A/N:Sorry for the long wait, guys. Let's just say that I finally got my hands on Mass Effect 3, and suddenly all my free time was devoted to finishing that game. But anyway. Have another chapter! I'll probably up the rating in the next update.

5. Bend and Not Break

Hoffman seemed to be taking having a needle shoved in his vein rather well. His face was the picture of calm composure, despite Bernie hovering restlessly behind him. Baird watched them both, expressionless. Cole stood beside him, saying nothing—no hollow words of encouragement—but a reassuring presence nonetheless. It made having to watch everything just slightly more bearable.

Baird wasn't used to being out of his depth, so it caught him completely off-guard whenever it happened. He fixed machines, not people. Speaking of which, he probably could have left by now; Dizzy had ducked out to check on his kids, and Rossi and his squad had dispersed once Martens was bandaged up. Hayman had even made a few bitter comments under her breath about how they were wasting space. There was something somewhere that could use his attention, but Baird couldn't find it in him to leave.

He knew damn well why, too. But it was easier not to think about it.

Sam's skin was decidedly less ashen after Hayman drew the needle out of Hoffman's arm. The doctor inspected her unconscious patient and nodded curtly. "Lucky for her, that bullet was a through-and-through. I won't have to dig it out of her shoulder. Tak disinfected the wound, so you can all stop crowding my infirmary."

Baird watched as Hoffman got shakily to his feet, bringing a hand to his forehead. He hadn't even taken a step before Hayman rounded on him; she grabbed the colonel's arm and steered him towards a cot. "You sit. You—" Hayman turned to Baird and Cole—"do something useful and go to the mess. Hoffman needs to get his blood sugar back up."

Cole's hand on Baird's shoulder stopped him from protesting. Only an idiot directly defied Hayman and expected to walk away unscathed. Yeah, that doddering old granny façade didn't fool anyone who'd known Hayman for more than five seconds. Baird's eyes flicked from Hayman's stony face to Sam's unconscious form on the cot. No, there was nothing he could do here. At least picking up cookies was doing something.

He and Cole left the infirmary, making for the mess. They didn't get very far before they were stopped.

"Hey, Cole! Baird!"

Baird turned around and was mildly surprised to see Lieutenant Donneld Mathieson slowly making his way towards them. There was a small twinge of guilt in Baird's stomach—he'd been at Anvil Gate for a while, and not once had he stopped in to see the lieutenant. He'd heard Mathieson's voice over his tac-com, but never seriously thought about visiting. It wasn't like he and the lieutenant were best pals, but he was one of the few people that Baird would probably miss if anything happened to them.

Mathieson wasn't in his wheelchair; he had his prosthetic legs on, and Baird was impressed to see that he was only using one crutch. His walking had improved greatly in the short time since Baird and Yanik had taken a bash at making prosthetics.

"Hey," The younger Gear greeted them, slightly breathless. "I've been meaning to snag a minute with you guys. You have time?"

"'Course, baby," Cole said. "We're just on a grocery run for Hoffman. Let's walk and talk."

They set off again, at a slightly slower pace. Baird expected to be the third wheel in the conversation, but Mathieson was intent on talking with him, for whatever reason. He fell into step in-between Baird and Cole. There were a few moments of awkward silence, where Baird wasn't entirely sure if he was the one who should start a conversation.

"Would you mind looking at something for me?" Mathieson asked finally.

"What is it?"

The lieutenant grinned. "Before the Gorasni left for Branascu, Yanik sent over some rough plans for new legs. Supposed to be less painful. So, if you're looking for a side project…"

Baird's jaw twitched. He missed the early days after the end of the war, when he and Yanik would just shoot the shit. It was about the closest Baird had ever come to having a normal life, with normal friends. Of course, he had known it wouldn't last forever. Not everyone was as open-minded about the Gorasni as Baird found he was; the good old folks of Pelruan weren't the only ones who held grudges. And, obviously, not all the Gorasni were as roguishly charming as Yanik. The adorable little alliance couldn't last forever. In a few decades, they might even be at each other's throats again.

Yanik had been almost annoyingly perceptive, though. Not half an hour into their first chat after the eradication of the Locust and Lambent, and the Disemboweler had figured about that mentioning the duchashka was a sure-fire way to get Baird feeling edgy. That had delighted Yanik.

"Yanik's work, huh?" Ah, what the hell. "I can make time. I'll probably have to tweak it; he never was the best designer."

Mathieson's grin was euphoric; it shocked Baird, but he didn't let it show. "That would be fantastic. I'll come by the garage later."

"Yeah…" Baird stopped walking as Mathieson headed towards the barracks. "Yeah, I'll... be around."

He turned back in the direction of the mess, but Cole was standing directly in front of him. An enormous smile was plastered across his face. "Look at you." Cole folded his arms across his chest. "You'll be starting a charity in a couple years."

"Right. Because if there's anything I'm know for, it's my altruistic attitude." Baird attempted to brush his friend off. "I don't like letting projects go unfinished."

"Uh huh." Cole wasn't fooled. "Whatever you say, baby. Can't hide that you've got a heart forever."

"Let's just go get Hoffman his frigging ration bars."

They exited the concrete building that housed the infirmary and started across the small courtyard towards CIC and the mess hall. It was a nice day for the end of Bloom: only a few clouds in the sky, a slight chill in the air, but sunny. Baird remembered someone mentioning that an old commanding officer during the Pendulum Wars painted watercolours of the scenery. On days like today, it wasn't hard to see why.

They were about half way across the courtyard when Baird heard the sound. It was a noise in the distance, definitely not from inside the fort—a hollow, metallic punch. Muscle memory had Baird looking up, which confused him for a split second. Normally, Gears looked to the ground, for signs of an incoming emergence hole or Lambent stalk. There were very few sounds that had trained him to watch the sky.

But then Baird saw the thin trail of smoke stretching overhead. His gut clenched at the same time as he bellowed, "Incoming! Mortars!"

His feet carried him away from his estimated impact site. He could hear the sound of Cole running beside him. Seconds later, the shells hit the ground. The close explosion was deafening and the earth shook; Baird faltered, and stumbled to his knees. He quickly jumped up and turned around to assess the damage.

"Shit, where did that come from?" Cole asked, tracing the fading smoke line with his finger.

"No frigging clue. But at least the jackass can't aim."

No real damage had been done. The mortars had missed the buildings and the town; only small chunks of the fort's northern wall were missing. It wouldn't take more than a week to repair. But before Baird could feel any sense of satisfaction or relief, there was another metallic punch—louder this time. Two lines of smoke streaked out of the surrounding forest.

"Shit, here we go again!" Baird readied himself to run.

Cole's hand stopped him. "Those are gonna hit the town! We gotta get those folks to safety."

Most of the population of Anvegad had come out of their houses after the initial strike. Now they were staring up at the sky, dumbstruck. The Stranded on Vectes had never possessed this type of heavy artillery; they didn't know how to react. Gears were pouring out of the fort.

Baird swore under his breath, but Cole was already charging towards the wooden houses. Into danger. Goddamn it, Cole! A second later, Baird was chasing after him, calling at the top of his voice, "Move! Everyone get to the fort! Get inside!"

His entire body was screaming in protest; everything was telling him to run the hell away from impending death. But his stupid friend seemed intent on throwing his life away, so Baird had to stop him. Thankfully, Cole's selflessness didn't override his self-preservation instinct: he stopped well clear of the area where the mortars rained down. Another series of explosions. People were screaming now.

Hoffman's voice suddenly roared in Baird's ear. "Hoffman to all call signs. What in God's name is going on out there?"

Rossi was the first to get his shit together and answer. "Mortar strikes, sir. Coming from about one klick north of the fort. I don't—Shit, head's up!"

Baird whirled around wildly, looking for whatever had spooked Rossi. He couldn't see any smoke trails from the north, but then he heard the whistle overhead. Son of a bitch. He spun around and his stomach clenched. There was another mortar crew to the south. Oh, shit—

"Cole!"

Baird turned back to face the houses, his eyes scanning frantically for his friend. Cole had moved further off while Baird wasn't paying attention, and now he was standing near the main square of Anvegad, waving the civvies to safety. He wasn't looking at the sky—he couldn't see the incoming shells—Shit, shit, shit—

Without even thinking, Baird started running towards Cole. He had to get him out of there. If nothing else, he had to make sure that Cole would be safe. That was his top priority, not saving his own skin.

"Cole, look—"

The rest of Baird's sentence was cut off as the third wave of mortars hit the ground. He was too close to the impact; he was thrown onto his back and stars exploded in his vision. The smell of smoke smothered him. He forced himself to his feet, but froze in his tracks.

Anvegad was burning. He couldn't see Cole. The house that Cole had been standing beside had collapsed, just a smouldering pile of wood.

Suddenly, Baird wasn't at Anvil Gate. He was facing a vast expanse of ocean. The sky was filled with Ravens; ships were scattered on the sea. In front of him were Marcus, Anya, Sam and Jace; they were all wearing expressions of hollow grief. There was a void in the pit of his stomach as he let Marcus' words sink in. No, not Dom. Fuck, no…

"Cole!"

He snapped out of his stupor and started running. When he reached the smoking rubble, he dropped to his knees. He started clawing at the pieces of wood, tossing them to the side, ignoring the splinters. Panic like he'd never felt before welled up inside him. Fighting polyps on Vectes felt like a training exercise. Hell, a Gunker was nothing compared to this.

Just let him be okay. Let him be alive.

He tossed aside a few more wooden beams and finally uncovered Cole. His friend was lying alarmingly still, the lower half of his body still pinned under the debris. A small patch of blood was visible on Cole's temple. Baird froze up; he had the distinct impression of something shattering. He felt sick, dizzy, like the ground had just been ripped out from underneath him. Everything whizzed in and out of focus as he felt an abyss forming in his chest.

But then Cole took a deep, ragged breath. His eyes were moving under his closed eyelids.

The earth was back, solid, under Baird's knees. His finger flew to his tac-com as he tried to control his erratic breathing. "Baird to all call signs. I need a stretcher near the main square, stat."

Mathieson's ever-calm voice answered. "We've got casualties pouring in. How bad is it?"

"I don't fucking know!" Baird snarled. He felt vaguely bad about lashing out at Mathieson, but he could always apologize later. "A house kind of fell on Cole, so any assistance would be nice."

The lieutenant wasn't daunted by Baird's attitude. "Copy that. I'm diverting a medic to your location."

"Just make it quick."

Baird went back to clearing away more of the wreckage, trying to get his shit together. He'd definitely lost it for a couple minutes, and the last thing he needed was some smartass blabbing it all over the garrison. Slow, deep breaths; that was the key. Everything was going to be fine.

"You fucking moron," he murmured under his breath. He didn't really know if he was talking to Cole or himself.

Cole's face twitched into something resembling a grimace. Baird heaved the last piece of rubble off his friend, and let out a long sigh. Everything had to be all right.

The infirmary was a much different sight than it had been earlier that day. Instead of the awkward silences and vacant cots, the place was overflowing now. It was hard to hear anything over the medics yelling across the room. Baird stood watching it all, fighting the crushing sense of being overwhelmed that threatened to overtake him. Cole was lying on a cot beside him, still as a corpse. But he was breathing—Baird checked about every five seconds to make sure. As long as Cole kept breathing, the world wasn't broken yet.

Hoffman was still in his cot, across from Baird and Cole. Every time he tried to stand up, Hayman would appear as if out of thin air, and smoothly push him back down. Each time she did so, Hoffman looked as if he was going to scream. The mortar strikes continued at a slower pace, every ten minutes or so. Hoffman's eyes would squeeze shut in agony every time the ground shook and the lights flickered; but most of the civvies were inside now. It was too dangerous to patrol Anvegad for those trapped or too afraid to leave; the buildings weren't stable any longer, as Cole's accident had aptly demonstrated.

"Baird," Hoffman barked suddenly.

Baird started, and turned to face the colonel. "Yes, sir?"

"I sent Bernie to find Rossi. Once they get here, I want you and Carmine to head out into the forest with them. Track down the bastards with those mortars and make sure they don't fire any more shells."

Panic surged inside Baird's chest. "But Cole—"

"Harua Tak will take good care of him."

"Why not Hayman?" Baird asked. She was the best, or at least held the reputation of being a walking miracle. Isabel Hayman wasn't perfect, but her name was enough to bring hope to wounded men on the battlefield. She could do anything, save anyone.

Hoffman gave him an unimpressed glare. Yeah, he and Harua went way back—or her husband, at least. "She's had plenty of practice, dealing with the aftermath of Shaoshi raiders."

"On farm animals. Cole's not a frigging goat." Sometimes he really didn't know when to just shut the fuck up and follow orders. But if any day warranted minor insubordination, it was today.

Hoffman raised his eyebrows, but let Baird's curt comment slide. "Hayman's got her hands full with ruptured arteries, burns and internal bleeding. Harua can take care of Cole. And I need you out there to stop those bastards. We've got too many injured Gears."

"I—Yes, sir."

As if on cue, Bernie appeared at the entrance to the infirmary. She weaved her way through the injured and the surgeons. When she was close enough, Baird could see the tired expression on her face. He could sympathize; everyone had had enough of death, but it seemed to haunt their every move. Too many of their friends had died in the past few months. It was a damn heavy burden.

"Rossi and Carmine are waiting for us." Bernie said. "Let's go stop these assholes."

"Right." Baird nodded.

Bernie gave him a small, encouraging smile, and turned to head for the exit. As Baird followed her, he went by Sam's cot. Movement caught his eye. Sam's face wasn't serene any longer; instead her expression was one of discomfort. Her arm twitched by her side, like she was trying to move it.

"Baird!" Bernie called. Rossi and Carmine were standing beside her.

Baird ripped his gaze from Sam, and continued towards the door.