As the night stretches on, the tension from earlier conversations begins to ease—softened by the warmth of food, the glow of strange firelight, and the slow burn of whatever potent Thedan drink they've been sipping. The trio remains around the long table, plates half-full and appetites finally dulled, the flickering amber glow from the room's energy sources casting soft shadows across their faces.

Andersson leans back slightly, glass in hand, rolling the stem between his fingers. He's doing his best to maintain that familiar air of control, but exhaustion is catching up—and so is the buzz. Whatever's in this drink, it's strong. He probably should stop. But for once, he doesn't want to.

Reece watches him from across the table, that damn knowing smirk tugging at the edge of his mouth. His eyes, sharp even in half-light, glint with something mischievous.

"So, Captain Andersson—" he says, drawing out the title like it's part of the joke, "what do you think of your new crew?"

Andersson exhales, tilting his goblet slightly as the deep crimson liquid catches the light. The scent is rich—spiced and sharp, like a cross between rum and something medicinal. He takes a sip, savoring the warmth that slides down his throat before setting the glass down with a quiet clink.

"They're competent," he says at last. "Resilient. Adaptable."

Reece snorts. "Spoken like a man who still thinks he's giving a mission briefing."

Andersson raises an eyebrow. "Would you rather I issue performance reviews over dinner?"

"I'd rather you be honest," Reece replies, resting his chin on his palm. "This crew? They're not standard issue. We both know that." He drums his fingers lightly against the table, slow and thoughtful. "So tell me—what do you really think?"

Andersson's gaze flicks briefly toward Hale, who's across the table frowning intently at a tiny, wobbling fruit she's trying to balance on her fork. She's not listening—completely absorbed in her own personal battle with produce.

Then back to Reece. Always back to Reece.

"I think they're trouble," he says finally.

Reece grins. "Oh? Do tell."

"Hale," Andersson begins, voice lowering slightly, "is going to get herself killed if she doesn't start thinking before she speaks. She's sharp—brilliant, even—but reckless. Too much confidence, not enough caution."

"She's young," Reece agrees softly. "Still figuring out where the edge is."

Reece tilts his head then, curiosity flaring in those dark eyes. "And me?"

Andersson doesn't answer immediately.

The room feels smaller suddenly. The energy fire crackles low. Somewhere beyond the door, voices murmur faintly—Skyhold's heartbeat ticking away in corridors they haven't yet seen. But here, at the table, in the gold and shadow and silence, it's just the three of them.

"You?" Andersson says slowly, reaching again for his glass. He takes a sip, eyes locked with Reece's.

"You're going to be the biggest pain in my ass."

Reece's grin sharpens. Something dangerous flickers behind it—playful, yes. But something else too.

He leans in, elbow to table, swirling his drink with deliberate ease. "I think you're right," he says, voice a little lower now, a little closer. "You sure you can handle that, Captain?"

Andersson drew a breath, setting his goblet down with deliberate care. His gaze flickered to Reece's, searching for the line between banter and something deeper—something that had been threading between them since the moment they met.

Reece's smirk lingered, fingers tapping lazily against the rim of his glass. Was he flirting again?

Andersson wasn't sure if the warmth creeping up his neck was from the drink or the damn way Reece was looking at him. Either way, he wasn't about to give him the satisfaction of reacting.

"I handle a lot of things, Commander," he said, tone even. "You? You're just another variable."

"Well," Reece said, taking a slow sip of his drink, "let's hope you're good at math, Captain. Because I have a feeling I'm not the only variable you need to worry about."

Andersson huffed softly through his nose, the barest edge of a smirk tugging at his lips as he reached for another bite of food. He should shut this down. He should ignore it.

But he didn't.

The quiet between them stretched—not awkward, but dense with something unsaid. For the first time since arriving in this strange new world, they weren't just officers on a mission or survivors of an anomaly. They were simply people—adrift, uncertain, sharing a rare moment of quiet humanity in a place that still didn't feel real.

Hale poked at the last few bites on her plate, expression unreadable. "So… what now?" she said, not quite to anyone, but not to herself either. "Do we just… wait around for the next prophecy to drop?"

Andersson didn't answer right away. He watched the way the twin moons glowed through the balcony glass, their light painting slow arcs across the table. "I think we take it one step at a time," he said at last. "Next step: don't die."

Reece raised his goblet in a mock toast. "A noble goal."

Hale poked at her food, lips pressed in thought. "You really think we'll be here for good?"

Reece leaned back, swirling the last of his drink. "We could. I mean, look at this place. Twin moons. Magic trees. Ancient cities. It's like we fell into a storybook."

He glanced around at the towering stone walls and softly glowing windows. "Honestly? This whole thing's got Lord of the Rings energy."

Hale blinked. "What's that?"

Andersson froze mid-sip, staring at her like she'd just said she didn't believe in gravity. "You're kidding."

Reece groaned. "Oh Hale-no. No Lord of the Rings? Classic old Earth epic. Elves, swords, magic jewelry. Total nerd gold."

Hale rolled her eyes. "Wow, yeah, sounds like exactly the kind of story I had time for growing up military—'Sorry, Dad, can't do flight drills today, gotta read about... whatever that is.'"

Andersson smirked, leaning back slightly. "Spoken like a true admiral's daughter."

Hale groaned. "Oh, don't you start."

Reece gestured broadly at the room. "And yet, here we are. Living in Mordor."

Andersson raised an eyebrow. "Although I think Mordor is where all the bad shit happened—this is more like Rivendell."

Hale stared at him, unimpressed. "I have no idea what you're talking about. You are such nerds."

Reece immediately pushed up imaginary glasses, sticking out his lower jaw. "Acktually, Hale, if you'd taken the time to study the finer points of high fantasy literature, you'd know that Rivendell is the sanctuary of the elves, whereas Mordor is—"

Hale shoved his shoulder. "Alright, enough. I regret everything."

Hale pushed back from the table with a dramatic sigh, arms stretching overhead until her shoulders cracked. "First proper meal in days, a real bed waiting... shame about the company. No offense, Captain, but I am done."

Andersson chuckled. "None taken, Lieutenant. Get some rest."

She rose, already halfway to the door. "Try not to flirt yourselves into another galaxy while I'm gone."

Andersson gave her a dry look. Reece, unbothered as ever, just smirked. "No promises."

Andersson suddenly feels… aware. Aware of the silence. Aware of the way Reece's sleeves are rolled up to his forearms. Aware of the damn warmth rising in his own face that has nothing to do with alien liquor.

He clears his throat, grasping for something—anything—to say. Act normal, dammit.

"So, uh… what do you make of all this?" He gestures vaguely at the stone walls, the twin moons beyond the window. "Space elves, magic castles, ancient prophecies... Feel like home yet?"

Reece leans back, watching him with that infuriating, unreadable smirk. "Not quite. But at least the company's decent."

Something in Andersson's stomach coils tight. He laughs—just a little too late—and rubs the back of his neck. "Yeah, well… I guess that's something."

A pause follows. Not awkward. Just… charged.

Reece tilts his head slightly, eyes sharp, amused. "You alright, Captain? You seem a little… I don't know. On edge."

Andersson scoffs, picking up his glass. "We fell through an anomaly, crash-landed in another galaxy, met a guy who could break us in half, and now apparently we're part of some ancient prophecy. Why would I be on edge?"

Reece doesn't blink. "Sure. That's all it is."

Andersson swallows.

They're flirting.

Are they flirting?

It feels like they're flirting.

Another long, loaded silence.

Andersson nods toward the bottle between them. "Another?"

Reece slides it over with a grin. "Why not?"

Reece takes a slow sip from his glass, eyes on Andersson, unreadable. Then he leans forward, resting his arms on the table, fingers idly tracing the rim of his drink.

Andersson leans back slightly, swirling the deep red liquid in his own glass. "So, how was the transition—from tearaway teenager to Alliance Pilot?"

Reece snorts, shaking his head. "Rough. I joined at nineteen. Fast-tracked into the pilot program—somehow passed all the psych screens before they realized I was a menace."

Andersson raises an eyebrow, intrigued. "So, what was the plan?"

Reece exhales, and this time the smirk fades a little. "Well, after my parents were killed in the attack, I wanted to kick the shit out of terrorists. Or Martians. Didn't really matter. At the time, it felt like the only thing that made sense."

He pauses, staring into his glass, watching the swirl of crimson like it might answer something. "But after a while… I don't know. Maybe I stopped looking for revenge. Started looking for something else."

Andersson studies him, something quiet settling between them. "Oh yeah?"

Reece takes another sip before answering. "I had a talent for bad decisions. Picking fights. Running my mouth. Pissing off the wrong people. Figured if I was going to keep fighting, I might as well do it for a cause. Turn all that into something useful."

Andersson chuckles softly. "Let me guess—authority issues?"

Reece smiles and winks. "Still unresolved."

Andersson watches him over the rim of his drink, pulse ticking just a bit faster. It's not just the words. It's the tone. The shape of Reece's mouth when he smiles. The quiet intent behind what he isn't saying.

"So, what changed?" Andersson asks. "You seem pretty... in control now."

Reece tilts his head like he's weighing the truth. "Somewhere along the way, I realized I liked it. The structure. The clarity. The sense of purpose."

His eyes find Andersson's again and hold. "And the right people."

Andersson doesn't look away, but his hand tightens around the glass.

He takes a measured sip before setting it down. "Do you think your parents would be proud of you now?"

For the first time, Reece's usual bravado eases into something quieter. "I think they would be." His fingers tap once against his glass, gaze drifting. "I gave them a lot of grief growing up. Always pushing the line, never really thinking past the moment."

He pauses, the smile tugging at his mouth more memory than humor.

"I just wish they could've seen where I ended up. Not perfect, but... better."

Andersson nods, choosing his words carefully. "You've learned to rein it in when it counts. Still a bit of a smart-ass, but I've dealt with worse."

Reece's grin returns, sharper this time. "Yeah, my mouth has got me into and out of a lot of scrapes."

Andersson smirks. "I know the type. Speak before you think?"

Reece gestures vaguely. "It's not like it's planned. It's like my mouth opens and the words leave before my brain even has time to process it."

Andersson hums. "Usually, people like that don't make it to command. You must be doing something right."

Reece leans back, a playful glint in his eyes. "I guess I learned to control it. Sometimes." He takes another slow sip, then, with a smirk, adds, "Or I just slept with the right people."

Andersson's heart does something inconvenient in his chest. It's stupid—he knows it's stupid—but for some reason, the idea of Reece being with someone else doesn't sit right. He clears his throat, forcing himself to focus on something else. Anything else.

Andersson huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "Reassuring to know you have such noble career strategies, Commander."

Reece winks. "Got me here, didn't it?"

Andersson rolls his eyes, but the casual way Reece says it—the way he doesn't elaborate—sticks in his mind longer than it should.

"This—uh, this galaxy might just test that control of yours," he says, trying to keep his voice even.

Reece grins. "Yeah?" He leans in slightly. "You gonna help keep me in check, Captain?"

Andersson laughs, shaking his head, but there's no ignoring the heat between them now. "I think you might be a lost cause, Kyle."

Reece smirks, raising his glass. "Guess we'll find out."

Andersson thoughtfully takes a sip of his drink, watching the way it catches the dim light of their quarters. He shouldn't ask. But the drink, the exhaustion—and whatever was happening between them—had worn his guard thin.

"So," Andersson says, keeping his tone casual, "if you don't mind me asking—you and Hale. Any history there?"

Reece bursts into laughter, shaking his head. "God, no." He grins, eyes flicking toward Andersson with something wicked dancing behind them. "I am very much a guys' guy."

Andersson arches a brow. "Because when we spoke before, you made it sound like there was."

Reece shrugs, unabashed. "Thought it'd be fun to keep you guessing."

A strange, unexpected exhilaration pulses through Andersson—tight in his chest, warm in a way that has nothing to do with the alien alcohol. He manages a nod, calm and controlled, like the words aren't rattling through him like loose rounds in a chamber.

Just information. Nothing life-altering.

He tells himself that.

But he doesn't quite believe it.

Reece stretches back in his chair, his grin widening. "She did ask me on a date a couple of times, though."

Andersson blinks. "Really?"

"Oh yeah," Reece says, clearly enjoying this. "Back when we first met. She was convinced I was playing hard to get. Took me turning her down twice before she got the message."

Andersson chuckles. "Bet that bruised her ego."

"Crushed it," Reece grins. "She still brings it up sometimes, but honestly? We're more like siblings now. We laugh about it."

Andersson nods, trying to focus on the conversation and not the way his pulse is suddenly very noticeable.

"Good," he says, maybe a little too quickly. He clears his throat, reaches for his drink, and realizes too late that it's empty. "I mean, that's good. Would've been complicated otherwise."

Reece watches him for a moment, quiet and steady, and Andersson feels that look settle over him like a question he doesn't know how to ask.

"Yeah," Reece says, voice quieter now. "Complicated."

Reece leaned back in his chair, cradling his glass. "So while we're on the subject, Captain—can I ask you something?"

Andersson narrowed his eyes, suspicious. "That depends."

Reece offered a half-shrug. "You mentioned yesterday—or whenever that was—that you and Alenko were close. Too close, you said. I don't want to dredge up anything painful, but… was there something more there?"

There was a pause. Just long enough for the question to sink in and press against Andersson's ribs like a held breath. The grief hadn't taken shape yet—not fully. Just shock. Disbelief. A hollow waiting to be filled.

"There was," he said, voice low. "We were together back at the Academy. Five years. Whole damn stretch."

Reece didn't interrupt, letting the silence hold.

"We always knew it wouldn't last," Andersson continued. "Relationships between officers on the same posting are banned. And if we were posted apart, we'd never see each other again. So we ended it. Clean break."

Reece's brow furrowed. "So you'd split by the time you graduated?"

"Yeah. Went our separate ways. He ended up on the Agincourt, I was assigned to the Hastings. We didn't talk. Not for years." Andersson ran a finger along the rim of his glass. "Then six years ago, we both got posted to the Normandy."

Reece nodded slowly. "And you were XO. That must've been… something."

"It was strange at first," Andersson admitted. "But we figured it out. Slipped back into something familiar. Became friends again. Close, but… different."

Andersson paused, turning the glass slowly in his hands.

"He was more like a brother to me than an ex. In the end." His voice caught, just briefly. "But I never really stopped caring about him. Not fully. I never got involved with anyone else after we split. Never felt the need. Or maybe I just... never really moved on."

Andersson didn't look up. He didn't need to. The truth was in the silence between words.

For a moment, neither of them speaks. The hum of the alien city outside their quarters, the distant chatter of Skyhold's inhabitants—it all fades into the background.

Reece's voice is quieter now. "Are you lonely?"

Andersson doesn't answer right away. He stares into his drink like it might give him the right words.

He grips his glass tighter, heart hammering.

"Maybe," he says at last. "More than I'd care to admit. I buried myself in my career. Kept people at arm's length. It was easier that way. Safer."

Reece nods slowly, his expression unreadable. "I get it. It's easy in our line of work. You learn not to get too close. Too attached. But maybe…" His voice dips slightly, "maybe that could change."

His fingers brush down Andersson's forearm—gentle, deliberate. A pause. An offer.

"Maybe it's time you let yourself get close to someone again."

Andersson looks at him, pulse quickening. The contact is light, but it burns in the best way.

Andersson swallows hard. Every instinct tells him to deflect, to joke, to shift the energy. But he doesn't.

Instead, he meets Reece's gaze head-on. The space between them feels thinner than it should—like the room is holding its breath.

Andersson's own breath stutters, just slightly.

A strange, exhilarating heat blooms in his chest. Not from the drink. Not from the room.

He knows exactly what it is.

And for once—he doesn't look away. He lets himself stay.