If the seas catch fire, part 6
anonymous
February 20 2012, 19:57:37 UTC
“Cerberus tracks all outgoing messages,” she explains when he's not picking up the conversation again. She takes a deep, uneven breath. “I tried to cut all ties to protect you. All of you. I didn't want any more set-ups; Horizon was bad enough.”
He frowns. “They told you I was there?”
“Yeah. They told me the Collectors might be going after you to get to me.” She tries to smile, tries to slip back into a state of ease she hasn't felt in quite some time now. He looks at her like he understands what she isn't saying, a ghost of something crossing his features. “Hell, I'd go anywhere to pull your lazy ass out of the fire, Alenko. You know that. But I didn't want Cerberus to know it, too.”
He chuckles at that and the sound of it shakes her slightly, a tremble through them both. This is why he undoes her, she knows again with full force. This way he has of simply accepting her unease and clumsily made-up covers for her own impulses, the way she treats her feelings like bullets - dodge and deflect, evade and move on. Until he simply stands there, dissolving all of her defences, accepting all of her emotions.
Around them, the borders of time and space seem to buckle.
“Commander,” Jokers voice cuts into the air, demanding their attention. “Admiral Hackett on the line.”
She nods, as though her helmsman can see her; as she rakes her fingers through her hair she notices Kaidan is still watching her, his expression unreadable to most people, but not to her. “Patch him through.”
If the seas catch fire, part 7
anonymous
February 20 2012, 19:59:04 UTC
x.
In her memory, there's this:
The quiet mutiny in everything they do, the uproar in his hands settling around her waist and her fingers mapping out the plane of his back that is warm and hard under her fingertips. The memory of his fingers in turn, mapping the way from her right breast to an impatient groan.
She has always wanted everything and here it is.
It's in the inches of skin, the small rises and crooks of unexpected scars; the way he touches and the way his breath catches as she slowly rocks them over the edge once more, one final time, a lame joke about stamina falling from her lips and his smile then, exhausted and wide-open.
“When this is over...” She breathes heavily, her lips brushing over the damp hair on his chest. “I have a list of about a hundred things I'd like to do with you.”
“Only a hundred?” She can still hear traces of what they've just done in his voice, just as she can taste herself on his tongue, smell him on her hands. “Disappointing, ma'am.”
“Don't 'ma'am'' me, soldier.”
She lifts her gaze and catches a flicker of his grin. They’re half-way through the most absurd decision of their careers and they're full of life and rebellion yet, their bodies carrying acts of bravery to last them at least a lifetime. Kaidan's hand tangles in her hair, his mouth seeking hers once more and she is wholly content and sated right there and then; she thinks of death and her own lack of fear; she thinks this is enough, as though she has finally managed to outrun her own greed.
If the seas catch fire, part 8
anonymous
February 20 2012, 20:00:24 UTC
x.
“Here we go then,” he says, pausing for a second outside the Citadel tower. “Looks like we're all alone again.”
Shepard shrugs. She's past the point of managing to hide her uncertainty and it changes another pattern between them, reshaping all the little things that make them who they are to each other.
“Aren't we usually? The rank outsiders.”
“I don't think you've ever qualified as a rank outsider, Shepard.” He shakes his head, half-amused, half-dejected. She battles the urge to reach out and touch his face, hoping that by soothing it, she will soothe herself.
“The war isn't over yet.”
“No.” When he says it, it sounds like a sigh and she holds his gaze as she manages to catch it, wrapping one hand around his wrist. The corners of his mouth twitch.
There is mutiny is this, too. Their lives have always been shaped by oaths and outlined by regulations, orders, creeds. Even on the original Normandy, even as they broke all rules they had learned by heart - and occasionally mistaken for eternal truths - they had been guided by something else. Shrugging off the weight of all of that is a cause in itself. She's paid a heavy price for it. Too heavy, she thinks, as that little shadow flutters across Kaidan's face and disappears again in his firm glance.
“Do you think we stand a chance?” she asks anyway.
Once, the question would have been ludicrous but now it seems to stretch out until it encompasses everything that has happened and everything that will happen before this is over. Their war has barely begun but it's already in their veins, dark and beckoning. One day, she swears to herself, closing the distance between them. One day when the constant measuring is over and they find the buffer zones and truces. One day when they live without scrutiny and observation she will stand before him with nothing but honesty and her lips will no longer close over the words trapped somewhere between regs and protocol.
One day, trust will not be dangerous.
“I don't think anything can stop you,” he says and it's not the answer she wanted but somehow it's the right one, all the same.
If the seas catch fire, part 9 (fin)
anonymous
February 20 2012, 20:01:21 UTC
x.
Nothing is the same, but eventually everything's similar enough.
In the end, it's all about reclamation.
In her memory, he is precisely the same: his way of framing his intent with formalities, masking his questions with neutrality, levelling out everything with diplomacy and reason. His self-control, his dry sense of humour tickling at the back of her mind, the way he says her name when no one listens.
His mouth looks the same, the cadence of his voice unmistakably right when he speaks.
His eyes, too, are the same, flashing with split-second hesitation but not an ounce of doubt and that distinction has always made all the difference to her. It's not as clear now; it's been muddied by time and experience and betrayal, by mistakes made and regrets kept deep in their hearts or worn bright on their sleeves. War paints everything in heavy streaks of grey.
But she finds, as he returns her kiss and deepens it, that it doesn't matter.
This matters: the feel of him, the taste, his self-contained smile and her cocky satisfaction as she wrings it out of him, the different angle of old memories and new scars. His energy alongside her own, forming a shivering shield. How her hands over his chest mirror his mouth grazing the veins on her bare neck as they give in and let go.
Re: If the seas catch fire, part 9 (fin)
anonymous
February 21 2012, 19:52:23 UTC
p.s.: same anon as above wondering if you've written other stuff, as I'd really like to read them! (judging by your "another fill" comment, I'm assuming you have!)
Re: If the seas catch fire, part 9 (fin)
anonymous
March 8 2012, 10:28:33 UTC
This was beautiful and heartbreaking. There were so many little bits that were just perfect.
"In her memory, he is precisely the same: his way of framing his intent with formalities, masking his questions with neutrality, levelling out everything with diplomacy and reason. His self-control, his dry sense of humour tickling at the back of her mind, the way he says her name when no one listens."
He frowns. “They told you I was there?”
“Yeah. They told me the Collectors might be going after you to get to me.” She tries to smile, tries to slip back into a state of ease she hasn't felt in quite some time now. He looks at her like he understands what she isn't saying, a ghost of something crossing his features. “Hell, I'd go anywhere to pull your lazy ass out of the fire, Alenko. You know that. But I didn't want Cerberus to know it, too.”
He chuckles at that and the sound of it shakes her slightly, a tremble through them both. This is why he undoes her, she knows again with full force. This way he has of simply accepting her unease and clumsily made-up covers for her own impulses, the way she treats her feelings like bullets - dodge and deflect, evade and move on. Until he simply stands there, dissolving all of her defences, accepting all of her emotions.
Around them, the borders of time and space seem to buckle.
“Commander,” Jokers voice cuts into the air, demanding their attention. “Admiral Hackett on the line.”
She nods, as though her helmsman can see her; as she rakes her fingers through her hair she notices Kaidan is still watching her, his expression unreadable to most people, but not to her. “Patch him through.”
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x.
In her memory, there's this:
The quiet mutiny in everything they do, the uproar in his hands settling around her waist and her fingers mapping out the plane of his back that is warm and hard under her fingertips. The memory of his fingers in turn, mapping the way from her right breast to an impatient groan.
She has always wanted everything and here it is.
It's in the inches of skin, the small rises and crooks of unexpected scars; the way he touches and the way his breath catches as she slowly rocks them over the edge once more, one final time, a lame joke about stamina falling from her lips and his smile then, exhausted and wide-open.
“When this is over...” She breathes heavily, her lips brushing over the damp hair on his chest. “I have a list of about a hundred things I'd like to do with you.”
“Only a hundred?” She can still hear traces of what they've just done in his voice, just as she can taste herself on his tongue, smell him on her hands. “Disappointing, ma'am.”
“Don't 'ma'am'' me, soldier.”
She lifts her gaze and catches a flicker of his grin. They’re half-way through the most absurd decision of their careers and they're full of life and rebellion yet, their bodies carrying acts of bravery to last them at least a lifetime. Kaidan's hand tangles in her hair, his mouth seeking hers once more and she is wholly content and sated right there and then; she thinks of death and her own lack of fear; she thinks this is enough, as though she has finally managed to outrun her own greed.
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“Here we go then,” he says, pausing for a second outside the Citadel tower. “Looks like we're all alone again.”
Shepard shrugs. She's past the point of managing to hide her uncertainty and it changes another pattern between them, reshaping all the little things that make them who they are to each other.
“Aren't we usually? The rank outsiders.”
“I don't think you've ever qualified as a rank outsider, Shepard.” He shakes his head, half-amused, half-dejected. She battles the urge to reach out and touch his face, hoping that by soothing it, she will soothe herself.
“The war isn't over yet.”
“No.” When he says it, it sounds like a sigh and she holds his gaze as she manages to catch it, wrapping one hand around his wrist. The corners of his mouth twitch.
There is mutiny is this, too. Their lives have always been shaped by oaths and outlined by regulations, orders, creeds. Even on the original Normandy, even as they broke all rules they had learned by heart - and occasionally mistaken for eternal truths - they had been guided by something else. Shrugging off the weight of all of that is a cause in itself. She's paid a heavy price for it. Too heavy, she thinks, as that little shadow flutters across Kaidan's face and disappears again in his firm glance.
“Do you think we stand a chance?” she asks anyway.
Once, the question would have been ludicrous but now it seems to stretch out until it encompasses everything that has happened and everything that will happen before this is over. Their war has barely begun but it's already in their veins, dark and beckoning. One day, she swears to herself, closing the distance between them. One day when the constant measuring is over and they find the buffer zones and truces. One day when they live without scrutiny and observation she will stand before him with nothing but honesty and her lips will no longer close over the words trapped somewhere between regs and protocol.
One day, trust will not be dangerous.
“I don't think anything can stop you,” he says and it's not the answer she wanted but somehow it's the right one, all the same.
Reply
Nothing is the same, but eventually everything's similar enough.
In the end, it's all about reclamation.
In her memory, he is precisely the same: his way of framing his intent with formalities, masking his questions with neutrality, levelling out everything with diplomacy and reason. His self-control, his dry sense of humour tickling at the back of her mind, the way he says her name when no one listens.
His mouth looks the same, the cadence of his voice unmistakably right when he speaks.
His eyes, too, are the same, flashing with split-second hesitation but not an ounce of doubt and that distinction has always made all the difference to her. It's not as clear now; it's been muddied by time and experience and betrayal, by mistakes made and regrets kept deep in their hearts or worn bright on their sleeves. War paints everything in heavy streaks of grey.
But she finds, as he returns her kiss and deepens it, that it doesn't matter.
This matters: the feel of him, the taste, his self-contained smile and her cocky satisfaction as she wrings it out of him, the different angle of old memories and new scars. His energy alongside her own, forming a shivering shield. How her hands over his chest mirror his mouth grazing the veins on her bare neck as they give in and let go.
And the rest is symmetry.
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(I have written a lot of stuff but not for the meme and I never know if it's okay to break the anon cover around here. )
/anon author
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This was beautiful.
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"In her memory, he is precisely the same: his way of framing his intent with formalities, masking his questions with neutrality, levelling out everything with diplomacy and reason. His self-control, his dry sense of humour tickling at the back of her mind, the way he says her name when no one listens."
Loved this part.
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