Celebration and Comfort

The truck finally rolled to a stop inside the bunker’s hidden loading bay just before dawn. My legs felt like rubber as I climbed out, the cold fire from the injection still licking through my veins. The mark on my chest—right where the needle had punched in—throbbed with a low, steady heat that had nothing to do with the whiskey we’d cracked open on the ride back.

We’d lost Reyes. The asset was gone. But we hadn’t come back empty-handed. Jax had ripped two data pads from the transport’s console before we ran. Lira had already plugged one into the old terminal. Lines of encrypted ADVENT code scrolled across the cracked screen—coordinates, transport manifests, something about a “Vessel Protocol.” Central would want it.

A burst of static from the shortwave cut through the silence. Central Officer Bradford’s gravelly voice filled the bay, tinny but unmistakable.

“Central here. Solid work tonight. You took a hell of a risk and paid for it, but the intel you pulled is gold. That convoy data just bought us time we didn’t have. The asset… we’ll find another angle. It wasn’t a total loss. You’re giving the resistance the edge we need. Stay sharp. Bradford out.”

A small cheer went up. Muted, because Reyes’ empty bunk sat like a hole in the room, but real. Jax clapped me on the shoulder, his grin crooked from exhaustion and relief. “Hear that, Kane? We didn’t fuck it up completely.”

The two survivors from Reyes’ fire-team—Kara, a wiry scout with a scar across her cheek, and Finn, the guy Lira had kept from bleeding out—stood awkwardly by the door. Jax waved them over.

“Listen up,” he said, voice carrying that easy leader tone he put on when he needed to. “Reyes is gone, but you two fought like hell. You’re with us now. Same rules: watch each other’s backs, share the ammo, and don’t ask too many questions. Welcome to the family.”

Kara gave a sharp nod, already eyeing the whiskey crate. Finn winced as he tested his bandaged leg but managed a tired salute.

I shook their hands, feeling that strange electric buzz under my skin again. Kara’s grip was firm, almost defiant. “Reyes always said you were the one who never missed a shot,” she told me, voice rough from the road. “Guess we’ll find out if the stories are true.”

Finn gave a tired half-grin despite the pain in his leg. “And you’re the crazy bitch who charged a Sectoid with a needle in her chest. Respect.” He jerked his chin toward the whiskey crate. “Buy you a drink later, Rhea? Least we can do for the new squad.”

I managed a small smile. “Deal. Welcome to the shitshow.”

We broke out the stolen whiskey and the last of Jax’s weed from another raid. Someone fired up the ancient boombox—old pre-Unification rock, all grit and bass. How the fuck Jax kept that old thing running is anyone's guess. The bunker’s common room filled with smoke and, later, laughter. People danced in the cramped space, hips bumping, hands lingering longer than they should. My chest pulsed warmer every time someone brushed against me. I told myself it was just the booze.

I mingled with Kara and Finn first. Kara told me how Reyes had drilled them on ambush tactics; Finn showed me the wound Lira had stitched. We traded stories and showed old scars, the kind that make **** feel a little farther away. Jax kept refilling cups, his usual cocky banter back in full ****. Lira stayed quieter, but her eyes kept finding mine across the room. The third time it happened, I held her gaze and gave her a single nod. She looked away immediately, already back to whatever was in her cup, like it was nothing. It wasn't nothing, I owed her one. I knew it. She knew I knew it. That was enough for both of us.

I'd lost track of Jax in the crowd. Found him again a few minutes later in the far corner — not with the fighters, not with Kara or Finn, but wedged into a folding chair across from one of the base researchers. The guy had the look they all had: soft hands, ink stains, the particular kind of tired that came from too many late nights staring at screens instead of treelines. Jax had produced another bottle from somewhere and was leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, actually listening. Not performatively listening. Actually doing it.

Odd. The grunts and the eggheads kept to their own as a rule — unspoken but universal, the kind of social boundary that didn't need enforcing because nobody wanted to cross it anyway. Jax crossed it like he hadn't noticed it was there.

I filed it away under things about Jax I don't fully understand yet and went back to my drink.

The joint came around. I took a long pull and felt the heat in my belly flare brighter. My nipples tightened against my shirt. Between my legs, that same unfinished ache was back, worse now, slick and insistent. I caught Jax watching me, pupils wide, and for a second, I swore Kara’s breath hitched at the same moment, like we’d all felt the same spark.

Music thumped louder. Bodies pressed closer.

The common room had turned into a haze of smoke, sweat, and low laughter. People danced in the cramped space, hips bumping, hands lingering a little too long on waists and shoulders. The whiskey and weed had done their job—everyone was loose, alive, trying to forget the dirt still under their nails and the empty bunk where Reyes used to sleep.

I drifted toward the edge of the room, the mark on my chest pulsing warm under my shirt. Jax caught my eye from across the crates. He’d been talking with Finn and Kara, but he broke away, weaving through the dancers until he stood right in front of me. His usual cocky grin was softer tonight, edged with the same exhaustion I felt.

“Still buzzing, Kane?” he asked, voice low enough that the music almost swallowed it. He handed me the joint. Our fingers brushed, and neither of us pulled away.

I took a long drag, letting the smoke curl in my lungs. “Yeah. Can’t seem to shake it.” Out of the corner of my eye I saw Lira quietly slip toward the sleeping hall, but Jax’s grin and the joint pulled me right back

We talked for a while—nothing heavy. Just stupid shit. How Reyes would’ve bitched about the music. How Finn was already snoring in the corner. How the data pads we grabbed might actually mean something. The words got looser, the laughs easier. The near-miss, the needle, the cold fire in my veins… it all felt a little farther away with every shared pull and every sip from the bottle he kept passing me.