#you think you’re safe from the scrawny human because you’re tough? think again

[patolemus]

Stiles sits in the front row at the funeral.

He’s next to Mellisa, who hasn’t been able to stop crying since she got the news. Stiles’ dad had organized the whole thing, talking with the funerary home and picking up the coffin and the arrangements. He’d only asked Melissa what she wanted on the headstone.

Raphael had showed up the day after. For the first time in his life, he’d looked a mess, hair everywhere and clothes wrinkled as he stormed into the house asking what had happened to his son, tears already gathering in his eyes before he even got a look at Melissa’s face. Stiles hadn’t made fun of him. Stiles hadn’t said anything at all. Raphael sits on Melissa’s other side now, and she grips his hand tight enough it turns white. He hasn’t been back for five years.

God, Scott hadn’t seen his had for five years, and now he’s dead. Scott’s dead.

Stiles thinks it still hasn’t sunk in. He’s in the middle of his best friend’s funeral - it’s closed casket because his body was so mangled up that the EMPs could barely recognize him. Stiles had heard his dad on the phone with one of his deputies talking about it, before he’d realized just whose body they were talking about - and it still hasn’t clicked that Scott won’t be coming out of his casket, that this isn’t some kind of sick practical joke for getting him out of bed the night before school started.

Stiles is not crying. He hasn’t cried once since hearing the news. His dad is crying, sitting on his other side. Scott’s like a second son to him.

Was. Scott was like a second son to him. Was because he’s gone now. Because he’s dead.

Scott’s dead.

His best friend since preschool is dead. His brother is dead. The kindest, most caring person in the world is dead. Stiles goaded him into going to the preserve to look for half a dead body - and God, he’s such an asshole. A dead body? What was he even thinking? - and now Scott doesn’t even get to show his face at his own funeral because whatever killed him barely left any of him to bury.

If only he’d stayed. If only he’d told his dad Scott was with him that night instead of leaving him there. But no, Stiles hadn’t wanted Scott to get grounded because he dragged him out of bed, so he’d kept quiet. Even when he’d seen the pair of red eyes and that— that thing in the corner of his eye. Stiles hadn’t said anything. He thought they’d laugh about it at lunch the next day.

Now Scott’s dead.

Scott is dead.

And Stiles knows exactly what did it.

(He’s going to fucking kill it.)

[whatcouldgowrong-ohthat]

Us and Andie Ch. 1

Summary: Bucky works as an Avenger because it’s what’s right. He feels he has sins he’ll never be able to make up for, but he’ll spend the rest of his life trying. However, his life takes an unexpected turn when he comes across Andie, the daughter of recently divorced Y/N. The life he had once “maintained” in hopes of surviving changes as his heart warms for a tough-as-nails nurse and her wonderful daughter.

Pairing: Bucky x singleparent!Reader

Word Count: 3167 words (oops??)

Warnings: Um…none?? This is looking to be more of a slow burn fic, but I mean, those are the best, right?

This IS in response to @buckyssoul’s writing challenge! But the dialogue hasn’t been used yet. XD

Masterlist

The constant rumble of the subway running its course was oddly comforting to Bucky Barnes. There was once a time in his life where he loathed it. It simply drove him crazy dealing with the people. He could never shake the tension and fear that came with the crowds. And more often than not, he caught them staring, recognizing him. Did they think he’d just randomly turn into the Winter Soldier and start killing people?

But at this time of night it was different.

Sure, there were people, but they ignored everything around them. They were more concerned with getting to their graveyard shift or maybe sleeping a few minutes between jobs. What their stories were, he didn’t care. So here he was, nearing midnight, and finally heading back to Brooklyn.

The subway screeched to a halt as something incomprehensible came over the speakers. He didn’t bother paying attention. He knew his route. He still had two more stops. However, it didn’t stop him from noticing who was getting off and on. Particularly – one stood out to him. Someone new. Their hoodie was pulled up, hiding most of their face and over that was a cargo jacket. Both looked too big.

It’s not your problem.

He leaned back, listening to the person’s footsteps walk closer to his side of the car. Other than the man sleeping a couple seats away, this half was empty. Whoever it was, they were avoiding people. At least that was what he thought until they sat down. Their scrawny legs were tucked into their chest, too-long jeans revealing worn sneakers underneath. His steely gaze shifted to the face still trying to hide itself. It was a kid. Judging by their size and the clothes, no more than eleven. Probably a girl.

What was a kid doing on a subway alone?

It’s not your problem.

That reminder echoed in his head once again. He crossed his arms and looked away. Avenger or not, that little voice in the back of his head was right. It wasn’t his problem to handle right now. Surely the kid had a parent. Or guardian. Or someone.

And yet, he knew she was alone.

Another stop came by. People came off. No one came on. The girl was still there.

He leaned forward, his heart twisting as he wondered how alone this child was. Bucky shifted his arms, propping them on his knees. The movement caught her attention. She looked up. And Bucky’s heart broke. Tears stained her cheeks and her nose was clearly red. She wiped it on her sleeve, eyes never leaving his. Her knees were pulled tight against her chest as she wrapped her arms around them.

No more than eleven, he was certain. But in that moment, she looked so much younger.

“You okay?” His voice was low, barely above a whisper.

She nodded.

“You’re lying.” He winced at how his voice probably sounded to her. That wasn’t what he had intended.

Her eyes grew and he sighed, running his gloved hand over his jaw. Glancing around the rest of the car, he was relieved that no one else was paying attention to her. She didn’t need that right now. Especially not now. Looking back at her, he asked, “Didn’t your parents ever teach you not to lie?”

She nodded again. At least this time he knew she was telling the truth.

Silence fell between them as they watched one another, practically sizing each other up. Bucky knew it wasn’t his place to do anything. In all actuality, he should find a police officer. Or maybe call Steve. Steve was better at this sort of thing than he was.

Instead of doing just that, he asked, “Where are your parents?”

She tensed.

He cringed. Maybe could have worded that less creepily. “Kid, it’s late. I just want to make sure you get home safe.” Still, she said nothing. “Please, let me help?” The more he talked, the less gruff he sounded. The more human he sounded. Her shoulders were starting to relax and immediately he wondered if anyone had thought to teach this kid about “stranger danger”.

She looked down again, resting her chin on her knees. One step forward, two steps back.

“Kid.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Well, at least you’re talking now.” He watched her, unable to hide a smile. She was slowly trusting him. “So…where are your parents?”

“Dad’s with his family. Mom’s at work.”

He frowned. Divorce was still something he wasn’t all that familiar with. The Avengers weren’t exactly dating or married except for Clint. Tony’s off and on again relationship with Pepper was the most interaction he had with a “healthy” relationship. And some days he wasn’t sure that it qualified as one. “Which parent are you trying to get to?”

She sniffled and he noticed more tears threatening to fall. “Mom…”

“Does she know?”

“I – I left…I left my phone with them.” Tears slipped down her cheeks and Bucky decided it was time to join her side. It was quick. Shifting from one side of the car to the other, he took a seat next to her. She relaxed more. Now that Bucky was between her and the rest of the car, she clearly felt safer.

“So she doesn’t.”

She shook her head and he reached up, tugging her hoodie back. Brown hair was pulled into a ponytail, messy and knotted. She looked up at him, strands falling in her face.

“What’s your name?”

“Andie.”

It was either a fake name, which he would be impressed by, or a nickname, he was sure. But then again, he went by a nickname himself, so who was he to judge?

“You’re Bucky.”

He raised an eyebrow, surprised that she would recognize him, but relieved that she at least wasn’t opening up to a complete stranger. She knew he was “safe” and yet she was so young. How could she possibly –

“I’m a mutant. My mom…” She sniffled again, slowly but surely calming down. “My mom wanted to make sure I knew about good role models.”

Good role models? Was her mother an idiot? To think that he could be considered a good role model for a kid? With everything that he had done? No wonder the kid was such a mess. He turned away from her, staring at his interwoven hands. Glove and skin. Always glove and skin.

“Your mom? Is she – “

Andie shook her head. “No. She’s human.”

The subway came to a stop again. It was his. He was supposed to go. Looking from the door to her again, he rang his hands. Nerves. He hated them. Normally everything made him calm, but right now he couldn’t stop the nerves that ate at his gut. “Let me get you to her. Deal?”

She looked surprised but said nothing. Only nodding. There was trust in her eyes. She believed in him and believed that he would look out for her. And that warmed his heart. “She works at the hospital on Kings Highway.”

He knew that area. It wasn’t exactly in the safest part of Brooklyn and was definitely a poorer community. Knowing that both worried and impressed him regarding this kid. She was fearless. It reminded him of a blonde idiot always picking fights, never backing down. Maybe she was a bit stupid too, but she’d grow out of that.

“She’s a nurse?”

“Yeah.”

Silence fell again. It seemed neither of them were sure what they could say. Andie wanted to ask about his arm. Bucky wanted to ask why she ran. She mentioned her father having a family. Was that why? Still, he couldn’t bring himself to ask. He felt like it wasn’t his place. So he leaned back and glanced at the stops coming up. They had four more before she would have gotten off. Four stops on a creepy train just to get to her mother.

Must be a hell of a woman to raise a kid so strong.

His head rest against the window and he tensed when he felt something rest on him. He looked down. Andie’s head was propped on his metal arm and she was almost immediately asleep. She hadn’t flinched or anything. Instead, the kid found comfort in something that was supposed to be a weapon. Taking a slow breath, he forced himself to relax. She cuddled into his arm and he could tell she was absolutely exhausted. Of course, she was. No kid her age should be out this late.

Another forty minutes passed before they reached her stop. He nudged her awake and she stifled a yawn. “Come on, Andie, get up.”

Another yawn slipped out of her as she blinked slowly, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. “I fell asleep?”

“Mhm.” He picked her up, carrying her off the subway as she properly woke up. When he felt she could walk without running into anything, he set her down again. He took off his baseball cap, placing it on her head and earning a sleepy grin from her. He didn’t understand what it was about that smile that made him feel all warm and fuzzy, but in that moment…Bucky just wanted to protect her from everything.

“Alright, Andie, lead the way.”

Andie was good about sticking close to his side and honestly, it was a relief. The last thing he needed or wanted to worry about was losing the kid on accident. Somehow this wasn’t supposed to be his problem and yet, here he was.

Steve would say he was asking for it.

His arm flexed when he felt her take his hand. That stupid gloved hand. How could she not be afraid? She knew who he was.

“Why?”

Andie looked up at him before glancing at her much smaller hand holding onto his. “Maybe she won’t ground me if I’m clearly being safe and out this late with an Avenger.”

Bucky laughed. As much as he hated to admit it, it sounded like solid reasoning from a kid.  He looked ahead. The hospital was just across the street. She tugged him in that direction, not having to worry about cars this late at night. What a strange little thing she was.

The bright fluorescents of the hospital were a stark contrast to the night sky and dim streetlights. It made him squint.

“Andie?”

“Hey, Nurse Jones!”

Bucky looked up, eyes finally adjusting and fixating on the woman that had spoken. Nurse Jones – so not her mother. She watched him, the dark circles under her eyes only making her grey eyes more prominent. She was young. He would have guessed she got out of nursing school recently. Her blonde hair was pulled into a messy ponytail. Closing the file in her hand, she walked up to them, her eyes never straying from Bucky. It was interesting – a relief that she wasn’t ogling him, but in fact concerned for Andie’s wellbeing.

“Uh…Andie,” she started, crouching in front of her. “What are you doing here? And this late?”

“I…Well…”

“It’s my fault.”

Nurse Jones and Andie looked up simultaneously. Clearly neither had expected him to say that. In truth, neither had he. “Yours? You’re not Andie’s babysitter.”

Babysitter? Wasn’t she supposed to be with her dad? “No, but – “

“But he’s an Avenger.” Andie grinned when Nurse Jones’s cheeks turned pink. She recognized him then. “So I’m safe.”

She sighed, rubbing the bridge between her brows. Bucky didn’t bother to hide his smirk. It was obvious that this wasn’t the first time Andie had found a loophole in a conversation. So, Nurse Jones stood up and looked at Bucky. Before she had a chance to say anything or take Andie to her mother, there was a call from the desk. She immediately turned and went to answer the phone, reaching over rather awkwardly. “Okay, I’ll be there in a couple minutes,” she told whoever was on the other line. Hanging up, she looked back at Bucky. She glanced from him to Andie and back again, at a complete loss. “Do you mind going with her?”

He shifted from one foot to the other, brow furrowing. He thought he was just dropping the kid off and problem solved. The idea of traveling further into the hospital made him tense. Bucky didn’t like hospitals. He sure as hell didn’t trust doctors. Not after Zola. Not after…after everything. But clearly this woman looked stressed. She didn’t seem to be the type to ask for a favor from a stranger. Especially not if she could help it.

“Going with her where?”

–

Labor and Delivery.

That was where.

Surrounded by rooms filled with pregnant, hormonal women. Rooms filled with families having happy lives. Lives he couldn’t have.

You should’ve kept your mouth shut on that damn subway.

“Okay, Andie, where’s your – “

“Lauren Andromeda Y/L/N!”

“Uh oh.”

“Mom…” Bucky finished, looking up as a whirlwind of light blue scrubs came up to them. A woman swept her up, pulling Andie’s hand out of Bucky’s. She squeezed her tight and it was then that Bucky put the pieces together.

This must be her mom.

Wait, Lauren Andromeda?

Bucky raised an eyebrow as Andie peeked at him over her shoulder. She was grinning and the sight brought back that weird feeling from earlier. He looked away, clenching his jaw as he tried to stuff it aside. Instead of lingering on it, he watched out of his peripheral as she was carried to the desk the rest of the nurses were at. While they were staring at him, Andie’s mom seemed completely focused on whether her daughter was okay or not.

“Ciara called me and told me you were on your way up. What were you doing – I thought May would’ve put you to bed hours ago.” She noticed the sheepish look in her daughter’s eyes and braced her hands on either side of her, tapping her foot. “You snuck out. You went to see him.”

“I’m sorry, Mom, I just…I wanted to…”

Andie trailed off and immediately what was once aggravation and worry slipped into nothing more than a mother’s concern. She sighed as she gathered her into her arms, squeezing her tight. “I know, baby girl, I know.”

One of the nurses at their station cleared her throat, forcing her to look up. She raised an eyebrow, mouthing ‘what’ to her coworker. An impish grin appeared on her face as she pointed to just behind. “I think you owe someone a thank you.”

Looking back, a dark red blush appeared on cheeks and ears as Andie’s mother finally released her. “I – I know you.”

Bucky dipped his head, shoving his hands in his pockets. He wasn’t sure what to say.

“He’s Bucky, Mom.”

“I know that,” she hissed, looking back at Andie. She eyed the baseball cap on her head – the one clearly too big for her. She turned back to Bucky. “You brought her here?”

Bucky was still silent, not entirely sure what to say. While he was used to at least saying a couple sentences, he found himself at a complete loss. This was extremely new to him. And this woman was a whirlwind. She was chaotic at best. Unlike Natasha who carried herself with the utmost care and Wanda who was confident, but calm – she was something else. Her hair was pulled up and out of her face. There was no sign of makeup anywhere except mascara that he guessed was a couple days old. The dark circles under her eyes were similar to Nurse Jones’s and there was no sign of jewelry anywhere on her except for a single necklace around her neck.

A locket.

She was simple and yet so bright, so chaotic. He wondered if it was because of her daughter’s safety or if that was just her.

“Say something.”

Bucky shot a pointed look at Andie, making a note in the back of his mind to ask about her name at some point in the future. Instead of saying something, he simply nodded.

“Thank you.” She looked so honest and real. It was unfamiliar to him. “Being an Avenger must be exhausting. Taking the time to do that for my daughter…it means a lot.”

“I just – “ He cleared his throat, his flesh hand rubbing the back of his neck. “I just wanted to make sure she was safe.”

She smiled before looking at Andie. “I’ll call May and get your coloring books. Find a chair.” Pulling Andie off the counter, she set her down and glanced at the coworker that had teased her earlier. “Cover for me?”

“You know it, girl.”

Laughing, she pulled her phone off the charger and walked away. Bucky’s eyes watched, unable to tear themselves away. He didn’t want to. He wanted to make sure not only Andie was okay, but that her mother was. Taking a couple steps back, he shook his head. Maybe that was just the Avenger part of him talking.

“Hey.”

Bucky looked down, raising an eyebrow when he saw it was Andie less than a foot away from him. She was quick on her feet. He’d give her that. Curling a finger in a come-hither motion, she was unable to stop smiling when Bucky crouched in front of her.

“Yes?”

She took the borrowed hat off, placing it on his head. Leaning forward, Andie told him, “Her name’s Y/N.”

Bucky couldn’t stop himself from smiling at the little matchmaker in front of him. That was probably normal for a kid from divorced parents, right? Taking the hat back off his head, he adjusted the strap on the back. He turned it around and placed it back on her head, making sure it fit. Instead of commenting on the little Cupid Game Andie was so obviously playing, he said, “Keep it. Looks better on you.”

Andie tilted her head up, revealing wide, cheery eyes that weren’t shining quite so bright the first time they had met. It seemed she was much better now. She didn’t need him anymore. “Thanks, Mr. Barnes.”

“Call me Bucky.”

She giggled and nodded, the hat slipping ever so slightly. “Bye, Bucky.”

He stood up. “Bye, Andie.”

Turning on his heel, he left the Labor and Delivery department. He knew damn well if anyone from his team found out about this, he’d be teased relentlessly. So, he made sure he would keep it to himself. No one needed to find out about Andie. Or Y/N.

Bucky paused when he thought about her. Y/N. “Y/N Y/L/N.” It sounded…almost familiar.

But that didn’t matter anymore. The night was over and if he had any chance of not being a total ass at the compound tomorrow, he needed to get at least a couple hours of sleep.

So that was the new goal.

Brooklyn. Then work. Then repeat.

No Andie. No Y/N.

Back to the routine of late, lonesome subway rides.

[nataliedanovelist]

GF - How A Star Is Born ch.V

A Hercules AU, founded by @evaroze, whom this fic is a gift for. I hope y’all like it!

ch.IV - ch.VI

AO3 link

~~~~~~~~~~

Years went by. Both Dipper and Mabel went through vigorous training under their uncles’ supervision. After allowing Mabel to visit the world, Stanford had combat training be added to her lessons so, if needed, she could defend herself. Now a master of duel swords and a brand new goddess of the arts, Mabel spent her days inspiring humans, helping to keep Olympus beautiful and safe, and exploring the woods throughout Greece.

She also spent a lot of time talking to Dipper. At least once a week he would sit at night and draw in his journal to talk to his sister, swapping stories and inspiring each other to learn and grow.

Dipper was no longer a scrawny little boy, but a strong, muscular, clever young man of seventeen. Stan had never been more proud in his entire life, boxing with the kid and having him go through trials and tests and watching him grow up. He even managed to teach Dipper a few swears.

Stan coughed into his fist, standing at the end of the most difficult obstacle course Dipper had ever been set to. He grinned as Dipper emerged from shark-infested waters, blazing hoops, electric spikes, and racist homophobes, without a scratch on him, and Stan and Dipper high-hived and cheered and celebrated.

“You did it, kid! You were great!”

“Thanks, I couldn’t have done without you.” Dipper said with a smile.

“Obviously.” Stan smirked, earning him a soft punch in the beer belly. “Oof! Okay, okay. You go pack up, ya gremlin. We’re going to Thebes!”

“Isn’t that place, like, the worst place in Greece?” Dipper asked as they headed back to the Mystery Shack.

“You got it, you’ll be just what the doctor ordered.” Stan explained. “Young hero like you can help a lot of people in an Underworld-hole like that. Great place to start out. If you can make it at the Big Olive, you can make it anywhere.”

The men set sail before the sun rose the next morning. For some odd reason, Stan locked up the shack in a way that made it seem like they were never coming back, but Dipper assumed it was only because Stan believed that Dipper could make it big. The young man smiled, determined not to let his teacher down, and made sure they were on the right track.

After sailing across the ocean for a few hours, they floated into a river that traveled along the woods, taking a shortcut for Thebes rather than travel through the sea for Greece. Stan was resting in a chair with a cold drink in his hand, letting Dipper sail for a while, when they heard a scream.

The old man shot up and grinned. “Perfect! A damsel in distress! Good warm-up before we hit down. Lower the anchor here.”

Dipper did as he was told and they crept down the river for the waterfall, where they saw a young lady stumble away, groaning and growling in her throat.

The girl had long, beautiful blonde hair and stunning blue eyes that crackled like raging fire, wearing a long baby-blue dress. She hurried to her feet but was soon scooped up by the enemy that came around the river bend.

A huge Manotaur with a toga around his waist was so huge he grabbed the woman in his fist around the waist. “Not so fast, sweetheart.” He growled.

“Put me down right now, Chutzpah, or I’ll…!” The woman threw a punch at the monster, but he held her away and laughed.

“I like ‘em fiery!”

“HEY!” Dipper yelled from the riverbank and stomped on the river, leaving Stan in the bushes to munch on some popcorn.

“My money’s on Hooves.”

The girl and Chutzpah stared at the newcomer and the monster growled, “Beat it, twerp, I’m busy.”

“Sorry, mister, but you’re gonna let her go, or…”

“Keep moving, junior.” The girl sneered.

“... or I’ll…” Dipper’s sentence dropped and shattered. “But aren’t you… er, a damsel in distress?”

“I’m a damsel.” The woman said as she tried to pull herself free from the giant fist. “I’m in distress. I can handle this. Have a nice day.” She said with a sly grin with cold blue eyes.

Dipper swallowed and cleared his throat, reaching for his sword. “Uh, ma’am, I think you might be too close to this situation to realize your…” But the Manotaur punched him with so much force that Dipper flew onto a big boulder on the other side of the river.

Stan winced while Chutzpah laughed and the damsel looked bored. “C’mon kid, shake it off!” The old man coached.

Dipper charged, leaving his sword behind, and started to toss left and right hooks back and forth and landing, making the monster dizzy, and then used his head to hit him so hard it was his turn to fly back onto a hard surface, landing behind the waterfall and dropping the girl in the process.

“YES! That’s what I’m talking about, sport! Keep it up!”

“UGH!”

Dipper looked down at the wet girl and gently scooped her up out of the river to sit on a rock. “Oh, I’m sorry, ma’am. That was dumb… Excuse me, please.” And he and Chutzpah resumed their battle, the demigod using his strength to throw the Manotaur over his shoulder and putting him in a head-lock.

“Fight! Fight! Fight!” Stan chanted while the girl rang her hair dry, a smirk on her face.

“Not bad, not bad.”

“What are you talking about, he’s great!” Stan cheered. “Throw him a left! Atta boy!”

With one final punch, Dipper made Chutzpah the Manotaur fly up in the air and then come back crashing down face first in the water, a shiny bruise on his snooze button.

“Alright! Nice work!” Stan coached. “You could’ve gone without the distraction from a pair of big goo-goo eyes, but good recovery! Alright, let’s hit the water and move on.” And he walked off for the boat.

But once again, Dipper was distracted. The woman was rubbing her arms dry and sliding off the rock to stand, stretching her slender back; Dipper’s face felt hot and his whole body felt like it wasn’t even there. “Uh… are you alright, miss…?”

“Pacifica.” The girl said with a voice that dripped with sarcasm, like she believed she had better things to do than be standing here and talking to him, but she didn’t know what. “I’m fine. Thanks for the save. So, you got a name to go with all those rippling pectorals?”

“Uh… um, ah… I’m uh… uh…”

“Don’t speak Greek or something?”

“Dipper!” The man cleared his throat and answered in a calmer tone. “M-My name is Dipper. How did you get mixed up with the…”

“Knucklehead with hooves?” Pacifica finished for him. “Ah, you know how men are. They all think ‘no’ means ‘yes,’ and ‘get lost’ means ‘take me, I’m yours.’ Well, thanks for everything, Dip. Bye-bye.” And Pacifica began to walk away.

“Wait!” Dipper called out quickly, a reflex of seeing someone beautiful and cool-headed going away, and he offered sheepishly, “Uh, c-c-can I give you a ride on my boat, erm, me and Stan’s boat?”

“I’m fine,” Pacifica giggled coldly. “I’m a big tough girl, I tie my own sandals and everything. I can look after myself. See ya, Dippin’ Dots.” And Dipper watched as she disappeared beneath a hill.

“Uh… bye.” Dipper said weakly, clumsy on his feet as Stan sailed their small boat behind him, going down the river for Thebes.

“OY! Knucklehead! We going or what?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah… yeah…”

Dipper pulled himself on board, smiling with his head in the clouds. Stan sighed and shook his head, muttering, “Twitterpated.”

As Pacifica walked further and further into the woods, the atmosphere got darker and darker. The young lady walked as coldly as the air, unafraid and all too familiar with who was approaching her. When a huge gust of blue fire erupted from the Earth and a floating triangle appeared before the teenage girl, she rolled her eyes and sneered, “Great, I needed cheddar for dinner.”

Bill cackled as he held his three-sided body and kicked his legs in the air. “Oh, my little Llama. Care to explain what exactly happened?” He made a chess board appear before him with various pieces of monsters and anomalies on the board. “I thought you were gonna persuade the River Guardian to join my team for the uprising and, here I am, kinda River Guardian-less.”

“I gave it my best shot,” Pacifica said coldly as she flicked Chutzpah off the board. “But he made an offer I had to refuse.”

“Okay, fine,” Bill replied as he made the board disappear, closing it like a book. “Instead of taking two year from your lifetime sentence, Imma add two on, okay? You got your best shot?”

Pacifica groaned and walked away, leaning against a dead tree. “Look, it wasn’t my fault, okay. It was this Wonderboy who beat your Manotaur up.”

“Wonderboy?” Bill repeated.

“Some new hero who came with this big innocent farm-boy routine, but I could see through that in a Peloponnesian minute.” Pacifica said with a cold snap of her fingers.

“New hero, huh?” Bill said, a hand to what might have been his chin but was really just under his eye. “If some new guy is beating up my minions it could weaken our chances of over-throwing Sixer…” The demon stopped his talking when he heard a voice. He swooped Pacifica up into the trees as a dark cloud, just in time to hide from the intruder.

Mabel was running through the woods with a pig at her feet. He had grown quite large since the young muse had met the pig, and now they both ran as fast as they could, but the teenage girl made it to a tree first, planting a hand on it, making the dead tree sprout leaves with life, and she jumped and cheered and punched the air. “That’s twenty-two for me… How about twenty-two out of forty-five?” She asked Waddles.

The big tired pig flopped over and showed his belly lazily. Mabel awed and fell to her knees to scratch him. “Aw, you’re just a big dummy-dumb. C’mon, why don’t we go see if Grunkle Ford is too busy to hang out. This Mabel’s gotta have some family time.” And she picked up her pet pig and skipped back home.

Bill plunged back onto the ground, dropping Pacifica, who sat on a rock boringly, as Bill glowed red with fire and yelled loudly, “WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT?!” And soon every tree circling them was no more.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Who’s a cute lil guy? You are!” Gideon said into his hand mirror, sitting at the front desk of the Underworld.

The huge doors flew open as Bill, still red and fiery with anger, entered and grew to the size of a giant before his minion. “YOU SAID YOU TOOK CARE OF THE TWINS!”

“The what now?” Gideon asked calmly.

Bill towered down at the white-haired chubby teenager and bellowed, “Sixer’s brats! The ones destined to stop me from ruling this dimension! You said they were dead as doornails! But the girl is still alive!”

“Yeah, so?” Gideon asked. “The prophecy said both twins had to be there for you to lose. There’s only one. So there. And besides it took you seventeen years to realize Stanford was still dotting on his niece. If anything you suck at keeping up with your own prey.”

Bill shrunk down, shaking with anger and still red, but he had to admit that the jerk was right. “Fine, but the boy, Mason, is dead, right?”

“More or less.”

“”WHAT DO YOU MEAN MORE OR LESS?!”

“He will be when the mortal world is done with him.” Gideon sneered with a crooked smile. “That scrawny twerp doesn’t stand a chance in Thebes.”

“And you know all of this HOW?!”

“It’s fun watching him struggle and lose.” Gideon admitted with a shrug.

“I’m not taking any chances!” Bill yelled and floated away. “We’ve got one year until I can free my friends and take over this dimension! Since I can’t curse Shooting Star into a mortal, I can still kill Pinetree.”

“I’m telling you,” Gideon said, following his boss. “That loser doesn’t stand a chance. I know just who to send to kill him.”

And Bill’s anger melted away as he listened to his minion’s plan and helped make it better.

[ooachilliaoo]

Tough Kid

Tough kid, he thinks.

Can’t help but think it. She’s a scrawny little thing, covered in scrapes and bruises and dirt and blood and she’s shaking like a leaf…

But the pistol she’s pointing squarely at his chest is utterly, utterly still.

Around her there are four bodies. Two humans, one man, one woman, and two batarians, both male. The humans lie on their backs their hands carefully laid across their stomachs, their eyes closed, so peaceful that they could almost be sleeping, but for the holes in their heads. By contrast, the batarians appear to have been left where they fell, their bodies twisted, limbs flung out at odd, awkward angles. All eight eyes are open, staring blankly at nothing.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what happened.

“It’s ok,” he says softly, using his best ‘soothing’ voice. “You’re ok now.”

“Who are you?” the girl barks and she’s still shaking, but there’s something hard and fiery in her eyes that both impresses the hell out of him and makes him cautious.

“My name is Commander Anderson,” he says slowly, carefully laying his rifle on the floor. “I’m Alliance, see?” He half turns away from her, tapping the insignia on his shoulder.

Slowly she lowers the pistol.

“You’re too late,” she says, her voice now small and unsure as her eyes flicker unseeing across the four bodies before her.

“I know,” he replies and God, they had been late, too late.  The dead civilians told him that, the swathes of missing civilians told him even more. “But we’re here now, and we’re going to keep you safe.”

She nods but doesn’t meet his eyes and she still looks doubtful. Given what she must have been though recently he can’t exactly blame her for that. 

It takes him a long while to coax her out from behind the couch where she seems to have made her refuge but eventually she does emerge. He doesn’t miss the fact that she chooses to walk the long way around, the route that has her stepping over the batarian bodies instead of the human ones. She won’t relinquish the pistol, no matter what he says and as they walk through the wreckage of what must once have been her home he senses the tension in her, sees the way her eyes dart about frantically, expecting danger at every turn.

“How old are you, kid?” he asks, attempting small talk in the hopes of taking her mind off her nervousness, particularly important while she still holds the pistol with her finger on the trigger. 

“Sixteen,” she replies, her voice now strong and sure. “And I’m not a ‘kid’.”

Anderson smiles despite himself and decides to take a gamble.

“Hey,” he says, stopping amidst the carnage and reaching over to reposition her fingers on the pistol. “Keep your finger off the trigger till you’re looking at something you want to kill.  It’s a good way to accidently shoot yourself otherwise.”

She looks at the gun, confused for a moment before moving her index finger from where he’d placed it, to the trigger and back again. Then she nods.

“Thanks,” she says plainly. 

“You’re welcome.”

They continue walking and as they do he feels the shift in her, the subtle change from nervousness to alertness. By the time they reach the forward operating base he’s virtually stopped checking his three and six, because he knows she’s got that covered.

Her stomach gives a loud growl just as they pass the perimeter and it’s then he discovers that she hasn’t eaten a single bite in the last twelve hours. He marches her straight to the mess and, apologising for the lack of any kind of flavour, he dumps a tray in front of her. She only picks at the food with one hand, still unwilling to release the pistol, but she hasn’t once put her finger on the trigger since he moved it so he’s inclined to trust her with it, at least for now.

“What’s your name kid?” he asks, once he’s seen her eat a couple of mouthfuls.

“Sarah,” she replies. “Sarah Shepard.”

“Do you want to tell me what happened, Sarah?” he asks gently. He expects her to say no, he expects her to stop meeting his eyes.

She does neither. Instead she just shrugs.

“They killed my parents,” she says and there’s something horribly dead in her eyes. “So I took Dad’s pistol and killed them back.”

“That was very brave,” he tells her and after a little introspection is unsurprised to discover he means every word.

She shrugs again.

“I was just trying to survive.”

*

Tough kid, he thinks.

There aren’t many nineteen year olds, fresh out of basic (or rather, almost out of basic) who can take that kind of dressing down. Hell, he still considers it a personal failure if he can’t make at least one member of each crew he captains metaphorically wet their pants at least once. But she’s almost serene as she takes the verbal assault she both deserves and doesn’t deserve.

No-one has ever beaten the end-of-basic-training sim. 

Or rather.

Before today, no-one had ever beaten the end-of-basic-training sim.

But then again, no-one had ever managed to kill their entire team and utterly destroy the power plant either.

He didn’t mean to be here. Or rather, he hadn’t intended to be here. His ship was docked at Arcturus for yearly maintenance and the walk back from his meeting with the admiralty board to his quarters just so happened to lead through recruit barracks. He’d heard the noise coming from the sim chamber as he passed and had glanced up at the board of names on reflex only to find that there, next to the title ‘Squad Leader’, was her name. Of course, he hadn’t been able to resist the chance to see her in action.

Once he’d entered the chamber, recognising the corridors of the ‘power plant’ mission from his own passing-out sim, he’d had no trouble believing that the soldier he saw was the same girl from nearly four years ago. He’d watched as she barked orders to her team, watched as they obeyed her without question.

That was the first unusual thing. Never, in all his years of service, had he seen a basic training squad without at least one uppity legacy child who believed they should have been squad leader and therefore questioned everything that the chosen leader said whether there was any merit in it or not.

But no-one gave her even so as much as a funny look.

The second unusual thing were her tactics. Her team was spread thin, way too thin. There were two ways that recruits tackled this particular sim; two ways that they were surreptitiously taught to tackle the sim. You either moved together and made a beeline for the data you had to send to Alliance Command or, you split into smaller teams, checked the building, kept an exit clear then went for the data. Both had advantages and disadvantages. The twist came when the nuclear reactor began to overload, blocking access to the data and forcing you to spend valuable time containing the reaction. Victory was usually measured in one of two ways, either you got your team out alive or you got half your team out alive and killed all contacts within the building.

She had done neither… unless, he supposed, you considered that the explosion would have killed all remaining contacts. 

But, somehow, she achieved the actual objective and got the data.

From the beginning of the sim, she’d split her team into pairs rather than the usual three person squad. This had left three teams without an engineer but had given her an engineering team which she’d sent to clear the reactor. The three teams without technical expertise had twice come up against a door they couldn’t open and been forced to double back to find an alternative route. Since there wasn’t one, they found themselves unfortunately boxed in when the enemy hit and by the time Shepard had ordered them to just ‘blow the damn doors!’ they were already dead. 

From there, the enemy swept through the building in a group too large for any two-person squad to handle and so, one by one, her teams died (though not without giving a damn good fight first). Everything had looked bleak until the engineering squad had managed to warn Shepard about the upcoming overload five minutes before it happened. She’d ordered them to leave it, to let the reactor overload. Then she’d ordered everyone out. To be fair to her team a few of them almost made it.

As soon as she’d barked the order to evac, she’d taken off like a shot. He’d never seen anything like it; nothing touched her as she barrelled through the power plant, leaping and bounding over cover, shooting as she moved, never stopping until she got to the data console. Then she’d held out, alone, for a minute and a half before the programmed collapse happened and she was left trapped in with the data console. 

She’d sent the data to Alliance Command a full three minutes before the reactor blew.

The sim debrief has been going on for half an hour, and the drill sergeant is still bawling about ‘reckless behaviour’ and ‘unnecessary loss of life’ mixed in with ‘squad configuration protocol’ and the obligatory unfavourable comparisons of her to various bug or bug-like creatures.  

“ARE YOU AWARE OF JUST HOW BADLY YOU HAVE FUCKED UP CADET?” he finishes, finally allowing her to respond.

“SIR, YES, SIR!” she responds automatically, standing stiffly at parade rest and staring at a spot somewhere over the sergeant’s left shoulder. “But…” she adds, just as the sergeant takes the breath necessary to being his tirade anew. “It was mission accomplished, sir, the data was sent.” 

“Only because you have a staggering disregard for your squad’s life!” he barks back.

“Yes, sir,” she agrees. “But according to the mission brief the data contained in the package will power four colonies. Approximately fifteen point four colonists die per colony per year due to insufficient power, sir. I have just saved sixty one point six civilian lives at the expense of twelve soldiers. Sir.” 

The room goes deadly quiet. He’s fairly certain no-one is breathing. In fact, he isn’t even sure he’s breathing. 

Eventually the drill instructor lets out a whoosh of breath. “I don’t know whether you’re the worst soldier I’ve ever trained, or the best.” He pauses for an almost uncomfortably long time before continuing. “You pass. But you’re doing fifty laps around the mess and then after that, I’m buying you a drink.” 

“Understood, sir.”

It’s as her squad are filtering out of the sim room that she spots him. When she does she immediately straightens to attention. He wonders whether it’s a reaction to the officer’s bars on his jacket or a mark of respect.

“Sir,” she says with a mixture of surprise and wariness. “I didn’t know you were here.”

“Sir?” A smile quirks his lips. “Don’t tell me you’re going all formal on me?”

She relaxes immediately.

“It’s good to see you, Anderson,” she says instead, coming to lean on the viewing gallery’s rail next to him.

“And you, kid,” he replies, fully aware of how genuinely he means those words. “That was an… interesting sim.”

Immediately the wariness comes back into her eyes and she stiffens ever so slightly.

“I did what I thought was best.” She pauses. “What did you do?”

“Me?” he chuckles. “I used the standard three-man configuration, lost the data, saved the team. But… if I’d thought to do what you did, if I’ve have had the courage, I might have done the same.”

She seems inordinately pleased at that, even though it’s only the truth and relaxes a little more.

“Come on,” he says, once he thinks she’s had enough of a moment overlooking her victory. “You have laps and then I might just owe you a drink as well.”

She grins and straightens what must be a weary, aching body. “Understood, sir.” She rolls her left shoulder in its joint and marches out towards the mess.

Tough kid.

*

Tough kid, he thinks.

It is her, even if her face is mostly covered in her own blood and completely unrecognisable, he could never mistake those eyes. 

She’s sat on a makeshift hospital gurney that’s really a surfboard balanced on a box and covered with a blanket. A frustrated-looking nurse darts around her, attempting to clean and dress the wounds on both her face and body.  She’s somewhat hampered in the endeavour by Shepard herself who seems intent on impatiently brushing her hands away whenever she gets close.

“For the last time, I’m fine,” she spits, batting the nurse’s hands away from an injury over her eye. “I can stand and I can breathe. I have no internal bleeding or life threatening injuries, perhaps you should attend to those who do!” She rushes out the last word as she’s forced to leap off the surfboard in order to avoid the nurse’s ‘sneak attack’ on a particularly nasty looking gash on her side.

“And my report said the fighting was over,” he comments calmly as he enters the room. His words produce the desired effect, she immediately ceases her efforts to evade the nurse and stiffens before spinning around and saluting.

“Sir,” she barks, standing perfectly to attention despite the many injuries he can now see.

He didn’t reply, just gave her the look, the one that reminds her she doesn’t need to be formal with him. She drops her stance almost immediately.

“Anderson.” She nods.

“Give us a minute,” he says to the nurse. She shoots him an impressively dirty look, her eyes darting to Shepard’s injuries in frustration before leaving with an unmistakable air of ‘your funeral’.

“Making friends I see,” he comments sarcastically.

“There are others who need her more,” Shepard bristles.

“Easy, Shepard, I understand,” he replies soothingly and she relaxes a little. It’s only the slightest easing but he understands that too.  Most soldiers wouldn’t have survived what she just has. Frankly, he’d be worried if she were capable of completely relaxing after such an ordeal.

Hell, if she accepts what he’s come to offer her she probably won’t be able to relax for years.

But she’s ready for it. He’s almost certain of that; he just needs to be sure of one thing.   

“So, batarian raiders on a human colony…”

“It wasn’t revenge,” she interrupts. He’s a little surprised that she’s worked out his angle but he supposes he shouldn’t be. She’s smart and he wasn’t exactly subtle.

“Are you sure?”

She leans against the makeshift gurney, chewing her lip as she gives the matter the introspection it deserves.

“I didn’t kill unless I had to,” she says after a moment. “I didn’t take uncalculated risks. My past was a factor, I didn’t want anyone to have to go through what I did, but it wasn’t one that adversely affected the mission, sir.”

She sounds like she’s reading out loud. Like she’s already considered the matter, maybe even drafted her mission report, but thought about it in more depth simply because he’d asked.

And that’s good enough for him.

“You know your mission was technically to try and enjoy some shore leave,” he tells her, leaning against the gurney too.

“Right,” she says, the ghost of a smile appearing on her face. “I abandoned that mission when the batarians destroyed the bar.”

Anderson nods. “Fair enough.” He waits for a moment, giving her the time and space she needs in order to pull herself away from the memories of the past few days.  “I have something for you.”

He pulls a datapad from his back pocket, and she takes it from his outstretched arm, shooting him a confused look that he doesn’t respond to. She reads the first part; the ‘Star of Terra’ recommendation, the long winded but somehow horribly generic ‘thanks for her service above and beyond the call of duty’ with a bored but curious look. Then her eyes go wide and he knows she’s reached the important bit.

“N7?” she says, too excited to hide her delight. “I’m being recommended for the N7 programme?”

He shrugs. “You earned it. More than earned it. That’s why I recommended you.”

It’s clear that she’s having trouble processing that and once again he gives her space she needs.

“When do I report in?” she asks.

She’s still bleeding, just a little, countless numbers of scrapes and bruises all over her body which still need seeing to, not to mention that she still hasn’t really had the shore leave due from her last tour, and yet, somehow she’s prepared to dive into the next thing without hesitation.

Tough kid, he thinks even as he orders her to take the break… tough kid.

*

Tough kid, he thinks.

To be fair, they’re all tough, she’s just the toughest.

He knows this because she’s the only one left standing, even if her oxygen tank is on its last legs

This time he had intended to be here. In fact, he’d gone out of his way to be here for this. He’d been keeping up with her scores, every single one of them. For the most part they had been exemplary, her shooting, tactics, leadership, and recon scores were virtually off the charts, even if she’d barely scraped by on tech and engineering. Still, her average was way above par, and now it all came down to this. To survival. 

She’s the only one left on the asteroid now, but of course she doesn’t know that. He half-wishes he could tell her, just to see if it had any effect on her determination to continue. He suspects it wouldn’t. In fact, he’d bet good money that even if she knew she’d outlasted all her other classmates she’d go on just to see how far she could go.

The others have already been safely extracted. Despite what people thought, the Alliance didn’t let soldiers good enough to be recommended for the N7 programme die during the training.

This particular test was both the first and last taste of N7 training. The entire squad dropped onto an asteroid with an absolute bare minimum of supplies, a single oxygen tank and no nav data. The aim? To traverse as much of the asteroid as possible before you suffocated.

There were a multitude of things you could do to extend what little time you had, but in the end it all came down to endurance and control.

The last of her classmates to fall had been picked up about three to four minutes ago and are still in the infirmary being treated for oxygen deprivation. The first are already in the training centre alongside him, watching with a mixture of disbelief, envy and pride.

After another minute or so, he watches as her tank’s warning alarm changes from an incessant beeping to a high pitched continuous whine. A few seconds after he sees the tell-tale tightening of her jaw as she holds her breath. Three minutes later, she begins gasping but it’s still another full minute before she collapses and even then for four seconds more she manages to drag herself a few millimetres further.

He watches with bated breath as the drone speeds across the terrain and attaches its respirator to her helmet. Then the shuttle arrives and the medics bundle her onto a gurney and bring her back to the base.

He sits beside her as she recovers, watching for the moment her eyes slowly blink open.

“Hey,” he says when they do. She only blinks at him her gaze still foggy as she glances around the room and pieces together the chain of events that led her here. Slowly she lifts the respirator mask away from her mouth just barely able to summon the strength to drag it down.

“Sir,” she croaks, wincing at the sound.

“No need to be so formal, Shepard.”

She smirks. “Anderson.”

“Better.”

“How… How did I do?” He knows that the pause is due to the effort it takes to form the words and not because of any trepidation on her part. 

“Last one standing.” He’s completely unable to stop himself from grinning at her.

But she shakes her head, tousling her hair against the pillow. “No,” she clarifies. “How did I do compared to last time?”

He has to actually look that one up, checking her time from the beginning of her N7 training against her latest time on his omni-tool.

“An extra 5 minutes,” he tells her, trying his best to conceal the fact that while all her scores had been exemplary, this is the one that actually impresses the hell of him. “You were only a little shy of the record.”

She frowns. “Damn. Whose record?”

He grins.

“Mine.”

He steps out of the way of the incoming medics who promptly usher him out of her room. Just before he closes the door, he catches one last croaky sentence.

“I’ll get you next time, sir.”

He chuckles to himself.

Tough kid.

*

Tough kid, he thinks.

Of course she’s fine. Well, ‘fine’ might be stretching it, but conscious enough to stand and gripe at Chakwas was close enough for him.

All things considered it’s been a hell of a shakedown cruise.

That she’s handled it well is no surprise, after all it’s part of an N7’s job to adapt. She’d barely blinked at the Spectre nomination, which had surprised him a little. Especially since he knew she had no illusions about the historical importance of the nomination or the burdens that would come from making the grade. The fact that it hadn’t changed her approach to the mission one iota only reassured him that they’d chosen correctly.

Although of course her chances of actually becoming a Spectre are now somewhat reduced anyway.

But if anyone could cut through the bullshit, it’s her. She’s a natural leader, to the point that if she told him her management of the platoon was entirely based on instinct, he’d not only believe her but he’d happily let it continue. 

His optimism ends the moment she mentions Saren’s name. It’s a name that drags up a whole host of unpleasant memories as well as the uneasy feeling that at some point he’s going to have to tell her about his personal history with the Spectre.  It’s odd but he finds he doesn’t really want to, doesn’t want to admit that he screwed up, not to her. But he knows she isn’t going to buy any vague untruths.

For the moment it’s all a political problem that he can happily slide Udina’s way. He may not like the man but his ability to deal with the Council was something to be lauded. The idea of having to deal with the Council himself is almost enough to bring him out in hives.

He suspects that her opinion of politics doesn’t differ much from his own. But as they’re going to have to at least dabble in politics he can only pray that she’s as good at masking her disdain as he’s had to. Not that watching her punch her way through the politics wouldn’t be infinitely amusing. If that is to be her approach, at least he’ll have a front row seat.

All things considered, he should have known that their first mission together would end in some kind of explosion. After all this is a woman who turned shore leave into one of the most famous fights in recent years.

At least he knows that she can handle whatever’s coming.

Probably. 

Tough kid.

 *

Tough kid, he thinks.

He chuckles to himself as he shakes his head, laughing at his foolishness for even thinking that she could have perished. Not that those few minutes where he’d believed her gone hadn’t been utterly awful. He was sure he’d never forget the sinking feeling he’d felt in his gut when the only answer her squad could give to the question ‘where is the commander?’ was a horrified look. 

But, of course, she was fine. There had been a flicker of movement, a shift and suddenly there she was, climbing atop of a random piece of wreckage to grin down at them. Granted, she looked a little pained, a little tired but she also looked gloriously victorious and utterly elated.  

Not that she was looking at him, he realised. No. Instead her gaze appeared to be entirely fixated on the lieutenant. Glancing to his side, he noticed that the lieutenant’s gaze was just as fixed on her. The expression on his face was hard to read, a mixture of a multitude of things relief, joy and…

Oh.

Oh.

So that had happened. Or was going to happen soon. He didn’t want to know. He didn’t need to know.

He wasn’t surprised as such. Not about ‘them’. There had been evidence of some spark between them from the moment they’d both been aboard. It had only taken him a week or so to notice the signs; she smiled more around him, he talked more to her than he did anyone else on the ship, there had been a certain synchronised rhythm to their duties and reports. He just hadn’t bothered to call her on it because he assumed she wouldn’t be stupid enough to pursue anything while they were on duty.

But, judging by the looks on their faces, something had had to have happened between them.

He ought to box her ears for it.  

But that would mean admitting that he knew, which would probably lead to an awkward, halting conversation about feelings and love and (horror of horrors) possibly even sex.  

Yes. No. He wasn’t going to touch that with a ten-foot barge pole. She was a smart woman, right? Right. She knew the dangers, knew how to compartmentalize.

She’d be fine. They’d be fine.

Tough kid.

*

Tough kid, he thinks.

But not tough enough… this time.

The information had come in stages. The first report said only that the Normandy had been attacked, had been shot down. The second had told him that the escape pods had jettisoned. He’d breathed easier after that. The third report was just a list of names. The fourth report said Shepard was MIA.

He hadn’t believed it. He’d assumed it would be like last time, in the Council Chamber. Like all the times she had come close to death and emerged victoriously from the clutches of whatever had threatened to destroy her. He just kept waiting for the report from the SSV York that said they’d found her alive and well.

Obviously that report had never arrived.

He still hadn’t really believed it until the moment the lieutenant stepped off the ship.  When he did, one look at Alenko’s face had been all the proof he’d needed.

She was gone.

He was supposed to speak at her funeral. They wanted him to talk about what a hero she’d been, what a boon to humanity she was, recite her exemplary service record.

He’d declined the honour. Passed it to Hackett.

There were two reasons for that. One, he’d been fairly certain that he couldn’t deliver something as generic as they wanted, and anything that wasn’t that generic garbage would be more detail than she’d want him to share, Two, he didn’t want to be stood up there, alone, with the empty coffin, trying to hide his grief and failing.

No, he much preferred to be sat, in the stands, beside the only person who felt her loss in almost the same way he did.

The lieutenant has barely spoken since he returned, and there’s been a horrible dead look behind his eyes. She would have boxed his ears for it, but he does nothing. It helps, being with someone who understands what it feels like. Someone who had also lost something important, even if one of them lost a lover and one of them lost a… whatever she’d been.

Somebody (he thinks it might, somewhat hilariously, have even been Saren Arterius) had referred to her as his protégé. He was right, in a way. She had been that, but so much more. He’s not entirely sure he could define it even if he tried.

He struggles with his grief for several weeks after the funeral, piecing himself back together in the way he’s had to do far too many times. After a month or so he feels well enough to check on the lieutenant. As he’d expected, the man is utterly destroyed. Then they drink whiskey and share their stories about her and after they are both a little better.

He promises her that he’ll look after her protégé, her lover. Both because he’s a talented marine and because he’s the only man she ever gave the entirety of herself to. Even if he’d never asked her about it, he’d known enough to know just what Alenko had meant to her.

“I’ll look after him, kid,” he tells her headstone.

Tough kid, he thinks as he remembers her on the first anniversary of her death.

Tough kid.

*

Tough kid, he thinks.

He watches the security feed, the secret, secured feed that he’d only been given because the title on his office door says ‘Human Councillor’ these days.  The footage wasn’t much, just a back street in Omega somewhere, but the figure walking down the street is unmistakably her.

Or, perhaps, a damn good lookalike.

After a moment’s introspection he decides that, as unlikely as it is, he wouldn’t be utterly surprised to find that she’d cheated death. She’d always been capable of the impossible, and while coming back from the dead is perhaps a step above saving the entire galaxy, it’s not so great a leap that he could dismiss the possibility that this could somehow be the real Shepard.

But he also can’t dismiss the possibility that it isn’t.

Especially because the Shepard he knew would never work for Cerberus.  

He scrubs a hand over tired eyes (always tired these days) and wonders what the hell he’s going to do about it all.  Just thinking about it is enough to make him long for the days when all his problems could be solved with a rifle or a fist.

Of course, thanks to her, those days are probably long behind him, at least until the Reapers roll through. Some days he thinks they can’t come soon enough.

Wait… is he looking forward to the Reaper invasion?

Short answer?

Yes.

If it means the solution to all his problems can be easily found at the end of a rifle he’d take just about anything right now.

He’s avoiding the issue.

The only thing that he can decide upon right now is that he can’t possibly decide right now. At least not until he’s given her the chance to explain. He owes her that much.

He keeps the feed running on his terminal and uses a nearby datapad to type the message to her ship. He’s about halfway through when a shout and a thud draws his attention back to the terminal. Just in time to see her turn from the bar and unabashedly deck a batarian with her incredible right hook.

He tries not to smile, even though he knows she can’t see him. It’s good to see that some things haven’t changed.

Tough kid.

*

Tough kid, he thinks.

The moniker has never been more appropriate or more perfect because today she managed to do what he couldn’t.

She managed to leave Earth to save it.

And he couldn’t.

He’d planned to. He’d set up the Normandy as his mobile command base and had drawn up an excessive number of extraction plans to make sure he could get to it, no matter where the Reapers hit.

But somehow, when he’d been stood before the ramp he just couldn’t bring himself to make the leap.

He supposes that the guilt, guilt he knows she doesn’t carry, played a huge part in what is possibly the most snap, instinctual decision he’s ever made. In his heart of hearts he knows he should have done more to prepare for this day, this horrible tragic day that had loomed on the horizon for the past three years.

But the relative peace and safety of the Citadel, the Council’s constant focus on the day-to-day minutia, had made today’s death and devastation hard to imagine. Or, if not hard to imagine, at least hard to keep in his mind. He’d be lying if he said that it hadn’t made him a little bit lazy, and even in his worse moments, a little bit doubtful too.

He isn’t sure how, because the gunfire, explosions and whatever the hell noise it is the Reapers make ought to make hearing anything else impossible but, as he dives for cover under the nearest pile of wreckage, he swears he hears Normandy’s engines sputter to life over the cacophony.

His ship, leaving Earth without him.

And it is his ship. She might be forever linked to Shepard in the mind of everyone else in the galaxy, but he still remembers the moment Admiral Wright had said the magical words ‘she’s yours’ as they stood on the bridge of the SR1.

At least this time it’s his choice to stay behind.

Even if it means he’s once again letting the fate of the galaxy sit squarely on her shoulders while he does the busy work.

But that’s okay, she can handle it.

Tough kid.

*

Tough kid, he thinks.

She’s a tough kid, she’ll make it through this.

It’s what he tells himself but for the first time he isn’t totally sure. He can’t remember the last time he’d actually had to school her, talk to her as if she were like any other marine. But she’d needed that from him today. By God, she really had.

He can’t recall her ever losing before.

Sure, unfortunate situations had arisen in her time: Elysium, Eden Prime, Virmire, Alchera, not to mention all the others along the way even before then. It’s part of being a soldier, the inevitable price of battle.

But she’s never outright lost before.

Never come through something with only the loss to show for it.

It’s killing her. One look at her face had told him that, so obvious that it had even been visible over the grainy, patchy QEC interface that was the best he could get in war-torn London.

There were a lot of things he wished he could tell her. Most of all, he wished he could show her what her actions meant here on the front line.

The news that the legendary Commander Shepard had brokered an alliance between the Turians and Krogan had been met initially with cheers and smiles. But it was more than that. For weeks afterwards, the men had walked a little taller, smiled a little more and complained a little less. With news of every new victory, every triumph, things got a little brighter. Hope was a powerful thing and she’d been its champion throughout this whole ugly war.

At least until now.

Losing Thessia was a blow, no two ways about that, but it was a blow that could either extinguish hope or light the fires of vengeance.

It had to be the latter.

However, he wasn’t sure she had anything left.

All things considered, he was extremely worried about her. They’d had precious few chances to talk, but back before the war she’d made some off handed sarcastic comment about the whole ‘dying’ thing and he’d realised just how little time she’d had to process everything.

If she’d been a marine in a coma, she’d have had at least six months of physical and psychological therapy followed by a slow introduction to the rest of the world, and help reconnecting with friends, family and loved ones. There would have been follow-ups and counselling and she wouldn’t have been placed in any stressful situations until the Alliance were certain she could cope with them.

Instead she’d been thrown into combat from the moment she woke, then into a suicide mission, into the courtroom, and finally, into the war.

He’s pretty sure that the box of things marked ‘deal with later’ that all good soldiers keep at back of their minds is all-but full in her case.

He isn’t sure that there’s room for Thessia in that box.

He wants to tell her that he understands, that everything she’s already done is enough and no-one, not even him has the right to ask anything more of her.

But that isn’t what she needs.

“Shake this off, Shepard,” he says.

The change in her is slight, but instantaneous. She stands a little straighter, squares her shoulders and nods. “I will.”

And he believes it.

Tough kid.   

*

Tough kid, he thinks.

He’s fully aware that this is probably the last time he’ll think it. Probably the last time he’ll think anything. He’s dying, but that’s ok. He doesn’t blame her for the shot, not at all.

He’s going to pass out before she does, if she even passes out at all. Tough kid. 

At least he got to tell her she’s made him proud. Somehow, while the galaxy is ablaze before them, that’s important.

It takes a gargantuan effort to lift his head enough to see her out of the corner of his eye and maybe it’s the blood loss, maybe it’s the exhaustion, he isn’t sure - but for just a moment she almost looks like that trembling sixteen year old with the perfectly still pistol. 

“Stay with me, sir,” she’s saying, but her voice is so distant and indistinct he can barely hear the words. “We’re… We’re almost through this.”

But the void is calling and it seems like too much to ask of his broken body, broken spirit to resist it.

She’ll survive. He’s certain of that. 

Tough kid.

Tough…