"Really, kid, again?" Drack grumbled as he set down the ration bar and coffee he had brought up with him. He'd expected he would have to bully her into eating after their day on the Archon's ship, instead she was passed out cold at her research terminal, fingers still twitching over the keys. She wasn't snoring this time. Instead, she was tense, murmuring under her breath that was coming much too quickly for her to be dozing gently.
He laid a hand on her shoulder, and she shot up quickly, hands flaring blue with her biotics.
"Easy kid," he rumbled, "it's just me."
Ryder flopped back into the chair loosely, her eyes losing their glaze of fear as she met his gaze. He remembered that same look when she had woken up from the dead, for what he was told was the second time. He shuddered, thinking again of watching the needle slide into her neck as he struggled helplessly against the stasis field. What good did armor do if it didn't protect her most vulnerable parts?
"Drack?" she asked, her voice catching just a tad. He laid his hand on her shoulder again, and this time she relaxed under it.
"Rough day, huh kid?"
She nodded. They didn't need to say it. The salarian pathfinder was a heavy cost to save a few scattered krogan, but Ryder had known as well as he did that they needed every krogan possible for the species to have a chance in this galaxy.
"I won't ever forget this, Ryder. You chose the Krogan first. You looked at us and saw more than just cannon fodder. Whatever anyone else says, you're a hero," he said. She looked up at him, eyes wide under the unexpected praise and a smile ghosted at her lips. She was still so weighed down, so many deaths on her tiny shoulders and so many people demanding to know why, how, who, where….
"I'm proud of you," he said, out of nowhere. The words felt insincere, too small to account for the magnitude of his gratefulness and awe of her, but if her small gasp was any indication, she knew the sentiments behind it.
"Thank you," she replied softly, her hand coming up to cover his own on her shoulder. The gesture was a little awkward, Drack wasn't typically an affectionate person, but then again, Ryder typically didn't let people touch her. Awkwardness didn't negate the affection behind the gesture.
"Come on, take a break from that," he said, looking over her shoulder to read the kett files she had opened on the screen. He turned her chair towards the cooling coffee and ration bars he'd brought up.
"You need to eat something," he said, handing her the cup. She looked at it oddly, sniffing at it before taking a sip and sighing.
"How did you know?" she asked, gesturing with the cup in such a way that coffee sloshed onto the floor at her feet. Her eyes followed it wearily, and she set the cup down to reach for a bar. Drack pretended he didn't see her hands shaking.
"I'm old, kid, not blind. I've seen you make your coffee before. The machine only has so many buttons," he grumbled with a smile. Ryder smiled back at him, flashing her white teeth a little too much before pulling it back into something softer, a little more sincere. He enjoyed these moments with her, where he wasn't her squadmate and she wasn't the Pathfinder, they were just Drack and Ryder. It was nice to see the girl behind the armor sometimes.
"Thanks, Drack, I needed this," she said as she tore open a ration bar. She brought it to her mouth and took a bite before paling slightly and setting the bar down with a forced motion.
"Ryder?" Drack asked, concern lacing his tough voice.
"I…. I think I'm going to be sick," she said, then stood and rushed for the nearest trash can. Moments after her head was in it, he heard liquid hitting the bottom of it.
After a moment, she sagged against the plastic bin, and he walked up next to her to glide a hand gently up her back before letting it drop as he kneeled next to her.
"You should go see Lexi, kid, you might be reacting to whatever that pyjack injected you with."
Ryder swallowed and opened her mouth to speak, but was hit with another wave of nausea that had her face turning green before it disappeared into the trash can again. Green now too? Humans were so damn colorful.
She was putting thresher maws to shame with the amount her stomach was forcing up. He considered the few sips of coffee she had, and chalked this one up to another weird human anatomical thing. After a minute, she sat back on her haunches and swiped at her mouth with her shirt sleeve, grimacing. Drack patted her back heavily, and she leaned into him as she rose, unsteady on her feet.
"It's not that, I just… Those bodies…."
She turned green again, and Drack grabbed the trash can just in time for her to empty her stomach into it again. How many stomachs did humans have?
"Still getting used to it all, huh kid?" he asked when she was finished again. He set the trash can down and tried to ignore the stench of sick in the air.
"How long did it take before it got easier for you?" she asked as she sank back into her chair, eyeing the coffee and ration bar with distaste. Drack scooped them away and out of sight.
"It never gets easier, kid," he admitted, "you just learn to stop looking."
She frowned, her brow furrowed in thought. Whatever was going through her head, she eventually settled on a thought and made sense of it.
"Drack?"
"What?"
"What if I'm not cut out for this?"
The krogan laughed bluntly, and Ryder's eyebrows arched in surprise, the scar on her right brow turning white with the tension.
"Ryder, you're the only one cut out for this. Anyone else in your position would have tucked tail and run like a scared salarian by now."
Ryder smiled, albeit half-heartedly, but it was a real one at least.
"Come on, kid, let's get you into bed," the krogan said before she could reply, offering her a hand up from her seat. She was more than capable of rising on her own, and he wasn't exactly the chivalrous type. But right now, it felt right. She took his hand and pulled herself up, her soft palms chafing against his calloused ones.
"I'm going to tell Kallo you said that," she admonished without heat. Drack grinned, all teeth and threat.
"Then I'm going to tell him you said his music taste is terrible," he replied, loping after her into the elevator. Ryder grimaced.
"How did you," she said, then paused, "...Damn krogan hearing."
Drack's laugh filled the elevator with it's low timbre, and soon Ryder was joining in. Neither was really sure what they were laughing at, but sometimes it was needed to chase away the sorrow.
And if Ryder asked him to sleep on her couch that night with soft eyes and a pleading smile, and then ended up punching him in the jaw when he tried to awake her from a nightmare….
Well, no one really needed to know.
"I would advise you to seek painkillers in the medbay for your bruised jaw."
Except for, apparently, that damned AI.