So Wrong, Yet So Right 21/?
anonymous
April 19 2013, 22:16:50 UTC
“You told me you loved me, more than a sister should, perhaps,” he continued. He could see her arms relaxing just a fraction, the crease in her forehead she got when angry lessening, and he pressed his case, “And that this was what you really wanted for our birthday.”
“And for all the next ones.” “And for all the next ones,” she finished with him.
“Then you came on my command and promised to follow all my directions in the bedroom.”
Her arms were unfolded now, handing limply at her sides, and those wonderfully soft green eyes were again fixated on his own. Her breathing sped up, and she looked away, one hand coming up to her forehead.
“Are you all right?” he asked, finally breaking the spell over himself and reaching out a hand towards her.
“Yes. No,” she said, swaying slightly, “I don’t know. I’m hot. Everything’s spinning. I think I’m going to be sick.”
“Shit,” John cursed, casting about Anderson’s office. The Council did everything electronically, none of the rooms has wastebaskets anymore, where-
Yes. Anderson was old-fashioned. There was a wastebasket under his desk. Spinning on one foot, John placed one hand on the desk, reaching under to grab the wastebasket and pass it to Jane, who grabbed at it and turned around, already heaving.
John stood, unsure of what to do as Jane dry heaved into the basket. She placed the can on the ground, kneeling in front of it, and John knelt just behind her. Tentatively, he put one hand on her back. She didn’t flinch, didn’t shy away, so he left it, rubbing it back and forth.
Jane’s heaving stopped, but she remained bent over the can, taking deep breaths. Her nausea passing, she leaned back into him. John was forced to sit down, his back against Anderson’s desk, as Jane curled herself up into him, head resting just below his chin, drawing her legs up to her chest.
She was between his outstretched legs, the smell of her hair filling John’s nostrils. It brought back a flood of memories, one more poignant than the rest, as it was the last time they had sat like this.
“Where was this?” Jane asked, her voice a hoarse whisper.
“Elysium.”
“Just checking.”
He was struck by a random pang. The Katana he’d used on Elysium had been lost on the first Normandy, now gone forever. John wrapped his arms around his knees, hands lacing in front of him. Jane burrowed into him deeper, her form familiar, but frustratingly out of reach through his armor.
“Anderson says you’ve been busy.”
Wonderful conversation starter, John, he thought to himself. Remind her of what she did while you were dead.
Jane answered without moving. “They wouldn’t give me anything important. Not after I punched the turian Councilor and kept badgering them about the Reapers.”
John had to laugh at that. Jane felt it, huffing out a laugh of her own as she continued.
“You would’ve been proud. Mid-day, people all around, giving my report to them.” Her voice got softer as she remembered. “Told them I had to continue to fight the Reapers, finish what we started.”
“But they said no.” Her voice was growing angrier, and he could understand dirty looks the Councilors had thrown her way a little better now. “Said Saren was an isolated threat. That the Reapers didn’t exist. That Sovereign was a geth,” she spat.
He wrapped his arms around her, encircling her. She shifted to slouch against his chest, resting her head on his bicep, staring out at the wall.
“The turian started bad-mouthing you as well, and I just…saw red,” she said, shrugging briefly. “Pretty sure Udina had to blow him and remind him of who saved his ass to stop him from starting another First Contact War.”
Surprisingly, she giggled a little. “After his mandible stopped swelling.”
John smiled.
“You’re a better woman than I, Jane,” he said melodramatically, “I probably would’ve taken the easy route and just snapped his mandible off.”
Jane was silent, however, not even a guffaw.
“Anderson told me to drop the Reaper agenda or we’d lose both human Spectres. I almost punched him, too,” she said softly.
John stared down at the top of her head incredulously, waiting for her next words
“And for all the next ones.”
“And for all the next ones,” she finished with him.
“Then you came on my command and promised to follow all my directions in the bedroom.”
Her arms were unfolded now, handing limply at her sides, and those wonderfully soft green eyes were again fixated on his own. Her breathing sped up, and she looked away, one hand coming up to her forehead.
“Are you all right?” he asked, finally breaking the spell over himself and reaching out a hand towards her.
“Yes. No,” she said, swaying slightly, “I don’t know. I’m hot. Everything’s spinning. I think I’m going to be sick.”
“Shit,” John cursed, casting about Anderson’s office. The Council did everything electronically, none of the rooms has wastebaskets anymore, where-
Yes. Anderson was old-fashioned. There was a wastebasket under his desk. Spinning on one foot, John placed one hand on the desk, reaching under to grab the wastebasket and pass it to Jane, who grabbed at it and turned around, already heaving.
John stood, unsure of what to do as Jane dry heaved into the basket. She placed the can on the ground, kneeling in front of it, and John knelt just behind her. Tentatively, he put one hand on her back. She didn’t flinch, didn’t shy away, so he left it, rubbing it back and forth.
Jane’s heaving stopped, but she remained bent over the can, taking deep breaths. Her nausea passing, she leaned back into him. John was forced to sit down, his back against Anderson’s desk, as Jane curled herself up into him, head resting just below his chin, drawing her legs up to her chest.
She was between his outstretched legs, the smell of her hair filling John’s nostrils. It brought back a flood of memories, one more poignant than the rest, as it was the last time they had sat like this.
“Where was this?” Jane asked, her voice a hoarse whisper.
“Elysium.”
“Just checking.”
He was struck by a random pang. The Katana he’d used on Elysium had been lost on the first Normandy, now gone forever. John wrapped his arms around his knees, hands lacing in front of him. Jane burrowed into him deeper, her form familiar, but frustratingly out of reach through his armor.
“Anderson says you’ve been busy.”
Wonderful conversation starter, John, he thought to himself. Remind her of what she did while you were dead.
Jane answered without moving. “They wouldn’t give me anything important. Not after I punched the turian Councilor and kept badgering them about the Reapers.”
John had to laugh at that. Jane felt it, huffing out a laugh of her own as she continued.
“You would’ve been proud. Mid-day, people all around, giving my report to them.” Her voice got softer as she remembered. “Told them I had to continue to fight the Reapers, finish what we started.”
“But they said no.” Her voice was growing angrier, and he could understand dirty looks the Councilors had thrown her way a little better now. “Said Saren was an isolated threat. That the Reapers didn’t exist. That Sovereign was a geth,” she spat.
He wrapped his arms around her, encircling her. She shifted to slouch against his chest, resting her head on his bicep, staring out at the wall.
“The turian started bad-mouthing you as well, and I just…saw red,” she said, shrugging briefly. “Pretty sure Udina had to blow him and remind him of who saved his ass to stop him from starting another First Contact War.”
Surprisingly, she giggled a little. “After his mandible stopped swelling.”
John smiled.
“You’re a better woman than I, Jane,” he said melodramatically, “I probably would’ve taken the easy route and just snapped his mandible off.”
Jane was silent, however, not even a guffaw.
“Anderson told me to drop the Reaper agenda or we’d lose both human Spectres. I almost punched him, too,” she said softly.
John stared down at the top of her head incredulously, waiting for her next words
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