Title: Out of Clips
Fandom: Mass Effect / Dragon Age
Rating:  G
Length: 790
Setting: During the Mass Effect 2 quest Dossier: Archangel
Content notes: Warning for canon-typical violence
Author notes: Also a fill for monthlysupergo's February madlibs prompt: Alistair & Grunt: "We need to do this together!"
Summary: Not exactly how he had hoped the mission would pan out.


Just one shutter left now.

Alistair ducked behind a crate, his back pressed flush against it while ejecting yet another thermal clip. He was getting low on ammo. And he had left Miranda to hold the upper level with Garrus...

Grunt blasted through another Blood Pack mercenary, his shotgun at the ready. A wide grin split his face, making him look as battle-crazed as the vorcha he had just shot the guts out. And he was with a berserk-driven krogan. Not exactly how he had hoped the mission would pan out.

"Grunt! Have you even heard what I've said?"

The krogan ignored him; he fired his gun at another merc instead.

With a sigh, Alistair stuffed another clip into his gun. If he had known how the mission played out, he'd have taken Mordin instead. The salarian would've listened, at least. Hell, Jack was more stable! He should've left him in that tank.

But now was not the time to second-guess his decision; he knew himself he did it too often for his own sanity's good. And it wouldn't help, either. Especially not now, in the middle of a firefight.

Alistair peeked over the side of his cover. The path was clear, for now. He vaulted over the crate, and motioned Grunt to follow.

Loud barks forced him back into cover. Damn it! The Blood Pack had brought their varren as well. He had to ask Garrus what he had done exactly to make the mercs hate him this much. Once they got out of here.

He fired a concussive round at their pyro and more varren that poured into the storage room, before he ducked back behind the crate. His last thermal clip would need to make do...

Next to him, Grunt unloaded his shotgun into another vorcha, laughing madly.

They needed to hurry. Alistair wasn't sure how much longer Garrus could defend his position. The turian had been already exhausted when they had met him. And though he knew Miranda was giving her all to support him, for their mission if not for his sake, but even she could only do so much. The longer they took, the less likely they would get out of here alive.

He got out of cover, just as a new wave of mercenaries closed in on them. His round of incendiary bullets barely thinned their numbers. Huffing in frustration, he ejected the spent clip, and clobbered a varren that came too close with his gun, before he stuffed it back into its holster.

He had to go for it. The switch to close the shutter was mere steps away. And so were unused thermal clips; they cluttered the area around the shutter...

Alistair's gaze darted between the opening and Grunt. If he got close enough without being gunned down... "We need to do this together! You got my six?"

The krogan changed his weapons; his spent shotgun lay discarded on the ground, as he continued to fire with his assault rifle. But Alistair was certain he had heard him growl affirmatively. Maybe he wasn't that bad after all...

Just as the mercs had paused their fire, he used the chance to skip over the crate, and used his momentum to slide towards the switch. He hammered his fist against it; his force left a dent in the cheap metal, but the countdown was triggered nonetheless.

He dived to the side, grabbing a handful of clips the mercs had dropped, when their lifeless bodies had fallen onto the ground. Before he had finished re-clipping his gun, the shutter rushed down; the mechanical noise was almost drowned out by the painfully distorted outcries of the dying vorcha Grunt had hit.

Alistair did emerge unscathed; at least from that final part. His torso plates were beyond singed, and one of the bullets had grazed his left arm, but nothing medi-gel couldn't fix. He turned towards Grunt, and couldn't help but answer his wide grin in kind.

"Good job!" He nodded towards him.

Grunt only shrugged. It was what he had been bred for, after all. He caught the clip Alistair lobbed over. Inclining his head in his direction, he stuffed it inside his rifle, before he reached down to pick up his shotgun.

"Aw, is this your way to tell me you like me?"

The way Grunt looked at him Alistair let his grin die on his lips. He almost feared he was about to lose his head. Before he could add anything to his quip, though, the walls trembled.

"Damn," Alistair cursed under his breath, more stumbling than sprinting back the way they had come; Grunt followed on his heels. Hopefully, the turian was still as alive as he had been before they parted.