Well here it is, October 3rd, so I’m posting my October 1st “Inktober for Writers” piece, featuring Mia Ryder and Reyes Vidal. A special thanks to @missmeggo929 for suggesting Mia & Reyes for the prompt. Cross-posted on AO3.
Final word count? 2477.
Searching
Reyes Vidal moved on to the next stack of crates, cursing under his breath as he searched for the serial number he’d memorized earlier in the day. Shit, he thought again. This was not how he’d intended the evening to go, but that seemed to be true of a great many things of late.
Pursuing a romance with Mia Ryder, for example, had been entirely unintentional.
He’d been interested in just the Pathfinder: her position, her resources, that AI in her head, all that information she had access to, as well as the firepower she could command if she so desired. He’d intended to use her for his own selfish ends, to consolidate his power in Kadara, to get rid of Sloane and her thugs, to make something of the port and the planet.
To make something of himself.
He’d had no interest at all in the woman who held the title, not until he’d seen her that day in Kralla’s Song, leaning against the bar, a small smile curving her lips as she took in the scene, and having seen her just that once it was too late for him. In less than the ten minutes that first meeting had lasted he’d been utterly captivated by her. She dominated his thoughts now, his actions, and every subsequent meeting only increased his infatuation, until he found himself looking for reasons to see her, involving her in situations that, if he were perfectly honest, didn’t necessarily require the attentions of the Pathfinder. They’d messaged, talked, and flirted -- a little more outrageously with each encounter -- but he still wasn’t certain if, for her at least, it was anything more than that.
Oh, there had been hints. She worried for his safety, came running to his rescue, had even defended his reputation, telling Zia fiercely that he was a better man than she knew, but there were stories of her doing the same for a dozen others, on half a dozen planets in Andromeda. That was simply who Mia Ryder was.
Finally, having run of reasons to summon her aid, but aching to see her all the same, he’d done the unthinkable, the ridiculous: he'd asked her out on a date.
He’d tried to make it casual. Come have some drinks. Sloane’s having a party. You can be my plus one.
Mia, for that was how he thought of her, never mind how careful he was to call her ‘Ryder’ or ‘Pathfinder’ when they spoke, had arched an elegant eyebrow, fixing those mesmerizing pale eyes on him and he had wondered again at the quirks of genetics. The unusual gray-green color she’d inherited from her mother, but everything else came from her Japanese-American father: the inky dark hair, the full mouth, the high cheekbones, all of it more delicate, more refined, and more feminine of course, but the resemblance to Alec Ryder was plain to see. “Are you asking me out?” She’d asked eventually. He’d been unable to read her tone.
Still, she hadn’t seemed opposed to the idea, though he’d hoped for a bit more enthusiasm. He’d fallen back into the easy flirtation that they had all but perfected in the weeks they’d known each other. “Don’t worry, I promise to be a perfect gentleman.” He’d said in a teasing voice
Her full lips had curved into a challenge of a smile. “And if I don’t want you to be a gentleman?” She’d asked.
His body had tightened unexpectedly and he could only hope that between his armor and the graininess of the vid-call she wouldn’t see it. “That can be arranged.” His voice had been rougher than he had expected, but it was better than having it crack with emotion, which had been a distinct possibility.
She’d watched him for a few seconds and then she’d suddenly smiled at him, that rare and strangely carefree smile that never failed to surprise him, the one so at odds with her usual cool, almost cat-like elegance, the one that lit up her face, and could make him believe she was, in fact, a girl of only twenty-two. “Well, I never say no to free drinks.” She’d told him, and then added. “They are going to be free this time? Or are you going to find some way of sticking me with the bill again?”
His heart had skipped a beat, as if he were a teenaged boy. That was a yes, wasn’t it? He’d forced himself to be as nonchalant as she was – or at least to sound that way. “Would I do such a thing? Tonight there will be only the finest to drink, from Sloane’s own reserves.”
Before she could change her mind, he’d told her where to meet him, and ended the call.
It was then that he’d realized several things at once.
First, Sloane never served her special reserves at her parties. Oh, there was plenty of alcohol, but it was the cheapest swill available that would be guaranteed to get her guests drunk as quickly and effectively as possible, so that was one promise already broken.
Second, attending one of Sloane’s grudgingly given parties for her associates was possibly the least romantic date man had ever conceived of.
And third, Reyes still didn’t know if his flirtation with Mia Ryder was anything more than that. But, he realized, he’d now need to fix the first two problems if he had any hope of solving the last.
Three distinct problems. Well the first was easy enough.
He left his room and went downstairs to the bar.
Kian looked up from the drink he was pouring. “Reyes, my friend. What can I do for you?”
“I need information.”
Kian laughed and shook his head. “I might have guessed. Well, ask away.”
That didn’t automatically mean he’d get his answer, of course. “The Pathfinder…” He began.
Kian was suddenly more alert. “What of her?” His voice was careful. Another that Mia had won over probably without even realizing it.
“What does she drink?”
Kian relaxed, imperceptibly, and when he spoke there was a twinkle in his eyes. “Oh, that’s an easy one. Whiskey. Neat.”
Whiskey. “And if a gentleman were looking for a particularly fine bottle?”
Kian laughed. “I’ve no idea where a gentleman would find it. But an enterprising scoundrel might look somewhere in the Outcast HQ.”
A few more conversations, and it had all fallen into place after that.
Until it hadn’t.
The whiskey was supposed to be in a crate in a storage room at Sloane’s headquarters, and for all Reyes knew it was, but what his informant had failed to mention was that there were at least a dozen other crates in the room.
He’d been searching through them for close on half an hour now, leaving Mia on her own at the party. The list of plausible excuses for his absence was dwindling the more time passed. She’d been puzzled by his abandoning her almost the instant they’d arrived, and, he suspected a little hurt as well.
Not a good start.
“Dammit.” He muttered, searching for the serial number on yet another crate. “Why can’t the serial numbers be in the same spot?”
A voice spoke from the doorway, startling him.
“Take the night off. Come out for a drink. I should have known you were up to something.”
Mia. Shit. He slowly straightened.
She was leaning against the doorway with deceptive nonchalance – deceptive because even from here he could see the flash of anger in her eyes, the flare of her nostrils, a hint of color in her cheeks.
She’d taken special care with her appearance tonight, a thing that had given him a rush of hope at the start of the evening: her dark hair, usually pulled severely back and fastened at the nape of her neck with not a hair out of place, was worn loose, the first time he’d seen it that way, and she was wearing makeup, another first. She’d dressed for a date: black leather pants so tight they looked poured on. Ankle boots with a three-inch heel that made her legs look even longer. The same jacket she’d been wearing the day they’d met, but since he’d deserted her at the party she’d shed the scarf and jacket, revealing a low cut black silk camisole, with very little, if anything, worn beneath it. She was carrying the jacket and tossed it on the nearest crate as she walked towards him.
Stalked towards him.
Madre de Dios. She looked magnificent, like some sort of avenging goddess. He wanted nothing more than to slide his hands beneath that scrap of silk, to feel the warmth of her skin against his palms. He wanted to pull her against him, to run his hand over the perfect curve of her behind that he’d only guessed at before, but which those pants which clung to every curve, had left no doubt about. He wanted to find the damned whiskey so that they could leave, so he could be alone with her and…
He realized she was still scowling, and it was highly unlikely she would be going anywhere with him.
“Mia…” He started to say, and then quickly corrected himself. “Ryder. It’s not what it looks like.”
She arched her eyebrow and he hadn’t realized how much disdain could be carried by such a small movement. “No? So you didn’t use me as a distraction to go through Sloane’s stuff?”
Shit. “Okay, yes, but it’s for both our benefits, I prom…”
She cut him off before he could finish. “You’ve been making a lot of promises, Reyes.” And if he’d thought she’d seemed hurt before, now she just sounded fed up with him.
He opened his mouth to answer, to defend himself, though he was on shaky enough ground there, when he heard footsteps just outside. “Shit.” This was all he needed, one of Sloane’s thugs catching them in here. “Someone’s coming.” He told Mia urgently.
Her nostrils flared again and she opened her mouth to speak, but then she heard it too. Her eyes widened.
“We need a distraction.” His mind raced as he went through their options. He could see one of Sloane’s people just rounding the corner. He turned back to Mia to tell her to hide, he could take this one, it wouldn’t be the first time he’d been roughed up by thugs, but when he did she was right there, her face mere inches from his, and before he could say anything to her she’d grabbed the collar of his jacket and closed the distance between them, and then she was kissing him.
He’d thought about kissing Mia Ryder since the first time he’d seen her. He’d lain awake like some lovesick boy, imagining just how it would be: soft, gentle, tender, a caress of a kiss, just a brush off his lips against hers.
What was happening now was nothing like that.
Mia Ryder was kissing him as if she was starving, hard enough to bruise both of them if it continued this way, an invasion of a kiss, all teeth and tongue, as if she might climb inside him if such a thing were in fact possible.
You couldn’t be kissed like that and not respond not unless you wanted to be devoured, and Reyes hesitated barely a second before he was answering her kiss in kind, wrapping his arms around her, slipping one hand beneath the silk camisole and the bare skin he found was just as soft and not just warm, but hot to his touch. He moved his hand up her back, between her should blades, savoring that softness and couldn’t help the moan that escaped his lips.
He only dimly heard the surprised “Oh!” of Sloane’s lackey when she saw them.
Mia didn’t seem to have heard her at all. She wrapped her hand around the back of his neck pulling him closer still, pressing her body against him and his hold on her tightened. He’d been hard since his first taste of her, and his other hand slid over the curve of her behind pulling her firmly against him with a jerk of his arm, seeking some kind of relief.
Mia raised one long leg, wrapping it around his hips, forcing them closer together, but not close enough. He turned them both, slamming her back against the nearest stack of crates, grinding himself against her. She tore her mouth from his, gasping, throwing her head back. He braced himself with one hand against the crate, pushing against her even harder and unable to resist the exposed line of her neck, pressed his mouth there, licking and biting, feeling her pulse pounding beneath his lips.
“Sorry…” He heard the guard mumble, and when he raised his head from Mia’s throat to look, the guard was leaving.
He’d almost forgotten she was there.
He turned back to Mia. She looked as dazed as he felt. He let his hand slide from her bottom, and had to wait a moment to catch his breath before he spoke. “I think we’re in the clear.”
Mia was staring up at him, her eyes round, her cheeks flushed, her lips even redder and fuller than usual. She let her leg drop slowly back down, somewhat reluctantly, he thought, and when she spoke, her voice was shaky. “Maybe another kiss. Just to be sure?”
She sounded so hopeful that he couldn’t help laughing. He pressed his lips to her forehead. “Now you’re just teasing me.” He said with a twinkle in his eye.
She gave a weak laugh. “Who says I’m teasing?”
She wanted him. He could have no doubts about that, not anymore.
With renewed determination he turned back to the crates, pulling himself up scanning the serial numbers and there it was. “Finally! Here it is.” He grabbed the bottle and jumped down landing beside her.
She looked at him in disbelief. “That’s what this was all about? Whiskey?”
“The only bottle of Mount Milgrom in Andromeda – triple-distilled and six hundred and forty-five years old.” He saw her eyes widen in surprise and appreciation. “This isn’t whiskey; it’s treasure.”
She was shaking her head, but she was smiling. “I hope you’re planning on sharing at least.”
I got it for you, he thought. “We’ll see.” He told her, and she laughed again.
He grabbed her hand and they ran, pausing only long enough for her to grab her jacket as they left the room.
He had the drink.
If they hurried, they could make it to the roof of Kralla’s Song in time to see the sunset over Kadara Port and then watch as the neon lights lit up the city.
He was fairly certain he knew how Mia felt about him now.
But maybe another kiss on that rooftop. Just to be sure.
In honor of Reyes Vidal Appreciation Week, I’ve posted a one-shot about his first meeting with Mia Ryder.
634 Years, 5 Months, and 7 Days
Summary: Mia Ryder realizes it's been a really long time since she's had sex and by the time the Tempest lands on Kadara she's ready for that to change.
Dedicated to @blacksheep33512, whose enthusiasm about Reyes Vidal convinced me to romance him on my next playthrough.
It was a ridiculous moment, in the back room of a seedy bar in a seedier port, still in full armor, held in his arms, and dancing.
Dancing. After everything that had happened, after everything she had let happen -- Sloane, the Outcasts, the Collective.
She’d been used, even he had admitted that. That wasn’t the part she minded. That outcome -- the Charlatan in charge of Kadara instead Sloane -- worked to the Initiative’s advantage and advancement. They had their outpost.
It was the other part, the kisses, the moments together, flirting, laughing, those moments that had left her breathless and lightheaded.
Why didn’t you trust me?
I liked the way you looked at me. I didn’t want that to change.
She’d liked the way he looked at her too, but had it been real, or had it been part of the Charlatan’s plan? She hadn’t looked at him since she’d walked into the room, not really. She was too afraid of what she might see there, or more precisely what she might not see.
How pathetic was that?
“Mia.”
His voice sent a shiver through her, and reluctantly she raised her eyes to his face.
He was looking down at her and she’d been right, it was different.
All the masks, all the roles he played -- smuggler, informant, scoundrel, Charlatan -- had vanished. The man looking at her now was simply Reyes Vidal, flawed, imperfect, but honest, or trying to be, and looking back at him she realized that she was being given the same opportunity. With him she wouldn’t need to be the Pathfinder, the Initiative’s representative, or the Milky Way’s, or humanity’s, or even the daughter of Alec Ryder: if she wanted to she could simply be Mia, flawed and imperfect, but honestly so.
For a moment the realization left her speechless, and then she moved closer, slipping her arm around his neck, and relaxing in his arms, not realizing until then just how tense she had been.
“Reyes.” She said, naming him, accepting him for who he was, for all he was, knowing he would do the same in return. She leaned her head against his chest, and her mouth curved into a smile.
