Re: Steer me, part 5
anonymous
April 1 2012, 10:22:32 UTC
They dance slowly over the floor until Shepard has learned how to move within his moves, follow the directions of his body; when she finally catches on, he notices that her posture relents somewhat, slipping more easily into the silent commands he gives. He finds that he's actually regretting the song coming to an end.
She leans in when it does, closing the last inch of distance between them. Her breath is ghosting over his neck and jaw; he can feel the curve of her breast pressing lightly against his chest before she takes a quick step back, suddenly cloaked in professionalism again.
“Thank you, Admiral.”
He clears his throat. “The pleasure is mine, Commander.”
4
Her dreams still sting in her head as she sits up, her thoughts blurry but regaining their focus slowly but surely.
The jabbing, throbbing ache along her left side tells her that she's not healed yet and she presses a hand to her body, as though hoping to contain the injury, stop it from hurting. At least there's a relief in simple physical pain lately, a reminder of her own humanity that she wouldn't want to be without.
Hackett observes her, his hands behind his back and his gaze the unfathomably hard flavour of steel that sends a small chill down her spine.
“What the hell happened, Commander?”
Shepard swallows before she takes a deep breath and begins to explain.
Words spin around them, fall between them, taking strange shapes and purposes and she doesn't know for how long they talk, but she knows that when she's done, her voice has become hard and Hackett's expression has softened.
“Glad to see working with Cerberus hasn't stripped away your sense of honour,” he says, making progress towards the door. Part of her wishes to ask him to stay.
“Well, you know me,” she mutters quietly under her breath, not expecting him to hear her.
His eyes, however, tell her he did.
The scene shifts, unnoticeable for everyone but the two of them, she thinks. If there are any Cerberus records of this meeting - and she's sure there will be - they won't show anything compromising or remarkable about the way she takes a few steps forward and Hackett folds his arms across his chest, catching her gaze.
“I'm on your side, Shepard,” he says, in a serious undertone. “Count on it.”
Something swells dangerously in her throat; she looks away.
She hasn't stopped for a second during these past seven months, has barely granted herself permission to sleep - and never without one of Chakwas's recommended set of pills to keep both insomnia and nightmares at bay - until now, when it's partly over. It's not, though. It's never over. It's never just one mission or one order but an endless chain of them and when she looks into Hackett's eyes she sees the same knowledge simmering behind his composure, the same kind of weariness locked up, the same burden of command and she wants to reach out and touch it, touch him, crash into his defences and break her own in the process.
Feeling attraction for your superiors is nothing new; never before has it seemed so logical to her, such a vivid reason in her body, this surge at the very core of her.
“I don't need this to know you did the right thing.” As he hands over the datapad, her fingertips touch his wrist and he pauses in the middle of the motion; she doesn't pull back, doesn't move. They stand there, gazes locked and hands touching, for a brief moment before Hackett disentangles himself.
“Yes sir,” Shepard says, her voice hoarser than she would like.
Re: Steer me, part 6
anonymous
April 1 2012, 10:23:45 UTC
5
“I was growing tired of all the damn shrinks in this place.” Shepard greets him from behind the desk in the cramped little office where they have her working her way through her grounding. Paperwork, he notices. She must be going insane. “Good to see a face I actually like.”
She rises to her feet though not to salute him or even shake his hand, but to lean against the front of the desk, watching him with a closed-off expression on her face. The reports on her come back with no surprises. Her psychological profile deems her strong and well-adjusted, her medical records track the plethora of her cybernetic implants but stress that she is still mostly human, albeit enhanced. And no interrogation or session with the therapists have managed to prove her a sleeper agent for the enemy. He sneers inwardly at the last part.
“How are you holding up?”
She makes a little sound, caught somewhere half-way between a snort and a scoff. “I'm checking lists of recruits and supplies. I authorize medigel transports from the Arcturus station. I'm sure you can imagine how I'm doing, sir. Hell, I'm thinking of just turning in my uniform and apply for a job in C-Sec.”
They've played it close to the book with her. She's their vanguard, the tip of their sword, the icon of their entire war effort. It's a high risk with a high price and he feels a soft tug of guilt as he observes her now, her head held high with the fury of someone who is closing in on her own defeat.
Hang in there, he thinks, as though he would be able to offer any kind of release or reward at the end of this road.
He can't.
But they can't afford to lose her yet, all the same.
You speak of her like she's already a casualty of war, David had pointed out recently.
You know very well what I mean, Hackett had protested, but he's not so sure even he does any more.
All he knows is that the hope for humanity lies heavily on Shepard and that for humanity and for the galaxy they are all sworn to do everything, anything.
“You're still an Alliance solider.” He holds up two datapads with intel she is allowed to have and walks up to her to give them to her. “Act like it.”
She shakes her head.
“I'm not taking orders from you any more, am I?”
“You will,” he replies curtly, ignoring the cracks and suggestions in her tone. He wonders what she had expected. Back on the ship she had turned from Cerberus vessel to her own private battleship he had told her to wear the dress blues and return to Earth to face her trial. At no point did he promise her a smooth ride and he had thought she knew better than that.
When he leans forward to put down the datapads on her desk, she grabs his arm and he frowns as he's meeting her gaze. There's fire in it, anger and urgency and something else too, that he deflects immediately. It's not a a lack of knowledge that causes her behaviour, he realises, it's the burden of having seen much more than a commander should have to see and the lack of options to act accordingly. She's frustrated to the point of breaking, tied up in regs and formalities while the galaxy lounges forward into flat-out war. In this light he notices the stress lines and worry in her face, the heavy losses and hard decisions spelled out all over her skin.
He straightens up but her hand remains.
“I need to get back out there,” she says. “Hell, you need me to get back out there. Now.”
“You will,” he says again, gentler this time, and as he moves his own hand to remove hers from its hard grip around his arm, a shade of something crosses her features. “Count on it.”
Re: Steer me, part 7
anonymous
April 1 2012, 10:25:30 UTC
6
She's closed all channels of communication, locked the door, turned off the computer and now she stands in the middle of her cabin, her heart racing in a horrible way. Her hands are cold and sweaty and she closes them to fists but it doesn't stop the flood of images and voices at the brink of her mind. Emotions aren't her strong point yet here they are, swirling around in her carefully trained body and her professionally detached mind, clawing and turning and threatening to crawl out of her mouth.
“Shepard.” Hackett's voice is close, reassuringly near and she turns her head to look at him.
Personal debriefing, the official truth states. He had insisted on it after learning about Thessia. There's no doubt that he's here, too, because he's spoken to Anderson, Anderson who in turn has spoken with Joker about looking out for her. She had repaid Joker for that favour by shouting at him, if she recalls correctly. Just as she had rewarded Kaidan's faithful service with a harsh truth and some good old stone-walling.
A fine leader, she thinks with a sigh, raking a hand through her hair.
“I'm just so...” she cuts herself off, not knowing what to say so instead she decides not to say anything at all. “It's nothing, sir. I'm a bit on edge, that's all. I appreciate you taking the time to come here in person, but we're doing fine.”
“I know our war effort fares well,” Hackett agrees calmly. “Better than I had hoped, at this point. Most of it thanks to you.”
She takes a few steps towards the fish tank, turns on her heel and walks back again. “Sir, I-”
“You're nothing short of extraordinary. But you are also nothing but a human being.”
“Am I?” Her own question catches her off-guard. But his gaze is firm, a display of unshakeable confidence.
“Yes,” he says, taking a step towards her. “And that is precisely why I'm concerned.”
He stands a few feet away, scrutinizing her through narrowing eyes and with a compassion that strikes her as genuine and therefore overwhelming. We're soldiers, she wants to protest. We know the rules. But this is the war to end all wars and it has overturned every simple truth and banal rule of their games.
She thinks, suddenly, of something Javik had asked her the other day. If she still believed that it was possible to walk out of this war with her honour intact. She had answered without even thinking, an instinct running as deep as breathing. Yes, she had told him. I believe so.
She doesn't, she knows now with a weight mirroring the weight of the galaxy, pressing against her with a force that leaves her breathless. She doesn't believe in that outcome any longer, if she ever did. It has left a hole in her chest. When she tells Hackett he nods, slowly.
“I sacrificed the entire Third Fleet to buy us some time to escape,” he says. He has told her before, but this time the words carry more significance. “There is no honour in that. Merely necessity.”
“Necessity,” she echoes, nodding as she closes the distance between them in three quick steps.
Necessity.
His hand comes up to her shoulder, squeezing it. Shepard breathes in and lets it out again, half expecting him to walk away from this, the way he usually does but this time he doesn't. He doesn't. It's almost too much that he's here, that someone is here at all and that it's Hackett whose importance runs in tight chains around them.
I'm counting on you.
She looks up, straight into his eyes.
There's too much history here and she doesn't have the energy to sort through it all, these old memories and notions and layers between them; perhaps it's easier to simply break its long chain by moving into his arms, without a word, without a regret.
Re: Steer me, part 8
anonymous
April 1 2012, 10:27:26 UTC
Two steps, a fraction of a second, and she's in his arms, resting her forehead against his shoulder. For a moment, neither of them breathe; as she closes her eyes, she can hear him exhale and feel his chest heave against her body. They stand like that for a while, unmoved and unflinching before her hands move up to his back, holding him, exploring the planes of his back and the strength of his shoulders. Then, as though he's turned the decision over in his head, she feels his hands on her as well, skirting along the sides of her body and up towards her neck and her hair. She blinks, almost convinced she's asleep but she isn't. The reality, however, is rapidly morphing into a blur of dress blues and visible, palpable markings of ranks in the merciless lights surrounding them, reminding her that this is the ultimate way to destroy her career but she knows, in some pragmatic part of her consciousness that she won't live when this is over anyway so it hardly matters. It hardly matters, and Hackett has warm, strong hands and a voice that slips in between all the broken layers of her mind, comforting and thrilling in equal measures.
“I-” she begins as his fingers run over the back of her neck and through her hair, blunt nails scraping gently at her scalp. She takes his other hand and moves it between them, presses it between her legs which causes him to groan unexpectedly and her to whimper as she feels the pressure of it remain even when she removes her own hand. He rubs her through the layer of clothes, his hand rocking carefully back and forth.
“Please,” she murmurs, her lips stuck in the warm, pulsating curve of his neck where he smells of after shave and weapons, of metal and skin. “Please, I-”
“It's all right,” he interrupts in a low, throaty voice that undoes her completely.
One of his hands rests firmly on her hip, while the other is still where she wants it; she moves against his palm almost against her will, feeling her legs weaken and her voice break and when his fingers move up to her belt, she lets out a low cry of impatience.
He smirks a little. When he has unbuttoned her pants and his fingers have found her wet and warm and ready, he finally kisses her. Slowly, deeply, expertly he kisses her while the strokes between her legs continue in the same rhythm; their tongues press against each other as his thumb rub over her clitoris - a little flicker at first, the another one, until she presses him up against the cool fish tank and he chuckles into her hair.
She comes before they have even removed their clothes, comes with a shudder and a moan into his mouth as she rocks against his hips, feeling him harden under her.
He undresses her thoroughly, taking his time, definitely enjoying himself, she thinks and feels a flash of something close to pride when she notices his gaze go darker as his hands frees her breasts. She unbuttons his shirt and lets her mouth roam over his flat, hard body that answers so swiftly to her touch. Moving them both to the bed, Hackett sheds his underwear and hers in the process and when they arrange themselves on the bedspread, she can feel the length of him against her belly and he groans when she pushes herself up, bucking underneath him.
Re: Steer me, part 9/9
anonymous
April 1 2012, 10:28:15 UTC
Showing no sign of urgency, however, his hands and mouth explore her body even more, his lips unearthing secret spots along her skin and inside her as he moves down the taut line of her body to kiss away the remains of release from the inner of her thighs. She digs her fingers into the muscles of his back, into his short hair, stirring again at his attention. As he motions himself up again, tasting of her, smelling of her, she takes him inside and they both tense at first, then relaxing into the rhythm he sets.
He kisses her as he comes, then swirls two fingers down to help her once more and this time the orgasm builds up like a wave, fills her and takes hold until she's panting and he holds her to him, rocking them both until they can breathe properly again.
Afterwards they both wash themselves and put their clothes back on without speaking much, but without the sense of unease she would have expected - hell, the sense of unease that has accompanied all her fantasies about this moment, she thinks, deciding to be honest with herself. It's seems to be a night for honesty.
Hackett smiles at her before he leaves, a different kind of smile, tucked-in and personal. “Watch yourself out there, Commander. That's an order.”
“Yes, sir.” She doesn't salute him, not in private. Certain things have been forever altered.
As the door closes she thinks of the future. It's still uncharted.
But the weight of it has shifted, if only momentarily.
Re: Steer me, part 9/9 - A!A
anonymous
April 2 2012, 14:16:26 UTC
Captcha knows us all too well, apparently! I <3 you so much right now, A!A - the meme needs moar Shep/Hackett, all the time! And maybe I can try some myself, if I can get people to leave me to think for more than 5 minutes :p
Re: Steer me, part 9/9
anonymous
April 1 2012, 14:11:44 UTC
HOLY...Okay, this is perfect. PERFECT. The world needs more Hackett/FemShep. Heck, the world needs more of the hotness that is Hackett, period. (You have no idea how excited I was when we finally saw his face. Listening to his voice was one of my favorite things to do.) I hope more people jump on the Hackett bandwagon, otherwise a very small group of authors are going to be inundated with begging OP's.
Re: Steer me, part 9/9
anonymous
April 1 2012, 17:01:38 UTC
A!A here. I'm glad you like it! I'm also glad I get an outlet for my Hackett-love. I don't even remember a time when I didn't have at least a mental image of him (though I think this is because I find his voice actor sexy as hell, too) because yeah, that voice = sex.
I'll gladly write much more FemShep/Hackett, that's for sure.
Re: Steer me, part 9/9
anonymous
April 1 2012, 22:35:51 UTC
You do realize I WILL hold you to that, right? There's no getting out of it now. :D (I'm thinking Hackett should join the old sex pollen trope, but maybe something a little more subtle is called for.) His voice just blows me away. Heck, his whole character blows me away with teh awesome. (I mean, seriously, he seems to be the ONLY Alliance officer who still believes in you. And the way he tries to guard your back? Priceless.)
Re: Steer me, part 9/9
anonymous
April 7 2012, 00:07:08 UTC
That was so heartbreakingly perfect I'm just, in aww here. This is definitely going down as one of my favorite fills ever, and I have a feeling I'm going to read it many more times.
Re: Steer me, part 9/9
anonymous
April 8 2012, 02:45:08 UTC
Fantastic fill! I loved their evolving relationship, and Shepard's line when she realized who Hackett was had me laughing! Thank you for this fill anon!
She leans in when it does, closing the last inch of distance between them. Her breath is ghosting over his neck and jaw; he can feel the curve of her breast pressing lightly against his chest before she takes a quick step back, suddenly cloaked in professionalism again.
“Thank you, Admiral.”
He clears his throat. “The pleasure is mine, Commander.”
4
Her dreams still sting in her head as she sits up, her thoughts blurry but regaining their focus slowly but surely.
The jabbing, throbbing ache along her left side tells her that she's not healed yet and she presses a hand to her body, as though hoping to contain the injury, stop it from hurting. At least there's a relief in simple physical pain lately, a reminder of her own humanity that she wouldn't want to be without.
Hackett observes her, his hands behind his back and his gaze the unfathomably hard flavour of steel that sends a small chill down her spine.
“What the hell happened, Commander?”
Shepard swallows before she takes a deep breath and begins to explain.
Words spin around them, fall between them, taking strange shapes and purposes and she doesn't know for how long they talk, but she knows that when she's done, her voice has become hard and Hackett's expression has softened.
“Glad to see working with Cerberus hasn't stripped away your sense of honour,” he says, making progress towards the door. Part of her wishes to ask him to stay.
“Well, you know me,” she mutters quietly under her breath, not expecting him to hear her.
His eyes, however, tell her he did.
The scene shifts, unnoticeable for everyone but the two of them, she thinks. If there are any Cerberus records of this meeting - and she's sure there will be - they won't show anything compromising or remarkable about the way she takes a few steps forward and Hackett folds his arms across his chest, catching her gaze.
“I'm on your side, Shepard,” he says, in a serious undertone. “Count on it.”
Something swells dangerously in her throat; she looks away.
She hasn't stopped for a second during these past seven months, has barely granted herself permission to sleep - and never without one of Chakwas's recommended set of pills to keep both insomnia and nightmares at bay - until now, when it's partly over. It's not, though. It's never over. It's never just one mission or one order but an endless chain of them and when she looks into Hackett's eyes she sees the same knowledge simmering behind his composure, the same kind of weariness locked up, the same burden of command and she wants to reach out and touch it, touch him, crash into his defences and break her own in the process.
Feeling attraction for your superiors is nothing new; never before has it seemed so logical to her, such a vivid reason in her body, this surge at the very core of her.
“I don't need this to know you did the right thing.” As he hands over the datapad, her fingertips touch his wrist and he pauses in the middle of the motion; she doesn't pull back, doesn't move. They stand there, gazes locked and hands touching, for a brief moment before Hackett disentangles himself.
“Yes sir,” Shepard says, her voice hoarser than she would like.
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5
“I was growing tired of all the damn shrinks in this place.” Shepard greets him from behind the desk in the cramped little office where they have her working her way through her grounding. Paperwork, he notices. She must be going insane. “Good to see a face I actually like.”
She rises to her feet though not to salute him or even shake his hand, but to lean against the front of the desk, watching him with a closed-off expression on her face. The reports on her come back with no surprises. Her psychological profile deems her strong and well-adjusted, her medical records track the plethora of her cybernetic implants but stress that she is still mostly human, albeit enhanced. And no interrogation or session with the therapists have managed to prove her a sleeper agent for the enemy. He sneers inwardly at the last part.
“How are you holding up?”
She makes a little sound, caught somewhere half-way between a snort and a scoff. “I'm checking lists of recruits and supplies. I authorize medigel transports from the Arcturus station. I'm sure you can imagine how I'm doing, sir. Hell, I'm thinking of just turning in my uniform and apply for a job in C-Sec.”
They've played it close to the book with her. She's their vanguard, the tip of their sword, the icon of their entire war effort. It's a high risk with a high price and he feels a soft tug of guilt as he observes her now, her head held high with the fury of someone who is closing in on her own defeat.
Hang in there, he thinks, as though he would be able to offer any kind of release or reward at the end of this road.
He can't.
But they can't afford to lose her yet, all the same.
You speak of her like she's already a casualty of war, David had pointed out recently.
You know very well what I mean, Hackett had protested, but he's not so sure even he does any more.
All he knows is that the hope for humanity lies heavily on Shepard and that for humanity and for the galaxy they are all sworn to do everything, anything.
“You're still an Alliance solider.” He holds up two datapads with intel she is allowed to have and walks up to her to give them to her. “Act like it.”
She shakes her head.
“I'm not taking orders from you any more, am I?”
“You will,” he replies curtly, ignoring the cracks and suggestions in her tone. He wonders what she had expected. Back on the ship she had turned from Cerberus vessel to her own private battleship he had told her to wear the dress blues and return to Earth to face her trial. At no point did he promise her a smooth ride and he had thought she knew better than that.
When he leans forward to put down the datapads on her desk, she grabs his arm and he frowns as he's meeting her gaze. There's fire in it, anger and urgency and something else too, that he deflects immediately. It's not a a lack of knowledge that causes her behaviour, he realises, it's the burden of having seen much more than a commander should have to see and the lack of options to act accordingly. She's frustrated to the point of breaking, tied up in regs and formalities while the galaxy lounges forward into flat-out war. In this light he notices the stress lines and worry in her face, the heavy losses and hard decisions spelled out all over her skin.
He straightens up but her hand remains.
“I need to get back out there,” she says. “Hell, you need me to get back out there. Now.”
“You will,” he says again, gentler this time, and as he moves his own hand to remove hers from its hard grip around his arm, a shade of something crosses her features. “Count on it.”
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She's closed all channels of communication, locked the door, turned off the computer and now she stands in the middle of her cabin, her heart racing in a horrible way. Her hands are cold and sweaty and she closes them to fists but it doesn't stop the flood of images and voices at the brink of her mind. Emotions aren't her strong point yet here they are, swirling around in her carefully trained body and her professionally detached mind, clawing and turning and threatening to crawl out of her mouth.
“Shepard.” Hackett's voice is close, reassuringly near and she turns her head to look at him.
Personal debriefing, the official truth states. He had insisted on it after learning about Thessia. There's no doubt that he's here, too, because he's spoken to Anderson, Anderson who in turn has spoken with Joker about looking out for her. She had repaid Joker for that favour by shouting at him, if she recalls correctly. Just as she had rewarded Kaidan's faithful service with a harsh truth and some good old stone-walling.
A fine leader, she thinks with a sigh, raking a hand through her hair.
“I'm just so...” she cuts herself off, not knowing what to say so instead she decides not to say anything at all. “It's nothing, sir. I'm a bit on edge, that's all. I appreciate you taking the time to come here in person, but we're doing fine.”
“I know our war effort fares well,” Hackett agrees calmly. “Better than I had hoped, at this point. Most of it thanks to you.”
She takes a few steps towards the fish tank, turns on her heel and walks back again. “Sir, I-”
“You're nothing short of extraordinary. But you are also nothing but a human being.”
“Am I?” Her own question catches her off-guard. But his gaze is firm, a display of unshakeable confidence.
“Yes,” he says, taking a step towards her. “And that is precisely why I'm concerned.”
He stands a few feet away, scrutinizing her through narrowing eyes and with a compassion that strikes her as genuine and therefore overwhelming. We're soldiers, she wants to protest. We know the rules. But this is the war to end all wars and it has overturned every simple truth and banal rule of their games.
She thinks, suddenly, of something Javik had asked her the other day. If she still believed that it was possible to walk out of this war with her honour intact. She had answered without even thinking, an instinct running as deep as breathing. Yes, she had told him. I believe so.
She doesn't, she knows now with a weight mirroring the weight of the galaxy, pressing against her with a force that leaves her breathless. She doesn't believe in that outcome any longer, if she ever did. It has left a hole in her chest. When she tells Hackett he nods, slowly.
“I sacrificed the entire Third Fleet to buy us some time to escape,” he says. He has told her before, but this time the words carry more significance. “There is no honour in that. Merely necessity.”
“Necessity,” she echoes, nodding as she closes the distance between them in three quick steps.
Necessity.
His hand comes up to her shoulder, squeezing it. Shepard breathes in and lets it out again, half expecting him to walk away from this, the way he usually does but this time he doesn't. He doesn't. It's almost too much that he's here, that someone is here at all and that it's Hackett whose importance runs in tight chains around them.
I'm counting on you.
She looks up, straight into his eyes.
There's too much history here and she doesn't have the energy to sort through it all, these old memories and notions and layers between them; perhaps it's easier to simply break its long chain by moving into his arms, without a word, without a regret.
That's what she does.
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“I-” she begins as his fingers run over the back of her neck and through her hair, blunt nails scraping gently at her scalp.
She takes his other hand and moves it between them, presses it between her legs which causes him to groan unexpectedly and her to whimper as she feels the pressure of it remain even when she removes her own hand. He rubs her through the layer of clothes, his hand rocking carefully back and forth.
“Please,” she murmurs, her lips stuck in the warm, pulsating curve of his neck where he smells of after shave and weapons, of metal and skin. “Please, I-”
“It's all right,” he interrupts in a low, throaty voice that undoes her completely.
One of his hands rests firmly on her hip, while the other is still where she wants it; she moves against his palm almost against her will, feeling her legs weaken and her voice break and when his fingers move up to her belt, she lets out a low cry of impatience.
He smirks a little. When he has unbuttoned her pants and his fingers have found her wet and warm and ready, he finally kisses her. Slowly, deeply, expertly he kisses her while the strokes between her legs continue in the same rhythm; their tongues press against each other as his thumb rub over her clitoris - a little flicker at first, the another one, until she presses him up against the cool fish tank and he chuckles into her hair.
She comes before they have even removed their clothes, comes with a shudder and a moan into his mouth as she rocks against his hips, feeling him harden under her.
He undresses her thoroughly, taking his time, definitely enjoying himself, she thinks and feels a flash of something close to pride when she notices his gaze go darker as his hands frees her breasts. She unbuttons his shirt and lets her mouth roam over his flat, hard body that answers so swiftly to her touch. Moving them both to the bed, Hackett sheds his underwear and hers in the process and when they arrange themselves on the bedspread, she can feel the length of him against her belly and he groans when she pushes herself up, bucking underneath him.
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He kisses her as he comes, then swirls two fingers down to help her once more and this time the orgasm builds up like a wave, fills her and takes hold until she's panting and he holds her to him, rocking them both until they can breathe properly again.
Afterwards they both wash themselves and put their clothes back on without speaking much, but without the sense of unease she would have expected - hell, the sense of unease that has accompanied all her fantasies about this moment, she thinks, deciding to be honest with herself. It's seems to be a night for honesty.
Hackett smiles at her before he leaves, a different kind of smile, tucked-in and personal. “Watch yourself out there, Commander. That's an order.”
“Yes, sir.” She doesn't salute him, not in private. Certain things have been forever altered.
As the door closes she thinks of the future. It's still uncharted.
But the weight of it has shifted, if only momentarily.
--- the end ---
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Story was perfect and exactly what I wanted it to be. I love how you showed their "relationship" in time. :) Thank you!
* saving story * :)
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(Also, LOL at the captcha for one of the parts I posted: lubricate brass. INDEED.)
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I'll gladly write much more FemShep/Hackett, that's for sure.
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