Title: Oil on Canvas
Author: Lucky Gun
Description: If agony was art, it would be oil on canvas. It would be a sinking ship, or a dark street lit by electric lamps. Maybe it would be Shepard dancing on Thessia. FemShep/Alenko, Shenko all the way, angst/hurt/comfort with a happy ending
A/N: Where the hell did this come from? I don't know, but I enjoyed the hell out of writing it.
The agony was breathtaking.
And it wasn't the kind of agony that he was used to. He'd felt heartache – this wasn't similar. He had felt, so often, the kind of ripping pain that crashed through his mind and chased his vision with every migraine. This wasn't like that. It wasn't like the close blasts of grenades putting unbearable pressure in his ears or the report of gunfire by his head.
If it was art, it would be a painting. If it was a painting, it would be oil on canvas. The colors would be red, some yellows, six shades of black crossing the whole of it. There would be a sense of motion in the strokes of the brush. It would be a sinking ship, or a dark street lit by electric lamps. It would be a woman dancing through a burning field.
Maybe it would be Shepard dancing on Thessia.
It hit again, but he had no air left in his lungs. He only staggered, looking down at his torso, the busted armor just edging into his vision. He could see his own blood on the outside of the plating, and it was mixed with soot. Muscle memory alone brought his arm up, a sweep of biotics rushing from his fingertips. It hit firmly, silence falling over the battlefield.
He fell with it.
First to his knees, then lower, forearms pressing into black dirt. One hand automatically reached up and pressed hard against his stomach, numbness radiating throughout his body as his system struggled to find some evenness in the motion.
Then the pain slipped over his mind again, no longer numbing and just as breathtaking as the first time he'd felt it. He struggled, orders in his head, training and fear dominating every part of him. He pushed himself up, the toes of his boots digging into the soft soil, and he gagged at his stomach rushing up to the back of his throat. His eyes lifted as he stumbled forward towards the ruins in front of him, whiskey gaze on the beacon that shined in the sunlight. It was so close, so damn close, and he felt everything in him narrow to that goal.
He didn't recognize his own breathing, ragged, gasping, some desperation hidden poorly in it as it echoed through his head. His comm was off, so there were no lights blinking in his eyes, but still, he saw tracer fire across his vision. He followed it dumbly like moth to flame, head swiveling, and he saw his kills in the borders of his sight. They still glowed cobalt, remnants of his power ebbing from their dead bodies.
His smile tasted like copper.
He came to the console on the beacon, a sort of lethargy he'd never known seeping through his limbs. His left arm had fallen steps before, glove dripping crimson, the black earth sucking up his life fluids greedily. His right hand was trembling as he raised it, the servos in his wrist joint straining to steady his movements.
An incomprehensible string of numbers moved from his fingers to the entry pad, and the thing glowed red once before shutting down completely. He stared at it for a moment longer, his left hand coming up again, a desire to survive thundering through his thoughts. This need was so thick it was tangible, and he could see it.
Need...like sunlight in the morning, the first rays dancing over the horizon, the brightest shades of purple and orange cresting the mountains.
His knees were on the ground again, something deep in his chest popping as he hit, and there was eezo on his tongue.
Need...like the moonlight on the sea, white shining over blue, the rush of life and promise entwining in the air with the salt.
He fell sideways, head striking the ground with a rattle, jarring teeth that were already gritted against the exquisite masterpiece radiating throughout his body.
Need...like her fingers through his hair, his lips on her skin, his name in her sigh and her name in his soul.
His vision was narrowing inward, dark spots blurring the edges, and his hand fell to the ground, no strength left to keep his blood in his body. It ebbed out, pulsing, slicking the ground, and the pain rose again, choking him for a moment.
Need...like her hand in his, his heart in her spirit, her life in his blood.
He breathed deep once, felt something shift under his skin, and couldn't inhale again. The dots danced and his view of the world, so small already, shimmered into nothingness. He felt liquid pool in his mouth, dripping from his lips to puddle in the visor of his helmet.
Need...like his name after hers, his future in her grasp, his being in her breath.
His eyes, unseeing, slipped closed, golden brown dimmed and dull and then hidden. He felt his body relax even though the shades of red and orange still covered his mind, and the exhaustion that had permeated his limbs settled over him like a warm blanket.
Need...like nothing he'd ever known before her, like nothing he'd ever know after, something he could never have enough of.
Senses shutting down as his lungs burned, he felt some anger, some regret, but mostly, he felt her. The lights went off on the canvas in his head, spotlights shutting down, the gleam of oil shadowing slowly.
The last thing he knew was the blue of her eyes as they caught him, held him, her hand wrapped around the back of his neck as she pulled him close, whispered words that he couldn't hear ghosting over his skin.
And he thought, just maybe, that he could die happy in that.
She was undone as she searched the battlefield.
They had split up near the beginning from necessity, something she cursed then and doubly cursed now. Beacons had been drawing rogues for weeks, a leftover trick from Cerberus, she suspected. There were four beacons and only three of them, targets distant enough that the Normandy had to drop them off separately. Each location had been a nightmare, strongholds that shouldn't have existed. By the time they'd realized how far off the intel was, it had been too late to abort.
She barely remembered her own fight, just remembered surging through the mercenaries like a blue devil. It was only a couple hours after she'd started when she hacked and bypassed her beacon with a vengeance. She barely waited to confirm its deactivation before spinning and jogging back through the facility, popping spent thermal clips as she ran.
Normandy radioed her as she reached the Mako, Joker advising that he was on the far side of the small moon and that it would be faster – barely – for her to drive to the next beacon location instead of waiting for him. Garrus was still responding to his radio, sounding far too excited with the challenge he was facing, so she took off for the third site.
She tried to remind herself, as the truck bounced mercilessly over the ground, that the only reason Kaidan wasn't answering his radio was because of the interference around his zone. She tried to remember that, even as she reached for the dog tags around her neck. One was hers, the other his, and she ran an ungloved finger over his name as she floored the machine.
It took too long, almost an hour, before she followed her waypoint to its end. She parked the Mako with a fishtail and a whirl of dirt and jumped from the truck, leaving it far enough away from the beacon to be outside the zone of static. Her reaction was why there were fraternization policies for the Alliance, but out of all the liberties she and Alenko had refused to take with their Spectre status, this was the only one they'd allowed themselves.
And had he not been out of radio contact for nearly three hours, she probably wouldn't have been so frantic.
She propped her rifle up against her shoulder and started moving forward, clearing the wreck as she went. There was clear evidence of heavy biotic attacks, men crushed against walls and under crates, bullets everywhere. Her compound had been completely underground, but this complex was built in the hollowed-out shell of an ancient Turian cruiser, the floor a mix of metal panels and dirt fields. Only her quick sense of navigation and steady glances at her radar kept her from getting too lost.
She tracked down what seemed like endless hallways, the panic she felt tightly controlled under the same shackles of her biotics. She refused to give into it, refused to honor any thought of it at all.
She passed a doorway, looked at the display in her helmet, then backtracked, the heavy smell of eezo tingling against her nose. There was a familiar hum in the air that brushed against her implants, and she stepped into the room. It was the old bridge, maybe, the roof open, half the walls gone, the rich earth of the moon covering everything. She looked left and right as she passed shattered walls, saw men down, and could see faint wisps of blue lifting from their skin. She crossed a large crate and saw the beacon at the far end, its silver bright in the twin suns of the system.
In front of it, he was there, silent, still, unmoving.
Denial came through as she mindlessly tapped her omni tool, an instant SOS broadcasting from the Mako. She checked the room, checked her radar, and determined it clear in half a heartbeat. Every aspect of everything she'd learned fell away, then, and she sprinted forward, dropping to her knees to slide the last few inches. Her quick movements sprayed dirt over him, but he didn't respond. She was shaking her head as she dropped her rifle and tore her helmet off, mindlessly ripping at the gloves on her hands. Her eyes were fixed on the gore splattered across his chest, the blood that had covered his black armor like paint.
She left him on his side and reached up, carefully undoing the latches under his chin, refusing to acknowledge the slight tremble in her fingers. She pulled carefully, working the helmet off, catching his head with one hand as she cleared it. Blood dripped from the inside of his headgear, a few drops splattering on his cheek, and she inhaled sharply as she set it aside. Her palm grew red and warm where it sat under his mouth, and she felt the first tears begin to wet her eyes.
"Kaidan, baby? Can you hear me?" she whispered, an uncommon hitch in her voice, and he said nothing.
She shook her head again, screaming inside, and cut off the sob that wanted to escape from her throat. She looked back down at him, saw the ruined mess of his stomach and chest, the top of his breastplate still. She looked at his face, pale, emotionless, like nothing she'd ever seen. She grabbed him then, pulling him up against her, setting his back against her chest. She whispered wordlessly as she moved him, apologies and promises spilling from her lips, and she pressed her face into his sweaty hair.
"No no no, don't leave me behind," she cried softly, her eyes squeezing shut, one of her hands grasping his. She rocked side to side, her spine rolling against the beacon she leaned against, and she ducked her head, pressing her lips against his temple.
"Please, baby, don't do this," she begged, tears tracking down her face, tremors shaking her. She panted as she leaned her head back, everything in her railing against the galaxy, the universe, everything unfair in it that had led to this moment.
"Take me instead! You've done it before!" she screamed suddenly at the sky, at whatever cruel deity was staring down at her. Her biotics flared and sparked. "I had a second chance – give it to him!"
Her body shook as she sobbed, dropping her cheek to his, nuzzling his skin. Anger gave into sorrow as she smelled his aftershave, and she wrapped her arms around him tight, uncaring as she spread his blood over her armor. She held his hand in hers still, refusing to let go, refusing to lose hold of him even for a second. Her motions vibrated through her and echoed into him, the two of them a reflection of each other, as usual.
It could've been a minute or ten before she felt pressure on her fingertips.
It coincided with his chest rising, armor straining, and a weak cough jerking his body. She jerked, eyes wide, and she stared and listened. He inhaled again, a catch in his lungs stuttering, and he squeezed her hand tighter. She brought her free hand up to his face even as she returned his grip with a strength driven by fear.
"Oh God...Kaidan, are you with me?"
He drew a shaky breath, eyes shut tight against the pain she knew had to be overwhelming even his Jump Zero training, and his lips moved in a breathless word.
Always.
A harsh laugh bit through her chest at that, terror and cautious hope dueling for superiority in her heart, and she shuddered out a sob as she pulled him closer to her, begging him to stay awake. He didn't answer beyond a light hum in the back of his throat, but the pressure of his fingers on hers never wavered.
It was ten minutes later, the Normandy coming to a landing just outside the wreck, when she felt the vise in her chest loosen, just a bit.
"Hang in there, baby. They're almost here, okay? They're gonna take care of you," she whispered in his ear, sniffing as she tried to reign in her tears. "The doc will fix you up and then we'll do whatever you want, okay?"
There was shouting and the pounding of feet from somewhere around the perimeter, and Kaidan surprised her, shifting against her chest even as he inhaled sharply from the pain the motion brought. His eyes drifted open, hazy and unfocused, and his tongue dipped out, wetting his lips and painting them pink. She ducked her head closer, tilting her ear so she could hear him.
"Let's...go dancing."
She smiled, pressing her lips to his cheek, and she answered softly, "That sounds like a great idea. Where do you want to go?"
The shouts were closer, the proximity alarm in her helmet beeping softly beside her, and he breathed, "Thessia...in that park...outside the temple. It...had blue..."
His voice faded as he choked, blood running down his chin, and she shushed him softly as she tenderly wiped it away with her fingertips.
"Blue orchids, red roses. It reminded you of home, didn't it?" she asked gently, glancing up at the incoming medics, relief flooding her.
She looked down at him, his gaze fixed on her, the depth of his love for her visible in his eyes.
"...Whenever...I'm with you...I am home."
She smiled, fresh tears spilling from her eyes, and she pressed a kiss to his forehead, lips trembling.
"Then welcome home, soldier."
~ To live is to suffer, to survive is to find some meaning in the suffering. ~