Master and Commander

She doesn’t know what he means. A few ideas float around in her mind, but she doesn’t like to dwell on a single one. Either they are horrible and would make her hate him, or they are far too wonderful for a person like her. Why can’t he just be quiet and enjoy what they have? 

Her hands pull away from beneath his shirt, instead coming up to rest on his chest, gently pushing on it, a gentle sign to stop she trusts him to understand. “I don’t belong to anyone. You’d want me to stop, wouldn’t you?” It’s what she wants. She wants to stop, but now when someone is offering her a chance, she’s scared. It has to be a trick. He doesn’t even know what she’s done. 

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Obediently he stops, the motion of his fingers stilling and then dropping away from her body. His pale eyebrows tighten down over his eyes. “Never said you belonged to me,” he says gruffly with a slight frown. “But sure, I won’t lie...I want you t’ stop -- for your sake, much as mine. I--”

Her question stops him dead silent. Do you love me? They have never brushed close to the question, not out loud, even though he’s known his answer for a while, deep in his heart in a place he’s avoided looking at to spare himself the difficult emotion of it. He knew he cared about her, all along...but with the question the full brunt of the affection bursts up in his chest and his breath catches. Yes...

bonus: send “ 💪 reverse” for my muse to catch your muse working out

Stepping aside slightly to allow him room, Samantha pulled up the list. Some of the scarcer necessities these days jumped out at her: over-the-counter medications, children’s clothing, toiletries, all commonly requested since the war had ended. She had to stop herself from picturing all the people going without such things, especially the younger children. It didn’t do any good, and just left her upset.

“I’ll…consider it. Sir.” She clasped her hands behind her back, falling into parade rest out of habit. “It isn’t that I don’t appreciate the offer. I’m just not at all sure of where I’ll be in a few weeks’ time…” …Or if the Alliance will even want me back. Would they trust her to be all right after she’d been on leave for her psychological health twice? If they didn’t, where would she go? She had to stop that train of thought, too.

“Should I pass along your contact information to my CO, or call you directly?” Sam flicked her wrist to activate her omni, ready to write down the information should he choose the latter. “I’m afraid I haven’t got it already…we had such information saved, but it was all classified…”

The glowing numbers of her clock app burned brightly. Ought to be off to the airport soon… But she couldn’t bring herself to pull away from the first real conversation she’d had in weeks in order to play hurry-up-and-wait some more. She could manage another half hour, perhaps.

“Whichever you prefer,” he said with a shrug. “Here’s my info.” He lifted one hand, tapped his own omnitool to transmit the data to her. “That’s the internal C-Sec line; most of the public comm lines are as bad as this one.” He gestured at the beleagured terminal she had been working on fixing. “That line’ll generally get through to me sooner or later; I’m one of the higher-ranking people left.”

He rubbed his jaw, looked at her sideways, registered the distance in her eyes. She looked as tired as he felt, he reflected. He hoped she’d be all right. She had a long road ahead of her and a difficult one. Hell, they both did. I hope I’ll be all right, too, he thought ruefully.

“Nobody will come looking for them,” she promises, shivering just a bit as his lips graze her ear, rough voice heavy in it. “It’s not dangerous at all.” She leans closer, nuzzling her nose against him affectionately, carefully placing a kiss just on the corner of his mouth. Never on the lips, no matter how badly she wants to or how natural it seems like it would be. She craves that sort of intimacy, but practices great restraint, seeking out other forms of sweet and innocent physical contact. 

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“Flattery...” he murmurs. Of course her flattery works wonders on him; it always has. He’s already responding to her touch and it’d be easy to just lie back and let her work on him and forget the day’s events. The fighting has lessened; the Reapers haven’t attacked for days, and most of his work these days is spent struggling towards some form of civilization while they wait for contact from the rest of the Alliance. He’s tired and her touch is a balm on his aches.

There’s something about Bailey these days that makes Nadya feel as warm and comfortable as a kitten in the sun. She practically purrs as he pulls her into his lap, chest still as broad and strong as ever even if they’re both a good deal thinner now. Sometimes she’ll tease him that she’ll fatten him up quick again as soon as this is all over, as soon as things are normal again. She likes it when they talk and joke between the sheets, not even about sex, but about anything. She loves it.

“I didn’t steal them, if that’s what you’re asking, Officer Bailey,” she teases, running the tips of her fingers down the front of his chest. She’s missed him. The other men of the resistance are no fun, not even interesting. She wants to rid him of his clothes, see for herself just how much weight he’s lost, feel the muscle and bone until he makes her forget absolutely everything save for the warmth that always feels like home. She doesn’t even think about payment from him anymore.

Sometimes she feels an overwhelming guilt about it. How many times has she told herself that she doesn’t deserve this sort of happiness? She’s not fit for caring for others. She’s meant to die cold, alone, preferably with a small shred of dignity at least for her son’s memory, and with the Canadian winter fast approaching, that’s all she can think about. But then there’s Bailey.

“You could trade one in for a new blanket—a warm one,” she reminds him. “Or a few extra meals. Some men will go a bit hungry for a different kind of meal, starved in other ways.” Nadya winks at him. “But I want you to feel full again, at least for a meal or two.”

“Kind ‘a you...” he murmurs softly. Her fingers on his chest are very good at getting his attention, even when she isn’t perhaps really intending them to. And he’s touched by the gift. There’s very little of warmth and friendship about the resistance or the refugees; everyone is angry and betrayed and frightened and it’s a recipe for danger, for disaster. 

But he’s worried, nevertheless. She claims she didn’t steal the cards, and yet... “Nadya, if somebody’s going to come looking for these, I want to know,” he says, raising his head slightly, his lips brushing past her ear. “I don’t want you t’ be in danger on my account. Well, in more danger,” he amends, shaking his head slightly. Danger is part of life around here -- but at least he wants to reduce it as much as possible for her. It’s his job, as a cop, as a lover...as a friend.

With one hand he turns the cards in his fingers. Small things and yet worth so much in this wasteland that had once been his homeworld. In fact it’s hard to figure things that are worth much more around here. If she didn’t steal them, it’s hard to picture what else Nadya might have found to trade for them, unless...

Ah.

*****

         “Well, if you’re in the mood for some fun,                                                                         then yeah.

There’s a noticeable change in Nadya’s treatment of Bailey after he’s released from the hospital. She’s still pleasant as always, still takes his money as they pass her bedroom door’s threshold, still cries out his first name as he moves inside her.

But it doesn’t stop there. She calls him Armando over dinner as if she always had, kisses his cheek as she passes by. Never in public, but throughout her apartment, yes, always.

Nadya clearly has come to care for Bailey in a way she can only subtly express, and she isn’t sure what he feels until the day of the evacuation.

He came to get her. She doesn’t deserve it. It would be right to die now. But he makes sure she boards an evacuation shuttle with him, and her heart is in her throat the entire time. Death and destruction are happening all around and this is what she’s focused on. It makes her hate herself all the more, but so long as she’s with Bailey, everything feels alright.

+++

He’s in his makeshift dwelling when she sneaks up on him. The ragtag militia in this area fighting under the banner of the resistance has better quarters, better food, and access to doctors. It’s not her place, but the guards let her pass. They know her all too well.

“Armando,” she hums, wrapping her arms around him from behind, her habit long gone, her nun get-up just a simple black dress at this point. “I have something for you.”

He did his best with his Presidium authority to organize evac plans in the wake of Cerberus’s coup; they had their test when the Reapers came. He doesn’t know how well it all worked, of course; he went straight to Zakera during the attack and did what he could there, but the Citadel is so monstrously huge that there is no way to know how many survived across the whole station. 

Perhaps he will never know.

But he made it out, with Nadya, who he helped escape her apartment; they and the rest of Zakera’s evacuees ended up crashing somewhere in North America -- Canada, according to the shaky signals his omni can pick up -- and banded up with the resistance there, and life has taken on a sort of horrible routine. Run, fight, protect, eat meager rations, sleep fitfully, repeat.

So it’s a messy business. But in some ways it feels like the most purpose he’s had in a long time. It’s like being a cop again -- not quite a soldier, but not a desk jockey either. 

And there’s Nadya, of course. Somewhere the familiarity turned to warmth and she’s comfortable enough to embrace him, to kiss his cheek. Small things, perhaps, but in dark days like these, even the small things are enormous to him.

“Can’t it be both?” she teased lightly, passing him a fork. “I don’t plan on staying in this line of work forever, you know. One day, you’ll have to pay for my cakes, so enjoy getting hooked on them while you can.” Not that she knew when she’d ever get a chance to leave her current profession. Any savings she had had been dipped into thanks to the lack of business in the wake of Cerberus’s attack. “I’m sorry it’s not sock-eyed salmon. Maybe the next time you visit we can plan on that, so long as you provide the fish. You don’t even have to pay for the time. It’ll be my treat.”

In any case, Nadya’s reassurance was soothing, and he let himself be warmed by it, watching as she unloaded the food next to his bed. “God, I haven’t had a good salmon in years...” he said with a rough laugh. “You’d be the first person around this station I might trust to cook it properly...” A wave of homesickness went through him mixed with the rueful reflection that she had him wrapped around her finger; somewhere along the line their regular rendezvous had become important to him.

Just business, 'mando...

But the thought was cut off by the sudden gentle warmth of her lips against his cheek, and he stared at her in silence as she pulled back. That was new. She’d put her mouth plenty of places on him but never above the neck before, never said his first name outside the bedroom -- and he knew what the distinction meant to her.

Eight weeks’ leave, Traynor, paid in full. We can discuss unpaid time after that if you aren’t ready. For now, go home, get yourself back in order. Report back to me in a month with your progress.

Aye, sir. Thank you.

She’d done medical leave once before, after narrowly escaping becoming a casualty in the Collector attack on Horizon. If it went half as smoothly this time as it had then, she’d be thrilled, yet something deep down told her things weren’t going to be that simple.

Losing loved ones hurt like hell. He knew that for damn sure.

“Yeah...I’ll take a look. God knows we haven’t got much to spare -- but keeping the lines moving is important.” He felt suddenly inexpressibly tired, and there was a slight hunch to his back as he stood and moved to her side. As expected, most of the requisition was stuff that the Presidium was as short on as everywhere else, but somehow seeing it all listed out made him deeply frustrated. God damn. I’ve got to get back down to Zakera. That was home, not here -- and they were no doubt hurting even worse than the more posh areas were.

“'m guessing your CO’d be loathe t’ lose you,” he commented as he looked over the request manifest. “If you would want to stay around here when your leave’s up, I’ll see what I can do. If not, I won’t. Simple as that.”

She moved to at least let him try a forkful of her baked good, opening the box and cutting a small piece with the utensils she had brought along, not even caring for a moment that the staff might protest. “Besides, you’ve invested in my time, but it’s not a one way street. I think a little kindness in return is hardly anything but good business sense.”

They might as well have been in her kitchen, the way she carried on as if this were all normal. “Now try this. It’s chocolate, caramel icing though. I know the buttercream was a big hit, and I’ve been skeptical about caramel icing, but I really think this could be something unique.”

But Nadya had never felt so relieved. He was alive, and doing quite well by the looks of it. It was almost nice she had no clients to meet today. She could spend as much time as she wished with him. She was lonely too.

“Worried a little, maybe,” he said, keeping his tone light to match hers. “Zakera got hit hard, and I was stuck up on the Presidium tryin’ to keep the stuffed-shirts safe. Not my idea of a good time...I wanted to be down there.” And of the people he knew in Zakera, she was the one he saw most regularly, the one he had conversations with that didn’t involve Citadel security and crime statistics. He would say that he did care what happened to her, that he had certainly worried about whether he’d see her again for more than the obvious reasons...but he was struck with a sudden strange fear that she would laugh at him, and so kept his own counsel and simply looked at her quietly as she moved.