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James notices the difference the moment Alenko removes his helmet, fingers carefully lifting the piece so it doesn’t bang his head by accident. There is a fresh, but mostly dried trail of maroon coming out from the Major’s nose, meandering around the edges of his mouth, a small, dark clot gathered on the upper side, already crusting up. It sticks out vividly on his face, his usual healthy, olive tone fading out to a more sickly paleness that highlights his ill, looking like he’s going to hurl any second. Alenko quickly swipes over it with the back of his hand, but James is sure Shepard sees it anyway, the Commander eyeing everything like a silent hawk where she stands before him. Even if she hadn’t, it remains; the dried copper smeared across clammy and sweaty skin, fainting out to disappear into the ever growing stubble encroaching along the Major’s cheeks, making him appear more debilitated than ever. Alenko’s lips are also unnaturally rosy, like someone had painted over them precisely with a brush dipped in a bowl of blood, lips bright and stark that James worries there’s blood coming from his throat as well. Stained so red from his exertions, that no amount of a wet, darting tongue is able to lick it clean away even if Alenko tries a couple of times hastily in a poor bid to flush it out.
The Major doesn’t seem to realise his cheeks are smudged with his own blood, probably thinking he wiped it off fully, because he merely places his helmet neatly on the empty seat beside him, running fingers through his hair and subtly applying pressure at the side of his head for the briefest of moments, waiting for the medication he has administered to himself through his suit to kick in. It doesn’t fool anyone, but James tries not to stare, fiddling with his Mattock and gazing down onto his own helmet placed inbetween his feet as Shepard’s soft whispers to Steve up front float within the shuttle. The comfortable but jaded silence in the Kodiak is broken as the machines pick up to whir harder, sounds of the engine speeding up, filling the back of the cabin while Shepard makes her way to them again, one arm braced firmly against the ceiling, gripping on to the bar, dark eyes fixed on the Major. The powerful coils suddenly working overtime in the Kodiak causes Alenko to glance up at their Commander, and James takes in the slightly cloudy eyes of his superior, slightly cloudy eyes which still manage to communicate a wordless note of thanks, loud enough for all to hear despite the whisky orbs struggling to maintain their focus on Shepard for more than a few seconds. The Major’s gaze causes crinkles forming on his skin as he squints through a fog that isn’t there, lashes fluttering like it’s so hard to keep his look on Shepard, unable to see her as if she’s still surrounded in a harsh, blue mist.
James hunkers down beside Alenko, who has his omni-tool open, tracking reaper forces systematically on the grid map he created in an instant by tapping into the tech systems. The Major’s fingers fly over the orange interface, jabbing and adding notes or alerts to his hardsuit that only makes sense within his own mind, alert eyes rapidly moving to take in coordinates and information. His awareness of the battlefield may be second to some (which James strictly doubts, anyway), but his awareness of Shepard is second to none. Alenko seems to keep a constant tab on Shepard, having an eye on their Commander sneaking around the flank despite all the mechanics already piling up in his head and taking up space, because there’s always extra room inside him to focus on her over the countless red dots organised methodically, able to spare every ounce of attention for Shepard through reaper forces jostling and blinking for his deliberate consideration over everything else he’s dealing with. The Major’s eyes sharp and fully immersed in her very existence, that he doesn’t even need to see Shepard to know where she is, her presence a constant on the back of his mind.
The calorie bar Alenko fishes out from one of his waist pouches is unceremoniously chucked back in after he brings it up, as if it belatedly occurs to him that he can’t get anything down his throat at the moment, putting away his hunger for the nourishment he definitely needs after the events. The stale smell causes him to shut his eyes and rest his head back, releasing one long, controlled exhale, and James sees the repeated gulps the Major makes; his throat working on absolutely nothing but hoarse dryness to contain the bout of nausea to prevent him from vomitting all over the shuttle’s deck. There’s a leeching air of weariness about him, the waxy skin tone and an intense, furrowed brow only making the lines on his forehead and around his lashes deeper than ever, as he works hard to concentrate on the blooming pain no doubt rolling within his skull, counting within himself to time his breathing properly. Shepard’s fingers twitch, probably wanting to get to him, but there’s nothing anyone can do save for knocking him unconscious but wait it out, helpless against a person who badly requires it from someone. James locks eye contact with her, a Commander whose heart has been pierced by a small lump of faulty metal, but otherwise, forces himself to quench down on his restlessness of the sluggish atmosphere eating away in him.
Steve pilots the Kodiak to a stop in the Normandy with his usual levels of smoothness, if not more so, knowing the Major’s condition, and the shuttle’s engines die down, finally giving in to the pregnant, oppressive silence squeezing everyone’s heads. A look of resignation washes over Alenko’s face, who doesn’t seem to notice or care that no one else has moved, because he’s too intent on missing removing his safety buckles the first two times, the harness slipping through his shaking fingers as his jitters and extra peering eventually sets him free only on the third try. He clenches his fists, and slowly stands up, eyes mere narrow slits, world shrinking to a dark, agitated tunnel, looking to get himself to a safe place as soon as possible as he blocks out everything else unimportant to the pain he’s experiencing. James can almost smell the desperation on him, his jaw holding tight on an ashen expression, shoulders with a defeated slump and head barely kept above constantly rising waters threatening to engulf him in endless misery. There’s a new stillness to Alenko’s movements as he steps out, like he’s hyper aware of every miniscule effort he makes, and it just about covers up his uneven thudding, body ever so slightly tipping forward like he’s going to topple over, hunching into himself while his breaths have lost their careful timings, taking them in at ragged chunks, no longer counting in his head; he has lost this battle.
Alenko stands tall and proud, feet braced wide and adopting a sturdy presence beside James. A second later, the Major’s brown eyes glow, the cobalt swirling inside his irises, currents messy and chaotic as his trademark biotic blue barrier expands over his armour, sweeping tautly around him like a second, seamless layer. James watches through his visor, mesmerised at the rapid change in colours, shades overlapping and overshadowing one another in abstract motion, before he snaps out of it as Alenko nods, signalling his readiness with a thumbs up. The plan is for James and Alenko to create the distraction, putting up a glorious display of fireworks and barrage, while Shepard deals with a smaller group, opening up the evacuation for the small, salarian science colony whose distress communique the Normandy picked up. Another second passes, before they both take off running at breakneck speed, straight to engage the crawling reaper forces in the heart of the battle they know they can win.
James looks at Shepard, who’s probably going through calculations in her head, and then she’s out of the shuttle, her silent boots striding over to Alenko to easily catch up and looping an arm around his waist, palm held firmly against the Major’s unarmoured lower torso. Alenko’s eyes slide completely shut, seemingly grateful for someone to support him while he gives in as one, pained sigh escapes him, his knees quaking and losing all strength, sagging against Shepard. He is carefully turned back around, the Commander taking almost his full weight in no hurry because the dam has already shattered, and led to the darkened gloom behind the shuttle, lowered bit by bit onto a seating position on one of the crates.
Shepard delicately removes her ridged gloves and smoothly sinks to her knees inbetween Alenko’s spread legs, working on unbuckling the small belt he always keeps tied around his waist, the rubber straps loosened, sleekly taken out of their metal bindings, pulled free to be placed on the deck before she swiftly rises to her feet again. The Major doesn’t move or make a sound, merely sits there like a corpse, clenching his eyes shut and body slouched over, his arms lying helplessly on his thighs as the Commander works. Shepard’s fingers dig gently into the grooves around his shoulder gear, and James hears the little clicks and compressed noises filtering into the air, hissing as it’s separated from the undersuit, ready to be taken off. The Lieutenant sees Shepard ever so meticulously lifting the neck and shoulder piece away from Alenko’s head, minding against knocking him, and it’s a literal weight off the Major’s shoulders who lets out a soft hum of appreciation, the first real response he gives from when Shepard moved by his side.
James thinks it’s lucky the cargo bay is empty; Steve had left immediately after casting a worried glance at Alenko, leaving only the Lieutenant at his usual workbench to catalogue his armour and weapons, although he’s not doing it with ease like he usually does. There’s some kind of poison seeping throughout the room, Alenko’s distress ringing loud and clear, plaguing the insides of James as he watches from his corner, distracted by the two of them huddling in the dark. It compels him to speculate how it must feel like, the throbbing, slow grind of sharp knives puncturing into his skull, gyrating mercilessly and having no way to defend yourself from such an onslaught, brain being severed open internally layer by layer, unable to get it to stop. It makes James’ own fingers itch and want to scrub at his head, the unrest spreading to him like a disease and turning his stomach, like ants crawling all over his body he can’t swat away, making the Lieutenant shudder by his workbench instead.
To James’ surprise, their plan goes off pretty well, since between his setting the occasional husk on fire and Alenko’s brazen, biotic lightshow, they draw majority of the reaper forces’ attention, making them come charging towards them in waves, but James and Alenko boxed down soon enough, working together as a team without a hitch and firing their rifles. The Major tosses out practiced moves and his blue armour shimmers and floats in the Lieutenant’s eyes, tiny circles swimming on the sea of his body like magic, and it distracts James but not as much as it distracts their enemies from Shepard. The pair of them make their way through the little buildings towards her once most of the salarians are evacuated, and as they get closer, that’s when James hears before he sees their Commander. The loud blasts of her shotgun cracks repeatedly, powerful bursts piercing through any poor bastard who stood in her way, bursts so loud it trumpets through the still air. Now that the colony is safe, Shepard gives in to her battle speak, full yells and harsh tones as she wrecks havoc on the field, and the Lieutenant can hear the high pitched screeching of husks as they encounter the unavoidable thunderous claps of an approaching shockwave, throwing them off course. James sees the flickers of her biotics zapping in and out, flickers of bone crushing charges accompanied by fearsome roars, azure coronas springing up and disappearing rapidly as Shepard’s aggressiveness pummels through opposition like it’s nothing. James and Alenko round the final bend, spotting the Commander from across the flat, open field, and the first thing they see are the intimidating, glowing sphericals of the white lights of her recon hood, before she leaps and twists her body into the air in an expert motion, fluid grace so majestic with the mnemonic.
The nova explodes around her, covering up her blood thirsty scream, and the husks rushing up to her practically disintegrate, her barrier washing over them in a fiery surge of royal waves, tearing through reinforced skin and wire alike, extinguishing their unnatural cries. And then, she’s no longer there; bending her knees and charging towards the last marauder firing at her faster than James’ eyes can track, leaving behind only whispering tendrils of blue, a spinning vortex of dark energy the only indication of her ghostly presence. James hears her attack connect, a sick, smashing sound of metal on metal, the numbing shriek of her final enemy cut short by a blinding, biotic fist to the face and a spray of gore where it reaps through. The marauder goes sailing, its head almost completely detached and mangled, with Shepard standing where it stood a mere second ago, shotgun held smoking in her hands, armour shining with dark blood and matter spattered all over, white light giving off an almost, surreal, eerie glow of a bugfuck crazy and ghastly goddess amidst a plain of broken and decapitated bodies. James feels a shiver tingle over him as he stares at the scene, gaping behind his helmet at the lone warrior dripping off pulverised bone and flesh, fixed to the turbulence she herself has just orchestrated, a perfect artist of finely tuned and controlled rampage she unleashes on anyone daring to stand in her way.
Shepard bends down to the side, prodding Alenko’s arm a little so she can get to the seals holding the biggest piece around his rib cage, and the Major wordlessly complies, fully pliant under her gentle, aiding hands, the seals snapping open soon enough with Shepard unloading off the heaviest weight from the his body, heedless of the slick sliding onto her wrists, getting under her fingernails and staining precious skin. She carefully piles it up with the other pieces, lowering it mutely so as to not disturb her partner, so much softness that the Lieutenant almost doesn’t believe it, having just come off from her streaking through her enemies with guts and gore draped over herself like some sort of sick trophy on display for the reapers as a warning. James can see Alenko curl in on himself involuntarily, wanting to sink down below to ride out the agony, but Shepard holds him up, murmuring something the Lieutenant cannot hear, while she runs fingers on parts of the Major’s body she’s privately familiar with the way no other are, skimming on the insides of his biceps and wrists, groin and shins, easing apart tight straps holding pieces of scratched and dented blue, matte armour. She is extremely tender, working about him with flourish, oozing a cultivated calmness in a bid to settle him, not wanting to apply more pressure on Alenko to cause him more pain, and it’s a picture so strange because the calmness is such a stark contrast to the Shepard raging on the battlefield, the Shepard that’s ready to rip off someone’s head with her bare hands.
‘’Kaidan?’’ Her voice is deep and soft, carrying none of the aggressive howl of combat, just a mellow quietness soaking about them, and James doesn’t know what she’s asking, but Alenko jerks a nod despite his clinched blindness, intimately understanding their ritual, doesn’t even need to see the Commander’s face to get what she wants from him. Shepard produces a clean cloth, and finally places her fingers on the Major’s face, coolness touching pasty, stiff skin, and James realises she was asking permission, unsure if touching him when he’s hypersensitive would only increase his ordeal, but he sees how Alenko’s lips quiver, leaning into her, thankful she’s there with him so he doesn’t struggle on his own for this. The first thing Shepard does is to tentatively tilt Alenko’s head up, brings the damp cloth to his face to wipe away the leftover blood which had leaked out of his nose, that James thinks the Commander has been wanting to do that for quite some time, as if the blood on him somehow personally offended and bothered her, a visual reminder of his affliction smearing over his features that the Major tries his best to hide from them. The cloth is gracefully dabbed across Alenko’s strained face; blood, sweat, and grime all very cautiously cleaned away, patting over his forehead, his cheeks, his mouth, downwards around his exposed neck. It’s a gentleness from Shepard James has never seen before, a gentleness from Shepard mostly reserved only for this one man as a hand coils on the side of the Major’s pulse, her thumb under his jaw, the other smoothly running over with the article, taking away dirt and smudges.
There’s another sad snivel from Alenko, his fists held so tight they shake slightly on his thighs, but Shepard’s knuckles caress his face soothingly as he rides out what is probably another wave of internal anguish drowning him, the Commander grazing his temples while the wave hits him. The black undersuit the Major is in grips his toned, muscled body, clings to every dip and curve of him, and James easily catches the way he tremors on his crate, pulling in unsteady gulps like a dying man wanting to shrink away to escape the nightmare, only Shepard’s mutterings anchoring him back to solid land.
Alenko takes off sprinting to close the gap towards Shepard, who’s being hunted down by two, very determined banshees, and two more brutes lumbering their way towards her, locking onto their target who’s struggling to get her feet right. James doesn’t know why he didn’t expect reinforcements, but the second wave of the reaper forces swarms over them in droves, though Alenko’s sole focus is only on his Commander, his lean form ducking and weaving through husks trying to drag him down, spraying super-cooled particles from his omni-tool and firing his Vindicator without stopping, flying down the open field and desperate to catch the attention of the two brutes before they can get to Shepard. The Major’s barrier flares and stutters as he ignores the lesser creatures in his single mindedness, shrugging off the beatings he takes because his body is spinning so fast he’s colliding into enemies more than he’s avoiding them, though his confident feet never once stumble to reach his goal. James tries to follow, but he’s pinned by the leftovers in the wake of Alenko’s rush, his hardsuit registering hits and scratches as the Lieutenant yells and dives to the ground, away from the reaper forces to at least draw them away from rushing after one man. He sees Alenko finally near enough to throw out a double reave, turning both brutes towards him while Shepard lunges for cover too far away, biotic blasts from the banshees crashing over her bloodied frame and sending her reeling face first onto the sticky ground, armour unable to deal with the strength of a dual attack at the same time. There’s a lot of incoherent gibberish on their communications, a mixture of the three of them screaming for each other, names pouring from their lips, and a mixture of static infrequencies from the reaper forces invading their channels, as brain grating screeches from banshees scrape their insides over the distance, while the roaring of the brutes rumbles the wet earth. The sounds of a booming shotgun and biotic charges fill the air, flashes of element zero crackling around, electric energy illuminating the night in shocks while James’ Mattock contributes unflinchingly, chugging grenades and creating his own explosions over the shrill, inhuman cries of husks on fire, his mind going crazy from too much activity.
They’re each concentrating on their own groups, and the Lieutenant makes sure to keep an eye on their stat monitors as his suit works overtime, currents spinning over him as he takes out clusters of random husks, marauders, and cannibals, all vying for his attention, which James is only too happy to provide as he blows them up with delight. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Shepard spent, staggering from the effort of sending the two banshees viciously lacerated open from a combination of her biotics and her twitching shotgun, her energy completely depleted, trying to stay upright. James also sees Alenko’s single dead brute crushed beyond recognition at his feet, wires yanked out and splintered, bones snapped at extreme angles, lying in a ditch where the body is cut apart, blackish blood rapidly pooling the area. The other brute is still bearing down on Alenko, stupid creature confused and rattled as the Major’s omni-tool sends neural shocks, waving one orange wrist as he programmes signals to overload nervous systems, causing it to muddle about while his bullets pepper it from different directions to hit at flesh directly. Alenko throws out reave after reave, hopping from spot to spot around the looming, wobbling enemy, and James can hear the power fracturing through the brute’s armour, twisting and warping molecules ruthlessly as the sentinel stubbornly refuses to let go, reaching deeper and deeper into his reserves to bring it down, already slowing.
James’ own shields are dangerously low, his small trench not allowing for much respite from his end, but he hears the brute gearing up for a charge, its growls angry and desperate, and he turns just in time to see the injured monster smash straight into Alenko, who’s too fatigued to get out of the way quickly, and whose defences snap like glass to disappear as he takes one plated claw directly to his helmeted face. There is a hurt yelp, sharp and clear that it rings through their shared communications, but the Major somehow wavers and stays on his feet, the headstrong bastard desisting to tumble over. Alenko is just about to force his aching, weakened body to cast another reave, before he stops, where something in his hardsuit, or instinct, causes him to execute one perfect, backwards, combat roll, the dark energy he’s gathering dispersed so suddenly and reeled back into his head his amp must be overheating. The searing hot, combined biotic detonation a moment later tells James why, combustion so bright and resonant it blinds the Lieutenant and deafens him temporarily, his suit going into overdrive and picking up the resulting flood of power as he scampers around to brace for the influx. The rippling clears to reveal Shepard in the middle of a small crater, one knee squelched into the mud, heaving and supporting herself on her shotgun, panting hard as the brute lies in multiple pieces around her, body parts wrenched from bone as soiled flesh boils in the tiny hole created. She doesn’t move to pick off the remaining stragglers, crouched still to recuperate the little energy she had gained only to be spent again on an impulsive, rash action at the sound of her partner’s lament, charging through the long distance so terrifyingly fast she goes through the brute which hurt Alenko, mad enough she would cleave everything and anything that would do such a thing. James disperses the rest of his group and sees the Major providing cover for Shepard once more, taking the hits to his already damaged body, constantly rising to the occasion, serving the trust and faith placed onto him by an exhausted Commander.
Alenko is a far cry from playing his role as the personal and deranged protective guard on the field, but James finds his respect for him only increasing, for even he knows that Commander Shepard isn’t invincible, and couldn’t have taken on a pair of banshees and brutes at the same time while already limping, although his motivations to be reckless differ from his own. Shepard is there now, stepping out of her own armour at last in record time after seeing to the comfort of the Major first, placing the different, favoured Rosenkov and Serrice pieces on the deck neatly beside Alenko’s, arranged accordingly. In her undersuit, she appears so much smaller, a lithe form possessing none of the unbreakable and destructive appearance she’s known for, that James wouldn’t think she slashes and splits her way through battlefields, her gangly frame so sleek it doesn’t look anything like the half insane Commander he fights with. Moving back to the Major, who remains seated where he is, clammed up and deathlike, the Commander cards her fingers through the thick strands of his hair, which James supposes is a balm to help relieve some of his aggravation, trying to smooth out the frown lines on her partner’s face. In a move the Lieutenant doesn’t expect, Alenko opens his eyes to look up at Shepard, squinting against the already dim lighting of the cargo bay, a glassy eyed gaze, no doubt fighting through the stricken haze of blackness, only because he wants to look upon the face of the person he loves wholeheartedly. And Alenko smiles. Honest to God stretches lips through the mauling in his head to smile, just for the person standing in front of him and no one else. Or, tries to smile, anyway, because it comes off as more a grimace with his clenching teeth than anything else, a smile so skewered but still carrying the light in his heart somehow. One tear from his overwhelming pain escapes Alenko’s shiny eyes, and James feels like he should look away now, but he’s unable to, enraptured in them so tangled up in each other, feeling himself getting pulled into their gravity when they’re gazing at each other like this even though he’s in the vicinity. Shepard’s thumb brushes away the single tear, strokes his cheekbones, then bends down to lovingly nudge his nose with her own, placing a lingering kiss on the Major’s forehead, soft lips pressing onto the salty flesh. She wraps her hands around him, cradling his head like it’s her most prized possession, which it probably is, James thinks, and Shepard brings Alenko’s head to her chest, holding him as her chin rests on top of his messy hair. The Major mumbles something inaudible to James’ ears, but melts into the Commander, finally moving his hands to encircle around Shepard’s waist as she stands inbetween his thighs, clutching her to him like a lifeline he’s clinging onto, uncaring of breathing in sweaty musk and blood that stains Shepard’s undersuit. They stay like that for awhile, Alenko appearing frail and aged, white in his hair more obvious than ever, shedding silent tears into the Commander’s chest, his fingers digging roughly into Shepard’s waist, and Shepard slides hers in exercised movements in his hair, one hand on the nape of the Major’s neck as she waits patiently for the current wave of pain to pass through his shaking frame. Her face is grim, mouth pulled at the edges, a picture of concern but ultimately doing not as much as she would like to nurse him through the drilling in his skull that fragments pieces of him each day.
James glances back to his inventories on his workbench, wondering what it must be like to love someone so deeply you’re able to be stripped threadbare in front of them and weep openly, be weak and vulnerable while they still look at you like you’re the sun of their life, hanging on to your every whim. So comfortable and secure in your love that you’re able to share yourself at your lowest point, and James feels mildly embarrassed he is even witnessed to their affection, affection that’s supposed to be private but times of war needling them out into the open, whether they liked it or not. His heart aches for Alenko, whom he always thought was a tough son of a bitch, still does, after everything he has seen of the Major, who’s able to take a brute hammering to his face and Cerberus turrets without falling, and yet, the thing that sends him crashing to his knees is a piece of defective metal burned to his brain. Completely helpless against the merciless assault of his own mind turning in on itself, betrayed by the same thing which provides him his power, and having to always live with the fear of tumbling into a ticking time bomb that could give out anytime and snuffing out the radiance that is his luminous light.
At last, James hears their heavy leaden shuffling; Alenko’s suffering making his feet hard to coordinate and making him practically hang off Shepard, who keeps her eyes resolutely on the elevator as they make their way there, for which James is thankful because he doesn’t want eye contact with the Commander right now, knowing that she knows he saw everything exchanged between the pair. The doors are already waiting open for them, EDI helping out in ways she can, and James assumes it’s straight to bed for the Major, with Shepard waiting around until his meds finally kick in to lull him off to a restless sleep, what few hours he can grab since they need every bit of shut eye available for their waning bodies. Both their armour remain strewn in the corner, but James knows better than to touch it; Shepard doesn’t like anyone else handling their armour, and the night cycle tonight will see her painstakingly staying up and taking care of both pairs, setting them through decontamination, cleaning off the slime from their victory, and examining every single piece from hers and Alenko’s to an inch of their lives, going through every scratch and dent, every discolouration, taking it upon herself to skip on sleep. It’s the sacrifice they both make, both giving and taking from the other in swapping motions, be it on the field or outside of it, and they won’t have it any other way. Their lives are risked on a daily basis, but it’s each other they look to spending their end of days with, and it’s each other they see embodying the physical state of what they’re fighting for, embodying the gold in which they regard each other so highly. Strong and imposing, stable guardians of asylum whenever one needs them to be, a stark representation of the home and safety they both crave, and for their sake, observing how much of their investment and soul is alive in the other, James hopes along with them as well.
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