Shirt Part II - Scarf

The first thing Ordo had thought was strange was the fact that Besany hadn't answered his calls.

She always answered.

To say he had been surprised to see Besany standing against the wall of her apartment, looking the most embarrassed he had ever seen her, was quite an understatement.

Then there was the fact that she was wearing his fatigues.

Or half of them, at least.

The next thing he had found strange was the way he had reacted to this.

He had found himself very reluctant to do anything to help her.

And he had had thoughts that he would have been extremely ashamed of had he been in any other situation. He was afraid he was turning into Mereel. His brother would have, at this point, gone up to Besany and had his way with her against the wall, he thought. Then he had to back away from that; both the images of Mereel with Besany and seeing more of her smooth thighs were enough to make him feel very odd inside, for completely different reasons.

"Besany?" He satisfied himself with a half-smile, tilting his head. He liked the way she blushed a shade that was near to the blood red of his shirt.

She mumbled some sort of reply, but he was too caught up in the way she was trying to pull the shirt down to cover her legs some more, only resulting in showing more of her creamy skin up top. He swallowed.

"…didn't know you were coming home."

He noticed her comm was lying on the kitchen counter. He pointed this out to her. She flushed even redder. He quite liked that effect. It was interesting to see her ruffled; she was normally so composed.

"I called four times. You never picked up."

A twinge low in his gut threw him for a moment. Was the reason she hadn't picked up because she'd been with someone else…another man? That might explain her…attire and flustered air, as though she'd been caught doing something she shouldn't have been. He felt hurt.

"I'm sorry," she laughed, putting a hand over her face to hide her blush. He thought that was…what was the word? Ah, cute, "I had the music up loud. I didn't hear it."

The image of Besany dancing to loud music was almost so absurd that he was inclined not to believe her and go with his version of events, that she'd been with someone else. Almost. Having walked in on her in this state, nothing seemed absurd any more.

He grinned a little. "That's okay."

In the pause that followed, Ordo enjoyed a view of Besany shifting her long legs, trying to cover up more skin. It didn't work. He mentally slapped himself for being pleased. He wondered if he could get away to check the bedroom for people hiding…he still wasn't convinced…

"Can I get you anything to eat?" She seemed very eager to move from the wall. He suppressed a laugh. The whole situation was quite amusing, from one angle.

Food. He thought for a moment. "Maybe just a snack," he nodded, "I had a big meal before leaving."

As she moved past him, he felt the heat from her flushed body. He couldn't resist a glance downwards.

He shifted. Watching her reach up for the plates gave him a nice view – nice, but uncomfortable. His armour suddenly felt too tight. He decided to take it off. He headed to the bedroom, removing his pauldron as he went, taking the time to glance surreptitiously under furniture and around corners. He laid his armour plates out on the bed, and then grabbed a thin shirt and some loose pants. He couldn't resist checking the 'fresher, or under the bed. No one was there. He couldn't hear any sounds of breathing. Maybe he'd been imagining things. Maybe he was too paranoid.

The truth was, he couldn't believe that Besany was his.

She was beautiful. Stunningly so, in a way that made his heart contract when she walked into a room. She seemed to glow, her golden hair and pale skin luminous when she looked at him. Her eyes lit up when she saw him. He couldn't help but wonder what exactly she saw in him that made her so…devoted. She never prodded him for information about where he'd been and what he'd seen, like she understood that being through it once was bad enough. As far as he was concerned, he was nothing special. Which was why he was always so touched when he came back to her after weeks, months of being away, and she still loved him as much as she had when he'd left. If she had cheated on him, he wouldn't have blamed her. It must be hard on her, being away from him so much. It was hard on him, though he never admitted it.

Out of his belt pouch, he pulled a line of soft material, bringing it to his nose and inhaling her scent, Besany's scent. It surrounded him, comforted him almost as effectively as her touch, slowing his racing heart and soothing his raging emotions when he felt the most out of control and the most lost. If he slept on the battlefield, he wrapped it in his hand, and slept with it to his face. If he was away from her, he fondled the material and let it fall in his hands, reminding him of her silken hair and the way it played through his fingers. It kept him going.

He put it in his pocket. He suddenly understood why she had felt the need to wear his shirt.

Tokens of war.

He made his way back into the lounge-come-kitchen, aching for her touch and her presence. He stood behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders, burying his nose in her hair, smelling Besany, real, solid, tangible Besany. Not her scarf.

"You're wearing my shirt." It wasn't a question.

He felt her skin heat under his hands. She was blushing again. He hadn't meant to embarrass her.

"I know."

He was good with his instincts. Right now, they told him to forget his army inhibitions and just be himself. She needed him, too.

"I like it on you." It was the truth.

"I'm sorry," she laughed quietly, "I just…"

He squeezed her shoulders. He couldn't seem to get enough of her, her smell, her skin, her hair. "You just…what?"

"You'll think I'm crazy."

"I already do." He couldn't stop the smile that escaped him. It had been a bit of an odd night.

Her hit didn't hurt; he knew she meant nothing behind it. He'd lost the physical contact with her now, though, and craved it once again. He brought her into his arms, and let her rest her hands on top of his, which were clasped over her midriff. He could have cried. He had missed her so much.

"I missed you."

So she'd been thinking the same thing. They'd both spoken at the same time.

"It still smells like you," Besany whispered.

Ordo now completely understood. He stroked her stomach lightly with his thumbs and leaned his head closer to her ear.

"When I'm out on the field, I have something of yours to keep me company," he whispered. By way of explanation, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out her missing scarf, wrapping it around his hand and pulling it to his face once again. She seemed to relax slightly in his arms.

"I've been looking for that everywhere." She said, softly.

He felt embarrassed now, and was glad she couldn't see his face. "I know. But I didn't want to give it back. It still smells like you." He added, mirroring her earlier words. He had thought about giving it back, but he'd found it so comforting that he couldn't bear to part with it. He felt silly now.

"I guess we're both crazy, then."

Her words felt wrong. Like it was meant to be a joke, but neither of them was in the mood.

"Not crazy. Just…" Ordo looked out of the window, remembering fallen brothers, clones killed in front of his eyes, a blaster gun round that had shaved inches off his arm plate, blood, fire and anguish. War was dirty, scary and frankly terrifying when the shooting started. No matter how many times he went under fire, no matter how many times he survived another battle, it scared him. It was so good to be back home with her.

"Just…?" She reached up to stroke his face, bringing him back to face her. He was glad. The images in front of his eyes were too raw just now.

"Just…in love."

The moment he said it he felt like backtracking. He knew it was true, but saying it like that made it seem so mundane and so…normal. Like she could never know what she meant to him. He sighed, frustrated at his inability to form the words he wanted. He was no good at being in love. He tried to move away from her, ashamed that he couldn't giver her any better. She deserved better.

Then she kissed him.

It wasn't exactly tentative, more determined but gentle, as though she was trying to make him see sense in the softest way possible. He returned her kiss, glad to have her touch again. His arms found their way around her, pulling her closer for more contact. His body near-burned for the feel of her close to him. He felt her heartbeat so close to his that he swore they were beating the same rhythm. It felt good. It reminded him of being pressed back-to-back with his vode, calming himself before an op, before the shooting started. It reminded him of family. And home.

His hands slid to her waist, revelling in the warmth of her skin under his hands. He felt the scarf slip from his fingers and land by their feet. He seemed to feel his control slipping away too.

He needed her. He hadn't realised how much until she'd stepped into his arms, filling his thoughts with her and intoxicating his senses. Being away from her had been agony. It seemed to hurt more every time he left. He pulled her flush against him, trying to eliminate the space between them, groaning into the kiss as he felt the heat of her body against him. He pulled away, looking deep into her dark eyes.

"I think you should take this off, cyar'ika. Otherwise it'll end up smelling like you more than me." He had tried to keep the desire out of his voice, tried to make it seem like he was totally in control of his feelings. But his whole body shook. He thought he might cry if she let go of him now.

She met his eyes and he watched as the hints of a smirk play at the corners of her mouth. She leaned in for another kiss, but stopped short of his lips, barely a hairs breadth between them. His nerves screamed for her contact.

"Why don't you take it off me?"

The last of his control slipped away. He crushed her lips to his, capturing them in a heated lock. He lifted her off the floor and set her on the kitchen counter, pulling her harder and harder against him, trying with all his might not to hurt her but at the same time completely lost to her lips, her touch. Her arms were around him, her hands playing over his chest and abdomen, playing the corded muscle like a musical instrument. His whole body seemed to sing.

Eventually, they moved to the bed.

He did remove the shirt, too, eventually. It just got in the way.

When he put it on the next morning, it smelt like her. He knew he would carry the memories of this night with her around with him, like her scent kept him sane during the times when he thought he would crack.

He was glad.


I'm such a fail. Instead of 'Reasons to Live For', I give you this mediocre compensation. *sigh* I promise 'Reasons' will be up as soon as I find the time to write it…I'm very busy this weekend…I'm so so so so sorry. I feel very disappointed in myself. :(

Please lemme know how much you liked this. It may produce RtLF faster. ;) I love clones…gah.