Work Text:
“Spirits, Rix, what the fuck have you gotten us into?”
Avitus felt his jaw tighten, a dull ache forming at the soft point between the plates of his brow. He and Vakarian had been separated from their squad for days now, alone and on the outskirts of hostile territory— Castis seemed convinced that this was somehow his fault. As if Avitus wasn’t doing everything that was asked of him by tracking down the fleshy little prisoners, taking out a few more of the pests that the Hierarchy had sent them to control.
“You didn’t have to follow me,” Avitus said. “I had it under control.”
“Like hell you did.” His companion knocked a broad leaf out of his way as he spoke, nearly tripping over the root system beneath their feet. “You’d be dead if it wasn’t for me.”
“I was fine.”
“Bullshit. Those humans would have pried your plates open and left you as a warning for the rest of us.”
Avitus didn’t have the energy left to argue. The foliage was as alien to them as everything else on this planet, a levo-based environment with few options for food or hunting. He didn't have the rations to support himself for more than a day or two, let alone Castis as well, and hours of searching for their camp left them both drained, aching, and at each others' throats.
Under normal circumstances, Avitus might have enjoyed some alone time with the model Turian, the poster-child. Private Vakarian’s compilation of neurotic hangups around protocol and Hierarchy values was endearing, like watching a varren get worked up over its own reflection. Winding him up and then watching him unravel was a fun little challenge, a bit of stress relief in the rigid, dreary days of mandatory service. Castis would bristle so easily in his anger— just like he's doing now, Avitus realized— and Avitus would laugh and prod just a little harder. The cycle always continued until one of them— Castis, usually, if he had his way— would fall off balance.
Picking at Castis felt like picking at the Hierarchy by proxy. And right now, he really wanted to pick at the Hierarchy.
Castis’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. “If we hold in one position, the squad will”—
“Don't be an idiot,” Avitus interrupted. "The squad's not coming."
He could hear Castis' growl, and feel him winding just a little tighter. “How can you be so sure?”
“Two inexperienced privates in an occupying force would be an acceptable loss.” Avitus stepped cautiously around an odd patch of fungal growth, refusing to look back at his companion. “They won’t waste more lives looking for us.”
He heard Castis fall silent behind him, and the thoughtful click of his mandibles as he processed the truth of their situation. “You really think we’re on our own.”
"We always have been."
"That's ridiculous," Castis scoffed. "If you'd talked to the Sergeant and gotten the go-ahead, the squad would at least have an idea of where to look for us. Plus, you might have been able to get a tracker that wasn't so prone to signal-jamming."
Avitus started his retort, planning to remind him of how long the squad had been sitting with a claw up their asses waiting for orders— and instead found himself knocked forward as Castis crashed into his back. A hand grabbed at the back of his cowl, yanking him upright; he jerked away on instinct, turning and stumbling as he slapped the hand away. Castis stared at him, furious, the injured hand still suspended in the empty space between them.
“Why are you like this?!” he snapped, pulling his hand back to his side— “We’re supposed to be on the same team, but any time I try to act like it you look at me like I’ve insulted your fucking ancestors. I’m so sick of your shit.”
He was wound even tighter now, close to his breaking point. Avitus wasn't enjoying it as much as he usually did.
“I repeat, for the millionth time," he said, his voice tense, "you didn’t have to follow me.”
“I was trying to save your life,” Castis hissed.
Avitus gave a harsh laugh at that, his voice splitting into a flanging warble. “You keep saying that like you actually could have done anything to help. The Sergeant’s got you so domesticated, you barely know how to handle yourself in one of his structured battles, let alone a real fight. You got in one lucky shot. If I had actually been in any trouble, you’d be fucked.”
It was Castis’ turn to fall silent. Avitus knew he’d gone far past the point of fun; Castis' hands clenched into fists at his sides, and the fluster of anger had given in to real hurt. Part of him silently longed for Castis to attack him— to finally break free of all his civilized expectations— even as his rational mind knew they couldn’t afford to waste energy with a fight. Contrary to popular belief and Castis’ insistence, he didn’t actually have a death wish. If they died here, alone in enemy territory, their bodies would never be found.
“We should rest,” Castis finally said, and his hands eased by his sides. “We’ll need to save some strength. The humans could find us first.”
Avitus huffed a noise of agreement, finding a spot of ground that was bare enough of roots for them to sit. He leaned backwards against the thick, rough stem of a plant, sliding down until he was seated on the uneven ground. To his left he heard Castis do the same.
Without the noise of their constant arguing, Avitus finally had a chance to take in their surroundings. Sunlight filtered through the canopy above them, dimmer and colder than Palaven but pretty in an unsettling, unfamiliar way. The foliage was also unusual— some of it shone, but not in the mica-laced way that he was used to. His feet ached and limbs chafed beneath his armor.
With a practiced motion he unlatched his gauntlets, letting them clatter to the ground and before he pulled the gloves from his talons. From the corner of his eye he saw Castis watching the movement— as soon as he knew he was caught, he turned away.
“So,” Avitus started, seeking out some gentler pressure points for conversation. “You really came rushing out into the wilderness to save me.” And, sarcastically: “My hero.”
“Asshole.”
“You’re a decent shot, I’ll give you that.”
Castis sighed, loosening his own armor to reveal the enviro-suit underneath. “You’re still trying to provoke me. It’s not going to work.”
“Why not?” Avitus’ mandibles flared in a grin as his companion shot him a dark look. “It’s boring out here, especially if we're just waiting to die. I’d much rather you kill me and get it over with.”
His companion didn’t answer. Avitus grin faded as the silence ticked on, but Castis still didn’t budge. Instead he worked on his boots in silence, stretching his clawed feet as they released, relaxing through his neck as his fringe hit the stem of plant behind him. His chestplate came off next— Avitus saw it was dotted in red, a gory memento from their last encounter.
“Missed a spot,” Avitus said, pointing at the darkening stains. Castis grunted as he looked down, wiping at the drying blood and leaving a series of streaks behind.
“Disgusting.” He stared red now staining his palm before wiping it clean on the suit.
“It’s just blood,” Avitus said. “I say you leave it on, give a real scare to any humans who come our way.”
“Hierarchy regulation 932-1 indicates that all military armor must be”—
Avitus cut him off with a shove, pushing him sideways with more force than might have been necessary. “Don’t even start with that shit.”
This time Castis grinned, a few sharp teeth glinting in a spot of sunshine as he caught himself before falling. “And you say I'm easy to provoke?”
Avitus moved to push him again but Castis caught his hand, far faster than he expected. His wrist was nearly immobile under Castis’ grip; the sharp pressure of his talons pinched into his skin, and the position left him off-balance in an unsettling way. They both almost seemed surprised; Avitus barely had a moment to register the look of shock on Castis’ face before he was thrown face-first in the dirt. He grunted on impact, and felt the pressure of a knee on his back— it was on reflex, then, that he tilted his head back and shot upwards.
Castis yelped in shock and pain as the flat ridges of his fringe connected with his jaw. The hand around his wrist loosened just enough for him to turn, and with one easy, fluid movement, he took Castis by the shoulder and threw him to the side. By his design the motion caught them both, his hand at Castis’ shoulder, rolling his body into the momentum they carried— his knee landed on Castis’ chest, a hand still braced hard into his shoulder while the other snapped upwards to pin one of his wrists.
“Nice try,” Avitus managed to say as he caught his breath— he’d meant to sound brash and confident, but the throw to the ground had knocked the wind from him and the words came out hoarse. With his free arm Castis lashed out; Avitus quickly caught it and pinned with his other wrist.
“Hey, now”— he pressed the sharp plate of his knee into Castis' soft stomach, earning a sharp gasp— “take it easy, or I’ll really have to hurt you.”
At his threat Castis stopped struggling, though his limbs remained tight under Avitus' grip. A thin, shining layer of blue now coated his teeth, following a jagged line down his jaw— his body heaved with each breath as he stared defiantly upwards at his captor.
“Make me,” he said.
For a brief, terrible moment, Avitus felt the heat rising just under his skin. He pictured himself descending onto Castis, sharp teeth poised and ready at the rough skin of his neck. He saw his long tongue snaking down to clean away the offending stains from his jaw, tearing his suit back to reveal the strong, slender waist beneath.
Castis was still struggling with each deep, stilted breath, the plate at his nose pulled up in a sneer. He’d followed him across enemy lines in the hope of saving his life, and now they would likely die out here, together.
Avitus pulled away sharply, putting distance between himself and his sprawled out, panting companion. He watched as Castis stayed on his back, face still stunned, talons curling and uncurling to regain all the feeling that had gone. A beat passed, and another, before he finally lifted himself off the ground.
“Avitus?” he asked, though Avitus couldn’t know for certain what the question was.
“We need to get some rest,” he finally responded with as much detachment as he could muster.
Castis made a noise, maybe of agreement, maybe disdain. Avitus tried not to read too far into it. Instead he focused again on his pack, and the overflowing supply of ammo and grenades dwarfing his minuscule supply of rations. If they were out here much longer—
“Here.”
A can rolled towards his feet: a dextro meal that he recognized instantly from the emergency stash. He picked it up and turned towards Castis, who opened his pack to reveal a significant collection of supplies.
“I grabbed a few things before leaving,” he said, pulling out a few more and rolling them in Avitus’ direction. Beneath them, he saw a collection of medi-gel and a single waxed bedroll. “Couldn’t trust you to do it. You’re a hell of a fighter, but you don’t always think ahead.”
Something caught within him, a rising warmth snared and trapped on all his sharp edges. He smothered it as quickly as he could.
“You shouldn’t have left at all,” he snapped, even as he pried one can open with a talon. He nearly sighed his relief as his empty stomach filled again, and the sharp, pounding headache began to ease.
Castis shook his head as he watched, his mandibles pulled tight to cover his bloodstained jaw. “You’ll never change, will you?”
Castis’ hand was braced on the ground between them, well within reach. For a moment Avitus pictured it again— the next steps that would follow if he could just close that distance. It would normal, expected even. They could blow off some tension, and it didn’t have to be anything more than that.
But if he wants it to be more? Avitus thought. And if you can’t help yourself?
“Just eat,” Avitus said.
Castis shifted at his side, sighing, and Avitus heard the sound of the hand being withdrawn. He turned his focus back to his food, and his choices, and the filtered sunlight as it hit the ground at both their feet.