Swift shakes her head and pulls up her shirt, revealing a fresh bandage that’s been slapped over her side. She catches my eye. “Tried to tell the captain it was nothing, but she insisted on having Reinhardt patch me up.”

“It looked pretty bad. Are you sure it’s okay?”

She shrugs, yanking her shirt over her head. “It’ll be a scar, that’s all.”

“Just adding to the collection?”

“It’s yours, I guess,” she says, then draws a sharp breath as if the words came out wrong.

I wrinkle my nose. “That’s hella weird, Swift. It’s on your body, for Christ’s sake.”

She chuckles, grabbing an oversized T-shirt from the drawer. “It’s my body, but I don’t let it get carved up by meaningless marks. Every one of them’s got a story, and every one of them is for someone. This one’s for you. Deal with it.”

“Am I supposed to say thank you?”

“You can if you want,” she says, grinning impishly as she starts unlacing her boots.

“Well, I did kind of want to thank you—not for naming your weird scars after me, but for, y’know, saving my life back there. Even if you were just saving your own life, I mean … what I should … thanks. Just … yeah, thanks.”

Swift freezes, her mouth slightly parted, and for a moment I think she’s going to tip over with her boots half off.

“Also, can I sleep here tonight?” I blurt before I can think better of it.

The impish grin is back. “Knew you weren’t buttering me up for nothing,” she chuckles. “Yeah, it’s fine. Dunno why you sleep out on the trainer deck anyway.”

“Bao grew out of his snoring. You haven’t.”

Swift throws a boot at me, laughing as I bat it away. “He’s okay, right?” she asks as she turns her back, works the other boot off, and shucks out of her pants.

I keep my gaze lowered, pretending that I have no interest in her bare thighs and what lies above them. “If you’re going to kill him with your driving, you’ll have to try a little harder.”

Swift rolls her eyes, steps into a pair of shorts that she plucks out of one of the laundry carpet’s corners, and climbs into the bunk, crawling past me to take her usual spot along the wall. But this time she settles facing me, folding her arms and letting out a long breath. “I guess I should thank you too,” she says, her voice low and quiet.

“For?”

“Basically the same thing.”

I scoff.

“No, seriously. If you hadn’t jumped in … I mean … both times … ”

“You aren’t too good with words, are you?” I rib at her, lying back and propping my head up against the wall as I swing my legs into bed.

“Captain put me on guns for a reason.”

“Mhm.”