Work Text:
Weather; Shepard + one another
The waters of Lake Macquarie chopped with whitecaps as the wind picked up. From the cabin’s kitchen, Shepard glanced at the horizon. Gray clouds, ominous harbingers of the biggest storm of the summer, moved in. Even in summer, the air felt cool, like autumn. Shepard didn’t hear thunder yet. It wouldn’t be far away.
Shepard collected the lavender tea that he’d had brewing in the sun, while Miranda gathered her favorite sweater—a summer Aran knit—and his favorite sweatshirt—the hooded N7 one. Relaxing jazz from an asari chanteuse played in the living room. Shepard swallowed. The thought of the word “thunder” brought the sound of explosions into his mind. He caught himself gripping the edge of the stove. He breathed a relaxing breath. “I’m here. I’m safe. It’s over,” he whispered. It had only been a year since the end of the war, and both of them still had trouble with thunderstorms.
A cool, fresh breeze blew into Shepard’s face from the window. “It’s almost here,” Shepard said as he shut the window.
“Weather map agrees with you,” Miranda said. She rubbed her arms. Miranda shut another window down to a crack. Fresh air would be nice, but having too many windows open turned a house into a stereo speaker. Their dog, a yellow labrador named Petey, trotted behind her. The dog whined. Storms didn’t bother Petey, but the dog knew that it bothered them.
Shepard brought a tray with the tea, glasses, and snacks into the living room. As he put down the tray on the coffee table, Miranda put down pictures of them with their friends and family that they’d taken since the end of the war. The pictures helped. Shepard put on the N7 shirt while Miranda put on her sweater—their cuddle wear. They both fell into the couch. The first rumble of thunder reached them.
“Oh, shit,” Shepard said.
“Here it comes,” Miranda added.
Shepard felt gooseflesh on his arms. His stomach went into knots. Miranda huddled close to him as he wrapped his arms around her. Petey climbed onto the couch and laid down over their legs. He wasn’t a service dog, but he knew when both of them needed some extra love. Miranda rubbed the dog’s ears.
“I used to like thunderstorms as a child. All that magical lightning,” Miranda said.
“Me too. The great, big booms. Like a rock concert.”
Miranda chuckled. “We will again. Soon enough.” The thunder rolled again. She sighed. Shepard kissed her hair. They each took a glass of tea, clinked, and drank as lightning flashed outside.