Chapter One: Memory fragments
"Some of us think holding on makes us strong; but sometimes it is letting go."
—Hermann Hesse
It was early morning when he finally decided to make his leave, the sun just beginning to come over the horizon. Baird shrugged into his pants, still shirtless, revealing his toned body—his battle scars, though slight, didn't mar the masculine lean strength of his physique. Quietly, he reached for his shirt that was over the banister of the bed and slipped that on, too, before grabbing his boots and making his way to the door.
Hand on the knob, he gave one last look at her; she was lying on her side, dark hair falling into her face, chapped lips pursed, snoring lightly. She seemed peaceful for once—relaxed.
They had come down from their clandestine little affair. Both parties acquiescing to their personal desires, however, deep inside he felt that something was amiss. He couldn't bring himself to sleep as exhausted as he had become. Still, that was textbook Baird. His mind was always occupied, focusing on things that other's didn't; little details here, a subtle piece of information there, that, oddly enough, usually ended up saving his or someone else's asses. He wasn't paranoid though, even after having to fight in a war for the last fifteen years that managed to take everything away from them all, arrogant yes—but definitely not paranoid.
There was something wrong with Sam whether she was willing to admit it or not. At first he figured that possibly she had been puking up some of Dizzy's homemade moonshine, but after seeing the look in her tear-filled copper eyes, looking all kinds of fucking pathetic, he knew that it was much deeper than that.
He had never been her biggest fan; she was loud, obnoxious, hard-headed, and always had something to prove. It didn't help that she was a mouthy bitch too and if Baird hated anything more than the goddamn locust and lambent combined, it would be mouthy bitches—which was more than half of the female Gears in Sera. However as much mistakes as she had made due to her wanting to be "one of the guys" she was a more than capable fighter and a loyalist at that. Sure, she had a frequent obsession with chain-sawing the shit out of her enemies and becoming splattered in locust guts—the blood speckles and that bloodthirsty grin did something to his loins that left him almost ashamed—but more oft than not, she was busy pushing others out of the way and putting her ass on that line so that a person could still have theirs.
He didn't have to like her, but he no doubt respected her.
For a moment, he thought back on the night before: taking her so roughly and how much she liked it. Baird hadn't had the time to indulge himself as much as he would've preferred—none of them did, the last thing a person wanted was to worry about a locust attack with their pants down their ankles and their dick wet—and he almost felt bad from the things he did to her, the words that came out of his mouth as a result.
However, she had come back with a few surprises of her own.
She had kissed him before finishing up their love-making.
If one would call a rough and dysfunctional relationship—both playing cat and mouse with each other—love.
Sometimes, Sam would plant a kiss on his lips with a hidden tenderness he was surprised at. It startled him, but nevertheless, it was probably due to the fact that she liked to use every manipulative means to get his guard down, even in bed.
He could never know what she felt, only know that she enjoyed it. They both enjoyed their little games.
In the dim light of the room, his blue eyes were predatory, as if he almost wanted to take her again, and he breathed heavily just from thinking about what they had done.
He turned the knob and opened the door, closing it quietly behind him.
The first week on Azura was hell. Despite the initial drunken tumbling mess that most of them were on the night that marked the end of the war the halls had been filled to the brim the very next day. Everything was completely chaotic and it didn't help matters that people were milling about like chickens without heads. Fenix did a hell of a job though, as expected, taking up the unofficial spot as leader in this new world as nobody else wanted the responsibility and launched out a stream of orders with the idea of getting Azura back on its hinges. The others seemed relieved to see him take up the mantel once more and he understood why. After years of doing nothing more than following orders and killing those shit-eating monsters, it would be a hard routine to break straight away. Old habits truly did die hard, it seemed. He was unsure of what they were to do afterward, wondered if anyone would be willing to leave. Even with most of its shit turned up its ass, Azura was still a haven compared to the living arrangements there were used to. Plus, there was no Jacinto, no more Coalition of Ordered Governments to tell them what the hell do to. It seemed like, once again, Delta was going to once more pave the way for a new and better future.
Baird, of course, had the hardest job of all: get systems up and running again. He occupied his time by running diagnostics on every panel that wasn't completely ruined to all shit and dissecting the ones that were; exercising; getting his dick and balls squeezed by Dr. Shannon in a mandatory check-up; staying up well into the night going over old blueprints; eating a few times a day if he was lucky; figuring out how to make things work without imulsion; and cleaning his gear. It was no walk in the park, all of this tinkering he had been doing, but of course he preferred it that way. The mechanics of this place were, admittedly and understandable, one of the most complex he had seen in quite a long time and it was taking him a lot longer to figure things out.
Wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, he took a seat back in his chair and let out a disgruntled sigh.
Christ, his fucking head hurt.
Leaning over his desk, he pinched the bridge of his nose to ease the build-up of pain growing there. He had been going at it for about twelve hours straight and as much as he analyzed the blueprints before him nothing seemed to come to mind at the moment. His brain was on overdrive, thoughts and equations mixing together and only serving to give him a headache. He supposed that it could also be attributed to his lack of sleep and food consumption as well.
Deciding that in this state there would be nothing he could possibly do or figure out, he stood up and forcibly made his way back to the overcrowded mess and had a helping of what constituted as a healthy meal. Naturally, it had no taste—he was pissed that even the meals on this glorified island had shit food just like they did. Eyes searching, he eventually found a table to the far right that was unoccupied and quickly took a seat. Maybe he would truly manage to at least eat in peace, he thought to himself in relief.
He spoke too soon.
A moment later a tray full of food smacked against the spot in the table beside him and he knew who it was without having to look.
The only thing that bothered Baird about Cole was his ability to find him while he was eating. This was the third time since they'd been on Azura that he'd zeroed in on him with his mouth full. He didn't like crowds; he didn't like lights; and he sure as hell didn't like anyone talking to him while he was stuffing his face. He couldn't stand the thought of anyone watching him chew. But Cole didn't know that. And he was one of the few people who Baird couldn't bring himself to tell to go to hell—and it wasn't because his mouth was full of shit food either. As it was, Cole was the only one who got the special treatment from him regardless and as such was the only one who had truly understood him.
Still as ecstatic as they all were, Baird hadn't felt up to talking with anyone. He contributed his mood to be based on his frustration of not having fixed shit besides the hot water and when his mind was on overload, he couldn't quite place his thoughts together to form much coherently without trying.
And right now he was tired of trying to do shit—even if it was hold a civil conversation with his best friend.
Not that it mattered because Gus was grinning at him and glowing as if he had just come back from a week long orgy.
Fuck.
He really didn't want to do this right now.
"Damon baby!" The Cole Train's voice boomed, drawing the attention of some of the others. "How're things coming through?"
Baird swallowed and shrugged before answering. "That's the problem." He began, stabbing at his rubbery meat as if it were the reason for his mind block. "Shit isn't coming through at all."
"Well, maybe you ain't looking at it the right way, baby," Cole responded, eyes transfixed on the way the blonde probed at his food.
"Obviously," Baird shot back cantankerously.
Gus appraised him with a raised brow causing Damon to sigh before burying his face in the palm of his hands, "Sorry," he apologized. "I've just been having more of a fucked day than usual. There's no imulsion and saint fucking Marcus along with his bossy broad are expecting me to pull a miracle outta my ass. Its driving me up the wall."
They both knew what was really causing him to be hostile. Baird had thought many a brilliant solution to various situations at an astounding rate and the man practically lived off of challenges just so he could hear the praise. This, obviously, had not been the case with Azura. Cole had been stuck running his own routines, going along on early morning patrols and staking the island, and even though he hadn't gotten to spend as much time checking up on Baird as he would've liked he could understand his frustration. That said, he wasn't the only one who was dealing with shit—and Cole was sure that as selfish as his friend could be, he had known that as well.
They were done fighting, but now they had to resume building.
And that was going to take a shitload of work.
To jump from one extreme to the other when all they wanted to do was rest.
"Perfectly understandable, but at least the worst is over," Gus said in between bites, grinning once more. Baird stared at him sideways with a small smirk of his own tugging at the corner of his lips. "We have time to build, sleep, drink, make babies or just screw around for the hell of it and we get to do it together, baby. Things are already better!"
"Yeah, somehow I doubt I would ever like to screw around with you, Cole. No offense." Baird quipped, smirk now turning into a full blown smile. He turned to look at the crowd of Gears happily eating and chatting just as a familiar face walked into the mess—she looked like shit. He looked back to his friend and the garbage on his tray they called food. "This is disgusting." He proclaimed after a moment, dropping his spork.
"What's not disgusting, baby?"
"Bacon."
They both laughed, but Cole's boomed just like his voice and Baird's died out in a manner of seconds. A weak attempt at humor they both knew, but still the memory of Carmine nearly exploding in his pants at the thought and the look Sam gave him after he offered her in exchange was priceless.
She ended up tasting better, though. Baird mentally added to himself with a light snicker. So it all worked out after all. His blue eyes searched for her once more only to find her sitting with Jace throwing her head back and laughing. It was amazing how such a simple gesture left her not looking worse for wear when it was clear to him that whatever it was that was bothering her was still lingering beneath the surface. Not that he really gave too much of a shit. It was her business.
"Don't worry, Damon-baby," Gus' voice cut his thoughts once more and Baird almost choked on his saliva. He inwardly prayed that the man hadn't noticed where his line of sight was moments before. "You'll get this bitch up and running again. I have faith in you. We all do."
Baird nearly sighed in relief, but simply offered his best friend an acknowledging nod. He picked up his spork again, getting started on forcibly chewing down the rest of his meal.
On Emergence Day, just as Sera was beginning to tilt on its axis into a world full of shit, an eighteen year old Baird held his mother's delicate form in his arms.
He was consumed by the growing pool of blood spreading across the marble floor.
She had been shot, the bullet going through her intestines.
A slow undoubtedly painful death.
Just outside his door, thousands of people were screaming in terror. She wouldn't let him drag her to the hospital—had willingly relinquished her own life so that he didn't die trying to save hers.
Elinor Baird hadn't been the most affectionate mother but at least she had done that much.
He brushed the blonde hair away from her face, leaving a streak of crimson with his stained hands. She looked at him with terrified blue eyes that he imagined mirrored his own.
Now it was his turn to do something for her.
And he couldn't bring himself to say one comforting word.
Not even as he pressed his hands over her face.
—smothering her—
Or when she desperately clawed at his arms in rising panic.
Even as her lids began to flutter.
And especially after the struggle was finally over, her hands falling limp at her sides.
On the cold hardwood floor of his room Baird laid on his back, thinking.
No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get comfortable on the plush bed. He figured after spending the better half of his life in the lap of luxury he would've jumped at the chance to lay on something so soft. On the contrary. He had become so used to resting on cold, lumpy cots that it almost seemed more comforting to him now.
Fucking old habits.
He ran a hand through his blonde hair.
For a moment, he wondered how their society was going to re-build itself when all that was left were scattered stranded and a few battled hardened vets. What kind of start could they possibly hope to make? It was one thing to shoot and kill shit, but to rebuild a whole new world from practically the ground up?
His mind turned back to Prescott and the secrets that he was going to have to undoubtedly uncover. All of the best scholars, scientist and doctors were swept away here only to be brutally murdered nonetheless.
That must've been a shocker to see the big bad locusts find their way through the pseudo Maelstrom. What a fucked up way to go thinking you're safe under a false security blanket. They should've known better. No matter what device someone managed to create, the locusts survived like little roaches hiding beneath the cracks.
Until now and still Baird was a little on edge. A straight week of having to fire not one bullet. It was weird. Sometimes he swore his fingers itched to just pull the trigger.
Despite his frustration with the whole place, he couldn't lie: Azura was a gift from whatever god was up there. A beacon of hope, if you will. The only remaining fragment of civilization in a world where basic resources were almost rare to come by.
But still—
Fuck you too, Prescott, wherever the fuck you are for harboring a fucking secret island and leaving us to die. Karma's a bitch, ain't it?
He knew it was a cruel thing to do but after he was sure that she was no longer breathing, he hid. Through eyes weathering—and trying with all his strength to keep them from falling—hot, blurry tears, he ran faster than he ever did before. He could hear the thumping footsteps of those monsters that had been outside mere moments before and their deep barbaric tongue as they communicated with each other behind him. He closed his eyes and the tears fell over the curve of his cheek, his whole body trembling as he stood as quiet as possible. When he finally opened them once more, they were gone.
His mother's body was nowhere to be found.
Her blood trail—no doubt—would lead him to her and his own demise as well if he went against everything his instincts were screaming at him.
Through clenching fists and gritted teeth, it took everything in him to not follow.
He always prided himself on being quick on the uptake. And on the very first day of what was going to be a very long and hard war, he learned that when the locusts came to collect they left no prisoners.
"Maybe if you wore some tall heels you might be a little more useful around here, Lieutenant."
Anya bristled and narrowed her eyes almost imperceptibly in the general direction of the bane of her existence as he sorted through various books and files. "Perhaps, Baird," she said icily, "if you bothered separating the files in a more organized manner" —her voice was steadily rising in intensity as the temperature in the room dropped degree by degree and Baird turned his back to the overflowing cabinet that had been the focus of his attention a few seconds earlier to stare at her in something akin to mild amusement— "in the first place we wouldn't even be here..." She paused to breathe and watched as a small mountain of files began their descent from the top of the cabinet and he tried—unsuccessfully and with considerably less grace than usual—to catch them. She smirked.
Baird dropped the few papers he had actually caught and watched the rest flutter to the ground at her feet. "Well, Your Royal Frostiness," he said, dusting his hands off on his cargos, "since you're so much closer to the ground, why don't you pick those up for me?"
Anya glared at him, silently fuming.
He smiled at her, knowing that he had gotten to her as usual.
Earlier that morning after he reported to Fenix, it was decided to that they were to partner up—as if that were ever a good idea—to ransack the island's hidden library (something, admittedly, Baird had done on his own earlier that week which was why things were even more unorganized than what was expected, but in his defense, he was highly frustrated than usual at the time). The blonde male had been the first to object, but Marcus was having none of it. Baird still hadn't reported back anything substantial and leader of delta felt he was given enough time to figure it out alone. Obviously, it wasn't working.
But to choose Anya of all people…
In retrospect, when he wasn't busting her balls and she wasn't eying him with the glare of death, she would be the logical choice to have helping him out. She wasn't a mech geek like himself, but she was incredibly perceptive in other ways that would no doubt come in handy and had saved them many times before.
Still as much of a pain in the ass she could be, she was one of his favorite victims. As smart as she was she always took the bait and her reactions were nothing short of gold.
Baird turned his back on her and he could feel her eyes staring holes into him. He had summarily dismissed her from his thoughts as he went back to the filing cabinet, no doubt expecting her to pick up all the files he had dropped as any good little partner would.
"I am not picking up those files, Baird," she informed him quietly.
He was flipping through a file that had caught his attention. "Fine, don't," he told her with a shrug, not taking his eyes from the papers in his hands. "But disorganization doesn't bother me nearly as much as it utterly incenses you, my dear anal-retentive skeptic."
She opened her mouth with a ready retort, then snapped it shut. He was completely right. He knew that it was only a matter of time before she would be compelled to pick up the papers littering the floor. She hated it when he was right. Mostly everyone did.
"Given the ass you usually make yourself out to be, Baird, I would have to say you're just a bit more anal than I am."
"It has been twenty-nine days since our last spat, Anya. You're a day overdue."
It took her a moment to realize what he was saying. She gasped in barely-contained outrage and it took everything in him not to laugh. "Excuse me?"
He shrugged once again, still seemingly engrossed in the file. "If you would like to go your room, take a nice bubble bath, put a heating pad on your back, and pop some pills, don't let me stop you, Lieutenant."
That was it. "It's so nice to know that a medical degree, and frontline Gear status in what used to be the Coalition of Ordered Governments gains me such respect in your eyes," she muttered.
His head shot up at that and a glimmer of genuine surprise was nestled in the dark recesses of his eyes. "I've always respected you, Anya," he said. "However, others who don't know how pleasantly enigmatic you are on normal days are usually a little, well, put-off," he continued, acting seemingly oblivious to her reaction. "That's why I try to avoid you even more than usual around this time of the month."
She didn't know how to respond to that. Hurling one of the thick books at his head was not a viable option. Not that she would not enjoy the satisfyingly hollow clunk it would make on his melon of a head. But, as a medical doctor, it would be up to her to staunch the flow of blood and her freshly-laundered white tee was not up for yet another bloodbath.
And then, of course, she would have to write a report on the incident.
"You are quite possibly the single most insensitive man on the entire fucking planet," she told him honestly.
He snickered.
You wouldn't be the first to say that, hun. Try again.
From the corner of his eye, he watched as she heaved a sigh and turned her own back to him.
Baird beamed in silent victory.
Anya had wordlessly left that night.
Just up and walked off.
It didn't matter, he decided. In the end he expected it to play out as such.
He was used to doing things alone. Figuring it all out on his own.
Truthfully, he was surprised she had stuck around as long as she did.
He had hoped to drive her away sooner.
It was funny how things worked out.
In the end, both of his parents had gotten what they wanted. He ran to safety like a wounded dog with its tail between his legs and he was enlisted that very same day. He wondered if they were finally proud of him now... wherever their souls fled.
That night, curled up in his cot, was the last time he cried—for his mother. Even his father. And for a future that was taken from them all without warning or a chance of ever reclaiming it.
Note:
As it is, this story isn't based too much on action but rather the characters themselves. I wanted to delve into this chapter with Baird differently—mixing his frustration and his thoughts of his own past together (sort of like a theme of this chapter, actually).
Also, kept Sam out of this chapter for a reason. Though this story does revolve around them, every chapter will not.
Big shout out to Charlie Chaplin 2 for giving me the extra inspiration I needed to finish this chapter! And a big thank you to JadziaCee, Leinelle, B and B are Back, and Vilamil for reviewing and/or anyone else who added it to their favorites as well.