Ten days on a mission and most of them spent as a pony, Sara was left both restless and hangry. And wanting to see her brother, mostly so she could give him a swift kick in the ass, but also so she could hug his ass that she hadn’t seen in seven months. It was a delicate balancing act.
The last day had been recovery and celebrations, rescuing Rarity meant that the Ponies were happy to throw a big bash in celebration while everyone healed up. Sara was pretty sure the stitches going across her forehead were going to leave a lovely scar, but at least they were healing fast enough that they only itched and no longer hurt.
Off the boat and docking at the naval station left her taking a quick shower on base before transferring to some comfortable clothes she’d left in her locker, needing clothes that could give her a little room to breathe after her four-legged adventure.
“Oh, fuck, sorr--” Sara ran smack dab into a solid form in the locker room doorway, at the same moment there was a jingle of festive little bells just overhead.
Reyes hadn’t been watching where he was going. Being on two legs again rather than four was a more dramatic adjustment than he had anticipated, particularly since he’d been bipedal his entire life. Grumpy, short-tempered, and tired, he wanted nothing more than to find a dark corner of his room and introvert there. So single-minded was his plan that turning the corner, he knocked directly into someone else, and before he could take a step back to apologize, his feet locked into place beneath the ominous glimpse of green mistletoe floating above them.
“Sorry, I was miles away,” he had managed to say, and then he saw it was Sara Ryder, because of course it was. The mistletoe had positioned them close, closer than he generally liked given their past history, and he let his hands float before dropping awkwardly to his side. “...Sara.” And then it dawned on him why he couldn’t move, and what was expected of them now that the mistletoe hung over his head.
Reyes dropped fewer f-bombs than Sara did, typically, which was important because the one he dropped now was deeply heartfelt: “Oh, motherfucker.”
Sara raised her hand to her face, rubbing her fingers over her eyes in annoyance and defeat. It had been a long ten days, and while she didn’t hate the pony part, it was still a lot. And she had a headache. Reyes with his rare swearing did make her burst out in laughter, though, surprise catching her unaware. She could’ve been just as annoyed as him, but honestly?
It annoyed her more that he was annoyed. Goddamnit. That shouldn’t have been her first response. She should’ve been just as put off as Reyes at the idea of kissing, should have been grumbly and bothered. But instead she found herself falling into a frown that was over the idea that maybe he’d completely moved on from their previous break.
And, really, who could blame him?
“I didn’t realize I was that undesirable of a target.” She sincerely wished she didn’t sound as put out as she did, but here they were.
“Undesirable? This is not about desire,” Reyes sputtered, “or lack thereof.” His eyes shifted to the people milling about them; he may have been a private person when it came to his personal life but the location couldn’t be helped, not with the mistletoe positioned so knowingly above them.
“This is about… complications,” he tried to explain, already regretting having opened his mouth at all, but there was nothing to be done about it now. “I have been striving, Pathfinder, to keep things as simple between us as possible, given our history, and trust, and under-the-table assassinations and other complications. And that,” a jab at the plant above them, “is not simple.”
“It’s just a fucking kiss, Reyes.” Sara muttered, increasingly more annoyed. It wasn’t just a kiss, clearly, It was definitely something more. They’d kissed before, for various reasons ranging from oh, we’re not doing anything shady, just making out in a storage shed to stress relief to just pure enjoyment.
But that was before the aforementioned under-the-table assassinations. They hadn’t so much as touched since she’d cut him out, and to his credit, he’d accepted that gracefully. Surely she wasn’t fucking complaining in her own head about a choice she’d made.
Okay, maybe it was just her ego talking. But damnit, he should want to kiss her. She should be the one that’s annoyed at the mistletoe, not secretly hoping he was into it. “Fine- Maybe I can--” She raised a hand and it didn’t go anywhere, even with a little biotic nudge, which left Sara sighing loudly. “Maybe someone’ll walk by that isn’t so complicated, and put you out of your misery.”
Reyes raised an eyebrow and shot her an expression that silently asked if she was done now. No one was coming to rescue them, and the situation had to be dealt with, and the thought of some perfunctory peck on the cheek with the woman he had stayed in Atlantis to prove himself to left him wanting to nail a Christmas elf to a wall with an actual hammer. The alternative was almost worse: a real kiss would likely expose him, one way or another, and Reyes hated the universe being a step ahead of him.
There was no other option. He sighed, forcing his shoulders down as his hands came up to rest at the curve of her hip. His expression was exhausted, from stress and ponies and situations wildly out of his control, and hid nothing of the wistfulness he now spoke with:
“It will never be ‘just a kiss’ to me, Sara,” he said. “If it were to happen again, I did not want it to be forced.”
“Oh.” Well, fuck. Sara wasn’t often wrong enough to feel deflated. She was the type that owned up to it and slinked away with pride still half-intact. But she had a feeling her pride was going to be out the window for whatever this was, no matter which way it went. Either he didn’t want to kiss her and felt like he was being forced into it (and they were, honestly) or he did want to kiss her and she would have to own up to the fact that it wasn’t as much of a force situation with her.
Stick Sara Ryder under some mistletoe that let them leave without kissing, and she would’ve been disappointed if he’d walked away.
Fuck. Where had that popped up from?
“Well, if you’re gonna put your ass in, might as well whole-ass it,” Sara said the words under her breath at the same time as she met him halfway, planting her toes on the ground and pushing forward, into Reyes’ personal space. It was a move almost identical to the distraction in Sloane’s storage closet, far too intense for what was required for a mistletoe kiss.
“I always found your pep talks hit or miss,” he replied with a mean smile, “but that one was... okay.”
Sara issuing a challenge was probably the best tack to take. They were both competitive, both liked reaching for thrown gauntlets, and with an element of dare about it, he felt less exposed. Still a little vulnerable, of course - but he’d always felt like that with Sara, who looked at him in a way that he’d liked before she’d known the whole truth.
One of his hands moved from her hip to her face, thumb brushing in a sure line up her cheekbone - again, not necessary for the mistletoe to take a hike, but if they were doing this, they were doing it right. And it had been a long time since they’d done this; what was wrong with taking his time? Mistletoe didn’t strike twice. His lips pressed to hers, warm and insistent, and if there were other people around, he officially didn’t fucking care.
Hit or miss, her pep talks were great. Asshole. Sara always gave more than she took, and kissing was usually no exception. She liked to win every battle, and Reyes was no exception. A few seconds into the kiss and they were probably already a little more rowdy and handsy than other couples were when stuck under mistletoe, memories of previous kisses surging forward without her permission.
She hand both hands on his biceps, mouth open and pliant under his own. Sara never did anything slow, but at least she was thorough. And no one in a thousand years could call her a coward, especially if Reyes didn’t really want to kiss her.
Sara damn well showed him what he was missing out on in their minute of respite, attention so far away from everything around them. It wasn’t even until a locker clanked a few feet away, and voices were heard getting closer before Sara even had the second thought of breaking away.
He felt her absence as soon as she pulled back, and he almost - almost - pulled her close again. Reyes knew without looking up that the mistletoe had vanished, and as he opened his eyes, he saw her standing there, lips as red as his, expression a mirror of his. And there it was, that thing he’d been fearing: he didn’t want her to leave, for this to be the one-off prompted by typical Atlantean shenanigans.
“Still not sold on your pep talks, but I found your kiss very inspiring,” he said, the line cheesy but he didn’t care about anything more than the warmth of her still against him, and that her face still hadn’t regained its typical caution it usually sported around him these days.
SAM, who had been silent this entire time - a smart decision - piped up in her head, where Reyes couldn’t hear, reminding her quietly that the mistletoe was now gone and her heartrate was a little too elevated for his comfort. It made Sara keep her eyes closed and blow out a breath towards Reyes chest, letting herself have that half-second of her time. Before their history came catching up with her.
Thanks, SAM. All at once, she was away from him and locked down tight, guarded against making any other rash decisions for the hour. He might’ve noticed a slight squeeze before Sara took several steps back, out of the doorway, hand gesturing behind her. “I’ve gotta- Scott’s here. I gotta go. I-” Okay, maybe she should’ve said more, or even offered to talk about it, but emotional constipation rose up fast. “Bye-”
And then she was bumping into the wall before turning around to dart out of the room like the adult she was.
Reyes watched her go, her haste nearly leaving honest-to-God tumbleweeds in her wake. Yes, that had gone about as well as he’d expected. Frustrated at her, frustrated at the mistletoe, and frustrated at himself for being stupid enough to hope for better, he ran a hand over his face.
He could still feel her lips against his, if he closed his eyes.
“Alcohol,” he determined out loud, and headed toward a bar, any bar, to wallow.