2: all over kiss
9: forehead kiss
“You can’t die,” Kolyat announced.
She raised a brow. “Wasn’t aware you could make people immortal.”
“Would you be serious for one damn minute?!”
Hira blinked, stunned by the force in his voice. Kolyat took this silence as agreement and continued. “Look, I’ve…I’ve lost enough people, alright? Either they get sick of me and leave or they die. And strangely enough I’m tired of it!” His voice rose sharply, anger and hurt coloring the dual-tones, “I’m tired of losing people!”
He paused for a moment and she saw that his hands were clenched tight and he trembled, trying so hard to be strong. “You haven’t left yet. For some reason you’re still around. So you can’t die.”
Hira stepped forward and cupped his face with both hands, keeping his gaze locked with hers. She said nothing for a long moment, uncertain what she should say. She wanted to promise, but there were no guarantees in this fight, and if she made that promise she couldn’t break it.
She would just have to not break it, then.
“Kolyat Krios. You are stuck with me.”
He laughed a little, tension and weight bleeding off his shoulders. Smiling, Hira planted a kiss on his forehead, then hugged him tight. “I promise.”
Hira stifled a yawn, earning a chuckle from her companion. “Perhaps you should retire, Shepard, before necessity dictates I carry you to your cabin.”
She chuckled. As much as she’d prefer to continue their conversation, Thane had a point, and so she stood and headed toward the lift. Feeling rather sentimental, she paused and kissed him on the cheek. “Good night, Krios.”
He gave her a warm smile and clasped her hand. “Sleep well, Hira.”
It’s a simple task. Perhaps someone with ideals would hesitate, wary of getting blood on her hands. Hers were long stained, and she rather doubted the targets would argue if they’d still possessed some of their senses.
A simple shot, placed between the eyes. Quick and painless. They made no protest, only swaying on the spot a little. For her part she shows no hesitation as she guides the pistol from target to target, halting only when she recognizes one. A vivid green, formerly alert eyes now dulled by indoctrination.
Sorrow spread through her bones like ice, but she raised her weapon regardless.
Hira jolted upright, blinking rapidly at the bright orange light in her face. It took her a moment to process what had actually happened; she’d fallen asleep at her desk again.
Something was poking her shoulder. She blinked blearily, unsurprised to see the surface of the desk an inch from her face. She’d fallen asleep in the middle of her work again. This was becoming a habit.
“Hira.” A hand grasped at her sleeve and tugged.
She rubbed her palms against her eyelids for a moment before turning to the boy standing beside her. He looked unsettled, mouth turned down in a pout. “Hey, Kol. Bad dream?”
Kolyat nodded, waiting for her to stretch and yawn before climbing into her lap. Hira gave a tired laugh and wrapped an arm around him, planting a kiss on the black mark on his forehead.
It wasn’t long before they were both sound asleep.
Living on the Normandy wasn’t quite what Feron had expected. There were good things, like having a private bar and seeing his boss every day; there were bad things, like getting shot at and dealing with the Prothean.
She sits atop a stone in some forgotten corner of a colony world, her rifle lying beside her. The day’s target had been dealt with, and now she has little more to do than sit and wait for pick-up.
The derelict is void of life, a relic of burnt metal, its systems fried. Saddening, a touch creepy to walk through, but that doesn’t explain the agitation Emilia’s seeing in the normally-cool-and-collected sniper. It can’t be the mission itself, it’s a fairly simple one: board the derelict and collect whatever data it has on the Reapers. They’ve been on more difficult missions together.
And then it hits her. “Hira, are you claustrophobic?”
The infiltrator doesn’t look up from the console, but her voice sounds strained through the comm. “Why so surprised?”
“You’ve lived on ships your entire life.”
“Difference between ships and having the inside of a helmet right in front of you.” She stops typing and mutters a curse. “Talk about something else, distract me. Anything.”
Emilia’s brain suddenly goes blank and she has to reach for a topic. “Uh…what’s your favorite food?”
Hira turns to look at her, a smirk in her tone. “That’s your first choice?”
“You said distract you. Is it working?”
She pauses and then nods. “Little bit. Chinese.”
“I’ve never tried that.”
“Should. There’s a place on the Citadel that’s pretty good.”
Emilia asks her random questions throughout the mission, a few leading to lengthy discussions. By the time they get back to the shuttle, Hira’s agitation seems to have vanished, though she wastes no time tearing off the helmet. The sniper tosses the offending object into one of the seats and turns to smile at Emilia. “Thanks.”
Emilia shrugs. “Buy me lunch and we’ll call it even.”
Max looked down at her. “Hmm?”
Hira was frowning, her nose scrunched up as she blinked quizzically. “Why was that man so mean?”
Hira frowned at the foreign object on her desk, curious as to how it had arrived there. Only one other person had access to her quarters, though she didn’t doubt the door would be fairly easy to hack. She’d have to see to that later.
She picked up the paper and turned it over in her hands, studying it carefully before starting to puzzle it out. A tug here, a pull there. It was an almost elegant puzzle, and she found the slow process rather relaxing.
And then it was open.
She almost dropped it upon reading the message inside. Forgive herself? For which time, Torfan? Aratoht? Or something else? And who would even know about those?
She scowled, fingers closing over the paper as if to crush it. But she didn’t. She smoothed it out again, re-read the words. And then she tucked it inside the prayer book on her desk. Another maybe to ponder.