When Tyson served with the First Bangalore Pioneers, he did so as a strategist and service dog handler, before being the spotter to Sebastian Moran was added to his duties.
It would have been difficult for them not to bond honestly, with how closely they were working together; often off on their own missions away from the rest of the squadron to avoid having their position given away. There were plenty of times when it was only the two of them together, sent off under cover of darkness.
Though there was a lot of watching silently as still as stone to avoid detection, there were also moments when Sebastian and Tyson could trade quips and stories as they waited or marched to, or back from, their destination. Kisses stolen in secret, always a risk of getting caught even where they were hidden.
There was a lot of Tyson trying not to giggle at how silly it looked, carefully dribbling water down to Sebastian through a straw; because it was the middle of the day, in the middle of a hot summer, but Sebastian couldn’t risk messing up the shot he needed to take at any second.
Even in those quiet moments, hyper-aware and fearful of an enemy stumbling across their hiding spot, Tyson found solace in Sebastian’s company; and the great view of his arse that it provided when he sprawled out to take his shot. Running his hands over Sebastian’s broad shoulders to ‘soothe out of ache of the recoil’.
Less enjoyable was having to stare down a detached scope or binoculars to confirm each kill. Tyson admired the skill it took to shoot so accurately. He had to. It was that or acknowledge the guilt in his chest as his sights locked in on freshly spilt blood, and knowing how much was on Sebastian’s hands that reached out to caress his jaw for a victory kiss.