Niki (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
niki_chidon) wrote2012-12-29 05:33 pm
niki_chidon) wrote2012-12-29 05:33 pm
Entry tags:
Fic: Tuesday (Mass Effect AU, Male Shepard/Kaidan)
Title: Tuesday
Fandom: Mass Effect AU
Pairing: Male Shepard/Kaidan Alenko
Rating: PG-13 for violence
Word count: 2547
Notes: for a ME kink meme prompt which I fell in love with. When no one else wrote it, I had to try to and write it myself. Everything interesting is in the prompt – I just fleshed it out a bit.
For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
hc_bingo prompt “theft”
De-anoning right away for bingo purposes;)
Summary: “Modern AU, BAMF!Shepard kicks ass, takes names and foils a bank robbery, all in the name of true love”
Jenkins has point. He is the first to fall. Williams is down, her rifle on the ground next to her and Shepard runs for it, rolling for cover. He can't see anything but he fires to where the bullets are raining from. Someone is yelling, but he can't make out any words, not even the language. Which country are they in? Who is he shooting at? There's burning pain on his side, his leg, and he knows he's picked up a few stray bullets or ricochets and the smoke is making his eyes water and he's running out of bullets, he's running out of men, he's running out of time... The explosion drowns everything else, and he's flying over the crates, into Jenkins' body, and his head hits the ground with a thud and he knows that if he loses consciousness he is dead...
Shepard wakes up with a start. The red numbers in the darkness tell him it's five to six, AM. He could go back to sleep, no matter how vivid the images still in his mind, highlights of at least three different snafus during his career, he still retains his ability to sleep anywhere, anytime.
But he is also incapable of sleeping later than 6:30 so it would hardly be worth it. He stares at the ceiling, trying to find the will to get up. His bedroom is grey and empty, as is his life. He could stay in bed all day, he could die and turn into a mummy, and nothing would change, the world would keep turning and no one would miss him.
Habit gets him up, habit and a need to empty his bladder. He reaches for the cane, propped against his bedside table, and levers himself up. He makes his slow way into the bathroom without bothering to switch the lights on. He avoids looking at himself in the mirror when he washes his hands.
At least his hands have no scars. His face is marked for the rest of his life, setting him aside from the rest of the human race as someone who has seen battle, someone trained to kill.
Someone who has little to offer society now that he can't perform that duty anymore.
He doesn't bother shaving, knowing he's not leaving the house anyway, unless it's the day for his physiotherapy and... it's Tuesday.
Tuesday means he's definitely shaving. Tuesday is the day his disability check arrives and he can go deposit it in his bank and... and see Kaidan Alenko. The highlight of his week. The only social contact in his life these days, besides the doctors and physiotherapists.
Kaidan, dark, beautiful Kaidan, is the bank teller he met the first day he dragged himself into his bank, unshaven and rugged, probably looking like he was about to rob the place, with a pile of accumulated checks he hadn't bothered to cash.
His ID had expired, and he had been so embarrassed. He couldn't remember when he had last had to worry about civilian things, about living in the civilian world. Kaidan Alenko, so said the name tag on the teller who had had the misfortune to get him, had been patient, friendly, and sympathetic.
He had also looked almost worried when Shepard said he'd be back later, and he had had to reassure the man he wouldn't starve, even without the checks.
Next week he had been back, with his shiny new military ID for retired personnel. He had also shaved. He had chosen Kaidan's queue, even if it had been longer than the next one. The smile on the man's face got him through the next week.
Tuesdays are his favourite days these days, the only day that matter. His check arrives and he goes to see Kaid... to deposit it in the bank.
He always chooses Kaidan, and the man is always there. He always smiles, that wonderful smile Shepard wants to believe is more than just professional. He has toyed with the idea of one day maybe asking the man out, for a coffee or a dinner, but knows he never will.
Kaidan is perfect – handsome, healthy, nice. He has to be taken, even if there is no ring on his finger, and Shepard has looked at his hands, a lot. They are long-fingered, unscarred, light in their touch and he wants to... Oh, how he wants to. Feel them on his body, holding him, touching him like he touches the checks, his ID, the pen he holds out to him...
And even if he isn't taken, what would he do with a broken old soldier? Whatever looks Shepard may have had in his youth have been ruined for good by the scarring running over the right side of his face, one long scar from the eyebrow to his cheek, another dissecting his lower lip. And that's just what is visible with his clothes on.
Underneath them... His leg is a mess of scar tissue and healing skin crafts. His physiotherapist, probably hired from a North Korean re-education camp, is convinced he will not need the cane for long and admonishes him to do his exercises to that end but what is he achieving for? He will still be a cripple, still have the limp, still be as visibly broken as with the cane.
Almost superstitious, he doesn't shave until the mail arrives. One week the check was late and he spent the whole Tuesday frustrated. He couldn't even pace his anger away. He wished for his rifle then, or a good fist fight with Lieutenant Vega, anything to get rid of the feeling of being trapped.
The check arrived on Wednesday, and with one smile from Kaidan the rest of his week was saved.
The mail arrives, an ad or two, and the thin envelope that gives him the excuse to go bask in the light of that smile again.
He shaves, as close as he would have for a parade, and chooses his clothes with great care. It's not like he has many options, he spent over a decade in fatigues, in uniform, and his stash of civilian clothing is tiny. Maybe he could use some of that money that keeps piling up to buy something new to wear?
Would that be too pathetic? There is only one person he would dress up to impress.
Clean jeans, not too tight on his wounded leg, a grey t-shirt, ironed, and his old leather jacket. He keeps his hair short, shaving it himself, not ready to let it grow back yet, not ready to look that much like a civilian. The last time he had hair any longer than an inch or so was in high school.
Kaidan's hair is lovely. He keeps it gelled back at work but Shepard is sure that if it was allowed to hang free it would reach his eyes. He spends way too much of his time picturing that hair in different situations- What would it look like if he ran his hands through it? In a shower? In the morning?
He takes a final look at the mirror, running a hand over his chin. Smooth and clean, that's the best he can do. He grabs the envelope, his wallet (with the ID, even though Kaidan hardly even glances at it these days), his keys, and the cane.
- - -
Kaidan is not there. Shepard pauses at the door, hesitant. Should he wait? Maybe he's having lunch? Maybe he's ill, or is on vacation... He can't have changed jobs. No, Shepard doesn't think he could...
A door opens in the background, and a dark figure enters the hall in a rush. It's Kaidan, and Shepard smiles in relief. He's dressed in a blue suit today, with a grey tie, and he looks wonderful. He seems to be eyeing the queues, and... and he pauses when he sees Shepard by the doorway. It's like he was looking for him, because he continues to his place then, shooting Shepard a smile.
He's imagining, of course, but what else does he have than his dreams?
By the time he limps through the room there are five people in the line before him. He doesn't mind. It's more time he can spend just looking at the man. Even if Kaidan doesn't smile as widely to anyone else but him.
The line moves, and with only two more people in front of him, he can see Kaidan's hands. Those wonderful, long-fingered hands, counting bills, handling forms...
There's a shout behind him, and he turns to look with everyone else. Five men, with balaclavas and shotguns and you have got to be kidding! He curses them, the fate, the timing, but raises his hands with all the other customers when commanded to do so. He's not stupid. He's also not armed.
Getting down on his knees is a little more problematic, and he hopes the closest goon doesn't mind him lowering his arms to lean on his cane to make it to the floor in somewhat coordinated manner. As long as they are not trigger-happy... as long as no one tries to play hero... as long as...
As long as the bastards don't pull a pistol on Kaidan. Fuck this.
Shepard is on his feet before conscious thought hits in, his cane making a handy weapon he applies to the backs of the goon's knees, hand on the gun even as he goes down, shouting in pain. Shepard turns and pulls the trigger twice in short succession, two head shots, two more goons on the ground. Weight on his good leg he kicks down with the left, hardly noticing the pain and the goon goes quiet.
All this takes mere seconds, and the remaining robbers have just realised something is going on, but smart enough to take cover instead of standing out in the open, shooting him. Shit, shit, shit, because if they shoot at him there are all these civilians here, and Kaidan, right behind him...
“John!” It's Kaidan's voice, and he turns to see the man has opened the security door, holding it open, and he leaps over the counter to shelter behind the desk.
“Alarm?” he asks, raising his head to look at the robbers. If they grab a hostage... but no, they are by the doors, far from the civilians.
“Yes. The police should be here any minute.”
“Good and not good. All these potential hostages...”
“What do you think you were doing?” Kaidan hisses, angrily.
“They shouldn't have pulled a gun on you,” Shepard says, defensively, and keeps his eyes trained on the enemy.
“You... John...”
He likes it, likes his name on Kaidan's lips, said on that smooth, husky voice.
“Kaidan,” he replies, grinning, and looks at him.
Give him a gun and make him feel useful, and bam, he has courage again. Kaidan is looking at him with wonder and admiration and... he tears his eyes away, fighting the urge to kiss him.
“Can I get to their flank from this side?”
“Yes, but you'll need my keycard to exit,” he says, unhesitatingly pulling it from his pocket and handing it to him. Their fingers touch, and Shepard could swear he can feel electricity pass with the card.
“Stay here,” he says.
“John... good luck.”
He smiles, holds on to the keycard, and, still crouching, makes his way towards the entrance. He's almost as far as he can get in cover, wondering how he can open the door and exit to the side of the hall without the robbers noticing. There's no cover on the other side, not close, and even if the door
is bound to be bullet-proof... Damn, he needs a distraction.
Maybe wait for the cops to arrive? It should make the two remaining gunmen at least look outside, and it should be enough time to...
There's a loud noise and oh hell no, it's Kaidan, he's thrown his chair towards the robbers, and one of them is getting up to shoot at the stupid, idiotic, wonderfully brave asshole, and Shepard is out, pistol trained, and the man falls before he can get a shot fired. His co-goon turns to aim at Shepard and that's a mistake, Shepard's too fast, he's already on him, not even bothering with a bullet, breaking his nose with an elbow, disarming him and kicking him in the stomach at the same time. That'll teach them to try to mess with his time with Kaidan!
He checks his pulse – alive but unconscious. The other one is dead. He collects their shotguns, checking them for other weaponry. The living has a pistol as well which he collects.
Kaidan is there, and he gives the extra guns to him, holding on to his... the first pistol he acquired while he moves on to the two head shots. Dead, especially dead, and their shotguns go on the pile. The bastard who drew his gun on Kaidan is still on the crumpled heap on the floor, unconscious but still breathing, if slightly laboriously because oops, Shepard may have broken his trachea.
That's when they hear the sirens. The police are finally there. The rest of the customers seem to be dazedly realising that it's over, and are getting on their feet. Shepard adds his pistol to the pile Kaidan has deposited on a side table, and leans to retrieve his cane.
Kaidan is arranging the still-breathing goon into a recovery position and Shepard falls in love.
- - -
Shepard feels guilty at the thanks, he knows he did everything wrong – endangered everyone, just because the robbers pointed a gun at the wrong man. That is, until the cops tell him that the goons are responsible for at least five different bank robberies, and not one had ended without bloodshed. It appears they liked killing the bank officials who helped them.
Shepard doesn't even want to imagine what he might have done to the men if they had killed Kaidan in front of his eyes.
He's leaning heavily on his cane, feeling the aches and pains of all that exertion now. But he didn't even limp during the fight. Maybe the torturer general is right, maybe he will get rid of the cane one day. Not that it didn't come in handy today.
“Mr Shepard,” says Kaidan, appearing by his side, and Shepard grins again.
“John. I liked it when you called me John.”
Kaidan blushes, looks down... then meets his eyes with a smile of his own. “John.”
“If you ever do anything as stupid as making yourself a target for armed criminals again...” he growls, smile disappearing.
“Yes?” Kaidan asks, defiantly, arms crossed.
“I don't even know,” Shepard says, and pulls him closer for a kiss.
After only a second Kaidan opens his mouth to respond and wraps his arms around him. People around them start applauding, customers, bank tellers, hell, maybe even the cops and the EMTs, Shepard doesn't know, and he doesn't really care.
His cane falls forgotten on the ground as his own hands find their way to Kaidan's back.
Fandom: Mass Effect AU
Pairing: Male Shepard/Kaidan Alenko
Rating: PG-13 for violence
Word count: 2547
Notes: for a ME kink meme prompt which I fell in love with. When no one else wrote it, I had to try to and write it myself. Everything interesting is in the prompt – I just fleshed it out a bit.
For
hc_bingo prompt “theft” De-anoning right away for bingo purposes;)
Summary: “Modern AU, BAMF!Shepard kicks ass, takes names and foils a bank robbery, all in the name of true love”
Jenkins has point. He is the first to fall. Williams is down, her rifle on the ground next to her and Shepard runs for it, rolling for cover. He can't see anything but he fires to where the bullets are raining from. Someone is yelling, but he can't make out any words, not even the language. Which country are they in? Who is he shooting at? There's burning pain on his side, his leg, and he knows he's picked up a few stray bullets or ricochets and the smoke is making his eyes water and he's running out of bullets, he's running out of men, he's running out of time... The explosion drowns everything else, and he's flying over the crates, into Jenkins' body, and his head hits the ground with a thud and he knows that if he loses consciousness he is dead...
Shepard wakes up with a start. The red numbers in the darkness tell him it's five to six, AM. He could go back to sleep, no matter how vivid the images still in his mind, highlights of at least three different snafus during his career, he still retains his ability to sleep anywhere, anytime.
But he is also incapable of sleeping later than 6:30 so it would hardly be worth it. He stares at the ceiling, trying to find the will to get up. His bedroom is grey and empty, as is his life. He could stay in bed all day, he could die and turn into a mummy, and nothing would change, the world would keep turning and no one would miss him.
Habit gets him up, habit and a need to empty his bladder. He reaches for the cane, propped against his bedside table, and levers himself up. He makes his slow way into the bathroom without bothering to switch the lights on. He avoids looking at himself in the mirror when he washes his hands.
At least his hands have no scars. His face is marked for the rest of his life, setting him aside from the rest of the human race as someone who has seen battle, someone trained to kill.
Someone who has little to offer society now that he can't perform that duty anymore.
He doesn't bother shaving, knowing he's not leaving the house anyway, unless it's the day for his physiotherapy and... it's Tuesday.
Tuesday means he's definitely shaving. Tuesday is the day his disability check arrives and he can go deposit it in his bank and... and see Kaidan Alenko. The highlight of his week. The only social contact in his life these days, besides the doctors and physiotherapists.
Kaidan, dark, beautiful Kaidan, is the bank teller he met the first day he dragged himself into his bank, unshaven and rugged, probably looking like he was about to rob the place, with a pile of accumulated checks he hadn't bothered to cash.
His ID had expired, and he had been so embarrassed. He couldn't remember when he had last had to worry about civilian things, about living in the civilian world. Kaidan Alenko, so said the name tag on the teller who had had the misfortune to get him, had been patient, friendly, and sympathetic.
He had also looked almost worried when Shepard said he'd be back later, and he had had to reassure the man he wouldn't starve, even without the checks.
Next week he had been back, with his shiny new military ID for retired personnel. He had also shaved. He had chosen Kaidan's queue, even if it had been longer than the next one. The smile on the man's face got him through the next week.
Tuesdays are his favourite days these days, the only day that matter. His check arrives and he goes to see Kaid... to deposit it in the bank.
He always chooses Kaidan, and the man is always there. He always smiles, that wonderful smile Shepard wants to believe is more than just professional. He has toyed with the idea of one day maybe asking the man out, for a coffee or a dinner, but knows he never will.
Kaidan is perfect – handsome, healthy, nice. He has to be taken, even if there is no ring on his finger, and Shepard has looked at his hands, a lot. They are long-fingered, unscarred, light in their touch and he wants to... Oh, how he wants to. Feel them on his body, holding him, touching him like he touches the checks, his ID, the pen he holds out to him...
And even if he isn't taken, what would he do with a broken old soldier? Whatever looks Shepard may have had in his youth have been ruined for good by the scarring running over the right side of his face, one long scar from the eyebrow to his cheek, another dissecting his lower lip. And that's just what is visible with his clothes on.
Underneath them... His leg is a mess of scar tissue and healing skin crafts. His physiotherapist, probably hired from a North Korean re-education camp, is convinced he will not need the cane for long and admonishes him to do his exercises to that end but what is he achieving for? He will still be a cripple, still have the limp, still be as visibly broken as with the cane.
Almost superstitious, he doesn't shave until the mail arrives. One week the check was late and he spent the whole Tuesday frustrated. He couldn't even pace his anger away. He wished for his rifle then, or a good fist fight with Lieutenant Vega, anything to get rid of the feeling of being trapped.
The check arrived on Wednesday, and with one smile from Kaidan the rest of his week was saved.
The mail arrives, an ad or two, and the thin envelope that gives him the excuse to go bask in the light of that smile again.
He shaves, as close as he would have for a parade, and chooses his clothes with great care. It's not like he has many options, he spent over a decade in fatigues, in uniform, and his stash of civilian clothing is tiny. Maybe he could use some of that money that keeps piling up to buy something new to wear?
Would that be too pathetic? There is only one person he would dress up to impress.
Clean jeans, not too tight on his wounded leg, a grey t-shirt, ironed, and his old leather jacket. He keeps his hair short, shaving it himself, not ready to let it grow back yet, not ready to look that much like a civilian. The last time he had hair any longer than an inch or so was in high school.
Kaidan's hair is lovely. He keeps it gelled back at work but Shepard is sure that if it was allowed to hang free it would reach his eyes. He spends way too much of his time picturing that hair in different situations- What would it look like if he ran his hands through it? In a shower? In the morning?
He takes a final look at the mirror, running a hand over his chin. Smooth and clean, that's the best he can do. He grabs the envelope, his wallet (with the ID, even though Kaidan hardly even glances at it these days), his keys, and the cane.
- - -
Kaidan is not there. Shepard pauses at the door, hesitant. Should he wait? Maybe he's having lunch? Maybe he's ill, or is on vacation... He can't have changed jobs. No, Shepard doesn't think he could...
A door opens in the background, and a dark figure enters the hall in a rush. It's Kaidan, and Shepard smiles in relief. He's dressed in a blue suit today, with a grey tie, and he looks wonderful. He seems to be eyeing the queues, and... and he pauses when he sees Shepard by the doorway. It's like he was looking for him, because he continues to his place then, shooting Shepard a smile.
He's imagining, of course, but what else does he have than his dreams?
By the time he limps through the room there are five people in the line before him. He doesn't mind. It's more time he can spend just looking at the man. Even if Kaidan doesn't smile as widely to anyone else but him.
The line moves, and with only two more people in front of him, he can see Kaidan's hands. Those wonderful, long-fingered hands, counting bills, handling forms...
There's a shout behind him, and he turns to look with everyone else. Five men, with balaclavas and shotguns and you have got to be kidding! He curses them, the fate, the timing, but raises his hands with all the other customers when commanded to do so. He's not stupid. He's also not armed.
Getting down on his knees is a little more problematic, and he hopes the closest goon doesn't mind him lowering his arms to lean on his cane to make it to the floor in somewhat coordinated manner. As long as they are not trigger-happy... as long as no one tries to play hero... as long as...
As long as the bastards don't pull a pistol on Kaidan. Fuck this.
Shepard is on his feet before conscious thought hits in, his cane making a handy weapon he applies to the backs of the goon's knees, hand on the gun even as he goes down, shouting in pain. Shepard turns and pulls the trigger twice in short succession, two head shots, two more goons on the ground. Weight on his good leg he kicks down with the left, hardly noticing the pain and the goon goes quiet.
All this takes mere seconds, and the remaining robbers have just realised something is going on, but smart enough to take cover instead of standing out in the open, shooting him. Shit, shit, shit, because if they shoot at him there are all these civilians here, and Kaidan, right behind him...
“John!” It's Kaidan's voice, and he turns to see the man has opened the security door, holding it open, and he leaps over the counter to shelter behind the desk.
“Alarm?” he asks, raising his head to look at the robbers. If they grab a hostage... but no, they are by the doors, far from the civilians.
“Yes. The police should be here any minute.”
“Good and not good. All these potential hostages...”
“What do you think you were doing?” Kaidan hisses, angrily.
“They shouldn't have pulled a gun on you,” Shepard says, defensively, and keeps his eyes trained on the enemy.
“You... John...”
He likes it, likes his name on Kaidan's lips, said on that smooth, husky voice.
“Kaidan,” he replies, grinning, and looks at him.
Give him a gun and make him feel useful, and bam, he has courage again. Kaidan is looking at him with wonder and admiration and... he tears his eyes away, fighting the urge to kiss him.
“Can I get to their flank from this side?”
“Yes, but you'll need my keycard to exit,” he says, unhesitatingly pulling it from his pocket and handing it to him. Their fingers touch, and Shepard could swear he can feel electricity pass with the card.
“Stay here,” he says.
“John... good luck.”
He smiles, holds on to the keycard, and, still crouching, makes his way towards the entrance. He's almost as far as he can get in cover, wondering how he can open the door and exit to the side of the hall without the robbers noticing. There's no cover on the other side, not close, and even if the door
is bound to be bullet-proof... Damn, he needs a distraction.
Maybe wait for the cops to arrive? It should make the two remaining gunmen at least look outside, and it should be enough time to...
There's a loud noise and oh hell no, it's Kaidan, he's thrown his chair towards the robbers, and one of them is getting up to shoot at the stupid, idiotic, wonderfully brave asshole, and Shepard is out, pistol trained, and the man falls before he can get a shot fired. His co-goon turns to aim at Shepard and that's a mistake, Shepard's too fast, he's already on him, not even bothering with a bullet, breaking his nose with an elbow, disarming him and kicking him in the stomach at the same time. That'll teach them to try to mess with his time with Kaidan!
He checks his pulse – alive but unconscious. The other one is dead. He collects their shotguns, checking them for other weaponry. The living has a pistol as well which he collects.
Kaidan is there, and he gives the extra guns to him, holding on to his... the first pistol he acquired while he moves on to the two head shots. Dead, especially dead, and their shotguns go on the pile. The bastard who drew his gun on Kaidan is still on the crumpled heap on the floor, unconscious but still breathing, if slightly laboriously because oops, Shepard may have broken his trachea.
That's when they hear the sirens. The police are finally there. The rest of the customers seem to be dazedly realising that it's over, and are getting on their feet. Shepard adds his pistol to the pile Kaidan has deposited on a side table, and leans to retrieve his cane.
Kaidan is arranging the still-breathing goon into a recovery position and Shepard falls in love.
- - -
Shepard feels guilty at the thanks, he knows he did everything wrong – endangered everyone, just because the robbers pointed a gun at the wrong man. That is, until the cops tell him that the goons are responsible for at least five different bank robberies, and not one had ended without bloodshed. It appears they liked killing the bank officials who helped them.
Shepard doesn't even want to imagine what he might have done to the men if they had killed Kaidan in front of his eyes.
He's leaning heavily on his cane, feeling the aches and pains of all that exertion now. But he didn't even limp during the fight. Maybe the torturer general is right, maybe he will get rid of the cane one day. Not that it didn't come in handy today.
“Mr Shepard,” says Kaidan, appearing by his side, and Shepard grins again.
“John. I liked it when you called me John.”
Kaidan blushes, looks down... then meets his eyes with a smile of his own. “John.”
“If you ever do anything as stupid as making yourself a target for armed criminals again...” he growls, smile disappearing.
“Yes?” Kaidan asks, defiantly, arms crossed.
“I don't even know,” Shepard says, and pulls him closer for a kiss.
After only a second Kaidan opens his mouth to respond and wraps his arms around him. People around them start applauding, customers, bank tellers, hell, maybe even the cops and the EMTs, Shepard doesn't know, and he doesn't really care.
His cane falls forgotten on the ground as his own hands find their way to Kaidan's back.