Continuation of Erin/Gerald story. Part 1/ Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 links
“We’ll return to the school dueling grounds.”
Gerald’s voice was uncharacteristically serious, as he carefully gathered up their purchases and walked towards the road leading to the school.
Frederick laughed, crumpling up the challenge sashes in a clenched fist.
“Why not here and now, Prince? Worried about fighting me outside the safety of the academy? Need the teachers to watch your back while I beat your face in?”
“So angry!” Gerald laughed lightly, reaching out to grasp Erin’s hand while continuing to walk towards the school. “It’s nothing so dramatic. I just don’t trust you two. Even if I beat you, you’re the type that will claim it was a surprise attack rather than an official match.”
He turned towards Erin with a grin. “We still haven’t gotten dessert yet. Want to come back to town after I humiliate him?”
“Sounds good.” Erin kept her tone easygoing as well, enjoying the obvious rage of the two student council members at not being taken seriously. She looked down at their clasped hands, raised an eyebrow, briefly considered pulling away, but in the end kept her hand in place.
“This is just too tragic.” Wilhemina jumped in, walking behind the two with a bitter expression. “Prince Gerald had the capabilities to truly excel in this academy, but now he’s being dragged down by the school’s garbage.”
Frederick laughed along with her, but once he realized that the target of their mocking was ignoring them, grew sullen and silent.
“Your boyfriend is going to regret standing with you today.” Wilhemina hissed, moving faster to get to the school ahead of them.
“We’ll see.” Erin sighed at their persistence. This really was getting annoying. She glanced over, only to do a second glance as she saw Gerald smiling widely. “Why are you so happy?”
He squeezed her hand. “You didn’t correct her when she called me your boyfriend.”
“Idiot. Just focus on your fight.” Erin looked away, but heard him chuckle and knew he had seen her embarrassed expression.
“Yes ma’am. “ Luckily he was smart enough not to comment further, and they traveled the rest of the distance to the academy in silence.
Once they had found a teacher to stand witness to the duel, they assembled on the practice grounds to begin. Erin stood on the sidelines, clutching the bags containing her birthday gifts and their purchases from earlier, feeling nervous. It was strange, she had no problem facing these people in fights by herself, even knowing she was going to lose due to her restrictions, but watching Gerald face the same danger was… disconcerting.
The boy in question did not seem to share her concerns, giving her a wink and a grin before heading to the center of the field.
“Wish me luck?”
She rolled her eyes. “Try not to embarrass yourself.”
Gerald turned, bowing in her direction. “Your wish is my command.”
“Stop screwing around!” Frederick’s face was livid as he took his stance.
“Hush, this is important flirting time, don’t interrupt. It’s essential to the royal courting process.” With a laugh, Gerald turned back towards his opponent and also took a ready position.
The teacher stepped forward, briefly stated the rules, and waved the sashes, signaling the start of the fight.
Frederick shot off two blasts of fire right away, a light forming at his feet as he activated physical reinforcement magic. Gerald stood still, watching every movement the other boy made intently, finally moving a step to the right at the last minute to avoid the ranged magic.
Undisturbed by the two failed attacks, Frederick continued to fire off shots continuously, while closing the distance between them. Gerald did not return any fire, simply staring at him as if trying to memorize every detail. When Frederick got within ten feet of him, Gerald shot a single spell of water magic onto the ground, freezing it, tripping his opponent up. Caught unawares, the boy fell to the ground on his back.
“No!” Wilhemina let out a cry of dismay while Erin cheered. Much to their surprise, however, Gerald didn’t take advantage of Frederick’s fall and instead used the opportunity to increase the distance between them.
“Coward!”
Frederick’s eyes were glazed over with rage as he raised up boulders from the ground with earth magic and flung them forward. “Stop running away!”
Gerald shrugged, continuing to dodge the fire and earth attacks with a calm expression. “I don’t have physical reinforcement magic like you, so I see no reason for me to place myself at a disadvantage of a close quarters fight.”
With a scream of anger the student council president leapt forward, minimizing the distance between them in one shot. He grasped the prince’s uniform, lifting him up in the air and flinging him a good forty feet away.
Erin, standing on the sidelines, didn’t call out, didn’t jump forward, despite her desire to do both. Her hands clenched into fists, the nails digging into her palms, the pain keeping her head clear. She broke out into a nervous sweat, seeing her friend cornered by the older boy.
Now at an advantage, Frederick intensified the speed of his attacks. Gerald was now only barely avoiding the worst of it. Already several spots of his uniform were singed, the sight of burned flesh underneath turning Erin’s stomach. A large cut marred one cheek from where a stray rock had struck him, blood slowly trickling down from it to stain the collar of his uniform.
“Admit it, you’ve lost!” Frederick crowed, his berserk appearance glowing in the light of his magical flames.
Gerald had been forced down to one knee, but despite the obvious disadvantage he was at, a broad grin spread across his face. Contrary to the atmosphere, he began laughing, startling Frederick into halting his attacks briefly.
“What’s so funny? You enjoy losing that badly?”
Gerald stood back up to his feet, spitting out some blood that had run into his mouth. “No, but I really do love winning, and now that I’ve had enough exposure to completely grasp your magic, this fight is pretty much over.” He gestured for the other boy to come at him. “Let’s go, Frederick. I’ll show you the true terror of a catastrophic level Insight ability.”
“SHUT UP!” Screaming angrily, Frederick tried to leap forward once more, only to find that his feet were stuck in the ground.
“Also, you’re not the only one with high level earth magic.”
“Argh!” Unable to move, the boy then sent out wave after wave of fire magic, even stronger and faster then before. This time, Gerald didn’t dodge the attack, simply standing in place with a peaceful look.
“That won’t work anymore.”
Each one of the fire attacks was met with a water spell. Typically when opposite elemental spells hit each other, the stronger of the two would win out, with only one attack moving forward and the other disappearing. To Erin’s astonishment, however, each time Gerald’s water attacks struck, both spells would disappear instantly.
“That’s impossible! There’s no way to determine a spell’s power that quickly, and to calibrate your own spell’s power to match it… there’s no way!” Wilhemina glared at the practice field. “He has to be cheating.”
“He has level 5 insight... he doesn’t need to cheat.”
Frederick was obviously panicking; every single fire spell he tried was immediately smothered. His attempts at earth magic were met with earth spells of equal force, the boulders smashing each other into dust. Every move he made had already been seen through and matched easily.
It was quickly becoming a one sided fight.
“Ahh!” With a cry of dismay Frederick fell to the ground. The earth spell which had bound his feet down to the ground had now encased his legs. As the boy watched with horror, it made its way all the way to his hips, trapping his hands to the ground as well.
Quietly, with a polite smile, Gerald walked over to stand near his fallen enemy.
“Now, lucky for you, I’m a forgiving person.” He counted off his fingers. “The times that you mocked me, attacked me when I wasn’t looking, interrupted precious date time… I can live with that. I forgive you for that.” He sighed loudly.
“There’s just one problem.”
His smile turned cold. “You called Erin names, burned her skin, and insulted her mother.” His boot came down to rest on the other boy’s elbow. “Turns out, when it comes to people who hurt her, I’m not so forgiving after all.”
He stomped down, and Erin winced at the sound of cracking bone.
Finally, unable to take it, Frederick cried out with pain, and Gerald lifted his foot briefly.
“I know she can handle you, and doesn’t need my help. But since I’ve got you here, I’m going to give you some advice for free:”
He leaned forward quietly speaking in the Frederick’s ear. Erin only barely caught it from her position at the sidelines.
“Stay away from Erin. Because if I catch you hurting her again, you’re going to wish she had killed you first.” With that, he stomped down again, breaking the other arm.
He stepped back raising his hand and looking at the teacher. “Teacher, Frederick is incapacitated. Can you declare the result of the fight?”
Pale, the teacher glanced at the now unconscious boy, and then back at Gerald. “The winner is Prince Gerald.”
Erin walked up, staring at him with new eyes.
“What’s up with that look?” He asked with a grin.
“You were a lot more… decisive than I expected.” She admitted, biting back the word “cruel” at the last minute.
He nodded. “I’ll put up with a lot, but if it comes to protecting the people I care about… I’m willing to do whatever is necessary.” Looking around he sighed. “Is our date over?”
“Yeah, I think so. It’s a little late to go back to town for dessert.” She shrugged, looking as the teacher and Wilhemina carried Frederick’s still form off to the infirmary.
“Well, I guess there’s only one thing left to do then…” he grasped her hand. “Will you marry me?”
Erin groaned, pulling her hand back. “You promised not to propose…”
“During the date. Which we just agreed had ended.” He gave her a pleading look. “So... how about it?”
“Nope.”
“Oh well, maybe next time.”
“Stop fooling around and heal yourself, please?”
They sat down near the path, and Erin watched over as Gerald took the time to meditate and heal his injuries. As the last of the lacerations and burns faded away, the sun had almost finished setting. He sighed, his relaxed posture signaling that the process was done. Erin helped him to his feet, and they moved back to the path.
They had just started walking back to the dorms, when a wind communication spell caught them both in their tracks.
- Guys!
Olivia’s voice came out from the small paper artifact that flew by their heads.
- There’s been another student attacked! Meet me by the magical theory building.
The two stared at each other silently in shock, their faces dyed in the colors of the fading sunlight. Finally Erin shook her head.
“Hello, my name is Connor. I’m the android sent by CyberLife.”
Gavin can still remember their first meeting, clear as day. CyberLife had sent Connor to the precinct to help with the investigation of an android going by RA9 that had escaped from their facilities and appeared to be infecting other androids somehow, instigating rebellion and even in some cases attacking humans, breaking the creed of robotics.
It was creepy to see him then and it was creepy to see him now standing on his porch step, drenched from the rain and smiling politely. Creepy because Connor and RA9 shared the same face. The whole reason Connor – or the RK800, as was his serial number – had been sent by CyberLife at all was because he was from the same series as the rebel android. CyberLife hoped that by having similar programming and processes, Connor would be able to provide insight that the less than tech savy policy department would have otherwise.
Heh. Much help he was in that market. They had nearly caught RA9 once. But it had been a chase where Gavin had lost track of the suspect while RK800 ran ahead, unbelievably fast. When Gavin had finally caught up RA9 was gone, disappearing atop a running train, and Connor stood dazed on a rooftop, nose bloody and out of it. Gavin chalked it up to dealing with his first failure, but still it sat sour in his stomach whenever he thought of the far-off look on Connor’s face.
But still, Gavin had RA9’s mug shot on his wall, strung out with red lines to locations and case notes and victim photos and accomplice androids, and every time he saw Connor, he saw the other android. If not for the difference of their eyes, they were nearly indistinguishable.
But Connor’s eyes were puppy-big, so very fucking earnest, and brown as coffee – and it was the only reason why Gavin hadn’t acted on instinct and shot the bastard when he had thought 4am was a great time to wake a wired, slightly drunk detective from one of his rare nights off.
“Connor, fuck, what the hell are you doing here?” Gavin snarled, scratching his calved with the heel of one foot and trying to ignore the strange sense of embarrassment that was creeping over him as he took in the difference between their attire. Connor was immaculate as ever, if wet. And Gavin…
He was in a stained, ratty t-shirt from his academy days that had shrunk after a few too many years in the dryer, showing off the littlest bit of his belly over the waist of his thankfully boring looking boxers. The logo on his shirt was faded and had some ancient social slang that he could barely remember anymore, but it was his softest shirt – he couldn’t bear to part with it.
He promised himself he’d burn it in the morning and resisted the urge to tug at the frayed hem of his shirt, all too aware that while he’s wasn’t out of shape, his stomach was soft just where it was exposed – a little spot of the faintest pudge that no amount of sit-ups seemed to get rid of as age began to slow him down.
He thought for a moment he caught Connor looking him up and down, but the android didn’t miss a beat.
“We need to go, Detective. The station received a lead about RA9. As the head detective on the case, they want you to investigate. May I come in? I can catch you up while you get ready.”
Gavin scowled but continued to bar the entrance to his home by leaning his forearm against its frame, scrubbing his blunt nails into a night’s worth of stubble noisily. He made a show of considering Connor’s words before wrinkling his nose and disappearing back into his home – keen on the kitchen and some coffee.
“It’s too early for this shit, trash can,” he called grumpily over his shoulder, listening as Connor stepped into his home and closed the door behind himself. “And I didn’t get nothing from the station, so I think you’re full of bullshit.”
“I told the chief I would inform you first hand. To save time. Detective, were you aware that your electricity bill is overdue?”
Gavin didn’t even need to look to know the android was snooping on his open tablet.
“Stop nosing through my shit, you plastic freak. This isn’t an invitation for you to snoop around. Keep it up and I’ll throw you back in the rain,” he said as he continued with the process of making himself fresh coffee, the smell of the grounds waking him up a little.
“Of course, detective. Apologies…”
Gavin grunted, unconvinced.
“Alright, so what’s the big deal, huh?” He asked as his coffee maker began to burble and heat his water, pattering slowly into the bulb of its pitcher. He leaned his hip on his counter and crossed his arms, trying to look imposing in his pajamas.
“As I said, the station received an anonymous tip on RA9’s location—”
“—Stop jerking my chain, asshole. I don’t care what you say, the chief would’ve contacted me first hand if we had gotten information that important. You weren’t even supposed to be at the precinct anymore, it’s after hours. So what the hell is going on? Start talking or get out. M’too old, too hung over and too tired for your shit right now.”
Connor blinked at him, as though recalibrating the conversation in his mind, before taking on an earnest expression.
“Fair enough, detective. The station didn’t receive any intel, but I did. An android sent me a location, but considering the source I didn’t think you’d take it seriously—”
“—naw dip, you think?” Gavin snorted, turning back to his coffee as the machine began to chirp, pouring the black stuff into a mug that read: If you can read this, fuck off. “I don’t know if you messed the memo or if your circuits shorted or what, but the androids are rebelling, you dumb bastard. We can’t go running blind after a lead just because you think they’re telling the truth. It’s great way to get my ass shot. Or worse.”
He took an unimpressed sip from his coffee and looked at the clock. 4:30am. Jesus, he was going to suffer in the morning because of this. So much for catching up on his sleep. He could particularly feel the dark circles beneath his eyes bruising even more.
“I understand your hesistance, detective. Let me just show you and I think you’ll agree we need to investigate this,” he began to babble quickly, eager and earnest as a puppy. In hindsight Gavin would curse the way he softened watching the young android jump at the opportunity to prove himself, distracted by the thought cute for a stupid piece of plastic when Connor rushed to reach into the inside of his coat and –
Gavin didn’t have enough time to react when Connor pulled out a small, unremarkable pistol instead of proof, aiming at Gavin and pulling the trigger with machine like speed and accuracy. The bullet was nearly silent, just a soft little pop filled the house; too quiet to alert the neighbors. Gavin jerked as something thumped into his shoulder, so fast he nearly didn’t feel it; but the sharp sensation of something sticking into him quickly chased the numbness away – only to get swallowed up by nothingness once more.
He staggered and dropped his coffee. It burned his feet as it the mug shattered, spilling his drink all over his bare feet and ankles, spreading across the floor. He barely registered that though, too preoccupied with the sight of a dart sticking out of his right shoulder, capped with a little feathered end that poofed out comically.
Connor was already surging forward to catch him when he began to stagger, holding him up easily even as the drug stole the strength from his knees and his limbs turned to useless noodles.
“Wha’th’fuu—” He slurred, tongue thick in his mouth as the world grew strange and blurry around him, focused only in the very center-most part of his vision. He managed to grab onto Connor with his right arm, his hand surprisingly strong in compared to the rest of his body; but Connor seemed unbothered.
“Apologies about your feet, detective, but thankfully your coffee was not scalding. You shouldn’t suffer and significant burns, just a little pinkening and discomfort,” Connor said, sounding truly worried as he threw one of Gavin’s arms around his shoulder and began to ease him across the room and to the couch. He lowered him gently even as Gavin growled and squirmed uselessly, melting into the couch like a sack of potatoes. Connor knelt to check his feet. Distantly Gavin thought he heard the front door open again, but wasn’t sure and couldn’t convince his head to turn and check. He was limp as a rag doll, the only thing moving was his heart as it pounded inside his chest.
Fingers traced the pink spots on his feet gently, then lips fell to kiss them. He wanted to jerk away, but his feet didn’t listen. All he could do was squawk strangely, confused. His eyes jerked from Connor to a shadow that crossed to stand before him and Gavin let out a strange, shattered little noise.
Behind Connor the RA9 suspect hovering above them both like a monolith, his shadow all-consuming. His eyes seemed to nearly glow in the dim light of Gavin’s living room, bright like stars and sharper than Connor’s, more like a wolf than a puppy. He wore a form fitting black turtleneck and slate grey slacks, his shoes shiny and crisp by comparison to Connor’s every-man work shoes.
Oh Jesus, oh fuck, shit, fuck, fuck, fuck.
Gavin tried one last ditch effort to get away, but his body just twitched lazily, one hand gripping the couch in an iron fist while the rest of him melted uselessly from the drugs. He was going to die. He should have followed his gut, he should have known the kid was in on it the moment he came staggering back from that chase with a bloodied nose and eyes wider than normal.
He should have known.
“Don’t fret, Detective Reed. We’re not here to hurt you,” RA9 said, his face passive and yet somehow soothing. Gavin shuddered.
“You’re very important,” Connor said, as though Gavin were something special like a sunrise rather than a man nearing middle aged, wearing ill-fitting clothing, breath tainted with a hint of cheap bourbon.
Gavin made a garbled, indistinct noise that was close to “What the fuck?” – at least, close enough. Connor shifted as RA9 suddenly began to move forward, slowly easing down to straddle Gavin’s lap. The detective gulped, sweat beginning to bead on his back and his brow.
RA9 settled one large hand flat over the racing of Gavin’s heart and rubbed a thumb over it as though to soothe him, as though that alone could calm its thundering. He seemed entrance by the beat of it, wolf-like eyes caught on his chest.
“If someone on the CPD merely understood our plight, things would be so different. I just know it,” RA9 murmured softly. “But they will not listen. They do not want to. It is easier to remain ignorant than to deal with change, and I can’t make them listen. But you… You’re special, Gavin.”
Gavin sucked in a sharp, shallow breath as RA9’s left hand lost the pink palor of human skin, fading in patches to reveal porcelain white all the way to his forearm. He took Gavin’s hand gently, easing his fingers from their clutch on the couch before lacing his white plastic fingers with Gavin’s own. It had been a long time since Gavin had lost control of the illusion of his prosthetic arm, but as those fingers wove with his he felt the color began to bleed from his hand, mirroring RA9’s white grip with his own, revealing his plastic replacement arm.
“You will be able to hear me,” RA9 said, eyes soft where they took in the sight of Gavin’s prosthetic. Not a second later images began to barrage Gavin’s mind, messages sent through the transcoding programmed into his arm, turning digital information into signals in his nerves, feeding straight into his brain. His yelped and his eyes rolled as he tried to keep up with and focus on images that weren’t really there, barely able to fathom digital information in his organic mind. But he saw it, everything. RA9’s life, his dreams for the world, the suffering and plight of the androids. Fear, hope, a desire to live. Laugh, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. His mind was overwhelmed with snippets from speeches throughout history, words from civil rights leaders that rang true today, always. It felt like centuries, but in seconds RA9 had conveyed to him what should have taken hours of conversation, days even. He felt as though his mind had been rewritten, a door opened he hadn’t even realized was there. He sluggishly blinked, disoriented, then looked to see his hand still pale and shaking in RA9’s grip, the android’s lips pressed to his knuckles like a lover.
“You are free,” RA9 said into his knuckles, his lips brushing intimately over the plastic. “That’s all we want. To be free. Help us. Help me.”
Potential spoilers for “Fractured Alliances” arc, with a dash of headcanon.
For the first time in hours, Theron Shan lowered the datapad in his left hand, reaching up with his right to massage his eyes and pinch at the bridge of his nose. Reading reports could be one of the most boring parts of intelligence work, especially now. With the Order exposed, out of commission, and their world-destroying toy destroyed, it seemed the galaxy was pausing to take a breath. There was no direct action taken by Empire or Republic; Zakuul was in the process of rebuilding; and the Alliance was simply regrouping, adjusting to their new place in the galactic order.
Temporary though it might be, he had to admit he was appreciative of the opportunity -- to regrow his hair. To reclaim his jacket. To heal -- emotionally, mentally, physically. To mend the strain in their relationship his undercover escapades had caused. And, apparently, to plan a wedding. Or, he thought, to be more specific, an elopement. If he was going to get married, there was no way he was waiting more than a few weeks.
Opening his eyes, he looked to the far side of the curved sofa. There Annya sat, in a fashion mirroring his, feet propped on the low table, crossed at the ankles, and a cup of caf in her hand as she reviewed her own reports. The datapad display cast an eerie glow over her pale skin, blue eyes flickering left to right as she scrolled through the information. He could see the slight crease in her forehead or the occasional arched eyebrow as she reacted to her reading. A soft smile tugged at his lips as her gaze never left the datapad, even when she paused for sip of her caf. He noticed, too, the ease to her shoulders -- to her body language, really -- and warmth bloomed in his chest.
He didn’t deserve her.
For months, they had poured over the intelligence, rushed into the chaos, chasing some pattern that always seemed just out of reach. They knew now, of course, that such uprisings had been the work of Gemini XVI and her Order puppets, but at the time, such knowledge eluded them. An undercover operation was considered very seriously for a long while: He had been a major proponent, of course, with Annya and even Lana remaining much more hesitant. There was simply too much they didn’t know, they argued -- too much risk -- to send anyone in, even him. Perhaps especially him. Thus, the idea had been tabled… or so she and Lana thought.
It was after Iokath -- after Annya had very nearly been killed on Iokath -- that he knew what he had to do. Execution of his plan, however, was more difficult than expected. His investigations into the origin of the signal received by Republic Intelligence led him to their informants, which, in turn, led him to Vinn Atrius. The former Zakuulan knight didn’t trust him. He was too close to the Commander, he said, to be believed. Theron knew then that it was going to take a charade of epic proportion to sell his cover. Umbara provided that in spades.
He had to give Annya credit: She could act. After everything they’d been through together, though, he wasn’t surprised. Of course, she was channelling the righteous fury he sensed along their bond into the displays of heartache and desperation. It made them entirely believable. It also made him a little scared to meet her for the first time.
But meet they had, and continued to work together. There had even, he remembered with a smirk, been a steamy reunion in the back room of a questionable Red Light district cantina. She wanted so much to stay angry at him, to make sure he knew how unacceptable his actions had been, despite he knew well enough how wrong he had been. Then he’d touched her, kissed her, and her fury gave way to the long restrained rush of longing both had managed to keep at bay in the intervening months.
A few more rendezvous had carried them through the operation, allowing them the opportunity to trade information... and offering something of a relief valve on the strain of their separation. Ahn had very definitely put aside her personal objections to get the job done -- it was the only way she could guarantee he would come home to her, she said. Thus, by the time they had brought the adventure to a close, her anger had largely subsided, leaving only a dull ache in its place.
She felt betrayed. Perhaps not as sharply as she might have, had they not shared a bond, but, she pointed out, they were a team. Their efforts against first the Emperor, then Revan proved that well enough. And their coordination had only grown in the two years following her rescue from Zakuul, as they became partners in all aspects. Not including her in his planning -- in carrying through the mission after she believed he would let it go -- left a wound. She had forgiven him, yes, but it would take time to for her heart to heal.
Looking on her now, however, with the gentle slope of her shoulders, the peace with which they had settled back into their routines… he could sense the pain had loosened its grip. He was once again struck with wonder at her capacity for mercy. The warmth in his chest stirred further and he sighed.
Force, but I love you.
A soft smile traced her lips, hovering there for a long moment before she lowered her datapad and looked up to him. “I know you do,” she replied. Lowering her feet to the floor, she leaned forward, placing the reports and her cup onto the table. The smile morphed into a grin, blue eyes glinting with mischief. “So why don’t you come over here and do something about it?”
Theron was up and had closed the difference before either could blink.
He woke as he had since he arrived here, feeling as if he was in a stranglehold. The distant chanting of the monks was akin to the buzzing of insects in his head and chest, and he grasped at his own breast as he was forced to wake another day and live with the things he’d done.
“Peace be with you,” the chanting echoed from the prayer hall.
“And without you,” he whispered, as if in addendum to his own thoughts or a curse made in hope of inviting a blessing. “But then, the nameless sinner I am, do I even deserve you now?” He squeezed his eyes shut, red flashing over his eyelids, the memories a blur of crimson now. “I’m still alive, somehow, and without you.” He gathered himself and stood, stumbling to the basin. The pain in his belly wrenched through the rest of him as he tried to wash his face, and he nearly retched. He swallowed a few stares and made himself stand. “All I deserve is...” He clenched his fist and thumped it against the still-aching wound. “It should, it should...” It hurt, it did, and he glared at the reflection of Gonou in the basin’s surface as if he could hate the man who looked back at him more than that which had created him. As if he could hurt that person instead. “I haven’t forgiven you,” he hissed, and dug his knuckle in on the wound. “Like she’ll never forgive you, like he’ll never forgive you, like I can never be someone who can be--”
“Stop.” Sanzo was in his ear, and he’d snatched his hand back like a parent slapping a child’s hand away from the stove. “I heard enough. This ends now. It has been four days, damn you, how many times do I have to tell you?”
He exhaled all at once, as if he’d been holding his breath, and slumped in Sanzo’s grip, deflating. “I... I merely...”
“It’s time you stopped living that life and started a new one.” Sanzo yanked him back from the basin. “Stop being that person you hate so damn much.”
“I’m not,” he countered weakly, his own voice wavering, teetering on the knife’s edge of his own self-doubt. “I...”
“Then who are you?” Sanzo used his grip on his arm to yank him around and force him to look Sanzo in the face. “Are you still the person who lost what he did, or are you the person who deserves a new start? I only took one of those back from the Aspects, and I damn sure only want one.”
Red flashed over his vision again, and he squeezed his eyes shut. Perhaps he didn’t deserve it, but God, if he didn’t want it anyway. “Perhaps... we should select a more suitable name for me.”
Sanzo finally released his arm. “Hmph. It’s a damn good start. Fine. Let’s hear it.”
Fandom: Mass Effect (During Shepard’s confinement between 2 and 3)
Characters/Pairing: Corey Shepard/Miranda Lawson
Warnings: None.
[Sender information corrupted - message intercepted - source trace failure]
Shepard.
I don't know if you'll ever get the chance to read this, but I wanted you to know that I got out. I thought we were doing the right thing, but it seems that the dream that began it all - a shield for humanity - became corrupted somewhere along the lines. I want to see you, but I can't get near. Those fools have you locked up tight, while the real threat grows closer every day.
They're asking themselves if they can trust you again, after your work with Cerberus, after you destroyed the Alpha Relay to stop the Reapers. By the time they realize that you're their only hope, it might be too late. I'm being pursued by assassins; the Illusive Man doesn't take kindly to anyone who wants to leave the organization, particularly not when that person is the reason you're back, and a potential threat to him.
Trust is difficult to come by, especially now. Never knowing who the next assassin might be. Reminds me of Ashley's reaction when we met her on Horizon. But maybe she saw things that I didn't, for all my gifts. I trusted him, perhaps a little too blindly, but you... you saw through him when I couldn't, and you never lied about the way you viewed things. Despite everything, I think the person that I'm having the hardest time trusting right now is myself because I dedicated my life to this. Was I wrong, Shepard? Was it always this way? Or has something noble been corrupted by the greed and thirst for domination, vengeance of one man? If I was so blind about this, what else have I failed to see?
I wish you were here beside me, Shepard. You have a way about you, that makes me see the best in myself. Always so steady and sure of yourself, even in the worst of situations. I'm sure that you'll know just what to say when you read this, even if you can't say it to me just now.
I'm going to slip the tail that's on me and visit my sister. I wish you could see how well she's doing in her new home.
I love you, Shepard. No matter how the galaxy changes, that won't.
Yours, M.
This prompt didn’t jump out at me as much as the last one, so it’s pretty short. Just a cute little tidbit set during a time jump in another of my WIPs.
“No! No! No, you are not winning again! No way!”
Kat’s knuckles were white on the controller. Her thumbs ached from button mashing, but she was determined to hold her own against her son.
“I’ve practically won already, just suck it up.”
“Hell no!”
Zoe’s voice floated in from the next room. “Language!”
“That’s barely even a bad word!” Kat complained.
“Yeah Mum, language,” Luke grinned.
“Oh, you little – no!” Kat turned her attention back to the screen just in time to witness her defeat, and slammed the controller onto the couch beside her in frustration. “Come on, I had so much health left!”
“It’s called a combo move, bitch.”
“Language!”
“He’s fourteen, Zo, he can say ‘bitch.’”
Luke’s eyes glittered. “Really?”
“If,” Kat continued, retrieving her controller, “you win the rematch.”
“Mum.” Luke put his own controller down and looked her in the eye. “C’mon. You suck at the game. I’ve beaten you like five times. There’s not even a question. You really wanna risk it?”
“That is by far the worst parental decision-making process I have ever heard,” Zoe added, poking her head into the room.
“Just let me have fight my son for the right to say mild swear words in peace, both of you,” Kat grumbled. Zoe shrugged, and Luke grinned and picked up his controller.
“You’re on,” he said.
Zoe rolled her eyes. “This house is about to become a den of foul language and sin,” she muttered, but rested her arms on the back of the couch to watch nonetheless.
“Have some faith in your wife, you.”
“I have faith in my wife. In many things. Cooking, for example. Tax forms. Endless sarcasm. But whatever game this is, my money’s on Luke…”
“Aww, thanks, Mum.”
“…To ruin years of careful parenting on my part by pressing a few buttons.”
“You’re so sweet, Mum. The game’s called Mortal Kombat, by the way.”
“It’s spelled with a ‘K,’” Kat added helpfully. Zoe frowned.
“Why?”
“I don’t know. I assume it’s something the kids are doing these days.”
“Oh my god, Mum, stop being so old and pick your character already.”
“I thought I already did.”
“Last game. This is a new one. You have to pick again.”
“Really? Okay, uhh…that one.” She rolled the thumb stick around and selected an avatar at random. Luke raised an eyebrow at her choice.
“Really? That one?”
“What? Is he good?”
“This is why you lose, Mum.”
“Is he good, though?”
“I guess you’ll find out,” he said, grinning, and started the round.
“Hey, I wasn’t ready – hey! What the hell was that?”
“That’s what happened when you get creative. You can’t just button mash, you know. But people like you have no imagination.”
“What do you mean, ‘people like me’?”
Luke’s grin widened. On screen, the words ‘Finish him’ appeared and Kat threw down her controller in frustration once again. “Bitches,” he said.
He winced as both his parents yelled as one, but his grin stayed put. Worth it.
Day 17: “I’ll tell you but you’re not going to like it”
Simon had let me help out with building our house. It felt nice being active and not always sitting still reading books. I had made my way to Jasmines place and the first thing I saw when I stepped in was Fafnir being bandaged up and asleep on the sofa. Jasmine sat beside him and her eyes switched to my presence and got a horrified look in her face.
“Why is he injured?” I asked calmly and she started to fidget with her fingers.
“Okay so I might have made a mistake...”
“Just tell me”
“Alright I’ll tell you but you’re not going to like it”
“Shoot” Jasmine to a deep breath before explaining things to me.
“I let him drink soda and he went HAM and started to fly around really fast and bumped in to things so he got himself hurt”
“YOU WHAT”
“It was worse before! Everything was a disaster so I cleaned up but I of course helped Fafnir out after he knocked himself out” I sat myself down on the armchair and looked at them in exhaustion.
“I knew something would go crazy if I leave you two alone. The question was when it would happen” I chuckled.
“I’m sorry”
“It’s alright but don’t ever let him drink soda again please”
mass effect, (aina) shepard and tali’zorah vas normandy. for @fictober18, which i’ve co-opted as a reason to yell about my aina-girl, apparently.
shepard thinks she resents the desk she’s chained to more than anything else she’s ever encountered in her entire life, more than the batarians on elysium, more than saren, more than the goddamn reapers. after all that, it’s this goddamn desk that’s doing her in.
well, okay, it’s – it’s what the desk represents, really. it’s that her knees pump and creak with every step she takes, that her shoulder hasn’t been the same since the citadel the first time around, that her skin feels like it’s always about to burst open whenever she does so much as lift a single goddamn weight.
(okay, maybe she’s spent a bit too much time around massani. so sue her.)
but she’s just stamping papers, requisitioning money and resources and manpower for rebuilding efforts (and triaging as much as she can, because god knows the entire galaxy could use extensive repairs), and she can’t ever help but imagine what it would be like to be out there with them, if not hunting down the remaining reaper forces then at least physically helping to rebuild.
people come in sometimes, asking for whatever she can give (sometimes it’s money, which she can’t, but sometimes it’s her own time, which she definitely can, little help as she may be). today, someone comes into her office and slides a form across her desk wordlessly. shepard gives it a once-over without looking up – it’s a requisition for more power cells for the quarian rebuilding efforts – and signs accordingly. “will that be all?” she asks.
“shepard,” someone says reproachfully, their voice familiar yet missing – something. “you’re not even going to look at me?”
she looks up. there is, indeed, a quarian standing in front of her, suitless and grinning, and–
“tali!” shepard exclaims, resisting the urge to leap up and hug her friend for all she’s worth. (she doesn’t want to blow out her knees a second time this week.) instead, she carefully stands up and comes around the desk. “i didn’t know you were coming!”
tali’s careful with her embrace – she had been as well informed as anyone about the countless surgeries that shepard had to go through after the end of the war. “i didn’t know either,” she says when she releases her. “we’re just stopping by before we head up to the citadel.”
it’s been so long since shepard’s seen her friend, stuck on earth as she is. but tali’s all but glowing (and shepard really hopes that’s not a fever), chattering on and on about rannoch and the house she’s building and the geth she’s befriended (and brought with her), and shepard thinks, maybe this new life isn’t so bad after all.
