Fic: a whisper to the living (Space: Above and Beyond, Shane Vansen, Cooper Hawkes, PG13)
Title: a whisper to the living
Author:
alyse
Fandom: Space: Above and Beyond
Characters: Shane Vansen, Cooper Hawkes
Rating: PG13
Disclaimer: Do not own any of the characters.
Summary: Their second Christmas aboard the Saratoga is much quieter than the first.
Author's Notes: Written for anr for Yuletide 2012. Thank you to
aithine both for the beta and the perfect title.
-o-
~the fall of a leaf is a whisper to the living~
-- Russian proverb
-o-
Their second Christmas aboard the Saratoga is much quieter than the first. There's a heaviness to the atmosphere that has nothing to do with how often it's been recycled and everything to do with the 'peace talks' that drag on and on with no peace in sight. It's hard to hold onto hope when it's dashed so often, ceasefires that last just long enough for the ringing of gunfire or the whine of a hammerhead engine pushed to its limits to fade from Shane's ears before the fight begins all over again.
Christmas this year falls into one of the lulls. There'll be no need for any last minute rescues or Christmas miracles, not for the Wild Cards. They haven't even pulled recon this year. It feels odd not to be out there in the thick of it, leaving Shane feeling awkward and off-balance, like something's missing.
Something is, but she tries not to think about that. She thinks about other things instead, like how screwed up the universe seems to be if they really are related on a genetic level to the only other sentient race out there. About how kinship under the skin should be a load of crock, something she'd dismiss if it was anyone else thinking it.
And yet...
This time last year they were riding home on a comet's tail, saved by a coded message from someone for whom Christmas should be - literally - an alien concept.
There were still five of them then, six if you counted Winslow and Shane does even if Winslow wasn't one of the originals, hadn't made it through boot camp with the rest of them. But it's Wang and Damphousse she misses most. They've both left spaces in Shane's pack of Cards that can never be filled, and she pities anyone who tries it.
Pities and resents in equal measure.
These days, their bunkroom is filled by new faces that don't belong, that may never belong in any way that matters, and the mess is overflowing with fresh meat milling around like they've got no place to go and wouldn't know what the hell to do when they got there.
They keep getting under her feet until she feels like she's constantly stumbling over raw recruits. They fill up every corner of the ship, loud and boisterous, exhilarated and terrified in equal measure, and they get on her nerves to the point where she just wants to shoot someone to relieve the tension. There's something in their unsullied brightness that offends her, maybe because she knows that it will be dimmed in the field far too soon.
She'll be bringing half of them home in body bags before the year is out, those that the Chigs have left enough of to bring home.
It's inevitable. It's why she won't let herself get attached to any of them, or even learn their names. Sooner or later the luck runs out and the bills come due. It did for the Wild Cards and they paid it in spades - Shane's getting damned tired of putting her hand in her pocket and coming up empty, so goodwill towards her fellow marines is a little thin on the ground this year.
"You think we were ever that young and stupid?"
Cooper's crept up beside her while she's been watching, but she doesn't jump. Maybe she knew he was there on some level, tuned into him the way she's tuned into what's left of her unit. Or maybe it's just that there's little Coop can do to surprise her anymore.
She shrugs, not pointing out that Cooper himself hasn't even lived as long as these wet behind the ears newbies have. She guesses it's something about quality versus quantity when it comes to walking a hard road.
Doesn't mean she won't rag him about it later.
"They'll learn," she says instead, hoping they'll have the chance to. "Or they won't."
Cooper grunts, the sound saying everything he can't or won't. She steals a sidelong look at him, trying to figure out what the hell's going through his mind, and he's watching them, the young and the condemned, a small frown creasing the skin between his brows.
There's a wistful look in his eyes as he watches one group, and she glances over towards it, something in her chest clenching when she spots an Asian guy laughing with a recruit whose skin is as dark as 'Phousse's.
She swallows it down, the mingled pain and grief. She's good at it now - she's had enough practice - and it doesn't hurt much to turn away.
"Where's West?" she asks, dragging Cooper's attention away from the group in the corner. He frowns again, but it's a more familiar and less painful frown, the one that says 'why the hell are you asking me?' and 'I'm his keeper now?'
"Last I saw him, he was in line for the 'phone," he says, and his nose wrinkles a little, something that would be adorable in anyone who didn't have Cooper's bulk or attitude. "He's going to see if he can talk to Kylen."
Shane snorts - she knows from experience West's chances in that department. "Long wait," she says, drawing Cooper's attention back to her when his eyes start to drift towards the corner again.
He blinks at her for a moment and then he treats her to a one-shouldered shrug. "I think he talked his way close to the front," he says, scrunching up his face before he hunches his shoulders again. "Like they looked up to him or something."
She gets it, maybe better than Cooper does, especially since she doesn't miss the looks the newbies give him, the ones that try to stare him straight in the eyes and check out the back of his neck at the same time. She can't miss it, no matter how much she might want to. But no one says anything. They've got a reputation now, the Wild Cards, and it doesn't matter that it's earned, that it's been paid for like everything else in this war with blood and tears, sweat and dirt and pain.
Sometimes she wonders if this was what the Angry Angels felt like in that bar back on earth, when the Wild Cards weren't even that, nothing but snot nosed kids like the ones getting underfoot now.
Sometimes she wonders if the Angry Angels ever felt this old.
She's still wondering when the voices nearest to them drop in a way that raises the hackles on the back of her neck before she can even register what they're saying. She turns her head and glares, sending the conversation stuttering into silence, but not before she's caught them out, staring at Cooper, at the back of his neck. She knows what they'd be saying if they dared, the words they'd be using, none of them in the spirit of the season. It's such bullshit - Coop's worth ten of them, twenty. A hundred, In Vitro or not.
If they don't learn to watch their tongues, they'll not live long enough to face Chiggy. Shane will do them in before the enemy has the chance.
Screw 'em. She's not going to waste her time on cannon fodder, and dumb, ignorant cannon fodder at that. She reaches out and grabs one of the glasses of punch on the nearby table, swallowing it down and pulling a face at the aftershave-like taste of it. It probably was just that at some point, but it's not like they'll get anything better.
"Let's find West," she says, slamming the empty glass back down onto the counter and letting her eyes trail over the sorry sons and daughters of bitches in front of her, making them squirm in their fresh and neatly pressed, never-been-bloodied uniforms. "I don't like the atmosphere in here."
Cooper frowns again but follows her, his eyes darting to take in the now silent baby marines. One stares back, defiantly, but she's on her own, Shane's pleased to note; the rest of her crew look away, shamefaced, caught out and hating it.
At least, she'd like to think it was shame. Maybe it's just the Wild Cards' rep keeping them in line, but even that works for her. Whatever. She dismisses them from her thoughts as soon as they're out of her sight.
Cooper was right about West being in the line for a call back home, and he was also right about West managing to wangle his way to the front of it. West is shifting impatiently, his eyes taking in the good-natured chaos around them. He looks as set apart from everyone else as Shane feels, as remote and isolated, but when he catches sight of them he nods briefly, holding Shane's gaze for a moment, the look in his eyes serious the way that only Nathan can be.
She nods back and keeps on going, heading towards one of the quieter corners where they'll wait for West until he's finished.
Cooper trails after her, his expression slightly bewildered as he fights his way through the crowds. They shift for him when they see his Wild Cards patch, too caught up in the thrill of maybe getting to see their loved ones on Christmas to give him more than a second glance.
When they make it somewhere Shane can breathe, she leans against the wall with a sigh of relief, watching the ebb and flow of her fellow marines with a jaundiced eye.
Cooper follows her lead, leaning back against the wall beside her and crowding into her personal space. She doesn't push him away - the last few months, since they recovered Shane's ship, pulling her back into the war, Coop's been reluctant to let her and West out of her sight. She gets it, maybe on a visceral level that West doesn't, which is why Nathan's a lot less patient with him.
It's not the first time on this merry-go-round for Shane, and losing a part of her family isn't anything new. She's not hopeful enough to think it's the last time, either.
Maybe that's what's got Coop so tangled up, fidgety and lost when they're not in the field, always looking for people who are no longer there - Wang, 'Phousse, and most of all McQueen. The whole 'caring about other people' thing is so new for him, and there's always a downside to everything, a yin to the yang, a pain to the too brief pleasure of belonging.
Only Coop can decide whether it's a price worth paying.
He shifts closer to her, fidgeting until his shoulder presses against hers and only then does some of the tension leave his frame. His hands are still on the move, though - twisting his ring around his finger, shoving one of them into his pocket like he's checking for something.
Wang would have made a joke about him making sure his balls were still intact, but Wang's not here to make it and Shane wouldn't make a stupid joke like that anyway. She has a sneaking suspicion she knows what Coop's up to - he's a lot more transparent than he thinks he is. He's still too damned young in a lot of ways to have learned how to lie convincingly.
He's also like the proverbial cat on a hot tin roof, and a half-feral one at that, and she sighs, wondering whether she should shut him down or push at him until he spills.
But then it's Christmas - if she can't be tolerant of Cooper's foibles at this time of year, when can she?
"So," Cooper says abruptly, and she swallows down a smile, ducking her head to hide it from him. He can be touchy in all the wrong - and all the right - ways. "Are we doing this Christmas thing again this year?"
His tone is brusque, but by now she knows him too well to be fooled. She doesn't miss the anxious look in his eyes or the way that he's still fidgeting - there was a time when Cooper was much more difficult to read, but he knows her too well now, too. He trusts her the way he's never trusted anyone before; he trusts the rest of the Wild Cards that way, too. He trusts them enough to know they'll not only watch his back but be a little more careful with his heart than anyone else has ever been.
She won't let him down.
"Yeah," she says quietly, leaning in a little closer so they can't be overheard and not caring what it looks like to anyone watching. "I... I got presents, but they're back in the bunkroom. I think West might have got some this year, too." She hopes he has, for Cooper's sake, but it's not like she and West have talked about it or anything. That's a step too weird.
She doesn't miss the relief that flashes across Cooper's face, and somehow she doesn't think it was because he was expecting presents. But he's still fidgeting, still obviously working his way up to something.
She takes pity on him, or runs out of patience. Sometimes it's difficult to tell which comes first with Cooper.
"I thought we'd do the whole exchanging presents thing when West is free," she says casually, watching his face carefully for any hint of what's going through that unsettling mind of his. He's disappointed, that much is clear, but what's less clear is why.
She's on the point of sighing and just telling him to spit it out already, when he blurts out, "Can I give you mine now? You know... in case you don't like it and I got time to change it." He pauses for a second before he adds, his cheeks a little flushed with embarrassment, "And... not in front of anyone else."
And there's the reason for his hesitation. It doesn't matter how many times she's told him that it was the thought that counted, or that she'd plastered a smile on her face and went goddamned bowling so he wouldn't feel stupid, even if it meant she felt stupid instead. The whole gift exchange thing - the whole having people to exchange gifts with - is still so new to Cooper, and he has an In Vitro's dread of messing up, missing cues that a natural born never would.
"Okay," she says, because that's all she can say without pushing Cooper back into his shell, at least temporarily. She's already put this Christmas down as a losing proposition even without Cooper in a snit at her. "So..."
She glances around, taking in the still milling hordes, half of them already merry and mostly oblivious. But it's obvious that Cooper doesn't want an audience - any audience - so the decision is easily made. She jerks her head towards the corridor, where hopefully it will be a little more private.
She catches West's eyes as she heads that way, flipping up her fingers to indicate that she and Cooper will be back in five mikes or so. He nods, giving her an inquisitive look she ignores. This is between her and Coop, and once again, Cooper follows her, trusting as always.
It is quieter in the corridor, the party concentrated around the mess and the 'phones, and now she finally feels like she can breathe easily, some of the tension easing from her shoulders as she flexes them, drinking in the metallic taste of recycled air.
She doesn't push Cooper - it's softly, softly these days as far as he's concerned - but he takes a deep breath, fumbling in his pocket before thrusting something at her.
It's wrapped in gold and green, messily bundled up in some garish wrapping paper that Coop must have scored somewhere or other, and she swallows down another smile when she catches sight of her name scrawled across it in Cooper's untidy hand.
She takes her time with it, ignoring the way that he's shifting impatiently from foot to foot, and undoes it a lot more carefully than it's been wrapped. When she finally unfolds the paper to see what's inside, her breath catches in her throat.
"I remembered what you said," Cooper says hastily, the words falling out over one another as he tries - and fails - to gauge her reaction. "About liking autumn. You know, about it being your favourite time of year."
She should reassure him, but her eyes and nose are prickling, her throat too tight to speak as her fingers trace over Cooper's present.
"So, I thought..." Cooper trails off for a moment before he finds his voice again. "I thought autumn meant leaves, 'n' all red and stuff, only we haven't been back to Earth so I couldn't get you a real one - one from home I mean."
She finally tears her eyes away from her gift, looking up in time to catch his awkward shrug. "So the last time we were on a planet where, you know, there were trees and stuff, I found something that kinda looked like it might have grown on Earth and then..."
He trails off again, his eyes tracking across her face, trying to figure out whether she likes it or not. She gives him a tremulous smile, one that's a world away from her usual hard-ass self, and it seems to settle him a little.
"So, I got it passed through the techs, that whole bug checking thing they've got to do, and then I kind of traded some of the other techs so they'd coat it in copper.
"Do you like it?"
She swallows down the lump in her throat and nods, finally finding her voice as she pulls the necklace carefully free of its nest of wrapping paper. "Cooper, it's beautiful. It's -"
It's probably the most romantic gesture she's ever had from someone who doesn't have the first clue about romance and probably wasn't even trying for that anyway. But she can't help but remember what else she told him - that she always falls in love in the autumn, never the spring, needing that bitter-sweet, sharp and fresh taste to the air before she'll let herself fall.
She swallows again, her eyes burning with unshed tears as she repeats, her voice low and helpless, "It's beautiful, Coop."
It is. The techs, whichever ones Coop bribed or bullied, have done a hell of a job with it - each vein in the leaf, each perfect imperfection, is captured in brilliantly bright copper, glinting fierily as it catches the light. But it was Cooper's idea, Cooper's brilliant, perfect idea, and no technical expertise can compare to that.
"Thank you," she says, and he finally relaxes, his eyes crinkling up with pleasure.
A simple 'thank you' isn't enough and - not for the first time with Cooper - she lets her guard down the way she only really does with him and maybe with 'Phousse, throwing her arms around him and pulling him into a hug.
And Cooper does what he always does on the rare occasions she's touched him like this - he freezes for a moment, like he can't quite bring himself to believe that it's real, and then his arms come around her tentatively, holding her close to him in a way that's both awkward and heartfelt.
No one else ever holds her like this - Cooper, for all that his In Vitro genetics were selected from a catalogue and carefully cultivated in a tank, is entirely unique.
"Thank you," she says again, and this time she doesn't try and stop the tear that rolls down her face. "It's... it's perfect, Coop." She pulls back far enough to look him straight in the face, so he can see clearly that she's telling him the truth, that this isn't a case of it being the thought that counts or a million other little half-truths that he struggles to deal with.
This is real. Real in a way that she and Cooper are even when everything else around them feels unreal.
"Okay?" she asks as she scrubs that errant tear from her cheek, and he nods, a small and pleased - without being self-satisfied - smile playing around his mouth as he ducks his head shyly. He doesn't ask her why she's crying - he's figured that much out already.
"Help me put it on?" she asks him when her voice is steadier. So what if it's not part of her uniform? She'll deal with the consequences, if there are any - it won't be the first time.
She hands him the necklace back, her fingers touching his in a way she means to be reassuring but probably ends up meaning much more than that. And then she turns her back on him, lifting up her hair so that he can fasten it around her neck.
His fingers brush across her skin, delicate as he fiddles with the clasp. She shivers, still touched and a little teary, as she tucks the leaf pendant out of sight.
It rests against her skin, cool at first and then warming.
"Thank you," she says again when she turns back to face Cooper, and this time he doesn't duck his head in embarrassment but simply smiles back at her, clearly delighted that she likes his present.
The moment stretches out between them, something that's both comfortable and uncomfortable at the same time, until finally she clears her throat, nodding her head back towards the door they came through. "We should check on West," she says and Coop nods again, that pleased smile playing around one corner of his mouth. She knows what it means - he's done good this time and he knows he's done good. Now that he has that reassurance, he'll have no qualms about letting West in on the secret.
Or maybe he will still be reluctant to share. Maybe this is still personal, still between the two of them and only the two of them.
As far as Shane is concerned, it is.
When they re-enter the fray, West has reached the front of the line, a broad smile on his face and his eyes shining as he speaks to Kylen - and it must be Kylen. Only Kylen makes him light up like that - he's still too sombre when he speaks to his parents, the guilt of his brother's death weighing on his conscience even though he's not to blame for it. But with Kylen he can finally relax, be the most at peace that Shane's ever seen him.
He catches sight of them and his smile fades for a second before it comes back even brighter. He beckons them over, and Shane pastes a smile on her face, ready to make nice with Nathan's fiancée.
But Cooper's present isn't the only surprise that today has in store. The reason behind Nathan's grin, the brightness of his eyes, becomes clear once she can see the vid display. Kylen isn't alone. There's another familiar face staring out of the staticky screen, one that sends the tears perilously close to the surface again.
"'Phousse."
The word catches in her throat as Vanessa grins at her, her smile lighting up her whole face. She's thinner than Shane remembers, and there are lines etched across her face there that weren't before she'd been injured in the same firefight that claimed Wang's life, but she's alive and healthy and right there, almost as if Shane could reach out and touch her.
"Hey, girl," 'Phousse says, sounding so cheerful that for a second Shane aches for her - to see her face in 3D, to hear the sound of 'Phousse's voice when it's not echoing tinnily across light years of space. To be able to hug the life out of Vanessa, hold her when it's not about trying to keep her friend warm and alive in the wreckage of their ISSCV.
There's so much she wants to ask, so much she wants to say, but the marines behind her, waiting for their turn to call loved ones, are growing restless and the catcalls are beginning. She turns her head to glare at them even as Cooper is greeting 'Phousse excitedly, the pleasure at seeing her clear in his voice. He leans closer to the screen, which means he moves closer to Shane, his hand settling somewhere in the small of her back as he steadies himself.
She doesn't move away, not only because she can't tear her eyes away from 'Phousse's face on the screen in front of her.
"How're you doing?" Cooper asks. His expression, when Shane turns her head to see it, is half-worried and half-delighted, and 'Phousse laughs, her frame shaking with the sheer joy of being reunited with the rest of her team, even remotely.
"I'm fine. Rehab's going better than the docs expected." She turns her attention to Shane, holding her gaze as she adds, fierce in a way that 'Phousse seldom is, "I'm going to make it back to the front, no matter what the docs say. So don't you be giving my bunk away, you hear?"
Shane doesn't doubt it, not today. Not when it looks like they may be getting their Christmas miracle again this year. She's willing to take that bet on 'Phousse and hope her luck will change.
"Hey, guys, hurry up!"
At least it's polite, but Shane rolls her eyes at 'Phousse anyway, ignoring the heckling as she replies, "You know it, babe."
"Goddamn it!"
'Phousse even laughs at that. "I'd better go. But, Coop?" His hand flattens against Shane's spine as he shifts a fraction closer to the 'phone. "We're going to visit with McQueen tomorrow, Kylen and me. Make sure he's not alone, okay? Make sure he's with family."
'Family' sums it up perfectly, and right now, Shane's got at least some of hers around her.
She leans against Coop for a moment - just a single moment before she straightens up again - and he shoots her a look, the kind that makes her think that he finally gets it. Nathan's eyes are still fixed on Kylen's face, grainy on the screen, but even without thinking about it he's shifted his weight so that he's closer to Shane and Cooper, the three of them together.
"Merry Christmas, babe," 'Phousse says, her face - even across all that vast emptiness - softening for a moment, affection shining clearly in her eyes.
"Merry Christmas." And for the first time in a long time, Shane actually starts to believe that it will be merry.
She'll make sure of it.
The End
Author:
alyse
Fandom: Space: Above and Beyond
Characters: Shane Vansen, Cooper Hawkes
Rating: PG13
Disclaimer: Do not own any of the characters.
Summary: Their second Christmas aboard the Saratoga is much quieter than the first.
Author's Notes: Written for anr for Yuletide 2012. Thank you to
aithine both for the beta and the perfect title.
-o-
~the fall of a leaf is a whisper to the living~
-- Russian proverb
-o-
Their second Christmas aboard the Saratoga is much quieter than the first. There's a heaviness to the atmosphere that has nothing to do with how often it's been recycled and everything to do with the 'peace talks' that drag on and on with no peace in sight. It's hard to hold onto hope when it's dashed so often, ceasefires that last just long enough for the ringing of gunfire or the whine of a hammerhead engine pushed to its limits to fade from Shane's ears before the fight begins all over again.
Christmas this year falls into one of the lulls. There'll be no need for any last minute rescues or Christmas miracles, not for the Wild Cards. They haven't even pulled recon this year. It feels odd not to be out there in the thick of it, leaving Shane feeling awkward and off-balance, like something's missing.
Something is, but she tries not to think about that. She thinks about other things instead, like how screwed up the universe seems to be if they really are related on a genetic level to the only other sentient race out there. About how kinship under the skin should be a load of crock, something she'd dismiss if it was anyone else thinking it.
And yet...
This time last year they were riding home on a comet's tail, saved by a coded message from someone for whom Christmas should be - literally - an alien concept.
There were still five of them then, six if you counted Winslow and Shane does even if Winslow wasn't one of the originals, hadn't made it through boot camp with the rest of them. But it's Wang and Damphousse she misses most. They've both left spaces in Shane's pack of Cards that can never be filled, and she pities anyone who tries it.
Pities and resents in equal measure.
These days, their bunkroom is filled by new faces that don't belong, that may never belong in any way that matters, and the mess is overflowing with fresh meat milling around like they've got no place to go and wouldn't know what the hell to do when they got there.
They keep getting under her feet until she feels like she's constantly stumbling over raw recruits. They fill up every corner of the ship, loud and boisterous, exhilarated and terrified in equal measure, and they get on her nerves to the point where she just wants to shoot someone to relieve the tension. There's something in their unsullied brightness that offends her, maybe because she knows that it will be dimmed in the field far too soon.
She'll be bringing half of them home in body bags before the year is out, those that the Chigs have left enough of to bring home.
It's inevitable. It's why she won't let herself get attached to any of them, or even learn their names. Sooner or later the luck runs out and the bills come due. It did for the Wild Cards and they paid it in spades - Shane's getting damned tired of putting her hand in her pocket and coming up empty, so goodwill towards her fellow marines is a little thin on the ground this year.
"You think we were ever that young and stupid?"
Cooper's crept up beside her while she's been watching, but she doesn't jump. Maybe she knew he was there on some level, tuned into him the way she's tuned into what's left of her unit. Or maybe it's just that there's little Coop can do to surprise her anymore.
She shrugs, not pointing out that Cooper himself hasn't even lived as long as these wet behind the ears newbies have. She guesses it's something about quality versus quantity when it comes to walking a hard road.
Doesn't mean she won't rag him about it later.
"They'll learn," she says instead, hoping they'll have the chance to. "Or they won't."
Cooper grunts, the sound saying everything he can't or won't. She steals a sidelong look at him, trying to figure out what the hell's going through his mind, and he's watching them, the young and the condemned, a small frown creasing the skin between his brows.
There's a wistful look in his eyes as he watches one group, and she glances over towards it, something in her chest clenching when she spots an Asian guy laughing with a recruit whose skin is as dark as 'Phousse's.
She swallows it down, the mingled pain and grief. She's good at it now - she's had enough practice - and it doesn't hurt much to turn away.
"Where's West?" she asks, dragging Cooper's attention away from the group in the corner. He frowns again, but it's a more familiar and less painful frown, the one that says 'why the hell are you asking me?' and 'I'm his keeper now?'
"Last I saw him, he was in line for the 'phone," he says, and his nose wrinkles a little, something that would be adorable in anyone who didn't have Cooper's bulk or attitude. "He's going to see if he can talk to Kylen."
Shane snorts - she knows from experience West's chances in that department. "Long wait," she says, drawing Cooper's attention back to her when his eyes start to drift towards the corner again.
He blinks at her for a moment and then he treats her to a one-shouldered shrug. "I think he talked his way close to the front," he says, scrunching up his face before he hunches his shoulders again. "Like they looked up to him or something."
She gets it, maybe better than Cooper does, especially since she doesn't miss the looks the newbies give him, the ones that try to stare him straight in the eyes and check out the back of his neck at the same time. She can't miss it, no matter how much she might want to. But no one says anything. They've got a reputation now, the Wild Cards, and it doesn't matter that it's earned, that it's been paid for like everything else in this war with blood and tears, sweat and dirt and pain.
Sometimes she wonders if this was what the Angry Angels felt like in that bar back on earth, when the Wild Cards weren't even that, nothing but snot nosed kids like the ones getting underfoot now.
Sometimes she wonders if the Angry Angels ever felt this old.
She's still wondering when the voices nearest to them drop in a way that raises the hackles on the back of her neck before she can even register what they're saying. She turns her head and glares, sending the conversation stuttering into silence, but not before she's caught them out, staring at Cooper, at the back of his neck. She knows what they'd be saying if they dared, the words they'd be using, none of them in the spirit of the season. It's such bullshit - Coop's worth ten of them, twenty. A hundred, In Vitro or not.
If they don't learn to watch their tongues, they'll not live long enough to face Chiggy. Shane will do them in before the enemy has the chance.
Screw 'em. She's not going to waste her time on cannon fodder, and dumb, ignorant cannon fodder at that. She reaches out and grabs one of the glasses of punch on the nearby table, swallowing it down and pulling a face at the aftershave-like taste of it. It probably was just that at some point, but it's not like they'll get anything better.
"Let's find West," she says, slamming the empty glass back down onto the counter and letting her eyes trail over the sorry sons and daughters of bitches in front of her, making them squirm in their fresh and neatly pressed, never-been-bloodied uniforms. "I don't like the atmosphere in here."
Cooper frowns again but follows her, his eyes darting to take in the now silent baby marines. One stares back, defiantly, but she's on her own, Shane's pleased to note; the rest of her crew look away, shamefaced, caught out and hating it.
At least, she'd like to think it was shame. Maybe it's just the Wild Cards' rep keeping them in line, but even that works for her. Whatever. She dismisses them from her thoughts as soon as they're out of her sight.
Cooper was right about West being in the line for a call back home, and he was also right about West managing to wangle his way to the front of it. West is shifting impatiently, his eyes taking in the good-natured chaos around them. He looks as set apart from everyone else as Shane feels, as remote and isolated, but when he catches sight of them he nods briefly, holding Shane's gaze for a moment, the look in his eyes serious the way that only Nathan can be.
She nods back and keeps on going, heading towards one of the quieter corners where they'll wait for West until he's finished.
Cooper trails after her, his expression slightly bewildered as he fights his way through the crowds. They shift for him when they see his Wild Cards patch, too caught up in the thrill of maybe getting to see their loved ones on Christmas to give him more than a second glance.
When they make it somewhere Shane can breathe, she leans against the wall with a sigh of relief, watching the ebb and flow of her fellow marines with a jaundiced eye.
Cooper follows her lead, leaning back against the wall beside her and crowding into her personal space. She doesn't push him away - the last few months, since they recovered Shane's ship, pulling her back into the war, Coop's been reluctant to let her and West out of her sight. She gets it, maybe on a visceral level that West doesn't, which is why Nathan's a lot less patient with him.
It's not the first time on this merry-go-round for Shane, and losing a part of her family isn't anything new. She's not hopeful enough to think it's the last time, either.
Maybe that's what's got Coop so tangled up, fidgety and lost when they're not in the field, always looking for people who are no longer there - Wang, 'Phousse, and most of all McQueen. The whole 'caring about other people' thing is so new for him, and there's always a downside to everything, a yin to the yang, a pain to the too brief pleasure of belonging.
Only Coop can decide whether it's a price worth paying.
He shifts closer to her, fidgeting until his shoulder presses against hers and only then does some of the tension leave his frame. His hands are still on the move, though - twisting his ring around his finger, shoving one of them into his pocket like he's checking for something.
Wang would have made a joke about him making sure his balls were still intact, but Wang's not here to make it and Shane wouldn't make a stupid joke like that anyway. She has a sneaking suspicion she knows what Coop's up to - he's a lot more transparent than he thinks he is. He's still too damned young in a lot of ways to have learned how to lie convincingly.
He's also like the proverbial cat on a hot tin roof, and a half-feral one at that, and she sighs, wondering whether she should shut him down or push at him until he spills.
But then it's Christmas - if she can't be tolerant of Cooper's foibles at this time of year, when can she?
"So," Cooper says abruptly, and she swallows down a smile, ducking her head to hide it from him. He can be touchy in all the wrong - and all the right - ways. "Are we doing this Christmas thing again this year?"
His tone is brusque, but by now she knows him too well to be fooled. She doesn't miss the anxious look in his eyes or the way that he's still fidgeting - there was a time when Cooper was much more difficult to read, but he knows her too well now, too. He trusts her the way he's never trusted anyone before; he trusts the rest of the Wild Cards that way, too. He trusts them enough to know they'll not only watch his back but be a little more careful with his heart than anyone else has ever been.
She won't let him down.
"Yeah," she says quietly, leaning in a little closer so they can't be overheard and not caring what it looks like to anyone watching. "I... I got presents, but they're back in the bunkroom. I think West might have got some this year, too." She hopes he has, for Cooper's sake, but it's not like she and West have talked about it or anything. That's a step too weird.
She doesn't miss the relief that flashes across Cooper's face, and somehow she doesn't think it was because he was expecting presents. But he's still fidgeting, still obviously working his way up to something.
She takes pity on him, or runs out of patience. Sometimes it's difficult to tell which comes first with Cooper.
"I thought we'd do the whole exchanging presents thing when West is free," she says casually, watching his face carefully for any hint of what's going through that unsettling mind of his. He's disappointed, that much is clear, but what's less clear is why.
She's on the point of sighing and just telling him to spit it out already, when he blurts out, "Can I give you mine now? You know... in case you don't like it and I got time to change it." He pauses for a second before he adds, his cheeks a little flushed with embarrassment, "And... not in front of anyone else."
And there's the reason for his hesitation. It doesn't matter how many times she's told him that it was the thought that counted, or that she'd plastered a smile on her face and went goddamned bowling so he wouldn't feel stupid, even if it meant she felt stupid instead. The whole gift exchange thing - the whole having people to exchange gifts with - is still so new to Cooper, and he has an In Vitro's dread of messing up, missing cues that a natural born never would.
"Okay," she says, because that's all she can say without pushing Cooper back into his shell, at least temporarily. She's already put this Christmas down as a losing proposition even without Cooper in a snit at her. "So..."
She glances around, taking in the still milling hordes, half of them already merry and mostly oblivious. But it's obvious that Cooper doesn't want an audience - any audience - so the decision is easily made. She jerks her head towards the corridor, where hopefully it will be a little more private.
She catches West's eyes as she heads that way, flipping up her fingers to indicate that she and Cooper will be back in five mikes or so. He nods, giving her an inquisitive look she ignores. This is between her and Coop, and once again, Cooper follows her, trusting as always.
It is quieter in the corridor, the party concentrated around the mess and the 'phones, and now she finally feels like she can breathe easily, some of the tension easing from her shoulders as she flexes them, drinking in the metallic taste of recycled air.
She doesn't push Cooper - it's softly, softly these days as far as he's concerned - but he takes a deep breath, fumbling in his pocket before thrusting something at her.
It's wrapped in gold and green, messily bundled up in some garish wrapping paper that Coop must have scored somewhere or other, and she swallows down another smile when she catches sight of her name scrawled across it in Cooper's untidy hand.
She takes her time with it, ignoring the way that he's shifting impatiently from foot to foot, and undoes it a lot more carefully than it's been wrapped. When she finally unfolds the paper to see what's inside, her breath catches in her throat.
"I remembered what you said," Cooper says hastily, the words falling out over one another as he tries - and fails - to gauge her reaction. "About liking autumn. You know, about it being your favourite time of year."
She should reassure him, but her eyes and nose are prickling, her throat too tight to speak as her fingers trace over Cooper's present.
"So, I thought..." Cooper trails off for a moment before he finds his voice again. "I thought autumn meant leaves, 'n' all red and stuff, only we haven't been back to Earth so I couldn't get you a real one - one from home I mean."
She finally tears her eyes away from her gift, looking up in time to catch his awkward shrug. "So the last time we were on a planet where, you know, there were trees and stuff, I found something that kinda looked like it might have grown on Earth and then..."
He trails off again, his eyes tracking across her face, trying to figure out whether she likes it or not. She gives him a tremulous smile, one that's a world away from her usual hard-ass self, and it seems to settle him a little.
"So, I got it passed through the techs, that whole bug checking thing they've got to do, and then I kind of traded some of the other techs so they'd coat it in copper.
"Do you like it?"
She swallows down the lump in her throat and nods, finally finding her voice as she pulls the necklace carefully free of its nest of wrapping paper. "Cooper, it's beautiful. It's -"
It's probably the most romantic gesture she's ever had from someone who doesn't have the first clue about romance and probably wasn't even trying for that anyway. But she can't help but remember what else she told him - that she always falls in love in the autumn, never the spring, needing that bitter-sweet, sharp and fresh taste to the air before she'll let herself fall.
She swallows again, her eyes burning with unshed tears as she repeats, her voice low and helpless, "It's beautiful, Coop."
It is. The techs, whichever ones Coop bribed or bullied, have done a hell of a job with it - each vein in the leaf, each perfect imperfection, is captured in brilliantly bright copper, glinting fierily as it catches the light. But it was Cooper's idea, Cooper's brilliant, perfect idea, and no technical expertise can compare to that.
"Thank you," she says, and he finally relaxes, his eyes crinkling up with pleasure.
A simple 'thank you' isn't enough and - not for the first time with Cooper - she lets her guard down the way she only really does with him and maybe with 'Phousse, throwing her arms around him and pulling him into a hug.
And Cooper does what he always does on the rare occasions she's touched him like this - he freezes for a moment, like he can't quite bring himself to believe that it's real, and then his arms come around her tentatively, holding her close to him in a way that's both awkward and heartfelt.
No one else ever holds her like this - Cooper, for all that his In Vitro genetics were selected from a catalogue and carefully cultivated in a tank, is entirely unique.
"Thank you," she says again, and this time she doesn't try and stop the tear that rolls down her face. "It's... it's perfect, Coop." She pulls back far enough to look him straight in the face, so he can see clearly that she's telling him the truth, that this isn't a case of it being the thought that counts or a million other little half-truths that he struggles to deal with.
This is real. Real in a way that she and Cooper are even when everything else around them feels unreal.
"Okay?" she asks as she scrubs that errant tear from her cheek, and he nods, a small and pleased - without being self-satisfied - smile playing around his mouth as he ducks his head shyly. He doesn't ask her why she's crying - he's figured that much out already.
"Help me put it on?" she asks him when her voice is steadier. So what if it's not part of her uniform? She'll deal with the consequences, if there are any - it won't be the first time.
She hands him the necklace back, her fingers touching his in a way she means to be reassuring but probably ends up meaning much more than that. And then she turns her back on him, lifting up her hair so that he can fasten it around her neck.
His fingers brush across her skin, delicate as he fiddles with the clasp. She shivers, still touched and a little teary, as she tucks the leaf pendant out of sight.
It rests against her skin, cool at first and then warming.
"Thank you," she says again when she turns back to face Cooper, and this time he doesn't duck his head in embarrassment but simply smiles back at her, clearly delighted that she likes his present.
The moment stretches out between them, something that's both comfortable and uncomfortable at the same time, until finally she clears her throat, nodding her head back towards the door they came through. "We should check on West," she says and Coop nods again, that pleased smile playing around one corner of his mouth. She knows what it means - he's done good this time and he knows he's done good. Now that he has that reassurance, he'll have no qualms about letting West in on the secret.
Or maybe he will still be reluctant to share. Maybe this is still personal, still between the two of them and only the two of them.
As far as Shane is concerned, it is.
When they re-enter the fray, West has reached the front of the line, a broad smile on his face and his eyes shining as he speaks to Kylen - and it must be Kylen. Only Kylen makes him light up like that - he's still too sombre when he speaks to his parents, the guilt of his brother's death weighing on his conscience even though he's not to blame for it. But with Kylen he can finally relax, be the most at peace that Shane's ever seen him.
He catches sight of them and his smile fades for a second before it comes back even brighter. He beckons them over, and Shane pastes a smile on her face, ready to make nice with Nathan's fiancée.
But Cooper's present isn't the only surprise that today has in store. The reason behind Nathan's grin, the brightness of his eyes, becomes clear once she can see the vid display. Kylen isn't alone. There's another familiar face staring out of the staticky screen, one that sends the tears perilously close to the surface again.
"'Phousse."
The word catches in her throat as Vanessa grins at her, her smile lighting up her whole face. She's thinner than Shane remembers, and there are lines etched across her face there that weren't before she'd been injured in the same firefight that claimed Wang's life, but she's alive and healthy and right there, almost as if Shane could reach out and touch her.
"Hey, girl," 'Phousse says, sounding so cheerful that for a second Shane aches for her - to see her face in 3D, to hear the sound of 'Phousse's voice when it's not echoing tinnily across light years of space. To be able to hug the life out of Vanessa, hold her when it's not about trying to keep her friend warm and alive in the wreckage of their ISSCV.
There's so much she wants to ask, so much she wants to say, but the marines behind her, waiting for their turn to call loved ones, are growing restless and the catcalls are beginning. She turns her head to glare at them even as Cooper is greeting 'Phousse excitedly, the pleasure at seeing her clear in his voice. He leans closer to the screen, which means he moves closer to Shane, his hand settling somewhere in the small of her back as he steadies himself.
She doesn't move away, not only because she can't tear her eyes away from 'Phousse's face on the screen in front of her.
"How're you doing?" Cooper asks. His expression, when Shane turns her head to see it, is half-worried and half-delighted, and 'Phousse laughs, her frame shaking with the sheer joy of being reunited with the rest of her team, even remotely.
"I'm fine. Rehab's going better than the docs expected." She turns her attention to Shane, holding her gaze as she adds, fierce in a way that 'Phousse seldom is, "I'm going to make it back to the front, no matter what the docs say. So don't you be giving my bunk away, you hear?"
Shane doesn't doubt it, not today. Not when it looks like they may be getting their Christmas miracle again this year. She's willing to take that bet on 'Phousse and hope her luck will change.
"Hey, guys, hurry up!"
At least it's polite, but Shane rolls her eyes at 'Phousse anyway, ignoring the heckling as she replies, "You know it, babe."
"Goddamn it!"
'Phousse even laughs at that. "I'd better go. But, Coop?" His hand flattens against Shane's spine as he shifts a fraction closer to the 'phone. "We're going to visit with McQueen tomorrow, Kylen and me. Make sure he's not alone, okay? Make sure he's with family."
'Family' sums it up perfectly, and right now, Shane's got at least some of hers around her.
She leans against Coop for a moment - just a single moment before she straightens up again - and he shoots her a look, the kind that makes her think that he finally gets it. Nathan's eyes are still fixed on Kylen's face, grainy on the screen, but even without thinking about it he's shifted his weight so that he's closer to Shane and Cooper, the three of them together.
"Merry Christmas, babe," 'Phousse says, her face - even across all that vast emptiness - softening for a moment, affection shining clearly in her eyes.
"Merry Christmas." And for the first time in a long time, Shane actually starts to believe that it will be merry.
She'll make sure of it.
The End