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merakiui · 3 years

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A Leaf Swept up in an Autumnal Breeze

yandere!kaedehara kazuha x (gender neutral) reader art credit - Tourou_7 on twt cw: yandere, unhealthy/obsessive behaviors, slight nsfw implications/thoughts, alcohol consumption, intoxication, spoilers for kazuha’s character story + inazuma lore note - i decided to write something short for kazuha as i analyze what we know so far of his character. hopefully the characterization isn’t too off! please enjoy nonetheless! orz

The moonlight casts its thin rays upon the calm, motionless sea. In the distance, fish surface and their movements are captured in the ripples that expand in the water, a minor blip in the otherwise tranquil atmosphere of the dark night. As if a god has taken a brush to the sky, utilizing its inky vastness as a canvas, the stars have been drawn in small specks—winking down at those who sleep underneath a blanket of natural light.

And you are caught up in the glorious shimmer, grinning widely as Beidou wraps her arm around you, pulling you against her as if the two of you have known each other for years. In reality, it’s only been a few months since you were discovered on her ship: a hidden stowaway with your Vision clutched in your hands and raw resolve etched into your body in the form of bruises and old scars. You’re a fighter and yet you also ran from something. Kazuha can’t quite tell what it is you’ve escaped. Whether it’s another person, a group of people, or even an entire nation, he’s certain it’s worthy of the risks that come with fleeing.

Your Vision shines brightly, a stark contrast to the dark color scheme of your clothes. He tries to place a nation to your outfit and comes up empty, his thoughts returning to Inazuma as though it’s the only place he can think of. And he supposes that’s true. The situation in Inazuma has clouded his mind with its strange fog, taking up residence in the nooks and crannies of his brain. Though he can dwell upon the past and the mistakes that led up to the downfall of a precious friend, he knows there is no use for such somber reflections during a happy celebration. Life moves on, as the common saying goes, and he cannot allow himself to remain trapped in the past.

During moments such as these, where he relives the horrible memory in vivid detail, you are a sweet balm that soothes the sting of loss. Even when you’re struggling to stand, face hot from the intoxication of good drinks in even better company, you’re a wondrous presence who chases away his doubts and worries.

Unknowingly, you cast a temporary shroud over those matters and he’s put at ease the minute you extend your arm in his direction.

“Kazuha! Come over here. Let’s dance!”

A hiccup interrupts your jovial giggle and Beidou chuckles before throwing her head back to drink what’s left in her flask. The aura of her ship is beyond lively. Men and women alike celebrate another successful week with drinks, harrowing tales of past heroes, and broken ballads sang in drunken tones. He can’t help the smile that sprouts on his lips. You’re such an outgoing person, always wanting to include him in your daily activities. And though he politely declines whenever you offer him alcohol, he has wondered what the appeal could possibly be.

Perhaps it’s the idea of losing your sensibility for one night, ignoring all reason for the sake of spending pleasurable moments in the confines of a warm bed, wrapped snugly in a lover’s embrace. Such instances are lost to intoxicating pleasure—buried under a hazy recollection come morning. But you haven’t done that sort of thing. Kazuha would know. He listens in while you’re relaxing—while you’re bathing and going about life on the ship without a care in the world—and his head runs wild with all sorts of fantasies. Fantasies he never would have imagined had he not met you.

To think you were just a mere stowaway, a trespasser who had snuck onto the ship and hid in the darkest corner, obscured by crates and chests. And he had pulled those crates aside in search of a few ingredients and his eyes met yours and you held your finger to your lips—a silent urge to keep quiet—and his heart skipped a beat.

It was a special meeting between two, which will remain locked away in his heart for all of eternity. A memory he regards with warm fondness. After much negotiation and a disarming conversation, you were soon welcomed with open arms as Beidou practically offered you to join her crew. You had nowhere else to go—no one else to see or protect—and so you agreed. And Kazuha felt a relief he hasn’t felt in a while, the sort of emotion that stems from almost losing something important.

The pure relief that comes and goes once he realizes you’re a missing piece in the puzzle of his life.

“You’ll trip,” he warns, pushing off from the side of the ship and walking over to you and Beidou. “It wouldn’t be wise to dance in your inebriated state. Surely you’re aware of this, no?”

“I can hold my alcohol.” Your wavering glare doesn’t reach him. “Don’t... Don’t think otherwise or else I’ll—ah!”

The majority of Beidou’s weight burdens your shoulders and you nearly almost crumble.

“You—“ she searches for a means to steady herself— “worry too much,” the captain adds, nodding in agreement to an unspoken statement. “It’ll be okay! Live a little while you’re still young.”

Kazuha sighs and easily slips between the two of you, hooking his arm around Beidou’s waist as he guides her to a barrel. The scent of alcohol kisses the air, clinging to your clothes and breath like an oversaturated perfume. Once she’s sat down, now fully determined to get the last few drops from out of the flask, the rōnin turns to you. He’s caught by surprise when your hands grasp his, your eager expression stabbing his heart with a dozen pins. He’s rooted to the floorboards, unable to look away when your face is dangerously close to his.

“You heard the captain,” you tease in a slurred voice. “Live a little.”

And he does. Or he thinks he does. Having traveled with Beidou, this is the current life he’s come to know and appreciate. But is it truly living if he feels unfulfilled in the process? To find a means for bringing back the familiar glow in a lonely Vision. To secure peace of mind and put his rowdy thoughts to rest. To one day return to the nation he was forced to flee, with you in tow. Are all of these things necessary in order to fill the gaping void in his damaged heart? Kazuha wonders if you also came from Inazuma. Perhaps you wouldn’t be so surprised to see the scenery if he were to take you there. Not now, of course. Sometime in the future, if such a future holds a changed Inazuma.

“I’m going to warn you now,” he mumbles, his fingers ghosting over your waist, “I’m not what one would call a dancer of skillful grace.”

“I don’t think that’s true, dear Kazuha.”

He blinks once and then releases a short laugh at the endearing term. “If you say so.”

“Enough talk.” You huff and pull him into your chest and he feels as though he could stay locked in this position for millennia. “Dance with me before...” A stilted pause as you nearly forget your sentence. “Before I turn in for the night. That’s it.”

Or before you get sick, he thinks, not so cheerful about the inevitable mess. But he’ll tolerate it because you’ve tolerated him. You never pry into his past, nor do you force him to answer personal questions regarding Inazuma and the Raiden Shogun. If you ever notice the way he lingers near your quarters, you don’t say a word. And if you hear his subdued moans as his hand moves in time with a picturesque fantasy of your nude form pressed against his, you keep your mouth shut. You are everything he could ever want and like the very ideal the Raiden Shogun wishes to uphold he wants to pursue an eternity with you.

Your movements are far from the precision you normally have when moving about the ship and it’s a very odd dance. Yet you spin him and he follows your unusual lead like an animal with tunnel vision. For a taut moment, the background noise melts away into obscurity and the two of you are the only people in existence. He stares at your face the entire time, ignoring the way your sandals crush his feet or the instances where he unintentionally returns the gesture. It’s certainly an awkward sort of waltz, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

And in this moment where no one else matters, he sees your radiance in the glow of the moon. You truly are worthy of the sun and the stars beyond and should you verbalize an outlandish wish of that nature he has no choice but to follow through.

Like a leaf swept up in an autumnal breeze, reminiscent of a ronin who lacks a place in the world, Kazuha allows himself to be carried on by the winds that rustle the sails and tangle through your hair, painting you in a backdrop that’s heaven handcrafted by the pickiest god. And where you have your wits, a lively Vision, and your confidence, he only has his blade, a dull Vision, and an inkling of hope. But that’s really all he requires.

#yandere genshin impact #yandere kazuha x reader #yandere kazuha #yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere kaedehara kazuha #yandere kaedehara kazuha x reader #genshin impact #genshin impact kazuha #genshin impact kaedehara kazuha #kaedehara kazuha #kazuha

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one-that-had-to · 6 years

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Exequy

“Who the hell thought it was a good idea to have an underground base?!” Bradford looks up at the sound of a woman’s voice echoing throughout the upper portions of the base, then looks down at his daemon. “I think our Commander’s just arrived,” the wolfdog says. He nods. “Let’s go say hi.”

Despite the shouting, he can’t imagine how having the base underground could be and issue. He assumes the Council had taken the various natures of the senior staff into account when they built it, and it seemed they hadn’t done too bad a job. He and Verena felt right at home in enclosed spaces. A small pool had been installed in Engineering that Doctor Shen’s otter could use. The labs were even spacious enough that Vahlen’s little shrike could fly around with ease. The Council had, apparently, not taken into consideration their Commander. One of the Council’s lackeys approaches them, a woman dressed to the nines with a sparrowhawk sitting on her shoulder following him. “Officer Bradford!” he says, clearly relieved to be able to rid himself of the woman. “This is Commander Tatiana Mercier. Commander Mercier, Central Officer John Bradford.” The Commander’s glare softens when she turns to him and she manages to force a smile onto her face. “Look forward to working with you. Please don’t mind the first impression, I haven’t slept in nearly thirty hours,” she says, shaking his hand. The moment they break it, she turns back to the representative, her fury returning to her expression. “Which, by the way, the Council fucking owes me. I had to get on the first flight out? They couldn’t have waited a day? Or at least nine hours? Honestly!” The sparrowhawk screeches in agreement. The representative offers her a shaky smile and points her towards the hallway to the staff’s quarters. “I’ll let the Council know about your complaints, Commander. Your quarters are down that hall, on the right, if you’d like to get some rest. Unless you think she’ll be needed, Officer?” he asks turning back to Bradford. He shakes his head, seemingly to the relief of both of them. “I can handle duties for the rest of the day,” he assures. “You’re my hero already,” the Commander says, flashing him a more genuine smile. Without waiting another moment, she grabs the keys from the representative and stalks off. The lackey sighs, exhausted. “Do you know if your comms device can reach the surface?” he asks, turning back to Bradford. “I don’t believe it can.” “You’ll likely have to fetch her from the surface fairly often, then. I’d see if Doctor Shen can rig up a solution for you.” The representative turns to leave, rubbing his forehead. Verena presses against his leg, dragging his attention back to reality. “She seems… interesting,” she says. He reaches down to scratch behind her ears appreciatively. “Hopefully she keeps that aggression aimed at the aliens.”

He finds her on the surface one evening after a particularly brutal terror attack, watching Přemysl swoop and soar in the distance, a bottle of beer in one hand. “You alright?” he asks, leaning against the wall beside her. Verena takes the opportunity to stretch her legs as well, pacing within range of Bradford. “Depends on how you define ‘alright,’” she says casually. “However you define it.” “No, I’m not alright. Too many people are dead already, I nearly lose my voice screaming at the council daily, and I get the feeling that this is just the beginning.” She whistles and raises her arm up. Like a flash of lightning, her daemon dives and lands on her arm, blood welling where talons meet flesh. He flinches, but it does not seem to faze the Commander. “I always had the feeling I’d die underground. Thought it might have been part of the reason Přemek settled on a bird,” she muses. The sparrowhawk hops up her arm to settle on her shoulder again. She glances over at him. “How about you? Verena looks nervous, to say the least.” “We’ve been better,” he admits. “I’ve been trying to look on the bright side of things, but it gets harder every day.” She nods in agreement and takes a swig of beer. “Better take happiness where you can find it, now. Technically we saved enough civilians to keep the Council happy, so there’s that. And we might all be able to get one full night’s rest before another attack happens.” He hesitates for a heartbeat. Now is not the time, but it is never the time. At least here, in this moment, he knows no one will interrupt them - not the council, not their soldiers, not the aliens. “The best thing to come of all this might be meeting you.” The admission takes her aback, almost choking on her beer. When she recovers and turns to look at him again, some of the bright burning passion from earlier has worked its way back into her eyes. “Finally,” she grumbles, reaching out to grab his tie and drag him into a kiss.

He sees the muton crack the Commander’s skull open and he thinks maybe, just maybe, she had a good reason to believe she’d die underground.

Verena searches the clinic while he breaks the tank open. The suit has no room for a sparrowhawk inside it as well, she they know he must be around somewhere. He refuses to even consider the other alternative. He hoists the suit over his shoulder as Kelly blows open a portion of the wall. He turns to find Verena approaching him, empty handed. “He’s not here. Not even his scent,” she says, a look of worry in her eye. Alien shouts grow closer. “We don’t have time, we have to move.” They all run to evac.

Tygan’s surgery goes better than expected, but she sleeps for three days afterwards. Bradford feels it a curse, but he recognizes that she has a long road to recovery before her. Regardless, whenever he isn’t needed elsewhere on the ship, he keeps vigil. She is visibly disoriented when she wakes. She looks at him blankly and tries not to let his hurt show. It’s not until she spots his daemon that everything starts to click. “Verena?” she interrupts, voice rough from disuse. “John? What the fuck happened?” Like ripping a bandage off, he thinks. “It’s been twenty years. A lot’s changed without you, and the archives will probably be more help with that than I am,” he explains. She nods weakly and glances around the quarters. “Where’s Přemek?” Silence stretches between them like the river Styx. “Where’s Přemek?” “He wasn’t at the clinic where you were held,” Verena answers. She rests her chin on Bradford’s knee to look at her apologetically. Tatiana collapses back into bed and throws an arm over her eyes. She looks worse than when they’d pried her from the suit, and that thought makes him feel sick. “It doesn’t hurt. He has to be nearby, the army didn’t make us stretch that far,” she mumbles. “We’ll find him,” he assures quietly, squeezing her hand. He hopes to any god that’ll listen that they will.

Shen gets the Avenger up into the sky, a miracle in of itself. When he’d first heard about the commandeered ship Bradford had been skeptical, but not without hope. If he were honest, he’d admit that his first thought was about the Commander and her distaste for being underground. A flying base should have delighted her, but without Přemysl at her side nothing seemed to matter anymore. They touch down near the Reaper’s headquarters safely, to the relief of the crew. The Commander, meanwhile, clings to the railing of the geoscape, trembling. “I don’t feel anything,” she whispers for only him to hear. He wraps an arm around her shoulders and he can feel Verena lingering just a hair’s breadth away from her as well. “He has to be somewhere. Maybe stasis separated you completely,” he suggests. “No, I don’t feel anything. I don’t- I think- He’s not-” He drags her into a hug so she doesn’t have to face her thoughts.

The Commander stiffens when Volk boards the ship. A great golden eagle sits on his shoulder, just barely finding the space to perch. She keeps her focus on the man, and not the daemon. “So you’re the Commander I’ve heard so much about,” he says, offering his hand. “John couldn’t stop going on about you over the years.” “Pleased to meet you. Central’s told me much already,” she says. She shakes his hand and smiles, though it does not reach her eyes. Volk runs his gaze over her, down then up then back down to settle on her exposed forearm. Almost immediately he pulls his hand back, as though he touched a hot stove. “Where’s your daemon?” he demands. He brings his hand up to rub his eagle’s chest, comforting her. “I recognize those scars, you should have an eagle, too, or a hawk.” The Commander’s shoulders slump and she crosses her arms. “I don’t know,” she says. Bradford can tell she’s trying to sound like the Commander he’s told stories about and not the broken woman she is now. He hopes that no one else can catch the effort she’s putting in to sound normal. “The aliens must have done something to him, to us.” “You’re no better than those ADVENT bastards,” he snaps, stepping back. “Volk,” Bradford warns lowly. Verena growls as well, causing Volk’s daemon to flutter her wings. “Daemon or not, she’s our only hope to fight back. Trust me.” “I trust you, John, I don’t trust daemon-less monsters.” The Commander does not react. “I’ll contact you when I think you’ve proven yourselves trustworthy. Until then, don’t expect any help from the Reapers.” With that, Volk turns and stalks out of the quarters and out of the Avenger, muttering under his breath the whole way. “Hopefully the crew doesn’t hear him. It’s best if they think I have something small hidden away,” the Commander muses. “No one’s going to try to get you to leave. I won’t allow it.” She shrugs and takes a seat on a sofa, then starts to flick through her tablet. “They’d have every right to want me gone.”

Despite their best efforts, rumors spread quickly through the Avenger. The soldiers see the scars that line the Commander’s arms while she trains them and things only grow worse from there. She works hard to earn their trust otherwise, and the squad returning from successful mission after successful mission seems to do the trick. No one outright calls for her removal, but that doesn’t mean they are comfortable with her. Bradford can almost see the relief on the Commander’s face when they finally make contact with the Skirmishers. Betos welcomes her with open arms, not even considering the absence of a daemon something to fret over. To them, there is nothing wrong with her. They talk long into the night about horrors that he has no hope of understanding, but the relief on the Commander’s face is obvious so he leaves them be and goes to bed alone that night. In the morning they get word of a retaliation strike in western Africa that they must deal with, cutting any more talk short. “We’ll be back soon, surely,” the Commander says apologetically as they see Betos off the ship. “We understand. You have a duty to your people that cannot wait,” Betos says with a faint smile. “By the time you return, I hope to have some information regarding your request.” They both shake hands with Betos and watch as she returns to her base. Bradford turns to glance at the Commander. He can see the tension has creeped back into her shoulders already. “Request?” “Personal favor. Don’t know if anything will come of it,” she answers, shrugging. She turns and heads back into the ship to prepare. Verena presses against his leg and whines, urging him to head back inside as well.

At their next meeting, Betos hands the Commander a datapad wordlessly. The Commander smiles and thanks her, then tucks it into her coat and continues as though nothing happened. Even when they’ve retired for the night, the Commander does not look at the datapad, but likewise does not let it out of arm’s reach. Whatever it could possibly contain terrifies her, he knows her well enough to be sure of this. Verena lays half atop her when they go to sleep, as if she could hope to be enough to replace what she’s lost. He wakes not to an alarm indicating another attack, nor to any of their comms devices begging for their attention, but instead to Tatiana awake in the middle of the night, sitting against the headboard and watching something on the datapad repeatedly. It’s a reaction he’s come to know so well over their time together. She repeatedly watches footage from battle when they lose a soldier, to improve her tactics and to mourn. “Tanya?” he mumbles. “It’s late.” She doesn’t react other than to restart the video. Verena whines and wriggles back into her lap. That, at least, urges her to lay a hand on her head and scratch behind her ear. He pushes himself up and leans against her shoulder to watch the video with her. On the screen is the cursed stasis suit that he’d so come to hate lying on a table. A thin man comes in from off screen, half dragging Tatiana in with one arm and Přemysl tucked under the other. The vacant look in her eyes tells him all he needs to know: mind controlled. He knows he should grab the datapad and throw it against the wall, but he can’t tear his eyes off of it. The thin man dumps Přemysl onto the table in an unceremonious heap of feathers and goes to help Tatiana into the suit. He sees Přemysl push himself up and screech at the alien, but he can’t seem to do much more. One of his wings sticks out to the side awkwardly and he thinks he can see a dark patch on his belly that can only be blood. The moment the stasis suit is sealed, Přemysl collapses into a pile of dust and dissipates into the air. Tatiana restarts the video without a word.

#xcom #daemon au #tatiana mercier #bradford #one shot #volk #betos

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coloneljamesmoriarty · 7 years

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The Xcom Discord Is A Bad Influence, Part Who-The-Hell-Knows-Anymore. Cause none of us would dare hurt an animal in our fics, but we just love suffering so much. Daemon AU.

“Who the hell thought it was a good idea to have an underground base?!”

Bradford looks up at the sound of a woman’s voice echoing throughout the upper portions of the base, then looks down at his daemon.

“I think our Commander’s just arrived,” the wolfdog says.

He nods. “Let’s go say hi.”

Despite her yelling, he can’t imagine how bad an issue having the base underground could be. He assumes the Council had taken the various natures of the senior staff into account when they built it, and it seemed they hadn’t done too bad a job. He and Verena felt right at home in enclosed spaces. A small pool had been installed in Engineering that Doctor Shen’s otter could use. The rooms were even spacious enough that Vahlen’s little shrike could fly around with ease.

The Council had, apparently, not taken into consideration their Commander.

One of the Council’s lackeys approaches them, a woman dressed to the nines with a sparrowhawk sitting on her shoulder following him. “Officer Bradford!” he says, clearly glad to have someone to pass the woman off to. “This is Commander Tatiana Mercier. Commander Mercier, Central Officer John Bradford.”

The Commander’s glare softens when she turns to him and she manages to force a smile onto her face. “Look forward to working with you. Please don’t mind the first impression, I haven’t slept in nearly thirty hours,” she says, shaking his hand. The moment they break it, she turns back to the representative, her fury returning to her expression. “Which, by the way, the Council fucking owes me. I had to get on the first flight out? They couldn’t have waited a day? Or at least nine hours? Honestly!”

The sparrowhawk screeches in agreement.

The representative offers her a shaky smile and points her towards the crew’s quarters. “I’ll let the Council know about your complaints, Commander. Your quarters are down that hall, on the right, if you’d like to get some rest. Unless you think she’ll be needed, Officer?” he asks turning back to Bradford.

He shakes his head, seemingly to the relief of both of them. “I can handle duties for the rest of the day,” he assures.

“You’re my hero already,” the Commander says, flashing a more genuine smile. Without waiting another moment, she grabs the keys from the representative and stalks off towards the quarters.

The lackey sighs, seemingly already exhausted from dealing with her. “Do you know if your comms device can reach the surface?” he asks, turning back to Bradford.

“I don’t believe it can.”

“You’ll likely have to fetch her from the surface fairly often, then. I’d see if Doctor Shen can rig up a solution for you.” The representative turns to leave, rubbing his forehead.

Verena presses against his leg, dragging his attention back to reality. “She seems… interesting,” she says.

He reaches down to scratch behind her ears appreciatively. “Hopefully she keeps that aggression aimed at the aliens and not the rest of the staff.”

He finds her on the surface one evening after a particularly brutal terror attack, watching Přemysl swoop and soar in the distance, a bottle of beer in one hand.

“You alright?” he asks, leaning against the wall beside her. Verena takes the opportunity to stretch her legs as well, pacing within range of Bradford.

“Depends on how you define ‘alright,’” she says casually.

“However you define it.”

“No, I’m not alright. Too many people are dead already, I nearly lose my voice screaming at the council daily, and I get the feeling that this is just the beginning.” She whistles and raises her arm up. Like a flash of lightning, her daemon dives and lands on her arm, blood welling where talons meet flesh.

He flinches, but it does not seem to faze the Commander.

“I always had the feeling I’d die underground. Thought it might have been part of the reason Přemek settled on a bird,” she mused. The sparrowhawk hops up her arm to settle on her shoulder again. She glances over at him. “How about you? Verena looks nervous, to say the least.”

“We’ve been better,” he admits. “I’ve been trying to look on the bright side of things, but it gets harder every day.”

She nods in agreement and takes a swig of beer. “Better take happiness where you can find it, now. Technically we saved enough civilians to keep the Council happy, so there’s that. And we might all be able to get one full night’s rest before another attack happens.”

He hesitates for a moment. Now is not the time, but it is never the time. At least here, in this moment, he knows no one will interrupt them. “The best thing to come of all this might be meeting you.”

The admission takes her aback, almost choking on her beer. When she recovers and turns to look at him again, some of the bright burning passion from earlier has worked its way back into her eyes. “Finally,” she groans, reaching out to grab his tie and drag him into a kiss.

He sees the muton crack the Commander’s skull open and he thinks maybe, just maybe, she had a good reason to believe she’d die underground.

Verena searches the clinic while he breaks the tank open. The suit has no room for a sparrow hawk inside it as well, she he knows he must be around somewhere. He doesn't want to even consider the other alternative.

He hoists the suit over his shoulder as Kelly blows open a portion of the wall. He turns to find Verena approaching him, empty handed.

“He's not here. Not even his scent,” she says, a look of worry in her eye.

Alien shouts grow closer.

“We don't have time, we have to move.”

They all run to evac.

Tygan’s surgery goes better than expected, but the Commander sleeps for three days afterwards. It's a curse to Bradford, but given everything that had happened it was probably for the best. Whenever he wasn't needed elsewhere on the ship, he kept vigil.

When she wakes, she is visibly disoriented. She looks at him with her brow furrowed and it's not until she spots his daemon that things start to click.

“Verena?” she interrupts, voice rough from disuse. *John? What the fuck happened?”

Like ripping a bandage off, he thinks. “It’s been twenty years. A lot's changed without you, and the archives will probably be more help with that than I am,” he explains.

She nods weakly and glances around the quarters. “Where's Přemek?”

Silence stretches between them like the river Styx.

“Where's Přemek?”

“He wasn't at the clinic where you were held,” Verena answers. She rests her chin on Bradford’s knee to look at her apologetically.

The Commander collapses back into bed, looking worse than when they’d pried her from the suit. “It doesn't hurt. He has to be nearby, the army didn't make us stretch that far,” she mumbles.

“We'll find him,” he assures quietly, squeezing her hand. He hopes to any god that'll listen that they will.

Shen gets the Avenger in the air again, and while most of the crew is worried about crashing, he's more worried about the Commander. He’d expect her to be delighted to have a skybound base instead of one buried under the earth, but without Přemysl at her side nothing seems to matter.

They touch down near the Reaper’s headquarters safely, to the relief of the crew. The Commander, meanwhile, clings to the railing of the geoscape, trembling.

“I don't feel anything,” she whispers for only him to hear.

He wraps an arm around her shoulders. “He has to be somewhere. Maybe stasis separated you completely,” he suggests.

“No, I don't feel anything. I don't- I think- He's not-”

He drags her into a hug so she doesn't have to face her thoughts.

The Commander stiffens when Volk boards the ship. A great golden eagle sits on his shoulder, just barely finding the space to perch. She keeps her focus on the man, and not the daemon.

“So you're the Commander I've heard so much about,” he says, offering his hand. “John couldn’t stop going on about you over the years.”

“Pleased to meet you. Central’s told me much already,” she says. She shakes his hand and smiles, though it does not reach her eyes.

Volk runs his gaze over her, down then up then back down to settle on her exposed forearm. Almost immediately he pulls his hand back, as though he touched a hot stove.

“Where’s your daemon?” he demands. He brings his hand up to rub his eagle’s chest, comforting her. “I recognize those scars, you should have an eagle, too, or a hawk.”

The Commander’s shoulders slump and she crosses her arms. “I don’t know,” she says. Bradford can tell she’s trying to sound like the Commander he’s told stories about and not the broken woman she is now. “The aliens must have done something to him, to us.”

“You're no better than those ADVENT bastards,” he snaps, stepping back.

“Volk,” Bradford warns lowly. Verena growls as well, causing Volk’s daemon to flutter her wings. “Daemon or not, she's our only hope to fight back. Trust me.”

“I trust you, John, I don't trust daemon-less monsters.”

The Commander does not react.

“I'll contact you when I think you've proven yourselves trustworthy. Until then, don't expect any help from the Reapers.”

With that, Volk turns and stalks out of the quarters and out of the Avenger, muttering under his breath the whole way.

“Hopefully the crew doesn't hear him. It's best if they think I have something small hidden away,” the Commander muses.

“No one's going to try to get you to leave. I won't allow it.”

She shrugs and takes a seat on a sofa. “They'd have every right to want me gone.”

Despite their best efforts, rumors spread quickly through the Avenger. The soldiers see the scars that line the Commander's arms while she trains them and things only grow worse from there. She works hard to earn their trust otherwise, the squad returning from successful mission after successful mission.

No one outright calls for her removal, but that doesn’t mean they are comfortable with her.

Bradford can almost see the relief on the Commander’s face when they finally make contact with the Skirmishers. Betos welcomes her with open arms, not even considering the absence of a daemon something to fret over. To them, there is nothing wrong with her.

They talk long into the night about horrors that he has no hope of understanding, but the relief on the Commander’s face is obvious so he leaves them be and goes to bed alone that night.

In the morning they get word of a retaliation strike in western Africa that they must deal with, cutting any more talk short.

“We’ll be back soon, surely,” the Commander says apologetically as they see Betos off the ship.

“We understand. You have a duty to your people that cannot wait,” Betos says with a faint smile. “By the time you return, I hope to have some information regarding your request.”

They both shake hands with Betos and watch as she returns to her base. Bradford turns to glance at the Commander.

“Request?”

“Personal favor. Don’t know if anything will come of it,” she answers, shrugging. She turns and heads back into the ship to prepare.

Verena presses against his leg and whines, urging him to head back inside as well.

At their next meeting, Betos hands the Commander a datapad wordlessly. The Commander smiles and thanks her, then tucks it into her coat and continues as though nothing happened.

Even when they’ve retired for the night, the Commander does not look at the datapad, but likewise does not let it out of arm’s reach. Whatever it could possibly contain terrifies her. Verena lays half atop her when they go to sleep, as if she could hope to be enough to replace what she’s lost.

He wakes not to an alarm indicating another attack, nor to any of their comms devices begging for their attention, but instead to the Commander awake in the middle of the night, sitting against the headboard and watching something on the datapad repeatedly. It’s a reaction he’s come to know so well over their time together. She repeatedly watches footage from battle when they lose a soldier, to improve her tactics and to mourn.

“Tanya?” he mumbles. “It’s late.”

She doesn’t react other than to restart the video.

Verena whines and pushes herself back into her lap. That, at least, urges her to lay a hand on her head and scratch behind her ear.

He pushes himself up and leans against her shoulder to watch it. On the screen, is the cursed stasis suit that he’d so come to hate lying on a table. A thin man comes in from off screen, half dragging Tatiana in with him and Přemysl tucked under one arm. There is a vacant look in her eyes that speaks to not only being mind controlled, but also having had her will utterly shattered.

He should grab the datapad and throw it against the wall, but he can’t tear his eyes off of it.

The thin man dumps Přemysl onto the table in an unceremonious heap of feathers and goes to help Tatiana into the suit. He sees Přemysl push himself up and screech at the alien, but he can’t seem to do much more. One of his wings sticks out to the side awkwardly and he thinks he can see a dark patch on his belly that can only be blood.

The moment the stasis suit is sealed, Přemysl collapses into a pile of dust and dissipates into the air.

Tatiana restarts the video without a word.

#xcom #my writing #In This House There Is Suffering And You're Gonna Like It

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