The sound of the shower woke him up. That would be Mikkel taking his morning shower as he had for the past three days as they waited in this bunkhouse for the promised quarantine ship. Emil opened his eyes a bare crack, keeping his breathing slow and even as if he were still asleep. It was a skill he'd perfected in the Cleanser barracks, allowing him to watch the cruel pranks being set up so that he could avoid the worst effects. Now he could see Sigrun sprawled across her bunk, one arm hanging off the side and the blankets in a tangle, and Reynir stretched out to his full height with his braid draped neatly beside him. Lalli would be standing guard while Mikkel showered, he knew.
The bunk was lumpy and somewhat musty. It was certainly an improvement over a water barrel and piles of ancient cloth, which is what he'd suffered for days before reaching the outpost, but still … he wished he could sleep in a good bed, even if just for one night. At least he didn't have to get up. Mikkel had said he could sleep for a week if he wanted.
There was Mikkel, his hair still damp but properly brushed out, of course. Lalli was utterly silent, only the snick of the latch betraying his departure to check for grossling incursions into the outpost. Mikkel moved to his favorite spot where he could watch the door, the window, and the sleeping team. Emil watched him, still pretending to be asleep, curious what he would do.
Mikkel cultivated an impassive demeanor, a slight smile or frown, a raised eyebrow, or a surprised blink expressing his feelings. But, with a long look out the window and another at the sleepers, he let the mask slip and smiled fondly at his team. His face completely transformed by the smile, he was no longer the quiet, efficient, second-in-command; he was …
Something twisted in Emil's heart. He saw a good man, a kind man, a man who would love his family, who would hug them when they parted and when they met again, who would never, ever leave his son to the care of nannies and tutors … a man that Emil's father was not and never had been.
Emil closed his eyes, focused on keeping his breathing even, forced down the hurt, the loneliness, the bitterness, and the anger of an unloved child. He was not an unloved child; he was a man, out on his own, in a team that he had chosen for himself and that valued him. That wanted him. He didn't need to feel those pains anymore.
Emil rolled over, sighed deeply, stretched, sat up. Glancing over at Mikkel, he saw that the mask was back in place as if it had never been dropped.
But he had seen the man behind the mask.