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empresskadia · 3 months

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1.4 Gentle Touches [Halo] [Linda-058]

I have started a short series with Halo and all the Spartans deserve some gentle touches and kisses. This lowkey might be a Blue Team x fem! reader, so here we go...feedback is always appreciated!

1.4 Linda-058

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0800 Hours, July 16, 2545 (Military Calendar)/UNSC Destroyer Bloodhound

Their first meeting should not have rattled Linda the way it did. She would never admit this to anyone but had a feeling you knew. It was part of being a Spartan to handle marines and civilians gawking at them like idols wherever they were stationed. People tended to treat Spartans like living legends, marveling at the advanced technology of their Mjolnir armor and the superhuman abilities they possessed.

But you didn’t.

Not once did you look upon the Spartan and see anything other than a person. And for whatever reason that had been the one thing that unnerved Linda the most besides those assessing eyes that felt like they could see beneath the suit. “Dr. [L/n], this is Spartan-058.” And Doctor [Y/n] [L/n] gave her the kindest smile that anyone had ever given the Spartan.

"It's an honor to meet you, Spartan-058," you said, your voice filled with a warmth that she had never heard used with any of them before. It was gentle like you were talking with an old friend yet with a professional tone as if you were speaking with colleagues. Linda stood there, clad in her Mjolnir armor and she felt exposed in a way she hadn't before. She nodded slightly in acknowledgment but chose to remain silent, she almost felt a bit out of her element. “Though I must say referring to you by a number makes you seem more like a machine than human.”

No one had ever questioned their designations before, at least never to their faces. Even the captain introducing them shifted uncomfortably at your comment, but the doctor remained unfazed. Those eyes flicked to the captain and pinned him with a stare like you were prompting him to say something. And Linda couldn’t help but be a little impressed as your commanding officer squirmed under that gaze. You looked back at her and smiled again, this time extending your hand out in greeting. “I look forward to working with you,” Linda only looked down at the offer that you extended her way, this was different to what she was used to. But she wasn’t against it, this was new and she was intrigued. Linda hesitated for a moment as the familiarity of the gesture felt foreign, but there was something in your eyes that strangely reassured her. Slowly, she accepted the handshake and was surprised to note the warmth that emanated from your hand.

"Likewise, Doctor [L/n]," Linda finally answered and your eyes sparkled with delight. There was almost a teasing tone in them as if you wanted to comment but were reframing.

“Please, just [Y/n]. I have no desire to be referred to by my last name anymore. Especially with someone who I will be spending much of my time with.”

The captain, still visibly uneasy, managed to mumble a few words to the doctor before excusing himself. Left alone with you, Linda felt a shift in the atmosphere as a relaxed tone trailed in as you began giving her the tour of the ship, unprompted. You navigated the ship with ease, pointing out various areas and explaining their functions without expecting her to respond. Throughout the tour, Linda observed the genuine passion you had for your work. Your explanations were not just about the technical aspects of the ship, but also about the people who manned it and the collaborative efforts that went into everything.

As you reached the bridge, Linda couldn't help but note the efficiency with which you interacted with the crew. The respect and camaraderie they displayed towards you was evident and she could see why. You knew everyone by name and didn’t hesitate to greet them as they passed by. Toward the end of the tour, you stopped in front of a door. “And this is where we have you staying, my room is just a few doors down if you ever need anything.” You swiped your hand on the access pad for the biometric scan, the door sliding open. “I was going to try to make it homey but I had no idea what Spartans like.” The room was standard-issued but it was the flowers on the desk that caught her attention. “The only thing I could think of to welcome you was flowers and chocolates ‘cause who doesn’t like those?” And for a moment, Linda was taken aback.

It was a small, unexpected gesture that went against the usual Spartan protocol. A pop of color in a blank room. Linda turned her head towards the scientist and studied you for a moment. She found herself facing a situation she hadn't prepared for, a situation no one had trained her for and she found that a faint smile tugged at the corners of her lips, perhaps this assignment wouldn't be as rigid as the others. And in a softer monotone voice, one that she only used with the other Spartans, she finally said, "Thank you."

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1300 Hours, August 18, 2545 (Military Calendar)/UNSC Destroyer Bloodhound

It had been a month at this point since Linda had been assigned to protect the scientist, and to her surprise, you had gotten a handful of conversations out of her when on the field together as you researched forerunner structures. The rest of Blue team would be shocked to hear it and it had a small smile tugging on the corner of her lips as she thought about it. Honestly, some parts of you had reminded her of Kelly, and other parts reminded her of John, specifically your stubbornness. Sometimes she even saw bits of Fred, and she had grown comfortable around you. The silence that would often settle around them never felt like it needed to be filled with chatter.

The mission that was set for planetside had been abruptly canceled and Linda was left with a free schedule. She had been used to following after the doctor as you hoped around the planet looking through each structure with the excitement of a child. It took less than a day to understand why they assigned a Spartan to watch over the doctor. The ODSTs and marines wouldn’t be able to keep up as you had a habit of constantly disappearing and wandering off, one that Linda had to quickly adapt herself to. She almost wished for the rest of Blue team to be here, not that she had trouble with you but to ensure your safety even further. You never once hesitated to share any discoveries you made and often ramble off to her, in a way to put your thoughts together. Or it would be a constant quiet as you examined. There was no in-between.

With the free time she had, Linda spent the next three hours in the gym, out of her MJOLNIR armor for the first time in months. It felt strange and made her feel exposed, but the ship AI wouldn’t let her use the gym otherwise.

The rhythmic thud of her boots echoed through the corridor as she made her way back to her quarters. The ship's halls hummed with a low vibration as she turned the corner and the familiar figure in the middle of the hall had her stopping.

“Doctor?” Linda called out after a minute. You were standing there seemingly engrossed in a datapad, lost in thought. A noise of surprise leaves you as you look up,

“Oh, hello Spartan,” Then look back down before your head shoots up again with your brows furrowed and something akin to shock crosses your features as you stare at her before giving her a warm smile. “Nice to see you out of that armor, 058, I was starting to think it was your whole personality.” You teased. Linda couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at your playful comment, this teasing had started opening into a new layer to whatever dynamic had been playing between the two lately.

"I could say the same about you and that datapad," she retorted, a hint of amusement in her tone. You gave her a shrug in total agreement. The two of you stood there for a moment, the ship's hum providing a subtle background to the conversation. Linda took a step closer, without her armor on there was barely any barrier between you and her. "Is there something on that datapad that has your attention?"

You glanced down at the device with a thoughtful expression. "Just some data analysis, nothing too exciting that you haven’t heard from me yet. I was actually on my way to the mess hall for a quick break. Care to join me?"

Linda hesitated for a moment, she was still not accustomed to casual invitations you sent her way but this was the first time you had invited her alone with none of the crew present. She gave a subtle nod knowing you would be able to catch it. Perhaps different was okay…It was something she was learning to appreciate with you.

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0700 Hours, September 3, 2545 (Military Calendar)/UNSC Destroyer Bloodhound

The morning was slow compared to the others, there was no planetside mission today with the rain drenching the planet. But that never stopped you from working away with that current data available as you poured her some coffee and patted the spot next to you, silently inviting her to join. Silence had become a part of their everyday dance, it was comfortable and chatter never needed to fill the air around them.

"Why do you treat me like this? Like I'm just a person, not a Spartan." Linda broke the silence that hung in the air. She had been curious this entire time, the reactions she got from the soldiers, the crew, and the others on this ship were the usual, no one reacted the same way as you.

The scientist paused, looking at her with a thoughtful expression that seemed almost confused. "Because you are a person…?" The answer ended in a question like you were unsure how else to explain. Like Linda had proposed a trick question.

And for her, your answer was enough. The quiet settled once more and Linda was left with her thoughts before you spoke up once more.

“If I ever meet the Master Chief should I give him flowers?” You asked with a playful glint in your eyes and Linda finds herself chuckling softly. She would pay to see you give flowers to John, he wouldn’t know how to react, and the image of him holding a delicate bouquet in his armor almost had her snorting. Linda really couldn’t stop the grin that graced her lips.

“As long as you make them as pink as possible.” Kelly would double over in a fit of laughter and hold it over John’s head for the rest of their lives.

“Noted,”

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0900 Hours, November 16, 2545 (Military Calendar)/UNSC Destroyer Bloodhound

Linda-058 knew her mission had been completed the moment you finished the last of the reports and submitted them that evening. But for some reason, she felt…off about it, like she was disappointed but at the same time was eager to see the rest of Blue team and her Spartans again.

Her family.

But then she thought about you and felt something tugging at her and she couldn’t identify it. ‘This is bittersweet,’ Linda thought to herself finally. She had been meditating on the feeling for hours before she was called to the command room, but it was seeing you that had her figuring it out. She enjoyed your company and the comfort you brought and she was going to miss it. Linda was going to miss you. ‘Huh, how interesting.’ she thought as you stared at her with sad eyes as soon as the debriefing was over, leaving the two of you alone.

“It’s been an honor, Spartan,” you muttered softly. “It was a pl-”

“Linda,” She said quietly, cutting you off and the scientist looked up at her in surprise. The silence had settled around them before a smile broke out on your lips. “Well, it’s a pleasure to properly meet you, Linda. I hope I can see you again,” And Linda hoped it too.

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0600 Hours, January 5, 2547 (Military Calendar)/ UNSC Carrier Stalingrad

Truly, Linda had been pleasantly surprised when she had to drop off the artifact at the laboratory, only to find you being the leading department head. “One moment please,” You called out even before she entered the lab. Your focus was ever directed toward the datapad and the scene brought a small smile to her lips, if there was one thing that didn’t seem to change, it was you. Linda took only two steps into the room before your head was snapping up like you recognized the footfalls, your brows furrowed and you just stared at her and tilted your head before a smile touched your lips. Your attention turned completely to her, like nothing else mattered. “Hello, Linda,” you say as softly as she remembers and the sound of her name on your lips made her feel things she hadn’t before.

It was later in the evening when Linda had decided to take your offer to eat dinner together in the mess hall that the thought had crossed her mind. More specifically when she watched two marines embrace that she wondered about it. Physical affection had never been something that Spartans ever strived for, she had seen you on a number of times hug others in greeting or comfort when she first met the doctor. And now, Linda couldn’t help but be curious, she wondered if you would be as soft as your personality or as warm against her as the smiles you always give her. If Kelly or Fred could only hear her thoughts, they would be shocked and Linda found herself giving a small chuckle at the thought that caught your attention.

You simply raised your brow at her and she just went back to her meal. You knew you weren’t going to get an answer from her. But your eyes flickered to where she had been looking and a thoughtful expression graced your features but the scientist didn’t say anything.

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1500 Hours, January 6, 2547 (Military Calendar)/ UNSC Carrier Stalingrad

The huff of frustration that escaped the doctor caused the corners of her lips to twitch. Linda didn’t need to open her eyes to see your annoyed expression as you worked to figure out that artifact. Truly, you hadn’t changed at all and it’s how she found herself meditating in your lab just as it was over a year ago. “If you scowl any harder at it, your face may permanently freeze like that.” She commented, "And then where would we be?"

“Still glaring at this thing,” you mutter, she felt your gaze shift onto her. “And displayed in a museum because of how perfect I look.”

“Your confidence knows no bounds,”

You let out a snort, “I can be so much worse, Lin, I don’t have anything on Sergeant Johnson.” And the room fell quiet as the Spartan simply opened her eyes and stared at you before raising a brow.

“Lin?”

You shrugged, looking a little bashful, “Sorry, slip of the tongue.” and Linda smiled at you.

“I like it.”

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1300 Hours, January 8, 2547 (Military Calendar)/ UNSC Carrier Stalingrad

Standby wasn’t anything unusual but to have a Spartan on standby for this long wasn’t normal unless they were expecting an attack. Linda had been on edge for the last few days more so because of the doctor on the ship. She was worried for you, as a Spartan, worry wasn't a common emotion, yet here she was, something she found herself doing more often than not. What did catch her slightly off guard one uneventful evening was you grabbing her hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. She felt herself tense for a moment before relaxing.

The touch was unexpected, and Linda's gaze met yours with a raised eyebrow. Your expression remained calm as a small smile blossomed. "It's not a weakness to care, Lin.” Being mindful of her strength, she squeezed your hand back. She had guessed you had field training with how quickly and aware of your surroundings you always were but the strength you held her hand with was comforting. She found her thumb running across the back of your palm, your hand was soft against hers. “Can I hug you?” You asked, never breaking eye contact.

The question hung in the air, a small smile played on her lips, and she nodded in response to your question. "Yes, you can,"

The warmth of your embrace felt oddly comforting, the scent of your hair, the gentle rise and fall of your chest against hers—it was all so human. "I appreciate you," you whispered, and she found herself copying your action and holding you close to her.

“I have a request,” she muttered and you held her tighter.

“Go on,”

“Can you show me how to cuddle?”

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0900 Hours, June 21, 2549 (Military Calendar)/ UNSC Destroyer Hera

It would be a lie if Linda said a part of her wasn’t excited to see the scientist again. What were the chances that you were on the same ship Blue team was being transferred too. She knew you would be able to tell her apart from the other Spartans clad in the green armor and Linda was only proven right when you entered the commanding room and those assessing eyes landed straight on them. The smile that tugged at your lips signified you knew she was here. “Ah! [Y/n], I wasn’t expecting you up here this quickly. I was debriefing the Spartans on their indefinite stay until further notice.” The Captain said as you walked up your datapad ever present in your hands.

“I had a feeling I was going to see someone I knew today and I couldn’t help running up here. Though this was still a surprise.” You say, greeting her team with a soft ‘hello’ that had Fred shifting next to her like he hadn’t expected such a gentle formality. Linda hadn’t told the rest of her team about you, she had been quiet about the mission overall and they never pushed to know more. They knew she would share if she needed or wanted to.

The Captain simply gave you a confused look that you shrugged off, obviously, you had heard a squad of Spartans was being transferred temporarily. But it was an utter delight that Linda-058 was among them. You handed off the datapad to the Captain letting him know that all the information he asked for was detailed in it before turning toward them. “Let me personally welcome you four onto the UNSC Hera, if any of you need anything at all please don’t hesitate to come find me. My lab is stationed on Deck 4, section L-7.” As your eyes drifted across all four of them, her fellow spartans all made subtle shifts that had her give a small smile.

They had all felt it too, that feeling like you could see straight through the armor to them. But what they didn’t catch was the personal invitation that you extended out to her with those words. You knew how Spartans were, you knew that they wouldn't come find you.

But she would. And Linda knew exactly where her scientist would be.

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2100 Hours, June 21, 2549 (Military Calendar)/ UNSC Destroyer Hera

The fingers that gently ran through her hair were a danger she forgot. They were going to knock her out in a minute and your soft humming wasn’t helping. Linda was glad for once they were assigned separate rooms instead of bunking together because John and Fred would come to hunt her down if she never came back because she wasn’t leaving this room unless the covenant appeared.

She had missed this. She had missed you.

You insisted that she lay on you, her head against your chest to give her a reprieve, saying “when was the last time you rested. You can be the big spoon tomorrow.” and she had barely put up a fight, eager to just have you close. She couldn't deny the warmth that spread through her as she lay there, the steady rhythm of your heartbeat beneath her serving as a comforting lullaby, each beat a reassurance that you were alive. Your fingers continued their soothing trail through her hair, and Linda couldn't help but close her eyes, and fully relax against you, feeling the rise and fall of your breath beneath her.

This was the only time she felt…decent out of her armor was when she was with you, held lovingly against her. You were safe and whole. Untouched from dangers at the moment and it was all Linda could ask for.

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1800 Hours, June 28, 2549 (Military Calendar)/ UNSC Destroyer Hera

The last week had been filled with back-to-back missions but each time Blue team came back to the UNCS Hera, they would notice Linda disappearing but no one commented on it. She had been at the top of her game more than usual lately and the best way any of them could explain it was that Linda was bouncing in a way they haven’t really seen before. Of course, this meant that Linda hardly saw you during the day, often having to leave notes for you as she departed your quarters, or hers. Somehow you had gotten a spartan-sized bed moved into your room and when she asked about it, you simply smiled at her.

Normally you would have responded by now to the note, you have access to her room after all, but there was nothing. There generally were only two reasons for that, one you were far too absorbed into your research and had forgotten. Which was very plausible knowing you, or, two, you were deliberately avoiding the message, but she trusted you enough to believe there might be a good reason. That was also the least likely scenario. She and the rest of Blue team were in the mess hall when she spotted you walking in with your colleagues, a few of them friends that you had spoken highly about during your nights together. But the datapad in your hand gave away what you had been doing together, it was work that kept you away. Your eyes met hers, and for a brief moment, guilt flickered in your gaze before you turned to the other said a few words, and headed towards the table the Spartans were at.

As you approached the table, Linda was already giving you her full attention, something she was sure the other three were noting when she saw Kelly raise a brow at her. All four of them were out of their armor which was currently being repaired. Things had gotten..out of hand during their latest mission.

"I forgot to say something, but I'll be done around 2100, if you wanna come to the lab." Linda's eyes flicker to your datapad before nodding.

"Busy with work again?" she asked, her tone light but there was a distinct note of concern in it that had you smile.

“Yeah, I’m sorry for any worry, it’s been a hectic week.” Your eyes took on the shine that she adored when you were excited about something. “But I can’t wait to show you the breakthroughs on what we had! Oh! And the repairs on your armor are going well, I think you’ll like the updates I’m making!”

Before she could comment, it was Fred who spoke up, “I thought the engineering team was doing repairs?”

“They fall under [Y/n]’s department and she likes to pitch in and make some personal enhancements that would give Halsey a run for her money,” Linda answers, earning a look of surprise from all of them. One for the fact that she knew it was your department and she kept tabs on that and two, that Linda knew you well enough to make a comparison to Dr. Halsey. She turned her attention back to the scientist. "We'll be working out till 2100, but I can meet you after."

"Sounds great, make sure you shower, I'm not dealing with a sweaty Spartan," You tease, making a show by scrunching up your nose and Linda's eyes glimmer in amusement. You glanced over your shoulder back at your friends before giving a small wave to the Spartans. "Then I'll see you later, Lin.' It was lovely to see you Blue team." And Linda just hummed in confirmation.

What you missed while walking away was Fred choking on his water before looking at Linda with an open mouth. Even Kelly and the Master Chief were looking at her with an arched brow. Hardly anything shocked them but for Linda to be called Lin, not one of them expected it, or for Linda to be apparently that close with a civilian.

"Lin?" Fred asked. Linda glances at him before going back to her meal, not even bothering to acknowledge their questions. She didn't feel the need to share about [Y/n] just yet.

#halo #halo series #fanfiction #writing #my writing #Linda 058 #Linda 058 x reader #blue team x reader #Gentle Touches #halo x reader #Linda 058 x you #halo fanfiction #fem!reader

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alidravana · 2 years

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Fandom: Call of Duty: Advanced Warfare

Pairing: Jack Mitchell/Gideon

Length/Rating: <2.5k, Teen

Tags: Holding Hands, Touch Starved, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Prosthesis, Gentle Touches, Intimacy, Romantic Fluff

Summary:

An exploration of the importance of touch in Mitchell's and Gideon's continuously evolving relationship.

Written for the bonus prompt for @flufftober: "holding hands".

Thanks to the wonderful @lisbetadair for editing and @samithemunchkin for helping with all my random AW questions. Fic can be read here on A03 or below!

*****

To say that Mitchell had complicated feelings about his prosthetic arm was an understatement.

It had been the plan to eventually get a prosthetic, once the military combed through his medical insurance to find out what he could actually afford, which likely wasn’t much. When Will’s dad approached him at the funeral, and offered him a way out of the hole of misery he had dug himself into, Mitchell lunged at the opportunity. The chance to have a prosthetic that was functional at a military level, was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and so Mitchell knew his answer was yes, even as Mr. Irons was handing over the card.

Mitchell thought nothing would compare to the searing pain of having his arm blown off and his body tossed onto the ground like a rag doll. But he severely underestimated the amount of pain that the surgery entailed.

A fully functional prosthetic. Not a simple on-and-off job. A graft that surpassed the strength and dexterity of a normal human arm. Hours of reconstructive surgery. Days of nerve regeneration. Weeks of testing. Months of physiotherapy

It glitched. The first simulation he ran with his new commanding officer, Gideon, it glitched.

It was fucking embarrassing.

He wanted to refuse the hand that Gideon offered, but knew that throwing a temper tantrum wasn’t the best impression either. So Mitchell reached up with his good remaining arm: the one with real skin, that still pumped red blood, and had all of its original nerves, and grasped Gideon’s, accepting the offer of help.

He could feel the strength, the tenseness of the older man’s muscles as he heaved Mitchell upwards. And the warmth. Oh, the warmth. Mitchell’s fingers twitched involuntarily as a brief mental image of running his hand along those forearms, helping to ease the tension, shot through his mind. Mitchell shook his head, trying to banish that thought from his mind as he forced himself to let go of Gideon, prying himself away from that warmth.

It was a comfort that he had no business taking.

But after the technicians fixed the glitch, repairing his hand with a few quick lines of code, it was Gideon that took Mitchell’s hand in his. Running his fingers along the palm of Mitchell’s prosthetic, carefully turning it over to check the joints and then carefully, but firmly, wrapping his hands around Mitchell’s, making sure it could close tightly. Gideon then let go, patting Mitchell on the back and leading the way to the firing range.

Of course Gideon had to make sure his arm was in working order, Mitchell told himself as he followed after the other man, having to break into a jog a couple times to keep up. And it’s not like he could feel the other man’s touch. Not really. For all the time and effort spent on nerve regeneration, the sensation in his hand and forearm were still greatly diminished. It was more pressure that he could feel, not texture or temperature. But he could have swore that Gideon’s hands lingered longer than they needed to…even if he didn’t know why.

Over the next couple years with ATLAS, Mitchell slowly got more used to the feel of Gideon’s hands.

At first, it had been a simple pat here, a gentle squeeze of the shoulder, or a congratulatory hug at the end of a mission, but over time, the touches came more frequently, each more daring. A hand on his lower back when squeezing past him in the kitchen, touching of thighs while watching a movie, the offer to massage a sore muscle, and so forth.

Mitchell loved them all. He tried to not be too reactive, but he couldn’t help but lean into each and every touch, chasing the warmth that Gideon shared, the comfort he offered.

Mitchell prided himself on being a great observer, able to decipher other people’s motivations and actions, and adjust to meet changing situations in the field, but the first time he found himself pressed up against the wall, Gideon’s mouth on his, he realized that his observation skills could use some more work.

Even through his fatigues, his skin felt heated where Gideon’s hands gripped his waist, strongly but gently pinning him up against the wall as his tongue explored Mitchell’s mouth. The tickle of Gideon’s rough stubble along his own, the surprisingly softness of his lips; Mitchell couldn’t help but let out a small moan at the conflicting sensations.

Encouraged, Gideon slid a leg between his thighs, and continued pressing further into the kiss. Mitchell almost jolted at the increased intimate contact. The pressure and warmth of Gideon’s leg between his own sent a wave of pleasure rippling through him.

But Mitchell’s general lack of movement or verbal agreement must have concerned Gideon, as he pulled back from the kiss, his shoulders starting to angle as if he was going to pull away.

Stifling a whimper from the sudden loss of contact, his right hand shot out, grabbing tightly onto Gideon’s hip to pull the man back up against him. He hungrily chased Gideon’s lips with his own, their teeth accidentally clinking together in his haste. Mitchell pulled back slightly, but not too much, not wanting to give up an inch of contact. They continued making out against a wall, both chasing that comfort that only they could provide for each other, until Gideon finally tugged on the bottom of his shirt, tilting his head suggestively in the direction of the bed.

With his hand grasped firmly in Gideon’s, Mitchell followed eagerly behind.

After that night, now that Mitchell knew that Gideon had feelings for him too, Mitchell started to allow himself to touch Gideon more.

He started slowly, cautiously, still not entirely sure how Gideon wanted to be touched in front of the others.

He would reach out and touch Gideon’s shoulder when they were in the command room, peering over floorplans or pulling up intel on the computers. He would sit a bit closer on the couch in the rec room when they were playing video games, just enough so that their shoulders would bump against each other in the course of the competition.

Once those were deemed successful, Mitchell then moved onto the slightly more daring touches as well: the extra caresses while double checking Gideon’s gear, returning a hug at the end of the mission (he still wasn’t comfortable initiating one, not yet), small, little kisses when no one was looking. And a tug on his hand when it was time to go to bed.

But still, Mitchell didn’t touch Gideon with his left hand.

“I still can’t believe it,” Mitchell said, looking down at his new left hand.

It had only been a week since he killed Irons.

Mitchell could remember everything with startling clarity. How he lunged at the last moment to grab Irons, only for the two of them to go barreling towards the building’s edge. To end up with half of his body over the side of the building, Irons dangling below him. The man had had the audacity to tell him that he had no plans of letting go, while gripping tightly onto his left arm.

Irons hadn’t realized that it wasn’t his choice to make.

It was Mitchell’s.

Mitchell had no plans of falling to his own death. Gideon needed his help. And he absolutely felt no attachment to the piece of crap ATLAS-made prosthetic.

He was done. He was done with Irons, done with ATLAS, done with this war.

Yanking his knife free from his vest, Mitchell reached over and started to pry the prosthetic off. He flinched instinctively as the sharp, serrated edge of his knife cut into his remaining arm, but the pain was dull, distant. Negligent compared to the rest of the damage that had been inflicted on him on that mission. And so he kept going.

Finally as Mitchell reached the last connection, he bit his lip as he severed the cord. It failed to stop his shout of pain from the electric jolt that shot along his arm and up into his shoulder, but the pain quickly fizzled, the cord being the last connection from the prosthetic to his nerves.

He watched Irons, and then his prosthetic, fall into the fiery blaze below. It felt fitting. And final.

Mitchell wasn’t surprised that it was Gideon who found him, still stretched out on the ground, oblivious to the heat from the flames surrounding them. But Gideon’s hands; his warm, strong hands, lifted him up, and helped him to hobble from the building. Even though it was supposed to be him saving Gideon.

The series of events that followed were slightly hazier, but ended up being too familiar. With him stuck in a hospital bed, unable to look away from his stump, alone and awaiting the bad news. His stump had been recently re-bandaged, the nurse telling him that he had been lucky that he only needed a few stitches to fix the damage caused by the knife.

But then the doctor came in, pulling in Gideon who had been loitering in the hall, and the scenario suddenly changed. The pattern was broken, for the better. He didn’t have to go through this alone. Not this time. He had Gideon.

Mitchell couldn’t help but grin at Gideon, stifling a small chuckle at the sheepish look on his face. He reached out with his right hand and luckily didn’t have to wait for long, Gideon’s hand quickly slipping into his.

As the doctor started into her spiel that they were now two years ahead of ATLAS technology, Mitchell had to force himself to keep up his smile, not wanting to offend her. The same thing had been said about his first arm. ATLAS had promised him the world, and all he got was glitchy. And numbness. He almost snorted when she pointed out the words ‘maximal sensation’ in the brochure, but stopped himself, turning it into a cough at the last moment.

Mitchell didn’t want to go over the brochures that she left behind, didn’t want to have his hopes raised again, didn’t want to have to make any decisions. But he knew he had to. So he pushed them towards Gideon, told his partner to summarize the highlights, and then with the help of Gideon, along with the welcome distraction of his partner threading his hand through Mitchell’s hair, they came to a decision.

The surgery to install the new prosthetic had also improved over the last few years, and Mitchell was in and out in no time, with significantly less pain than the last time around. After being discharged from the hospital, Gideon insisted that he go straight to the bed when they got back to the base. So now, he was sitting in Gideon’s bed, opting to lean back on his partner rather than use pillows to prop him up.

Mitchell continued to stare at his new prosthetic, turning his arm back and forth so that his palm was resting on the sheets, and then facing the ceiling. It didn’t look much different than his old one: same exact skin colour (they could match based on DNA in the factory), same size, similar weight. It just didn’t have ‘ATLAS’ stamped all over it, which was a relief. But the sensitivity was absolutely amazing. Mitchell still couldn’t believe it. He could feel the softness of the sheets, the coolness of the cotton fabric against the back of his hand, and then again on his open palm.

Mitchell looked back at Gideon, who hadn’t stopped smiling at him since they left the hospital.

With a nod towards his arm, Mitchell let out a loud sigh as Gideon reached out, repeating the same motions as he did that day he met the older man, only slower. Gideon ran his fingers along his palm, gently turning his hand over to check all the joints, and then carefully, but firmly, wrapping his hands around Mitchell’s, making sure it could close tightly. Gideon then raised his hand to his mouth, kissing each knuckle, one at a time.

And Mitchell could feel it all.

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to stop himself from tearing up. His eyes flew back open as Gideon’s hands cupped his cheeks, his thumb wiping away the errant tear that had fallen down Mitchell’s cheek. The two of them simply stared at each other until Mitchell broke the silence.

“Can I touch you?” Mitchell blurted out, blushing at his forwardness. But it wasn’t an impulsive question either. He had wanted to touch Gideon with his left hand for so long now, but there was a mental wall that stopped him every time he thought to reach out. Mitchell wanted to be able to grip both of Gideon’s hips, to pull him down on top of him, to run his fingers through his hair, maybe even try picking him up. He wanted to touch Gideon in all the ways that the other man had touched him. But he hadn’t been ready before.

“Of course, love.”

Mitchell’s left hand shook slightly as he reached out, only remembering to breathe after he took Gideon’s right hand in his. He kept the grip loose at first, as his mind flashed back to the glitches his first prosthetic encountered. Mitchell almost yanked it back right then, not wanting to hurt his partner, but Gideon’s silent support emboldened him. Pushing back those intrusive and unwanted memories, Mitchell gripped Gideon’s hand tighter, the other man squeezing slightly in response.

“Your hand is warm,” Gideon said softly, as if he was worried that by breaking the silence that Mitchell would pull back, would run. But Mitchell wasn’t going anywhere.

His hand was warm. Mitchell’s left hand was warm.

Mitchell threw himself into Gideon’s lap, wrapping both arms tightly around his partner, the other man instinctively doing the same. He wanted to stay there, forever.

Because his heart was warm too.

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