A/N: This is actually written stemming from roleplay characterization. For brevity, I'll say just this: Tabitha's terrified of the ocean or drowning in water. Brodie's afraid of lightening and thunder. Babies. Big, homo babies. Carry on.

The day had began gloomy and dark, the clouds, a graying old mob boss with his gun pointed to the earth, looming overhead and threatening rain. It was summer, and so Tabitha worried not for another unfortunate altercation in the sleet and wind, but still the weather set off a residual restlessness in his bones, instincts that shouted from his days where storms meant only danger for the unsheltered and unprepared. It did not help that every time he peeked outside, the sky grew only angrier.

By the time lunch hit, Tabitha's capacity for distraction began to overflow, the steady crash and boom outside driving off sparks in his head like electricity to frayed wires. He had to move, had to do something other than sit at his desk, fidgeting and completing reports with only the barest of coherency. Courtney was usually the one to do them, but she was away on a mission, and it was the very least Tabitha could do to pick up his own slack in her absence. It couldn't very well be done, however, if he couldn't sit still long enough to dot his I's.

And so, Tabitha abandoned his work, setting out to wander the base and dodge the flow of people as they fled to the dining hall or to some other assorted meeting place. He had no desire to waste his breath on grunts, it seemed. Then again, he rarely did.

A shock of blue hair, highlighted by green and yellow, burned a line of light across his vision, his attention piqued by the frantic twitch that burst forth from the body of one only ever composed. He furrowed his brow and quickened his pace, catching up with the stray thief just as he was about to disappear behind an open hallway. The commander was given the distinct impression that the other man had no idea where he was going. The thought proved only to further incense his curiosity.

"Hey, what're you—" he began, but he was quickly cut off, a shout of 'nothing!' being tossed his way without so much as a glance to accompany it. Tabitha's expression of confusion further contorted itself. "Whoa, whoa, no, Brodie—"

He reached out, tightly grabbing hold of Brodie's upper arm and stopping the younger man in his tracks. There was no authoritative edge in his voice, no facade of superiority that Tabitha wore in a futile attempt to exert control over the thief. It was something much less formal that drove him, concern stemming from their relationship behind closed doors rather than the frequent and excessive yelling matches without.

But rather than give in or even acknowledge his commander's conspicuous change in demeanor, Brodie spun on his heel to face Tabitha, an expression of forced anger that would have looked much more familiar on Tabitha's face than his. "I've got something to do," he hissed, glaring. "That's what you want, yea? Always harping on about it, so let me g—"

But before the final word had left his lips, a thunder clap, harsh and dramatic like a gunshot in close quarters, sounded off, seeming almost to vibrate the ground as a jolt of lightening illuminated the windows of the base. It had struck close— too close, in Tabitha's opinion— and while it made the older man jump, surely, Brodie all but froze, a hand reaching up to tighten a death grip around Tabitha's wrist, eyes igniting with greater fright than Tabitha had ever suspected he might see there. It took a moment, but Tabitha understood. Lightening storms like this must have been to Brodie what the churning ocean was to him, and his actions were not born of some change in affection but rather a fearful attempt to flee. It made sense. So much so, in fact, that Tabitha's expression softened, eyes regarding the terrified thief with calm and pitying scrutiny.

After a moment, he smiled softly, his free hand moving to unpry Brodie from his wrist. "Take that mask off for me, will ya, thief? I get this. So c'mere."

"Where…"

Tabitha took the other man by the fingers, tugging him gently along and pointedly avoiding eye contact. For a while, Brodie was confused— they were going down the most obscure hallways possible, it seemed— but as they neared the officer's quarters, he understood as well. The doors and walls were thicker there, the people far fewer. The invisible clamp that seemed intent on crushing his lungs loosened, and suddenly, he could breathe.

At the end of the now familiar hallway, Tabitha swung open his door, gesturing grandly to the minimalist room inside. "In ya go, sweetcheeks. It's gonna be thunderin' all day."

Brodie hesitated for only a moment, shuffling slowly through the open entryway. More quickly than was surely expected, however, he was being pushed forcefully onto the bed, and on instinct, Brodie panicked. He wasn't— he couldn't — but rather than show any unwieldy intimacy, Tabitha simply swaddled Brodie in his down comforter, patting the younger man's head patronizingly.

After a beat, Brodie whined, his voice catching in his throat. "This is so unnecessary."

Tabitha snorted, smirking derisively at his unspeakably childish companion. "I don't need ya runnin' away like a scared pup, babe. Then I'd have ta look for ya, an' I don't like ya nearly that much."

"Did you have to do that for Mightyena?" Brodie asked, pulling the blanket tighter around him as another thunder clap boomed throughout the base.

"Are ya kiddin'? He's way too badass for that pansy shit." Despite his harsh words, Tabitha moved to sit beside Brodie, leaning against the wall and slinging his arm across the frantic young man's shoulders.

"At least I can swim," he muttered petulantly, tucking his head down into the soft cotton. His eyes were still distant, though— glazed with with irrational fear that Tabitha surely knew well, the sight of it on Brodie's face, usually joyful and jeering, eliciting a painful ache in Tabitha's chest. It seemed wrong; unnatural.

Desperate to be rid of it, Tabitha reacted with disproportionate offense, meaning to distract Brodie with what was surely one of his favorite pass times: riling Tabitha up. He jerked forward, smacking the younger man's shoulder with his own and shouting in indignation. "Hey hey hey, asshole, that shit ain't fair! I tried, didn't I? I get credit for that!" His face was contorted with insult, though surely Brodie was hardly looking, and Tabitha's heart pounded with a sudden nervousness inspired by the alien demeanor worn on the young man beside him. He couldn't help but create a series of theatrical ploys to garner Brodie's attention, and after nearly an hour of effort, it was with great relief that he felt broad shoulders relax beneath his hold.

Every thunder clap was accompanied by a comforting tightening of Tabitha's half-embrace, every lightening flash obscured by the thick maroon curtains provided only to the officers whose rooms were above the ground. While closer to the source of the noise, Tabitha felt that his room was a far safer environment than anywhere else in the base— for the both of them, actually.

Idly, he released his Mightyena from its Pokeball. The dog, at first wary of the man nestled against his owner, soon joined them, recognizing Tabitha's intent and jumping up on the bed to curl protectively along Brodie's other side.

Despite his worry and overpowering desire to keep Brodie calm, Tabitha's expression remained pinched, eyes flickering as he ruminated on all the duties he was neglecting, the work left unfinished upon his desk. He wouldn't leave, of course— that would be cruel, and Tabitha would never have acted if he were unwilling to accept the consequences— but he couldn't help the diversion of his attention. To prevent this from putting Brodie on edge, he held the man close, cradling the thief under his arm and into his lap. Quietly, he carded his fingers through thick, wild blue hair, an apology and pacification in equal measure.

As evening turned to night and the rain slapped like angry guardians against the windowpanes, Brodie's breathing evened out and Tabitha's hands stilled. The commander's final thoughts before sleep overtook him were of the aesthetics of Brodie's face, even in a time such as this: brows furrowed but lips curved, broad shoulders tensed but vulnerability on display in a heartwarming show of trust.

Tabitha tilted his head, fluttering his fingertips in teasing butterfly kisses across Brodie's skin, tracing his features and smoothing creases of distress with his touch. "You're gonna be the end of me, asshole," he muttered fondly, affection flaring like the coals of a hearth fire. "Men like me ain't supposed to care so much."