Work Text:
Mox gazed down at the restful Reaper dozing against his chest and hoped she was as content as she appeared.
Perhaps one of them should have been more hesitant than they had been in entering a relationship. Not that it had been immediate, upon Mox’s rescue— but he had overheard the betting done by the gossip-hungry rookies of XCOM’s barracks, and the minimum any of them had put their money on had been two months. Their first kiss had occurred by the two week mark. They’d started sleeping together by the end of the month, though that depended on if mutual experimentation counted as such. Penetrative intercourse started as a regular bonding exercise about a week prior to now.
Not that Mox regretted it, he certainly did not. It was an honor that she trusted him so quickly; that his own blind leap of faith had landed him on solid ground. But he did worry sometimes, and perhaps if they had taken more time to discuss beforehand, he would not.
After all, her original initial distrust of him was far from unfounded.
He was grateful to have been rescued as quickly as he had been, else he might have been the Resistance’s greatest enemy. Vox Prima had promised as much.
Though he hadn’t made any noise to disturb her, Elena popped an eye open. “Is something wrong?” she asked.
“Er, no …” Mox’s thumb stroked her shoulder, careful in brushing past an old scar she had there. “Nothing of particular concern.”
Her eyebrow raised, and he remembered it was foolish to try to lie to her. “I am simply thinking, I suppose. That is, if I have truly earned the right to your trust.”
“You have earned my trust,” she reminded him. “If your atonement was insincere, I would be meat between the teeth of the Lost.”
“Well, yes. I have been doing all I can to atone. I mean… whether or not I deserve it, regardless.” Mox scanned down the length of her body, the storied marks on her skin. “ADVENT’s most brutal Captain, as you put it.”
“Hmm.”
Elena adjusted herself, propping up her head on her elbow, but tracing Mox’s own history with her finger. Though Elena wore two decades’ worth of missteps and ambushes, her stealth was unmatched; she was not as often wounded as Mox would have expected. He, on the other hand, had a great deal of recent scars, on account of his recent stint in prison. Elena had pored over them before.
“I’ve been thinking of it, myself,” she admitted. “All that you’ve done before. If it’s reasonable to agree that you’re not that being, anymore.”
“… Do you?” Mox asked cautiously.
“I did come up with a solution to decide that.” Elena gestured towards the door. “Get dressed.”
She led him into the grotesque trophy room that XCOM kept at the entrance of the armory. Though used to the sight of it by now, Mox silently questioned what Elena had in mind until she walked up to the severed head of an ADVENT Captain and took the helmet off his head.
“It’s the simplest way of addressing the matter,” she said, her expression betraying nothing. “You put this on, and we see how either of us feel about it.”
“I see your logic…” Mox hesitantly approached, accepting the helmet out of her hands. In spite of how it was obtained, its surface was clean of blood— wiped off when it was put on display, most likely. Undamaged, as the Captain it rightfully belonged to had taken his fatal bullet to the throat. Its weight was disquietingly familiar in his hands— a weight that had once balanced on Mox’s own head, bringing back dreadful memories now.
Indeed, to challenge Mox’s insecurity in this manner was the most direct one. The helmet had nothing to do with why Mox had done what he’d done; it was just an unfortunate symbol thereof. The chip that remained embedded in Mox’s brain was as inert as it had been since its malfunction, and putting the helmet on would not make it start working again.
But Mox had to remind himself of that, first. He met Elena’s gaze, took one more breath to ease his nerves and put it on.
…
“I am quite glad I no longer fight in such a thing as this,” he commented. “Its topheaviness is incredibly impractical.”
An inane observation, yes. Not quite an attempt at humor. But it was the first thing to come to mind, and kept him at least somewhat calm.
Elena’s face, still unchanged, studied him carefully. Hyper-aware of her, he took note of every small shift of her eyes, the slightest twitch of her features. Acclimated as he was to her stoicism, he hadn’t yet learned to read her. He did his level best to quietly, subtly, swallow his heart back down his throat.
She reached up, cradling his face between her hands, and brought him into a kiss.
Overwhelmingly relieved, he looped his arms around her and welcomed her body against his. Certainly, it was nothing as involved as what they had been doing with one another an hour ago, but meant far more.
Still, after she drew back, he reminded her: “Taking off this helmet does not change what I am.”
“And putting it back on does not change who you are.” Her tone, unyielding and assured as it always was, quashed the final remains of his fear. “You’ve proven well by now that you are not who the Elders intended for you to be.”
Mox smiled, and kissed her again. Briefly.
Once her mouth was free, Elena’s lip quirked into a small smile of her own. “You have the face of a hopeful puppy. You can take the damn thing off, now.”
“Gladly.” He flipped the helmet off of his head and only left Elena’s arms to return it to its proper owner.
“Sooo, what’re we thinking?” One of the squaddies suggested. “Some kinda roleplay kink they’re trying out, or…”
The squadmate sitting on the next barstool over groaned out loud. “All I know is I owe Dr. Feelgood fifty bucks.”
“Yeah, same. I was so sure it was gonna take at least until the end of August—"
The threatening cock of a vector rifle forced the two soldiers to change the subject.