plains stretching out below the wall, the golden glow of dawn painting the landscape in soft light.
Jonathan glanced at her, his expression shifting from guarded to something softer, something closer to vulnerability. He leaned in slightly, hesitant but sure, waiting for her reaction. Skadi held his gaze for a moment before leaning in too, her movements just as tentative but deliberate.
Their lips met, a soft, fleeting connection that carried more weight than words ever could. The world below them seemed to fall away for that brief moment, leaving nothing but the quiet hum of the early morning and the warmth of each other’s presence as they made out. When they pulled back, Jonathan’s thumb brushed over her knuckles, and Skadi let out a slow breath, her shoulders relaxing.
The fact that they had slept with each other countless times by now—most recently just a few hours ago—meant nothing in this moment. Here, on the wall, it wasn’t about lust or passion. It was about the quiet ease they found in each other, the unspoken understanding that came with shared burdens and a trust that ran deeper than words. The long, lonely watch was made bearable by the simple touch of their hands, her fingers resting lightly against his.
For Jonathan, Skadi was something he couldn’t compare to anything else—except maybe meth. Having had both, he couldn’t deny the similarities. The way she could quiet his mind, calm the storm raging inside him, was unmatched. Nothing, not even the fleeting euphoria of a high, came close to what she gave him. Her presence was an anchor.
Here on the wall, or back in their shared bed, she was his reprieve. The memory of her fingers running through his hair while his head rested on her bare chest was as vivid as any battle scar he carried. Those moments of stillness, where the world faded and all that existed was her touch, were his lifeline. Nothing—no substance, no escape—could rival the peace she brought to his fractured soul. It calmed him down in the worst of moments.
