M is for Music
A/N: Sorry for the delay in getting this one out. Once again, I’m blaming school. Silly me for majoring in English and not realizing just how many papers I’d have. ;)
M is for Music
It takes a total of fourteen seconds for Kaidan to decide he hates Chora’s Den. He wishes he could claim the moral high ground on this one, objecting to the way cretins like Harkin grope and leer at the dancers. But his opinion formed before he even witnessed anything like that. It’s the music that did it: the thrumming bass like someone took an ice pick to his skull and started chipping away.
Gritting his teeth, Kaidan tries not to fidget while Shepard chats up the bartender. Of course the usually surly commander would pick now of all times to drop his scowl and get friendly.
Perhaps drawn by Kaidan’s thoughts, Shepard glances over his shoulder. His brow stitches together. “You alright?”
“Fine, sir.”
Shepard just keeps staring, disbelief etched into the lines around his eyes. “Lieutenant, when I ask a question like that it’s not me being polite. It’s me checking to make sure you can shoot straight if the next person we talk to draws a gun on us.” To be fair, it’s not like the denizens of the wards have been very friendly thus far.
Kaidan’s response is to lift one arm, blue sparks enveloping his skin. From across the bar, an empty shot glass flying into his waiting hand. “I repeat: I’m fine. Sir.” He’s fought through migraines before. Given the fickle nature of his implants, it’s likely he’ll do it again. If anything, the sudden bloom of pain only stirs up a cloud of irritation. He clings to it. If he can lose himself in the fug of anger, then he won’t succumb to the pain, throbbing in time with the beat.
Shepard only laughs, blind to his discomfort, but impressed by the light show. “You’re a tough son of a bitch, you know that?”
You have no idea, Kaidan thinks. Instead he allows himself a wry smile and a clipped nod. “I’ll keep it in mind, sir.”
