Zombie always let you drive back from missions. He knew you liked to drive, and he hated it, and that was all the excuse he needed.

It was after a particularly difficult mission. Driving back like you usually did. Zombie in the passenger seat, you in the driver’s. The rest of the squad in the back seat. Their usual playful chatter had died down.

The Commander was being pretty quiet as well, and when you looked over you saw him fast asleep. Zombie’s head leaning against the window, his face buried in his jacket.