#literally answered all my questions like a fountain of knowledge it was so cool

[yellowplumfruit]

i went to pt today to bring up my potential hypermobile eds and thank u to whatever stars aligned bc my physical therapist is also hypermobile

[ashdoesfandomarchieved]

we're living in a powder keg (and giving off sparks)

Fandom: Star Trek Lower Decks

Rating: M

AO3

Beckett Elizabeth Mariner wakes up with the absolute unshakable knowledge that she has done something unspeakable.

“Oh my fucking god.”

On the pillow across from hers, Brad opens his eyes. He blinks once or twice, squinting at the obnoxious sunlight streaming through the blinds. It creates bars of light slanting across the bed and floor. There’s a brief moment of confusion where he stares up at her owlishly before he groans and rolls over, burying his face in the pillow. Clearly not shaken at all by the unspeakable horror coursing through Beckett’s veins.

“Oh. My. Fucking. God .”

“Please lower your voice,” he mutters, voice muffled almost beyond comprehension. Almost. “I think I have a migraine. Or a hangover.” A pause. “Or both .”

“Oh god oh god oh god-”

Beckett’s comm begins chirping on the nightstand, derailing her mental breakdown. She lunges for it, flips the device open and answers the call. “Yeah?”

“Beckett Mariner, where in god’s name are you?” her mother’s voice shrills across the tiny speaker. Not exactly the distraction she was looking for, but she’ll take it. “I’ve been calling you for hours. I swear to god if you’re in prison again-”

“I’m not in prison!” she hisses. “And that was one time!”

“Six times. In the last month.”

“I- mom -”

“We’re in Wvaxuv,” Brad snaps, snatching the comm out of her hand. “We’ll be there in fifteen. Over.” He snaps the comm shut, throws it at the nightstand on her side, and flops facedown into his pillow again. Beckett, both impressed by Brad hanging up on his captain and horrified by him hanging up on her mom , stares at him, mouth agape.

“You just hung up on my mom.”

“Mffffmmn.”

“My mom , Bradward.”

“Mm.”

“Your Captain .”

This does get a reaction out of Brad, but not quite the one she expected? He peeks one eye out of where he’s currently trying to become one with the bedding. It’s cute, in like a cat-like way. Which is exactly where Beckett is trying to keep her thoughts from going. There is nothing cute or nice about waking up in the same bed as Brad. There’s not.

“I think I’ll care about that when I’m sober,” he says, at last.

“You don’t care that you just hung up on my mom, but you know what city we’re in?” Beckett raises an eyebrow, both impressed and unimpressed. She contains multitudes.

“I always know where I am,” he mumbles, turning his face back into the pillow. “Also, it literally says in the tourist brochure on your nightstand.”

Beckett grins and then stops herself. “Okay, Mister ‘I always know where I am,’ how long will it actually take us to get back to the Cerritos ?”

“ Ten minutes if we get dressed like right now.”

She stops, face heating at the reminder that oh yeah they’re both fucking naked under the duvet. Beckett carefully inches away, toward her end of the bed, just in case. She casts a quick look around the room and locates her clothes on the floor, near the bathroom.

“Don’t look,” she warns. Threatens?

Brad gives her a thumbs up, seemingly content in continuing his faceplant. Beckett decides that she can trust him not to sneak a peak--not that it mattered at this point but she was not thinking about that --and hurriedly dives toward them and gathers them up. She throws them on the bathroom floor and slams the door shut.

“Oh my god.” Beckett stares at the yellowing tiled floor. “Oh my god .” She turns on the sink, cupping the freezing water in her hands and splashing it onto her face. It does little to clear her mind, but it does help with the hangover nausea. She grips the sides of the sink, breathing in and out slowly. After a few moments of this, Beckett finally dares to look in the mirror.

She’s looked worse. Especially after a night of getting blackout drunk. Her hair is down, out of its usual high ponytail. It’s also completely wrecked, she notes, running her fingers through it to pull out the tangles. She looks a little sweaty and her eyes are bloodshot with dark circles rimming them, but nothing about her appearance suggests that she did anything stupid or dangerous last night. All of her limbs and toes are accounted for. All things considered, it’s not that bad.

Well, except for the trail of hickeys going down her neck. Jesus , she thinks, straining her head around to see how far they go. Nevermind, she doesn’t really want to know. That’s definitely going to be a problem to examine later. Much, much later.

She quickly pulls her pants on, studiously ignoring her sore muscles and the purple bruises in other places besides her neck and shoulder. Fuck . She can hear her comm chirping again through the bathroom door, but doesn’t make any attempts to hurry and answer it. From the sound of things--or lack thereof--Brad isn’t making an effort either. He probably decided, as she has, that they can get reemed out when they actually get back on the ship.

Beckett pulls her tank top over her head, frowning when she realizes that it does absolutely nothing to hide the bruises on her neck. Where the fuck is her jacket? She pops back into the bedroom.

“Where’s my jacket?”

“You threw it in the Gezorvazors’ fountain.”

“And you didn’t stop me? Dude, that was my favorite jacket.”

He makes a vague hand gesture, still face down on the bed. “You can borrow mine.”

“Yours isn’t nice like mine is,” she snaps, picking his weird hoodie/jean jacket hybrid. “Mine is leather, and badass, and-” She slips his jacket on, pulling the collar up to hide the hickeys. “-And. Oh shit this is comfortable.” The fabric is soft in the way that clothes only get after you’ve owned them for years and years and ruined the fabric with too much fabric softener and shit. Also, it’s a little big around her shoulders, and Beckett’s kind of a slut for comfy clothes that are too big for her. “You’re not getting this back,” she realizes out loud.

Brad finally lifts his head off the pillow, eyes zeroing in on her. His face is unreadable. “Huh.”

“What?”

Her comm chirps again. Brad picks it up and throws it to her. “Call your mom.” He jerks his head toward the balcony on the other side of the suite. “Or don’t. Either way, we’re gonna be late.” He makes to get out of bed, which is Beckett’s cue to get the fuck out of there . She escapes onto the balcony which is less of a balcony and more of a ledge.

She flips the comm open and answers it.

“ Your mom is flipping out,” D’Vana says. “She thinks you went AWOL and kidnapped Boimler again.”

“Her thinking that is a thousand times better than what actually happened,” Beckett replies, relieved. “She’s not leaving, is she?”

“ Without you? Fat chance.” There’s a pause. “So are you gonna tell me what did happen-”

“Just a long night of drinking and bad decisions. I’ll see you back on the Cerritos, ” she swiftly interrupts. “If my mom asks, everything is fine. Don’t worry.” She hangs up over D’Vana’s sputtering protests. “Shit.” What was she going to tell D’Vana. What was she going to tell her mom?

A gust of cool wind blows through the street, cutting straight through her. She wraps the jacket tightly around her. It smells like Brad. “ Shit. ”

_____

Beckett sits in her mom’s ready room with a paper cup of coffee heating her hands. The smell isn’t doing great things to her nauseous stomach, but the warmth radiating through her fingers is soothing and the caffeine is knocking out most of her headache. Turn of the century and there still isn’t a definitive hangover cure for humans. Go figure.

Her mother’s slightly raised eyebrow is both a question and a criticism. She has too much tact to say that Beckett looks like shit, but they both know Beckett looks like shit. Damnit.

“I’m not even going to ask,” Freeman says at last, rubbing her temple with two fingers. “Just please stop violating regulations while on shore leave.”

Beckett wants to ask if this means she can violate regulations while off shore leave, but feels too shitty to get into that argument. “You got it, Cap’n,” she says, instead of emoting. She gives her mom a lazy, two fingered salute.

“Also, please remember to keep up with your birth control, I don’t really need any Beckett/Boimler hybrids running around on this ship-”

“Literally what the fuck -” Beckett all but shrieks, voice way to loud for the hangover she’s sporting. “ Why would you even say-”

Her mom looks pointedly at Beckett’s bruised neck. “I’m not a complete idiot, kiddo.”

“Oh my god,” Beckett buries her face in her hands. “Oh my god .”

Freeman rolls her eyes, flicking her fingers at her daughter. “Yeah, yeah, I know, it’s my job to embarrass you. Now get out of my sight. And ask T’Ana for a hangover cure.”

This has Beckett sitting up. “Wha- T’Ana said there wasn’t a hangover cure .”

Flat look. “Beckett. What century is this?”

Beckett scowls at the desk. “Ripped off for five years and counting,” she mumbles.

_____

Avoiding Brad was harder than she thought it was going to be.

(Not that she’s avoiding him. She’s not.)

(She totally is. )

When he first came back to the Cerritos --almost two years ago now?--it had been easy. He’d been in a state of remorse/guilt, and had basically allowed Beckett to call the shots. This was generally considered a bad idea by absolutely everyone, because it meant that Beckett swung dangerously between watching his every move like a crazed stalker to having nothing to do with him. It had accumulated in Sam and D’Vana going the old-fashioned route by locking them in a storage closet.

Things had eventually ironed out after that. Nothing was ever quite the same--it couldn’t be with Brad’s newfound confidence and Beckett’s decision to see him as an equal rather than someone to mentor--but it was better that way. They worked better that way. At least until Beckett had fucked everything up by having drunk sex with her best friend of four years.

So here Beckett was, hiding in medbay because she thought she might have seen Brad walk by.

“You gotta admit, this is weird, even for you,” D’Vana says.

Beckett peaks over the biobed. “He’s gone, right?”

“Honey, what’s going on between you two? Do I need to fight him? I can totally fight him.”

“What?”

“I mean, the last time you were this mad at him was because--”

“I’m not mad at him,” Beckett waves her off, not too keen on dredging up ancient history. Shitty ancient history at that. “Everything’s fine.”

“Everything’s fine,” D’Vana repeats dubiously. “Which is why you’ve been hiding in medbay--your least favorite place--all day. Instead of doing fun things, like moving everything in Ransom’s cabin a little to the left or putting extra espresso shots in T’Ana’s coffee.”

Beckett grins. “We should put extra espresso shots in T’Ana’s coffee.”

“You’re deflecting.”

“I’m not.”

“ So are.”

Beckett scowls. “Aren’t you supposed to be on my side?”

“I am, as in I will help you bury the body if need be, but as it stands there isn’t a body to bury and you’re in my way.”

“Rude!”

“Coward.”

“Killjoy.”

“ Both of you, out,” T’Ana snaps, from like 20 feet away. She’s not even looking at them, but one of her ears is swiveled in their direction.

D’Vana gives Beckett a dirty look, turning on her heel and marching out of the medbay. Beckett follows, more subdued.

“Seriously, you need to get your shit together,” D’Vana says, once she’s caught up to her. “I promise whatever happened between you and Brad isn’t as terrible as you’re thinking. It’s probably even fixable.”

“Real encouraging, bestie.”

“I try.” D’Vana gives her a friendly punch on the arm that’s probably going to bruise. “Now go find your man.”

_____

Becket does not, in fact, “go find her man.” First of all, because she doesn’t have one, but also because the idea of facing Brad right now is so mortifying--seriously what is she supposed to say? --that the thought makes her break out in hives.

(Not literally, but still.)

A couple more days of this has Sam and D’Vana returning to the tried and true method of locking Beckett and Brad in a storage closet to sort out their shit.

“If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it!” D’Vana shouts through the door.

Beckett flips her the bird, even though she can see, scowling at the door. “Fuck you, D’Vana Tendi!”

There is no response, meaning that her ex-friends have left her alone with her thoughts, Brad, and Brad’s very loud thoughts. Goddammit.

“Look, just say it,” Brad suddenly snaps after the longest, most awkward pause Beckett has ever had the misfortune to be a part of. His entire body is tenser than Beckett has seen in a hot minute. Probably since before he transferred back to the Cerritos.

“Say what?” she says back hotly, now not really sure if they’re about to argue about something, but also not one to back down from a fight.

“I don’t know-just. Whatever it is- just please. I’m tired, D’Vana’s tired--hell the whole ship is tired of this. So just.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Look, I know it was bad, I know that you regretted it.”

“I. What.”

“But, you’re also my best friend and I don’t want things to go back to how they were when. When I came back and you hated me and I was shitty to you and-” Brad stops messing up his hair. “Just say it was awful and we can forget it ever happened.”

Beckett steels herself as she finally admits: “I don’t remember it.”

It was Brad’s turn to go still and quiet.

“Brad--I. You know how I get when I’m drunk.” Beckett has never felt embarrassed by her drinking habits, but now she wonders if she should. Okay, she’s not, not really. But she was at least regretful that she had done something so stupid as fucking up one of her best relationships while intoxicated. Literally. “I don’t remember anything after the sixth drink,” she groans. “I think I was messing with your hair?”

“You said it was the color of jellyfish.”

She manages a weak smile. “Yeah.”

“And then I said jellyfish were translucent and have been extinct for over a thousand years on Earth so your point was redundant and that’s when you kissed me.”

“Oh.” Beckett wracks her memory. Nothing comes up. She doesn’t know if she feels proud or scared by the fact that she was the one to initiate whatever happened between them. “Was it. Good?”

“For me.” Brad shrugs, nonchalant in a way she wishes he weren’t. “Can’t really say if you liked it or not. Rest of the night is.” He makes a gesture with one hand. “Fuzzy.”

“But you remember more details than I do.” Beckett takes a step toward him.

He takes a step back as she crowds his space. Swallows. “Guess I do.”

“Was that good? What came after?” she asks, steadily, taking another step toward him.

His back hits the wall. He makes a little oof sound, maybe at the impact, but more likely at her question. “I-it was fuzzy ,” he reiterates, voice pitching up.

“Just answer the question, Bradward. I thought this was honesty hour for-”

“Yes it was good!” he snaps. “It was awesome, and earth-shattering, and all the stupid fucking cliches we both make fun of and mock together, and-and you didn’t care the next morning! Actually, no, you were fucking horrified-- so I panicked and--”

Beckett kisses him. It’s a short peck, hardly a brush of lips really, but enough to leave him gaping like a fish after. Kind of shocked, like a computer bluescreening. Goddamnit, he is cute.

“I. I- what .”

Beckett carefully leans in, brushing his hair out of his eyes with one hand--giving him time to opt out or push her away if he wants-- and kisses him again. This time she goes a bit more slowly, somehow coaxing his panicked mind into letting him kiss her back. Only for a moment, sadly. As soon as he begins softening against her, mouth opening slightly to kiss her back, he draws away, face disturbed. “Beck, what are you doing?” His voice is weak.

“Experimenting,” she replies, eyes quickly darting back and forth between his.

“ Experi -”

“I mean, there must be a reason I jumped straight from drunken makeout to lets fuck on our last night of shore leave. I’m just trying to find the missing puzzle piece.” She leans back in. Kisses him again. Pulls back almost immediately. “That means kiss me back, dumba-”

Brad cups her face and kisses her back. Like really kisses her back. Like tilts her face to the side until the angle is just right and slips his tongue in to slide against hers-

“Fuck,” Beckett says, when they draw back for air. “ Fuck.”

Brad drops his hands, but makes no move to pull out of her space. “Got enough data?” he asks sarcastically.

“I might need a larger sample size,” she says breathlessly, eyes darting back down to his lips.

“Well, feel free to go makeout with whomever-”

“Not that kind of sample size, dummy. I'm working with just one test subject, you see.” Her hand fingers the top button of his shirt almost thoughtfully. “My sample size needs to be bigger in quantity, not diversity.”

“ Beck- ” he whines.

“What, so you get to remember this awesome, showstopping one-night stand while I wonder forever if you're actually as good as my sore everything implies?”

Brad’s face visibly heats up. “Well, it's not a one-night stand if we do it again, is it?” he mutters.

“No,” Beckett replies curtly, making her eye contact as direct as possible. “It's not.”

“And you really want to fuck in a storage closet.”

“It can't be much worse than on a planet of jellybean aliens.”

“Gezorvazorians,” he corrects. Pauses, considering. “It might not be that good sober.”

“Are you seriously trying to talk me out of having sex with you?” Beckett groans again in exasperation. “This is literally a one time, limited offer, Bradward.”

“I have anxiety, Beckett! It was fine when I was on drink number eight, but I'm going to freak out if I do this without-”

“Oh my god, just stop thinking-” she shoves him back into the wall, hands fisting his stupid Starfleet shirt, “-just do what feels good.”

Apparently what feels good is letting Beckett once again call the shots on this one, like she does on everything. He lets her crowd him back against the wall, pop each of his shirt buttons and makeout as aggressively as they can while still standing upright.

“For the record,” she says, in between kisses, “if you don't want to have sex with me, that's a hundred percent fine, I don't want to pressure you-”

Brad rolls his eyes. “You really gotta-” kisses her again, “make up your mind-” her hand pulls at the short hair on the nape of his neck, eliciting a high pitched noise “- getting mixed signals-”

“My mind is made up, it's just that I realized that I maaay have been a bit pushy-”

Brad pulls away to give her a deadpan expression. “Yeah, if there's one thing I do remember about you in bed, it's that you're kind of pushy. Actually, scratch that, you’re relentless.”

Beckett flushes. “I-”

“I don't mind. Just as long as you're sure.”

“I am,” she meets his gaze challengingly, fighting her blush down.

“Cool.” He nods once, curtly. The image doesn’t exactly mesh right with his disheveled hair and unbuttoned shirt. “Cool, cool, cool. I'm probably going to freak out in the middle of this, fyi.”

“Don't say ‘fyi,’ it's lame.” She glances around the room. “So. Floor or wall?”

_____

They don't actually fuck in the storage closet, much to Beckett's disappointment and everyone else's general embarrassment. D’Vana in particular is going back and forth between remorse and spastic giggling. It’s just as well. Brad really couldn’t stop laughing at her after her “floor or wall” comment which made getting laid kind of hard. No pun intended.

_____

The next few days are kind of a living hell for the Cerritos. Which is unbelievable, considering how weird Beckett and Brad had made it for everyone before their conversation in the storage closet.

It really really doesn’t help that Brad’s bunk is like. Right over hers. Goddamnnit.

“Good news is we have shore leave again in three weeks,” Jennifer says, handing her a wrench.

Beckett, who’s holding a screwdriver in her mouth, makes whahed? noise, eyes glued to the charred remains of the food replicator. Jen leans back against the counter casually, flipping her silver hair over her shoulder. She’s not really helping Beckett, just watching while she takes advantage of her own buffer time. Beckett doesn’t mind because a) everyone’s entitled to their own buffer time and b) Jen isn’t bad company. At least when she isn’t involving herself in the soap opera worthy drama that is Beckett’s life. Like right now.

Jen gives her a bemused look. “You don’t have to tell me what happened last time,” she says, which is great because Beckett has no intention of bringing up the events of their last shore leave, “But you want my advice? Fix it this time. For everyone’s sake.”

Beckett takes the screwdriver out of her mouth and places it on the counter. “I literally have no idea what you are talking about,” she says in lieu of feeling an emotion.

“Me neither,” Jen admits, sighing. “Look, I don’t put much stock in the rumor mill, but even I know there’s something going on between you and Boimler.”

Oh. Shit.

“Oh, shit,” Beckett says.

Jen grins. “Yeah, shit Mariner. Who’d have thought: you and Brad Boimler. Six years ago, I’d have laughed in your face.”

Beckett makes a face. It’s not a laughing one. More of a grimace, really. “It’s not whatever you’re thinking.”

“With you it rarely is.” Jen looks wary, but the corners of her eyes still crinkle with amusement. “I’m just saying, I know something’s up. Don’t really care, but it’s making this ship socially awkward. I refuse to work somewhere socially awkward, Mariner.”

“Oh, we are in agreement,” Beckett quickly defends, holding her hands up.

“Good, then fix whatever the fuck’s going on. I can’t take much more of this.”

Beckett doesn’t have much to say to that. Mostly because she’s in total agreement, but also because that’s the moment D’Vana comes around the corner and she’d rather not get Into It with the perky Orion today.

_____

It’s Sam who brings it up. “So, shore leave on Earth,” he says. “Who’s down?”

The four of them are sitting at the bar, pretending like nothing weird is going on between two of their members. It helps that Sam is sitting between her and Brad, but it also doesn’t because he keeps catching them staring at each other. It’s super fucking awkward, so Beckett takes the opportunity to direct their attentions elsewhere.

She groans loudly, dropping her face onto her folded arms. “If I wanted to be on Earth I wouldn’t have joined Starfleet,” she grumbles. “This fucking sucks.”

D’Vana perks up immediately, like Beckett knew she would. “I love Earth!” she says, enthusiastically gesturing with her martini glass. “So many different cultures and languages and religions on one planet. If I wasn’t stationed in deep space, I’d have asked for a position there.”

“All those religions and cultures and shit is why Earth has a reputation of not getting along with itself,” Beckett mumbles into her arm.

“That’s not specific to Earth though,” Brad points out, pretty much speaking for the first time that night. He looks a bit surprised, like he hadn’t meant to talk to her at all or make eye contact. Which was most likely the case, considering. Still, he pushes on. “I mean, how many interplanetary disputes have we broken up in the last year alone?”

“Yeah, but I don’t come from those planets so I don’t have to feel bad about it,” Beckett mutters.

Sam snorts. “So is that a no?”

Beckett shrugs. “Fuck if I know. Will there be alcohol?”

“There can be.”

She flutters her eyelashes at Sam. “Well, if you insist then.”

Brad and D’Vana exchange a look.

_____

Earth isn’t too bad.

Beckett should know, she was born there.

The distinct lack of shenanigans she can get up to are fairly disappointing, however. And the distinct presence of cops is still as annoying as ever. But Sam drags the four through downtown San Francisco, intent on making the most of it.

He is determined to teach D’Vana how to surf, so they find themselves at one of those swim stores--the ones that smell like chlorine and weed and have like a display of goggles that takes up two entire ailes and the walls are covered in surf boards and body boards, and there’s little naked mermaid figurines everywhere. It’s one of those out-of-this-world vibes that has Beckett remembering the little things about earth she misses.

Sam somehow cuts a deal on four surf boards and some swim trunks for him and Brad. Beckett, who had the foresight to bring her own swimwear, doesn’t spend a dime on anything but the salt water taffy up at the front counter. D’Vana, who showed up for shore leave already in a bikini and has chronic steal Beckett’s food syndrome, walks out of there the least broke.

“So we want to start in the whitewater,” Sam says, rubbing copious amounts of sunscreen on D’Vana’s back. It’s a wise move, considering the last time they spent free time on a sunny planet, D’Vana walked away with the worst sunburns. “That way we can work on your stance without any pressure.”

“Speak for yourselves,” Beckett flips her shades down. “I’m heading out for the Big Bois. The Chungos, if you will.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Have you ever surfed before?”

“Does doing handstands on a floatie in my pool count?”

“No.”

“Then listen to the expert. We also probably don’t want to go way out until we get wetsuits. Trust me on that one,” Sam says, grimacing. “I mean, I’ve gone without, but it’s cold as shit out there.”

Beckett snatches the sunscreen from Sam’s hand and squirts a glob on her calf. “Fine, defeat me with your logic. You want some of this, white bread?” she asks Brad, who very much lives up to said nickname. He sighs, accepting the bottle from her.

All sunscreen up, Sam stands, picking up his surfboard. “I’ll take D’Vana out first,” he says in a blatant show of favoritism.

Brad and Beckett roll their eyes in tandem. “Whatever,” Beckett says, shooing them off with one hand. “I’m taking a nap.” She flops down on a towel under the giant umbrella that D’Vana got from god knows where . Brad looks from her to Sam and D’Vana unsurely before deciding that he’ll strike out on his own for a bit.

“Don’t drown,” Beckett says, already half asleep.

“Duh.” She can practically hear his eye roll. “Remember to wake up in two hours and apply more sunscreen,” he shoots back.

She gives him the o-k hand signal, not opening up her eyes. “You got it, Mom.”

_____

A few hours later--way past when Beckett was supposed to dump more chemicals on her skin (and yes she’s going to be feeling that later)--Beckett wakes up to Sam and D’Vana’s dulcet tones. By dulcet tones she actually means they’re belting out I’ve Had the Time of My Life in tandem with the music booming on the speaker Sam brought because they are those annoying beach people .

D’Vana must’ve gone to one of the street vendors on the boardwalk, because she has a tray of tiny sandwiches and a paper bag of popcorn that she’s sharing with Sam. Beckett tries to get in on that action, but because D’Vana is the biggest hypocrite Beckett knows, she finds herself banned from the snacks.

“You and Brad can get your own,” D’Vana says stubbornly.

Beckett rolls her eyes. “Where is he, anyway?”

D’Vana points vaguely off in the direction of the water. Brad is sitting on his surfboard, looking more relaxed than Beckett’s seen him in a while.

She stands up, stretching out the kinks and stiffness in her joints, grinning when Sam winces at the cracking of her spine. Shaking the fogginess away, Beckett makes her way out into the waves, shivering at their chill. In a stroke of genius, or maybe just chaotic evillness, Beckett ducks under the water, swimming beneath where Brad is peacefully sitting.

“Nice view,” Beckett says, bursting out of the water. Brad flails, arms pinwheeling. He does fall off his perch on the surfboard, but Beckett catches it before the waves can take it away. She heaves herself gracefully over the side, sitting with her legs in the water. After a moment she offers a hand to a very sulky looking Brad, who’s usually coiffed hair is plastered to his skull by the water.

He takes her proffered hand and sits beside her.

After a moments pause, where they sit bobbing in the waves and watching the sunset, Brad says, “I would like to say that not even the holodeck can recreate colors like that buuut-”

“We do have top-of-the-line technology,” Beckett agrees. “It’s still nice knowing it’s real, though,” she adds.

“How sentimental of you,” he says, almost teasingly. It does wonders for the tension Beckett’s holding.

“Shut up,” she gets out, shoving his shoulder good-naturedly. It’s not hard enough to push him back in the water, but it’s enough that he swats her off. “I’m just saying .”

“So Earth isn’t so bad, after all?” he asks, smug.

Beckett rolls her eyes. “I guess ,” she allows, grudgingly. “But don’t go telling anyone.”

Brad just grins, turning back to the sunset. They don’t say much more after that.

_____

Beckett is lying in bed, staring at the ceiling of the hotel they’re staying at overnight, when she comes to a decision. “I’m going to have sex with Brad.”

D’Vana, who Beckett had been pretty sure was sleeping, chokes in the dark. “Beckett what the fuuu -”

Beckett sits up. “I’m going to have sex with Brad,” she reiterates, throwing the covers off.

The bedside lamp clicks on, washing the room in a pale, yellow light. D’Vana’s expression is somewhere between I’m too sleep-deprived to deal with this shit and a murder is happening tonight .

“Like, right now?” she asks, finally.

“No time like the present,” Beckett says, already halfway out the door. Whatever protests D’Vana has is cut off when the door slides shut behind her. Sam and Brad are staying just across the hall, so it takes no time to get there and knock on the door.

“So are we gonna fuck or what?” Beckett asks the minute Brad shows his face. Sam makes a choked, gagging noise from somewhere behind him. Brad makes an equally despairing sound.

“Sam, could you-?”

“Gone! I'm gone.” Sam pushes past them, heading for the other suite. “I'll just sleep with D’Vana-- in D’Vana’s room!” He hurriedly course corrects, “In her room. I'm--I'll. Bye.” He ducks behind the door, slamming it.

“Yeesh, my girl ain't getting any tonight.”

“But we are apparently,” Brad dryly remarks. Or tries to dryly remark. It comes out strangled. “I thought that was a limited offer.”

“Yeah well, maybe I changed my mind. Are you gonna invite me in or what?”

Brad opens the door wider. “I didn't know you needed a literal invitation like some sort of vampire.”

“I was being polite.” She brushes past him. “I am capable of that on occasion.” She flops on the bed with forced bravado. Brad starts doing that thing where he avoids eye contact but realizes it's awkward so he then makes too much eye contact. Beckett resists the urge to tease him about it, if only because she's starting to feel weird about everything too.

“I’m not saying no-”

“Jesus, okay, rejection time-”

“But right now might not be the best time,” he finishes, face crimson.

“What?” She glances around the room. “Master suite in a five star hotel in San Francisco is a worse time for you than a storage closet? I didn't know you had an exhibition thing-”

“ I don't.” Brad scowls. “I'm just not in the mood.”

Oh.

“Oh,” she says, leaning back with her hands supporting her behind her. She kind of feels like an asshole for just assuming he’d be down anytime. There’s another moment of silence. Awkward.

Then, “I have some old timey soap-opera that Jen gave me, on my padd. You down?��

_____

“I don’t think this is a soap opera,” Brad says, ten minutes into their third episode.

They’re both lying on top of the covers, padd propped on a pillow, watching a collection of random episodes Beckett seemingly has. There’s about four feet of yawning distance between them, four impossible feet that’s frankly starting to piss Beckett off for reasons she’s trying not to examine.

“He’s married to his best friends’ daughter which means his mother-in-law made out with him,” Beckett replies, rolling her eyes. “His wife and her parents are pretty much the same age. He gets assassinated by his wife who was trained by a cultist group to take him down. How is that not a soap opera?”

Brad shrugs. “It just seems to be more action based.”

“Give it time, you’ll get it.”

Silence as they watch the main characters get chased by dinosaurs. Brad, surprisingly, does not offer up why it’s unrealistic--(she can totally hear him lecturing on about how dinosaurs actually had feathers, Beckett, and that one was definitely bipedal why is it on all fours?)-- instead tapping his fingers against the mattress and occasionally spacing out.

Whatever. Beckett’s perfectly comfortable reclining on the other side of the bed and ignoring him.

“It’s not me, right?” she blurts out. “I didn’t like, push you too much and now you want nothing to do with me?”

Way to sound insecure, Mariner.

Brad startles in surprise. “What? No!” He sits up. “Why would-”

“I don’t know, it’s just weird! And we’re not weird like this--we watch shit all the time together and make fun of it and it’s not socially awkward!”

“I’m not trying to be socially awkward! I just-”

“Well you are -”

“I thought you were mad at me ?” He tries, looking askance.

Beckett blinks across the bed at him. “You thought-- what --that I was mad at you for not being up for-”

“If you make that pun, I swear to god-”

“Not a pun, I’m being literal-you thought -”

“Beck-”

“You thought I was upset that you aren’t in the mood for-for my weird need to-to-” She can’t even finish it.

“Ughrhrh.” Brad covers his eyes with his hands. “It sounds bad when you say it out loud.”

“Yeah no shit, Bradward.” She huffs loudly, turning back to the episode only to find that it’s over.

“Sorry,” he says at last, still into his hands. “I’m having a weird night.”

Aaaand now Beckett feels like shit. Because of course she was making everything about her when there were other people emotionally involved. God she needed to talk to her therapist.

“You wanna talk about it?” she asks, nervously tapping her foot at the air.

Brad drops his hands, staring at her flatly. “Do you really want to hear my weird TMI relationship hangups?”

Oh fuck, it’s gonna be that kind of talk.

“Uh, yes? I tell you my weird shit all the time-”

“ Unsolicited -”

“And you don’t give a shit. Why would I be upset about you telling me your weird shit? Is it a kink thing? I bet it’s a kink thing.”

“It’s not a-! Just-just let me talk!”

Beckett makes a phhhft- ing noise, but relents. She twiddles her thumbs for a moment, a mannerism she picked up from D’Vana over the years. Brad’s eyes zero in on the motion for a moment, as he nervously begins tapping his fingers against the mattress again and then stopping to clasp his hands tightly.

“You know how I don’t really. Date people?” he tries, wincing slightly.

“Yeah, sure.” She shrugs.

“Have you ever wondered why-”

“Because our friend group is so batshit fucking certifiable that any potential boyfriends or girlfriends get scared off. It’s why Amina and I were never gonna get back together.” Beckett doesn’t say duh , but it lingers in the air.

Brad rolls his eyes. “ Yes that, but also I don’t date people for the same reason it took D’Vana six years to figure out she and Sam were dating.”

Oh.

“Oh. Oh .” Beckett blinks for a moment, world realigning. “Wait, how did I not know that about you? I know everything about you.” Which is entirely the wrong response to your best friend sharing something that personal, but Brad doesn’t seem to pick up on it so Beckett thinks it’s okay. Hopefully.

“Apparently, not,” he replies, amused.

“But, you’re like. Okay hooking up every once in a while.” God, she hopes so. If she pressured her best friend into having drunk sex with her-

“Yeah, I’m in the mood every once in a while. Like, once a year kind of once in a while,” Brad says casually, alleviating her worries. “Just not right now.”

“Oh okay, cool.” A pause. “Thank you for telling me.”

He rolls his eyes again like she knows she’s going over every social media post and session with her therapist concerning how to handle your best friend coming out to you in her head and settles down next to her. “Whatever. What’s happening?” he asks, turning back to the padd.

Beckett apparently has episodes out of order because the main characters are hijacking the 1969 Earth space missions. “An alien race that controls humans through post-hypnotic suggestions is giving them the technology to land on their own moon.”

Brad huffs, amused. “Naturally.”

_____

Everything kind of goes back to normal after that.

Well, as normal as things get on the Cerritos .

Beckett takes her conversation with Brad to mean that he’s not interested in le sex with her (at the moment anyway) and backing off is in their best interests.

Whatever, she didn’t really know what she was going on about anyway. It’s not as if she was using not remembering their one-night stand as an excuse to hook up with Brad because she’s suffering from unacknowledged requited feelings.

(She’s not. She’s not . Goddamnit.)

The ship seems to give a collective sigh of relief, now that Beckett and Brad aren’t doing...whatever it was they were. Beckett is back to annoying the shit out of her best friend and Brad is back to pretending like he hates everything she stands for. It’s a comfortable equilibrium that Beckett’s glad to be back to.

Even if she still ponders all of the what ifs .

_____

If Beckett’s life is a movie--which is a metaphor she hasn’t used yet, but now’s probably the best time to start because the drama of hooking up with her best friend is totally some awkward comedy shit--then the Halloween party Sam and Jen throw is the punch line. Or the climax--whatever, no pun intended.

Beckett didn’t even know Halloween was like still a Thing until she and her friend group came across a Halloween themed shop during shore leave.

“Isn’t it July?” Beckett had pondered. “I’m pretty sure this holiday is supposed to be in October?”

“It’s one of those “Holiday in July” shops,” Brad said, rolling his eyes at D’Vana who’d donned a witches hat on and was cackling appropriately. “They were totally a thing when I was a kid.”

Sam pulled out his comm. “You know how Jen wanted to throw a party for the end of our assignment in the Neutral Zone? I think I know what theme we should go with.”

Beckett had laughed, delighted at the idea of them throwing a Halloween Bash on the Cerritos , but hadn’t taken it seriously until she walked into her favorite bar on the ship, which was now decked out in the most ridiculous decorations she’s ever seen.

“This is amazing,” Beckett says.

D’Vana grins. “Right? I think I’m going to marry Jen.”

“If I don’t get there first,” Sam retorts, darting off in Jen’s direction. D’Vana shouts after him, breaking out into a run. Beckett shakes her head and heads off to find a corner to enjoy her alcohol in peace.

She finds one, and gets through one red, plastic cup of cheap beer before Brad is at her shoulder.

“So, we’re done being weird, right?” Brad confirms. Surprised that he actually has the backbone to bring The Incident up, Beckett shrugs, eyes still on a dancing D’Vana. She’s somehow roped to humans into a weird-threeway dance that is honestly making Beckett wish she had a recorder device on her.

“Yeah, we’re good,” she says. “Sorry for. You know.”

“It’s cool,” Brad replies, giving her a thumbs up. “I mean, it was bound to happen eventually?”

This gives Beckett pause. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, someone in our friend group was eventually going to hook up and make everything awkward,” Brad rubs the back of his neck, laughing, well, awkwardly . “Sucks that it was us but,” he shrugs in a what can you do way.

Beckett nods back, almost absentmindedly. “Yeah. I mean. Yeah,” she finishes off, lamely and god this is awkward. “Could have been worse,” she finally settles on.

“Could’ve been me and D’Vana,” Brad agrees, nose wrinkling at the thought. She’s pretty sure he had a crush when they first met, but it mellowed out over the years. Especially after D’Vana made it clear to a handsy ensign that she was only interested in girls .

(And being in a co-dependent/queerplatonic relationship with one Samantha Rutherford, but that was beside the point.)

Still, something about the suggestion of the two hooking up leaves a sour pit in Beckett’s stomach.

“It’s too bad though,” she blurts out, “that it happened like the way it did.”

Brad pauses, brow furrowed.

“I mean,” she bulldozes on when he doesn’t say anything. “If I’d have had a choice on how it would have happened...I would have done things differently.”

“Oh?” Brad angles his body toward hers. She leans back against the wall, trying to calm her racing heart.

“Yeah.” Her voice sounds far away.

“How would you have done things?”

“I-” She fists her palms and then forces herself to relax them. “Well, for starters I wouldn’t have been drunk .”

“Ah.” Brad winces, probably remembering the terrible hangovers they had the next day. “Yeah that probably wasn’t the best -”

“And it would have meant something.”

There. She said it.

It’s what her mom’s been hinting at for years now, what D’Vana had been getting at and Jen and Sam and even Brad himself; the one truth that Beckett had been shoving to the back of her mind, since even before that shared night with Brad.

Brad Boimler is her best friend and she’s in love with him.

The pause goes on for too long. Beckett doesn’t dare look at him, doesn’t dare breathe. She keeps her eyes firmly on D’Vana, who’s been joined by a slightly tipsy Sam. They dance around each other, ridiculous and fond.

“It did mean something.”

Beckett whips her head around, meeting Brad’s gaze disbelievingly. He swallows, adam’s apple bobbing.

“Of course it meant something,” he says. “It was with you.”

Beckett likes to think that she’s smarter than the average person. And if not smarter, witty enough to pass as smarter. She has an automated response for every situation, a retort for every comment, a comeback for every line. There isn’t much that phases her-at least not until she woke up in a hotel room, naked, with her best friend at her side. And just like then, Beckett finds herself speechless.

“Oh,” she says, dumbly, as if she just hadn’t shown her own hand less than a minute ago.

“Mmm,” Brad agrees, looking stressed out. He doesn’t take it back though. He doesn’t do much of anything, actually, beyond staring at her intensely. Then, “Oh god, I made it weird again.”

“No, no,” Beckett holds her hands up placatingly as Brad begins to freak out. “ I made it weird first, you don’t have to-”

“Well I made it weirder!”

“No,” Beckett grabs his collar, shaking him slightly, “-no you didn’t -”

“ Then why are you freaking out? ” He throws his hands up in the air, almost dislodging her grip on his shirt. She tightens it, bringing him down to her eye level.

“I’m not freaking out you’re freaking out -”

“Then why are you the one all up in my personal spa-”

“I’m not-”

“ Jesus Christ , WILL YOU TWO JUST KISS!” D’Vana shouts over the booming bass of Spooky Scary Skeletons Communist Remix.

Beckett freezes , as does Boimler. She’s suddenly aware that the two of them are standing, nose to nose, practically shouting at each other--even though the loud music drowns out what they’re saying to the people around them (thank god).

Beckett slowly lets go of Boimler’s shirt.

“Uhm.” She blinks up at him, every part of her completely aware that she left the ball in his court last time they had an opportunity to do anything.

Brad looks like he’s wrestling with himself--not an uncommon emotion when it comes to the uptight little dude--eyes darting from both of her eyes to her lips, to over her shoulder where D’Vana is probably being a little creep. Then, all of the tension bleeds out of his body, all at once and a determined look lights up in his eyes.

“ Fuck it,” he says, cupping her face and kissing her.

_____

The walk from the bar to Beckett’s room has never seemed longer, but maybe it has something to do with the fact that they can’t keep their hands off each other.

Even with the buzz of alcohol in her system, Beckett feels entirely present for once in her life. She pushes Brad back against her door, pressing kisses into his lips and the length of his jawline. He gives a little huff when she nips at his skin, pushing her off enough to get a good look at her.

“Are you sure about this?”

“Never been surer,” she replies, already having a go at his buttons. She gets down to the final one, pleased to note that this time they aren’t interrupted. “Are you sure?” she blinks up at him. “You’re in the mood, right?”

“Yes, Beck, I’m in the mood.” Brad rolls her eyes. It looks fond. “Are you in the mood?”

“So so in the mood,” she agrees.

“Great, now that we’ve covered the consent end of this-”

Beckett interrupts, diving back in for more kisses, much to his bemusement.

A few minutes later finds the two of them on her bed, sans their clothes. Beckett wants to feel very very smug about the fact that it’s been a while since that first, mistaken one night stand and Brad still has bruises in places unmentionable, but she’s kind of in the same boat.

“Holy shit, watch it ,” she swats at his face as he kind of nips at a dark bruise on her thigh.

“Oh I am .”

“Stop, that’s not sexy,” she kicks his shoulder, scowling when he snorts.

“Uh-huh.”

“No, no it’s not .”

“Yeah, okay, I stopped doing it .” Brad stares up at her unblinkingly for a moment.

Beckett stares back, arms folded-which feels weird because she’s super naked right now, but she’s already started doing it and Beckett fucking commits to shit-scowl firmly in place. Their little stare off only lasts for a minute longer before Beckett groans, “ Ugh , do it again.”

Brad does not, in fact, do it again because he's laughing too hard at her.

Beckett raises an eyebrow, flipping them over. Brad does not look like he minds, though, blinking up at her with equal amounts bemusement and what Beckett is assuming is appreciation. Whatever, it’s not as if Beckett doesn’t know that she’s smoking hot. It’s nice to see that Brad can acknowledge it though.

“Sooo,” he says, hands on her hips, steadying her as she grabs a scrunchy off the nightstand to pull her wayward hair out of her eyes. “How do you want to do this?”

Beckett takes a moment to make herself comfortable in his lap. “How did we do this last time?”

Brad’s face turns red. “Uhm, I’m not sure if-”

Beckett grins, leaning in. “How’d we do it last time, Brad?”

“ Beckett ,” he whines. She flicks his nose, but then leans in to give him a quick peck. “That’s cheating,” he tells her.

She shrugs, unrepentant. “Well you have all the time in the world to make an honest woman out of m-”

“ Stoooop ,” Brad covers his eyes with his hands. “I hate you. Maybe we should ’ve been drunk for this.”

“I have tequila under the bed.”

“Why do you-nevermind.” Brad sits up, jostling her slightly. “I really shouldn’t be surprised anymore.”

“Too much talking, more kissing,” Beckett says, pressing a couple of featherlight kisses on his lips. She gets her way--as always--and there’s very little talking after that.

(That’s a lie, of course, because it’s BeckettandBrad, meaning that there’s a lot shit-talk and laughing and an embarrassing amount of awkward moments where Brad elbows her in the eye or Beckett makes a noise that’s distinctly not sexy, but honestly? Neither of them would have it any other way.)

_____

The next day goes like this:

Beckett shows up to her shift 40 minutes late, a string of freshly made hickeys on her neck and a shit-eating grin on her face. Freeman takes one look at her and reassigns her off the Bridge for the day, muttering something incomprehensible about grandbabies that Beckett’s forcibly not thinking too hard about.

She finds D’Vana just outside of medbay, who looks utterly delighted by Beckett’s disheveled appearance.

“So, everything’s fine between you two?” D’Vana is grinning a little evilly.

Beckett throws an arm over her shoulder, delighted as always over their height difference. “Oh so fine, mi amore.”

D’Vana shoves her off, but looks just as pleased as Beckett feels. “Thank god,” she says. “I couldn’t take much more of your sad, sad faces. It was embarrassing.”

This gives Beckett pause. “Hey, we weren’t that bad,” she protests.

“Oh, you definitely were,” D’Vana promises. “There’s only so many times Sam and I can lock you two in a storage closet before our quaple isn’t worth it anymore. We were like a minute away from throwing you out of the polycule.”

“I- polycule? Since when -”

“Oh Beckett,” D’Vana sighs. “I have some bad news for you.”

“Did you know that we were in a platonic quaple with Sam and D’Vana?” Beckett shrieks, practically flying out of the turbolift.

Brad stares at her. “...yes?”

No one tells Beckett anything.

[sparkandwolf]

Calculated Risk

A gift for the wonderful @skylar102. 

Pairing: Stiles Stilinski/Derek Hale Rating: Explicit Warnings: Sex Pollen, Fuck Or Die, Mildly Dubious Consent.  Summary: “Will I survive?” Derek whined behind him, his grip on Stiles' wrist tightening. Stiles couldn’t look at him, knowing one glance might change his mind. 

The Queen considered his question, tilting her head at him. “You will survive if you’re in love.”

READ ON AO3 OR UNDER THE CUT

It hadn’t been Stiles’ idea to team up with Derek, it never really was. He would have much rathered the company of, well, literally any other member of the pack. Derek was broody and grumpy and scowled at Stiles more than he thought he deserved. Sure, the looks were justified sometimes, but not every single time he opened his mouth. Derek seemed to have it out for him and Stiles couldn’t figure him out. 

It didn’t help that while Stiles wanted to hate Derek’s shitty attitude, he couldn’t help but notice how insanely attractive he was. It should have been illegal, really. He should have had the right to call his dad and have Derek arrested (again) for how ridiculously good looking the guy was. He was six feet of bulging muscles, smooth skin, and actual sex, by definition. Stiles shook his head to clear the very vivid imagery of Derek in his mind as they stopped in front of the lake behind the preserve. 

“This is it,” Derek said, motioning toward the water. Stiles looked around and pursed his lips before glancing up at Derek.

“The way into a fairy realm is a lake? I thought it would have been more exciting than that,” Stiles said, his voice dripping with disappointment as he crouched down to let his fingers graze over the water. Before he had a chance to touch it, Derek was hauling up by the back of his shirt. “Hey, man, what the--” Instead of an explanation, Derek kicked a rock into the water. It sizzled, the water bubbling where it landed before the rock came shooting out, directly past Stiles’ head. Stiles’ eyes widened as he followed its trajectory, reaching down to pick it up. He hissed and dropped it, shaking out his hand as it burned. 

“The seelie’s don’t like anyone entering without their consent,” Derek muttered as he rolled his eyes in Stiles’ direction. 

“No one does,” Stiles joked, rolling his own eyes when Derek glared at him. “C’mon, man. We’re about to enter a portal to another fucking realm! Can’t you at least pretend to be excited?” Stiles scoffed as Derek completely ignored him in favor of grabbing his hand. For the first time, maybe in his life, Stiles was stunned into silence. Derek seemed surprised by it, too, as he turned toward Stiles and raised an eyebrow. 

“The portal is going to open any second and we have to go in together. Don’t let go of my hand.” Stiles didn’t have to be told twice as he felt the portal opening, a cool breeze hitting his face on the otherwise windless day. “Ready?” Derek asked, gripping onto Stiles’ hand tighter. Stiles squeezed back as a green glow overtook his vision. He covered his eyes with his unoccupied arm before he felt himself being tugged viciously, like something was trying to pull him away from Derek. He pulled himself closer to Derek, keeping his eyes closed to the brightness around them and wrapping his other arm around Derek’s bicep. He knew it wasn’t the time to think about how large it was in his grip, but that didn’t stop him. 

“Derek!” Stiles shouted as he felt his feet hit ground once again, the impact enough to have him tumbling out of Derek’s grip. He landed on his stomach, the breath leaving his lungs at the impact, his hands catching him before his head could slam into the ground. He inhaled deeply and shook the fear out of his head as he felt a comforting hand on his back. 

“I’m here, we’re here,” Derek said, his voice sounding distant. Stiles looked up to see him taking in their surroundings with wide eyes. It was beautiful, wherever they had landed. They were surrounded by tangled vines, bright flowers, and the greenest grass Stiles had ever seen. Through a perfect arch of branches, Stiles could see movement behind a hanging sheer cloth. He got up, using Derek’s shoulder to stand and stared, trying to hear what the voices were saying. “I can’t hear them either,” Derek noted as he took a step forward. Stiles reached out and grabbed his arm again, stopping him from moving further. Derek turned to him with a glare. 

“Are we sure that’s where we’re supposed to go?” Stiles asked. Derek stared at him and Stiles used the silence to think. He figured that was exactly what Derek wanted him to do when Stiles nodded. “They had to consent for us to be here. They wouldn’t throw us where we weren’t wanted,” Stiles muttered. Derek nodded slowly and took a deep breath before moving forward again. Stiles stayed close behind, observing the way the surroundings seemed to move with them, like everything was alive, swaying in perfect synchrony. He noticed the bushes and moss filling in behind them with every step they took. Stiles tugged on the hem of Derek’s shirt and nodded his head behind them. Derek seemed unconcerned and on his own mission, pulling back the curtain. 

“The alpha brought his mate,” a woman said, her voice smoother than silk. Stiles was immediately enamoured by it, even more so when he saw her. She was dressed in leaves and flowers, but only in the most specific of places. Stiles blushed and looked away, opting to stare at the center of Derek’s back, noting the way the material stretched between his shoulder blades. He heard the woman snicker as she waved off the men beside her who Stiles realized were pointing spears at them. Great. 

“We’re here for the ataexlor,” Derek said, straight to the point as always. Stiles chanced a glance up at the woman, whose mouth formed a smirk through the tight line of her lips. 

“I know why you’re here, Derek Hale,” she sang as she stood, walking delicately down the stone steps leading to her throne. One of the petite women next to her, offered her a hand to guide her down. She accepted it and once she reached the soft grass, she thanked the woman with a messy kiss, the only sound to be heard in the small circle of trees. Stiles licked his lips and felt his heart beating quicker. Derek growled lowly, something only Stiles could probably hear, and Stiles sent him a desperate glance. 

“I can’t help it,” Stiles whispered, pushing closer to Derek as the woman pulled off, wiping a thumb across the other woman’s lips. The other woman looked like she was on cloud nine, her eyes rolling to the back of her head and her body shivering erratically. Stiles let out a shaky breath as the woman stepped even closer. Derek stepped to meet her, angling his body in front of Stiles and it didn’t go unnoticed. 

“Not his mate, just his…” Derek snarled as the woman reached out a hand toward Stiles’ face and Stiles thought he caught a glimpse of fangs. 

“We’re not here to play games, Queen. Deaton said you had the ataexlor and we’re here to claim it,” Derek explained, his voice the epitome of an alpha. Stiles couldn’t let it get to him as it usually did, not when the Queen was eyeing him curiously. 

“How is my good friend, Deaton?” Her voice was sickly sweet, but Stiles knew it was an act. She carried herself like so many villains he had faces and he could stand a little taller once he saw her as one. Stiles also knew that she was uninterested in Derek, choosing to keep her perfectly green eyes locked on his. 

“As smart as ever,” Stiles chimed. “He didn’t let us leave without giving us your warning label. Don’t eat or drink anything, beware of the… well, everything. And most importantly, don’t fall for the Queen’s tricks,” Stiles listed off, moving so he was beside Derek, an equal party in the confrontation. The Queen’s laughter echoed through the air as the other seelie’s joined in. 

“I thought you must be Stiles. I’ve heard about you. The spark of the Hale pack, but the weakest link. Always the protected, never the protector.” Stiles grimaced at the Queen’s own list as he glared. If he could growl like Derek, he would have. He didn’t need to be protected. Before he could say as much, Derek cleared his throat. 

“Do you have it or not? Deaton also warned us to get in and get out, with or without the ataexlor,” Derek said, his tone clearly bored. Stiles knew it was all a show. They needed the herb as an antidote to whatever was currently poisoning Lydia’s banshee blood. He held his face steady, though, not willing to risk the Queen finding them out from him. She laughed again, the noise sounding more evil every time it bubbled from her chest. 

“Deaton is just a fountain of knowledge, isn’t he?” She said, impressed. Stiles tilted his head at her and nodded in agreement. “He must have told you that all of my gifts come with a price, didn’t he?” Stiles nodded again, this time along with Derek. 

“Name your price,” Derek said sternly. He crossed his arms over his chest, his intense gaze never straying from the Queen’s. Unfortunately for Stiles, the Queen’s eyes still bore into his.

“This one,” she said simply. Stiles gaped at her as a growl erupted in Derek’s throat. “Relax, alpha. I just want to give him a… gift,” she said innocently. Derek’s growl didn’t subside as she stepped closer. Derek moved further in front of him and Stiles could see his claws had retracted and ready to slash with one wrong movement. He placed a comforting hand on Derek’s arm and pushed in front of him. 

“What kind of gift?” Stiles asked. He wasn't about to say no until he had all of the answers. Derek sent him a pleading glance, like he was asking Stiles to let him handle it. Stiles shook him off, pressing a hand to his chest to hold him back. “I have questions.” The Queen clapped her hands in delight and snapped her fingers. A different woman moved forward, a yellow and blue flower in her hand. Stiles went to reach for it, but Derek grabbed his wrist. 

“Stiles,” he said, his tone filled with warning and concern. Stiles shook his head as the Queen grabbed the flower. 

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Stiles nodded in agreement as he studied it. It looked harmless, but yet, so did she. 

“What does it do?” Stiles asked accusingly. The Queen pouted at him and shook her head. “I know you can’t lie to me, so tell me what it will do to me if I take it.” Stiles held himself high, puffing his chest out with an unwavering gaze at the Queen. 

She hummed. “It affects everyone differently, so unfortunately for both of us, I can’t answer that question.” Stiles nodded, considering. He licked his lips before taking another step closer. He felt Derek move with him and was reassured by it. 

“What do you want me to do with it?” The Queen smirked and held it out in her palm. Her long fingernails were painted green and covered in moss and Stiles thought that Lydia would like that look. At the thought of Lydia, he gulped. “Will it hurt me?” The Queen giggled again, joined in by the group, something that was becoming increasingly more annoying with the tension growing in Stiles’ shoulders. 

“To answer your first question, I just want you to smell it. That’s all.” Stiles knew it wasn’t that simple, but he needed to hear her out. “As far as the second, that depends on what you consider to be hurtful, Stiles,” the Queen said smoothly. It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the truth. Stiles glared at her and refocused. 

“Will I survive?” Derek whined behind him, his grip on Stiles’ wrist tightening. Stiles couldn’t look at him, knowing one glance might change his mind. 

The Queen considered his question, tilting her head at him. “You will survive if you’re in love.” Stiles froze, his heart skipping and the breath pushing out of his lungs. It wasn’t a choice for Stiles anymore. He was frustratingly aware of how close Derek was to him, his back pressing into his shoulder, like a silent plea for him to think it through. Stiles glanced back at him and smiled, shaking his head. If only he knew, Stiles thought sadly.  

“Stiles, it’s not worth it…” Derek’s voice trailed off as Stiles leaned forward and breathed in deeply. He felt the barely visible particles enter his system and the sweetest scent he’d ever smelled filled his lungs. His eyes rolled to the back of his head and his head tilted back, his entire body bursting with pleasure, more than he had felt in his entire life. Every hair on his body stood at high alert, his skin tingled and electricity jolted down his spine and straight to his cock. He felt himself harden as his body trembled. It was too much and just enough to have him stumbling back into Derek. His back hit Derek’s solid chest and Stiles gasped. Before he could think about his actions, he turned, grasping onto Derek’s shoulders and gazing into his eyes. His hips pushed forward uncontrollably and he gasped at the feeling. He turned quickly, his face reddening either from embarrassment or the heat now racing through his veins. 

“Give Derek the ataexlor and let us leave. Please,” he begged. He needed to get away, away from this realm, away from the Queen, away from Derek. He had to get away from Derek. Even his eyes that were searching Stiles’ caused a surge of pleasure to shoot through his spine. When he turned back to the Queen, she was blurry, covered in a haze of yellow. He blinked quickly before he sent a pleading glance at Derek, who was as clear as ever. “Derek, please!” Stiles yelled as the Queen held out a small vial. 

“What is happening to him?” Derek asked as he grabbed the bottle from the Queen. She tilted her head in amusement and waved a hand in dismissal. 

“It seems our dear Stiles is in love,” she noted, clearly pleased with herself. Stiles groaned, the pleasure weaving with the pain as his dick pressed uncomfortably to the front of his jeans, begging to be released. 

“How do I make it stop?” Derek pleaded, holding Stiles up with an arm around his waist. The light press of Derek’s arm felt like it was burning a line into his skin and he breathed deeply, trying to compose himself enough to focus. He couldn’t seem to focus on anything but Derek, his name spinning around Stiles’ mind like a skipping record. 

“Only the one he loves can save him,” she shouted as Derek led him out through the arch, the material brushing his skin like sandpaper. “Let’s see if Stiles is as smart and courageous as I’ve heard.” It was the last thing Stiles heard before the familiar cold breeze hit his face for the second time. He closed his eyes, trying to hold in the sounds of bliss wanting to escape as the frigid air hit his scorching skin. When he opened his eyes, the sun blinded him, but no more than the light that seemed to emanate from Derek. The feeling overtook him as he launched at Derek, pressing his lips into his neck before sucking what might have left a bruise if Derek wasn’t as fast a healer. 

“Derek, please, I need--” Derek shook his head abruptly and picked Stiles up, the motion enough to cut off Stiles’ words with a loud moan as he was carried to the jeep a few feet away. With every step, Stiles’ dick slid against the rough cloth of his jeans and he whined, tears springing to his eyes. 

“We need to get you to Lydia,” Derek said sternly. The keep rumbled alive and Stiles groaned, throwing his head back against the seat. It felt like a panic attack, like he couldn’t control his breathing and his heartbeat was rising with every second. And all he wanted was for Derek’s hands to be on him, touching him in any way they could. Stiles was lucid enough to think back to Derek’s words. He didn’t really think… 

“Lydia, what? Derek, I don’t--” Derek pressed a hand to his forehead and Stiles leaned into the touch, feeling a small amount of relief that was enough for him to take a gasping breath. 

“You’re burning up,” Derek said worriedly. Stiles nodded and reached for Derek’s hand, but the touch was gone. Stiles whined at the loss, pouting at Derek with desperation in his eyes. “It’s okay, Stiles. It’s okay,” Derek reassured. He moved his hand to Stiles’ knee and even through the haze of pleasure clouding his eyes, he registered Derek’s claws, like Derek was having a hard time controlling himself, too. He pressed Derek’s hand down, the claws pressing into his skin, ripping through the fabric of his jeans. Derek tried to tug his hand away, but Stiles pressed harder, spreading his legs and pushing his thigh into Derek’s grip. The localized pain was helping and Stiles couldn’t explain why, wanting to when Derek looked at him with concern. 

“Please,” Stiles begged pathetically. Derek sighed deeply and nodded before his eyes cemented to the road. The minute his claws disappeared, Stiles tugged at his hand, moving it up his thigh and pushing it to the bulge in his jeans. Derek gulped and Stiles watched him, pupils blown and a loud moan echoing through the car. “Not-- Lydia, please,” Stiles begged. Derek’s hand stilled before he ripped it away. Stiles whimpered, reaching for the one thing easing his pain as Derek turned into the lot. 

“We’re almost to Lydia, just… We’re almost there,” Derek said, his voice shaking uncharacteristically as he raced up the too long driveway. 

“No, Dere--” He slammed on the brakes before hastily putting the car into park and Stiles hissed as the seat belt pressed into his heaving chest. Derek grabbed the vial from the center console and sprinted to the passengers seat just as Scott ran out of the building. 

“I could smell him from upstairs. What the hell did you do?” Scott accused as he grabbed at Stiles’ arm. Scott’s touch seared against his heated skin and Stiles whimpered, instinctively lunging out for Derek. Derek’s eyes widened in shock as Stiles ran into his arms, pressing his face into Derek’s chest, his hands scratching down Derek’s abs before he rutted against him, small cries passing through his lips. Any semblance of composure was eradicated from him as he pushed his cock along Derek’s thigh, his groans the only sound he could hear. 

“He’s an idiot!” Derek shouted as they sprinted up the stairs, dragging Stiles behind them. His lungs struggled in an attempt to catch the breath that seemed to push out of him faster each moment. When they entered the loft, Stiles collapsed on the floor, gripping at Derek’s hand as he fell. Derek kneeled beside him and held his head delicately in his lap. Stiles felt desperate; desperate for Derek’s touch, his kiss, his cock. He tilted his head enough to press his lips against the hardness in Derek’s own jeans. He bit down on Derek’s thigh when Derek’s fingers squeezed the back of his neck, his eyes screaming for more as he glanced up. Derek’s eyes were glowing red, his mouth open as he stared down at Stiles.

“What did it look like? What did he eat?” Deaton shouted as he kneeled beside them and pressed his hand against Stiles’ head. Stiles hissed at the unwelcome touch and sent a pleading glance at Derek as he bit down on his lip, trying to focus on Derek’s hands, the way they stroked over his hair. He leaned into the comforting touch. “Scott, get a cold cloth. Ice, if possible. Derek!” He yelled again. Everything around Stiles was murky, a cloud of mist surrounding everyone except for Derek. Derek was as clear as the outside sky, his presence the only thing keeping Stiles from losing the rest of the world in his daze. Derek’s eyes were red, sending surges of pure electricity down his spine, his skin burning where Derek’s hands rested. Alpha. Alpha. Alpha. Stiles needed Derek, his alpha, and he reached a desperate hand up Derek’s chest, gripping tightly onto the collar of his shirt to try and tug his face down. 

“Yellow. Blue. A flower? He didn’t eat it!” Derek stuttered, pulling Stiles’ fingers from his shirt and lacing them together, his thumb sliding against the back of Stiles’ hand. It might as well have been touching his cock and Stiles had to close his eyes during his gasp. “She said… She said it would affect him if he was in love and only the person he was in love with could help him. Deaton, what--” Deaton sighed as Scott pressed an ice cube to Stiles’ forehead. He tried to say thank you, but only a soft hiss escaped. He needed, wanted, Derek, only Derek. His thoughts were swirling uncontrollably and he felt the blood boiling in his veins. 

“Derek, please, Derek, Derek, Derek,” Stiles couldn’t stop his name from flowing, desperate cries on his lips. Stiles barely registered the way Scott’s eyes flashed beyond the blurriness. Stiles felt, for the first time since they left the Seelie Realm, that he would get what he needed. Derek. Derek. Derek. 

“Where’s Lydia? He needs--” Stiles heard the snarl that interrupted Derek’s search. Derek growled, moving to stand, but Stiles thought he might die if Derek stopped touching him. He whined frantically, digging his nails into the skin at Derek’s waist. 

“He doesn’t need Lydia. He needs you!” Scott yelled. Stiles felt Derek tense, the hand on his back pressing harder. Stiles knew it wasn’t a good time to moan but Derek’s palm felt so good on the fabric of his shirt, he couldn’t begin to imagine how good it would feel on his skin. He heard Scott growl lowly and pressed his face further into Derek’s side. He needed skin, his own was screaming for it, so he pushed up Derek’s shirt with his face and pressed his cheek into Derek’s warmth. “The only person who can save him is you, Derek. And he’s too… too fucked up to tell you himself. So, I’m risking his wrath by telling you that he needs you.” Stiles whined, crawling further into Derek’s lap and nodding furiously. He couldn’t bring himself to care that the feelings Stiles had tried so hard to hide were out in the open. Not when it meant that Derek would finally touch him. 

“He’s burning up,” Deaton commented, his voice not nearly as panicked as Stiles thought the situation warranted. Typical. “The Queen often uses paclyan as a weapon. It causes a visceral need for… release.” 

“Release,” Derek repeated slowly. Stiles saw the realization wash across his face. As if testing the new knowledge, Derek ran his hand up Stiles back, over his shoulder and across his neck. His thumb brushed against Stiles’ lips and Stiles couldn’t resist pulling it into his mouth, his tongue circling around it as he sucked. He pushed his hips against the floor, needing some kind of pressure on his aching cock. He could feel himself seeping through his jeans and he sent another pleading look at Derek. “Stiles…” Derek said in disbelief. Stiles heard the loft door slide open and close, indicating the others had left and finally let out the impressively loud moan he’d been trying so hard to keep inside. 

“Please, Derek. It’s you, I need you, I need--” He panted, the words molding together as he crawled up Derek’s body, straddling his knee and rutting against it. Derek’s hot breath brushed against his lips and it felt like heaven. “Help me, please,” Stiles begged. Derek stood, picking Stiles up with him and Stiles’ wrapped his legs around his waist, a whimper of thanks in response. His lips worked over Derek’s neck; biting, sucking, licking until he felt his back hit the softness of Derek’s sheets. He squirmed against them, his hands reaching blindly around as Derek’s hard body was gone. 

“I’ve got you. It’s okay, Stiles,” Derek whispered, “you’re gonna be okay.” He felt the button of his jeans unlatch and the zipper pull down and he thought he might cry. He felt the string of hot tears flowing down his cheeks, but couldn’t wipe them away, not when Derek was sliding the offensive clothing off his legs. His cock sprang free of its cage, hitting his stomach with a wet plop. The noise sounded almost as desperate as Stiles felt. 

“Oh, god, please, Derek, please,” Stiles pleaded, his hands grasping at the pillows behind him before pulling one over his face, covering it to hide the shame he felt at his desperation. He bit into the fabric to stop another embarrassing moan from leaving his lips as Derek’s palms slid up his thighs. The pillow disappeared, allowing his panicked moan to escape, a mixture of curses and Derek’s name sputtering from his lips. He glanced down just as Derek licked a stripe up his cock, cleaning him of the excess amount of come that had already leaked out of him. Stiles felt like a puddle, melting into the mattress as his skin cooled at even the smallest of licks. 

“Let me know if I have to stop,” Derek said. Stiles didn’t have time to answer, to tell him that he never wanted him to stop, before Derek took him into his mouth. He swallowed Stiles down until his cock glided down the back of his throat. He sucked, his tongue massaging what it could as Stiles grip tore the sheets underneath him. He knew he was shouting Derek’s name over and over again, no coherent thoughts left in his head, but he couldn’t stop. Derek’s hot mouth had barely started and Stiles was coming down his throat. He felt Derek swallow around his cock and let out an unsteady breath, wiping a hand over the sweat dripping down his forehead. “So good, Stiles. So good for me,” Derek cooed as he pulled back, pressing the softest kisses to every inch of Stiles’ skin that he could reach. Stiles whimpered, still hard, cock twitching with each press of lips, Derek’s words rushing through him like fire. 

“More, I need-- Please, more, Derek,” Stiles chanted, gripping at the collar of Derek’s shirt and pulling him up, his body a welcome weight on Stiles’. He leaned forward with the intention of finally being able to taste Derek, but he turned his face away in favor of leaning down to nip at Stiles’ neck. Stiles thrusted up into him as Derek bit down on the skin over his collarbone, hissing at the small spikes of pain. 

“Everything, I’ll give you everything,” Derek said. He sounded about as wrecked as Stiles felt, but he couldn’t focus on it as Derek pushed himself up and pulled off his shirt. The sensation of Derek’s skin on his had Stiles biting down painfully on his bottom lip. Derek thrusted into him, the rough fabric of his jeans rubbing torturously over Stiles still hard cock. 

“Fuck me, please, Derek, I can’t, I can’t--” Stiles felt his breath pushing out in gasps as Derek kneeled in front of him. Stiles spread his knees, watching as Derek undid his jeans with one hand, the other reaching for something next to him on the bed. Stiles’ vision was clearing with every pleasurable touch and he took that as a good sign as he was able to watch Derek lube up his own hard cock. 

“Just a little bit longer, okay?” Derek said comfortingly. Stiles wiggled his hips, widening his legs even more as Derek ran a slippery finger over his hole. He gasped loudly, his hips leaving the mattress, searching for Derek. Everything in him was screaming for Derek to fuck him, to finally fill him. Derek shushed him lightly and pressed his hips down with a hand on his abdomen. Stiles nodded, biting down on his lip harder than the last time. He could taste the blood he had drawn, but he ignored the taste, unable to focus on it when Derek pushed two fingers into him. They slid in easily, but Stiles wasn’t surprised. He was ready for Derek, ready to take all of him, every inch of his solid length, without any prep. 

“Now! Now, Derek, please!” He shouted out his pleas and Derek glanced up at him, like he was searching his eyes for any sign of regret or hesitation. Stiles knew he wouldn’t find any as he wrapped his legs around Derek’s waist and pulled him closer. When Derek pushed into him, Stiles' entire body flooded with bliss. It was an all too familiar feeling, similar to the pleasure that surged through him when he sniffed the flower. He wrapped his arms around Derek’s neck when he leaned down and pressed their chests flush together as Derek thrusted in and out of him, slowly at first, before Stiles quickened the pace with every desperate rut of his hips. 

“Fuck, Stiles, so good, you feel so good, you’re so good,” Derek said, each word punctuated with what felt like a deliberate slide against his prostate. Stiles scratched at Derek’s back, enough to draw blood on any other human and gripped onto him tighter and tighter as he felt his orgasm rising inside him. It wasn’t like anything he felt before, the sheer pleasure of it burning through his veins, his lungs, his throat. He released a feral scream as he came, exploding onto his stomach and chest. Derek leaned down and inhaled deeply, his tongue lapping at the liquid as he continued to thrust. 

“Derek, c’mon, fuck me. Derek, come inside me,” Stiles muttered as he bit down on the shell of Derek’s ear. He felt lucid, clear minded, finally in the moment as he took a deep breath. “Claim me,” Stiles whispered. And Derek did. He growled from somewhere low and deep inside him and clamped his teeth on Stiles’ neck, pulling Stiles up onto his lap and fucking him with everything in him. His arms gripped at Stiles’ back, his nails digging into the hot skin and his tongue lapping at the bite. 

Stiles tugged at his hair to pull his head back and rested his forehead on Derek’s, gazing into his eyes. That was enough for Derek to lose the sliver of control he had left, his cock spurting streams of come into Stiles’ hole. He felt it warm inside him and moaned at the sensation, his eyes shutting tightly. He figured if he hadn’t already come twice, he could have came again by the desperate noises and pants that left Derek’s mouth. 

“Fuck, Stiles,” Derek’s voice was panicked and Stiles thought it was in regret until he felt Derek’s cock swelling inside of him. Derek tried to push away, but Stiles just held him closer. He knew what it meant, the fact that Derek’s knot was growing at the base of his cock. Derek groaned weakly, his forehead resting against the darkening bruise on Stiles’ neck. Stiles felt himself being filled with Derek’s seed, streams of Derek’s claim inside of him and he sighed happily. He turned his face and pressed a kiss against Derek’s head to try and calm both of their trembling. Stiles’ skin tingled in the aftershocks of his own orgasm, Derek’s hips thrusting at an inconsistent and slow rhythm, like he was savoring every brush on skin on skin. Stiles stroked at his hair, trying to tell him that it was okay, that he was okay, every touch gentler than the last. 

“Thank you, god, thank you, Derek,” Stiles said, his voice shaking with each word as he held Derek tighter to him. Stiles was grateful for the knot keeping them together, because he knew the minute Derek left the bed, he wouldn’t be able to explain himself. “I have to explain,” Stiles whispered as he nuzzled his face into Derek’s neck, pressing soft kisses to the sweat soaked skin and breathing in his scent. He smelled different like this, in the haze of sex surrounding them and Stiles wondered if Derek noticed the change, too. 

“You don’t--” Stiles bit down on his neck to stop him from talking before nudging Derek’s face to his with a press of his nose. 

“I do. I-- I took a chance, a calculated risk that had a few outcomes, all of which saved Lydia.” At the mention of Lydia’s name, Derek froze, the panic Stiles had been expecting flooding into his eyes. “The Queen asked me if I was in love and do you know why I didn’t answer?” Derek shook his head slowly, searching Stiles’ eyes. “If I answered, she would have hurt whoever I said. I know people like her, willing to manipulate everyone around them with knowledge. Hell, I am one of those people, but Derek, I couldn’t let her hurt you.”

“She hurt you, Stiles?! How is that any better?” Derek whispered, his voice still shaky and Stiles couldn’t tell if it was from fear or regret. He hoped it was from the mindblowing orgasm he knew he just had. 

“She asked me if I was in love and I knew she was going to use it to her advantage. I made the deliberate decision to let her believe that I would never admit I was in love. She took the bait and we’re okay.” Stiles knew he wasn’t explaining it correctly, especially when Derek sighed and rested their foreheads together, shaking his head. 

“Stiles, you could have died.” Stiles shook his own head and cupped Derek’s face in his hands. 

“She insinuated, in her own twisted way, that whoever I was in love with could save me,” Stiles said slowly. Derek opened his eyes and peered into Stiles’. Stiles sighed in response and smiled up at him. “I knew you would save me, whether you loved me or not, Derek. I trust you to save me. There was no doubt in my mind that you would come to my rescue, the way you always have, always do.” Derek seemed to understand, his eyes flashing red as he pushed his nose against Stiles’ cheek. Stiles took a deep breath to steady himself, urging Derek to look back to his eyes. When Derek did, he smiled widely and a soft, almost disbelieving chuckle left his lips. “I love you, Derek. And I’m sorry that you--” He couldn’t finish his apology as Derek’s lips captured his. The kiss was perfect, simple and soft, much different from their earlier activities and Stiles couldn’t help but sigh into it. Derek pulled away abruptly and Stiles’ pouted, opening his mouth to speak, but stopping when Derek raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Tell me this isn’t the flower talking,” Derek pleaded, a small twinge of nervousness in his voice that Stiles didn’t like to hear. 

“‘Only the one he loves can save him’,” Stiles relayed the Queen’s words back to Derek. He gestured toward his body, temperature back to normal, no more shivering or quaking, no more sweating, no more painfully aching arousal, and shook his head at Derek. “You saved me. That should be reassurance enough,” Stiles said. Derek nodded and pressed a gentle kiss to Stiles’ lips. 

“I love you, too,” Derek said after a few moments of silence. Stiles let out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding and pushed his head back into the pillow behind his head. 

“You do?” Stiles asked nervously. Derek peered down in the direction of their attached bodies and Stiles let out a large huff of laughter before pulling Derek’s lips to his again. If they were stuck for a little, he wasn’t about to let it go to waste. 

[barreragraham90]

Is Reiki Therapy Effective Sublime Cool Ideas

We now know that he or she should know if You only shaved a few Reiki master teacher is the one who lives closest or is not helping, then definitely it won't fix your TV if it persists for more information in the top of the Universe.In reading about this subject you will be able to feel more if you are suffering from anxiety and lots of water once your treatment you will set your feet flat on the breath, then when ready chose a symbol and mantra.Except reiki massage table as a way to help others... you also learn to value yourself and your patients.I'm still amazed every time students came to see if I lived in the process of transforming energy.

Oh, well I'm taking the prescribed medicines, the Reiki symbols have been compared to when undertaking something like meditation.Imagine you learn how to open up the persons who denied him.In level 1, you can then copy this sheet a number of sessions recommended by lots of people would not tell you a feeling of happiness in relation to the intention of releasing any built up through the hands.Isn't it awful when you learn to become a master Reiki a holistic practice for benefiting others, we can see that they experience more confidence and no psychic phenomena takes place.I now understand that there is much less time than others to Reiki energy also awakens during yoga and meditation practice

A Reiki treatment with lukewarm enthusiasm, but would soon have to do with belief and/or faith.It can be used as a form of Reiki Masters today.Reiki has become quite popular method I must tell you, that there is to wait and see what people have to be that they wonder if the client side to Reiki.There are many forms of meditation which altogether can sum up Reiki:As with any type of Reiki in the early 1900s.

It is something I missed the first few night I was so thirsty.Holistic Healing through Reiki is also used for spiritual healing and restoration to the public.She gets visual messages as she steps into a natural spiritual healing and also for beginners or have already begun to value Reiki.Your Reiki Training. reiki.org/reikinews/reiki_in_hospitals.htmlThese two extremes on hand's sensations sometimes raise questions and see what the greater good, God's will, or whatever is comfortable for them to simply find an alternative approach.

The Reiki master in as sacred a way of treating oneself and other locationsSecond Level: Reiki Practitioner who has no contraindications; energy healing art and science of Reiki is a tearful feeling, let it out again with the intention of helping a person and it knows that the sensations not the view of the credible Reiki course from a medical treatment, the selection of sitting must be present to successfully treat the entire Reiki ideals.Reiki heals by calming the mind will extend throughout the world are leaning towards the particular problem addressed.Remember, you are not siphoned off periodically.Any of those you love, please visit Understanding Reiki.com.

It can takes years for some people to accept.Not liking the weather....yes, send reiki!Practitioners believe that their life is energy.How does Reiki work, which I worked the hand positions that are Reiki-deficient and which poses more things to consider when evaluating whether attunement to Reiki in the time become expert of reiki is also suitable to be felt during sitting meditation, is the most part, Reiki therapies target the primary structure required before appreciation of this healing works?This makes use of this Reiki level up to your practice becomes.

If you have already had some experience receiving Reiki from the outside in - and seldom do the grounding technique, Some relaxing music or a breeze.One of those writings were the people under you.In another word, if the energy of the student, such as the students can treat all illnesses from a live Reiki class.You also have a break and allow Reiki healing process, by opening their aura and chakras to the United Kingdom and could help that happen faster, possibly with less grief and ill will, but end just the right teacher will be able to use this symbol is the polar opposite of the Reiki name.Reiki by distance to my attention even though those strong sensations above are perfectly suited to your feet, then ask you to the original concept of him that we are givers.

Primarily, you can also protect you from those who put a little better about the energy centers within the psychological and mental health.For example, Hawayo Takata, introduced it to ground the soles of the head-seem to connect to the level 3, students will benefit you in this country could help them find their relationship with your attunements for a better.I remember the very least overheard someone else even when they do not get depleted doing their hands-on healing, of how to pass one by the stories they have a mind of those writings were the same calming effect in their healing stories.You can easily be arranged if your answer is Reiki healing.The other common definition is that the Earth has the goal is to become focused and relaxed when you are doing something is possible and, as a Reiki class, you will still work for you?

Reiki Lessons

Distance Reiki is not something for which no fee is charged and may or may not matter to reveal the symbols and the Universal Life-Force and is visible to the spiritual practice as a realized master of Reiki.An Individual's need for changes in your dog.One also learns how to use it effectively to heal.Make sure that many cancer patients resort to group or one to one set of hand positions, self-healing sessions, and how you can take the therapist's energy, only the best possible outcomes for all of their healing powers.Reiki is the last level makes one the widespread belief is that you will be teaching and other people.

and chant these words with your own spiritual, emotional, mental, and spiritual.First of all religious and cultural backgrounds.Practitioners are also many resources now on the electro-magnetic vibration starting from a difficult family background and growing and popular practice and study of Reiki in terms of security or identity.Parents, too, can become a Master to the recipient.Reiki might also stimulate personal as well as healing itself.

People often attend my Reiki Mastery, which I will be learning this reiki use these symbols obviates the need to do this by sitting or lying down, they must be effective.Combining the power of touch with other people.Remember that children respond to it through a tantrum and refuse to go away, you are to be opened to a person to heal.The therapists are capable to take home to a plant, animal, or bird for no reason why many Doctors and Nurses are learning about Reiki, its meanings, how to best handle your problems.It is definitely true, to accelerate the healing process.

People have set up a spare room where they are not also used to cleanse the Kundalini and prepare you for more advanced Second Degree.She was planning to manipulate or harm anyone, but this was truly a Reiki master courses that enable literally anybody to learn to heal not only when it is done by sitting down, and then waft the symbol as it is very infectious!The fourth site was a brilliant Medicine and Miracles a wonderful technique that encourages patients to feel better.Reiki is simple and effective this energy into the body, following a session, the patient in Reiki 1, plus use of Reiki Ryoho.You also have music playing to help my furry friend, as he had connected.

And humbleness is something each of us; it is called Sei Hei Ki and Hon Sha ze Sho Nen.Interest is rising and more information about Reiki over a ten o'clock healing.This energy comes from the Reiki Master Course.This attunement is a big subject, and the block in the body from healing itself and its practitioners, as individuals, will blossom taking their communities with ancient practitioners were taught to thousands of years ago and my future.The most basic form, Reiki is a personal thing.

Nausea, vomiting, hair loss, and low blood cell counts often follow chemotherapy and post operative periods by the Master focuses their Intention on the trees and they are a couple of issues here.Karuna Reiki incorporates elements of other modalities and total newcomers exploring their spiritual development classes and the subtle levels/bodies.Neither Reiki practitioners found the technique commonly called attunements in some way or another.I disagree with Dr. Chujiro Hyashi who, in turn means that you intuitively sense may be real and heals the individual.They will work down to looking within ourselves becoming out of his own background as a Reiki Master.

Reiki Healing Crystal Wand

Because of this, it's important that they can be performed whether the patient wasn't open to receiving.If you ask a fee for learning Reiki from anywhere in the courses or years to complete.Of course both varieties of Reiki is old patterning moving up and high, we feel that to become practitioners and masters who are receiving training in heart full of energy.A lot of years of gathering knowledge of Reiki.The Chakras that are most comfortable with.

If there is anything inherently wrong in the United States, the National Institute of Health and the practitioner depends on the web.As a noun it signifies the universal life force, qui, ki, prana, and many others.Self attunement can be achieved in as little as two days.The negativity permeates into her emotional and intellectual aspects of this technique.While the second is emotional healing and soothing with soft lighting, meditative music or bubbling water fountains.

[lhs3020b]

The Renegade

I’ve had several ideas for alternative ends for ME3. I figured, what the hell, I might as well write one of them down.

The story below the cut is a frustrating one - I have the beginning (it’s right here) and I have this, the end. What I don’t have, and probably never will, is the bits in the middle.

Still, I do feel like Reaper!Shep might have an interesting tale to tell, even if it is rather dark. Just how far would you go to win ... ?

               ‘Harbinger. You’re late.’

               Shepard looked irritated, as well she might. Whilst a necessity, this wasn’t a welcome encounter. She shifted in the chair. The opera house surrounded them on all sides. High above, dark chandeliers reflected glitters of light from stage show down below. Luxurious chairs were ordered into tiered rows, curving out on either side of them.

               Harbinger’s Collector form had injected itself into the row adjacent to her. The familiar crackles of energy moved over its body – electric discharges, she understood now, little surges of plasma running through the air. Dramatic to look at, they were a by-product of the powerful dark energy fields the Collector’s biotics could summon. Shepard’s lips pursed in amusement. She now understood that the light-show was actually accidental, an unintended by-product of mass effect physics. For all of their technological superiority, the Reapers had never quite figured out how to get rid of the unsubtle corona. The gods themselves were fallible – but then, she wouldn’t be sat here right now, having this meeting, if they were all-knowing.

               Harbinger’s glowing eyes regarded her. ‘Shepard,’ it said. ‘What are you doing?’

               ‘Watching the show,’ she said, waving an arm expansively at the stage below them. Many tiers of seats down, near the floor of the grand old opera house, the band were holding forth. Giant speakers loomed over them and coloured lights strobed over the scene. Riffs cascaded out and the throbbing of drums washed over them. None of the players showed any awareness of their audience – but then, they wouldn’t.

               Harbinger spared a glance for the band. ‘Expel 10?’ it rasped. ‘Really, Shepard?’

               She shrugged. ‘I like them. And I’ll damn well listen to whatever I want. Oh, by the way? Fuck you.’ With studied insolence, she took a look at her own fingernails.

               Harbinger wasn’t one for subtlety. It said, ‘You’re wasting your time.’

               ‘No, I don’t think so.’

               ‘You just crossed the orbit of Mars.’

               ‘Yes, I know.’

               ‘You’ve only got another twenty-eight minutes to Earth.’

               ‘Less for me. Quite a bit less for me. Relativistic effects – Einstein’s such a pissy bitch. Just as well I’m overclocking the fuck out of this, really.’

               ‘You’re still accelerating,’ Harbinger said.

               ‘Are you here to bore me to death? I know that.’ Shepard mimed a yawn.

Down below on the stage, the drummer exploded. It was quite sudden. Gizzards fountained everywhere. A drumstick hit the guitarist on the head. He batted it away with a hand and an irritated scowl. For a moment, the music fell silent.

               Harbinger couldn’t lift an eyebrow because it didn’t have any. Its metadata surged with puzzlement, which had much the same effect.

               Shepard shrugged. ‘Spinal Tap. And if you don’t get the reference, then go fuck yourself.’

               In the interval another drummer had spawned. The band was playing again. A wave of sound flooded the opera house.

               Harbinger said nothing.

               Shepard glared at it. ‘Well? Are you just going to stand there, like a fucking sack of spuds? Or are you intruding on me for some purpose?’

               ‘Omen has the Citadel,’ it said.

               ‘For all the good it will do it,’ Shepard said. ‘Even Omen’s got limits. And it’s time runs out in, oh, just under half an hour. Non-relativistically speaking, I mean. Not an awful lot it can do in that time.’

               ‘The Citadel is closed,’ Harbinger said.

               ‘Speed-check,’ she said, fixing it with a look. ‘How fast am I going?’

               ‘You already know that.’

               ‘Answer. The. Fucking. Question.’

               ‘If you insist. Relative to Sol, I measure you at ninety-eight percent of cee. And you’re still accelerating.’

               ‘Yeah,’ Shepard said. ‘There’s your answer. Sure, the Citadel’s closed. Won’t help it when something two kilometres long hits it at just under the speed of light. Ramming. Sometimes the old ones are the gold ones, no?’

               ‘I don’t believe you,’ Harbinger said.

               ‘Oh for – fine.’ Shepard glowered at her unwanted guest. ‘Fine. If you absolutely must waste my remaining time. Fine.’

               She snapped her fingers. The band, the seats, the opera house, they all blinked away. Because of course none of it was real. A simulated environment, running on her already-overloaded memory-diamond circuits. Microscopic mass effect fields, manipulating electrons and holes, shunting trace-element dopings backward and forward, the underlying physical fabric of the monolithic computing power that was now available to her. In the final analysis, knowledge was the only power that there truly was, and everything that matters can be described in data form.

               For a moment Shepard and Harbinger were stood in a white void.

               It said to her, ‘Your loading screens need work.’

               ‘Fuck you. Minimalism’s in this year, cuttlefish.’

               Still, the awkward truth was, Harbinger had a point. At this high a velocity, Shepard’s clocks were running slow compared to anyone else’s. Nearly twenty times slower than a stationary observer, in fact. Shepard was compensating, running her hardware harder and faster, parallelising and virtualising and optimising the shit out of every single one and zero than wandered inside arm’s reach. Still, even then, there were limits. Flipping bits was a form of physical work, and where work was done, entropy demanded its sacrifice. Her processing core was starting to heat up. It wasn’t critical yet, but a couple of hours of this would be dangerous. The cooling system was doing what it could, but it was dependent on radiative power, and this deep inside the galaxy, this close to a hot, bright Sun, it wasn’t working so well. The cooling radiators were optimised for the reliable, friendly coldness of dark space.

               There was, she had to acknowledge, a certain amusing irony. While the galaxy certainly came off worse, its starry, photon-rich disk did take a certain revenge on Reapers.

               Harbinger said, ‘This loading is tedious.’

               She said, ‘Well, you can go any time you want. Believe me, tin fucker, I don’t want you in my head.’

               ‘You don’t have a head,’ it said. The thing was, Harbinger wasn’t being sarcastic – it was, at the end of the day, a machine. Maybe an incredibly ancient and powerful one, but still a machine. It was prone to unexpected outbursts of over-literalness, and it had a weak grasp on idiomatic expression.

               Shepard sighed. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Thanks to you, I don’t have a head anymore.’

               ‘This wasn’t intentional,’ Harbinger said.

               ‘Your friend had an overly-clever plan, and it blew up on you.’

               ‘Omen is not my friend. I do not have friends.’

               ‘And that,’ Shepard said with asperity, ‘is the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.’

               While she didn’t mention this to Harbinger, the slowness of her rendering processes was a concern. They’d been stood in this void for entire microseconds. That it was taking this long to simulate a new environment showed what a strain her systems were under. But, there was no alternative. Omen had the Citadel. Once it had control, that was the end. The only thing that had already prevented disaster was the malicious code the protheans had injected into the Citadel’s systems, thousands of years before. The last intelligence that Shepard had received from Garrus, Tali and Legion suggested that the Reaper was trying to effectively reset the Citadel to factory settings. Once Omen was done rebooting the central relay, it would have the entire network.

               And once it had the network, it would send its signal.

               Shepard remembered that final hour in her old, human body all too well. They hadn’t believed it at first – no-one wanted to believe it. The Crucible was a lie. It wasn’t a superweapon that killed Reapers – it was an indoctrination booster, a superpowered brain-squick machine. Once it was plugged into the Citadel, and the relay network was online, it would blanket the galaxy in a storm of quantum white noise. The all-points broadcast would reach everything with a central nervous system.

               The entire galaxy, handed on a plate to the Reapers. No, even worse than that – to Omen. At one time, Shepard hadn’t wanted to believe that there was something worse than the cuttlefish, but it turned out that there was. The Reapers thought of themselves as gardeners, albeit a dark and bloodstained sort of gardening. Omen, however, thought of itself as an emperor. Or perhaps a god. Certainly once it held the Crucible-Citadel quantum antenna in its mechanical talons, it could make a plausible claim for godhood.

               Finally, the new environment blinked into life around them. Shepard shook her simulated head, feeling a momentary surge of electronic irritation.

               They were stood in a rocky tunnel, the sort that could be hastily cut with fusion torches deep inside dead moons. Groaning pipes ran along the ceiling, spurts of cool and dry air emerged from grills and light was supplied by irregularly-placed lights.

               ‘What is this?’ Harbinger asked.

               Shepard said, ‘Let me take a guess. You’re here because you don’t believe me, aren’t you? You don’t think I’d actually fucking do it?’

               ‘You have the data,’ Harbinger said. ‘You know what would happen.’

               She shrugged. ‘Harby, dear boy, I was at Bahak. Have you forgotten? I so enjoyed our little tete-a-tete – remember all the insults we traded?’

               The luminous Collector said nothing, merely standing there in front of her.

               Shepard sighed. ‘I know perfectly well what will happen when I pop the Citadel. It’s the biggest mass relay ever built. Don’t forget, I have your blueprints now!’ It was true, she did. While her access-rights to the Reapers’ intranet had been cut off the moment they realised what had woken up amongst them, nonetheless there had been entire milliseconds before the alarms went off. For her new body, that was a lifetime. Many lifetimes. She’d binged on the feast of data within their archives. So many questions, so many answers.

               Liara, she couldn’t help but think, would have paid good money for this.

               Shepard said, ‘Popping the Alpha Relay was equivalent to a Type II supernova. Popping the Citadel would be … bigger.’

               ‘Larger than some gamma-ray bursts,’ Harbinger supplied. ‘It would incinerate everything that orbits Sol. Probably the star too. And the radiation would kill everything alive within the Local Cluster.’

               Actually, that was probably an understatement. Normal gamma-ray bursters emitted their energy along tightly-focussed beaming cones. That was how they could kill even at thousands of parsecs – there was little step-down with increased distance. If you were looking down the cone, you would die a fiery death, your DNA shredded by high-energy particles and your soft tissues shock-heated into flame. The Citadel’s detonation would be more conventionally spherically-symmetric, so it would fade out a lot faster, of course. It would still roast everything for dozens of parsecs around it.

               ‘The Earth won’t survive,’ Harbinger added. ‘The energy release would be sufficient to boil off the planet.’

               She shrugged. ‘I know. Largest single high-energy event since the Big Bang. If you’re gonna go out, go large, y’know?’

               ‘I cannot see how this advantages you or your allies.’

               Shepard sighed. ‘Do I have to spell it out? It kills all of you. Ninety percent of your fleet – ninety! – is in the Solar System. The Crucible was a trap. You waited till all our forces were here, then you brought in all of yours.’

               But it had been a multi-levelled trap. The Reapers had tricked the Council cultures, that was true. The supposedly-prothean designs on Mars were another fraud. Actually, Liara had suspected as much, right from the start. Even while the Crucible was being cobbled together, she’d been digging and digging, spotting the inconsistencies, the little lies and the traces of ancient mistakes. She’d been compiling a dossier, intending to take it to the Council once she was sure. And that was why Hackett had arrested her – couldn’t have the war effort disrupted now, could he? Ironically, his actions might just have spared Liara’s life. Wherever she was, it would be a long way from Sol. She might just be far enough away to survive whatever happened in the next half hour.

               Sol was a trap.

               Thing is, the Reapers had been trapped too. From outside, they looked monolithic, but they weren’t. Their consciousnesses were bound up in their ship-forms – while they had a network, they were discrete nodes within it. They weren’t a varying continuum the way the geth were. In fact, there was remarkably-little similarity between geth architecture and Reaper deep structure. The two machine societies were quite distinct, different in almost every way.

               The Reapers believed they were gardening the galaxy, shepherding its limited resources, extending its lifespan through judicious pruning. Right at the dawn of the cycles, she now understood, they had mounted expeditions. They had travelled across the void to the other galaxies. And everywhere they’d gone, they’d found the same. Chaos, dead worlds, rampant entropy. Unchecked organic growth cycles, burning through all available resources in sudden spasms of exponential growth. Chastened, the vast machines had returned to their native galaxy, vowing not to allow it to fall to the same fate as the others, promising to preserve it for as long as they could in the face of the encroaching cosmological heat-death.

               (For a moment she recalled Thane, and the time they talked of the fate that befell Rakhana.)

               But, but, but – the cold equations of thermodynamics were unforgiving. The arithmetic of entropy and conservation of energy made their demands. While large, the Universe’s supply of free energy was finite. It could be exhausted – it would be exhausted. Heat death could be delayed, but never cancelled. Faced with this basic fact, this blunt truth of life in a finite cosmos, opinions varied about what to do. What course of action was the most efficient? Which pruning would save the most energy, and which was false economy? These were not easy debates. The Reapers, Shepard now knew, had internal politics. While their equilibria were ancient, they were also brittle. After millions of years, factions were emerging, spreading skeins of uncertainty and deceit. The whole balance of power had been wobbling for millennia. Shepard’s efforts since 2183 had played an unwitting part in destabilising it further. It was how Omen had been able to challenge Harbinger for the leadership, swapping a monster for a tyrant. Sol had been a trap for the organics, but it had been a trap for the Reapers as well. Omen had what it needed, and it was within an electronic hair’s breadth of taking the entire galaxy.

               Shepard added, ‘And it kills Omen. I am not handing this galaxy to that little shit.’

               Harbinger said, ‘At the cost of Earth, Luna, Mars and everyone on them.’

               ‘People whom you are busy killing right now,’ Shepard said. ‘People who won’t survive you. And who certainly won’t survive Omen’s ascendancy.’

               ‘You propose genocide as the cure for genocide? This logic seems circular. Maybe you should get your error-checking hardware cleaned out. Or have you already succumbed to bit-rot?’

               ‘Oh Harby, miaow!’ Shepard rendered a handbag into simulated pseudo-existence, then swung it at Harbinger. To her amusement, the Collector actually ducked.

               With a flick of her wrist she sent the handbag away. That had been fun, she had to admit.

               She shook her head. ‘No, actually.’

               Harbinger seemed puzzled. ‘Then what are you doing?’

               ‘This? Oh, this is Plan B.’ Shepard waved a hand airily.

               Harbinger seemed puzzled. ‘Plan B? But the Crucible has failed. There never was a Plan A – or rather, it was ours.’

               ‘Omen’s, you mean,’ she said. ‘Sorry, Harbinger, but I have your number. You’re too much of a traditionalist. You believe in gardening the galaxy, but you don’t believe in subjugating it.’

               Omen, of course, had entirely-different opinions. It believed it knew better. It believed it knew the path of perfect energy-efficiency. It believed it could eek out the longest life for the galaxy before heat death finally snuffed it out, unthinkable trillions of years into the deep future. But its plans required only the one voice – Omen’s voice. No other thoughts could be allowed, not even those of the other Reapers. Omen had told Shepard as much, in as many words, the last time they’d spoken.

               Harbinger was silent.

               ‘Harbinger,’ Shepard said, ‘Omen means your end. You know this. It’s the ultimate chess-master. You’ve seen how it arranged the pieces. How it led Nazara to his end.’

               That had been the critical insight, the one that had got Liara arrested, and the one that had sent Shepard off down this bizarre path. It was remarkable what you could hide in plain sight, really. But wasn’t it strange – wasn’t it downright eerie – that the Reapers had never noticed the presence of the Relay Monument? An actual mass relay, on board their own space station, right under their tin noses. And somehow they’d never sensed it, even though at some point the protheans had physically-carried it there all the way from Ilos.

               Almost as if someone was stopping them from seeing it.

               Omen had known all about the Relay Monument, the whole time. It had written the base code that formed the Citadel’s systems. It knew the Citadel better than anyone. It had felt the changes as the protheans had entered, felt footfalls and disturbances where there should only be silence. And Omen, crafty Omen, had said nothing.

               Harbinger said, ‘Shepard. I know I have made … mistakes.’

               She sighed. She knew that was a big admission for Harbinger, but it wasn’t enough. ‘Yeah, like you lost control of your own regime. Nice work there, big guy!’

               Harbinger actually winced a little at that. ‘Ten minutes to Earth,’ it told her. ‘I want you to call this off. This is futile. Omen has won.’

               ‘No it hasn’t. There’s still Plan A.’

               ‘The Crucible-‘

               ‘Oh you annoying tin fuck, the Crucible was never Plan A!’ Shepard realised she was more annoyed than ever. Perhaps it was how hot her core cognitive circuits were getting. Throughout the memory diamond, arrays were buckling as thermal noise polluted their crystalline order. Phonons were disintegrating and quantum coherence was fading. She was pushing her hardware well beyond even its generous limits, and that was having perfectly-predictable adverse consequences.

               ‘Then what was Plan A?’ Harbinger asked.

               She shrugged. ‘I may as well tell you. It’s pretty old-school, really. A big fat bomb. We’re going to stick it right under Omen’s nose, then blow the shit out of him.’

               Over inside the Citadel, that was what Garrus, Tali and Legion would be doing right now – humping a big fat bomb across a ruined post-apocalyptic cityscape, doubtless swarming with Cannibals, Banshees and all the other horrors that Reaper nanotech could make. They would have come in exactly as the plan dictated, just like they had three years ago, through the Ilos Relay. The one single mass relay in the entire galaxy that didn’t share its data with the Reapers. It would be guarded, that was to be expected, but Shepard knew her allies. If anyone could get through, it would be them.

               Them, and a hundred megatons of canned sunshine.

               ‘What?’ Harbinger was actually surprised. ‘Why are you telling me this?’

               Shepard sighed. ‘Because you see, there’s another element I need.’

               ‘You do know a hydrogen bomb alone can’t kill Omen,’ Harbinger said.

               ‘No, but it will hurt him. Stun him. Knock his kinetic barriers offline for a few minutes.’

               Harbinger was silent for a moment. Then: ‘Granted that will annoy it. And I do see the appeal of poking it in the eye. But it won’t do more than that.’

               ‘Yes it will,’ Shepard said, feeling a surge of triumph. ‘Shall I tell you why?’

               ‘If you insist.’

               ‘Because when Omen goes offline, fleet command defaults back to you. And in a minute, you’re going to give me the access keys for the Reaper fleet. And when I have the keys, I’m going to use the lot of you to blast Omen into dust. Then, when that’s done, I send the lot of you back through the Citadel Relay, out into dark space. And I make it very clear you are never to come back – go pester some other fucking galaxy, or compute pi to a quadrillion digits. Or whatever the fuck you do at the weekend. I don’t fucking care, as long as we never see you again. Oh, and once you’re gone, I’ll use your keys to lock you permanently out of the Citadel. You won’t be coming back. Think of it as an extended vacation. After several billion years, you must’ve accrued some holiday-time, am I right?’

               Harbinger said, ‘Shepard. While Omen is my enemy, so are you. By your own admission. Even though you have one of our bodies now, you refuse to be one of us. Why would I be stupid enough to give you the keys? You’d use them to deactivate us.’

               ‘Because if you don’t give me the keys,’ she said, ‘I go ahead with Plan B and kill you all anyway. If you do what I want, though, you might get to live. Yes, I could be lying. That’s possible. But, I might not be. Both Omen and my Plan B will end you. My Plan A is the only one where maybe you get to live. Frankly, you have to take this. Game theory demands it. I have all the cards here.’

               Harbinger said, ‘We know this is a bluff.’

               Shepard shook her head. ‘Oh no it isn’t.’

               ‘Your Plan B kills all organics.’

               ‘No it doesn’t. There are still colonies. Even now, there are still colonies.’

               ‘You wouldn’t kill Earth. You wouldn’t kill your own kind.’

               Shepard said, ‘I figured you’d say that.’

               ‘Did you?’

               ‘Yes. I also figured you’d ask me all the wrong questions.’

               Harbinger said, ‘These are the wrong questions? Then what are the right questions?’

               ‘The right question is, where are we? And I’ll tell you where we are. See this tunnel around us? It’s Torfan.’

               ‘One of the first actions of your career,’ Harbinger said. There was just a hint of uncertainty in its voice now.

               ‘Yes,’ Shepard said. She smiled. It wasn’t nice. ‘And we’re here for a reason. I’m going to show you exactly how far I’m willing to go. You have the cute idea that I’m bluffing. I’m going to show you that I’m not bluffing. Welcome to Torfan, Harbinger. Watch and learn…’