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Kaidan shoved James away, already scrambling across the messy—and empty—shuttle bay toward the elevator even before the landing doors had fully closed.
“Whoa, whoa!” James called, trying to grab for him. Garrus made a low, fluting noise, blue blood spattering across the floor. Kaidan’s, red, pooled at his own feet. They were just that freaking patriotic and,
“Damn it, Shepard,” he muttered, slipping and crashing toward the elevator. He had to get to the cockpit; he had to make Joker turn the Normandy around. They couldn’t just leave Shepard out there to die, not before he…
Not when he’d never…
“Damn it!” He slammed his balled fist against the glowing button, ignoring James’s call as the door closed and it began to ascend. The Normandy shook, veering wildly, and all around was the metallic scream of the reapers. If they were going to die anyway, Kaidan was going to do it gun in hand at his commander’s side, not up here. Not useless.
Not abandoning him again.
“Come on, come on, come on,” he whispered, one hand pressed tight against the gash in his suit, the other pressed against the wall to keep him on his feet. “Come on, come on, come on.” The elevator doors finally opened and Kaidan went stumbling off—just as the Normandy jetted hard to the left. Kaidan went spinning, crumpling with the impact and rolling toward a sudden flare of light, and in the moment before he slammed against the far wall, he could have sworn the air went heavy and thick; he could have sworn he saw eyes watching him from the reflective windows.
And then he slammed hard against the bulkhead, temple smashing against its curving side, and the whole world went dark.
(But in that darkness he heard whispers, and the sound of a mirror shattering.)
“Whoa, whoa!” James called, trying to grab for him. Garrus made a low, fluting noise, blue blood spattering across the floor. Kaidan’s, red, pooled at his own feet. They were just that freaking patriotic and,
“Damn it, Shepard,” he muttered, slipping and crashing toward the elevator. He had to get to the cockpit; he had to make Joker turn the Normandy around. They couldn’t just leave Shepard out there to die, not before he…
Not when he’d never…
“Damn it!” He slammed his balled fist against the glowing button, ignoring James’s call as the door closed and it began to ascend. The Normandy shook, veering wildly, and all around was the metallic scream of the reapers. If they were going to die anyway, Kaidan was going to do it gun in hand at his commander’s side, not up here. Not useless.
Not abandoning him again.
“Come on, come on, come on,” he whispered, one hand pressed tight against the gash in his suit, the other pressed against the wall to keep him on his feet. “Come on, come on, come on.” The elevator doors finally opened and Kaidan went stumbling off—just as the Normandy jetted hard to the left. Kaidan went spinning, crumpling with the impact and rolling toward a sudden flare of light, and in the moment before he slammed against the far wall, he could have sworn the air went heavy and thick; he could have sworn he saw eyes watching him from the reflective windows.
And then he slammed hard against the bulkhead, temple smashing against its curving side, and the whole world went dark.
(But in that darkness he heard whispers, and the sound of a mirror shattering.)
