hc bingo: 01.
title: waiting for the break (ao3).
pairing: payton shepard x james vega.
prompt/words: nervous breakdown, 1167.
Destroy the Reapers.
Every conscious day for the past three years, that thought spun around Payton Shepard's head, picking up speed and gathering mass and ultimately whipping every other spare thought into a hurricane. She forgot names. She forgot times and dates. She forgot how to sleep, only crashing into her mattress when she couldn't hold her sniper rifle still anymore, only when Chakwas demanded rest.
By the time that storm began pulling in friends, she was blank. She was pale-skinned and dark-eyed and had a voice as sharp as a crack of lightning, a commander with a cause.
If Payton found it within herself to sit and think about her actions, she might have recalled a conversation she had with Anderson after Akuze, after months of rehab. How he told her to breathe, told her to let herself screw up, told her to rely on people. Because if you get wrapped up in one thing, it'll just happen again. You'll be a mess, and you won't have anybody to pick you back up.
But she forgot that, too.
Any tears shed for the casualties of her missions were tears of frustration, and she wiped them clean before even she could accept they were from her own eyes. They were rainwater.
The universe was vast. Every cluster of planets housed people numbering in the billions. Some, trillions. The colonies that were invaded never lasted. The cities, they fell. Planets she'd visited while on her tour of duty were nothing but smoke and scarred ground. But she had a job to do. She couldn't save them, but she could save the rest.
Another planet fell.
Save the rest.
Another and another.
Destroy the Reapers. Save the rest.
'The rest' was a number quickly declining. And no matter how many invitations for drinks with James that were quickly denied and no matter how many times he tried to wring the truth out of her for the better, Payton's health followed that number, circling the drain until the weight of her body pulled her down into another heavy, nightmarish sleep.
After another scouting mission to help the asari, James cornered her in the elevator. As it rose to her quarters, he turned to her. There was no commander. No Shepard. No Lola. Only a rough, “Payton,” and pinched brows and a hand that grasped her forearm.
And, for a moment, it stilled her.
“I'm fine, James,” she replied with a smile. It was small, the barest tilt of her lips, not a toothy grin he would never believe in a million years. But he didn't trust this one, either.
For good reason.
If there was anyone in the universe who knew the dangers Payton faced constantly, it was him. He knew how dangerous focus could be when that focus turned into an obsession. He knew what blocking people out looked and felt like. He knew the damage guilt could do to a body. And he could see it in her gait, in the deliberate pull of her body, like only the sheer strength of her will kept her standing.
Everyone was waiting for the break.
Not a reprieve from the war, not a cease fire or time enough to sit and breathe, but the moment something happened that would snap Payton in two.
Their defeat on Thessia eclipsed every past failure.
Liara sat beside Payton as they took the shuttle back to the Normandy. James stood in front of her, eyes straining in the dark to see what he could of her face. The silence spoke volumes, at first. Payton was waiting. She waited, coiled up tight, to only react once she was alone. Neither of them would see that break, though they would see the ramifications.
Their expectations were far from the mark. That became obvious when Payton released a breath that shook loudly on her lips.
The exhale was followed by another. A whine bit at its heels, skidding out of her lungs before she could stop herself. She could feel both Liara and James staring at her, but there was nothing she could do to stop herself as she began pawing at her armor, fingers tripping over and snagging on the seals. No amount of pride could keep her from panting as her gloved hands clawed at her chest piece, lungs expanding and pressing too hard against the shell. Against the cage that kept her from taking in enough air.
She couldn't do it. She couldn't get out of her armor - couldn't destroy the Reapers - couldn't save the rest. There was no rest to be saved. She was stranded. This war would leave her the awe-inspiring commander of no one. Of ghosts and the charred shells of buildings.
Payton let out a harsh breath through her teeth, her vision blurry. She lost that, too, trapped in her armor, in her skin, in the wind and rain inside her head.
Another set of hands were heavy on her shoulders, pressing her down in her seat and guiding her out only to leave her sweating and sighing and sobbing as she fumbled with her gauntlets.
The set of hands helped her with those, too.
“Payton.”
She couldn't open her eyes. If she opened her eyes, she wouldn't be able to see. If she couldn't see, she wouldn't be able to continue. So she kept them shut tight, even as her fingers sought James out, curling around the neck of his armor and keeping him at arm's length.
Any closer and she might swallow him up, too.
“Give her room to breathe, James.”
This voice was lighter, softer, and right. Payton took another shallow breath before willing her eyes to open, to see the pale blue blur of Liara's face close by. Self-preservation willed her to believe she wa correct. He had to give her room. She needed to breathe.
But while Liara has been through a lot, she's never had an attack quite like this one. She's never forgotten how to breathe; she's never felt the panic shooting through her body like ice. Cold at first, but burning after.
James didn't listen to her.
His hands tugged Payton forward so quickly she nearly fell from the seat. On his knees, his face barely met her shoulder, but when she curled instinctively closer, her face met his neck. Sweat and blood filled her nostrils. His own ragged breathing filled her ears. Having those familiar sounds so near put her back into her own body, and she gripped at his waist, finding leverage on the crannies of his armor.
He put her back into her body, fitting her down into her too-long limbs, and she felt everything at once. Exhaustion highlighted with adrenaline. Bruises she never realized lay beneath her armor. And when she was finally able to take a deep breath, her vision cleared.
The tears that made her lashes stick together were real. They were hers.
And while the storm wasn't over, it wasn't trapped inside of her anymore.
pairing: payton shepard x james vega.
prompt/words: nervous breakdown, 1167.
Destroy the Reapers.
Every conscious day for the past three years, that thought spun around Payton Shepard's head, picking up speed and gathering mass and ultimately whipping every other spare thought into a hurricane. She forgot names. She forgot times and dates. She forgot how to sleep, only crashing into her mattress when she couldn't hold her sniper rifle still anymore, only when Chakwas demanded rest.
By the time that storm began pulling in friends, she was blank. She was pale-skinned and dark-eyed and had a voice as sharp as a crack of lightning, a commander with a cause.
If Payton found it within herself to sit and think about her actions, she might have recalled a conversation she had with Anderson after Akuze, after months of rehab. How he told her to breathe, told her to let herself screw up, told her to rely on people. Because if you get wrapped up in one thing, it'll just happen again. You'll be a mess, and you won't have anybody to pick you back up.
But she forgot that, too.
Any tears shed for the casualties of her missions were tears of frustration, and she wiped them clean before even she could accept they were from her own eyes. They were rainwater.
The universe was vast. Every cluster of planets housed people numbering in the billions. Some, trillions. The colonies that were invaded never lasted. The cities, they fell. Planets she'd visited while on her tour of duty were nothing but smoke and scarred ground. But she had a job to do. She couldn't save them, but she could save the rest.
Another planet fell.
Save the rest.
Another and another.
Destroy the Reapers. Save the rest.
'The rest' was a number quickly declining. And no matter how many invitations for drinks with James that were quickly denied and no matter how many times he tried to wring the truth out of her for the better, Payton's health followed that number, circling the drain until the weight of her body pulled her down into another heavy, nightmarish sleep.
After another scouting mission to help the asari, James cornered her in the elevator. As it rose to her quarters, he turned to her. There was no commander. No Shepard. No Lola. Only a rough, “Payton,” and pinched brows and a hand that grasped her forearm.
And, for a moment, it stilled her.
“I'm fine, James,” she replied with a smile. It was small, the barest tilt of her lips, not a toothy grin he would never believe in a million years. But he didn't trust this one, either.
For good reason.
If there was anyone in the universe who knew the dangers Payton faced constantly, it was him. He knew how dangerous focus could be when that focus turned into an obsession. He knew what blocking people out looked and felt like. He knew the damage guilt could do to a body. And he could see it in her gait, in the deliberate pull of her body, like only the sheer strength of her will kept her standing.
Everyone was waiting for the break.
Not a reprieve from the war, not a cease fire or time enough to sit and breathe, but the moment something happened that would snap Payton in two.
Their defeat on Thessia eclipsed every past failure.
Liara sat beside Payton as they took the shuttle back to the Normandy. James stood in front of her, eyes straining in the dark to see what he could of her face. The silence spoke volumes, at first. Payton was waiting. She waited, coiled up tight, to only react once she was alone. Neither of them would see that break, though they would see the ramifications.
Their expectations were far from the mark. That became obvious when Payton released a breath that shook loudly on her lips.
The exhale was followed by another. A whine bit at its heels, skidding out of her lungs before she could stop herself. She could feel both Liara and James staring at her, but there was nothing she could do to stop herself as she began pawing at her armor, fingers tripping over and snagging on the seals. No amount of pride could keep her from panting as her gloved hands clawed at her chest piece, lungs expanding and pressing too hard against the shell. Against the cage that kept her from taking in enough air.
She couldn't do it. She couldn't get out of her armor - couldn't destroy the Reapers - couldn't save the rest. There was no rest to be saved. She was stranded. This war would leave her the awe-inspiring commander of no one. Of ghosts and the charred shells of buildings.
Payton let out a harsh breath through her teeth, her vision blurry. She lost that, too, trapped in her armor, in her skin, in the wind and rain inside her head.
Another set of hands were heavy on her shoulders, pressing her down in her seat and guiding her out only to leave her sweating and sighing and sobbing as she fumbled with her gauntlets.
The set of hands helped her with those, too.
“Payton.”
She couldn't open her eyes. If she opened her eyes, she wouldn't be able to see. If she couldn't see, she wouldn't be able to continue. So she kept them shut tight, even as her fingers sought James out, curling around the neck of his armor and keeping him at arm's length.
Any closer and she might swallow him up, too.
“Give her room to breathe, James.”
This voice was lighter, softer, and right. Payton took another shallow breath before willing her eyes to open, to see the pale blue blur of Liara's face close by. Self-preservation willed her to believe she wa correct. He had to give her room. She needed to breathe.
But while Liara has been through a lot, she's never had an attack quite like this one. She's never forgotten how to breathe; she's never felt the panic shooting through her body like ice. Cold at first, but burning after.
James didn't listen to her.
His hands tugged Payton forward so quickly she nearly fell from the seat. On his knees, his face barely met her shoulder, but when she curled instinctively closer, her face met his neck. Sweat and blood filled her nostrils. His own ragged breathing filled her ears. Having those familiar sounds so near put her back into her own body, and she gripped at his waist, finding leverage on the crannies of his armor.
He put her back into her body, fitting her down into her too-long limbs, and she felt everything at once. Exhaustion highlighted with adrenaline. Bruises she never realized lay beneath her armor. And when she was finally able to take a deep breath, her vision cleared.
The tears that made her lashes stick together were real. They were hers.
And while the storm wasn't over, it wasn't trapped inside of her anymore.