@forfuse ∗ hate at first sight (for now), as plotted.
SHEPARD MIGHT BE FOCUSED — though 'focused' might an understatement when he's been on this detail for years, when he's poured half a decade to tracking the progress of the games and of the syndicate — but he's a soldier, not a machine. there are things he likes. perfectly human things ... like a good fight and the thrill of combat. the sort of firefight that heats his blood until it swells, tidal, and rushes through his veins as though a dam, somewhere, has burst; the kind that draws his heart up into his skull where it thunders and thunders so loud that his eardrums might burst, if a bullet doesn't shatter his skull first.
... right. maybe that isn't the best example. but he supposes the iciness of a cold beer against his palm as he watches all those things on a screen would suffice; hard music, too, and the sort of wild parties that leave his head pounding in the morning and his muscles aching ( though the persistent ache in his hip and back after? that's a relatively new development ); and watching things go up in a fiery, explosive blaze.
all things that aren't terribly difficult to bond over, if he were here in the games to make friends.
but the most disturbing implication in all this is that — given everything they have in common — he ought to like fuse.
the very thought twists his mouth into a scowl and, when the new stock he's installing sticks in a wrong way and refuses to budge, he digs his nails in and practically rips it out of the spitfire. the force of it sends the stock skidding across the ground, where it clatters to an eventual stop at the feet of the other man.
if looks could kill, shepard's ( piercing and bitter, resentment curling so sharp in his chest that he forgets for a moment that he's never met the man in person, before today ) might have dropped fuse to the ground then and there.
silence lingers between them for a moment. then, wordlessly, shepard averts his gaze and reaches for his old stock. piece of shit gun that couldn't even take a piece it was supposed to — no wonder it was thrown in this loot pool. their squadmate wasn't going to find anything good, no matter how long they searched out there. and whilst they were out scavenging, here shepard was. stuck alone with fuse, huddled in a barely-standing building for cover, as they cobbled together what decent weapons and pieces the two of them recovered from the recent fight.
it isn't as if shepard would have struck up conversation with someone else there. but it's the principle of it, he supposes.
