A/N: So remember when I said I was going to bump up the rating? Yeah, that happened. Mature content ho!

7. A Fire In Your Eyes

Two-dozen Gears arrived the next morning from Azura. Baird hadn't been expecting the new arrivals so soon. He figured they'd need more time to pack, but apparently the reinforcements had been flown in overnight. The sounds of the Raven blades hadn't woken him from his sleep, so he must have been really out of it. Small wonder, as he'd worked well into the night, tuning up vehicles. He was caught off-guard when he walked into Hoffman's office and saw a familiar bulk of a man at the back of the room.

"Marcus?" he asked stupidly.

The sergeant looked him up and down, and suddenly Baird felt underdressed. He'd been in the garage when Hoffman radioed him, so he was dressed for getting dirty: an old wife-beater stained with oil and grease, and his tool belt still wrapped around the top of his faded jeans. Marcus, meanwhile, was in full Gear tackle, not the summertime armour that they'd all been wearing when they last saw each other.

Anya and Jace were standing beside Marcus, also decked out in COG armour. And then Baird had another blast from the past as he noticed the fourth figure in the room. His heart leapt up into his throat and his first thought was Jan! But it couldn't be. Jan Rojas had died two years ago, mauled by Wretches in the House of Sovereigns. His younger brother, Frederic, looked hauntingly similar to Baird's old squad mate.

Marcus walked over to Baird as the others familiarized themselves with the local map and terrain. "I heard about Cole." He paused for a second, and added, "And Sam. How are they doing?"

Baird always found the sergeant's ability to see right through people mildly unnerving. Or maybe he was reading too much into it. Cole and Sam were part of Delta, after all. Marcus had been a little more overprotective than usual after Dom's death. "They're fine. You know Cole. He treats it like one big joke."

"What about Sam?"

There was something in Marcus' eerie blue stare that made Baird shift uncomfortably. He knew. Somehow, he knew. Still, Baird found the whole situation awkward. Marcus Fenix was the last person he would ever have a gossip fest with—and definitely the last person to go to for relationship advice.

Thankfully, Hoffman's arrival put an end to that line of questioning. The new arrivals from Azura were all debriefed. Baird hardly put a word in, and he bristled about being ordered away from his massive to-do list. He sat there and listened as everything was explained—how many times had he had this rundown? Three?—trying his best not to look pissed off. Eventually, Hoffman ended the meeting by drawing up a roster for patrols, and Baird bolted for the door. Marcus shot him a look, like a where-do-you-think-you're-going-we-need-to-talk look, but Baird ignored him. He needed to get back to work.

Ever since the mortar strikes, he'd been running ragged. Hoffman wanted every vehicle in pristine condition, in case of a full-scale assault. If an APC had a speck of rust damage, it was sent Baird's way. Add all those to the major repairs, and his garage was at full capacity. And, of course, the work didn't stop there. If anything even slightly technical went wrong, he was called away to deal with that. He was officially Anvil Gate's multipurpose tool. This was all on top of scheduled patrols, where he and the other uninjured Gears ran triple shifts. At least the routes were marginally quiet; the arrival of extra troops seemed to have curbed any vicious assaults the Stranded had planned.

Things continued like this for about a week. As a consequence, he rarely slept. Most of his naps occurred in the middle of a job, when his body couldn't take it any longer and he'd slump forward. He'd wake up a few hours later with the pattern of whatever his face had been lying on imprinted on his cheek. He was running on about six hours of sleep for the week. His body was only functioning the basics; thinking or analyzing just tired him out more. It was almost as bad as sleep deprivation week had been in boot camp.

He wouldn't have even seen Cole if his friend hadn't been discharged and they occasionally ran into each other in the mess. Each time, Cole would give Baird a not-so-subtle hint that Sam wanted to see him; and each time, Baird would feel mildly guilty, but then he'd remember his ever-growing to-do list.

His lack of sleep caught up to him once again, while he was tinkering with an Armadillo's engine late at night. He was having trouble keeping his head up, when suddenly his forehead was resting against the side of the Dill. And he couldn't fight the warm pull of sleep any longer. Before long, he was dozing in a position that would no doubt leave a knot in his neck for the following morning.

A hand grasped his shoulder and shook him. Baird woke with a start, immediately embarrassed that he'd been caught sleeping. He spun around on his stool, expecting to see some civvie, and fully prepared to bark out an insult for intruding in his personal space. But the surly remark died in his throat.

"Hey," Sam said, with a smug grin. She always seemed to take pleasure in catching him unawares. She was wearing sweats and a tank top. And no bra, he noticed—and swiftly brought his eyes up to her face.

"Why are you here?" he asked, rubbing the back of his neck.

Sam frowned, like she'd expected him to be overjoyed at the sight of her. But it was early in the morning, and he was in his secluded garage. She didn't just stumble across him. "Hayman discharged me after supper," she answered. "Cole told me you'd be here all night. I figured I'd keep you company…or piss you off. Either one's fine with me."

Baird couldn't help but notice how stiffly her left arm hung at her side. "Shouldn't your arm be in a sling?"

She shrugged. "Maybe. It's just a cloth, really. I can't see how not wearing a piece of fabric is going to muck up the healing process."

Baird grunted noncommittally. Her inability to take things seriously was starting to grate on him. Didn't she realize that she could have died? Yet she stood there, bold as anything, her stupid smug smile jumping all over his last nerve. There was something growing in his chest, an uncomfortable, tight feeling. He realized it was anger. It was slowly surfacing as all the emotions he'd forcibly buried over the past week came surging back.

"You disobeyed orders, you know," he grumbled, getting to his feet. Yes, he could see it again: Sam dashing off into the forest, while rage and anxiety swirled in his gut. She should have listened to him and stayed. Pad could have handled it; Pad probably wouldn't have gotten himself shot either. But Baird never got the chance to tear her a new one, because when he found her he had to save her frigging life. And then he thought that Cole had died for about a minute and nothing made sense anymore and he could hardly keep his goddamn feelings in check—Now, when he should be happy to see her, all he felt was the long ignored anger.

"Excuse me?" Sam asked in disbelief. "I saved your life, thank you very much. And what was your complaint? That I was leaving you short handed? How would my staying and Pad going make any difference there?"

I didn't want you to go. Baird simply steamrolled past that little inconsistency. "You know you don't always have to do it, yeah?"

"Do what?" Sam spat back. "Save your ungrateful ass?"

"Prove that you're as good as the boys. It's not a frigging pissing contest."

"Yes, I do!"

The tone of her voice put a stop to Baird's rant. She didn't sound so much angry as desperate to make him see. Her response didn't make much sense, either. He folded his arms across his chest. "Please, enlighten me."

Shit.

Sam couldn't believe she'd actually said that. It would have been easier to just ignore the jibe and plough forward in the argument. But, no, it had slipped out, and now Baird was looking at her expectantly, awaiting an answer.

She really had no choice but to just tell him.

It was a strange experience, deciding to be vulnerable. In public, she always played the part of the strong, tough as nails Samantha Byrne, immune to pain. Not that that persona was a lie; it was a part of her. But it wasn't the whole her. All Gears were actors, to some extent, pretending to be okay when they really weren't. Some were better at it than others. Now, she was about to drop her stalwart exterior and reveal her wounds.

Shit.

"I'm a woman; I'll always have to prove I'm as good as the guys." Her heart was beginning to thump painfully in her chest. "I joined the COG when I was sixteen, a year before E-Day. Pissed my mum right off. She figured I'd end up dead like my dad. But, it turns out I was right to join when I did. You remember when Prescott signed the Fortification Act; it established martial law. That's not all it did. The Act let the COG conscript any able-bodied man into the army. It also opened up the birthing crèches."

She noticed the way Baird shifted uncomfortably. Yeah, she knew that he and Delta had been to Jilane a couple years ago. Alex Brand loved to tell the story of how she saved Baird's life.

"There was a girl I knew around 1 A.E. Her name was Janna. She joined when she was sixteen too. Wanted to serve the Coalition, like any good citizen. She wasn't the best soldier. She tried; she just didn't take to it. Then, about a month after the Act was signed, a doctor showed up in our barracks. He was there for Janna. Told her there was a…better way she could serve humanity. She was gone the next morning."

Part of her wanted to ask him. You went to Jilane. Did you see…? But she didn't really want to know. Few of the girls had made it out of the farm, and they were all so different from when they went in. The thought that she could have met Baird under different circumstances, scared and frightened and changed in an overrun birthing farm… No, she didn't want to think about that.

"I told myself I'd never let that happen. I'd make everyone see that they needed me, so no doctor in his fucking white lab coat would every show up at my door. And if that makes me a bitch, that's fine with me."

She was terrified to look at his face, but she forced herself to do it anyway. What she saw there shocked her: he didn't look disinterested or pitying, like she'd half-expected. Instead, Damon Baird looked completely and utterly lost. Sam almost laughed; it was the one expression she never thought to see on his face. Her heart lurched painfully as she thought of Dom. He would have known what to do. He would have put his arms around her, said something comforting. But Dom was gone, and there was only pain in dwelling on him. It was Baird who stood in front of her, Baird who had reached out in his own indirect way, when Dom had only retreated further away.

Eventually, Baird found his voice. "I didn't know, and…shit, I'm sorry." He took a breath, and then tried to adopt his casually indifferent tone. "But you know that Hoffman would never let them take you. He'd throw a fit. Hell, I wouldn't—" He stopped abruptly.

And that was what Sam had been looking for when she decided to seek him out. Just a little conformation to bolster her courage. If she didn't step up now… She swallowed her trepidation and put on her brave face. Folding her arms across her chest, she looked knowingly at him, and finally spoke the words that had been caught in her throat for weeks:

"Can't you stop being a candy ass and just kiss me?"

Baird gaped at her, lost for words once again. Sam was suddenly reminded of a goldfish she'd had as a child. She grinned, but only because she was scared stiff. They'd been doing this dance ever since Azura, neither one of them willing to take the risk. But now she'd crossed a line, and there was no going back. It wouldn't have been so hard, except a ghost stood between them. The ghost of a friend, and neither of them were quite sure what to do about it. But Sam had to take a chance. She didn't want to end up like Marcus and Anya, tiptoeing around the edge of a relationship for two decades.

He looked unsure, but not unwilling. She took a step towards him, close enough that he could reach out and touch her. Everything hung on the next few seconds; she had made her move, and now it was up to him.

For one heart-stopping moment, Sam thought she'd ruined everything. That she'd pushed him too far, too soon. But then Baird let out a breath that he'd been holding. He pressed his hand to her lower back and pulled her close.

"Ah, fuck it," he said, smirking, and kissed her.

The bottom dropped right out of her stomach; at the same time, a bolt of electricity shot up and down her spine, landing right between her legs. Once the initial shock wore off, she wrapped her arms around him, pressing their bodies together. Sam wanted to go further, but she stopped herself. She didn't want to freak him out, not now. She pulled back slightly.

Baird looked far too pleased with himself. She could have hit him. "That wasn't so hard, was it?" she joked. In answer, he flashed her a cocksure grin. "So why the hell did you take so long?"

"Probably because my heart is a dried-up little rotten apple of cynicism."

She laughed, despite herself. She started to make another jibe, but Baird stopped her with another kiss. Her mouth opened up under him, and she tilted her head up, encouraging him to go deeper and harder. He was more than willing to oblige. Something emboldened him; one of his hands slid under her shirt, up her ribs, and cupped her breast.

His thumb lightly brushed over her nipple. She hummed with pleasure into his mouth, which only served to spur him on. He grabbed her waist with his free hand and spun her, so her back was against the 'Dill he'd been working on. A warm feeling began to grow in the pit of her stomach, and Sam knew that she needed more.

Baird grunted in surprise as she kissed back energetically. Her hand snaked up to the back of his head and she gripped his hair, forcing them closer together. The depth of her desire took her off-guard, but she had no time to dwell on it. Closer, she needed to be closer. She kissed him harder and their teeth clicked together. There was the barest hint of copper in her mouth, and she thought she might have split his lip.

Suddenly, she found her hands at his belt buckle. Baird broke the kiss to look down. His eyes met hers and he stared at her evenly, but she could see the desire in his gaze. That he wanted to see if she was certain surprised her, but she found herself fighting a smile. Who was this man that was so different from the one she had met on Vectes?

"Sam, are you—"

She silenced him with a quick kiss. "Just shut up and shag me."

She didn't want him to talk. If he did, she would have time to think, and then she would start to second-guess herself. Maybe this was too fast. Maybe she still had lingering feelings for Dom. Maybe this wasn't fair to Baird, if that was the case. But if they didn't talk, all she needed to focus on was the physical. Everything else would just melt away.

He wasted no time. His hands glided down her chest, over her belly, and he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of her sweats. In one fluid movement, he dropped to his knees and had her pants down around her ankles. As he stood slowly, his fingers skimmed over her skin, sending shivers all across her body. He tugged her shirt over her head, taking care around her injured shoulder.

And then she was naked in front of him. For some reason she felt almost embarrassed. It had always been like this, with the others. Vigorous Gear training had left her with broad, muscled shoulders that more often than not made her bedfellows insecure. But Baird didn't leer or stare at her like she was a freak. His gaze was appreciative, admiring—and, somehow, that made her squirm more.

"You have goose bumps," he remarked.

"No shit. It's freezing in here."

She went to remove his shirt, but her shoulder wrenched painfully. Her limited mobility was beginning to frustrate her, and she tugged at his wife-beater impatiently. Finally, he pulled the damn thing off, smirking as he did so. When his hands went to his belt, Sam shoved them away defiantly, determined to do something herself. To his credit, he didn't laugh at her grit.

And then, at last, they were both naked. Well, naked except for one tiny but important accessory: Baird's goggles. Sam stared at them pointedly, one eyebrow cocked. He shrugged nonchalantly, but she wasn't going to let this one slide. For some reason, it was important that the goggles came off. The moment her fingers touched the band around his head, he caught her wrist. The impish smile was gone, replaced with unease. And she understood.

These goggles were his shield. They were as much a part of him as his skin and bones. A marker of his personality, and the front he displayed for the world. The asshole mechanic, with no real feelings. But she knew better. Already she was differentiating the man in front of her from the one who had snubbed her in the mess on Vectes. She was pushing through the façade, as he had pushed through hers. This was the last step.

When you're with me, you're you.

She pulled his goggles off and tossed them aside.

His mouth was on hers instantly, teasing her lips apart. His kisses were fervent, hungry, almost desperate. She could feel his arousal, hot and hard against her. She backed up, stepping out of her sweats, until she was pressed up against the 'Dill. Her back arched at the cold bite of the metal, but he gave her no time to adjust. His hand slid down her back, hooked under her knee, and hitched her leg up to his waist. Her foot found the stool that he had been sitting on, which he took immediate advantage of. Hands on her hips, he moved her into position with a forceful jerk. She raised her eyebrows, a smile tugging the edge of her mouth. But he was focused now, with no time for nonverbal banter. His fingers dug into her skin and he rocked into her.

She bit down on her lower lip as a bolt of long-forgotten pleasure shot through her. God, how long had it been? For one stupid second, she tried to count back the months—the years—and then his hips rolled against her and her train of thought broke. He continued in a slow rhythm, testing her, measured and deliberate, but she felt him struggling for control beneath the restraint.

Her head tilted back and her eyes closed as his mouth sucked a bruise into the nape of her neck. When this was over and her skin discoloured, she'd punch him. But right now the promise of a tiny bruise didn't matter. Nothing mattered. It was just the cold metal at her back, the heat of his body at her front, the friction between her legs. Her nails carved lines into his back. When he groaned against her neck, she couldn't help but grin.

His cadence picked up and his breathing quickened. Harder, faster—not yet not yet his body seemed to say, but she could tell he was close to losing it. His effort made her smile wider, and she remembered what fun it was to tease him. Her hands glided over his skin, moving gently from back to front. Once her fingertips brushed over his nipples, he grunted, confused but intrigued. Yeah, she was going to make him squirm and writhe, payback for making her wait so long.

She toyed with him, unashamedly and wickedly. Every flick, sweep and touch was designed to drive him crazy. From the way his hips snapped frantically against hers, she could tell it was working. It didn't take much before he lost it. In truth, she was almost disappointed; she didn't even get to use that one move she had learned from a trader many years ago, but not far from this spot.

He shuddered against her, all his muscles relaxing. She laughed lightly, pushing his head up from her shoulder. He smirked at her, trying to cover up something—embarrassment? He was back in defensive mode, wiping away anything he didn't want others to see. She couldn't get mad at him for something he'd been practicing for his entire life. Really, she did the exact same thing on a daily basis. Maybe one day they'd trust each other enough…

They stared at each other in silence, both equally confused about what to do next. Walls had been dropped, however briefly, and they had seen each other vulnerable. But Sam wasn't ready to dive head first into this thing just yet, and she had a feeling that Baird wasn't either.

"Well…" she started, simpering because it was habitual. "That took you long enough."

He snorted. She chuckled.

It might take some figuring out, but it would be okay.