Chapter Text
Commander Michael Shepard waits for Vega to settle into his watch before he leaves; not that he doesn’t trust the lieutenant or his abilities as a soldier, far from it, but experience is one hell of a teacher, and the reapers are graduate level studies. After another fifteen minutes or so, satisfied there is no immediate threat, he heads inside.
The building is a wreck, not suitable for a long-term stay, but it’ll work for a night or two. That, at least, gives them a chance to recharge. Food is still scarce, but they’ll make do. MREs may taste awful, but they fill a belly better than nothing. Clean water is more of a challenge, but that’ll fix itself once they’re back in the countryside. Or that's the hope, anyway.
He passes quietly through the halls. Despite the ruin and destruction, there is comfort of a sort to be found here. At the very least, the building drowns out the distant reverberations of reaper klaxons. In recent days, he’s woken far too many times from dead, dreamless sleep, heart pounding in his chest due to those sounds. Silence, or as close as they can come to it in the city, is a far better companion.
The last door opens and he ducks inside to find Kaidan seated at a desk surrounded by various technical components and pieces. Without power, the only light comes from his omni-tool bathing everything in an orangish-yellow glow.
He grabs a nearby chair, spins it around and straddles it so he can sit with his arms lying across the top edge. “Any luck?”
Kaidan sighs. It's clear his focus has been fully on the components before him even as he raises one hand to rub wearily at the back of his neck just below his right ear. Michael’s gaze is drawn to the movement, like a moth to flame, and he can't stop the wave of concern that fills him. The war started weeks ago – months maybe? Keeping track of time is a challenge when on the run – and a day hasn’t gone by where they haven’t had to fight their way out of trouble or through wave after wave of reaper troops. Overclocking their amps has become a habit in most encounters, even though it takes a toll on them.
“I’ll be alright,” Kaidan replies absently. His hand lowers and he pushes the device across the table in Michale's direction. “As for this … well, let’s hope it’ll be enough. Tell me what you think.”
Their stock of grenades is running low, and without a source to replenish them, they have to make each and everyone they have count. Improvisation is the new normal these days. Adaptation. Modification. Adjustment…
He's surprised as a sudden wave of memories overtakes him. Unknown fates of friends and their home worlds. Shaking his head in an attempt to clear them, Michael distracts himself by focusing on Kaidan. He's noticed the lines of exhaustion that crease Kaidan’s face, particularly around his eyes, but he's not said anything about it so far. Tonight, they're deeper, more severe; Michael can guess why. Carefully, he pushes the device to the side and reaches a hand out to gently stroke his thumb along the corner of Kaidan’s left eye. “Migraine?”
“No,” Kaidan replies immediately and with a shake of his head, “not that, thankfully.” He reaches up and wraps his hand around Michael’s wrist, tugging it gently.
Michael relents and starts to pull back, but he’s surprised when Kaidan adjusts it so their hands wrap around the other’s. Their eyes meet in the soft orange glow, and in Kaidan’s Michael finds something more than just exhaustion. One brow lifts in curiosity and question, only to be answered by a soft huff as the major breaks the contact and drops his gaze. Not wanting to chase the moment away, Michael slowly flexes his fingers, inviting Kaidan to thread his between. It’s been a very long three years with many ups and downs and harsh words since Alchera, but the fact that Kaidan was the first face he saw after the reapers' initial attack surely had to mean something more than just one soldier helping out another, right? After all they’ve been through?
The seconds that tick by feel like ages, but Kaidan eventually weaves his fingers with Michael’s. When he lifts his head, Michael looks closely, and for the first time notices the slightest darkening in Kaidan’s face even in the dim light. It's enough to make his lips curl up on one side and tilts his head just a bit to the right. It also inspires a new reaction, as he tugs Kaidan’s hand close enough he can brush his lips against Kaidan’s knuckles and fingertips. “Does this mean what I think it means?”
Kaidan sighs again, but his nod of agreement is unmistakable.
“What changed your mind?”
Kaidan’s lips twist into a wry smile as he shrugs. “What hasn’t? You were right. Again. As usual.”
A bark of laughter escapes Michael’s lips. “If I’d known it was that easy to convince you…” He lowers his lips again, presses another kiss to the fingers followed by a few playful nips. A shudder ripples across Kaidan's fingers in response, shocking the hell out of Michael, but he isn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth or let the opportunity pass. It takes every ounce of willpower he has not to jump to his feet, instead rising calmly and tugging Kaidan along in the direction of their bedrolls.
“Shepard …”
There's protest in Kaidan's tone and Michael halts halfway across the room. He takes a couple of deep, steadying breaths in the process, before loosening but not fully releasing his hold. “Your choice, as it's always been."
The minute that passes feels like an eternity, but in the end, Kaidan’s fingers tighten to make up the difference. “Don’t make me say it again.”
“Say what?” The glare Kaidan gives him sends an unexpected thrill through Michael. Winking, he kisses their joined hands once more. “Almost had you there, major.”
“Not even close, commander …”