#he doesn’t realize something is amiss until they’re several months into the war

[simpfornegan]

i am a child of divorce.

[acourtofsadnessanddespair]

all the proof i could muster up that nesta and cassian are mates

 With just little over a month until A Court of Silver Flames comes out, I decided to set the fact straight that Nesta and Cassian are mates and we simply cannot ignore the evidence anymore. 

1. First Meeting

There’s actually not that much evidence here, but there is a lot of banter between the two and throughout the dinner, Cassian constantly is grinning and trying to rile Nesta up. One line states: “Cassian was sizing up Nesta, a gleam in his eyes that I could only interpret as a warrior finding himself faced with a new, interesting opponent.” He then continues staring at her pretty much through the entire meal, only taking his eyes off her to nod agreement. They also “have it out” the next morning. Of course this is in no way an indication that they our mates, however I would like to remind you that a certain other mated couple started off with the slight enemies-to-lovers scenario. 

2. The Bonus Scene

Chile... there’s a lot to unpack here. Cassian describes Nesta’s face as unnervingly perfect, and talks about her build and, uh, the certain parts that he “doesn’t look at. Much.” When he leans close to her, her scent “hits him in the gut so hard he could barely focus.” Which is a little suspicious and mate-y to me (as mate-y as a human and Illyrian can be I suppose, however Rhys knew he was mates with Feyre when she was human, and Feyre becoming Fae heightened it, which we will go back to later). When Cassian finds out what Tomas tried to do Nesta (or senses the fear), he immediately wants to kill him, without knowing pretty much anything, except that someone had hurt Nesta. His Nesta. He also says, “It’d make me hunt them down and shatter every bone in their body.” Then he tries to cover it up, saying he’d do it for anybody (which he would, but still). Nesta admits that she feels things, sometimes more than anyone else and Cassian had seen those things and had seen her, “...he’d looked at her- not at the face and human body that men marked, but her- and had seen it all.” She then says that this made her want to hurt him, so he wouldn’t tell everyone. When Nesta tips up her neck, every instinct in Cassian’s body came “roaring to the surface, so violent he had to choke them with a brutal grip...” Then he once again says something about her scent and what it does to him; “Cassian breathed in the smell of her into his lungs...as it latched onto some intrinsic part of him and sank its talons deep.” And that just sounds so mate-y to mean, like her scent latched onto him??? He then brings the topic around to Mor who he had slept with prior and had some degree of romantic feelings for, and says that even though she did not care about the lovers her had, he did not want to tell her about Nesta. And when he returns to Velaris, he refuses to go back alone again. 

3. The Promise

After the queen’s refuse to give Feyre the book, Nesta stands up to them and begs the queens to help. Cassian then makes a promise to Nesta; “...I will stand on that battlefield again, Nesta Archeron, to protect this house- your people. I can think of no better way to end my existence than to defend those who need it.” He then wipes away her tears and Nesta lets him do it. This promise remains important in a Court of Wings and Ruin, as Cassian is regretful and takes part blame for her becoming Fae in Hybern, despite him not being able to stop it as his wings were shredded. “I made her a promise. And when it mattered I didn’t keep it.”

4. Hybern

As Nesta is being put into the Cauldron, Cassian begins moving on the ground, despite his bloody, shredded wings. He stirs again when she begins screaming and tries to move his hands towards her. “At Nesta’s shouts, her raging, his eyes fluttered open, glazed and unseeing, an answer to some call in his blood, a promise he’d made her.” I mean, come on... That literally sounds like there mates I-... Not to mention, Cassian tries reaching for her again when she is sobbing for Elain. 

5. The House of Wind

Even before entering where Nesta was sitting, Feyre noticed that Cassian was tense. When Feyre notices how devastatingly beautiful Nesta, she wonders if Cassian also feels the same as he stiffens beside her. We then also see more of that banter from a Court of Mist and Fury (mainly from Cassian, but still). Cassian then says that he goes up to the House of Wind often because it is good exercise for his wings (more like a good excuse to see Nesta). He also says that he is going to kill the King of Hybern (just as he said he would kill Tomas). When he is flying Feyre to the House of Wind, she asks why he bothers and he says “Because I can’t stay away.” (Which gives me MATE vibes)  And as Nesta arrives in her dress, Feyre narrates that Cassian looks as though he had been punched in the gut. 

6. I don’t know what to call this segment but still... MATES

After Nesta is flown to the town house by Rhys she is extremely mad and only Cassian, it seems, is game enough to calm her down and get the fire out of her eyes. When Amren is telling her story, Cassian moves himself closer to Nesta and then signals her to stand behind him, willing to protect her if something goes wrong. After it is realized that there is no threat, Nesta moves from behind Cassian, but not away, to his side. After Hybern attacks the library, Rhys lets Feyre into his mind to see what Cassian had shown him, from his point of view. In the memory, when Nesta comes stumbling out and sees Cassian. “...her fear a tang that whetted his rage into something so sharp he could barely think, barely breath-” And this just feels mate-y and reminds me of how Rhys when Tamlin destroyed the study, or even after the attack when he was still enraged. He also calls her body slim and beautiful as she grips his arms. 

7. Battle of Adriata

When the others return from the Summer Court, Nesta demands to know where Cassian is and actually says his name, which was Feyre’s first time hearing it from her. She was also pacing as she waited for them to return. However, when Amren offers mild support, she simply says “I don’t care.” 

8. The High Lord Meeting 

When Nesta appears down the stairs, Cassian ignores her for the most part. And when she announces she is going with them, she makes sure to ignore his approving gaze. Nesta and Cassian then are set to winnow out together and there is a bit of banter and then Nesta says “You didn’t come to-” and cuts herself off (And I’d just like to know what he didn’t go to, THAT IS ALL I WANT IN LIFE PLEASE SARAH). Cassian then interlaces their fingers and their gazes do not leave each other’s faces and then he says, “The next time, Emissary, I’ll come say hello.” (Swoon) Nesta stands up for Cassian after Beron insults him at the meeting, and Cassian just looks at her “like he’d never seen her before.” When Nesta feels something amiss and calls for Feyre, Cassian also comes in assessing if she is okay and looking at every inch of her. Feyre also asks Rhys if the two are mates and he said he didn’t know and that the bond would have to snap into place (SUSPICIOUS)  And when Nesta begins vomiting was the first one there holding her back and monitoring her. 

9. Not really any proof

...But when he tells Nesta she’d start a riot if she wore pants and trains her, I- yes.

10. The War

While Nesta is working around the camp she listens intently to any talk of Cassian and when Cassian returns to the camp with a sprained wrist, Nesta somehow notices immediately without anyone else noticing. She ties it up and they hold hands, then Mor interrupts and Cassian drops her hand, Nesta just looked at her hand and then disappeared to her tent. As the battle is happening, Nesta only concentrates on Cassian and is terrified when he is about to be hurt, and when Feyre leaves she barely takes her attention of him. Nesta is found standing outside of the tent Cassian is staying in after he is injured, but then after a confrontation with Mor. As Nesta is helping find the Cauldron, Cassian stands with her, his hand on her back and comforts her and reminds her that nothing can hurt her there. During the final battle, Nesta was still monitoring where Cassian was, and when she saw where the Cauldron’s power was gonna be used, she only roared for Cassian and didn’t alarm the several others in its path. He then decides to get off the battlefield and go with her to kill the king.

11. THAT SCENE

Cassian is beaten severely by the king and when Nesta sees what he has done, she becomes a predator. “I am going to kill you.” Which is similar and in parallel to when Cassian wanted to kill who had hurt her. And after she has used her power, she ignores Cassian’s pleas to run and instead tries to keep killing the king. And when she goes down, Cassian tries to reach for her like he did all those months ago in Hybern. And when he tells her to go she says she can’t. Cassian grabs her face and tries saying goodbye; “I have no regrets in my life, but this. That we did not have time. That I did not have time with you, Nesta.” And she doesn’t stop him as he kisses her (KISSES HER OMFG). “I will find you again in the next world - the next life. And we will have that time. I promise.” She doesn’t leave she just covers his body with her own. Willing to die with her lover or her mate? Because she cannot live without him?

Post War

Nesta does not visit Cassian on his sick bed and their relationship once again becomes tight and tense. Cassian tries not to think about her and Nesta becomes closed off. On Solstice, he tries giving her a present which had taken him months to find and she declines (that made me so mad), but he still follows her home. In the sneak peak, he admits that even though she is too thin he finds her “mouthwatering” and he doesn’t care about the males she sleeps with. The males, however, are sometimes afraid to sleep with Nesta because of Cassian, because of what happened in the war (or maybe they’re afraid because they’re mates, just saying).

In conclusion, 

Nesta and Cassian are mates. Sarah, you ain’t slick, we know. And if they do not confess their love in the next book I will cry. Actually a lot of this isn’t evidence just rehashing but... meh.

[theladyfangs]

Reflections/ The Other Part 14: The End.

 Stray Thoughts: Katrina/Lorca/Michael

“You chose to do the right thing over what was sanctioned. Even at great cost to yourself…context is for kings…”  (But what’s a king without a queen?).

“That’s the kind of thinking I need next to me.”

.

.

Katrina is the only woman Lorca ever loved…

Michael is the only woman Gabriel ever loved…

.

“The truth is, you’re not the man I used to know.”

“I watched you change these last months, it’s upsetting. And it’s definitely not how it used to be.”

.

.

“I did want to thank you, sir.”

“I’m grateful to serve under a captain like you.”

See Through Me (A Song for You)

The war is over.

Katrina walks the now-familiar path to the observation deck, two lifts and another corridor. A left.

Room 2-1-1-2.

“She’s not come out since he left,” Saru speaks softly.

The admiral nods. “It’s all right.”

“The override has been…changed,” he tells her. “Specialist Burnham has it programmed on an alternating frequency….”

“I understand, Commander. I’ll take care of it from here. Thank you.”

He nods and departs. In front of the door, Katrina straightens her uniform.

She wonders how well she knows Michael Burnham.  She’s about to find out.

Her hand passes over the biometric scanner and Cornwell waits as the doors whir, then open into darkness.

She steps through.

Command overrides changed, indeed. But Michael did allow for one person to find her.

The space remains neat. Did she expect something different? Perhaps, from what she had been told. But no. Nothing is amiss. And yet…it feels different.

They’ve been here before.

In front of her, Michael Burnham stands, facing the window in her dress uniform.

“Admiral.”

“Specialist.”

Katrina comes to stand beside her.

“Will it ever stop?” Michael says, gently stroking the large bundle of fur in her arms.

Katrina knows what she’s asking. And it hurts her to have to tell Michael the truth.

“It hasn’t yet, for me.”

Only then does Michael turn to her, and when she looks at the younger woman, she feels her heart break for her. For them both.

But she swore to Gabriel that she would take care of Michael. And her role now is not of an admiral but of a friend—a mentor, someone who has been there before.

“It will be okay,” she tries, but Michael shakes her head.

“That’s what he said, too.”

Katrina wants to tell her, but can’t. It’s classified. Above top secret. Even now, Starfleet is working on erasing Gabriel Lorca.

“Come,” she says instead. “The memorial service is starting.”

“I don’t want to go.”

“You must, Commander.”

Commander.

It still feels odd to hear the word. She’s gotten accustomed to “Specialist.” The pardon was delivered a week ago. Saru made it official for her with a ceremony before the crew.

It rang hollow at the time.

It still does now. She’d rather still be “Specialist” if it meant Gabriel Lorca was still alive.

“We should have listened to you,” Katrina says softly. “I want to apologize to you personally.”

Because if they had, then Gabriel Lorca would still be here.

If they had, the universe would still be the same.

But because they did not, “the face of all the world is changed.”

   Will You Take My Hand?

The order came down from Admiral Cornwell, reaching Commander Burnham at her post on the U.S.S. Discovery. There’s not really a directive, but a location—she’s being sent to Starbase 69.

“Are you looking forward to vacation, Commander?” the pilot asks, as they cut the thrusters and make their final approach to the starbase. Through the viewport, Burnham sees rotating twin spheres moving in opposite directions, at either end of a wide cylinder, making the station look like a barbell in space. It’s an older one, designed some 100 years ago but still functional and mostly used these days for tourists. There are some fleet personnel but not many, so it is understandable to Michael why her pilot would ask.

“I am,” she says measuredly, “but not today.”

The shuttle coasts into space dock, joining hundreds of others in traffic moving in and out of the cylinder, a city humming with activity. A connecting gangway emerges from one of the many ports and latches onto the craft. There’s a hiss, and the pilot cuts off the engines.

“Pressurization complete”, the computer says. Michael stands and gathers the small case she’s brought with her. Two changes of clothes, and a PADD. The admiral had been mum about the purpose of this visit and so, in caution, Michael had packed a set of civilian clothes and a fresh uniform.

“Thank you,” she nods to the pilot and leaves as soon as the shuttle doors open to the gangway.

Most of Starfleet’s space stations have similar layouts and if you’ve seen one, you’ve seen most. She’s been directed to a room, number 8807, likely somewhere in the upper orb. The station is crowded with beings, loud and noisy—and for a moment, she feels disconcerted by the sudden barrage of sound, having spent most of the year in the quiet routine of service on a starship. Here, there is no routine as beings brush past, back and forth, children holler, merchants attempt to sell their wares …so much…activity. The station is large, but feels claustrophobic—and she realizes after being bumped hard from behind, that she’s standing in the main port.

Michael gets her bearings and begins to move toward the series of lifts she sees going up and down between the spheres.

It’s several minutes before she’s able to get into one with more than two dozen others, and after what feels like an eternity, she finally reaches level 88. By now, she’s the only one left and she steps out and into a corridor that is blessedly empty. And silent.

Doors align either side of the walls and she walks down, looking for the one that ends in -07.

Finally.

The ID numbers are entered quickly, and she’s already thinking that the first thing she wants is a long, hot shower followed by warm tea. Possibly with a little bit of rum in it. Maybe she’s inherited some of Lorca’s habits.

Not a day has gone by that she hasn’t thought of him. His smell. His touch and taste. The way he laughed. The way he yelled. The way he held her, the way they loved together. Made love together.

She misses him.

Even now, she wonders if there was something she could have done to change his mind. If there was another way to end the war that didn’t require his sacrifice. Michael has loved two Gabriel Lorcas and has been forced to watch both die. Sometimes, she feels it’s all her fault. It is irrational. Gabriel made his choice. They both did.

There have been many nights when her dreams felt so real that she’s woken up with dried tears on her face. Or, even worse, her body still humming from an orgasm.

Perhaps she will skip the tea. And go straight to a small (very small) taste of bourbon. It is an acquired taste, one she didn’t acquire until after Gabriel was gone.

With a sigh, she opens the doors to the room and steps inside, but as soon as she turns on the lights, she gasps, and the bag falls out of her hand.

Michael’s heart begins to race, her hands tremble and she cannot believe that what she’s seeing is real. It can’t be. This must be yet another cruel joke. Some strange machination of the mind. Her heart cannot take anymore…

“Hello, Michael.”

Gabriel turns to face her, from where he’s been standing in front of the window. He’s dressed in a fleet uniform, but it’s black, not blue, the gold trim silver, his insignia silver as well. There’s a new pip. A new rank on it. Commodore.

He steps toward her, but she steps back, unsure, disbelieving because, how?

“I saw you die,” she whispers. “I saw you…dead.”

He goes to her, seeing the shock and terror on her face, fear as well. Not of him, but of whether he’s real.

“I’m here,” Lorca says gently, taking one of Michael’s hands into his, bringing it to his lips, and kissing it.

She feels the warmth of his touch, the texture of his mouth on her skin, and shudders.

“But…how?”

Lorca doesn’t answer immediately. Instead he pulls her close and slips an arm around her body to allow her to feel him, to reassure her that he is very much alive, very much not dead.

Solid. She reaches up to touch him. Her fingers tracing his eyes, his nose, lips, jaw, chin. She runs her hands down his chest, places her head there, to hear his heart—strong, steady. All of him—solid. Physical. She knows he’s a soldier at heart. An office would never suit him. It feels fitting, that he would go to Special Ops—to Section 31, the side of Starfleet that technically doesn’t exist, except in quiet whispers, and myth.

Lorca looks down into her face, into her eyes, and he smiles at her, wistfully. Hopefully.

“I’m sorry, love. We had to end the war.”

“If you had told me…”

But he shakes his head. “No. You’d have wanted to go too. And I love you too much to let you sacrifice yourself for them…”

He’s speaking of Starfleet. “Them” is said bitingly, and whatever doubt remains about whether he is who he says he is, goes. Her arms wrap around his waist and she hugs him tightly.

“Please stay,” she says. “Don’t go. Don’t leave me again.”

He squeezes her back, saying nothing at the moment, just holding her like this, feeling her warmth, her softness and her strength.

“Kiss me.”

She does, fingers snaking around his shoulders again, and he deepens it, wanting to be closer to her, closer than clothes will allow.

She knows.

Knows when he turns their bodies and backs her up to the bed, then lays her down on it to begin removing her shoes, her jacket, pants, shirt. Bra. Panties, everything, until her body is bare before him, and his eyes devour her, as he stands to take off his clothes.

She welcomes him into her embrace. They moan together as he enters her body, her legs and hips rise to meet him, arms wrap around his neck and back and pulling him down and in—closer.

Lips touch.

They’re both hungry for it.

Starved for it and each other.

No words are needed. Their bodies know this language.

This is their promise. The commitment to always find each other, no matter where in the galaxy they are.

“I love you,” she says. The words she should have said nine months ago.

.

.

“How did you know I would be here?” She asks afterwards, snuggled into his shoulder, fingers dancing across his abdomen.

He turns his head and lips graze her forehead.

“I sent for you. Kat made it happen for us.”

“You?”

At that, he feels her head lift and opens his eyes. Pretty brown ones look down at him.

“Yes.”

“Where have you been?”

“I’ve been…” Should he tell her? What he’s really been doing? Cleaning up the last of it—chasing the not-so-compliant Klingon ships out of Federation territory, simply destroying the ones that remain? Finishing up the dirty business of war?

“Section 31,” he says, seeing if she knows what that is.

Her eyes go wider. She does know. The daughter of a Federation ambassador would definitely know.

“I…didn’t think that was real.”

“Very real.” He says.

“The war decimated all our ranks. Section 31 was no exception. They needed a new leader. I’m not Captain anymore. Commodore.”

Michael mulls it over. “Rules are for admirals in back offices,” she says.

An eyebrow. “Huh?”

She smiles and kisses him on the lips. “You’ve said that, before.”

“I know I said that to Katrina at one point.”

“You said that to me, too.”

And he knows it’s something the other him must have said at some point.

Lorca smiles a moment too, then takes her hand in his, looking at her. She lays her head back down on his chest.

He weighs whether to ask her to join him. It’s the reason he called her here. Because this past year of separation, of allowing Michael to believe he was dead, and to just watch her from a distance has been worse than his time in the alternate universe. But now, seeing her, feeling her, he knows he can’t do it. Because while Lorca is a jaded man, somehow, Michael is still a believer. It is tempered now, by experience—but she still has her ideals. Her loyalty. He’s loyal too—but it’s not the same thing.

Katrina, bless her, has kept him informed of how Michael was faring. And he knows that at first—it was hard for them both. Hard for the admiral to watch Michael suffer her sadness in silence. And hard for Katrina to allow her stay that way.

“She feels like I did when I thought you were gone,” Trina told him late one night, over the comm system. They were sharing a drink – at opposite sides of the sector.

“I can’t blame her. Even now, sometimes…” she’d drifted off and he’d gone quiet, understanding. “So, I got the paperwork from the realtor,” she switched abruptly. “You should have it too. We can --”

But he’d stopped her.

“It’s your house, ‘Trina. What you always wanted and where you wanted it. I want you to have it, and enjoy it. You deserve it. Hell, you earned it for everything you put up with from me.”

It got a genuine grin. “You and Michael are welcome to visit, if we ever get to see what retirement looks like.”

They’d both laughed, and toasted to that one. In his new position, there was no such thing. And Katrina had been promoted to Vice Admiral. They’d basically been fooling themselves back then into thinking they’d ever give it up.

 “I wanted to ask you to join me, to come with me,” Lorca tells Michael. “But I know you will say no.”

She opens her mouth to speak, but he silences it with a kiss.

“Let me finish?”

She nods.

“Neither of us are the type to settle down. We both belong out here,” he gestures to the window. “We know that, right?”

“Yes.”

He snuggles her.

“It’s up to you, love. If you call me, I will come. I don’t care how far, no matter the circumstance. But I also don’t want you tied to me, or for you to feel like you’re trapped. This, what I do—it has consequences. It has sacrifices. But you’re not responsible for the choices I make.”

She shifts against him, a smooth leg rubbing against his as she contemplates it.

“I wonder if he ever found her,” she muses.

Lorca knows what she’s asking. About Gabriel. About Gabriel’s lost Michael. About where they are, what became of them. Whether they found each other. Found happiness. Found peace. Whether such a thing is even possible when life, and the after-life, are chaos.

“I don’t know,” he tells her, voice choked by the emotion that wells up inside them both, catching them off-guard. Michael buries her face in Lorca’s chest as he squeezes her tight, unable to bear the thought of having to let her go again, of the very real possibility that she’s not his, not meant for him to have, that he will lose her as Gabriel lost his Michael, of being alone. Dying alone.

All they have is today. For now, that will have to be enough.

                                                         -END-

[missixo]

St Balderich Slays the Dragon [8/19]

01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 (on tumblr)

This fic (on AO3)

Pairing: Balderich/Mondatta

Summary:  The humans are right to fear omnics and what they can do. What he can and will do to humanity. He is Jörmungandr, and he will see humanity fall.

St Balderich Slays the Dragon

Chapter 8

MD catches up with Broom more after returning to his office, settling into his new chair that they stole out of a storage room. They shrug and wave off his concerns. “It was collecting dust, figured none of the doctors would miss it.”

He laughs and nudges over the examination stool, an invitation for his friend to sit down. “I fully appreciate your pragmatism in this, I promise. Have you been able to find the part for Ozzie’s foot yet? You must be able to afford it by now, even on an omnic supervisor’s pay.” The thoughts of how little he and other omnics make compared to human counterparts almost sour his mood, but he chooses not to focus on it - for the moment. ‘Pay gaps won’t be an issue too much longer if I get my way.’

They take the seat with a small sigh from their vents, relaxing worn pistons and joints after two days on shift. “Still hunting. It’s a delicate part, and she’s an older model, so even the knock-offs are pricey. I’m looking at other options at this point; can’t get much more expensive than it is now.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure something out. Let me know if you need anything; I’m not the greatest at holding on to cash at the moment, but I’ve still got something in the bank.”

After Broom and his team are gone, MD spends the next two days getting settled in, putting his personal effects where he wants them, and in general rearranging the room as equipment is brought in. Each piece shrinks the space further and further, until it’s down to something he feels he can manage. It becomes a little cramped if any three Crusaders try to come in at once, but the limitation only makes it more his space and less open to invasion.

***

Miracle of miracles, Balderich gets no complaints about the new medic for a whole three days after the... memorable introduction. Of course, the first complaint he hears isn’t official by any means, simple lunchtime conversation, but that doesn’t make him any less concerned when he hears Andrea further down the table, rubbing his arm where a small bruise is blooming around an injection site.

“It’s got all the charm you’d expect from an omnic. I don’t sit perfectly still, and the thing sees fit to hold me down like an unruly child!”

It. Thing. A small slip, but massive for the implications. The words immediately reduce the omnic to lesser - something hardly worth anything, disposable and entirely replaceable without note. Balderich grits his teeth. He requested the omnic because he has a personality; it’s not the best one by a long shot - he’s so far prickly on a good day, and Balderich doubts they’ve seen a bad day yet.

“Andrea, a moment with me?” He makes a beckoning gesture.

“Yes sir.” The Italian is clearly confused, but follows him outside the mess hall. “Sir?”

Balderich speaks low, knowing this is not going to be well received, more so than censure usually is. “I know you are not particularly fond of omnics, but please. He is your medic, not a toaster, and not one of those rust buckets that try to shoot us. I know he is not the most pleasant individual, but that does speak to his individuality. He has an identity, and I am asking you to respect that. Are we clear?”

Andrea swallows, looking like he just sucked a lemon. “Yessir. May I be dismissed, sir? I would like to finish my lunch while it’s still warm.”

“Dismissed.” He follows Andrea after a minute, intent on finishing his own lunch even though his appetite is suddenly gone.

***

MD hits the BX for some rags and cleaner so he won’t have to constantly bother Broom and his crew for basic cleaning, but when he gets there he realizes he still needs a decent set of curtains for the windows and a privacy sheet for his cot… The space is rather plain at the moment… A new plant wouldn’t go amiss either.

He stops himself at the curtains and sheet, plus three small plants, and some cord to make a hanging planter. So much for money management there.

***

Jörmungandr checks his security feed for the fourth time in twenty-four hours the next day between patient check-ups. There has to be a way he can get back inside without having to walk through the middle of the hospital. He’s just missing something… He wasn’t necessarily close to getting to the fifth floor yet, even when he was outright living at the hospital, but now it’s so much harder with the fact he has to get in the damn building in the first place.

He’s just starting to look for other points of ingress when MD’s next patient comes in to review his medical file and he has to back out of the feed again. Back to updating medications, taking blood samples, and scheduling booster shots. Code-rotting boredom is what this job is.

***

Two days after he tempts fate once again - ‘I really need to stop doing that.’ - MD is woken by an alert on his HUD and banging on the medbay door accompanied by shouting. He pulls up the notice before he reaches the door and freezes, standing in the middle of the room.

THE CRUSADERS’ BARRACKS NOW UNDER QUARANTINE DUE TO POTENTIAL H3N2 FLU OUTBREAK.

ALL CRUSADERS ARE TO REPORT TO MEDICAL UNIT MD-8178 FOR EVALUATION AND RISK ASSESSMENT.

QUARANTINE WILL REMAIN ACTIVE UNTIL MEDICAL UNIT MD-8178 DECLARES RISK OF INFECTION SPREADING: NEGLIGIBLE.

… He just woke up. But he opens the door and tries to talk over them - difficult enough when they’re all calm - getting progressively louder, “If you would all get in a single file line, I will run the assessments as quickly as - I need you all to quiet - Just get in a line and -”

Ok. He’s not putting up with this, his day is starting great enough already. He ramps up the volume and gives them a lovely feedback shriek for a perfect five seconds. Next, a moment to let their ears stop ringing... “Get in a single file line and I’ll figure out which of you were dumb enough to get sick and bring this quarantine down on all of us. When your exam is complete, go wait in your quarters until I issue the results. No one is to be wandering the corridors during this time. You get caught, you go on report, and you will get caught.”

***

As he takes temperatures and checks for other symptoms, he revisits Hell Week and wants to strangle the omnic of almost three months ago. He’s still catching the fallout, unbelievable. Most of the organic bastions keep quiet, and he does end up checking that no one has any ruptured eardrums. An airhorn might have been kinder, but convenience and hindsight and all that. One or two still give him nasty looks - particularly that Italian - but there are witnesses so he counts himself safe enough.

He saves Balderich for last. “Colonel, provided you are not one of the possibly-infected, I think I will bring the list to you in your quarters and have you inform the men about who will be under stricter quarantines.”

He looks at him oddly. “Any particular reason why?”

“Because I need them as cooperative as possible, and they will take the idea of being confined to quarters for several days much better if it isn’t coming from an… from me. Turn your head, I need to check your eardrums.”

Balderich watches the omnic out of the corner of his eye. “... You are scared of us.”

MD hums, a note of ‘duh’ tucked in the sound. “I am am omnic living surrounded by men whose careers boil down to destroying omnics. I understand one phrase for such a situation is ‘sleeping in the lions’ den.’ Your eardrums appear to be undamaged, send me a note if you notice any sudden changes in balance, or a ringing in your ears, and I’ll come check on you in quarters.” MD turns away to dispose of the cap on the otoscope when a hot, heavy hand wraps tight around his forearm.

An automatic response to unexpected restraint kicks in and curls his fists tight, otoscope creaking under the pressure. His head swings around, looking for the delicate bone at the temple as his target. Balderich is just sitting there, relaxed except for the hold on his arm. MD warily lowers his unrestrained hand and drops the now destroyed tool in the bin with a hollow clank of metal on plastic. “Colonel, what exactly are you playing at?”

“This is why I requested you for our medic.”

“What? Why?” Requested him? Because he’s willing to crush his skull under threat?

The insane human has the audacity to shrug at him. “You don’t respond like most of the omnics on base. You have personality. What you just did in response to my actions is very similar to what a human would do.”

‘Well that’s just rude.’

“I requested you because I am worried my men are forgetting that - while they are, yes, protecting humanity - we are fighting for our way of life, which includes omnics like you. Some of them have come to think that all omnics should be destroyed, for safety, but if we did that every time part of a group became a threat to the world, most of my men’s grandparents would never have been born, after the Wars over a century ago. We would be in eastern France or western Poland right now - maybe even southern Denmark - instead. I understand that you are scared, but please do not let it stifle you.”

They sit there for a few minutes, looking at each other, evaluating. MD slowly relaxes his other fist in Balderich’s grip as fans kick on and a few small vents pop open. Balderich is watching the light from the window play on pale metal when the omnic lets out a strange sound - ‘Was that a squeak?’ - as he finally responds, rushed, “Thank you, Colonel, but I need to get these results together. I’ll bring them by your quarters later.”

He’s very quickly ushered - pushed, really - out and the door shuts behind him, the tint on the inset window going totally opaque. He stares at the probably-locked door, stunned, as he mutters to himself, “What just happened there?”