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commanderauri-art · 5 months ago

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Two pining idiots stuck inside during a blizzard with one bed? What could go wrong?

“You sure the Raven couldn’t have dropped us off closer to the settlement?” Auri called out to her companion over the howling winds. She tucked her chin even further into the scarf wrapped tightly around her neck, eyes squinting out through her visor-like goggles to survey their surroundings.

“Unfortunately, no. Wind’s too strong the closer we get to the top of the mountain,” came Delta team’s tech head. He was two steps ahead of her and similarly outfitted with his shoulders hunched against the cold. A gust of wind snapped over the pair, jerking back the fur hood Auri had shoved over head. Her short hair whipped around for a few seconds before she finally pulled it back into place, shoving errant strands out of her face in the process. “Plus a chopper would’ve alerted the Locust to the Stranded’s location. It’s one of the few they don’t really know about and their village leader wants to keep it that way. We’re lucky she even granted us an audience.” The wind carried his short bark of laughter back to her.

“Fair enough, I suppose,” the other soldier answered as she readjusted her pack on her shoulders, redistributing the weight. They both were carrying additional ammo, food, water, contraceptive needs and whatnot on top of their personal necessities in order to trade with the Stranded leader for the items the COG was limited on. Plus, Baird did say there was a hidden cache of supplies somewhere up here they could use as well. Bartering with the Stranded, while unpleasant as some of the men and women considered the battered military organization to be fascist, was an unfortunate necessity and would buy the Gears a token or two of gratitude.

Baird paused briefly to consult their map then their snowy location. A chill ran down his back and he shuddered hard before upping his armor’s thermals.

“I know it’s already a bit too late for it but I seriously couldn’t have worn my armor up here?” Auri asked as she stood by him and flexed her fingers in an attempt to get rid of the cold, grimacing at the pain; all seemed to be accounted for.

“Stranded already don’t care for us as it is,” came the reply. “Okay… If I’m reading this right, we’ve got maybe another hour or two before we reach their walls. Jack, you still good, buddy?” A little mechanical beep sounded off to their right as the little bot briefly de-cloaked. Only Baird, and a select few others, could really decipher the clicks, beeps and whistles Jack made. “Good. Just stay hidden for now, alright? Last thing we need is for some Stranded asshole to try and scrap ya. Now, your suit?” He tossed a look back at his companion and hooked a gloved thumb back at his chest plate. “Uh, we had a hard time figuring out who and, namely, what you were. Some backwater dickhead sees you marching up in here dressed like that and he’ll shoot first, riling up the whole village before anything else.” The Spartan grimaced as Baird continued. “Granted, some fusspot might still do that seeing us COG marching up to their gates but at least they’re familiar with us.”

“Alright. Guess you’re not wrong there. I just wish it wasn’t so damned cold.” She fervently rubbed her gloved hands together before tucking them back under her armpits.

“Just turn up the dial for your thermals. Should take the worst of it off.”

“I did about an hour ago and it’s still the same.”

Baird turned back to look at her, brows furrowing behind his goggles as he trudged through the snow to examine her gear. After shucking off her backpack, he began fiddling with the back piece of her chest plating, grumbling quietly to himself for a minute when he finally cursed loud enough to be heard over the wind.

“What’s wrong?” Auri asked, looking over her shoulder at him as Baird reset the plating and pulled his hood closer over his head. “They didn’t give me crap armor, did they?” She kept her tone light but her stomach dropped a little at a look from her companion.

“They’re a bunch of frigging dumbasses. I told them to check everything over before we left! Why does nobody listen to me? Ever?” He ran a hand over his lenses, wiping them free of snow, and crossed his arms as the Spartan shouldered her pack again.

“It’s not that far to the settlement, is it?” she finally asked after a moment’s pause. “If it is… Are there any other shelters we could stay in overnight?”

“No. Not from what I can remember of the area, no,” came his reply as Baird started up their trek once more. “Come on. You still got feeling in your hands and feet? Good. We’re maybe two hours out at the most. Soon as we get there and speak with the Stranded leader, we’ll get you somewhere warm. If they don’t have heaters, I can rig something up or we’ve always got fire.” Even under all that snow gear, Auri could pick up the lopsided grin he threw her way. “Keep me posted if you start gettin’ any colder. Last thing we need right now is frostbite.”

“Or hypothermia. Yeah, no. I kind of like having all my fingers and toes, thank you very much.”

“Hypothermia’s a bitch to deal with,” Baird replied as the Four began walking again. As she passed him, Baird had reached out with a hand and settled it on her lower back without realizing it; it was as if he was trying to keep her closer to him. Perhaps as to not lose track of her? Right as they both noticed, Baird dropped his arm quickly to his side, muttering a quiet apology as he picked up his pace. Auri shot him a questioning look but he remained silent. Sure, when they’d initially met up, Baird had rubbed her the wrong way. He was equal parts snarky, sarcastic and an asshole and when she had been confined to the Sovereign, he didn’t care to take over babysitting duty when it was his turn. Thank god that all ended when it did.

As the weeks went on, even when the commander no longer needed someone to escort her throughout the ship, Baird still sought out her company. He was still his same asshole self to a point. He didn’t try pushing her buttons like he had within that first month she was aboard the ship and they actually ended up having some pretty decent conversations without getting on each other’s nerves too much. Auri might’ve been reading a bit too much into it but she could’ve sworn that, during their last few talks, he’d actually been trying to flirt with her. Awkwardly. It was sweet though. She did try to puzzle it all out and getting any sort of answer from the tech was like pulling teeth. Baird was rather evasive when he wanted to be and she eventually let it be, at least for now, and they continued to flirt a bit back and forth ever since.

Until this mission. Auri joined up with him mainly to try and figure out if he was just pulling her leg or if this back and forth they’d been engaging in could potentially turn into something more. Did she even want that? Did he, with her current situation? They had been getting with the remaining scientists on Sovereign in an attempt to recreate the portal network that had dumped the Spartan onto Sera to no avail. If there was really a possibility that her stay here could become permanent, would she still pursue Damon? As the pair fell into silence, those thoughts assaulted her mind almost as hard as the snow. She hadn’t even realized her pace had slowed until Baird had stopped about twenty feet ahead of her and called out her name. The Gear’s voice jolted her from her stupor and she picked up her pace, cupping her hands in front of her mouth and blew on them.

The Four waved off the concerned look Baird shot her and hunched her shoulders down against the wind as it kicked up flurries of snow in its wake. Her layers of clothes underneath the borrowed armor did what it could to push back the biting cold but she could feel it starting to really seep in. They needed to get to the village and soon.

——

Nearly two hours had passed since the pair had last spoken with each other for an extended period. Every so often, Baird checked in with her, keeping the Spartan consistently by his side as he kept consulting the map and notes stored on the brace on his forearm.

“Alright. We should be getting close,” he announced, voice muffled by his scarf. He tucked the thing back in around his neck as the wind threatened to run away with it. “Keep an eye out for a pair of watchtowers towering over the tree line. That’ll take us right to the gates.”

“Ab-b-bout d-d-damned time,” the Spartan said through her chattering teeth. Damn it, she was cold. Auri kept her arms wrapped around her middle as Baird looped an arm through her elbow so she wouldn’t fall too far behind. “Damon. We-we seriously…. need to g-get inside.” She saw his head turn sharply in her direction at the use of his first name, something Auri didn’t do often. When she did, Baird knew something serious was going on.

“Stick with me. I think I see one of the towers… Okay. Yeah. Just through the trees, c’mon. It’s not much further,” he replied, tugging her along. The Four kept her head down, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other that she nearly stumbled in the knee deep snow when Baird pulled her to a halt. That’s when she looked up. Before them stood two wooden guard posts at least thirty feet tall. They had been reinforced by bits of scrap metal and barbed wire. A ladder could be seen on the right side of both towers and sitting in post were two guards in one and one in the other. All three were bundled up tightly to ward off the harsh weather.

A man, the voice confirmed it, leaned over the edge.”State yer business, Gear, and get on with it,” he called out.

“We’re here to speak with your village leader, Allyson. We’d spoken over the wire a few weeks back, looking to trade supplies? Ring any bells?” Baird yelled up to them.

The two guards shared a look as the third lazily rested what looked to be a Retro Lancer on top of the waist high wall that surrounded their post. “Names?” the second guard asked in an annoyed tone.

“Seriously? Alright, fine. Damon Baird and Rachel Auri. If you don’t believe me, ask your fearless chieftain. She knows we’re coming and we’ve gotta get inside. My partner’s about to freeze her ass off.” Baird hooked a thumb over at the Spartan.

“Keep bitchin’ at us and we’ll leave you out here overnight,” the second yelled back as the third guard consulted a battered clipboard.

“Let ‘em in,” the third said after a few seconds. “Got their names right here.”

“You sure, Jaxon?” the first guard asked. The third guard, Jaxon, nodded and gestured to someone behind the gate. Moments later, the wide doors creaked and groaned open, pushing the snow aside in the process.

“Alright, you two, you’re good to head in. Allyson’s off to the left next to the hospital. No funny business, got it?” Jaxon warned, eyeing the both of them.

“Yeah, yeah. Wouldn’t dream of it,” Baird replied in a dismissive voice.

“Baird,” Auri said in a low voice, drawing the first syllable, as they proceeded inside.

“What? Why you giving me that look? I’m not gonna start a fight with those dickheads. Wouldn’t be worth it anyways,” he shot back. The wind died down significantly as the gate shut close behind them. Sure enough, there was the hospital, if you could even call the three story ramshackle house with a medical logo on the front that. And right next to it was a one story little office building. The windows had been boarded up, the glass long since broken. The door swung open wide and out strode a tall woman dressed up in furs and leathers and she was making a beeline right for them. That had to be their village leader. And she didn’t look too pleased to see them. A pair of guards escorted her, dressed just like the ones in the watchtowers outside only with a little more armor. Baird had since dropped his arm from around Auri and pulled his scarf down from the lower half of his face to give the woman a half smile.

“You must be the village chieftain here. Allyson, right?”

“You’re late,” their leader said, skipping the introduction as she pursed her lips together, staring Baird down. Up close, Auri finally got a better look at her. Allyson had long red hair that had been pulled into a braid down her back with strands of gray dotting her scalp, the only real indicator of her age. Her face was covered in freckles that had faded a bit over time and a nasty looking scar wound itself from her right temple down to her jawline. Allyson’s green-blue eyes flicked over to the Spartan who stared right back at the woman.

“Well, apologies, ma’am, for the delay,” Baird replied sarcastically, drawing the leader’s attention back to him as Auri began to shiver beneath her clothes. “We would’ve been here a bit sooner but with, y’know, this winter storm hitting and also not wanting to draw Locust to the Raven, and subsequently to your village if we flew directly here, we were bound to be a little late. We’re fine, by the way. Thanks for asking.” He swung his pack around and dropped it onto the snow building up around their ankles. The guards flanking the village leader immediately brought their rifles up to bear as Baird began to unzip the front pocket. Auri stepped a bit closer to him, a hand going to the sidearm at her hip.

“You can call off your attack dogs,” Baird said, nonplussed about their situation. The two exchanged looks with one another as Allyson shifted her weight onto her other foot, a hand subtly brushing back the edge of her fur coat to reveal a serrated blade on her belt. Baird paused in his ministrations to finally look up at the woman in front of him, eyes dropping to the knife’s handle briefly then back up to her gaze. “You keep threatening us and you won’t get the verification code to the supply cache we’ve got hidden in the mountain here.”

“What’s to stop us from just killin’ you and takin’ it?” snarked one of the guards.

“Blake!” Allyson snapped off, whipping around to silence the man. Her braid had flung over her shoulder in the process, quick as a snake. Blake backed off eventually as Allyson turned back around and tilted her head at Baird who had since dropped into a low crouch behind his pack as he rummaged around the inside. “What is there to stop us from just taking it from you and leaving you to bleed out?” She said it so nonchalantly it was like she was asking about the weather. Auri casually rested her palm against the butt of her pistol, gripping it as she braced for a potential fight.

“Eh, well, not much save for the fact that the code’s right up in here. And that you don’t have the location,” came Baird’s reply. The Spartan, not wanting to take her eyes off the trio for long, glanced down at him in time to see Baird tap his right temple with a gloved finger as he squinted up at the chieftain. “You kill me, you lose access to a lot of supplies that could see your people through the end of winter. Maybe even into spring, if you’re lucky. I know there are other villages around here but without the proper equipment or vehicles, it’d be near impossible to get to them in order to broker a trade and all that happy horse crap.”

A twitching muscle in Allyson’s face gave away the fury hidden in the woman’s expression. “Fine,” she said after a few tense moments. “We’ll proceed as planned and once we’re done here, you lead us to the supply cache and be on your way.”

“Uh, gonna have to get a rain check on that last bit.” Baird dug out the containers and vacuumed-sealed bags they had packed specifically for this occasion and handed them over, motioning to the Four to follow suit. “My friend here has the beginnings of hypothermia. We need to stay the night. We can head out in the morning once she thaws and gets checked by a medical professional.” If their leader wasn’t pissed off before she was now. Allyson looked back to Auri, giving the commander a quick once over.

“Your… friend,” she spat out, “looks fine.” Now that was bullshit. Even despite the multiple layers blanketing Auri’s body, anyone could tell she was shaking up a storm.

“Ah, y’see. That’s where you’re wrong.” Baird shook a finger at Allyson who looked like she was about to spit fire. “We were high up on the mountain and out of COMM range by the time we found out her suit’s thermals weren’t operating at full capacity. We were already on the way and I kinda have this feeling you wouldn’t have liked for us to reschedule this little meeting of ours.”

Allyson’s cold gaze bounced from Baird to Auri and back again, small clouds of steam puffing out from her nose, before she held up her index finger. “One night. You stay one night, COG, and when morning comes, first light, you take us to the supply cache. Blake can show you to a vacant home. It should contain everything you need.”

In layman’s terms, “It should have everything to keep you inside and out from under my feet.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Baird threw another sarcastic smile her way but Allyson had already spun on her heels to head back into her office, her remaining guard carting off the supplies. No doubt they were going to inspect everything for potential damage or trackers.

“Alright, get a move on, you two,” Blake grunted as the pair shouldered their packs again, Auri with some difficulty as she fought against the cold. Baird kept close to her side as they followed the guard down a long, wide avenue to the far end of the street. They passed by several shops, most had already been shut down against the storm. One, what looked to be a small soup kitchen of sorts, had a door open and Auri could feel the warmth radiating out to greet them. She slowed down and nearly came to stop outside the door before she was being ushered away by Allyson’s personal guard.

“Ey, Blake!” called out a woman as they got maybe three steps away. “What’re you doing dragging this poor girl away for?”

“Chieftain’s order, Darla. They ain’t stayin’ long. They’re Gears. You don’ need to be wastin’ yer food on them,” Blake countered as Auri shook her arm from his grip. Darla, a stocky woman of about fifty with a salt and pepper braid thrown over one shoulder, clucked her tongue at that as she pulled her patched winter coat tightly around her body.

“Don’t you give me that crap, Blake Donnelly,” Darla replied, glaring at the man who seemed to have lost his spine suddenly. Satisfied with his response, Darla turned to the Spartan and Gear. “Dear. You two are half frozen stiff. Which house are they staying at Blake?”

“Darla, you don’ have to-“

“Which. House.”

He caved easily. “Last one on this stretch ‘ere. Black door. ‘Appy now? Can we go?” If she wasn’t so cold, Auri would’ve laughed. The man sounded like a petulant child.

“I’ll send some warm food and drink over to last you both through the night. I know some folks here,” Darla paused to shoot the guard another harsh look, “aren’t exactly pleased to see COG wandering behind our gates but you people are offering to trade with us so it’s only fair you at least get a warm meal or two out of it.”

“Thank you,” Auri replied as Darla reached out to grasp the younger woman’s hand and gave it a friendly squeeze.

“Of course, sweetheart. I’ll also have someone run you additional blankets we keep in the back for just such occasions. Each house should contain a heater or two. If there isn’t one or if they’re not working, ask Danny. He’ll be on your left side, green door. Tell him I sent ya if he asks and he should help out.” Darla gave them both a genuine smile which faded as she looked back at Blake. “Now you may go. And if I hear you or any of the other boys have given them trouble…”

“You won’t. God…” Blake scoffed as he redirected the two soldiers back onto their original while Darla stepped back inside. “Christ, I swear, Allyson ain’t the one in charge most times. It’s that friggin’ woman and-“ The man quickly caught himself when he realized what company he was in. “Don’t say a damned word. You both heard nothin’.”

Baird chuckled to himself and shook his head. “Right. We’re just a pair of dumb Gears, Chief. We heard absolutely nothing at all.”

——

Blake dumped the pair off quickly in front of the old house, unlocking the front door before stepping away. “Asshole could’ve just left us the key,” Baird grumbled to himself as he grabbed hold of the knob and turned it only for the door to catch in the frame. “Oh. Come on. Seriously?” The Gear gritted his teeth and, with one hand still wrapped around the frozen door knob, threw his shoulder into the door itself. It took two more tries before it finally swung open, nearly spilling Baird into the entryway and onto his ass. “O-kay. Maybe we won’t need the key. It should lock from the inside and if we need to do that every time we have to open the door, that should be enough of a warning. Come on.” He ushered the Four indoors and all but slammed the door shut behind them. It was a few degrees warmer inside but not by much. Wind could be heard whistling through the cracks in the windows and the entire first floor was completely bare save for a pair of twin mattresses shoved together and pushed up into a corner of the living room with a bunch of old blankets piled on top.

“Alright. Jack, make sure this place is secure as can be. At least for the night. I’m gonna go find those heaters.” Baird knocked his boots against one wall in an attempt to knock off the ice that had accumulated there but they both still managed to track in a bunch of snow. He removed his gloves, stuffing them in a pocket, as he rubbed his palms together and breathed on them to get the blood flowing. The Spartan had since dropped her pack off in a corner near the makeshift bed and shoved back her hood and goggles. Her cheeks were bright pink from the cold and her teeth were chattering loudly. Baird paused for a moment to look over in her direction and his lips thinned.

“Okay. I… don’t know how best to say this so I’m just gonna come out and say it,” he began tentatively. Auri turned around to face the Gear, her brows pulling together in a silent question. “I’m… gonna need you to strip.” The words came out in a rush and Baird could feel heat rising in his face out of mild embarrassment. It took a second for his words to register in the woman’s head and her eyes widened.

“Wait. What?” Auri’s mouth dropped open then shut close with an audible click.

“I know. Alright. That came out wrong. Okay, look. You need to get out of your wet clothes and-“

“I know how hypothermia works, Damon,” she snarked at him. At least she wasn’t stammering much right now. Being out of the wind and snow worked wonders on her but she was still too damned cold. “I was… just caught off guard. You’re right.” Auri heaved a heavy sigh then flexed fingers that were now clear of her own gloves. Her skin had cracked in several places and in the webbing between her index and middle fingers she could see dried blood. She grimaced a little and rubbed it off before tossing her gloves down onto the blankets nearby. There’d be time to apply a salve later. Now, she really needed to get out of her snow-covered attire.

The jacket went first then the gauntlets on her forearms and the armor pieces on her shoulders. It took a couple tries, working the fixtures, as her hands were more than a little numb. It was her cursing that drew Baird back to her. That and one of the heaters he managed to locate.

“Need help?” he asked as he knelt down beside the device and began fiddling with the knobs once it was plugged in.

“No?” Another quiet curse under her breath and he smiled to himself.

“That wasn’t a very convincing ‘no’.” Auri shot him an exasperated look through narrowed eyes as she was trying to unclasp the back straps on her chest piece when Baird stood up.

“Turn around,” he instructed her. “I need to take a look at this thing anyways if we’re supposed to head off in the morning. Don’t need you turning into an Auri-cicle.” The commander had been in the middle of giving him her back when he made that little pun. It took everything in her to not tell the man to piss off, that she’d work on it herself.

“You’re fucking ridiculous,” she muttered under her breath but Baird heard it nonetheless.

“Yeah, well, I’m just trying to help,” he replied matter of factly as he unhooked the armor piece and slid it off her. That gave him a chance to get a better look at the heating attachment. “God damn it! Those idiots seriously couldn’t have fixed this before we took off? When we get back, I’m going back through the damned log and seeing who was performing maintenance on this thing last.” He pulled back one of the panels and scoffed loudly. “The power cells crapped out and the wiring’s fried. Anyone coulda seen that from a mile away! They’re lucky. If the wiring had been crossed, it could’ve overloaded the system and exploded.”

“So, I could’ve gone out in a blaze of shrapnel and explode-y bits instead of freezing my ass off. Whoopee,” Auri said sarcastically as she sat down on the edge of the mattress and shoved off her leg armor, pushing it into the steadily growing pile nearby. “Maybe I should’ve gone for that. At least then I would’ve been warm.”

“You’re not helping,” Baird replied as he turned the chest piece over, searching for any other signs of damage.

“You aren’t either. Aren’t you supposed to be looking for another heater? I think Darla said there should be at least two.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m working on it.”

“No, you’re not. You’re just standing there.” Auri pulled off another sweater she had on over her bio-layer; at least that part of her suit she had been able to use. Yet, she was still freezing. Baird gave her a withering look as he set her chest piece aside to scour the rest of the home. While he was busy rooting about the place, Auri tapped her left boot rapidly against the floor, debating what she should do next. All she had on under her bio-layer was a tank shirt and a pair of compression shorts. Baird was out of sight for the moment and it didn’t take too long to shimmy out of the thing. Plus, she could just scoot under the blankets right after.

Setting her other clothes out to dry as well as they could draped over the counter, Auri worked her way out of her bio-layer and dove immediately under the blankets. Luckily, they didn’t smell nearly as musty as she’d expected and scooched over to where Baird had set up the first heater. When the Gear returned from his search, procuring two additional heaters, all he could see of the Spartan was the top of her head poking out from beneath the blankets. He almost laughed at the sight but kept quiet as he turned on the devices. Jack let out a chime nearby, confirming the home was secure for their stay. Regardless, Baird had the bot go into a standby mode while they slept. He then plugged in the remaining two heaters, setting one up at the foot of the bed and the other where he’d be potentially sleeping. That or taking the first watch depending on how cold the Spartan was going to be. He could see her covered form shaking just a bit as she tried to warm herself up.

A suggestion was already forming in his head but before he could voice it, a light knock sounded at the door. One of his hands immediately moved atop the sidearm at his hip as he quietly walked to the door. The windows were mostly boarded up and it wasn’t like anyone could hear him moving about inside. It never hurt to err on the side of caution however. He knelt beside one window, carefully peeking through a crack in the boards to get a look at their visitor when they knocked again.

A woman’s voice, muffled from the door, called out, “Hey, COG. It’s Darla. I’ve got the soup I promised you two. You mind opening up?” Baird let out a small sigh of relief, dropped his hand from the butt of his pistol and moved to the door.

“Uh, yeah. Gimme a sec. This thing’s… kinda… stuck,” he replied as he tugged at the doorknob. The wood inched open bit by bit. Once it was wide enough, small snow flurries crept inside and the wind nipped at the man’s exposed skin making him wince. After a moment, the door swung open and before him stood the Stranded woman from the soup kitchen. She was bundled up in her thickest sweaters and had a faded, patchwork scarf wrapped around the bottom half of her face. An old beanie was pulled down tightly over her ears. While Baird couldn’t see her mouth he could tell Darla was smiling at him with how her eyes crinkled at the corners. She was then pushing a large brown bag into his hands.

“Here you go,” she said, raising her voice around the fabric. “Two pints of chicken soup plus some jerky from the storehouse. You two have enough water to last you?” She then shook her head before Baird could answer. “I slipped you both an extra canteen each. Don’t worry about bringing back the tupperware. I’ve plenty back home.” The Gear could feel warmth leaking out of the bag and into his hands. It took everything in him to not clutch it to his chest and let it warm up the rest of his body. Clearly, the desire was plain on his face as Darla let out a low chuckle before her expression sobered.

“Your girl doing okay? Were you able to find the heaters I told you about?” Darla asked. Baird gave her a short nod.

His girl? Baird ignored that part before answering, “Thanks for that and she is. I’ve got them set up around the bed to thaw her out.” He shifted the bag from his chest and tucked it under an arm, sticking one snow-covered boot behind the door to keep the worst of the cold from sneaking in.

“Listen, if she needs treatment, I live above my shop. Just ring my doorbell and I can get her the help she needs.” The Gear narrowed his eyes a fraction as the older woman went to leave before he stopped her.

“Why’re you doing this?” Baird asked before adding, “Giving us food and all this?” Darla lifted a gloved hand up and tugged her scarf down below her mouth, giving Baird a grim smile before fishing out a long silver metal chain hiding underneath all of her winter layers. Baird blinked twice at the sight of the COG tags waving in the wind before Darla tucked them back beneath her clothes.

“I know you all aren’t what Allyson tries to make you out to be,” the woman said at length. “There’s going to be bad apples in every batch anywhere you go. Why let that ruin the rest of your bounty?” Darla pulled her scarf back into position and nodded to him before turning around to leave, calling over her shoulder, “Get some rest, COG. Have a safe trip in the morning.”

Baird lifted a hand up in a short wave as she hurried her way out of the cold then worked on getting the door to close again. “Huh. That was something I didn’t expect,” he muttered to himself. Baird then ran a hand over his hair, shaking free some of the snow before walking quietly over to the kitchen, setting their food inside the fridge.

“Who was at the door?” He about jumped at the question, having been so lost in his thoughts that he’d briefly forgotten about the Spartan buried in the blankets nearby. He left the kitchen to stand by her side of the bed and knelt down. Color was beginning to return to her face.

“Darla. She came by to drop off some food,” Baird replied as he started to shuck off his jacket, standing briefly to lay it near her belongings. “You up to eating a bit or are you still trying to thaw out?” Auri pulled the blankets around her a bit tighter at that.

“Let me warm up a little more and then I’ll get back to you on that,” came her muffled answer. A small smile pulled at the man’s lips.

“Alright. You still have feeling in all your limbs?” She dipped her head in a nod.

“Might’ve gotten a little frostbite on one foot but it’s nothing bad.” The Spartan shivered. “I’m still fucking cold.”

“I might be able to help you fix that,” Baird hedged as he looked back over to where Jack was hovering. He could faintly make out the telltale signs of the bot’s cloak given the slight ripples in the air. “Jack, gimme a heads up if anyone starts banging on our door, ‘kay?” Jack chimed his acknowledgment as Baird worked his way out of the rest of his clothes. Auri rolled over onto her other side, watching him with a puzzled expression.

“What’re you doing?” she asked as he began unlacing his boots.

“Getting out of these wet ass clothes.” Baird waved a hand at the small pile nearby. “You’re not the only one who’s cold.” He tugged his footwear off, focusing on the rest of his gear so he didn’t have to look her full in the face. “Now, I’m only gonna do this with your express permission, okay? I was going to suggest we share… body heat. I can’t sit here and watch you shiver like that.” It was then that Baird met her gaze. “I won’t do so if it makes you uncomfortable. Only goal here is to get you warmed up.”

Auri remained silent for a few seconds while Baird busied himself. He glanced her way every so often as she kept silent. He paused when he came to his belt and heard her shift upright into a sitting position. By the time Baird had looked back over, she’d pulled one blanket up around her waist and was fiddling with the edge of the fabric. She went to rub her right hand over her left forearm before checking the motion and settled her hands in her lap, fidgeting slightly still.

“Uh, you’re kiiinda creepin’ me out being quiet like that,” Baird said with a half smile which dropped quickly as his joke fell flat. “Okay, lame attempt, I know, but seriously. If you’re not comfortable with this, I’ll get something else figured out. I’m not trying to pressure you or anything.”

“No, no. It’s fine,” Auri replied, speaking up when he moved to grab his jacket from the counter. “You’re not-you’re not pressuring me.” Her gaze flicked up to the Gear’s briefly before dropping back down to the blankets; clearly the faded patterns interested her a lot more than the man who had been undressing before her. She hoped like hell her face wasn’t beet red. While nudity certainly didn’t bother the Four, this situation felt… different somehow but she didn’t let her mind dwell on it for too long.

“You’re sure?” Baird asked as he set the jacket back down. She could hear him walk over to where she was sitting, socks softly muffling his footsteps. Baird knelt down by her side and Auri saw him staring at her. “Because if you don’t-“

“Really. I’m okay,” she replied more firmly, cutting him off a bit too quickly. Baird narrowed his eyes slightly in response and studied her face a few seconds too long. Auri raised her brows at the blond. “Baird, I’m fine. Now, are you gonna get in here or what? I’m freezing my ass off.” As if to emphasize her point, a chill ran up her spine making her shudder hard.

“Alright, alright. Give me a sec…” Baird said, having stood back up and walked back over the small pile of clothes on the floor. Gathering them up, he spread them out on what flat surfaces he could find so they’d be relatively dry in the morning. While doing so, Auri took in a discreet breath and let it out quietly as she tried to calm her skyrocketing pulse. She needed to calm her nerves before her mind jumped to any conclusions. It wasn’t like they were going to have sex. He was simply offering another way to keep her warm through the night. On top of the three heaters he had situated around the bed. Auri mentally shook herself, looking back over at Baird just in time to hear him unhooking his belt buckle.

As if feeling her gaze on him, Baird glanced back over his shoulder and they locked eyes for a split second before Auri immediately laid back down on the bed, pulling the blankets up to her chin. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment but she couldn’t get the image of that man undressing in front of her. Get a damned grip on yourself, she mentally yelled at herself. Besides, it’s not like he’s even interested. Sure, he’s kinda flirted back and he… has been talking to you a bit more than usual but he doesn’t like you in that way. He knows you’ve got to get back home eventually. You don’t have a future here. Least of all with him. So stop it! It’s not worth the heartache.

She’d been so engrossed in her thoughts that she had failed to notice Baird shifting the covers back beside her so he could slip in. It wasn’t until he was practically all the way under that Auri had finally felt the blankets move and almost leapt out of her skin. She choked out a startled curse and felt one of Baird’s hands wrap around her shoulder.

“Sorry, sorry! I thought you heard me,” he said, apologizing quickly.

“It’s… fine,” the Four answered back even though she felt the furthest thing from fine right now. He squeezed her shoulder once in reassurance then rearranged his pillow, fluffing it up a bit before stuffing an arm beneath it. Auri felt Baird tap her on the shoulder again and she looked back at him in askance.

“It’s gonna take you a bit longer to warm up like that,” he said and motioned for her to scoot a bit closer. “Don’t give me that look. I don’t bite.” Auri scoffed at that and rolled her eyes but, after a minute, she did eventually inch back toward the Gear. When she was five or six inches away from him, she could practically feel the warmth radiating out from his body. That about sealed it for her. Auri was still a bit hesitant and she took her time settling in as if to give him a chance to back out. He didn’t retreat like she half expected him to.

“I’m gonna put my arm around your waist, if that’s okay,” Baird announced and he only did so once the Spartan gave him a verbal affirmative. Baird moved carefully as to not startle her and soon his arm was wrapped about her middle. He pulled her closer to his chest and Auri let out a small, contented noise as the Gear’s body heat permeated her back. Without meaning to, Auri had tugged his arm tighter around her and pulled the covers up to keep the heat in.

“Shit. You’re colder than I was expecting,” she heard Baird curse softly. She was just about to apologize and move away from him when Baird hooked a leg around her hip, his body practically engulfing hers. “No, you’re good. You’re good.” He sucked in a small breath when the cold bottoms of her feet pressed up against his skin but was otherwise quiet for a few seconds.

“Are you alright?” he asked at length.

“Mhm. You’re stupid warm. Or… I am just really, super cold right now.” Baird huffed out a laugh and she felt him shrug.

“Little of column A and little of column B.” His warm breath ghosted over the nape of her neck. It sent a shiver down her spine that, for once, wasn’t due to the cold. Now that she was starting to thaw out, it was getting a bit harder to think straight. Auri shut her eyes tightly closed for a second and did her best to flush out all of the thoughts running through her head. It’d been a while since she was in close proximity with anyone of this nature and her neglected libido certainly wasn’t helping matters in the slightest.

Baird is not interested in you so knock. It. Off! Just enjoy the fact that he’s basically cuddling you for warmth. You shouldn’t have pushed yourself so hard to begin with, dumbass. You could’ve seriously gotten hurt. Auri ran a hand over her face, pinching the bridge of her nose before settling back in.

“Hey, if I do anything to make you uncomfortable, tell me,” Baird said softly, his tone serious. “Even if you gotta kick me outta the bed, please do.” That drew a laugh from her. “I just wanna make sure you’re warm and comfortable.”

“Why would I want to kick out my only comfy source of body heat?” Auri asked, peering over her shoulder at him. In the dying light, she could make out the half grin he was giving her. That definitely wasn’t doing anything against the fluttering in her stomach.

“That’s fair. Now get comfortable. We’ve got an early morning ahead of us.”

“Believe me, I’m well aware. I’m not looking forward to dealing with the village queen tomorrow,” Auri muttered into her pillow. She sighed quietly then shifted around until Baird loosened his hold on her. Auri flipped over to face him and was discreetly startled with how close they were; only a couple inches were separating them.

“You… okay?” Baird asked, brows furrowing together. Auri nodded and scooched forward.

“Yeah. Ah. This is probably a stupid question,” she began hesitantly, chewing her bottom lip, “but can… I hug you?”

Baird fell silent, most likely surprised, before she heard him nodding. His free arm moved to settle around her torso, drawing her into his chest. Auri snaked her arm that wasn’t pinned beneath her body around his neck and buried her face into his shirt, inhaling his scent. It then felt like something snapped inside her. She felt her eyes begin to sting suddenly. Maybe it was the physical fatigue. Maybe it was the fact she felt too damned cold for her liking. Maybe it was a hundred different things, who knew. The last few days had been difficult and perhaps trekking up a snow covered mountain in a blizzard with faulty equipment had been her breaking point. All Auri knew then and there was that she needed that physical touch another body could provide. Besides, a hug seemed to make most things better after a little while. They were both a little hesitant with one another but, when Auri wrapped herself tighter around his body, Baird returned the gesture in full, almost crushing her against his chest. Seemed he needed this too.

A tear or three leaked out of her eyes and were luckily absorbed into Baird’s shirt without him noticing as Auri worked on getting her emotions in check. She quietly sniffled and squeezed her companion one last time before releasing him. The Spartan shifted back enough to be able to look him in the face and almost jumped when she felt his palm settling against her cheek. His thumb made a small sweeping motion across her skin, wiping away a few traitorous tears that had slipped out. The motion had been terribly sweet and pulled hard at her heartstrings. Auri then withdrew, feeling her companion’s hand fall away, as she swiped the back of her own hand over her eyes, sniffling.

“Sorry. Think I’m a little more tired than I was expecting,” she explained, giving him a weak smile. “We should probably get some sleep.” Auri went to roll onto her other side but then stopped herself midway to turn back. She felt around in the dark for Baird’s hand and placed hers over the top of his, squeezing it once. “I, um. Thanks, y’know, for, uh, watching out for me,” Auri said haltingly, like she was trying to search for the right words. “I appreciate it.” She wanted to say more but didn’t know what else to say, let alone, how to express the feelings in her heart. Maybe someday, or perhaps not at all, she may but now wasn’t the time. Baird turned his palm upward so he could take hold of hers and squeezed her fingers in return.

“Hey, it’s what I’m here for,” the Gear replied, clearing his throat, “regardless of what those schmucks back on the ship think.”

Auri snorted. "Someone’s a little full of themselves tonight,” she replied as she rolled her eyes and settled back down, tugging the blankets back over her shoulders.

“Well, yeah. You know who you’re talking to, right?”

“Here I thought we were having a moment. You ruined it.”

Baird scoffed. “You’re cruel, you know that, yeah?”

“Yeah, yeah. Now, could you please warm my cruel ass up? If we end up going out into the snow like this again, I am wearing my suit come hell or water. I am not dealing with this bullshit again.”

“Can’t really blame you there,” Baird replied as he laid back down. “Guess I’ll have to make something up if Stranded start pestering us about you.”

“Let’s worry about that later,” Auri said around a wide yawn that cracked her jaw. She then shifted backwards a bit till she almost bumped into the man behind her. He wrapped an arm around her torso, drawing her closer until her back was flush against his chest. Auri snuggled deeper into the covers as Baird hooked his leg back around her hip, letting her leech away as much of his body heat she could. Just before she crashed, Auri could’ve sworn she heard Baird murmur something to her but it was only a matter of seconds before the Spartan drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

—-

When Baird awoke hours later, bits of sunlight had seeped in through the breaks in the boarded up windows. Seemed the storm had finally blown itself out as the wind wasn’t howling at the door. He went to stretch his arms over his head and attempt to wake up fully when one arm snagged on something. More aptly someone. The Spartan was practically hugging his arm to her chest and was curled up tightly on her side of the bed facing him. She was still solidly out like a light and shifted a bit closer to Baird in her sleep. His expression softened at the sight and he smiled. While they did need to get moving, he knew Auri had pushed herself hard, a little too hard if anyone asked him, the previous day and with faulty equipment no less. There’d be hell to raise when they got back to the Sovereign but now wasn’t the time to worry about all that.

Surprisingly, their escort from last night wasn’t trying to beat down their door so maybe they caught a lucky break. Maybe Darla had worked some of her magic on Allyson or maybe the woman would rather wait out the storm than trek through it. Whatever the reason, Baird was a bit glad that they had some extra time to themselves. He’d let the commander sleep until it was time to get moving. For now, he needed to figure out how to work his arm out from under her grasp. Right as he went to pull his trapped limb out, Auri blearily opened her eyes and yawned an animal yawn, all white teeth and pink tongue. She yawned once more and rubbed at her eyes before finally taking stock of her surroundings.

“Oh. Mornin’, Damon,” she mumbled, her voice thick from sleep as she tried to wake up. It took her a moment to realize she’d been wrapped around her companion’s arm, apologizing tiredly as she released him, and sat upright. Her hair was rumpled on one side from where she’d been sleeping and Baird felt a tug on his heartstrings. She looked so damned cute but he wasn’t about to spoil the moment by pointing out the obvious. Instead, Baird just sat back and watched her for a minute as he tried to wake up himself. He rolled out his shoulders then his neck, relishing the feel of his joints popping back into place. Seemed he hadn’t moved much in his sleep.

“I think… you chased me across the bed at one point,” Auri said around another yawn.

Or maybe he had.

Baird shot the woman a look and she smiled sheepishly back at him. “Please. I’m not going to tell the others,” she said, pushing her shirt strap back up her shoulder. “It was kinda cute. I think you were also muttering in your sleep but I couldn’t really hear anything.”

“I am anything but cute,” Baird retorted before pausing, searching his memory. “I… also don’t remember doing any of that.”

“Pretty sure you were sound asleep.” Auri lifted her arms high over her head and arched her back a bit as she stretched. She raked a hand through her hair and glanced back over at him when he hadn’t responded. Auri raised her eyebrows and looked pointedly at the Gear and that was enough to snap him out of his stupor.

“Um. Yeah. No, I, uh, knocked out pretty quick last night,” he replied as he shoved back the blankets. He regretted that almost instantly, the cold floorboards creaking underfoot as he padded across the floor to where he’d laid his clothes and gear out. Most of it had dried overnight and as cold as it was, he knew they’d warm up once they were on him for a while. Jack had decloaked and floated over to the pair as Baird threw on a shirt and bottoms, making for the chest piece Auri had been using. He dug around in his pack before finding his repair kit and got to work while the Spartan dressed. He studied the armor piece intently to keep his eyes from straying back over to the other soldier. It didn’t take him long to get lost in his work. It was going to be a patch job at best but it’d keep Auri from freezing long enough for them to get back to base.

Almost thirty minutes had passed before a hard knock sounded off at their door. Jack immediately hid his presence as Baird shut the battery pack hatch closed and handed the gear over to the Spartan who’d pulled on everything save for her chest piece. Their “host” hammered their door once again, clearly impatient. Baird got up and quickly donned on the rest of his own gear, calling out, “Hey, gimme a minute! Unless you want to see a buck-ass naked man in here, hold yer horses!” A muttered response could be heard on the other side then but the words were unintelligible. Baird shook his head and grabbed his weapons and pack. Auri did the same after shutting off the heaters and stood behind and to the side of Baird as he yanked the door open. At first, it refused to budge but after a few seconds of coaxing and prodding, he managed to open it wide enough for them both to step through. Sure enough, their escort from the previous night stood on their doorstep. Bryan. No, Bailey. Brandon? It started with a B, that much Baird remembered. That and the man was a prick.

“Wakey, wakey, COG. We’re behind schedule and chief’s gettin’ impatient,” he sneered, taking a step back to give the two just enough room. “Les’ get a move on, yeah? Sooner you’re outta here, the better.”

“You’re the ones who wanted to move at dawn yet no one was banging on our door when the time came,” Baird remarked. “Guessin’ you guys had to wait till the blizzard finally died down.”

“Whatevah,” the man growled as he led them to the back end of the village. Another gate was stationed there, not nearly as high as the front entrance but still had a pair of watch towers on either side. Allyson stood there, practically glaring at them both. She dressed in an outfit similar to the one she wore yesterday and had an old Retro Lancer in hand and Boltok pistol riding her hip. Three more men joined her; clearly her personal guard.

“Morning, Chief,” Baird said, a false note of cheer leaking into his voice. “Hope you all slept well.”

“Skip the pleasantries, COG,” Allyson spat out, her mouth twisting into a frown. “Lead us off to the cache so we can be done with this and you can leave.”

“Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed,” Auri muttered under her breath. Allyson’s gaze instantly locked onto her and her eyes narrowed a fraction.

“What did you just say?” the village leader growled. Auri plastered a blank look on her own face and stared at the other woman.

“Nothing,” the Spartan replied in a bored tone as she fell in step with Baird as he took the lead.

Snow crunched underfoot as the small group hiked through the trees. Bird song drifted down from above them. Soft white clouds lazily floated on by, a stark contrast from the thunderous gray mass that had blotted out the sky the day prior. Baird took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, enjoying the smell of the fresh mountain air. It would’ve been a nice little hike had it not been for the company they were keeping. They’d be rid of Allyson and her posse soon enough. It just couldn’t happen fast enough for Baird’s liking.

When they were about a quarter of a mile out from the hidden cache of supplies, Baird slowed his walk. He held up a closed fist to the rest of the group as he scanned their surroundings. He didn’t know what caught his attention but he-

“Why are we stopping? Are we near the cache?” Allyson snapped at him. “If we aren’t, we-“

“Shut it,” the Gear hissed harshly, slanting a sideways look at the woman. Fury was written plainly across her face. “Look. Something feels off here. You guys haven’t had any recent Locust sightings, have you?”

One of the guards laughed aloud, the sound echoing off the trees. “Nah, man. Not for the last couple weeks. They enjoy the cold no more’n we do.”

“Then what the. Fuck. Is that?” Baird gestured at a large patch of trampled snow with the muzzle of his gun. The guards peered around and one knelt beside the mess of tracks.

“I dunno. We’ve got a bunch a deer’n shit movin’ through these woods. Can’ expect us to keep track of ‘em, can you?” the first guard asked. “Like I said, we haven’t seen Locust in weeks.”

“Just because you can’t see ‘em, doesn’t mean they’re not there, jackass,” Baird snapped back.

“Hey, Mike. Didn’t Charlie’n his brother say they heard a bunch of noise a few days ago near the south side of the village?” one guard in a faded yellow beanie asked as he took a closer look at the tracks.

“Yeah. It was probably a herd movin’ through here. Migratin’ or some shit.”

“I dunno know, man. These tracks look awful big to be deer.”

“We’re wasting time babbling like old women here,” Allyson spoke up, readjusting her grip on her weapon. “How far are we from the supply cache?” While her tone and body language clearly demonstrated her anger and impatience, Baird could see a flicker of fear and worry in her eyes.

“Not far,” Baird replied quietly as he began peering through the trees around them. “Maybe quarter of a mile or so inside an old cave.”

“Okay then. Let’s move.”

“Hold on a moment.” He stepped quickly into the woman’s path. If looks could kill, he’d be dead on his feet. “Listen to me. A lot of shit moved through here pretty recently. Blizzard only stopped, what? A couple hours ago?” Allyson went to step around him but Baird moved again, this time placing a hand on top of her shoulder to keep her from storming off. “Just. Wait. Alright? These tracks are fresh. If they’d happened before the storm rolled through here, they’d be gone by now, right?” Allyson pursed her lips but took another look at the disturbed powder. Some of the anger left her expression and Baird knew he was starting to get through to her when Auri stretched out a hand, grabbing his attention.

“What is it?” he asked quietly, looking over his shoulder at the other soldier.

“Movement. Ten ‘o’ clock,” the Spartan whispered, keeping her eyes trained on where she’d seen it last. The three guards immediately brought their weapons up to bear. “Moved too quick for me to get a bead on it. Baird, we’ve got maybe two options here.” She glanced at him briefly before returning her gaze back to her original spot. “Move back to the village for reinforcements or press onto the cache and use the supplies. If we stay out here in the open for much longer…”

“I know.” He breathed out slowly, returning his attention back to Allyson. “It’s your call. Either we head back to the village and come back here another day or we press on and grab the supplies now. Either way, we’ll have a fight on our hands. At least this way, if we head back to the village, we’ll have extra guns on our side.”

The redhead’s lip curled but it was more in frustration at the situation at hand than at the Gear. She readjusted her grip on the old Lancer and let out a breath, looking Baird dead in the eye. “We press on, COG. We need those supplies. Mike.” She threw a glance over her shoulder at the man. “Head back to the village and notify the rest of the guard. Get those who can’t fight below ground and arm anyone who is able bodied to be safe.”

Baird stepped forward and gripped the man’s shoulder before he had a chance to leave. “The moment the gunfire starts, break away from us. Locust’ll be less inclined to chase after you if we’re firing at them.” Once Mike nodded, Baird released him and turned his gaze back to the trees. A cloud rolled over the sun, blanketing the entire area in gray. Everything was dead silent now, even the birds had stopped singing, and he could’ve sworn he heard the Locust grunting to themselves. Maybe they thought the group hadn’t spotted them and were trying to get into position for an ambush.

“Chief, get your guys behind the tree to your left and then the one on the right here,” Baird hissed, his voice barely above a whisper. Allyson looked like she was briefly going to fight Baird on ordering her men about but she relented. At least she was starting to pick and choose her battles with him and, right now, Baird wasn’t the enemy to focus on. The woman jerked her head at the remaining two guards with Mike poised to take off soon as the fighting started. Auri had already darted through the snow as quietly as she could, running doubled over and used the thick brush as cover until she got a decent angle on the Locust. She gave Baird a thumbs up and braced the butt of her rifle against her shoulder. Her breath came out in small, white clouds from beneath the scarf wrapped about her neck.

“On my mark,” the Gear murmured, then counted down with his free hand. Once his index finger dropped, the humans let loose on the Locust. Mike shot off like a rocket back towards the village, losing his balance twice in the knee deep snow. Some of the incoming hostile fire tried to shift his way but Allyson held down the trigger on her weapon long enough to dissuade them of that notion. Then came the sound that Baird dreaded.

“BOOM!”

Baird barely managed to yell out to the others to get down when an explosive round shot through the trees, detonating a ways off from both groups but it still managed to knock down a tree.

“Sonuvabitch. Is that-?” one villager began to say before Baird cut him off harshly.

“Yes, it is. Keep. Fucking. Firing!” He emptied his rifle’s mag before switching it out for a fresh one. Another deep voice had echoed the first and soon enough a pair of Locust built like brick shit houses came lumbering into view. Fucking Boomers.

“Auri, you’re with me,” Baird called out to the Spartan. “Focus fire on those two. We can’t let them get close!”

“On it!” she replied, slamming a fresh clip home in her own gun before changing cover. The Four darted around to the right in a half circle, ducking behind another large tree trunk and fired at the closest Boomer. It bellowed out in anger and swung its Boomshot her way and fired. Baird’s heart leapt into his throat as the round punctured a head sized hole through her cover, spraying her with broken pieces of wood. It wasn’t enough to send that one tumbling to the ground but it was pretty close.

Her head snapped up once she was relatively clear and saw how weak the trunk was. Baird then watched her for a moment, her gaze locking onto the Boomer, a plan clearly forming in her head. A second later, she thumbed the switch for her Lancer’s chainsaw attachment and began cutting through the rest of the trunk, teeth gritting together in concentration. The loud sound drew the other Locusts’ attention which prompted Baird to immediately fire on them, if just to buy her more time. The next thing he heard over the staccato beat of gunfire was the sound of cracking wood then the subsequent whoosh as the pine toppled to the ground-

Right where one of the Boomers had been standing. It hadn’t been enough to kill it but the tree was able to incapacitate the damned thing enough to keep it out of the fight. Its partner roared in anger as its Boomshot swung around to face her and quickly advanced on the other soldier. Without another word, Allyson sprung out around cover, drawing her large, serrated knife from the sheath on her belt. The snow didn’t seem to hinder her much as the village chief charged over to the heavy-footed Boomer.

She swung the blade out when she reached the second Boomer’s back and caught it across the backs of its knees where the armor was at its weakest, her guards providing her with covering fire where they could. It screamed in pain and staggered forward into the snow almost face first. It lashed out behind it in an attempt to grab the redhead but missed, blinded by its rage. Seeing an opening, Auri plucked a grenade from her belt, swung it twice then lobbed it at the remaining Locust before joining Allyson. The chief didn’t bother swapping out mags as she proceeded to jam the rifle’s bayonet several times into the Boomer’s back. In one final attempt to bring the human down with it, the massive Locust gripped Allyson by the arm at last, wrenching her into the snow.

Allyson blindly thrashed outward with her other knife wielding arm but couldn’t hit the Boomer in the head from the awkward angle she was in. That’s when the sound of a chainsaw tearing through flesh and bone filled the air. The Spartan had brought her Lancer down on the Locust’s limb as she had the tree and kept pushing, ignoring the gore splattering her clothes and body. The Boomer howled in pain but the howl abruptly cut off as soon as a knife had been slammed right into its temple. The rest of the Locust had either fled now or were slowly bleeding out in the snow, the red a stark contrast against all the white.

Both the chief and commander were breathing heavily from that ordeal, wiping off bits of chunks that had fallen onto them, when Auri extended her hand to the redhead. Allyson didn’t hesitate to grasp the Spartan’s proffered hand and let herself get hauled up, spitting out blood that had gotten into her mouth. Baird and the two guards hurried over to them once they were sure the Locust weren’t going to mount a counterattack. Allyson cast a look off in the direction their enemy had taken with a rather pissed off look on her face.

“Jenks,” she said, exhaling explosively as she flicked a bone fragment off her forearm, “When we get back to the village, get a team together to follow these tracks back to their nest. Finish them off. We cannot have them coming back to our home. Once we have the weapons from this cache, that task should be easier to accomplish.” Allyson then looked back to Baird and Auri, the anger replaced with exhaustion that they all felt. “Please. Lead the way.” Baird gave her a curt nod and, after they ensured that everyone in their group hadn’t been injured and the dead Locust were just that, dead, they continued on their original route.

Sure enough, a quarter of a mile down, they reached a weathered, old outpost that clung to the edge of a cliff. Allyson stopped in her treks, looking at the building with confusion.

“This can’t be right,” she said. “We already examined this place from top to bottom. Your coordinates have to be wrong.”

“Nope, not wrong,” came Baird’s reply as he walked up the rickety steps. “Y’all just weren’t looking in the right place.” He shoved his shoulder against the faded door until it gave way. There was enough light seeping in through the cracked boards along the windows to see by as he searched about the place. His pace quickened when he neared a moth eaten rug by the back corner and flipped it over. Allyson and her posse had stepped inside as he revealed the locked hatch and Baird glanced away as he felt a rather satisfied grin pull at his mouth as he entered the code. It buzzed once before letting out a sharp beep, accepting the passcode. With the locks disengaged, Baird swung the door upward and revealed crates of ammo, hand grenades and several pairs of rifles, handguns and a few grenade launchers at the back.

“Let us pack up some of the ammo ourselves. Rest is yours, Chief,” Baird said as he reached inside and began pulling up a few of the crates. “Ya might wanna get a couple more guys out here. Looks like it’ll take you a few trips.”

“Very well, COG.” Allyson’s boots echoed dully against the floorboards as she approached him to peruse the contents for herself. “Thank you. And… thank you both for your assistance in that fight.” She looked over to Auri who was still wiping off some of the blood that hadn’t turned completely tacky yet. “Your… friend is welcome to shower before you leave our village. Make it quick.” The Spartan’s eyes widened a fraction in surprise.

“Thanks. I’ll, ah, be sure not to use up all your hot water,” Auri replied, a relieved smile on her face. She didn’t exactly fancy walking all the way back to the LZ coated in a fine layer of gore.

“Make sure that you do. It’s difficult enough keeping hot water supplied to the village without others making use of it.”

The commander swallowed her smile and nodded once. Outside, they could hear several pairs of boots crunching through the snow. Baird instantly shot up, a hand going to his sidearm but Allyson waved him off. It was Mike with a few extra hands. While he did alert the others back home, he took it upon himself to double back with a couple guards in case the fight took a turn for the worse. After coming across several dead Locust, and saw that their people weren’t among them, the group followed the snow tracks down to the outpost. With the added help, Baird and Auri were no longer needed once they got their share of the cache.

With the promise of a hot shower in her near future, Auri double timed it through the snow and back to the house they’d stayed in the previous night. She scrubbed the blood out from her hair and her skin, going over herself twice before she was finally pleased. In the meantime, Baird had already called up the Raven and had been wiping down her armor the best he could, having tossed her other clothes into the washer. It’d be a minute before their pickup was even remotely close.

A few hours later found the two soldiers halfway down the mountain at the aforementioned LZ, a Raven steadily approaching. It touched down, grabbed the pair and took off, leaving the village and mountainside well behind them.

___

It was already well into the evening by the time they neared the Sovereign. The ship was a welcome sight to behold. The Raven soon landed on a free pad, depositing the soldiers. Dom and Cole had been walking over to them, rather happy that the two made it back safe and sound.

“I’ll get the report turned in if you’re wanting to crash below deck,” Baird said to the Spartan as he turned off in the direction of the bridge.

“That actually wouldn’t be a bad idea,” she replied. “I’ll drop off my gear. Don’t forget to check the maintenance logs.”

Baird laughed then gave his squad mates a quick rundown on the bullshit they had to deal with the day prior. “Oh, trust me. I am definitely not gonna forget that. Friggin’ dumbasses.”

“Oh, and Baird? One more thing.” The blond gave Auri a puzzled look as she walked up to him. She gently cupped his chin, stood up on her toes a little, and, with Dom and Cole both as witnesses, placed a brief kiss on his stubbled cheek. “Thanks.” She flashed him a smile, her face turning a slight shade of pink before hurrying off downstairs to her bunk before anyone could stop her.

“Whoa, okay. What was that for?” Dom demanded, letting out a laugh of disbelief.

“I’d very much like to know that, too, Baird,” Cole remarked with a broad grin on his face. “What’d you two do out there? Did you-?”

“What? No, uh uh. I am cutting off your train of thought right there, man,” Baird quickly said.

“There ain’t no cutting the Cole-train off, baby. Especially not with something as juicy as this on the table!”

“I hate you.”

“You didn’t say nothing didn’t happen though,” Dom helpfully pointed out.

“Okay, I hate both of you,” Baird amended, glaring daggers at the pair of them.

These two definitely weren’t going to leave well enough alone but, to be quite honest, he didn’t know exactly what to tell them. It was clear Rachel was interested, now it seems. They’d been flirting a bit back and forth and, after last night, Baird had felt like something had sparked between them but he didn’t know what that meant for the future. Their future.

That answer would have to wait, however. He was dog tired and still had a mission report to drop off. He bid his friends goodbye and evaded the rest of their questions, assuring them he’d talk about it later much to their disappointment. When he went to bed later that night, he found himself missing that warm body curled up right next to him and the soft, clean soap smell. She must’ve come across one that had a faint floral scent and almost wished she could’ve stopped by again. He really could have gotten used to her sleeping beside him but Baird was getting too far ahead of himself. For now, he’d just focus on the next day.

All new days brought new beginnings with them, right?

#auris artsy doodles #Auri writes #halo gears Drabble #drabble piece #gears of war fanfiction #Oc x canon

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lacollectionneuse1967 · 11 months ago

Text

remembering you

Theseus Scamander x Reader

summary: the year is 1916 and you live with your family near the western front in france. after a chance encounter with a wizard soldier during the war, you don't think you'll ever see him again, although you're sure you'll always remember him.

nine years later, you find that the man not only works with you at the ministry, but he also happens to be the annoying auror who keeps accidentally sending interdepartmental memos to your desk. you develop a friendly, albeit anonymous, banter through sending each other notes, but the question remains--does he know who you are? and, if he does, does he remember you?

fem!reader. theseus scamander x reader.

category: office romance. smut with plot.

warnings: 18+ smut scene. unprotected penetration. oral sex (fem receiving). dirty talk. mdom/femsub. fyi he begs for it.

author's note: i am not an expert on the wizarding world nor am i an expert on wwi / world history! with respect, i do not claim to be. this is a work of fanfiction.

1916, Northern France

How strange it was, being at home when it no longer felt like home.

Your memories from childhood were precious and few, almost unreal. It was uncanny to be back with your father at that small, unchanging farmhouse on the far outskirts of Verdun. Your school waited until the last possible minute to send its students home, as they would have been sending many students home to die.

The perpetual afternoon, summery quiet of the countryside that you were so used to took on a disconcerting edge, an unspoken terror. This was the silence of a stalemate, of a breath being held. Not far from here lay the trenches and, beyond that, the Germans.

The flat, low-slung lines of Meuse were an additional shock to you. You'd spent the last five years of your life in the high, rocky mountains of the Pyrenees, at Beauxbatons Academy of Magic.

The river-run grasslands around you now had a vacant, exposed quality to them, the trees bare of birds, the squat buildings in town possessing the hollowed-out feel of an abandoned amusement park.

Even before the soldiers came you'd felt like a sitting duck.

Your sister's scream was the first noise to break the deadlock silence of the night.

You run from the windowsill without looking back. Smoke smell pricks your nostrils.

Your front door is swinging frenetically on its squealing hinges, left open, gapingly and awfully so. There are three uniformed men in boots, heavy gear, standing in your living room, looking around your small, low-ceilinged house with barely concealed reproach on their faces.

The wooden floors creak weakly underfoot. Through the doorframe you can make out some distant fires burning, you can't see them but you can smell them.

The sharp, whistling sound of war planes tears through the air.

"Parlez-vous anglais?" One of the men says in mangled French. He's redheaded, maybe in his early forties. There's black soot on his face which makes his irises look so light blue they're nearly white. "English. Anyone speak English?"

Your younger sister cowers at the booming cadence of his voice, she doesn't speak English. One of her bare feet takes a step back.

So they're English soldiers at least, but you don't recognize their uniforms. The redheaded one is brandishing a wand. But that can't be...

"[Your sister's name]," your father is too sick to rise from his chair, but he beckons to your sister, feebly, calling her away from the door in French. "Please, darling. It's okay, he's a soldier."

"There are no wizard soldiers," you step forward, placing yourself between the men and your family members. They look to you in plain surprise. Your English is unaccented. "The British and French Ministries of Magic abandoned us, forbade any wizard from involvement in-"

"I'm here, aren't I?"

Your gaze shoots to the man who spoke.

He looks young. He has a long face and short-cut, curly brown hair. Handsome but not roguishly, not like a soldier ought to be. Handsome in an upright, gentlemanly way, the kind of face that exudes goodness and inspires trust. He almost seems out of place in his uniform, dressed for combat.

"What do you want?" you ask warily.

The third, sunken-eyed man gawks and lets out an incredulous sneer.

"Ungrateful little-"

"Quiet, it's fine," the brown-haired man says, silencing his comrade before turning to you. "We're here to evacuate all magical families in the area. We've received prophetic intel that invasion is imminent, the battle will begin moments from now and will span months. Hundreds of thousands will die. Pack your family's things."

Your brother lets out a noise of trepidation, turning to your father.

Your father--paler every day, made older by his illness, slumped over in his chair. He could not even make it out to the front garden, nevertheless survive an evacuation. His eyes are twinkling acutely, buried like gems in his wrinkled, ruined face.

"Come on!" Says the redheaded man in frustration. His blackened, ash-covered face is frightening to your siblings, as is his anger.

He pulls the man standing in the back towards him roughly by the shoulder to hiss in his ear.

"I'd understand if it was an estate that had been in their family for centuries, some of the pure-blood families that we…" For a moment his whispers are unintelligible, but you make out the last words well enough. "But this little farm?"

"Little farm?!" You step forward again, bristling. "This is our home. Can't you understand wanting the dignity of dying in your own home?"

The handsome one looks sharply to your father in his chair then. It is like he is seeing him clearly for the first time, you can see it click in his mind.

"Your father is a Muggle..." he says sympathetically.

"And he is sick. He won't survive apparition. Besides," you protest. "The Germans haven't broken the line since the Battle of the Marne."

The other two soldiers are stilled in shock, aghast at the fact of you, a young girl, arguing with them at all.

"Please," you entreat them. "There's been no movement. This is trench warfare, sir. They won't-"

"They will," the redheaded soldier's voice is grave, uncompromising. "Tonight, tomorrow. I don't know when, but the Germans intend to bleed the French white. They will break the line at Verdun. It is certain."

If what they said was true, if there was a prophecy....

Your hope sinks away from you, you feel your palms go limp and bloodless.

For a moment no one speaks. The silence of the night returns from wherever it fled to, creeps and settles around you.

When you find it again, your voice sounds heartless to your ears.

"Take my siblings," you say.

[Your brother's name] shouts in objection, your little sister cries out.

"No! Y/N, you can't-"

"Not another word!" You order. The words burn you to say. "You will go with these men, I won't hear anything about it."

The redheaded man grabs your sister by the forearm swiftly, and the sullen one extends a hand to your brother. They apparate away in a solitary whoosh. You feel the last remnants of your heart tear away and leave with them.

When the last man, the handsome one, steps towards you, you shake your head and retreat, backing up against the wall.

"I'm not going, sir."

You speak firmly, but the man scoffs anyway.

The front door is still erratically swinging on its hinges like a weather vane. Your father's neck has drooped forward, his chin buried in his chest. He falls in and out of sleep like this lately. He grows worse every day.

The lone soldier purses his lips, his eyes gleam testily. You think he might grab you then, and it sends a tingle down your spine.

"I'm a war nurse, you know?" Your hands are trembling suddenly. No one to pretend to be brave for now that your siblings are gone. Your courage takes on a raw, desperate quality. "Or I want to be. I know enough to help."

"Miss," the man speaks sincerely. Unlike his comrades, he really looks at you when he talks, looks you dead in the eyes. It should be unnerving, but it isn't. You can't name what it does to you.

"I vow to take full responsibility for your father's health and safety. Home or not, he won't be better off here. I will personally care for and protect him, I promise you."

You swallow and nod. He's about to grab your hand when you speak again.

"And them?" You say. "The Muggle soldiers? Who protects them? You can take my father, but I will stay."

He makes a noise of gentle surprise.

"Miss, we're here to minimize the global wizarding community's losses. No magical blood needs to be spi-"

"I don't care about all that," your voice is sharper than you intended. It appears to have cut him to the core. 'Magical blood,' he'd said. But you've never been ashamed of being a half-blood. You've never been ashamed of being your father's daughter.

He frowns in contemplation, more to himself than at you.

"You want to stay so badly. Why?"

"I told you, I'm a nurse."

"You're a child."

"I'm sixteen," you bite back.

"Like I said," his rebuttal is delivered with a sly smile. You amuse him, though you're not sure why. "A child. Not even old enough for Muggle conscription."

"I'm no Muggle."

"No, you're... You're something else."

You bite your lip. Your words are braver than your feelings now.

"If what you say is true, the Muggles--the Allied soldiers--will need medical attention. A woman in town has been training me as a nurse. I've been to the front, I can help. I couldn't live with myself if I didn't."

His eyes don't leave your face, some silent assessment taking place within him. You're already thinking of what else you can say to him, how else to convince him.

"Okay," he says, unflinchingly. "You can stay." He'll turn a blind eye.

Your shoulders slump in relief.

He walks towards your father, who is still sagged over in a worrisome-looking unconsciousness, too deep to be sleep.

'No,' you think. 'Don't go yet.'

Mindlessly, senselessly, you feel a blooming alarm. Some death rattle, some dying burst of life.

"Wait!" You call out to him, stepping away from the wall.

The man turns. "The handsome one," you'd called him in your head, fancifully, maybe even teasingly. Nothing about it seems funny now. It never had to mean anything to you, people being handsome or beautiful. It didn't have to be about you. But this, it feels serious, personal.

You don't know what overcomes you, how you could act so boldly. He'll probably think you deranged, hysterical.

But you can't imagine he'll deny you.

You've seen enough soldiers these last two years of war to know what they want from women and girls, what they all inescapably hunger for.

"Kiss me," you say, and then add, "Please. Please kiss me."

He halts completely. When his brows knit together your heart shutters closed, meekly.

"Why?"

"I..." It's hard to admit, even now, the world burning around you. "I've never been kissed. I want to be kissed, just once, before I die. In case I do..."

You're losing your breath as you speak, your stamina sputters out.

You know how he must see you--naive, insane, maybe even pathetic. You can bear the rejection, but, suddenly, can't bear to face him anymore.

You don't hear his footsteps. His touch is so gentle you barely feel it, are still turning away when you notice his fingertips resting on your wrist.

When you look up at his face it's so unexpectedly close that you gasp. His eyes are blue, a deep and true blue. You were a fool to think him anything like the other soldiers you'd encountered. No, his expression was achingly kind and perceptive. Devastatingly handsome.

He smells like engine smoke and soap and spearmint. He smells like a man. It's intoxicating. It makes you shudder.

You close your eyes tight and hold your breath. There is the smell of fire and the echoes of distant warfare around you, but your entire body drones that out, pauses and prepares for this moment, readies itself to be kissed.

The man rests a hand on the side of your face, that alone is as intimate as any kiss, the warmth of his palm. He hesitates.

His lips on your forehead are not what you expect, but your body thrills anyway when you feel them press there.

But you are sixteen and you want a real kiss.

You don't even care who from. You want just this one selfish, childish thing in a warring world where no one is afforded childhood.

You stare at him in unhappy perplexity when he pulls back.

You might cry, you realize, and the swelling tears in your vision, they stun you.

"Live," he says, softly. Insistently. "You'll live to be kissed."

He turns to leave, but stops midway. Your siblings gone, soon your father too. The Germans invading. Your whole life taken in one fell swoop, one night. The last trace of your girlhood will be the sight of this soldier's back as he walks out the door of your childhood home. This, you know.

The man looks back at your face and asks you a question no soldier has ever bothered to ask you, not when they burst into your home, not even when you were cleaning their wounds and saving their lives at the front.

"What is your name?" he says.

"What's yours?"

"Theseus Scamander," he doesn't miss a beat. He's an open book. "Do you not want to tell me your name?"

"It won't matter soon enough..."

"Do you so badly not want to live?"

"No, I do. I am just no longer afraid of death."

The look in his eyes is so tender and considerate, it's almost painful.

"I don't need a name to remember you," he's smiling again, it's so strange and out of place and, you admit, heartening. "Good luck. Goodbye."

Theseus Scamander leaves with your father in tow, closing the violently fluctuating door, at last, on his way out.

----

1925, London, Nine Years Later

'It can't be,' you think to yourself. 'Improbable.'

It's just too soon. You've hardly sat down at your new desk when you receive the interdepartmental memo. It unfolds from its airplane shape mid-air and sways delicately, falling in a rocking motion until it's flat on your desk.

A memo already?

You have just been moved to the Department of Magical Games and Sports from the Department of Mysteries. The man who sat there before you was moved to a bigger, better office, had been some hunching, Quidditch-loving Old Boy who wore long socks and smelled of moth-eaten cotton. Allegedly his name was Mr. Byrne.

A real success story in his department, or, rather, your host department, as you'd been appointed Interdepartmental Liaison for the Department of Mysteries. A new position. In fact, the only "above ground" position in your department, which was, expectedly, shrouded in mystery and sunken deep within the depths of the British Ministry of Magic.

In truth, you were also here on a mission. There had been rumors of conspiracy, political mutiny. Grindelwald supporters who had infiltrated the British Ministry of Magic. And the top suspect was the Head of the Department you'd been moved to. You'd been instructed to investigate, discern the truth of the rumors.

This would usually be a job for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, but they had also been compromised. Or so you'd been told...

Your new position meant that you were to be kept in the dark more often than not, but it also meant having a desk above ground and being around other people. Luxuries.

No more time travel experiments, thought experiments, or, thankfully, demented blood purity experiments that always made your half-blood boil. You could live without all of that.

Still, none of that explained you receiving an interdepartmental memo before you'd even settled in.

You lift it from your desk in annoyance.

You do a double-take at the words, blinking hard at them.

"Holy hell," the memo reads. "When I told you I wanted to investigate some cursed Gobstones I didn't mean I wanted you to send them to my office, fuck's sake. Next after-work pint is on you, my friend."

You scoff.

It must have been misaddressed. The unfortunate writer must not know about Mr. Byrne's relocation.

It's beneath you, and childish, but you can't help but write back.

It's the sort of enchanted parchment that you can just write your responding message on. The ink disappears into the scrap of paper and appears wherever your mystery correspondent may be.

For your own amusement, you try to picture their reaction the best that you can.

"First of all, 'Holy hell'? 'Fuck's sake'? How dare you," you write. "Second of all, I'm not your friend and I most certainly will not be paying for an 'after-hours' pint. If I'm not clocked in, I'll have nothing to do with the Ministry."

It takes him so long to write back you nearly forget about it, have already gotten to unpacking all your silver nibs and ink pots and lining them up in the drawer like little soldiers, just how you like.

"Who is this?" Comes the message.

It's so dry, the response, so worried and perfunctory, that you nearly laugh out loud.

But something about the formality and genuine concern in your mystery messenger's script compels you to reply with mercy.

"Relax. Mr. Byrne's desk has been moved. If you want to write him, he has the big office on level seven with the view of the Atrium now. Lucky bastard. I'm at his old desk. Was just kidding about being offended. You can say 'fuck' and 'hell' all you want to me."

His reply comes quickly this time.

"Oh, good. Fucking hell, I was scared for a moment there."

You smile in bemusement. Who knew anyone at the Ministry could have a sense of humor? You'd thought you were the only one. You can't help but write back eagerly.

"Damn, I should have lied and said I was the Minister for Magic."

"Have mercy. I think I honest to God would have cried."

"So, no after-work pint for me then?"

"Forgive me, where are my manners? Today. The White Horse. Not sure who you are, but pint is on me, sir."

"*Miss!!" You correct. "And I was only joking. I really meant what I said before about not wanting anything to do with the Ministry unless I'm at work and being paid for my time."

"How very patriotic."

There's nothing in his writing to indicate sarcasm, but it practically drips off the page. This person is cheeky, you realize. Sarcastic. And a little annoying.

You like it.

The Department of Magical Games and Sports is a sleepy, uneventful affair compared to the work you'd been engaged in for the Department of Mysteries when you were "below ground." You look around at your colleagues, your dreary officemates. They were relatively sedentary outside of Quidditch season. Sleepy, slow-moving creatures.

As interdepartmental liaison for the Department of Mysteries, a fabricated position, really, you were already bored out of your mind.

Maybe that's why you write back with unfounded enthusiasm.

"Mystery boy: Tell me something about you. Tell me something true."

----

London hadn't been kind to you.

It seemed you had a hard time of everything: finding a flat with your sister as two unmarried, unchaperoned women, making friends outside of work, making sure to look the right way when crossing the street to avoid getting hit by a bus ('They drive on the left side, Y/N. Get it together'). All these things had proved to be excessively difficult. Especially the not-getting-hit-by-a-bus part.

During the war, while you served as an underaged combat nurse on the frontlines, your father died, but your siblings lived.

They told you the soldier from that night, the one who denied you your first kiss, had kept his word. He'd done the best he could to care for your father and, more importantly, he'd stayed with him until the very end.

Your brother was still in France, working with magical aquatic beasts around les Calanques de Cassis, but your sister was here with you. She worked in some Muggle field you didn't quite understand.

Her, your brother, and, now, the mystery man you'd been writing to every day were the only real people in your life. The only people who really talked to and knew you.

Day by day you'd grown closer to the mystery man. What had started out as vaguely funny, sometimes hostile banter had developed into something more. You'd both genuinely warmed to each other.

"Morning, sunshine!"

You were so accustomed to reading his greeting with your morning coffee that you reached for it automatically, as soon as you arrived, hand sweeping wide over the expanse of your desk to pick it up.

"Hope you caught some bad guys today. Or at least got to enforce a law or two. Bye-bye, idiot." You sign at the end of most days. Or some other joking farewell.

It's a constant correspondence between the two of you, scrawled-in between assignments and research. On your desk there is your inbox, your outbox, the stack of parchment (whatever you happen to be working on), and, just to the side of that, the discreet piece of paper you use to correspond with the mystery man.

However, you do try to mitigate the sharing of identifying information. Even when he learns you're an "Unspeakable," or someone working for the Department of Mysteries, it does little to deter him.

"Keep your department's secrets," he writes. "I just want yours."

He volunteers information about himself, his initials ("TS") and even his department (Magical Law Enforcement), in the hopes that you'll reciprocate.

You do, but you offer unimportant, silly facts about yourself. Nothing that will help him identify you, though he's insistent that he'd know you anyway if you ran into each other.

"I'm an Auror. I fought in the war," he reveals one day. "Your turn now."

"Fine: I never learned how to swim. So if you want to kill me you should probably drown me."

"I'm considering it. I'll bring a bottle of water when I finally see you. Why won't you tell me something more about yourself?!"

"What do you want to know? Can't a girl working for the Department of Mysteries be mysterious once in a while?"

"It gets old."

"You're a liar. You love me."

"True on both counts. But one of these days I'm just going to show up at your desk. I know where it is, you know... Mu-ha-ha."

You write back dismissively. "Why show up? So I can berate you in person?"

Your heart pounds stupidly as you watch the message sink away. You don't want to encourage him.

It's been one whole month of your daily exchanging of magical notes.

You know his biggest stressors at work, you know what he finds irritating, what he finds funny. Know his hopes and dreams.

You hate to admit it, but you'd be completely adrift without it, without him. Even when you're back at your flat with your sister you find your hands moving to write whenever something weird or funny happens, just to tell him, instinctually. You find yourself missing him.

It makes you shudder, the thought.

You don't want anything more... You're both comfortable and satisfied with how things are now. It's really only him who jokes about meeting up sometimes. But you? You're afraid meeting him in person would ruin that.

Maybe it's easier to have a close relationship with him across the merciful distance of anonymity.

"Night night." He writes at the end of the day. He seems to get to work earlier than you and leave later, but he's learned to say goodbye right at 6:00pm, when you usually leave.

For some reason, the words don't disappear from the page, even when you write back beneath them. His boyish script stays put.

"'Night night?'" you write back. "Ouch. I'm not a grandmother, I do intend to go out for dinner after work. Why the bedtime message?"

His words fade in and your heart swells.

"I wrote it so you can put it in your pocket and save it for tonight. I get to say goodbye to you, and good morning, but not goodnight. Just trying to cover all my bases."

You smile and tear off the message, putting it in your pocket. On the remaining paper, you cast a spell for the same, lingering text that he'd gifted you.

"Okay. You can save and reuse this message: Goodnight then, T. Sleep well, I'll talk to you tomorrow, and tomorrow. And the day after that, too."

----

You're prone to daydreaming, you'll admit to that.

"You live in a world of your own!" your favorite professor at Beauxbatons would say fondly.

"Ditzy girl, that one!" your least favorite professor would scowl within earshot of you.

But it's so easy to slip away, especially when you have something, someone, to dream about.

You watch your feet sweep across the dark green tiled floors of the Atrium, but hardly pay attention to anything else as you make your way to the elevators.

You're chuckling to yourself, remembering something your mystery correspondent wrote yesterday. It was some outrageous story, so ridiculous you wouldn't have believed it if it came from anyone but him, who was honest to a fault.

It was about a disastrous trip he took with his younger brother and involved camping on a storm-logged beach, an angry Graphorn, and frantically singing some maritime folk song they'd been misinformed would calm the beast.

You're still smiling at the floor when you step into the elevator, or, more correctly, step directly into a tall man in a three-piece suit. You crash into him with a crushing momentum.

"Oof!" you redden immediately, try to catch your breath and sputter out an apology at the same time. "I'm so sorry, forgive me!"

But the man is engaged in a conversation with two other men in the elevator, laughing.

He doesn't look over to you, he just stills you with an attractive casualness, steadies your frame with a firm hand on your shoulder. You know you hit him hard, his nonchalance is for your benefit.

"S'alright. Sorry, miss," he says with a half-glance, before turning back to his conversation.

A half-glance is all you need.

The profile of his face in the elevator light. His exact height and the feeling of being next to him. His voice, for Christ's sake!

You go stiff, your face wan.

It was him. Unmistakably. The English soldier from that night at your father's house in France. From the last time you saw your father, the last time you felt like a girl...

You couldn't speak if you wanted to. You feel something like seasickness come over you, you don't dare open your mouth.

"Theseus Scamander," his colleague is joking. "I mean it when I say well done! We should've known our young war hero would make the best Auror in the department!"

"Really, really spectacular job, son!" The other man claps a hand over Theseus's back in agreement. They're both older, sort of brash men, they don't seem to sense Theseus's discomfort at being complimented.

Theseus is grinning bashfully.

"Just doing my job," he delivers with charm, shrugging.

"Nonsense! Tonight, we celebrate. I'm not taking no for an answer. I've actually felt somewhat of a mentor to you, when you first started out-"

"We ought to invite Mr. Byrne out with us!" The third man exclaims with revelatory fervor. "How has the old chap been? Do you still go down to the pub with him, Theseus?"

It is the second, overlapping wave of nausea that really does you in, digs in its claws and drags downwards. You feel your feet physically sink into the floor. You can't bring yourself to move at all, you drone out the rest of what they're saying. It's white noise, the buzz of flies.

Mr. Byrne.

War hero.

Auror.

Initials T.S.

God, how stupid could you be? No, that's not fair.

The chances of seeing him again were slim. The chances of the two of you working together were even slimmer. The chances of him, the soldier from that night, Theseus Scamander, being your mystery correspondent these last weeks.... It should've been impossible.

When the elevator doors ding open at level seven, you step past the men quickly, rudely, afraid they'll turn to say something to you. Even a belated greeting or perfunctory farewell you couldn't bear.

You don't know why you feel so shaken.

'It's not a big deal,' you tell yourself consolingly once at your desk. 'You were sixteen. So what if you asked him to kiss you?'

But deep within your core, in a space beyond words or reason, you know that it was more than that. You weren't embarrassed about a stupid non-kiss. No, you haven't been able to shake that night, to shake him.

You'd connected. Or, rather, he'd seen you. Something about his gaze and his words had cut through the fat of life, of circumstance, and he'd seen you for who you really are.

And he'd promised to remember you.

It's gutting, harrowing almost. Realizing he'd been writing to you all this time, unaware. Some sick joke from the universe with no punchline--because you decided then and there to stop writing to him, immediately.

Theseus realizes long before the end of the day.

After you crumple his unanswered "good morning" memo and push it to the far corner of your desk, another flies in.

"URGENT: Is it just me or is Mr. Byrne particularly dapper today? The magenta top hat I can forgive, even the monocle is pardonable, but the polkadot bowtie? Inexcusable. Unbecoming of the Ministry. Need your thoughts immediately."

You had seen Mr. Byrne's polkadot bowtie today. You still found the magenta top hat more scandalizing. You wanted to laugh, but felt too much like crying to give way to the urge.

Then:

"I'm dying. Dark wizard lead in Suffolk but I can't be bothered. Tell me some funny story about you telling the professors off in school. I'm relying on tales of your genius to boost my morale. The fate of the Aurors Office depends on you alone. T."

It's three hours before the next memo comes flapping around the corner like some wounded bird.

"Have I done something wrong?" Shortly after, "More importantly--Are you alright?"

You don't know why you can't leave them be, why you keep reading them with no intention of responding.

"Scaring me here, mystery girl. Write back and I'll stop harassing you, write anything at all. Even a little drawing or scribble will suffice."

"You're not liaising very well, Liaison... Sorry, that was a joke. Ha-ha. I know the Department of Mysteries isn't expected to answer to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement but I'd always hoped you'd still answer to me..."

You throw yourself into your work with rigor.

Even your Department of Magical Games and Sports officemates comment on it, commendably. They don't realize you're just trying to occupy your brain, distract yourself from the sizable pile of memos lying formidably on your desk until you can go home.

The last one comes late in the day: "Really--Are you alright?"

Your heart aches weakly.

But no, you know how persistent and how persistently optimistic the mystery man ('Theseus,' you correct yourself) could be. If you wrote back he'd want an explanation, which he'd inevitably refute, and, besides, you weren't ready to tell him the truth or to face him again.

Your head is a jumbled mess of half-formed truths and complicated emotions.

It's a few minutes before 6:00pm, but you click off your desk lamp anxiously and begin to organize your things.

The nature of your position for the Department of Mysteries required you to lock your work up before you left. It involves two spells and four charmed latches and bolts, and it takes some time. You sit back in your chair with a sigh, waiting for the process to finish. The soft, mechanical whirring and clicking noises are a comfort to you.

The frosted glass door to the office swings open thunderously, with the unnecessary force of someone unfamiliar with the delicate door.

You sit up straight in your chair, startled. A few of the workers behind you even look over in alarm, heads shooting up from their desks.

No. Fucking. Way.

Theseus's chest is heaving softly. He's looking right at you, purposefully.

He actually showed up to your desk like he always joked about doing. You want to feel angry, indignant that he'd betray your trust, but all you feel is a numbing shock.

The sight of his face alone would've been a shock. Blue eyes. High cheekbones. Wavy, dark hair. Handsome as the day he left you.

He seems genuinely rendered speechless. The open part of his lips suggests that he had come with some speech prepared for you when he first burst in, although now he is, evidently, lost.

His eyes keep flitting up and down your form, lingering especially on your lips. It makes you flush. Yes, he gets a good look at your face, and at the small pile of his opened memos shoved to the far corner of your desk.

Whatever he expected to find, expected you to look like, this clearly wasn't it.

"Mr. Scamander!"

Your officemate Ana's voice from behind you makes you jolt again.

She walks over and places a hand on your shoulder tenderly. She seems to be completely unaware of any tension between the two of you, speaking to Theseus with ease.

"I'm sorry to steal Y/N from you, but I have to talk to her about an interdepartmental issue before she leaves. Can't wait!"

You wince at the mention of your name, but you're standing, bag clutched like a shield, and Ana is already whisking you past Theseus and through the frosted glass double doors.

"Y/N..." you hear Theseus echo, dreamily, as you pass, just before the doors close in his face and sever you from him completely.

-----

The next day you see him at a far distance.

You feel less shaken about things after having screamed to your little sister about it all last night. But she'd said something stupid about some "string of fate" that irritated you so much that you'd ultimately resorted to screaming into your pillow.

Regardless, you feel more secure. Less unsettled.

Still, the sight of Theseus's open expression in the Atrium, looking back at you in recognition across the crowds of businessmen and women just as the doors to the elevator you're in close--it's a bit haunting.

You gulp once in the safety of the elevator.

He saw you.

His eyes had drifted up and down your form, unreadably, before settling on your face. You didn't have time to react, and he was too far away besides.

Later, later than usual, a small memo floats onto your desk.

You don't hesitate, reaching for it, but the words aren't what you expect. No "good morning," not even anything referencing what had happened yesterday.

The words are so unexpected that his handwriting is the only indication that it's from him.

"You were so beautiful in that skirt this morning. So fucking beautiful. You look so enchanting in blue."

You flush deeply. So, that was what his look this morning had meant.

The relief comes delayed, second to your shyness at his flattery.

"Oh, thank God," you think.

He'd seen you, twice now, and hadn't recognized you.

He didn't remember. Or maybe he just didn't recognize you, it'd been nine years after all and you were no longer a scrawny, scrappy sixteen-year-old. But it was more likely that he just didn't remember.

You decide his not referencing your awkward encounter yesterday either is another mercy, so you go along pretending nothing happened.

"Are you flirting with me, sir?"

It's a comfort to be writing to him again.

"No," he writes back. Then, "Yes."

You laugh aloud at his candor.

"Y/N, I apologize for my outburst yesterday. I shouldn't have sprung on you like that, unannounced. Uninvited. I wish I could say I was afraid something had happened to you, but really I was just afraid you had stopped writing me for good. But then I just stood there like an absolute idiot, you probably had no idea who I was."

You huff at that.

"I knew who you were. I'm no Auror but 'Department of Magical Law Enforcement,' 'war hero,' and 'initials T.S.' aren't exactly subtle hints."

"Hey! I mentioned the war but never called myself 'hero.' I have a strong sense of propriety and I pride myself on it."

"How British..." you write back mockingly, unthinkingly.

"Are you not?"

Fuck. Well, you've already met.

"I live here now, and have for years, but I'm French."

The ink feels seared into the paper, how black your scrawl is, how you can't take it back. You don't know what you want from him. You wish he'd go away. You wish he'd never stop writing.

You wish he'd remember you on his own.

"Hmm..." he writes back.

Your heart is pounding. When he writes again your anxiety dissolves but your heart continues its steady, heavy drum.

"You're beautiful."

Your head is a scattered, overstimulated mess. You can't think straight.

He's still writing. The words fade in one by one.

"Why didn't you tell me you were beautiful? God, I didn't expect it, it took any coherent thought or word right out of me yesterday when you looked up at me with those eyes. And this morning, that skirt. Y/N, you should've warned me."

You laugh at the words on the paper, but your body's reaction to the thought of him writing them, thinking them, thinking of you, is anything but funny.

It feels overly warm in the office suddenly, and you are agitated. You stand and pace around your desk, fanning yourself with your hands.

Your fingers are shaking around the quill when you bend over your desktop to write back.

"Don't be dramatic, you'll live."

You worry you sound cruel so you add.

"And thank you. I don't think anyone has called me beautiful in a very long time."

He writes back: "Any time. And I highly doubt that. Y/N, I'm sure you've been beautiful your whole life. I can tell just by looking at you."

You don't know what possesses you when you write the next words:

"Can I come see you?"

There's a few, atypical beats before he writes back. It's excruciating.

"What, you mean at lunch?"

You look down at the small, oval face of your wristwatch.

Lunch is too far away. The bundle of nerves and anticipation you feel about Theseus, that swarming anxiety, is too unbearable to wait for lunch. You need to get him out of your system now, get him over with, and then you can move on and focus on your work.

"I mean now. In your office." You write back.

'Am I being presumptuous?' The thought makes you furrow your brow and bite your fingernail in worry. But then you remind yourself, 'Beautiful. He called you beautiful.'

It takes so long for him to reply that you almost write again to tell him never mind. But then his words come, like the sweet relief of rain:

"Yes, please. Level two, the very back left office."

You leave at once, smoothing down your skirt and brushing your hair back out of your face.

The anxiety ebbs and peaks at random. On the elevator ride you feel like you're dying. You recollect your confidence while walking to the wooden door of the Aurors Office only to feel another stab of panic as you make your way down the curved hall.

You feel so frazzled and worked up, too distracted to work or even ponder work. But you don't understand why until you push open Theseus's door, not bothering to knock. Until you're alone in the room with him, just the two of you behind closed doors.

He stands quickly upon your entrance, like a soldier.

For a moment the two of you just stare.

'Oh, God,' you realize with mounting dread. 'I am attracted to him. I am like this because I'm attracted to him.'

It feels terrible, awful, that sapping loss of power, that weakness in the knees. You haven't had a crush in your adult life, it's a trampling blow, the realization.

Theseus looks just as handsome as he always has, the crinkle of his eyes when he smiles, the sharp curve of his jaw.

He laughs and it breaks the spell of silence.

"Hello, you," his tone is fond but he still hasn't walked over to you, which is confusing and makes you shuffle aimlessly in place.

"Hi," you say, stupidly.

"Hi is all I get?" he jokes. "You know you've become something like my best friend in the office this last month. Actually, you probably know me better than my entire department."

You laugh bleakly, and you hope it dissipates the electrified energy between the two of you. That live-wire tension.

"I could say the same about you, actually."

He makes a strange, indecipherable expression then. It's both wry and lamenting.

"I don't want anything to change that, Y/N."

You frown.

"Why would anything change that?"

He doesn't answer you, changing the subject and turning his attention to the cup of quills on his desk, fiddling with the feathers.

"I... I didn't expect to react the way I did to seeing you for the first time yesterday. I've never reacted that way to anyone, anyone. When you told me you wanted to come see me here today, I panicked. I almost said no."

That hurts your feelings. "Why?"

He looks up from his desk. Your face burns at the sincerity of his expression.

"Because I knew it'd be harder for me to control myself if we were alone together. Harder to be a good friend and... behave."

He says the last word carefully. If he is calculated, delicate, you are anything but.

"I don't want you to behave," you whisper.

You step up to him, boldly. The tension is unbearable now.

"Y/N," he says warningly, disapprovingly. But the look in his eyes is agony.

"Kiss me," you say. The words come to you from far away, a train at the end of the tunnel, you pull them from that night in Verdun, from nine years ago. You need him just the same as you did then.

Theseus smiles reluctantly. The sideways tilt to his mouth is so captivating, it makes you want it more. God, he's attractive. Even more so now that you know him, are his friend.

"I can't," he says, pitifully.

But the look on his face, the way he's standing steadfastly behind his desk like having it between you will protect him, the way his eyes are flitting from yours down to your lips and back up again and again, that isn't saying no.

"Okay, have it your way. But I won't ask you again," you warn.

You want to admit that this isn't the first time he's denied you. He promised you'd live to be kissed, you've come back to haunt him for it now.

You would not ask him a third time.

Theseus groans loudly and puts his head in his hands. When you laugh he looks up at you disparagingly.

"You think that's funny, do you?"

You do. You find it cute. Maybe you don't realize the extent of his distress.

You reach forward to pinch his cheek, jokingly. He bats your hand away with an unwilling smile.

Then you're falling into him, losing your balance. He grasps both your hands in his to keep you from toppling over, the both of you laughing.

"Get off!" you shout gleefully.

"You get off," he retorts jokingly.

Pushing and pulling and touching, it's something like play-fighting the way you're both falling into and catching each other.

At last, he wrangles you onto his desk, so you're sitting there at the edge.

Your head is spinning. He grabs both your wrists, holding them together in a single, large hand.

"Hands to yourself, Y/N," is his gentle reprimand.

But you know, know from the soft pant of his breathing, the undone look on his face, lips half parted, that you've already won.

He doesn't cave into your will so much as collapse altogether, soundlessly, undetectably.

You don't blink, big, innocuous look in your eyes, staring up at him. Even when you're raised up, sitting on his desk while he stands, he's so tall that you have to look up at him.

"Please," Theseus says, and it's so attractive, his broken whisper. "I'm begging you, Y/N."

He drops down to his knees, one leg at a time with the heavy, hypnotized motions of a man defeated.

You gasp softly when his warm palms grip your kneecaps, rubbing gingerly over the sheer material of your tights, reverently.

A man on his knees, his curly head between your thighs. Your stomach plummets, burning low in desire.

You want him bad. Mind-numbingly bad, your whole body tingling underneath and keening to his touch. But it's too addictively sweet, him begging for it like this. You want to draw it out.

"Hm," you sigh, not responding, but you let your legs fall open under the guidance of his hands.

He moans at the sight. When he speaks again his voice is weak and ruined. Rough and pleading.

"Please, I'll do anything. Let me touch you. You're killing me, please."

It's almost a whine.

You can see that the fabric of his pants is stretched taut across his crotch--he's already hard.

His chest is rising and falling softly. There's a needy, trancelike glint in his eyes. He wants it bad, it's plain on his face. It's different from impatience, it's anguish.

"Kiss me," you say again. It's a demand this time. He gives in without a fight, rising up and capturing your open mouth in his.

It's a deep, languishing kiss. He kisses you like he wants to taste you, like he can't get enough of it. He grips your head by the jaw to kiss you better, deeper. When his tongue presses into your mouth you moan into his.

His hand sweeps blindly across his desk, clearing it with a crash. You jump at the sound but he grabs your face again, turning it back to his roughly.

"No," he murmurs. "C'mere."

And he's kissing you again, humming in approval when you tentatively push back against his tongue with your own.

With effort, you pull back to look at him. His pupils are blown out with desire, the collar of his dress shirt pulled open, revealing a collarbone.

"Theseus," you say, your whole body tingling with warmth. You say his name just to say it.

You're too shy to tell him that this is your first kiss, that you'd waited all this time.

It's startling, how quickly the tables turned. How deftly he took control of the situation once he had your permission to.

His hands pull down your skirt, worshipfully, that blue skirt he loves so much. He sets it aside, you're just in your sheer black tights now.

You understand why he cleared his desk now. You fall back with a moan when he flattens his massive hand across your crotch, spreads his fingers. It covers the entire expanse between your legs easily. It feels so lewd for him to touch you there now, but then he drags his hand up, sliding it over your stomach, the middle of your chest, up your neck.

"You'll let me touch you like this?" he asks.

You nod, quickly.

"Only me?" he inquires, sounding pleased. Maybe amused.

"Yes," you say, nodding again with urgency. "Only you. Nobody else."

"Fuck," he curses. He pulls open your blouse then, and disposes of that as well. You half sit up to help him with your bra. Whereas his movements are devout, seeming to worship every part of you, yours are frantic, crazed.

It's not just that you're in his office, at work, but it's that you want him badly. So very badly. It feels like the only thing that can make it better.

Once you have your bra off he pushes you back on the desk again. Places open-mouth kisses your neck, drags his teeth over the skin there then moves down. You gasp when he puts his mouth on your breast, circling your nipple with his tongue. He pinches your other nipple with his hand, rolling it gently between his rough fingertips.

"Hngh," you can't help but moan, writhe, throw your head back against the wood.

You almost want to cry out in disbelief when his head leaves your chest, sinking lower. He's on his knees again, pulling down your tights. You don't understand.

"Theseus, what-" you start, but you are silenced, the breath stolen from your chest, at the sensation of his mouth on your clit.

The moan that leaves your mouth this time is recklessly loud, carelessly so.

Theseus doesn't seem to mind.

"You taste so fucking good," he pulls back to say, his voice is ragged.

You're shy. The idea of him tasting and licking you, putting his mouth there makes you shy. But the pleasure that rocks through your entire body is too strong to deny. You'd never ask him to stop. You weren't capable of it.

Your hands go to his head, fingers wind through his hair automatically.

"Fuck," you say, involuntarily.

He's sucking your clit so well, you hardly notice when he brings up a hand, finger tracing the line of your wet slit, prodding in and out of your tight hole just barely, just to the knuckle. Kitten-fucking you with it.

He stops sucking to lick you up and down with his tongue, again and again in quick, steady rhythm, flicking the firm tip of it against your clit until you have to bite the back of your hand to keep from crying out. When he sinks his two fingers into your pussy fully, stuffing them in forcefully despite the restrictive tightness, still licking, that's all it takes for your orgasm to overtake you in pulses of unbelievable, unknown pleasure.

He removes his fingers and rises. His plush lips are slick with your arousal. He has a dreamy, dazed look in his eyes. The ravaged, destroyed look on your face seems to do something awful to him.

"Let me fuck you," Theseus says. It makes your stomach flip.

He doesn't ask, didn't say 'do you want to,' or 'can we.' He wants to take it from you.

"Yes," you mutter, spreading your legs again without thinking, head still laid back on his desk. Your orgasm made your limbs feel loose, compliant. Anything he wants. Anything at all.

Even the clinking sound of him undoing his belt buckle makes you swoon with yearning, makes your mouth water. He doesn't bother to take off his pants, just pulls his dick out, still staring into your eyes.

'God. Mercy,' you think. Even in his hand it looks huge. It's pretty.

He smiles crookedly at the widening of your eyes.

"You like my cock, baby?"

"Yes," you whisper. "Please. I want it."

He leans over you to kiss your forehead. You don't have the chance to reminisce, for it to remind you of anything, because then he is pushing into your wet warmth. He slides in so snugly, so smoothly, fits like a glove despite the stretch. The feeling of being so overfull is lewd and perfect.

He presses a hand to your lower stomach. He can feel himself inside of you there.

You gasp at the applied pressure.

He keeps his hand pressed there as he angles his hips back and then begins to fuck you. He wants to feel it underhand, how he's moving inside of you.

"Fuuuuucckkkk," you're incoherent, you know. But you can't help but swear, your whole body is vibrating with ecstasy as he drives his dick in and out of you.

"You're beautiful," he groans, throwing his head back. His entire world narrows down to this, fucking you, pumping his dick into your tightness and feeling you flutter and flex around him.

"Wait, Theseus I-" your second orgasm takes you by surprise. Your back arches off the desk, it hits you like a train, it's like an out-of-body experience.

"Fuck," He grips the back of your thighs to the point of pain. But you hardly notice that, you only feel his dick grow achingly hard. He pulls out at the last moment, coming into his hand. It spills out and between his fingertips anyway.

He makes a face of sore regret at the mess. You knew how badly he wanted to come inside of you, you could feel it, but you are grateful he didn't.

You have the strangest urge to get up and lick his fingers, but realistically you're too wrecked to move.

It takes a solid two minutes before either of you return to breathing normally and regain your bearings.

'What did we just do?' you think as you put your clothes back on.

You glance over to Theseus, he's fixing his tie in the small mirror next to the closed door of his office.

It was like you were a woman possessed. You can hardly believe your actions. But, strangely, you don't feel guilty or regretful. And your feelings for Theseus are stronger than ever. Consummated. You feel safe with him. Overjoyed, really.

He catches you looking at him in the mirror and turns. The look on his face is one of total contentment.

He comes over to you, runs his fingers through your hair gently. There's nothing but adoration in his eyes as he beholds you.

"I don't know how I'm expected to just sit back down and continue to do work on my desk now, after that. I'm gonna go insane, just knowing you're only a few levels away."

You laugh. It's an airy, light-hearted sound.

"I like you so much," he admits, brazenly, before you can even respond to him.

Your head is still a muddled mess, but this here is easy to admit. He could probably see it on your face anyway. Read you like a book.

"I like you too," you say. "I miss you already. Keep writing to me."

"I promise."

-----

part two here

author's note: what will happen when the truth of their past comes to light?? part two incoming!!! please leave feedback :)

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