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bygoneboy · 8 years ago

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passengers (2820)

one week before hyperion reaches habitat 7, the pathfinder team is brought out of cryogenic stasis. their first obstacle: shouldering the weight of what they’ve left behind.

scott ryder/liam kosta. 5886 words, sfw, falling in love over improper use of the tempest group chat. written for fun 15 days before andromeda’s launch so everything is Probably Very Wrong

DISCLAIMER: this fic is not based explicitly on the andromeda gameplay that’s been revealed so far, but there are still a few canon bits hidden here and there. if you don’t want to read spoilers then please don’t read.

The first thing Liam Kosta thinks after six-hundred years of cryogenic stasis is: Am I awake?

And then, when it’s apparent that he is: We made it, right? Did we make it?

And after that he isn’t thinking much of anything but thank God, thank God– are the others–? Oh my God, thank God, because no amount of experience in the field could really prepare anybody for something like this, and they’d known that going in.

SAM had brought Doctor T’Perro out of cryo first, and she spends a few more minutes helping a blurry-eyed Lieutenant Harper find her balance before she turns to Liam. His joints are stiff and creaky as hell but he’d expected that much; he doesn’t feel too terribly groggy, his speech isn’t coming slow. It had been like a cold bucket of water to the face, waking up. And a bit like the spine-tremor feeling of falling and being caught, right before impact. He remembers going under like it was yesterday. He feels sort of sick despite himself, recalling how long ago yesterday really was.

Nothing could’ve prepared him for this, either, the impossibly absolute realization– a few relay jumps, six centuries of AI-navigated-drifting. Quick as the pop of a flash grenade, and the world they’d left behind is dead and gone.

It’d come up a lot during training, of course, they’d said no regrets, no attachments, say good-bye to everyone you know. Take count of what you leave behind, they’d said, and Liam had straightened up and done his best. He’d made peace with family, friends, everyone who mattered and a few that didn’t. He’d called up every ex he’d ever had, just to say– you know, whatever heart-felt sort of things had come to mind, it was nice. Or even if it hadn’t been nice, you were real to me, and I knew you, and you knew me. And by the next conscious month of my life you’ll be dead, your grandchildren will be dead, your great-great-grandchildren might be alive, depending on the progression of human medical advancements, and I’ll be eons away still feeling like I’m twenty-five.

Don’t let it get to you, they’d said; “Keep still for me,” says T’Perro, and tugs at his chin with her thumb and forefinger.

She sweeps the omni-tool past his eyes in a slow horizontal line. The bright spots stay etched into his eyes even after she lowers the beam. T’Perro’s face was the last thing he’d seen before cryo-sleep had kicked in, and the first thing he’d seen waking up. Six-hundred years. Yesterday. Still feels like yesterday.

He needs to focus on breathing. The rise and fall of his chest, lungs expanding and contracting. He ticks through every piece of advice he’d ever given to shock victims back during his work in the field, how he’d broken them from their glassy-eyes and sagging mouth. “Naturally,” T’Perro says, when he admits to feeling light-headed. She doesn’t seem too sympathetic, and considering the length of asari lives, he’s not sure she could empathize even if he did try to explain. “It’ll pass,” she says instead, matter-of-fact, patting his arm, putting away her equipment. “You’ll have more pressing things to worry about soon. I would tell you it’s imperative to be emotionally vulnerable, but I’ve read your file.”

There’s a lot in his file. “What’re you saying, doc?”

“That you know about vulnerability. Speaking as your psychologist, I’m not sure you’ll need me.”

“And speaking as my physician?”

T’Perro looks amused. “You’ve been asleep for six-hundred years, Kosta,” she says. “You can count on feeling a little sore.”

…

[TEAM MESSAGE BOARD]

SARARYDER: good morning sleepyheads!! is everyone up?!?

CORAHARPER: up and feeling good

LIAMKOSTA: ready for whatever’s out there

SARARYDER: scott where are u!! answer!!

SCOTTRYDER: This isn’t a personal communication channel, Sara. We’re only supposed to use this to share important information with the Pathfinder’s ground crew.

SARARYDER: :P

SARARYDER: blocked unfollowed

SARARYDER: anyway

SARARYDER: does the hyperion’s coffee taste like the bottom of a batarian shoe to anyone else

SARARYDER: or is it just me

…

Their long-range scans have given them a rough map of the area. They’d notified SAM to wake the Pathfinder and his crew about a week before reaching the first potentially habitable planet, to give the ground team time to prepare and everyone else a minute to breathe. Now that he’s awake, though, Liam sort of wishes that he wasn’t, that they hadn’t.

They’ve arrived in Andromeda thirty-four years late.

“Oh, what the hell,” says Harper, both of their jumpsuits unzipped around their waists, sweating through their tank tops in the drive core as they examine one of the ship’s fried engines. “What’s a few more decades under our belt, right?”

He knows she’s just trying to make light of it, keep her head up. It’s not like they can do anything about it now. But Liam has to bite down to keep his worry behind his teeth: the Hyperion will run out of energy eventually. And what if every one of their golden planets has already been settled? What if there somehow isn’t room for them? What if–

“Hey, are you just gonna sit there and watch?” Harper snaps him out of it with a well-aimed jab to his abdomen. “This strip-tease isn’t for you,” she says, flexing one bare, well-muscled arm, “could you try to make yourself useful?”

He pretends to hit her over the head with the wrench.

…

[TEAM MESSAGE BOARD]

SARARYDER: oh my god guess what you guys

SARARYDER: i was talking to sam this morning and i found out

SARARYDER: i am officially THE OLDER TWIN

SARARYDER: i came out of cryo 2 MINUTES BEFORE SCOTT

CORAHARPER: i don’t think it works that way

LIAMKOSTA: congrats?

SCOTTRYDER: Sara, why do you have to break up your messages like that? You know you can type everything out all at once, right?

SARARYDER: sorry baby bro

SARARYDER: am

SARARYDER: i

SARARYDER: bugging

SARARYDER: you

SCOTTRYDER: There has to be a way to mute this channel.

SARARYDER: if i know i aint tellin

…

Their Pathfinder calls them all together at 0600 and 2100 hours every day for short briefings, but there isn’t really much to say, not yet anyway. Mostly he gives ship status updates, answers questions if they have any, and reminds them to check in with T’Perro as often as they need. Alec Ryder has a practiced steadiness to him, the kind that reflects age and experience. He’s a bit of a hard-ass, the sort who’s fought fair and square for the right to be one. Beyond his military record and N7 credentials, Liam doesn’t actually know much about him– or about his son and daughter.

The fact that they were Alec’s blood hadn’t mattered during training. Most things hadn’t mattered during training, apart from what they were there to do, whether or not they could reave as well as they could shoot, how well they could work together. At face value the twins are joined at the hip: Sara is bright-eyed and approachable, she smiles easy, she’s passionate. Harper makes the mistake of asking about her work in Prothean research and Sara talks her ear off for two hours; later the same day Liam finds her trying to teach SAM what a joke is. He isn’t sure she gets any further than an asari, a turian, and a krogan walk into a bar.

She probably should’ve thought about trying it out on her brother first.

Scott calls his father sir, he smiles but it’s tight at the edges. Maybe base camp had kicked all the happiness out of it, maybe Alec had. But someone must’ve said drop and give me twenty one time too many, because apparently Scott’s face has stuck that way.

He catches him staring off into space during more than one briefing, fixed on something distant outside the conference room viewport window; sometimes there’s a look in his eyes that he can’t seem to place, far-away, dazed, like he’s been sleeping for another six centuries longer than the rest of them. Like he’s constantly cycling back to re-remembering where he is, two million light years from the galaxy where they’d began.

Sometimes he notices Liam noticing.

Which is how Liam learns that the Pathfinder’s son flushes as easily as Sara smiles.

…

[TEAM MESSAGE BOARD]

SCOTTRYDER: Can I get a status update from everyone?

CORAHARPER: habitat 7 shuttle is ready to go and everything should be running smooth down in engineering. liam finished repairs on the drive core last night

SCOTTRYDER: Great. Thanks, you two.

LIAMKOSTA: nbd, glad to help

SCOTTRYDER: Sara?

SARARYDER: yeah uh watch out dad’s in a mood

SARARYDER: he actually yelled at me this morning for agreeing with him

SARARYDER: he’s just pissed off bc i used up all the ship’s hot water when i showered yesterday

SARARYDER: and then he had to take an ice bath lol

SCOTTRYDER: Sara, seriously.

SARARYDER: ok fine one of the relays almost exploded but i fixed it, no sweat, ur welcome

…

On his down-time– and there’s a lot of it– Liam takes his protein bars, does his two hours of fitness, and showers. He’s started rearranging his locker, to keep himself busy, but they hadn’t really brought a lot with them. There’s really not much to move around, so when he’s tired himself out doing that he starts polishing his guns. And when he’s scrubbed his cartridges clean to the point of wear and tear he gets Harper to let him have a go at hers.

Eventually he runs out of distractions.

He starts thinking again.

Six-hundred years is a long time, even without being thirty-four years behind schedule. By the time they go planet-side, whoever’s already settled in will have passed them up with advancements far beyond their own. They’re at a disadvantage. There’s nothing they can do about it.

Six hundred years is a long time.

He shouldn’t be thinking about it. Which means he can’t stop thinking about it. T’Perro is right; he knows vulnerability. He’s been witness to all kinds of anxieties and fears, he’s equipped to wall off panic and reinstall calm, order, breathe. Go back to the start, why he’d joined the Initiative in the first place:

New beginnings, and the good of the galaxy.

For exploration, for progress and purpose, for the vast expanse of space that he’d dreamed of when he was young. Gazing out from the Citadel’s docking bay, staring up from London bridges, wondering where the stretch of stars ended. Where new worlds began.

For heroes, and everything they’d fought for.

He’d first heard of the Initiative while he was still working crisis response; his HUS-T1 squad had crossed paths with an Alliance support team and the plan for Andromeda had come up in the lapses between cycles. So much had sounded like a pipe dream back then– Reapers, Pathfinders– the sort of things that people talked themselves in circles about, things that never actually happened. But later he’d gotten a call from Ryder himself. And Commander Shepard had started stirring up trouble in military circles around the same time, pushing Reaper lore and calling for strengthened defense around Luna base. And suddenly pipe dreams had been as real as anything.

By the time news of Shepard’s death broke over military channels, Liam had started his training.

He remembers– he’d watched the funeral broadcast in the bunkroom with the rest of the trainees, packed in a tight circle around someone’s datapad screen. The Alliance buried an empty box; they hadn’t recovered his body. Shepard would want us united, Hackett had said in his speech, now more than ever, Liam remembers that so clearly. Remembers how everyone had felt like the Admiral had been talking to them: stand together. The galaxy needs heroes.

Shepard hadn’t been married, he didn’t have family. So when they folded the Alliance flag into twelve they’d handed it over to Lieutenant Kaidan Alenko, and then the cameras had cut away– but not before everyone saw him bring the flag to his lips, and then his heart.

The galaxy needs heroes, said Hackett. And something to live for.

He’s pretty sure everyone in the Alliance had been a little in love with the commander. His military record was an inspiration, the guy himself could charm the armor off of a varren. Most of the squads Liam worked with followed every move he made, every interview he gave; Shepard showed one ounce of interest in a new brand of omni-tool and suddenly they were sweeping the shelves. Shepard bought a Model 12 Locust and Kassa Fabrications sold out of them the day after. The man couldn’t sneeze without someone scanning the area for leftover heat signals.

So there were always rumors floating around, fiction-based stories spread around in heavily commercialized pulp magazines and weeklies. Commander Shepard: Double Life As An Omega Stripper! Commander Shepard: His Secret Earth Gang Affiliation! Commander Shepard: Savior Of The Citadel Revealed To Be Half-Krogan!

Liam had tried to ignore them, for the sake of decent morality. But then the Collectors hit, and morality went murky for everyone, and Commander Shepard: Back From The Dead carried some real merit, real hope.

And Commander Shepard: In League With Cerberus? ended up running clear too.

All-in-all, Commander Shepard: Heartbreak On Horizon! wasn’t the hardest thing to believe.

Yeah, he read that one for sure, the guy who bunked across from him had sent a copy to him over the extranet. And he’d be lying if he said he didn’t find it at least a little bit thrilling, the idea of a love affair between Shepard and Alenko– the hero and the guy at his back, the soldier going to hell and back and the guy following him there. It probably wasn’t the most worthwhile thing he could’ve been doing with his time before lights-out, fantasizing over someone else’s very real, very dangerous, and very immediate life– but oh, man, that last issue had sure been something to keep a romantic up at night.

Not that it kept Liam up at night.

Much.

Not that it’s keeping him up now.

He’s always had a hard time sleeping in new spaces– in this case, in new space itself. And he’s learned that it’s better to get his brain focused on something else than to stay staring up at the ceiling, so he grabs his datapad, hauls himself out of his bunk, and wanders over to the mess hall. He figures he’ll dig around in the rations cupboard, find some freeze-dried ramen or something, read a little more Blasto.

Apparently, someone else has already had the same idea.

Scott is there when he walks in, his back to the door with one arm bracing the fridge open, staring into the shelves like the answer to geth-quarian peace is stuck somewhere behind the evaporated milk cartons. “Hey,” says Liam casually, and startles him so bad that his grip on the fridge door slips.

He steadies again, quick enough to keep it from slamming on his hand. But when he looks back up his shoulders have squared, body language tense and nervous. He rocks back on his heels. “Hey,” he says.

“Can’t sleep?”

“Guess not. You?”

“Guess not,” says Liam.

They look at each other.

“Ryder,” SAM’s strange soft voice bursts static through the comm speakers, and they both flinch this time. “I’ve detected a significant change in your heat signature. Your heart-rate has also rapidly accelerated.”

“Wow. Uh–” Scott goes beet-red, eyes sliding away to a spot a foot above Liam’s head. “I’m good, SAM. I’m just– I’m great, thanks for, uh, sharing that, though.”

“Your well-being is my primary concern.”

“So you keep telling me.”

“Analysis of your tone of voice implies sarcasm.”

Scott huffs softly and turns back to the fridge. “Good catch,” he mutters, yanking out one of the packets of freeze-dried ice cream and letting the door slam shut with a gust of icy air. “Feel free to go offline anytime.”

“Remember, Ryder,” says SAM solemnly. “Those packets are individually rationed–”

“Anytime, SAM.”

There’s a quiet chirp as he deactivates. And then it’s just the hum of the fridge, and silence.

The ice cream packet crinkles in Scott’s hands. “Sorry. He can be–”

“Yeah,” says Liam, shrugging like whatever even though he’s feeling a little hot in the face himself, “don’t worry about it.” Scott is still flushed around the edges– soft edges, squared jaw. Stubble-patched and tired lines. Liam’s still not sure what color his eyes are. Light. Gray? But sometimes blue, reflecting whatever comes his way.

“Well,” says Scott, and clears his throat, “it’s late. I should– go.”

Liam almost laughs, wondering for half a second whether that’s supposed to be a line. But then he remembers who’s speaking; Scott Ryder is the last person who’d try to pick someone up in a mess hall at midnight. “Okay,” he answers, sliding into one of the chairs with his issue of Blasto pulled up on his datapad screen. “Have a good night, then.”

“Yeah, I’ll– see you around? I mean, of course I will, I’ll see you tomorrow. At the briefing,” He’s going a steady scarlet, white-knuckling his neapolitan like it’s to blame for everything. “You– take care, Kosta.”

It’s not the fastest retreat Liam has ever been witness to. You can’t spend time with Alliance soldiers and not see someone’s heels beating up dust in your wake.

It does, however, cut it very close.

…

[TEAM MESSAGE BOARD]

CORAHARPER: god i hope habitat 7 has better food than this

SARARYDER: what!? listen up that freeze dried imitation crab is to die for

CORAHARPER: yeah bc i’m more likely to die than enjoy it

SCOTTRYDER: Actually, the ice cream is pretty good too.

SARARYDER: oh my god stop the world my brother actually likes something

SCOTTRYDER: Shut up, Sara. I like plenty of things.

SARARYDER: okay fair

SARARYDER: for example

SARARYDER: you like sucking the joy out of life

LIAMKOSTA: and ending texts with periods

CORAHARPER: and staring at liam during briefings

SARARYDER: woooooow

SARARYDER: called tf out

LIAMKOSTA: that’s out of line, cora

CORAHARPER: is it though?

CORAHARPER: technically i outrank him

SCOTTRYDER: I don’t stare at anyone. I just get distracted sometimes.

SARARYDER: i’m lauhgin g

SARARYDER: ‘distracted’

CORAHARPER: sounds fake but okay

SARARYDER: cora pls

SARARYDER: cora i’m dying

LIAMKOSTA: are you sure that’s not the imitation crab talking, sara?

SARARYDER: ASDFGHJKL;

…

Living out of a shoebox means his whole world is in a locker, and maybe that’s why he keeps coming back to it. Dragging his things out onto the floor, scrubbing up to his elbow with an oil-stained cloth– for some reason, no matter how hard he works, it never seems any brighter when he stops to take a closer look.

He can think of a few real-life scenarios to apply that to.

“Hey,” Scott says, interrupting his train-wreck of thought and flipping his stomach over instead. “Do you have a minute?” He’s standing a good five feet back with his hands in his issued-Initiative-blues pockets, watching Liam sort through his stuff for what must be the fifth time at least– he would know if he was counting, he’s sort of trying not to, though.

“I’ve got more than a minute.” He wipes his palms on his thighs, then wipes them again when the sweat seems to stick. “What’s up?“

“Just trying to get a sense of where the crew’s at,” Scott says, eyeing up Liam’s ongoing project. “What– are you spring cleaning?”

“Whatever kills time,” Liam says wryly, lifting one shoulder, letting it drop. “How long until we hit Habitat 7?”

“T-minus three days. You ready?”

“Honestly, I’d feel underprepared no matter what. You can’t really be ready for something like this, right?”

“Right,” Scott echoes. “That’s…what I keep telling myself, anyway.” He shifts on his feet, restless, stiff-backed. At ease, Liam thinks, but whether or not it would help, he isn’t sure. “So, uh,” he gestures to the pile at Liam’s feet. “This is all you, huh. Give me the tour.”

He chuckles, but it sticks like the sweat. “Nothing impressive. Just a few things I grabbed from home, backed-up transmissions. I had my family and friends record some before we went under. Snagged some Corellian whiskey, too, and– oh, yeah–” He crouches down, fumbling for the Normandy model. “There’s this, heads-up–”

Scott catches it easy, one-handed. A spark of interest lights up behind his eyes as he turns it over between his palms, “Shepard’s ship?”

“Yeah!” says Liam, stupidly enthusiastic. “I mean, er– yeah. I don’t know why I grabbed it, it’s not great, like, practicality-wise…” He wipes at the back of his neck, feeling his face heat up. “It’s signed, it’s– got his signature. Not that I ever met him, the Alliance was auctioning it off at a fundraiser and I spent a quarter of my credit savings on it. Figured I wouldn’t need those here, anyway, so– you know? I thought, why the hell not.”

“You admire him.”

“I did.”

“Past tense,” says Scott.

He’s like that, Liam is learning. He really listens, pays attention, maybe more closely than’s good for anybody. His chest is tight, like it’s fit with armor two times too small. Shepard’s gone, he should say. They all are, everyone we knew. He’d known they’d be; he thought he’d been ready. But it just hadn’t hit him. Not until he woke up, and felt the weight of every century settle down somewhere in his gut.

Scott runs the tip of one finger over the starboard wing. “He was a good man,” he says, filling the space of Liam’s silence. “He had a good crew. What did you think about all that Reaper stuff, did you believe that?”

“Yeah,” Liam says quietly, “I believed it. I still believe it. Although I guess it isn’t really relevant anymore. Being– two million light-years away. And all that.”

“Not unless they’ve got Reapers here, too. You won’t be disappointed if we don’t find any, will you?”

Liam doesn’t laugh the same way Scott doesn’t smile; they both give it a try anyway. There’s common ground somewhere in the middle, there must be: a compromise, thick throats but steady hands. “Believe me,” he says. “I’m not holding my breath.”

“Me neither,” says Scott. “Not for that.”

…

[TEAM MESSAGE BOARD]

SCOTTRYDER: Hey, Liam. I really enjoyed our chat yesterday. We should talk again soon.

SARARYDER: what??

SARARYDER: oh. OHO

CORAHARPER: is there a reason you’re posting this on the team forum

SARARYDER: ohhhh boy

SARARYDER: ohhhh man

SCOTTRYDER: I apologize, everyone. I meant to send that privately.

CORAHARPER: how come you never have these “chats” with me?

SARARYDER: CALL HIM OUT

LIAMKOSTA: down, harper. jesus, you two

LIAMKOSTA: i enjoyed talking to you too, scott

CORAHARPER: consider my feelings officially hurt

SARARYDER: i love u all so much pls never change

…

Alec Ryder begins the next day’s morning conference with a not-so-gentle reminder that there are, actually, individual rations on the freeze-dried ice cream.

And Habitat 7, he announces, with his arms folded firmly across his chest, will most likely not be stocked with the stuff.

So whoever’s been sneaking extra portions should know that once it’s gone, it’s gone for good.

The subject is dropped after that and they move onto a briefing of local fauna from there. Across the table Scott is dead quiet, and very interested in the grain-pattern of the table; Liam has to bite his tongue to keep from laughing, straight-out.

That night he goes back to the mess. But it’s empty and stays empty, through two (individually rationed) ramen packets and a quarter chapter of his now embarrassingly over-read copy of Blasto: Eternity is Forever.

“Liam,” says SAM. “If you are still experiencing difficulty falling asleep, there are multiple sleeping aids available in the medical bay.”

“Oh– no thanks, SAM. I’m good.”

“Perhaps I could attempt to improve your mood. Sara has often implied that humor is appropriate in attempting to lift one’s spirits.”

“That…depends on what your definition of humor is, I think.”

“I will proceed momentarily,” says SAM, sounding as pleased as an AI can manage to sound. “Scanning– transferring data files. Transfer complete: an asari, a turian, and a krogan walk into a bar.”

“Does the punchline involve Omega strippers and batarian shard wine?”

“Possibly.”

—

[TEAM MESSAGE BOARD]

SCOTTRYDER: hi everyone my name is scott

SCOTTRYDER: i like long walks on the beach at sunset and crisis response specialists ;)))

SCOTTRYDER: i also have an insatiable sweet tooth and fhdfdkjglkfjghksgohjlk’l;45

LIAMKOSTA: ???

CORAHARPER: oh my god

SCOTTRYDER: Fuck you, Sara!

SARARYDER: keep 👏 ur 👏 hands 👏 off 👏 my 👏 ice 👏 cream

…

The Hyperion isn’t called an Ark for nothing. It’s huge, on a new-age scale, and it’s frighteningly easy to keep to yourself, if you’re not careful.

That being said, Liam isn’t sure how he and Scott seem to keep managing to run into each other.

He wonders if this is just something else he’ll have to get used to: the mess hall door hissing open, his brain short-circuiting. Scott giving him that wonky not-smile and Liam thinking hey, thinking come here often? Fumbling for something smoother: what’s a guy like you doing on a ship like this?

Maybe he’d have better luck with something from Blasto. With false confidence: is that a thermal clip in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?

“You should be getting some shut-eye,” says Scott, just honest, tired lines and three-day stubble.

“I was about to say the same thing,” says Liam, which is such a shit lie. “Are you back to check out the ice cream reserves? I’ve heard they’ve been dwindling.”

Scott flushes; Liam knew he would. “No,” he says. “Actually, I’m– SAM says you’re having trouble sleeping.”

Snitch. Liam glares half-heartedly at the comm, but the AI stays annoyingly silent, and Scott is waiting on an answer. “It’s nothing. I’m still just getting used to everything, that’s all.”

“He also says–” Scott looks troubled. “That you haven’t really…spent time with anyone else.”

Snitch! “SAM,” Liam says, exasperated. “Really?”

“I am required to report stress-induced complications of this kind.”

“Complications–! Scott, I’m fine.”

“Okay,” says Scott. But he doesn’t look convinced. “Well, I wanted to check in, just in case– I know you know this, but the worst thing you could do right now is–”

“Isolate myself. Yeah.” He does know; ergo, should know better. He’s seen it before, out in the field: division members who’d felt too deeply and seen too much, who stopped being seen at all. Separating from their squad. Becoming the ghosts of the victims they were too late to save.

“We could talk about it, if you want,” offers Scott. “Or– we could try something else? Stop me if you’ve heard this one before; an asari, a turian, and a krogan walk into a bar.”

Of course he’s heard it before. But he’s not about to stop him, it’s a classic. That’s sort of the problem with it, actually, you can never be sure which punchline was the original, which answer is meant to be the right one. There are so many damn ways it could go. An asari, a turian, and a krogan walk into a bar; the volus walks under it. An asari, a turian, and a krogan walk into a bar; only the krogan walks back out.

An asari, a turian, and a krogan walk into a bar.

The human shows up thirty-four years late and says, what’d I miss?

“You can’t give up,” Scott says, pulling a hand through his hair, “I don’t actually know the punchline.”

His ears have gone red, again, around the edges, eyes shifting: Liam’s started to commit that face to memory, every time he sees it. Locking it up somewhere safe, somewhere in the center of his chest, behind his bones. I won’t give up if you don’t, he could say. Or they could skip the bullshit and try again: A human walks into the mess hall at midnight, and Scott Ryder says ‘I should go’.

You know how many humans it takes to save the galaxy, Ryder? Twenty thousand and one: twenty thousand to leave before the fight’s even started, and Commander Shepard to stay behind and deal with whatever bullshit they’ve left behind.

“You’re worse than SAM,” says Liam. Instead of what he could, or should, or any of that. Instead of a heart-to-heart, a real one, for the sake of sanity and the rest.

“I know,” says Scott. “I really am.” He puts his hands in his pockets, tips his head toward the door. “C’mon. Let’s take a walk.”

…

[TEAM MESSAGE BOARD]

SARARYDER: hey liam

LIAMKOSTA: what’s up?

SARARYDER: hey scott

SCOTTRYDER: Yes?

SARARYDER: lol

LIAMKOSTA: do you need us for something or??

SARARYDER: nah just trying to settle a bet with cora

LIAMKOSTA: sara it’s two in the morning

SARARYDER: and yet…ur both up…

SARARYDER: suspicious…

…

The habitation deck is dark and deserted, with the Pathfinder crew all bunked away like good soldiers, the rest of humanity along for their cryo-ride. The only thing keeping Liam from tripping over his own feet is five years of field experience and the blue emergency lights, glowing softly along the hall edges.

“Everyone’s here for their own reasons,” Scott tells him. “My father calls it his responsibility. Sara says it’s her calling– turn here, it’s just around that corner.”

There’s the hiss of a door’s hydraulics; Scott steers him through, fingers steady at his elbow. Whatever room they’re in is even darker than the hallway. Scott is just a low voice, warm breath at his ear.

“Every time I went out past the Sol relay I could always map my way home. I could look up and know where I was. Even if we were right out at the edge of the traverse, I could look out and say, there, that’s Fortuna. And from there, the Annos Basin, and the relay to Arcturus, and I could work my way to the Citadel, just stargazing…SAM?”

“Yes, Ryder.”

“Open the observation deck shutters, please.”

Light filters in as the night-cycle shutters draw back from the viewport windows. He’s been on the observation deck before, but never like this, with the lights cast low and Andromeda’s stars painted from floor-to-ceiling. Definitely never with Scott Ryder’s hand splaying flat across his back.

“Maybe it was only in my head. But it was like a tether. Knowing I could map myself back home again, whenever I wanted.”

Focus on breathing. The rise and fall of your chest. Their arms brush when he shifts his weight, and Liam pretends he can feel the heat of him, the thermal clipped waves. I bet you bring all the girls here. “Earth’s a long way from here,” he says. “A long way, Ryder.”

“It’s still out there, though.”

Six-hundred years. Liam didn’t know it would be so heavy, all that leftover indecision mixing with doubt. Afraid to be left behind, of what he’s left behind. Afraid to be here, too, in the first real uncharted world of their lives.

“Scott,” he says, “can you tell me– why’d you join up?”

“With the Initiative?”

“Yeah, you know, new beginnings…?”

“Uh,” Scott looks embarrassed. “I don’t know, I just…Dad wanted Sara to go. And Sara, she did really want to go, it was all she used to talk about. And I’d spent so many years watching everyone else go off to fight, the adrenaline of it all, the glory…back then I thought I wanted that, too. So when Dad signed on, and Sara, too– I couldn’t stand the thought of–”

Pipe dreams, Liam thinks. Empty boxes and folded flags and being left behind, in a galaxy without a hero.

“I didn’t want to be alone,” Scott says, very softly.

He’s close enough that Liam can see the shadow of his lashes against his cheek, and hear him swallow. He’s close enough to kiss; he wonders whether Scott would let him. He thinks there might be a sliver of something in his face that says he should, but maybe it’s just the light of stars they don’t have names for, reflecting off of the surface of Habitat 7. Maybe it’s just Hyperion’s low-power glow reflecting in his eyes, relay-blue and soft the way Liam feels, on the edge of everything unknown, on the verge of something incredible.

Those eyes would reflect anything.

“Ryder,” says SAM, “Habitat 7 is within range of short-distance scans. The Pathfinder is requesting your presence.”

Whatever spell had been caught between them, it’s broken now. Scott blinks and sighs, and rolls one shoulder. “Fathers,” he says, shaking his head as though it’s an old joke of theirs, but Liam knows better; Scott only has one joke in his arsenal and he still doesn’t know its punchline. “I should go,” he says, like a damn hero. “I’ll see you on board the shuttle.”

Despite the unknowns: Scott is going to carry him to hell and back; somehow, he’s sure of it.

Damn the unknowns:

Liam is going to let him.

“You know,” Scott says as the door hisses open, swiveling back around with his hands in his pockets, shy almost-smile and shoulders squared, “I think he’d really be proud of us– Shepard would, I mean, don’t you think?”

Liam’s heart thuds once, twice, out-of-rhythm. Skips a beat and then goes on beating, high in his chest, filling the hollow of his throat.

“Yeah,” says Liam. “I reckon he would be.”

…

[TEAM MESSAGE BOARD]

SCOTTRYDER: All right, team, we’ve got the green light. Who’s ready to set up some outposts?

SARARYDER: i’m ready!!

CORAHARPER: beyond ready

LIAMKOSTA: born ready

SCOTTRYDER: Let’s move out!

SCOTTRYDER: Liam, I don’t know what we’ll find down there, but I just wanted to tell you…there’s a lot I didn’t get to say, last night. But it’s been a real honor, getting to know you. And I promise you: I’ve got your back.

CORAHARPER: oh scott

LIAMKOSTA: why are you like this

CORAHARPER: poor scott

LIAMKOSTA: someone seriously needs to show him how to work this thing

CORAHARPER: scott come back

CORAHARPER: you can’t pour your heart out on the team forum and then leave

SARARYDER: THAT’S TWENTY CREDITS YOU OWE ME HARPER

SARARYDER: PAY UP

…

In the end, Liam thinks, as the shuttle engines flare to life, as the shuttle bay doors yawn open, as the Hyperion shrinks behind them–

Maybe they don’t need a punchline at all.

20,000 humans cross into Andromeda galaxy.

20,000 humans sleep for six-hundred and thirty-four years.

One human stares off into space and says: I didn’t want to be alone.

And the other says: I know.

The other says: you aren’t.

#liam kosta #liam kosta/scott ryder #is there a ship name yet?? uhhhhh #mass effect andromeda #me:a spoilers #mass effect andromeda spoilers #long post #read more #hal writes

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