[A/N] The structure of this fic is inspired by the Not Easily Conquered series on AO3 by dropdeaddream and WhatAreFears - especially the first piece in the series, A Long Winter. It is one of the best things I have ever read and even if you're not in the Captain America fandom or interested in Steve/Bucky, I highly recommend checking it out. I dream of writing something so stupendously impactful.
The general tone of this fic is inspired by the song I Knew You When by Marianas Trench. I also created a playlist on Spotify of songs I listen to while writing this, so if you're interested you can find it under fic | i knew you when
I.
The first night in our first place
We ate on the floor while summer twilight ricocheted
And it was easier back then
17 A.E.
Because his brain has never allowed him one moment of peace, Baird immediately wonders how the hell they're going to get off this island.
He feels guilty, of course; the last pulse from the imulsion countermeasure weapon has barely disappeared over the horizon, Adam Fenix is a pile of ash at his son's feet, and Baird is thinking about fuel. It's a hard habit to break, being practical. Baird's so used to just bulldozing over his emotions and thinking only with his head that he does it unconsciously at this point. Yes, one of his closest friends just had the absolute worst fucking day of his life and if Baird was half the man Dom is—was—fuck, shit, goddamn it—then he'd be scrambling to figure out what the hell he's supposed to say to stop Marcus from sticking his Boltok in his mouth and pulling the trigger. Instead, Baird's instinct is to bury the misery threatening to claw its way out of his chest and let someone else deal with it.
Granted, he did just spend the last seventeen years fighting things that were supposed to stay underground, but even if Baird is a genius that doesn't mean he's always smart.
Anya's there beside Marcus anyway, before Baird can nut up and do anything.
It's for the best.
It'll hit him later, Baird knows. Right now, there's still adrenaline thrumming under his skin that's keeping him in the moment, forcing his mind to plan ahead so he doesn't go crazy with the energy that is no longer being spent trying not to get killed by the Locust Queen and the Tempest. Eventually the fight-or-flight response will fade and Baird really will have to grapple with the implications of the past few hours, as much as he might try to stuff it all in a box for later (or never).
Dom's dead, and that hurts.
Dom's dead and they saved the world, and that hurts more.
They saved the world — Baird doesn't know how to feel about that.
The world's been saved a few times before: when the Hammer of Dawn ended the Pendulum Wars; when the Lightmass Bomb was deployed in the Hollow; when they sank Jacinto. Baird figures it's understandable if he's a little hesitant to throw his metaphorical hat up in victory.
Other people evidently aren't suffering from that particular hang-up, though.
At first, Baird thinks it's the wind — or maybe ringing in his ears from the heavy shelling he's been subjected to over the last hour. But, as he focuses more on the sound itself and tunes out everything else, he pinpoints it for what it is: cheering.
The blue pulses, the grubs and glowies collapsing and melting — it wouldn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what happened. Baird supposes that the regular schmucks are allowed to feel relieved even if he isn't. Let someone get all psyched about what was accomplished, because the ones who actually did it and should be jumping for joy like lunatics are still standing around dumbly as if the spell might break if they move too much.
And fuck if the sound of distant celebrating doesn't make it any easier to look at Marcus's face.
It doesn't take nearly as long as Baird would like for the shock to wear off.
The four of them stagger their way back down from the roof of the hotel and are met with smiles and congratulations from fellow Gears the whole way. Baird, Cole and Anya pause each time to reassure their comrades that, yes, it is actually over — well, Cole and Anya do; Baird mostly hangs back awkwardly — but Marcus ploughs on ahead, the expression on his face enough to ensure no one tries to stop him. As Baird watches his sergeant disappear through the crowd gathered in the hotel lobby, he can't help but feel like there's something off. He stares as Marcus's back gets lost in a sea of Gears, wondering why it looks wrong, and then the realization hits him, accompanied by a sudden tightness under his ribcage.
There's an empty space next to Marcus. Baird hadn't noticed it while Anya was sticking close to him, but now that he's broken off on his own, it's glaringly obvious.
Baird's so used to seeing Dom beside Marcus.
They were standing together when Baird, Cole and Carmine climbed into the back of a truck and headed to Halvo Bay to look for reinforcements. Baird had never once considered as they were leaving Anvil Gate that that would be the last time he saw Dom. The guy was supposed to be invincible. Dom made it through seventeen years of hell, survived the Pendulum Wars before that, managed to keep going after he blew his wife's brains out, and then he died mere hours before it was over? That just isn't fucking fair.
It was easy to ignore reality when Baird was busy fighting for his life. Easy to pretend that what Marcus said to them wasn't true, was just some weird hallucination, and that after they defeated the Queen and activated Adam Fenix's weapon, Dom would just step out from behind some debris and make a joke about missing the party. But that hadn't happened. Dom's gone, really gone, and that cuts deeper than losing Rojas had three years ago.
Somebody pats Baird on the shoulder and he jolts out of his stupor. He looks at another Gear, identity masked behind a helmet, and nods quickly. When did he wander outside? Baird can't remember leaving the hotel, but he's out in the pavilion now, feeling the warm ocean breeze on his skin. It's not comforting. If anything, it makes him want to scream.
He spots familiar faces clustered by a railing overlooking the beach. Sam, Jace, Carmine and Dizzy are having a conversation, probably catching each other up on the day's events from their perspective, and Cole's breaking away from the crowd to head in that direction. Baird doesn't particularly want to lose it in front of hundreds of strangers, so he makes his way over towards the group as well and tries to get a hold of himself.
Baird realizes suddenly that he and Cole were the last to know about Dom. Dizzy and Jace were both on the mission to Mercy with Sam, they must have been there when… when whatever happened, happened. Shit, Baird doesn't even know the details yet. Does he want to know? It doesn't really make a damn bit of difference how it happened. The outcome doesn't change; Dom's still dead. But Baird supposes he'll find out eventually, whether he wants to or not. Probably better to hear it from the people who were actually there instead of whatever the journalists end up reporting.
Scratch that, Baird and Cole aren't the last to know — someone will have to tell Hoffman and Bernie. Oh god, does Baird not want to be there for that conversation. Bernie trained Dom in Basic, and Hoffman was his commanding officer during Aspho Fields… Dom was practically a surrogate son to them. And they don't know yet. Fuck.
Sam spots him first, and turns away from Jace and Dizzy to smile at him. It's a different smile than Baird's ever seen from her before — not her triumphant grin after she's just delivered a particularly biting insult (usually directed at Baird), nor her almost feral sneer when she's trying to warn someone to back off before she kicks them in the balls (again, usually Baird). This smile is weak and sad, almost conflicted — and yeah, Baird gets it. How can he be happy right now? Isn't this feeling some sort of betrayal to all the people they've lost?
They stop a few feet apart, just staring at each other. Sam cocks her head to the side and looks him up and down. Almost like she's making sure he's in one piece. Baird gives her a once-over as well, satisfied to find she looks unscathed herself. He doesn't know what he's supposed to say. Are you okay? Obviously not. Baird's not okay; he can't imagine what Sam must be feeling.
Then Dizzy and Jace are there, both sporting the same fragile grins. Baird knows that their position isn't unique; there will be plenty of people who lost loved ones today. But somehow this pain feels more intimate in this group. All of them were in Delta with Dom at some point. It's a grief that doesn't need words to be understood. Thank god, because Baird would inevitably put his foot in his mouth at some point.
Cole sidles up behind Baird and claps him on the back. Then he nods towards the beach. Baird follows his gaze, and is not even a little bit surprised to see Marcus and Anya out there alone. Marcus looks like he's found a piece of driftwood to sit on, with Anya crouching at his side on the sand. Once again, Baird is filled with an unpleasant mix of relief and guilt — Marcus and Anya are classic symbolism out of a sappy novel, representing hope for the future, but how can Baird even justify thinking so optimistically with the weight of all this death hanging over him?
Jeez, lighten up for a second and enjoy the sunset.
It feels a little like spying, but the rest of Baird's squad is wandering over to the stone railing, so what the fuck else is he going to do? He doesn't know how — he certainly didn't do it on purpose — but he ends up standing beside Sam. He half-expects Sam to realize who she's beside and move further back to stand with Carmine. She doesn't.
"I took care of myself," Sam says, so quietly that it takes a minute for Baird to piece together that she meant for him to hear.
His head jerks in her direction. Shit, he did say that, didn't he? Take care of yourself, okay? Dammit. Can he blame his momentary lapse in judgement on the fact that he'd just found out Dom was dead and couldn't even remember the last thing he'd said to the man? Probably something tone-deaf or callous, if Baird knows himself at all.
"Yeah," Baird says weakly. "Me too."
"I'm glad."
Baird feels his face heat up and hopes that the glow of the sunset will conceal his ridiculous reaction. Sam just means that she's glad she didn't lose another squad member today.
Probably.
That night, Baird sleeps in one of the hotel rooms.
It's eerily quiet. Ever since his career as an officer was abruptly cut short after the whole hijacking-a-Lightmass-missile debacle, Baird's slept in the barracks like the rest of the enlisted Gears. He's used to having paper-thin walls if he's lucky, and sleeping in the same room with twenty other men if he's not. The point being, he adapted pretty quick to falling asleep despite whatever noises were coming at him: snoring; whispered conversations; drunken laughter or shouting; crying, worst of all.
This is the first time in nearly two decades without a cacophony of ambient noise.
Baird flips onto his opposite side, trying to get comfortable.
He's never had trouble sleeping before. Not after being trapped with a Berserker in the Tomb of the Unknowns, not after getting captured by the grubs in the Hollow, not after nearly blowing up Vectes with the Hammer and a Lambent Leviathan. This should be the best goddamn night of sleep he's ever had in his life. A mattress that isn't as hard and lumpy as the ground, more pillows than he knows what do with, walls that keep the noise out. Come on, this is heaven.
He rolls over again and does not think about what happened to whoever slept in this bed last night.
With the Maelstrom Barrier deactivated, it's easy enough to establish communications with Anvil Gate. And because Baird never gets what he wants, he's summoned with the rest of Delta to call Hoffman and gets to be there for the entire conversation where Marcus has to break the news about Dom.
After confirming that they managed to activate the imulsion countermeasure weapon (and boy do they need to come up with another name for that, because that is a mouthful), Marcus pauses and his jaw tightens, and Baird braces himself for what comes out of the sergeant's mouth next: "Dom didn't make it."
If not for the crackling static, Baird might have assumed that the connection broke. That's how long the silence is on the other end.
"Goddamn it," Hoffman says finally.
"Marcus, are you all right?" Bernie cuts in.
The concern in her voice makes Baird's throat tighten up.
"Dom's a hero," Marcus says, blatantly deflecting. "We wouldn't have made it out of Mercy without him."
Baird's heard the story by now: how Dom jumped in a tanker and blew himself up to take out a horde of Lambent that were seconds away from killing Delta-One. Baird's also heard enough old war stories from Bernie to know that this isn't the first time a Santiago has sacrificed themselves for Marcus.
The conversation shifts from there. The fact that the majority of the COG and what's left of the Gorasni are currently stranded on an island in the middle of the Serano Ocean understandably takes up the majority of the time. Given the fact that the planet's fuel source was just nullified, the answer isn't as simple as hopping back on the ships and sailing back to Tyrus. There's an old oil refinery not too far away from Anvil Gate, but it's a slight issue that most of the ships and Ravens are, again, in the middle of the ocean and can't be used to transport said fuel.
Also of note is the fact that Azura definitely wasn't meant to sustain this many people for an extended period of time, so they're going to start running out of food. Ideally that doesn't happen before they figure out how to get everyone the fuck off this island.
When the call ends, Marcus and Anya disappear to wherever Marcus and Anya go these days, leaving Baird, Cole, Sam, Jace, Carmine and Dizzy behind. They all look at each other before Sam says, "Drink?"
"Fuck yes," Jace agrees, and immediately turns to head in the direction of the bar.
If there's one thing Azura has a surplus of, it's alcohol.
For the time being, anyway.
The Allfathers Taproom – which is the most pretentious name for a bar that Baird's ever heard, and he grew up in the rich district of Ephyra – is packed as usual, but they do manage to find a table. It helps that, being part of Delta, the other Gears are pretty accommodating. Still, the reality of being stuck on an island is starting to override the elation from finally putting the grubs in the ground for good, so the six of them have to cram around a high table that's meant for three people tops.
Cole strikes up a conversation with Dizzy about his daughters, Jace and Carmine start swapping bacon recipes, which left Baird stuck with only Sam.
Baird takes a few long gulps from his beer, hoping it's not too obvious that he just downed almost a third of it. When he glances at Sam, he sees that she's smirking at him, so… oh well.
"So," Sam says, taking a much more reasonable sip of her beer.
"So," Baird echoes. He doesn't know what she's getting at and would like to avoid pissing her off for as long as possible. There are a lot of witnesses in here.
"How are you holding up?"
He nearly chokes on his drink. "How am I holding up?" he splutters.
To her credit, Sam isn't fazed by his incredulity. "Yeah. You knew Dom longer than I did."
Maybe, but I wasn't in love with him.
Baird must be learning, because he stops that thought from travelling from his brain to his mouth. Amazing. Instead, he surprises himself by saying, "I don't know that it's really sunk in yet."
Sam nods. "I know what you mean. Every time I see Marcus around, I half-expect to see Dom running up behind him."
"Hard habit to break," Baird mumbles, mostly to himself.
"I know it'll hurt less eventually," Sam says. "I've lost people before."
"Do you ever feel guilty for moving on?"
He worries she might be offended, but he genuinely wants to know. The last friend that Baird had who died was Rojas, and he's more than aware that he never dealt with that loss – not truly. He packed it up and pushed it aside and pretended he was over it, when in reality he never gave himself the time to process Rojas's death. He wonders if Dom's death hurts so much more because it's dragging up the feelings he never dealt with three years ago.
Sam takes a moment before she answers. "I don't think you can ever really move on. Not if you truly loved someone. You just learn to live with the pain."
They really thought we were all going to die, didn't they?
The knowledge has been slowly dawning on Baird with each lab he and Cole search in Pinnacle Tower. Obviously, the higher ups knew long before the rest of the world that imulsion had the potential to mutate DNA. (Baird supposes he should be grateful that they were trying to work on a cure at all, but it's hard to feel gratitude when he's wandering around a frigging five-star hotel where society's "elite" got to have a goddamn vacation while he was busting his ass across Sera.) Prescott had a contingency plan, and it only included those that the Chairman deemed important enough for humanity's survival. It hadn't included any of them.
"Come on, there's nothing useful in here," Baird says. There are six research papers on the effects of the Hammer strikes on soil's fertility and just looking at them makes Baird feel like vomiting.
"Try the next one?" Cole asks, unperturbed.
God, how can he just keep going all the time?
Cole's enthusiasm and stamina are just a few of the things that Baird envies about his friend. He's well aware that The Cole Train is a front to boost morale, but that persona is also a window into Cole's heart and personality. Baird has never had the time or energy to pretend to be anything other than a selfish asshole.
"Sure," Baird says.
As they wander in to the next office, Baird can't help but whistle. Whoever this belong to was clearly a bigwig. There's a large oak desk at the far end of the room, positioned perfectly so that whoever sits there can turn their head just so and gaze out the window at the stunning view of the island. Bookshelves line the walls, absolutely stuffed with thick, leather-bound hardcovers; from a quick glance, Baird guesses the tomes are mostly military history.
"Oh shit," Cole says.
Baird looks away from the bookshelf. "What?"
Instead of answering, Cole points to something sitting on the desk: a brass nameplate. Baird walks over to examine it. His stomach drops when he's close enough to read the name.
"Bardry Salaman?"
"He killed himself," Cole says, like he can't quite believe what his own eyes are seeing. "He couldn't handle the guilt of the Hammer strikes. We mourned him."
Cole sounds lost; it makes Baird want to punch something. Evidently General Salaman had handled the guilt just fine.
"Someone's gotta tell Marcus," Baird sighs, only just barely resisting the urge to pick up the nameplate and hurl it at the wall.
"And Hoffman," Cole adds.
Baird winces; Hoffman isn't going to take this well either. Salaman's "suicide" left Hoffman as the highest-ranking military officer. The head of the army — the one who actually had to live with the consequences of the calls he made, while Salaman apparently got to sit pretty and strategize from a distance.
"Fucking Prescott," Baird mutters.
Cole looks at him; the lack of smile on his face is startling. "Yeah."
A few days later, words comes that one of the search parties found a small supply of gasoline. It's nowhere near enough to fuel all the naval vessels and get everyone off Azura, but it's enough at least to send a smaller ship back to the mainland.
Baird is completely unsurprised when Marcus picks him, Cole, Anya, Sam, Dizzy and Jace to head back to Kashkur.
He's a little more surprised that Marcus and Anya have given up any attempts at pretense now and share a cabin on the trip over. CNV Vale of Dane isn't as fast as the submarine that brought them to Azura in the first place, so the sailing tour goes through the night. Better to arrive in Tyrus at first light and hopefully make it to Kashkur while the sun's still up. The monsters may be gone, but there's still plenty of danger out there if you're dumb enough to travel after dark.
Cole, predictably, isn't loving the choppy water. Even if Vale of Dane is a destroyer and Baird can't feel the waves, Cole's sensitive stomach isn't handling the travel well. He elects to turn in early and hopefully sleep through the seasickness.
Marcus and Anya are nowhere to be seen, Frank Muller is busy at the helm, and last Baird checked, Sam, Jace and Dizzy were chatting it up in the mess. That leaves Baird to wander the upper deck by himself. Suits him just fine. He's restless; doesn't want to go to bed early because he knows he won't sleep. He hasn't had a good night's sleep since they landed on Azura.
"Penny for your thoughts?"
Baird nearly jumps out of his skin at the voice so close behind him. He turns around and glares, more to try and deflect any embarrassment than anything else, because if he's honest with himself, he's not really all that upset to see who's snuck up on him.
Sam laughs in his face, evidently pleased that she managed to spook him. "Expecting something grey and scaly with a Hammerburst?" she jokes.
"That would have been preferable," Baird snarks.
Sam rolls her eyes, but otherwise doesn't seem to take offence. (Baird is oddly… glad? Fuck.) She says, "But seriously, why are you up here by yourself?"
"You know Cole. Never did get his sea legs, despite what Michaelson insisted."
(For a brief, glorious second, Baird's chest doesn't tighten at the use of Michaelson's name. He forgets, just for a moment, that Michaelson is dead. But no – Michaelson didn't make it off Sovereign.)
"I know that," Sam says. "I meant, why are you up here by yourself? Could've joined us in the cafeteria."
It takes Baird a second to understand what she's getting at. Sam wasn't wondering why he and Cole aren't together; she's wondering why he didn't come to hang out with her?
Not just her, he reminds himself firmly. "Could've joined us in the cafeteria."
"Haven't you heard?" Baird asks. "I'm an antisocial dick."
Sam rolls her eyes so forcefully this time that her head moves with the motion. "Three years ago, maybe. I've been in your squad now, Baird; I can see through your bullshit."
That prospect is alarming for reasons Baird doesn't particularly care to examine. In any case, he isn't in the mood to argue the finer facets of his personality with Sam. He decides the best course of action is to take the path of least resistance, and heaves a dramatically put-upon sigh as he sweeps his hand in the direction of the dining area.
"Lead the way."
Sam's triumphant grin definitely does not make Baird's stomach flip-flop.
It's just the ocean.
A contingent of Packhorses are waiting for them when they arrive at the Halvo Bay port.
As they disembark Vale of Dane, Baird examines the waiting Gears, looking for familiar faces. He deflates slightly when he doesn't see Bernie, but decides he can rib her about being too old to travel when they reach the garrison.
Marcus steps on to the dock first, followed closely by Anya. A Gear wearing officer's insignia walks up to them.
"Captain Jeremias Dyer," the Gear introduces himself. "Colonel Hoffman is waiting for you back at Anvil Gate."
Baird's slightly surprised that Hoffman hasn't come to meet them in person, but he supposes it might not be entirely the colonel's decision. Sure, the war is (probably) over and the grubs and glowies are (most likely) dead and gone – thing is, that leaves Hoffman as the closest thing to a Chairman that the COG has. Technically the COG is still dissolved, but Baird gets the feeling that the civvies are going to be talking government and politicians sooner rather than later. Reunification is a matter of when, not if.
Oh, Hoffman's gotta love that.
It's a couple hours in the back of a Packhorse to cross the border from Tyrus to Kashkur. Somehow Baird ends up sandwiched between Cole and Sam, with two unfamiliar Gears in the front of the vehicle. Cole's a big dude and takes up more than his fair share of the back bench, which leaves Baird with like half a seat to himself and his thigh pressed flat up against Sam's.
It's not a comfortable trip for Baird, is what he's saying.
He's got no idea how he ended up in the bitch seat. Baird figured Sam would be riding with Jace and Dizzy and hadn't thought to call dibs on a window seat before Sam was climbing into the Pack behind him and shoving him out of the way. Baird was momentarily struck dumb by annoyance at her audacity and didn't have a chance to argue before Cole, laughing, pulled him down into the middle seat and the Gear driving yelled at him to buckle up. And Baird did, because he hadn't survived seventeen years of war to die in a car accident, goddamn it.
Cole and Sam make small talk while Baird stubbornly pretends to be asleep, even if his eyes fly open in exasperation at every large bump in the road. A particularly deep pothole has him nearly sitting on Sam's lap at one point – an offence for which she'd no doubt deck him, even if it had been completely accidental. Baird hopes that whenever they start with the roads whenever they get around to rebuilding infrastructure.
The familiar walls of Anvil Gate break through the surrounding forest a few hours later. Baird is unprepared for the pang deep in his core when he sees the fort. This is the last place Delta was together, barely a week ago and yet it somehow feels like a lifetime has passed since then. He sneaks a look out of the corner of his eye at Sam, but she has that telltale blank expression of a person who's trying their very best not to show any emotion.
Baird perfected that look over the past year.
The fort itself still looks in pretty rough shape from the beating it took only a few days ago. Deploying the Hammer on the approaching horde and then fighting a Lambent Berserker feels like it happened in another life. A stupid, desperate part of Baird wishes he could transport himself back in time to that day, convince Dom not to take the detour through Mercy, but Baird knows that kind of thinking gets him nowhere. The past is set in stone, for better or worse. Most of humanity would probably say better, given that the grubs and glowies have finally been defeated. But Baird… well. Whatever.
Another morbid part of him wonders what happened to the bodies.
There was an all-out assault on the garrison barely a week ago that resulted in plenty of casualties for both sides. But, other than the craters left behind by mortars and the siege weapons, there's scant evidence of a battle of that scale. Some poor saps had to clean up the carnage.
A slight shiver runs through Baird, and he stops following that train of thought.
Hoffman and Bernie are waiting for them in the fort's courtyard, along with Padrick Salton. Marcus has barely climbed out of the Pack before Bernie is right in front of him and pulls the sergeant into a hug. Marcus seems to freeze up for a second before relaxing and accepting (or merely tolerating) her comfort. Bernie lets go and says something to him, but Baird is too far away to catch it.
Marcus steps away from Bernie and goes to speak with Hoffman; Anya falls in step quickly beside him. Then Bernie turns her motherly gaze on Baird and he feels his insides freeze up. Damn it. He should have known better than to think he could slip under her radar.
"How are you, Baird?" Bernie asks as she approaches.
Fuck, he's getting tired of that question. He doesn't want to pretend he's anywhere near as gutted about Dom as Marcus is – he doesn't have that right, not when he'd only known the guy for three years. Baird hadn't grown up with him, hadn't been an honorary uncle to Dom's kids, had never even met Maria. Really, they were barely even friends; Baird's certain he's not the kind of person Dom would have chosen to associate with if not for the connective tissue of Delta Squad.
But damn does it still fucking sting.
For some stupid reason, Baird can't bring himself to lie to Bernie. But he's certainly not about to bare his soul – not with Cole and Sam in earshot – so he simply shrugs and gives her a look that he hopes conveys I'm feeling a lot and I have no frigging idea what to do about it. Bernie has evidently become one of the few people who have cared to learn how to interpret his silent deflections, and strides right in to his personal space. Before the protest can even begin to form on Baird's lips, Bernie grabs him and forces him into a somewhat aggressive embrace.
Horrifyingly, Baird feels a lump form in his throat that he quickly swallows. When Bernie releases him, Baird sees she has tears in her eyes. Nope, no way, doesn't matter – he is not going to have this breakdown now.
"You did good, Blondie," Bernie says, offering him a warm smile.
Not good enough, is the automatic thought. Sure, he wasn't on the mission to Mercy and Char, he couldn't have done anything there, but if he'd been able to crack Prescott's data disc before the fucker absconded with it, then maybe…
How many people must be beating themselves up for what happened to Dom. Once again, Baird's a selfish asshole who wants to make it all about him.
Bernie moves off to mother Cole and Sam, and Baird takes the opportunity to make his escape over to Marcus, Hoffman and Pad. Hoffman gives Baird a look when he wanders into the conversation. At first Baird thinks he's intruding, but then he realizes that the colonel was giving him the same quick once-over that Sam had – checking for injuries. It brings Baird up short.
"—have to get the old oil refinery up and running again," Pad is saying. "Hasn't been touched in years, but it should have enough reserves to get everyone off Azura."
Hoffman nods. "We'll have to contact the Stranded."
Baird can't help but scoff. "And what? See if they hate our guts any less?"
"We can't just rebuild civilization without them," Pad counters, frowning.
"I'm sure most won't join us," Hoffman says, "but a few groups might. We'll need all the help we can get in the coming years."
Years. It's jarring to think so far ahead. Baird's used to planning for the next few days, a couple weeks in advance if he's lucky. For so long, he's never been guaranteed a tomorrow and now they're suddenly thinking years in the future. It's going to take a while to adjust to that.
"We'll head out to the old refinery tomorrow," Hoffman decides. "I'm sure we can round up some civvies who can help us out."
"I've done some reading on refining petroleum," Baird says. "All theoretical of course, but maybe—"
"All the help we can get," Hoffman repeats. "Consider yourself volunteered."
"Delta will provide security," Marcus says. His tone leaves no room for argument, even if he's not the one who's supposed to be assigning personnel.
Baird grins. "What, worried to let me out of your sight?"
He means it as a joke, but the second the words are out of his mouth, Baird cringes. Can he really poke fun at Marcus for wanting to keep a close eye on his squad?
Marcus just stares at him before blinking once and turning back to Hoffman. It could be anything from an annoyed dismissal to genuine hurt at the inadvertent reminder of Dom's death. Either way, Baird is cowed and he retreats back to the safety of Cole, Bernie and Sam.
Despite all his reading on the subject, Baird actually ends up being pretty useless when it comes to anything other than turning on the machines at the refinery.
Sam laughs at him as he's banished from operations by civvies who actually know what they're doing. Baird glares back, wondering not for the first time why Marcus had to pair the two of them up, and take Cole away to the other side of the site. It's always been an unspoken rule that Baird and Cole get paired together, while Marcus and—
Marcus could have taken Baird, is what he means. But maybe Marcus is still pissed at Baird for yesterday's stupid comment. Baird wouldn't blame him at all; he stared at the ceiling in his bunk for a few hours last night, mentally kicking himself.
"At last!" Sam says, still snickering. "At last the great Damon Baird isn't an instant expert. Ah, I never thought I'd see the day."
Baird rolls his eyes, although he's secretly thankful that Sam's interruption pulled him back to the present. (He'll have plenty of time tonight to ruminate on why Marcus probably hates his guts.) "I'm an engineer, remember?" he says. "Not a factory worker."
Sam just smiles, clearly indicating that she's not convinced his pride isn't wounded. (She's right, but he'll never admit that she can get a read on him). "Guess you'll just have to wander around with an itchy trigger finger like the rest of us uneducated types. Poor you."
He bristles a bit at uneducated types and only just manages to hold his tongue. Refuting Sam by throwing his fancy boarding school education in her face is just pointless. What did it end up doing for him, anyway? He didn't need all those university prep courses about mechanical engineering in basic training.
"Itchy trigger finger?" Baird asks, trying to change the subject. "What, worried we're going to stumble across a gang of Stranded hiding in a broom closet?"
Surprisingly, Baird notices some emotion flicker over Sam's face – uncertainty? It's gone before he can pin it down. Weird. She's never had a problem telling him to shut the hell up before if it's something she doesn't want to talk about.
And when did I start paying such close attention?
Then Sam sighs and faces him. "I don't know, I just… it's hard to believe it's really over, you know? I feel like the second I let my guard down, we're going to find out that it didn't actually work and that the grubs survived somehow." She laughs quietly. "That probably sounds pretty stupid to the guy who was actually there."
Before Vectes, Baird would have eagerly used this admission as ammunition in a future fight. Now he feels his chest ache and realizes with a dull shock that it's empathy. He hesitates for a second, wondering if Sam is looking for him to acknowledge what she's just said or pretend he didn't hear it. He's much better at doing the latter. But in the suddenly-awkward silence, Baird finds himself thinking that he doesn't want to ignore this.
"No, I get it," he says. "I mean, we've killed the grubs twice before – the Lightmass bomb and sinking Jacinto. Even if I was right there this time, it doesn't make it any easier to shake that paranoia."
"They say the third time's the charm," Sam says.
Baird snorts, which somehow coaxes a small smile onto Sam's face. Something warm unfurls in his stomach; he likes looking at her smile.
Do not go there, for fuck's sake. Not the time.
"Twenty bucks," Baird says.
"Beg pardon?"
"Twenty bucks says they come back again." Maybe it's morbid to joke about something like this, but Baird's never really been one for decorum. Besides, joking about something as horrifying as the Locust coming back takes the power away from it – just a little. It's like when people used to poke fun at dictators and warlords; humour robbed them of their gravitas, brought them down to a normal person's level.
Sam seems to get it. Or at the very least, she gets that he's not trying to be a total dick about something (for once in his life). She smirks and says, "I'll take that action."
"Not worried you're on the wrong side of this bet?"
Sam regards him, her face suddenly very serious, and Baird feels his throat go dry. "I'll bet against your pessimism any day of the week."
18 A.E.
It's at their monthly Delta reunion bar takeover that Marcus and Anya announce the news.
"We're pregnant," Anya says, her smile more joyous than Baird's ever seen it.
Baird eyes the glass of water in Anya's hand and flicks his gaze to Marcus. He's never seen his former sergeant smile (the very concept in and of itself threatens to break Baird's brain), but this is the closest Marcus has ever looked to cracking a grin; the lines around his mouth aren't as harsh, and there's a light in his eyes that hasn't been there seen since Dom died.
Beside him, Cole lets out a loud whoop and immediately rushes over to give Anya a bear hug. Bernie and Hoffman light up like it's the best goddamn thing they've ever heard in their lives, while Jace, Carmine and Dizzy clink their pint glasses and shout out drunken congratulations. Sam smiles smugly near Anya and Baird has the distinct impression that she already knew.
The bar is busy but not packed, which is fairly normal. Even if it isn't one of the nicest places in New Ephyra, it was one of the first pubs to get up and running when the settlement was still being constructed, and Gears are nothing if not loyal.
Baird's glad that, nearly a year after the war ended, they're still doing this get-together thing. Hoffman and Bernie elected to stay in Anvegad (Baird suspects Hoffman's trying to stay as far away from politics as possible), Jace and Dizzy are gone more often than not as they help with construction on other settlements, and Marcus and Anya rarely venture off the secluded Stroud Estate (not can Baird can blame them for wanting privacy). As fucked up as it sounds, it's so easy to drift apart when there's not a war forcing everyone together.
Not wanting to dwell on that depressing reality any longer, Baird heads to the bar for a refill.
After he's a few beers deep, Cole turns to Baird and flashes him an intoxicated grin. "We're gonna be uncles!" he says – enthusiastic, if a little slurred.
For some reason, having Cole spell it out like that brings Baird up short. Him – an uncle? It's not something he's ever thought about, being an only child. And he's certainly never wanted to assume the closeness of a relationship with someone (it would be an awkward thing to be wrong about). But, if he really thinks about it and pushes his emotional hang-ups aside, Baird supposes that Cole and Marcus really are brothers in everything but blood.
Well then.
Baird is going to spoil the hell out of this kid.
He's been tinkering over the last few months, after finally settling down in a townhouse in New Ephyra. Barrack living quickly lost its appeal (not that there was ever much to begin with) after it became evident that the Locust weren't secretly hiding around a corner, waiting to jump out and say gotcha! when the humans least expected it. After Marcus and Anya eloped in a small civil ceremony and moved to Anya's family home – far enough away from any settlement that the journos finally gave up hounding the famous couple – the rest of Delta slowly drifted out of the barracks.
Not that all of them drifted far apart: Baird and Cole are practically neighbours, and Sam's flat is only a short drive away.
Anyway, the point being – he has a garage now, where his ideas can finally explode out of his brain and leave a mess of half-finished creations scattered around. He hasn't had a space to himself since he was a kid and used to sneak out to his parents' long-forgotten garage, building and messing around with machines after he'd breezed through his schoolwork. He assumes he only got away with it so long because his parents both used chauffeurs for trips as simple as going to the store and hadn't set foot (or even stored a car) in the small building on the outskirts of the family property in years.
It might take a few years, but Marcus and Anya's kid will eventually be able to play with toys in a more sophisticated way than shoving them in its mouth. And when that day comes, Baird is going to build the most amazing toys that a kid could ever ask for.
"Uncle Cole, huh?" Sam seems to have heard Cole's pronouncement and inserts herself into their conversation. "I assume that kid'll have the best thrashball coach of all time."
If possible, Cole's grin gets even wider. "Oh hell yeah! That kid is gonna cream the floor with their classmates."
Baird snorts, though he's secretly pleased for Cole. There's some semblance of a thrashball league up and running again, but Cole's days as an athlete are behind him. Hardly any of the best athletes continued to play after their mid-thirties – and that was without taking nearly two decades off to fight in a war. Baird never figured Cole for an army lifer and so he's glad his friend will have an outlet for his passion. It might be a few years out, but hey, at least it's something to look forward to.
As Cole and Sam start planning all the wisdom they're going to impart to their niece or nephew, Baird notices that Anya's been snatched away by Dizzy, leaving Marcus at the bar by himself. Maybe it's the pleasant buzz from the alcohol, or the warm fuzzies floating around in Baird's stomach – whatever the case, Baird extricates himself from Sam and Cole's semi-drunken ramblings and tries to slide along the bar to Marcus. There's a bit of a crowd in front of him and so Baird has to squeeze up against Sam and push through. He shoots her an apologetic look as he brushes along her side, but the smile she gives him indicates that she doesn't mind the contact.
Marcus notices Baird's approach and twists his body to open up a spot next to him. Baird slides in and sets his beer down on the countertop.
"Hey man," Baird says, "congratulations. That's frigging great news."
Marcus doesn't smile exactly, but he sort of smirks. Baird takes it as a victory.
"I know it's sort of taboo to ask, but got any names picked out?" Marcus seems to hesitate for a second; Baird rolls his eyes and continues, "Come on. I'm the one person you know isn't going to steal your unused baby names."
Marcus nods slowly. "Helene if it's a girl."
"And if it's a boy?"
"JD for short."
Marcus doesn't volunteer any more information than that, and it doesn't take a genius to figure out what the D stands for.
The door to the restaurant opens and Baird glances up from his lunch. Finally, he thinks, and feels his body relax slightly. Logically he knows that no one else in this place gives a shit about a guy having a meal by himself in a booth, but Baird's never particularly enjoyed eating alone. Even back when all his meals came from the mess hall, he'd always look for Cole, or make a show of pulling out work and making himself seem as busy as possible.
It's a relief to see Cole and Sam walk into the dim light of the restaurant. Sam spots him first and waves; Baird nods in acknowledgement and leans back in his seat.
"What, you couldn't wait for us?" Cole says as he slides into the booth beside Baird.
"Sue me, I was hungry," Baird replies, picking up his burger to take another bite. "And how was I supposed to know how long your meeting was gonna take?"
Sam sits in the booth opposite Baird and wastes no time in stealing one of his fries. Baird scowls at her, trying to warn her off, but she just grins back.
Cole snorts. "Did you really think it would last long after Dyer finally popped the question?"
The waitress arrives to take Cole and Sam's orders. Baird idly wonders what she must think of the three of them: two soldiers still dressed in their fatigues, and Baird in a cotton button down shirt and jeans that are probably hiding grease stains somewhere. It's only been a few months since Baird retired from the service and he definitely doesn't miss it or anything, but it is a little weird to no longer be officially a part of the COG army. (He's not the only one who left, of course: Marcus and Anya discharged as soon as they were able). Baird's new civilian status is the reason they're having this lunch, so he can catch up on the gossip.
"So?" he prods. "How big of a disaster was it?"
Cole and Sam share a look, and Sam shudders. "Pretty big," she says. "I thought the old man was going to pop a blood vessel."
"I can't believe Dyer honestly thought Hoffman would agree to that," Baird says. "First Minister? Come on."
Cole shrugs. "Makes sense from the outside. Hoffman was the man in charge for a while after Prescott left."
"Left?" Baird repeats. "That's a generous way of looking at it."
"Fucked off is more like it," Sam mutters, and then snatches another couple of Baird's fries.
"Stop it," he says, swatting at her hand, but he knows it's a wasted effort. Now that he's let on that it annoys him, she'll keep it up even after her own food arrives.
Beside him, Cole gives him a smirk with a raised eyebrow, which Baird elects to ignore. Sam's always liked to push his buttons; this is nothing new for her.
"So, what's the plan now if Hoffman doesn't want to be First Minister?" Baird asks as he slides his plate closer to his side of the table.
"Who cares?" Sam retorts, leaning back against the black leather of the booth.
Baird rolls his eyes. "Call me crazy, but I'd like to have some idea of who's gonna be running the government. Y'know, since the last guy did such a stellar job."
"Bit of a low bar to clear," Cole chuckles.
Encrypted data disks, flouncing off to a secret island, playing things close to the chest until it was almost too late – what a guy that Prescott was. Really, whoever the next leader of the COG ends up being will look great in comparison.
Sam's hand darts across the table again. Baird heaves a sigh but doesn't protest.
The anniversary of Dom's death arrives faster than Baird expected.
It creeps up on him softly, in the back of his mind for weeks, and then suddenly it's here. He doesn't know what to do with himself on the actual day. It falls midweek; everyone is busy and so they decide to put off any sort of gathering for a few days. And so Baird finds himself spending the day like most others, trying to translate his thoughts and ideas into something tangible.
It's rather anticlimactic, for all the buildup.
Baird doesn't know what he was expecting. Some sort of sudden shift in feeling? Like now that an arbitrary amount of time has passed, the dull background ache will magically stop? Life doesn't work like that. It's like Sam said, in the early days after the war – it never really goes away. Baird wonders if he'll ever forget about Dom.
He probably will. He's a bastard like that.
It happens one afternoon when he's tinkering in his garage.
He's lost track of time, which isn't unusual for him when he's feeling particularly inspired. Sometimes he only realizes how long he's been at something when his stomach starts to clench with hunger. Point being, he hasn't been inside his house for a few hours, so he's rather surprised when Cole all but kicks in his garage door and bursts inside.
"Uh, hi?" Baird says, pulling off his goggles and standing up straight.
"I've been trying to call you for forty-five minutes!" Cole exclaims, slightly out of breath. "Come on, we gotta go!"
"Go where?"
"The hospital! The baby's coming!"
Cole, who normally follows traffic rules to an infuriating degree, drives like a maniac from Baird's townhouse to New Ephyra General Hospital. They nearly get into three accidents and Baird feels like he might need treatment for a heart attack when he finally steps onto the sidewalk.
Once they're inside the building, Baird heads for reception to ask where to go. A familiar voice stops him before he can get to the desk.
"Hey!"
Baird turns to see Sam waving at him. Of course she'd already be here. He stops in his tracks and lets Cole and Sam converge on him from both sides.
"We can't go back, obviously," Sam says, "but there's a waiting room in the delivery ward."
After the mad dash to get here, sitting around in a waiting room full of other anxious families starts to sour Baird's mood. He's bored and hungry and the coffee in the cafeteria is so shit that he'd rather drink the sludge from his army days. And of course there's no telling exactly how long they're going to be waiting, and Baird has never been particularly gifted with patience. His leg starts bouncing up and down after about an hour and he's about ready to start making comments he's sure to regret when Sam puts a hand on his shoulder.
"Come on, let's go for a walk," she says firmly.
"I don't need—" he starts, but Sam grabs his hand and pulls him to his feet.
"You really do."
And then, still holding his hand in a vice-like grip, she starts dragging him out of the waiting room. Baird looks over his shoulder to throw a pleading, outraged look at Cole, but his friend just smirks to himself and gives a little wave.
Traitor.
Baird manages to free his hand before they get too far from the waiting room. "I'm not a child!" he says, planting his feet.
Sam turns around and folds her arms across her chest. "Really? Could have fooled me."
The annoyance bubbling up in his chest is disproportionate for this situation, but Baird can't help himself. "You don't get to just decide what I need. You're not my girlfriend and you're certainly not my mother."
Sam's face flushes at that. "Hey, just because you're worried, don't take it out on me."
"I'm not worried," Baird scoffs, even as something resonates deep within his chest. "What is there to be worried about?"
The anger in Sam's eyes fades a bit. He's seen this look from her dozens of times, when she's still pissed at him but she's figured out some hidden insight behind his dickishness.
"Whenever things go right for us," Sam says slowly, "something bad always seems to come along. Like it's the price we have to pay for the good things. I'm worried about Anya. It's okay for you to be too."
God, he hates how she can see right through him. Sometimes he finds it endearing but right now it's making him feel cornered.
"Don't psychoanalyze me," Baird snaps. "It's not a good look for you."
He storms past her, away from the waiting room, no particular destination in mind. Sam's either smart enough not to stop him or she just doesn't care. Either way, she lets him go without a word. He doesn't look back to see what she does.
He kills time in the cafeteria for a few hours, nursing a cup of tea since even the smell of the coffee here makes him want to vomit. Once he's cooled off and had time to think, he realizes Sam was right. He is worried – scared, even. Things have been going to good: the grubs haven't come back, no third war broke out, none of his friends died of latent lambency. Nothing's gone wrong yet, so maybe this – Marcus and Anya's child – is what all that bad luck has been waiting for. Anya will die in childbirth. The baby won't make it. Marcus will lose somebody else.
Fuck.
Logically he knows that there's no factual basis for this anxiety. There are no cosmic scales that need to be balanced. The world is random, chaotic, equally kind and cruel. Good fortune one day doesn't automatically schedule a future catastrophe.
His tea is cold and mostly untouched when Cole finds him a few hours later. He's been sketching pieces of designs on napkins to keep himself from crawling back and apologizing. Cole comes up and nudges him.
"They're ready for us," Cole says.
Baird folds up his napkin and tucks it in his pocket. "Everything's okay?"
"Yeah. Yeah, they're both fine."
Walking into the recovery room, Baird feels like he's finally able to relax when he sees Anya cradling a tiny bundle to her chest. Marcus is standing beside the hospital bed, flanked by Sam and Jace and Dizzy, who evidently arrived while Baird was sulking in the cafeteria. Baird hovers awkwardly in the doorway, attempting to peer at the infant in Anya's arms without behind obvious about it.
Marcus notices Baird and fixes him with a look at says, what the fuck are you doing out there?
That, more so than any of the other eyes who have noticed him, makes Baird's face go red. He makes an effort to look exasperated and slumps fully into the room. Marcus leaves his post by Anya's bedside and comes to stand beside Baird. He's not smiling, exactly, but it's a damn near thing if Baird's any judge.
(Baird also thinks that Marcus looks a little relieved, like his ex-sergeant was maybe expecting some sort of disaster and can't believe he's lucked out.)
"Helene?" Baird asks when Marcus is within earshot.
"JD," Marcus answers. "Do you want to see him?"
"Uh—"
Before Baird can decide if it would be completely offensive to try and avoid any attempts at bonding, Marcus has taken his son from Anya and the look on Marcus's face leaves Baird speechless. Marcus steps in beside Baird again, twisting so Baird can see around the blanket burrito in his arms.
Newborns look weird, Baird decides. There's too much forehead for the baby's face, he's wrinkled like an old man, and just generally looks like a squished alien.
And Baird will murder anything that comes near this kid.
Just over a year after the end of the Lambent Pandemic, the new COG finally gets its shit together and formally decides what to do with the old abandoned cities.
First Minister Dyer – chosen by his fellow Ministers after Hoffman (repeatedly) turned down the job – makes the announcement on television. Instead of rebuilding the destroyed cities like Ephyra, Speyer and Tollen, Dyer declares that the COG is officially going all-in on constructing new walled-off settlements. The old cities will be left as they are, grisly monuments to the war that nearly wiped out humanity.
Baird's not shocked. When the COG didn't immediately begin to try and rebuild the old cities, he figured they wanted to start from scratch. It makes sense, really; the cities got the shit kicked out of them in the seventeen years of war that resulted in the fall of impenetrable strongholds like Ephyra. Jacinto's currently under a couple miles of water, and the riftworm completely fucked up Tollen and Montevado, so it's not like those would have been a piece of cake to clear out and rebuild.
Hoffman and Dyer make good on their promise and offer clemency to any Stranded who want to rejoin the COG. A good chunk do; some are still stubborn assholes who wouldn't know a good deal if it danced in front of them naked.
There's a big ceremony and everything, welcoming back the COG's "lost citizens". Like they wandered off in the night and forgot the route back to the house, not made a deliberate choice to say fuck you and take their chances. Baird doesn't begrudge the Stranded for leaving – not exactly. Who knows how he would have felt if he hadn't grown up in a place that was spared from the Hammer strikes. He just hates the bullshit PR spin that goes into everything nowadays.
Of course, there was oodles of bullshit when he was in the army. Back then they justified it as morale-boosting propaganda. Baird had seen through it then and he sees through it now.
Doesn't stop him from watching the ceremony on the TV, though.
Baird finds himself wondering sometimes if he'll run into Paduk one day, now that some of the Stranded are back in society.
It happens occasionally, when he sees the back of someone's head who's going grey, or a scar running up the side of someone's face. There's a brief painful flare of something in his chest – anticipation? anxiety? – and then he realizes that, no, it's no one he knows. Just another stranger with a scar. The war made plenty of those.
He never hears anything about Paduk again.
He wonders sometimes if that's for the best.
19 A.E.
An unknown number comes up on the call display. Baird frowns and hesitates for a second, wondering if he should just let it go to voicemail. But, if it is a crank call, he'd rather tear whoever's on the other end a new one instead of dodging their calls for the next few weeks until they get bored.
"Hello?" he says when he picks up, letting his voice drip with skepticism.
There's a slight pause on the other end before someone answers, "Corporal. It's been a while."
Baird recognizes the voice in an instant; he used to hear it in his ears practically every day for three years. "Mathieson?"
"Got it in one," Mathieson says, and Baird can hear the smile in his voice. "I got your number from Cole. Not interrupting anything, am I?"
"No, no. My life isn't exactly hectic these days."
"Yeah, I heard you discharged a while back. Can't say I was surprised."
Baird snorts. "Was I that obvious?"
"Let's just say as a controller, I got to learn how to read most Gears. And you weren't that hard to read."
Yeah, sounds about right. "How are those prosthetics holding up?"
"Good. Still hurts like a bitch, but it's better than being stuck behind a desk all day."
Guilt rises up in the back of Baird's throat. It's been three years and he never thought once to dig out his old designs for Mathieson's prosthetic legs. He has a workshop now, access to better tools and equipment; even if that won't make walking pain-free, he could at least try to alleviate some of it. What the fuck else is he doing with his spare time right now?
"If you want," Baird hedges, "I could have a go at an update. Y'know, now that we're not stuck on an island in the middle of nowhere."
"You know I'm never going to turn down a chance to walk again," Mathieson says. "But listen, the reason that I'm calling is, uh… I don't know if you heard, but…" The lieutenant sighs. "Yanik died last week. I'm sorry."
It takes a moment for him to process the word and then it hits him square in the chest like a thunderclap. Yanik, with his gruff sailor charm and unflappable attitude and Blondie-Baird, was the first friend Baird had made in a long goddamn time. And not because he was stuck in the same squad as Baird, like Marcus and Dom and Paduk and even Cole, but because for whatever crazy reason, Yanik actually seemed to like him. Baird always knew Yanik was out there somewhere, had heard the Gorasni had finally settled somewhere on the mainland since Gorasnya had been destroyed by Karn's army in the early months of the war, and Baird had always figured that one day they'd meet up again.
"Oh," Baird finally says, and hates how small his voice sounds. "How?"
"Report came across my desk a few days ago," Mathieson says. "Looks like it was some sort of freak storm that destroyed a few Gorasni settlements."
"Only Gorasni settlements?"
"Yeah."
No wonder Baird hasn't seen anything about it on the news. Same old fucking story.
"Thanks for letting me know," Baird says, and then winces. Thanks?
"I figured you'd be one of the few people who'd actually care. Speaking of, do you happen to know Sam Byrne's number? I know she and Yanik weren't exactly friends, but I thought I'd let her know."
His duchashka. Shit. "I see her a lot," Baird says. "I can tell her. Hey, listen, if you're ever in New Ephyra, don't be a stranger."
It's a hollow offer. Mathieson politely promises to do so all the same.
Sam comes over later and they get shitfaced on bottles of wine. Not for the first time Baird thinks about kissing her, but then his mind is filled with images of Yanik and Dom and he suddenly feels sick. Instead they reminisce about the Amirale Enka, about Vectes, about their brief reunion when the Gorasni came to save their ass during the battle on Azura.
"They call you Blondie because you are blond, yes? Well, I am Yanik, Blondie, and they call me that because I will yanik your intestines if you mess with my ship."
"Our humble ship is yours, duchashka. I shall keep my unworthy eyes to myself."
"Ha! This would be sport in Gorasnya!"
"You look at me like I am a grub. Like I kill for no reason. One day, Blondie-Baird, I will tell you what the garayaz did to us at Chalitz, and you will see things another way. We are the last Gorasni. The last."
That night, Baird dreams of the Emerald Spar being swallowed at sea by a massive tornado. He runs through the halls of the imulsion platform, searching for Yanik, for Eugen, for Sam and Cole, but he's alone, surrounded only by screaming metal as the platform is torn apart around him. He wakes up drenched in sweat, reaching for a shadow.
A few months later, he and Sam are over at Cole's for dinner. The news is on the television with the volume down, just a droning hum in the background, until something one of the anchors says catches Baird's attention.
"We're getting reports of a COG settlement being damaged yesterday by some sort of storm. Eyewitnesses report high winds and lightning strikes. Luckily, no one was seriously injured in the incident. This is the first settlement to be damaged by a strong weather pattern since First Minister Dyer's government began construction…"
Bile rises in the back of Baird's throat, and he has an overwhelming urge to grab Cole's Embry Star off the mantle and hurl it at the screen. Cole is busy grabbing something from the oven, humming to himself and none the wiser about his friend's impulse to destroy his television. Baird takes a few steadying breaths. He has a newfound respect for Hoffman tanking his own officer career after the battle of Aspho Point by accepting an Embry Star on behalf of the Pesanga troops who weren't eligible for the honour.
Sam drifts over to stand next to him, glaring at the reporters on screen. They don't need to say anything; they both get it. Sam slips her hand into his and squeezes briefly, and then moves off to help Cole in the kitchen.
When it finally happens, it's almost underwhelming.
They're at a bar.
Hoffman and Bernie left early tonight along with Marcus and Anya. Dizzy and Carmine are arguing about something over at the jukebox and Cole is helping Jace as his wingman on the dancefloor. That leaves Baird and Sam sitting in Delta's usual booth by themselves, just shooting the shit. They were seated right beside each other when the rest of the squad was at the booth, and haven't moved positions since their friends dispersed into the bar.
"Ten bucks on Jace striking out," Baird says.
Sam doesn't even hesitate. "I'll take that. No way some girl doesn't try to pick him up."
"It doesn't count if you go home with him."
Baird's anticipating her elbow and dodges out of the way. Not to be thwarted, Sam scoots closer and shoves him hard enough that he nearly topples over in the booth.
"You're a dick," Sam says, but she's grinning.
Baird flashes her a cocky smile before turning his head to check on Jace's progress. Jace and Cole are talking to a group of women and even from this distance, Baird can tell that one of them only has eyes for Jace. Baird turns back to Sam, ready to lament his impending loss of the bet, and finds that she's still looking at him.
She's been doing that a lot more lately, and Baird… Baird is tired of pretending not to notice.
"Tell me if I'm reading this wrong," he says, twisting his body towards Sam.
He knows he isn't. He feels like he's been approaching this inevitability his whole life.
"God, I hope not," Sam says, and shifts closer.
"Good. Otherwise this would be awkward."
Baird reaches out to palm Sam's jaw and curls his fingers around the back of her neck. Sam goes very still, eying him steadily as if she's still expecting him to chicken out. Baird's always had a stubborn streak when it comes to proving Sam wrong, and so he leans in before his brain can start to overanalyze everything and kisses her on the mouth.
It is a little awkward at the start. Just pressing their lips against each other, with a pounding baseline in the background. Maybe he was expecting fireworks with all that's led up to this moment, and being met with reality is different – not disappointing, because he is most definitely kissing Sam after she gave him implicit permission, just different. She also hasn't punched him in the face yet, so he must be doing something right.
Then suddenly Sam grabs a fistful of his shirt and tugs. Baird parts his lips in surprise, ready to tell her off for wrinkling one of his few dress shirts, but Sam takes advantage of his open mouth and tries to shove her tongue down his throat.
Right then. He can get with the program.
It might have been a hot minute since he's last made out with anyone, but he never had any complaints from any of his previous girlfriends. There are moves he'd like to make but the logical part of his brain (growing smaller and more insignificant by the second) is still very much aware that they are in a public place and Baird would really rather not end this night by getting booked for public indecency. It's desperate and messy and the angle leaves something to be desired and Baird wouldn't change anything about it.
Sam lifts her mouth off his and pulls back slightly. "Do you wanna get out of here?"
He's never answered a question so quickly in his life. "Yeah."
