#resolutesoldier

she’d been curious to see if he would remember her, tall glass of muscle and hard-worked skin who she’d met over a bar fight.    not hers, coincidentally    (  and rarely  )    --    but his.    lana can recall his battle wounds as easily as if they’d been mapped out yesterday.    dash of crimson over a noble brow.    a good man’s streak disguised beneath the murk of violent delights.

                    now it’s her turn.    knee-scraped lady with a split lip and affectionate swelling across her cheek.    she lounges with purposeful defiance in the waiting room of the hospital until she sees him    --    because funnily enough, he never mentioned that he was a doctor.    especially not while she was busy patching him up under the watch of her own four walls, considering herself some merciful medical saviour whereas he, seemingly, is professionally trained.

in the middle of swiping blood off her markedly redder pout, lana’s eyes distinctly narrow.

                     THE BULLET HITS HARD AND MESSY missing its mark by a mile, (not surprising, bloody stupid Yanks, couldn’t even shoot properly. ) Her assailant died easy, two shots -- one to the chest and one to the head. But she’s in no better shape as she staggers down the ally way, teeth gritting against the pain radiating from the bullet still lodged in her side. She’s been shot enough times to tell nothing important was hit, but that meant nothing for the blood that was rushing to escape her body. The alley way is dirty, dim and smells like piss -- but she stumbles down it anyway, one hand pressed to her stomach, the other clutching her gun in a white-knuckled death grip. From ahead she can hear the distant and muted sounds of music playing, accompanied by the raucous shouts of drunkards. The expanse before her seemed to grow less narrow with each step, her world began to spin as she felt the tell-tale signs of blood loss began to take its toll on her conscious mind. She was nearly to the bar’s back exit when she heard a heavy metal door SQUEAK in protest of being open, She spun, (a terrible fucking idea,) holding out her gun to shakily aim on a figure --- a faceless visage which was the last thing she saw before collapsing to the filthy cement below, blood pooling out of her freely.

                    “  sorry.    guess i thought you were someone else.  ”

it’s not that she doesn’t ———— APPROVE of him; it’s just that she doesn’t quite know how to react to him. samara pauses in the hangar bay of the normandy ( her HOME, her heart sings, but she silences it before the song has a chance to grow ). 

yet that doesn’t stop her edge from softening ever so slightly, and she relaxes, and approaches. he is a WARRIOR, after all; they’re cut from the same cloth. 

   “James." she walks slowly into the room. It was not common that she could actually stay in James' home, and that only happened when his piece of shit father didn't stay in town. It was coming close to one in the morning and despite being at the near end of her reservations when it came to drink and cigarettes, she would not deny that what was sure to kill her was the heat. The heat plus being the smallest amount of drunk was sure to do her in now, she was sure of it. It  would do her in if she didn't have ice cream to save her, so she walks in the room where James was, kicking her way through the clothes on the floor and bags and the Universe would know what else onto his bed "James."

She climbs up laying with her back against his chest, it was not comfortable but that wasn't the point. The point was that her hair would be on top of his eyes and mouth in a way that would seem accidental, only enough to wake him up. Even then, though, he remained unmoving. A displeased moan leaves her lips as Maxima's body moves up, long brown curls falling over her shoulders. She looks down at him in the dark and, in all reality, sees nothing. The world is not straight and to try to see in the dark seemed like a super power, to stand up right seemed like a super power really. She lies back down but now her elbows find his ribs where she nudges him - what she thinks - gently "Jaames."

She waits to hear him starting to wake up, a pout forms on her lips as she slides down to lay down beside him.

            she   see’s   him      ,       &        there’s   an   immediate   thought   of   fleeing   the   scene      ──   unwilling   to   deal   with   the   inevitable   reaction   to   the   boy   noticing   her   in   turn.         hands   wring      ,      ultimately   standing   her   ground   even   whilst   alone.         there’s   a     temporary     hope   that   her   river  vixen  uniform   was   enough   to   camouflage   her   passing   by      ,      though   found   herself   sorely   mistaken.           “ vega,      hey..      small world.  ”