Title: Stranded Chapter one
Authors: Jagespages and DinkyMew
Game: Mass Effect (one)
Disclaimer: Bioware own all content and characters relating to the Mass Effect franchise. Abigail Shepard and Original character Argyle Hobbins belong to DinkyMew. Original character of Foster belongs to the amazing Jagespages and the Swagger Vasa Chronicles series.
Characters Features: OC Hobbs and Foster – some Shepard and Kaidan later!
To read this in PDF version including some art done for the story by the amazing JJ please visit here: art/Stranded-the-Hobbs-and-Foster-story-363433839? q=gallery%3Adinky-mew&qo=0
Author's dedication: For Nev, because when it gets dark enough you can see the stars – love T-bird and JJ, x
If you can read this you're too fucking close and… you're dead!
The sticker was a testimony to the man behind the controls.
Foster loved to sucker other ships in with his Corsair multi-fighter. He knew she looked like a fragile piece of junk, low-slung with pieces welded here and there to give her the appearance she was held together with spit and Duct tape. The old Alliance stickers were long gone, blasted by heat and travel through Mass Effect relays. Carbon scoring streaks marked her hull. There was a crack in the view shield, something he found amusing, because he'd paid a voluptuous Asari artist to paint it on as well as some well-placed "bullet holes", to carry the illusion even further, to lure pirates, mercs, whoever his target was in close so he could blast them out of the sky.
He gazed out of the cockpit and frowned. He fought a constant battle with rust and there was the pilot's version of medi-gel spread on the wings, making them appear pocked like a case of acne. He smiled fondly. Taggert had given him the ship when the ex-Alliance LT had passed away two days before Foster's 18th birthday. His smile faded. He still missed Taggert and it had been seven years.
But, to business.
He gazed at the holo display that formed the console and his hands performed the wizardry only an experienced pilot could. He could make the Corsair fly rings around other craft. She was fast and her ordinance, for such a small fighter, was varied. Foster had removed some of it.
He didn't carry the air-to-ground bombs , anti-disruptor torpedoes or air-to-ground missiles. He'd kept the six Mass Accelerator machine guns, 2 anti-proton thrusters, and the air-to-air missiles. He'd found the cumbersome ordinance put a drag on the ship when she kicked into Mass Effect FTL drive.
His quarry was in a gunship. Muglai, a batarian bastard who had kidnapped one of the volus diplomat's mistresses. Foster didn't care who his clients were as long as they paid the credits. The fact that a volus could have more than one mistress and the one who had been taken was human made him snort in his flight helmet. He hated slavers. It was the one exception he made, although he didn't publicize it, but Foster would work for free to bring down slavers.
"Go ahead, four eyes," he goaded. "Take the first shot. Piss me off."
The gunship swung to the right and Foster echoed the move, just as a missile streaked by him. Foster was expecting the PKR (precision kill rocket) to seek out his craft and when it veered back toward him, he was ready. He loosed one of the air-to-air missiles and watched the two collide in mid-air. The shields on the Corsair flared as debris struck.
Foster glanced at the read-out and groaned. 75% capacity. He was unable to use his best ordnance against the A-61 Mantis gunship. It only carried two people and he knew one of them was the volus' mistress. She was probably frightened to death. He fired one of the machine guns, stitching a line of energy past the gunship's bow as a warning.
Another missile streaked toward the Corsair. Without thinking, Foster switched the shields to cryo, taking the ship's heat signature out of the equation, knowing what would happen. When the missile couldn't detect a heat signature it would change its trajectory and track the only heat signature available: a certain gunship.
"Muglai, you better listen to me. Your missile's going to impact you in a minute. Tick…tick. Agree to land in Tuchanka's DMZ and I'll take it out for you. I just want the woman."
"Human, I will do as you say."
Foster waited until the internal countdown must be making all four of the batarian's eyes widen and then he blew up the missile. As expected, the explosion 's force struck the gunship. Smoke poured from one of its engines and Foster followed it down to the surface, landing his ship behind one of the many barriers erected. He sealed his helmet and extended the ramp, clanking down it in his boots. He wore older armor, but it had been modified to include reinforced shielding and medi-gel dispensation if he wasn't able to do it on his own.
Muglai was standing forlornly beside his disabled ship, arms crossed over his chest. A woman dressed in material that showed every curve glared at Foster and he thought, "What's wrong with this picture?"
He'd already pulled his Stinger pistol. He strolled toward the pair, never taking his eyes from the batarian.
"What did I tell you last time, Muggy ole boy?" he chided. Foster's voice tended to be the most quiet when he was at his most deadly. He hoped the batarian was picking up on just how angry he was. "No more slavery!"he hissed.
"I..wasn't, Fos. You have to believe me." All four of the batarian's eyes met his earnestly; there was truth and conviction in his words, but Foster stayed sharp.
"It's true." Foster blinked behind his helmet at the unexpected confirmation from the woman. "I hired him to kidnap me so I could escape that mask-breather."
"You have got to fucking be kidding me," he muttered.
Muglai waved a hairless arm to indicate his willingness to cooperate. "So, I'm not a kidnapper."
Foster's eyes narrowed as he saw the Blue Suns logo on the batarian's armor. "Why were you bringing her to Tuchanka?"
Muglai shrugged as if he knew the game was up. "Target practice," he growled and brought his Executioner shotgun out from where he'd hidden it in the cradle of his arms and unleashed a fireball blast at Foster.
Carnage could do massive damage, but it was slow enough to dodge. Foster dived and rolled to cover behind one of the barriers. He knew the carnage shot had cost Muglai. Shotguns were notorious for over-heating and taking time to recharge. The batarian had missed his shot. He wouldn't get another, Foster thought grimly.
"Hey, you want the woman, human? You take one shot at me and she's dead."
Foster put away his pistol and reached back to the pack on his back to pull his M-29 Mantis. He caressed the long barrel, pulled up the view screen on his helmet and pressed his right eye to the scope sight. Muglai's ugly mug swam into view, so close to his hostage they almost merged into one target. Foster saw the blue glow as Muglai activated his kinetic shields. The Mantis was good against armor, but shields and biotics could cause problems. Foster adjusted his aim, steadied the sniper rifle in his arms, released a breath and pulled the trigger.
The batarian grew a fifth eye, blood spewing from his bulbous head, body crashing to the ground, taking the woman with him. She broke free as the batarian's arms went slack and got shakily to her feet.
Foster lowered the sniper rifle and stepped out from cover. The woman—he didn't even know her name—was screaming obscenities at him. "Are you crazy? You could have killed me!"
Foster put the rifle back in place and crossed his arms over his chest. "I wasn't aiming at you."
"I don't want to go back to the Citadel," she cried, wringing her hands.
He frowned. "You're evidently thinking I give a damn." He turned and pointed to his ship. "See that ship? Every credit I make doing odd jobs like this goes into her. I don't bring you back, I don't get my other half pay." He fixed her with a pair of electric blue eyes that could sizzle and burn like lasers. "I need my other half. I got repairs need to be done for my baby."
"What if I pay you more than he paid you to bring me back?"
Foster stared into her beautiful green eyes. He could tell she was used to getting her way. "Lady, I have a rep to consider."
"And he always keeps his word," a deep voice announced.
Foster waved to the huge krogan and varren that crossed the desolate wasteland of Tuchanka. The dusty brown planet's surface was riddled with scars and craters.
"Ratch, how're they hanging, buddy?" It was a standing joke between them about his quad and Foster's twins.
"Lower and heavier than your two puny human ones."
Foster snorted, then whistled sharply and the varren ran to him, rearing up on his shoulders, tongue slobbering on his face. "How's Urtzie?" he crooned, petting the beast. "He remembers me," he added in delight when Ratch finally made it over to them. The krogan merchant gazed at the dead batarian.
"Helluva shot," he complimented Foster.
Foster bent and picked up the shotgun and tossed it to the krogan. "Bet you can get a decent price for that in your store." He straightened, watching Ratch examine the weapon and nod approvingly.
"He could have shot me," the woman said, giving the krogan a frosty glare.
"Wasn't aiming at you, so, no, he couldn't have." Ratch growled at her. He spoke a command and Urtz returned to heel.
Foster braced when Ratch lowered his massive head. They banged heads together, Foster getting the worst of the impact. He felt a lump start to form on his forehead almost immediately, but it was the krogan's standard greeting.
"Ratch, I need to call in a favor."
The krogan's dark eyes narrowed slightly. "I still owe ya, so what is it?"
"Because of your profession, being a vendor, you're off-planet more than on. This lady needs a ride back to the Citadel."
"I am not going back!" she shrilled.
"Shut! Up!" Foster and Ratch chorused.
Urtz growled at her and she backed away from the varren.
"As I was saying, she needs a ride to the Citadel. The volus diplomat in the Embassy wants her back. He owes me half my pay. You get it for me and we'll split it fifty-fifty." Foster held out his hand and the krogan shook it.
"Deal. Come with me, honey. Don't try to run. Urtz will think you're prey."
Foster snickered behind his hand. "Just send the creds to my account, Ratch."
"Don't be a strange human," Ratch said, butchering the human saying "Don't be a stranger" on purpose.
Grinning, Foster turned to his ship. As he entered, he saw there was a message linked in from one of the buoys that tied all the galaxies together. A holo of a man in an Alliance uniform appeared. He had a very erect carriage and care-worn face.
"My name is Admiral Kahoku." The admiral went on to explain his predicament—missing marines on the planet Edolus.
"I'm not in the military, sir." There was something about this man that made the irreverent pilot/merc add the "sir".
"I know that, but I need someone I can depend on to investigate this. I'm tied up with red tape and nobody's giving me any answers. You come highly recommended as a man who gets results, Mr. Foster." There was a pause. "I'll pay you, of course."
Foster named his price, cutting it considerably for the man. Alliance soldiers didn't make all that much.
"Agreed. I'm sending the coordinates to your ship. Good luck. Kahoku out."
Foster flew the ship out of Tuchanka's atmosphere to the mass effect relay. His small ship was equipped with FTL drive and some special modifications that allowed him to use the relays. He'd paid for it by working a stint for Cerberus when they'd still been black ops for the Alliance. When they went all xenophobic, Foster cut his ties. He'd been young and stupid and desperate, but he vowed he'd never work for them again. As far as he was concerned they were terrorists.
His ship barreled through into the Sparta system and his scanners picked up a signal, an Alliance beacon. He flew the Corsair closer to the bleak landscape of the planet Edolus, eyeing the sand-colored hills that encircled an indented place where the beacon was located . He noticed an M-29 Grizzly, which narrowed down to Big-Muther-fucking Mako in his vocabulary. He was saddened to see several dead marines laying in the sand near the burning vehicle and the transmitter. That transmitter needed to be destroyed, he decided. It was probably activated by a marine, but now it would draw any ship to this wasteland.
He aimed one of his machine guns at it and was just about to fire when something huge erupted from beneath the sand and rose into the air. A gigantic maw and tentacles exploded toward him and Foster had no time to move the ship out of the way. He dodged the best he could, but the creature spit a vile concoction of green bile and acid at him, that landed on one wing. Foster fought the controls as the ship bucked as the wing bubbled and disintegrated.
Knowing now that the lower part of the plain was the creature's nest, Foster aimed his crippled ship for one of the high hills surrounding it. The acid had damaged his engine and he was going down.
He managed to land rather than crash on a hill. Smoke poured from the engine as the acid ate away components, leaving him stranded. The creature—he had no idea what it was, emitted a sound that made him clap his hands over his ears, even with his helmet on. It was loud, piercing and caused a reaction of terror the likes he'd never known. He forced himself to lower his arms and reached for his sniper rifle. He aimed and took a shot, but all that did was send the creature burrowing back under ground.
Panting, Foster lowered his weapon. He stowed it in his back pack and turned to determine the damage to his ship. The acid stank, stinging his nose, and he knew, before he could do any repairs, it would have to be removed. It would eat right through his gauntlets.
Foster did what he could, scooping up handfuls of sand to put out the engine fire. He waited for the interior to cool off and clear of smoke before boarding the ship. He took stock of his supplies and water, other than the amount stored in his armor. Three days and then he would be in trouble.
He climbed into the cockpit and attempted to send a message, but the components had been fried. Nobody but Admiral Kahoku knew where he was. This might be the worst situation he'd ever been in, he reflected and crashed a fist down on his thigh, the armor clanging loudly in the small space.
He came out of the ship, put a hand up to block the glaring sun and grabbed his sniper rifle, using the scope to zero in on the beacon. It spun, emitting its message and he hoped it would be heard. It was his only hope of being rescued.
He stored the rifle and flopped down on the silicate sand, using his ship as a barrier against the dust-choked wind and heat, and gazed bleakly from his highlands perch. The yellow sun peered back blearily at him through sulfurous clouds of dust.
"I didn't expect you to call." She said, flicking her dark curls over shoulder illustriously.
Hobbs watched her carefully, conscious that the movement was deliberate, flirtatious and normally he would have responded, but not today. Today he felt defunct and so it was not so cute and pretty as it was irritating and obvious.
He lifted his glass taking a careful drink of his beverage – cold beer this afternoon – and chided himself mentally. His foul mood was not Tessa's fault, nor was her being here – after all he had called her and asked her to lunch. It had seemed liked such a good idea at the time but as they sat in unusual silence each counting the minutes and trying to save the conversation it was swiftly turning to regret.
It had all started with a kiss.
They had docked the Normandy and Shepard had given them all a couple of days shore leave while repairs and upgrades were being applied to the frigate. Initially he had been excited about stretching his legs, the Normandy was a nice ship – but he was an Operative and rarely stayed cooped up on a vessel for long spells.
He had been busying himself in the shuttle bay, watching the dock workers loading and unloading cargo, his omnitool playing his old tunes – tastes passed down from his grandfather – when Shepard had appeared. It was that moment, that gut-wrenching knife in the heart moment when he had looked up from the tool bench to see her standing in a red dress – a dress! Something that was rare enough for Shepard; but damn did she not make it look like it belonged on her all the time – and she glanced over her shoulder at him as she bounded down the rampway and straight into the arms of the lieutenant.
He had not expected it to hurt as much as it did – stirring old feelings he had thought were long ago put to bed, which were in fact just dormant under his skin like some kind of sleeping parasite.
"You're very quiet."Tessa ventured and Hobb's smiled wryly at her, the expression automatic, safe, evasive.
"Just tired." He said easily and she returned to fiddling with her napkin.
He felt like an idiot. She was a beautiful woman, and Hobb's could pretend that they could have something together – he could maybe even manage a few months of it too – but he actually did feel tried. Bone weary in fact.
"Do you want to head back to my apartment?" She asked and her eyebrow rose suggestively. He considered it carefully, running through the scenarios, remembering with warmth their last evening spent together and it was very tempting. He opened his mouth to accept the offer when his omnitool vibrated against his wrist, and he frowned, drawing the message open smoothly after excusing himself.
It was from Shepard, short and to the point:
'Hobbs, could you meet me at the docking bay asap. I need a favour.'
He sighed, closing the message and looking back to Tessa who was smiling at him, her hand on his, her thumb tracing little circles on the back of his hand. He should go back to her apartment, he knew that – here was a woman that wanted him and on some primal level he probably wanted her too. He should go back to her apartment.
"I've…" He sighed "I've kind of hit an impasse." He said quietly "You know when your head is telling you one thing and your heart is telling you another?"
She grinned delighted at him "I know what you mean." She nodded sincerely "I get that all the time."
He smiled "Which do you choose normally?" He asked.
"Oh my heart." She said emphatically "Every time."
Ok then. With an apologetic smile he pulled his hand from under hers and rose from the small table carefully.
"Where are you going?"She asked, her brow creasing to a frown as she watched him collect his leather coat off the back of the chair.
"Following my heart."Hobbs said carefully "I'm sorry Tessa… I have to go."
She made a noise – some kind of exasperated gasp, probably annoyed he had wasted her afternoon, and he did feel bad about that, but he had needed that moment to realize his feelings for what they were. He was still in love with Shepard – being around her again, seeing her again had reminded him how much she meant to him to begin with, and that was ok.
He could live with it.
As he passed the check-in for the café he paid the bill making sure to leave a little extra in case Tessa wanted to order some more drinks for herself, it was the least he could do he supposed.
The docks were busy, ships lined the ports dislodging crew and cargo alike and in amongst all the chaos Hobb's spotted Shepard right away. She looked so out of place, still standing in that red dress that hugged every curve of her body – slender shoulders bared to the artificial sunlight framed by her long wavy dark hair.
He paused to glance at his reflection in the nearest glass store front – he looked cool, casual, and why the hell was he so nervous suddenly? He had dressed down in ripped jeans and an old grey t-shirt that had seen better days. It looked faded and worn under the black cracked leather jacket he had thrown over the ensemble.
He was so intent on preening his spikey-top he didn't even see the batarian shopkeeper until he was right up at the glass filling his own reflection with an alien one. His brow was drawn down in a frown and he waved him away with an angry scowl. Hobbs gave his own frown back, raising a middle finger to the batarian. Needless to say he didn't seem to understand the gesture.
She had her back to him, her hair brushing her waist as she stood with her arms folded, moving from one foot to another, wringing her hands impatiently as she craned her neck to look for him. He stepped in behind her, touching a hand to her shoulder, flinching at the static shock that washed over his skin like cold rain. She turned, her blue eyes bright as she grinned openly at him.
"At last!" She cried, nudging him playfully with an open palm. "I've been waiting here for ages!"
He moved his shoulders, remembering to breathe. Barely.
"I came as quick as I could Shepard." He said sullenly "I was… busy."
"Busy." She repeated, but she didn't pry, just looked at him dubiously as she glanced behind her to where the Normandy was docked.
"You wanted to see me."He reminded her and she rolled her eyes.
"Yes." And when he gave her a smile she frowned "Not like that Hobbs." She took a breath thundering on smoothly. "I got a call from Admiral Kahoku," She said quietly. "Some of his men have gone missing on a recon mission in the Artemis Tau cluster, he appealed to me to see if I could get any help from the Council, but they won't even give it a look Hobbs. I would go myself… but the Normandy is in dry dock for two days…"She let the sentence trail off, the question left unasked.
Hobbs frowned "You could take a shuttle Shepard. I could get you one from the Alliance."
She smiled sweetly but he was not lured in, that smile always meant she was about to say something that was going to piss him off.
"Well, I thought it was more your thing." She said lamely and he raised an eyebrow. "And I kind of had plans…for my shore leave."
He sighed "So let me get this right, I'm going to give up my shore leave so you can spend time with Alenko?" He shook his head "And what is in this for me?"
"Oh Hobbs!" She moaned, pushing him playfully "What is it you want?"
He gave her a small smile, raising an eyebrow in thought and she nudged him again, harder this time.
"No." She said flatly and he sighed, rolling his eyes as he scuffed his sneaker off the grated flooring.
"Nothing." He muttered sullenly "I'll go. It's fine."
She smiled, suddenly bashful as she laced her hands together in front of her "Are you sure?"
He nodded "I'm sure. Go, have fun at my expense." He teased and her smile grew. She threw her arms around his shoulders, pressing a hurried kiss to his cheek before she stepped back smoothing her hair.
"I owe you one." She said honestly and Hobbs nodded.
"He better be worth it." He warned "Do you have a location the men were last seen?"
Shepard shook her head. "Only that they picked up a distress signal on Edolus." She said carefully. "Be careful Hobbs, it just doesn't feel right. You know?"
He nodded giving her a smile "You know me Tempy."
Fucking Alenko.
He gunned the shuttle as it broke Edolus' atmosphere, he wasn't so much flying blindly as he was furiously, but it was almost one and the same thing to Hobbs.
He had just entered the system when the scanner picked up the distress beacon on Edolus, and the monitors were showing nothing but desert for miles and miles. He hated the desert, and what's more, he hated going to the desert for fucking Alenko.
With a grunt he pulled up, the shuttle banking smoothly and he congratulated himself on the handling of the ship even in the throng of his temper. Below the flat wasteland was dried and cracked, sand blowing over the scorched earth as the wind picked up. He could see the transmitter for the distress signal, not far from its position was a destroyed Mako and several bodies, bodies he could only assume were the admiral's men.
He considered turning back, but the humanitarian in him knew he couldn't just leave those soldiers down there; at the very least he could bring the Admiral back their tags.
Banking again he brought the shuttle about, his scanner picking up another strafe of debris to the West, scattered on one of the sandy mounds that surrounded the flat like a framework. It appeared he was not the first here and his lip curled as he registered the transport type on his console. Damn scavengers here to pick the bones clean.
He was so focused on the console he didn't see the thresher maw until it was too late – as he brought his focus back to where he was going there was simply a large, monstrous mouth in his windscreen – tentacles flailing wildly as it prepared for him to crash headlong into it.
"SHIT!" He cursed, the proximity alarms suddenly blaring in his ears as he pulled hard to the left, it was no good though, he was still going to hit the damned thing!
The shuttle missed the mouth and instead crashed into the side of the Thresher's head, toppling over the top like a ragdoll and spinning wildly off the other side. The alarms whirred around him as he crushed his eyes closed, holding the controls tightly as he fought to regain some control – it was no good though, the motion had thrown him into a spin, one he had no hope of pulling out of.
Hitting the emergency button he gripped the control with one hand, strapping himself in with the other and forcing the oxygen mask over his face just as the ground rushed to greet him.
When his eyes opened at first he thought he was blind. Everything was white, searing hot and white against his eyes, but as his sense slowly sank back into him he realized he was on his back in the sands of Edolus. With a start he rummaged his person, hands feeling all the nooks and crannies for injury; gratefully he grabbed one testicle and then the other taking comfort that they were both in fact still intact.
"Fucking Maw." He groaned, pushing himself to his elbows. His shuttle lay in tatters a few feet from him, debris and scorched sand littering his trajectory as he had skidded over the desert like some great accident. He was about to pull himself to his feet when the sound of a safety being cocked off a rifle made his ear twitch and he looked up to see the barrel of a gun aimed in his face.
The man behind it should have been a stranger, but the blue eyes and hardened face of his younger brother were recognizable even after all the time they had spent apart.
"Beer." He blurted, his heart leaping to his throat as he caught his breath "What the hell are you doing here?"
Foster's eyes looked like they would pop out of his head. He slowly lowered his gun, turned his back on his brother and scuffed a boot into the sand, sending a small geyser into the air. His body language was of barely contained fury. He scooped up a rock and hurled it off the cliff.
"Salvation, I thought," he said, whirling back to face Hobbs. "I see a shuttle. I think, rescue. I see the shuttle pilot headed for that damn nest down there and I think scanners'll pick it up, but, no-oo, fucking creature knocks the shuttle out of the sky, along with my chance to get off this gods-forsaken planet!" He spread his hands wide and laughed. "But, am I upset? Hell, no! Because if I have to face this I get to face it with none other than my brother Socks who still flies with his head up his ass!"
Hobbs let out a low laugh, gathering his senses enough to get himself to his feet as he stretched to his full height, taking in the surroundings carefully. He knew Foster was waiting expectantly for an answer, but he took his time, drawing it out - knowing that would annoy his younger brother further. He gave him a lopsided smile, running a hand over his rough chin as his gaze dropped to the rifle in his brother's hands.
"Well, little brother, I hope you brought something a bit bigger than that pea-shooter, because that sure ain't taking out a thresher maw." He smiled down at him. "Did you like... grow at all... since I last saw you?"
Foster stowed his sniper rifle. It wasn't good this close range anyway. His gaze went up…up…up, finally finding the top of his brother's head. "Looks like you grew enough for the both of us." He pointed to the nest below. "So, that's what that monster is: thresher maw, eh?" His eyes traveled down far enough to meet the hard blue-green chips of Hobbs and he cocked his head. "How's the weather up there?" he drawled, a cocky grin spreading over his face.
With a withering glare Hobb's drew back his lips into a smile, flicking spittle down onto the face of his little brother in a fluid motion.
"It's raining." He drawled deadpan, pressing his hands into his hips as he glanced back down to the nest. It was the only course of action now, if he could somehow rewire the transmitter to boost the signal from his omnitool he could maybe hail a passing transport vessel - or it could even hit a comm buoy if they were really lucky.
But having Foster here complicated things entirely. He hadn't seen him since they were both kids, and as much as he wanted off the planet he couldn't help but cast a curious and furtive glance over the man the boy had become. He was impressed with the way he held himself, he had obviously had experience fighting and he was carrying a sniper rifle - further indication that he knew how to take care of himself. He still had their mom's eyes though, Hobb's mused as he finally drew his gaze back to the nest with a heavy sigh.
"Well." He said heavily "Rock, paper, scissors? Loser has to play bait?
"Best shot stays. Second best is bait." Foster eyed him shrewdly. "You cheat at rock,paper, scissors."
Memories of another time assaulted him and he tried to hold them at bay. He saw both of them, younger, him not so hardened. Socks had been the older brother he looked up to, literally and mentally. Socks made being orphans bearable, until the day the foster home matron had approached them and told them she'd found a new home for Foster—a home on the Citadel.
"No way! You can't split us up!" Foster fought the tears, but they crept through the fringe of his golden lashes. "Socks! Don't let her do this!"
Muttering a string of curses in turian, Foster jerked himself back to the present and their predicament. Slowly, he wiped the spittle from his face. The wind had already dried it so it came off easily. "Jerk," he muttered, meeting his brother's searing gaze with a look that should fry him in his friggin' argyle socks.
Hobbs narrowed his eyes "Don't call me a jerk you little wipe; I wasn't the one who sent you away. I wasn't the one that gave up on you Fos."
He spoke the words hotly, emotions that were not natural to Hobbs' cool demeanor rushing to the surface as he was confronted by his past in glaring reality. The little brother he had sworn to protect, who had been taken from him - shipped to somewhere beyond his reach, and he had tried hadn't he? He had climbed the ranks, he had looked for him, for years finally figuring the little prick didn't want to be found. Maybe his suspicions had been right; maybe Fos did hate him after all.
"Fine." He ground out, "Pick a target and shoot already." He snapped his mouth shut as he turned from him, taking a step back, putting a little much needed distance between them as he shot out a deep breath, struggling to keep his cool. Struggling to keep anything he had worked so hard to gain all these years.
It was his brother! His baby brother back from the apparent dead, and all he could think about was how much he had let him down. How much he should have been there and what he had missed. He took it to the gut, turning to face him and moved his shoulders impatiently.
Foster read what was behind his brother's features. Socks always had kept his feelings close to the cuff. He hung his head a moment, knowing he was out of line, but his brother always could push his buttons. He wasn't about to apologize for calling him a jerk, but he could lighten up a little. They were in this shit storm and needed to work together. He switched tactics, turning his lips up in an engaging smile, projecting something other than anger and disappointment in his eyes.
"No, it wasn't your fault," he said and pulled his sniper rifle from the back pack. He pointed at the still smoking Grizzly below in the danger zone. "Bet I can not only hit the cannon, but send a round right down its gullet." He waggled his eyebrows. "You game?"
Hobbs smiled, the look on his brother's face infectious as he followed where he was pointing into the nest. It was a damn tough shot and he scratched his stubble, raising his chin defiantly.
"Alright." He said, squinting one eye closed against the sun. "Not to put you off or anything, but I've trained in the Alliance. I hope you brought your running shoes." He folded his arms as he watched his brother ready the rifle like a pro, his bravado faltering as he watched him line up the sight.
Suddenly he wished he had challenged him to an arm wrestle. Guns were not his thing, he was most advanced at hand-to-hand, a pistol if the occasion called for it, but a sniper rifle? He hadn't handled a sniper rifle in years.
Foster knew it took three things to be a good sniper, and a wicked shot was the least of them. Discipline and cunning were the important qualities.
Cunning alone can make a sniper successful. A sniper must decide where to position himself, how to get there, how to leave, what to take with him, how to camouflage the hide, where to place alternate hides, and what to do if something bad happens. A sniper must be able to think an entire shoot through from beginning to end and set it up in a manner which will produce results.
Foster saw the misgiving, only a hint, enter his brother's eyes. Foster knew he could make his Mantis sing, the bullet pure notes of joy, intent on only one thing: taking down the target, whatever, whoever it happened to be.
Snipers do not shoot from rooftops, open windows, or a prominent terrain feature. These are the places that will immediately draw attention and return fire. A rooftop can be a hard place to escape from, too. Of course, all that was off the table. Foster wasn't about to mess up this shot, was he? His finger paused on the trigger as he sneaked a look at his brother. With those long legs he should be able to cover more ground than Foster's shorter legs could manage, but was his height a disadvantage?
Foster swallowed hard. He hadn't seen Socks in such a long time. He studied the handsome features, trying to gauge what the years had done to him. All he saw was impatience in the crossed arms, the splayed legs, the expression, blue-green eyes that would flay him alive if he missed the damn shot.
Shit!
Marksmanship was the final element. A sniper must be able to engage targets at as long a range as was possible under any circumstance. Distance equals escape time. In order to develop adequate shooting skills an individual should be prepared to fire between 5,000 to 10,000 rounds of ammunition during long and arduous practice sessions. A good coach was essential. If you didn't know how to read shot strings you wouldn't know what you were doing wrong. Foster's coach had been ex-Alliance, but, even he couldn't make a sniper rifle sing like Foster.
Foster aimed, lying prone on the ledge, timed his breath, and gauged the wind. His view narrowed to the barrel of the cannon. His finger stroked the trigger. The bullet whizzed out of the Mantis, the shock of its exit thrilling through the rifle into his hands, his body.
Hobbs followed the trajectory - just - as the bullet hit dead on target. The shot simultaneously making him grin with pride and frown with bitter resentment.
He didn't have a hope in hell.
"Alright." He gritted, holding his hand out resigned. "Give it here."
He watched as Foster got back to his feet, blue eyes sparkling wickedly through blonde lashes and for a moment Hobbs couldn't even look at him. He handed him the rifle and Hobbs reloaded easily, noticing the loving care that had been given to the gun – it was in immaculate condition considering his brother's dress.
"This is a bit small for me." He said absently, squatting to the ground he planted one knee firmly in the sand, shouldering the butt if the rifle as he lined up the sight. He squeezed the trigger, the kickback hammering into his shoulder and he knew before he even moved the sight from his eye that he had missed.
His brother's soft chuckle only confirmed it as he got slowly to his feet, handing the rifle back over in silence.
"Well." He said at last. "That rifle is made for tiny midget hands. No wonder I can't shoot straight with it."
Foster's chuckle grew into a full-fledged laugh. "Bet when you carry one it's the HMWSR." Foster took his rifle and patted it gently. "He didn't mean it," he cooed. "Bigger's not always better." Foster gestured. "But for that crack against my baby, bend down here so I can punch you in the nose."
Hobbs watched his brother fawn over his rifle and gave him a confident grin "You don't get much bigger than me." He said, his face held with dark seriousness. "And I have a long list of appreciative ladies willing to testify that in fact bigger is better."
Off his brother's look he chuckled softly as below them the Mako rumbled, the stray bullet from Hobbs' shot had apparently hit the tank causing fuel to run onto the electrics. In an explosion that sundered the cloudless sky the Mako blew apart, shrapnel and debris pluming high in a great dark cloud and from its smoky depths a thresher maw birthed into being – the commotion drawing it to the surface once more in hope of prey.
"Fucking maw." He grumbled again.
Foster grabbed his sniper rifle. "How do I kill this thing?" He gasped when the thresher maw crashed into the Grizzly, taking it into its huge, slathering mouth and twisted its huge body around the wreckage. He wanted to cover his ears. The sound of the thing made him cringe. He watched through the sniper sight, looking for a vulnerable spot on the creature as it writhed, pouring acid on the Grizzly that was breaking to pieces. The strength that beast must have, he thought, searching, waiting for an opening.
Beside him Hobbs glared down at the maw, his hands curling to fists at his side as he watched the destruction unfold.
"I've only heard of one being killed without serious firepower." He said seriously "And that was by a krogan."
The Grizzly crumbled, debris falling from the sides of the maw's cavernous mouth. Foster squinted through his scope and steadied his hand, took in a breath, let it loose as his finger caressed the trigger. He had switched to incendiary ammo. The thermite paste should burn through even this mutherfucker.
He grinned when the thresher maw emitted a screech of pain and wrath. He expected it to tunnel back under the ground. What he didn't expect was the head to whip around, the three eyes it had left zeroing in on him.
He leaped to his feet and whacked Socks on the arm. "Run! "