Nyra stood silently next to the tank, an Avenger rifle clenched in her hands. The sun was setting in the West, dipping the streets of the New Ghent in a deep red, its rays reflecting in the little pools of water that had gathered beneath the Mako. If it wasn't for the destruction and the fighting in the distance, she mused, this might have been a beautiful human city once.
Behind her, inside a large hangar, stood the Mako, with Desmond working inside it. He was trying his best to repair the damage done by the Harvester, but his muffled curses indicated that it wasn't working.
But it was better than the alternative. Mako two and three had been destroyed, and they too had only escaped thanks to her quick thinking. The sun felt warm on her skin. Her eyelids had become so heavy since they had disembarked. She yawned.
The sun was almost completely gone, darkness creeping in from the other side of the horizon. The gunfire and explosions had dwindled to a distant whisper. Nyra yawned again.
With a curse, Desmond appeared from behind the tank, wiping his hands on a piece of cloth, his face a mask of anger and frustration.
She turned towards him, her heart beating faster. The last rays of the sun disappeared behind the mountains in the distance.
"Any luck?" She asked although his expression had already given her the answer.
He put the cloth away and ran his fingers through his hair, sighing.
"We have a problem." He began. "That last shot hit our cooling system, which means we can't fire our damn guns!" His voice was thick with frustration. She hated seeing him like this.
Ever since she'd been assigned to the 52nd Cavalry division, ever since meeting Desmond, there was something she felt when he was around. She just couldn't quite put her finger on what.
"Well, that's technically not true …" he objected with a tortured grin. "We can fire our gun once before blowing out our cooling system completely and frying the internal sensors. After that, we're dead in the water."
"Shit…" Nyra cursed, placing the butt of her rifle on the ground while scratching the back of her neck – a gesture she'd picked up from working with humans every day. "We could try to vent the excess heat into the drive-core's cooling system?" she offered after a moment of consideration.
"Good idea, but we could only fire a few shots before overheating the whole thing. Then we'd be without guns and couldn't move."
"And that's not even the worst part." Desmond continued. "Our communications are down, which means we can't call for backup OR extraction."
They walked back to the tank. Desmond leaned his back against one of the wheels and sighed, thinking. Nyra was tired. She had to concentrate to keep her eyes open. Something inside her just wanted to push Desmond against that wheel and kiss him, run her fingers through his hair and over his chest. When she realized what she was thinking about, she turned away, embarrassed.
"You okay, Ny?" Desmond asked, noticing her sudden movement.
"Yeah, I'm fine. Just … tired, that's all." She answered, trying to convince herself just as much.
"What am I thinking?!" she thought to herself. "He's my Commander! Besides, we're not even the same species! And this really isn't the time! No, no, it must be fatigue. I haven't slept in a while, that's all."
He walked up beside her.
"Well, no sense in getting ourselves killed by driving around at night with no means of defense." He said as her heart started beating faster.
"I say we sit tight, get some sleep, and try to figure something out tomorrow."
"A-agreed." She stammered. "What is happening to me?!" She thought to herself.
"I'll take first watch. You get in the tank and try to get some sleep, alright?" He opened is palm.
She handed him the rifle, yawning again. Maybe sleep wasn't such a bad idea.