Author's Note: This is not smut and assumes fuck-all about the reader. Honestly, it's more of a 'lol no smut, build some plot' 
	       writefaggotry than anything, and probably poorly done, so, besides. Hell, it even pays to have some insight in 
	       earlier posted stories in this series of XCOM 2 inspired things. Check my pastes from my profile if you care to.
	       I'm only mildly sorry about disappointing anyone expecting snek smut. At least it's not entirely out of the picture.

	"-marking the twenty year anniversary of Unification Day. At 18:15, mere minutes before the Bruxelles address of the Elder Council to the jubilant citizen body of the Benelux and the greater European Union, the military cordon was breached by unidentified terrorist combatants, striking first against the ADVENT coalition defence forces stationed for peacekeeping."

	The newscaster woman on the television screen sits almost dispassionately, her voice a cracking attempt at a neutral monotone. But she, along with a nation, the whole of Europe, was still in a sheer state of shock, trying to parse what had happened. She pauses in her brief, blinking away a few times as she continues what must have been the fifth time I've listened to the broadcast that's been up for the past three hours.

	Initially, it was just a short attempt at keeping calm. The Unification Day address and celebration were interrupted. More news to be decided upon. Within minutes, following ADVENT information and the approval of the Council of Elders, we already heard the full story. Within the hour, the first footage.

	And for the fifth time this night I just sit and watch with horror at the footage that plays out on the screen. "Again, I must stress: viewer discretion is advised," the newscaster reads solemnly, before her face and the studio fade out to a barely edited recount of local cameras from the news agencies, and some civilian recording devices.

	ADVENT soldiers marching the perimeter, keeping at the holographic fields to sanction off the ecstatic and the joyful people. And suddenly, without as much as a cry, the first bodies fell. Cameras swivel quickly to fallen peacekeepers and a small group of people in combat garb and weapons advance on a third. ADVENT swarming to both try and contain the threat and to keep the panicking crowd away from the fire zone. In one (not at all censored) shot alone I could see one ADVENT grunt knocking down a civilian about to run into the area. I watch the footage a fifth time now. My throat contracts, I feel my heart grow still. The sight of a Viper peacekeeper slithering into position and killing one of the men. Another terrorist leaping towards the Viper, cutting them open from sternum to abdomen. 

	The first time I have seen it, I was hyperventilating, barely able to contain my sheer shock. Stheno was there. And I could not be sure if she was safe.

	A grenade was thrown, killing three ADVENT in the blaze that followed. One of the terrorists ran past the speaking stage, causing the holographic image for the ADVENT coalition to peter out when one of the projectors was destroyed in the turret crossfire. The Unification monument to the Elders was reduced to rubble. Pulse laser fire arced with accuracy. There was even a hacking of ADVENT security materiel that quickly reduced any hopes of the terrorist threat being contained without further bloodshed to nothing. More bodies fell.

	The rest of the footage is a blur. I'm choking up. I'm crying.

	The newscaster continues to read from her autocue, recounting the full injury and casualty count, still due to increase. In the panic alone, almost one hundred civilians have suffered some manner of harm, with two fatalities so far. Twelve ADVENT soldiers have been confirmed to have been lost in the attack, with five more injured in the chaos. Two more have died: the terrorists that attacked the monument site. But they are noted with as much solemn respect as any of the other fallen. A day of joy turned to a day of intranational mourning. I'm clutching my arms and sink back into the mound of pillows we call our couch, watching the interviews of ADVENT spokespersons numbly. Frank, to the point, factual recounts of the damages and the losses. 

	"There is no sense in even trying to spin this any other way, ma'am. We have been attacked at the height of celebration, when we should have been vigilant. We did all we could to prevent the worst, but we still have suffered sixteen deaths this day, and the number may yet rise."

	"Captain Vermaak, what can you tell us about the attackers? Was it the XCOM threat that has been on the rise of late?"

	"I am not at liberty to speak about the exact nature of the attack, or the attackers. I can, however, assure you that the site was the target, the statue most likely was too, and that no efforts were made by the terrorists to harm citizens themselves."

	"Captain, what about the displays of police brutality in the peacekeeping efforts this evening?"

	"I believe my men and women have acted within reason following civilian panic in their response to the attack, but we will have a full independent investigation of such claims and such instances after we have made sure every single last witness has been accounted for, and every victim is secured. That is all."

	I rock back and forth against my seating. Every minute is torture without knowing for sure what is going on, and I can't let go of the thought that I will lose my woman. We've talked so often about it before. Security, peacekeeping, it's not risk-free. There always will be an edge of danger, of the likelihood of death, to that line of work. And I always said I accepted it. That I would be able to live with her serving the coalition as a soldier. But today, with still no word of the identities of the lost soldiers, every promise I made to her, every time I assured her I would be strong, all shattered to worthlessness. Sixteen dead. And she might be one of them.

	Tonight I would have performed as well. But every major city is on lockdown now, and pretty much every public venue has been closed. I'm pretty sure no-one in their right mind would even think of party and celebration today, tonight.

	I sink my face into my arms, sobbing like a child and fearing the worst. That I would be alone again. That I would be called up to identify her. My muse, my beauty. I can't take this uncertainty.

	I'm shaken from my thoughts at the rhythmic beeping of the telephone. I rub my eyes with my sleeves, looking over at the holographic display. Unknown number. I slowly rise and make my way over to the table set besides my desktop and my phone, sitting behind the holographic projection. I wearily reach out to tap the display, interrupting a few scanlines. The screen expands, a message showing the video feed is being established.

	There she sits. Behind a table of her own, dressed in the green sweater I bought her a year ago. A little frayed. A little worn. Still snug and comfy. The serpentine neck is slightly bent down, her face long and solemn, hood absolutely flat against the sides of her neck. But it's her. My woman, my muse, my Stheno. I burst out in weeping, my heart finally beating with joy again. I hear her hissing, her hushing, and then the deep, sonorous voice of the Viper filling my ears.

	"Hey babe."

	I reach out with both hands to the holo display, sniffing messily. The screen distorts against my fingertips' touch, but I see Stheno doing the same back on her end of the line. Shadowy figures move behind her and away, out of focus of the camera.

	"Stheno baby I was so afraid you were the one that fell and I didn't hear anything for hours and-"

	Hissing. Hushing. I can see the arches of her cheeks are moist as well, though she has probably cried the worst –before– making the phone call.

	"I know. I wasss at the northern ssside of the event, trying to make the evac go sssmooth. I heard Vassshka hasss…"

	"Baby I'm so sorry about what happened to her," I weep.

	"Not my clutchmate, but I… oh. Yeah. Don't be. Pleassse."

	For a few moments, I just sit without a word leaving my lips, sobbing, crying, unable to express myself any further. I don't know what to say. I can see she's hurting. 

	Her fingers draw away from the screen, and I pull my hands towards my chest as well. She raises her hands to her chest, to herself. Her right hand moves to her mouth, index and thumb held in a circle, the other fingers stretched out. A point to me. A quick small motion from her chin away from her with her right hand, followed by her pointing to me again. Another signal of her hands, held upright, before the palms turn to me and close, fingers to thumb, down. Point to me. Then she motions with her index fingers down from her eyes across her cheeks in quick succession. She leans forwards, slowly waving her right hand up and down, palm to herself.
	>Please stop crying, baby.

	I sniff and wipe away the tears from my eyes, leaning towards the screen myself. My fingers curl up and I brush my fist, knuckles outwards, across my heart.
	>I'm sorry.

	We both steady ourselves, falling back into wordless conversation, like it's always been before Stheno's genemodding. It's familiar. It forces me to think about what I signal and say. It works. Damn I love you, smart snek. You know me so well.

	I point to myself. My right hand draws up, motioning with my fingers inwards and over my shoulders towards me. I grip my heart with my right hand, fingers stretched out and inwards like a claw. I nod to her and slowly extend my right and left fist just ahead of my chest, diagonally up and downwards.
	>I feared the worst.

	Stheno nods, knocking her right fist against her forehead and giving a light nudge, before she makes for the same motion back over her shoulder for the past like I did, pointing to herself, then using her right hand with the thumb and pink extended at her jawline, pointing to me with her left hand.
	>I know. I wanted to call you earlier.

	I shake my head. Point with my right hand to my left shoulder, and brush my right hand back up over my right shoulder, fingers pointing over my shoulders away past me.
	>So why didn't you?

	Her cheeks and hood puff up a bit, her hands falling to the desk with her fingers spread out. Again, for emphasis. She motions as if penning in front of her, and then a more elaborate set of motions, almost as if flipping me the bird with her index finger, and then making for scratching and writing motions with her left hand across the curve of her right hand and arm. She fans her arms out, and then draws her fists against each other a few times, before motioning back over her shoulder with her right hand for the past.
	>It's a mess. Absolute chaos. And the bureaucracy. I had to write reports of the event. We all had to.

	I brush my right hand across my right cheek, my four fingers stretched out wide. I look lost, questioning, and then point to her, before my left hand rises up and moves diagonally ahead of my face, pointing up and in her general direction.
	>When will you be back?

	Stheno just shrugs.

	A man enters the focus of the video camera of the telephone, interrupting our conversation.

	"Sorry, you almost done?" Then I see the shaven man's head turn to me, and see him realize I was still on the line. "Oh. Shit. Sorry. Didn't know you were actually talking."

	"Sign language usually's quiet," I finally manage to pipe up.

	Stheno awkwardly laughs, but her face falls into sombreness. When the man, probably a colleague of hers due to use the phone too, draws away, she speaks up again.

	"I'm not sssure when I can talk to you again."

	"Please stay," I beg her, leaning forwards with my hands as if to reach for hers through the hologram. "I just had to sit through almost three or four hours not knowing what the fuck."

	Stheno looks pained. "And I wish I could have been there for you. But you can't worry like that about me and have it eat you up." Her voice stops hissing. I can tell she grows tense.

	"Fuck that," I spit. "This has been the second time I see something like this happen to you, to us! I thought I would lose you, babe!"

	The Viper narrows her eyes, thumping the table and the phone's display with her fists, causing the image to flicker in static. When the image has realigned, I can see how wide her hood's spread out. "I know! I know! But that is what you know you were in for, what I'm in for! I don't want you to hurt!"

	I flinch back, afraid of pushing my snek away. "Stheno. I'm sorry."

	She throws her head to the side in annoyance, giving me a sidelong glance. She deflates, her  hood shrinking slowly against the sides of her neck. "I didn't want to talk to you like this, like I am now," she says tersely. "For now, I'm on civilian sec detail. They'll need every bit of eyewitnesss reportsss we can gather. Ssso you know."

	"Yeah. Yeah. Alright. Be safe."

	"I will be."

	"I love you, Stheno."

	She presses her left hand up in the air, blocking part of her face. I mimic the motion, tensing my fingers against the holographic palm. "I'm not sssure when I can talk to you again," she says again. Then the connection gets terminated on her side first.

	I collapse back into my chair, staring at the ceiling. I should be relieved. She's safe and sound. She puts her work before me, she's a soldier, I should know this much. I should swell with pride like I do for her otherwise. Yet now I feel cold inside when I realize that my fears won't go away. That they will get worse. That this wasn't the first attack. That this won't be the last. And that this was the second time she's involved in this fucking mess. I don't know if I could stand to lose her. Was that what she was implying, too? That there even will be a when we talk again? I slink away from my computer, just crawling back into the mess of pillows we call our couch. I can still smell the dusty, sandy scent of my snek on them. I clutch a pillow closer against my face, inhaling sharply, just nuzzling my tearful cheeks against it.

	Why am I such a selfish little shit?

	Morning. Shower. Breakfast. Trying to return to a normal life. But everyone is on edge. Everyone is talking about the attack. Everyone expresses anger, outrage, sadness, worry. Even most of the classes at the conservatorium are a mess of students trying to talk with each other, to find solace and to mourn together. The three classes of classical music theorem turned into impromptu courses where we just sought each other out to find comfort in each other's company or what old music was played and made to mourn or commemorate. Some of my classmates sought me out today too. Asking if that one soldier was her.

	How often did they ask? Fuck me, I just felt more sad and sombre with every next time they asked. But I guess at some point, it finally clicked.

	"No. It wasn't Stheno," I say yet again, but the edge is gone from my voice.

	No. It wasn't Stheno.

	Classes end early. I get in touch with the Lair proprietor. I'm still due for a show. Plan it for the next weekend. Whether it was appropriate given the Unification Day attack, he asks. We still were due for a celebration, I say. We can't let ourselves get knocked down by some terrorist fuckheads, right? No we can't be defeated.

	I draw inspiration from old songs of celebration. Half of them I can't even understand, pre-Unification languages, but most of them have translations available. Perfect for the performance part of my usual gigs. Sign language is truly unifying. Subwoofer and floor speakers includes every sense to sound. I find chords and progressions that match my elation that I found again. I jot them down, try them out on a keyboard. I find the instrumentation. I switch to synths. I imagine arms rising in defiance against these nebulous enemies of the ADVENT coalition. The sweeping and the swaying to the rhythm. The beat and stomp to that festival trap sound I'm chasing. I'm feeling like a fire gone wild.

	It's a dirty mix. Not my cleanest work. Needs some reinstrumentation and some proper clean samples. For a first pass, I feel the synths works, but lacks a proper drop for the heavier sound. Music, like any art, is a process of refinement.

	The next day is work day, though customers are few and far between at the liquor store. Mostly, I can just listen to my samples, my own takes. I can clean and make sure we're stocked again just fine. I realize I should just leave the old vocals. It's not like it's that hard to follow. Especially not with some ASL. My reverie's only broken when my manager calls me out of my hand-waving and lollygagging (his words, I can't believe his use of archaisms at times, it's endearing) to handle some deliveries needing stocking.

	Part of me hoped to catch Stheno on the phone again sometime that night, but I know her duties have her busy. I still leave a message for her.

	"Just so you know, I still want to talk to you again. You're still on my mind. My empty arms are open. I'll be waiting for you."

	I didn't expect an answer the next day. Before classes, the phone beeps out, this time with a familiar photo hovering above the number. Stheno at our local diner, wearing that green sweater I bought her, awkwardly hugging a cup of hot cocoa in front of herself. The photo doesn't turn into a video feed, so she's probably using a smaller device. I settle down in front of my computer and phone, taking the call.

	"Hey Stheno," I say, sounding perhaps a bit tired.

	"Hey babe," her sonorous voice responds in kind. "I wasss... hoping to catch you later than earlier. I kinda don't want to dissscusss thisss over the phone."

	My heart grows cold at that.

	"B-Baby? You're n-n-not talking about breaking up-" And then I fall silent.

	For a minute, everything is quiet. I can't believe I just said that.

	"No. No! Damn, babe! Baby, what gave you that impression?" her voice clips and stops its relaxed hissing. "No! No, I have –some– standards about at least telling you that face to face! What are you taking me for?"

	I feel my cheeks flush at just how fucking clingy I sounded, how desperate. "I'm sorry," I squeak.

	"Damn right you should be," she snaps back, but I can hear a tinge of amusement in her voice. Oh thank goodness. "It's just that... I don't know how to tell you thisss. Wanted to think up how I could break it to you."

	I slowly sink back into my chair, looking at her pristine picture being projected. "What is it then, Stheno?"

	"Monday jussst... left me broken. All of usss, I sssuppossse." She pauses, trying to think up the words to follow up with. I guess the lack of a video feed makes it hard for her. "Tuesssday we were through with- ah..."

	"Hook us up to a cam?" I offer.

	"Can't. All those phonesss are in ussse. And I need to ssspeak the wordsss. Deployment'sss gonna be lengthy."

	I let the words sink in before I dare pose the ten kilocredit question: "How lengthy?"

	"Indefinite until the coalition terror threat asssesssment has receded to nominal levelsss."

	"Oh."

	"Yeah."

	"So this is it?"

	"For all intentsss and purposssesss? Might asss well be war."

	The word causes a chill to creep up my spine. I've only read about such a scale of conflicts. War's a pale and ghostly shadow of the past, I was to believe, under the Elders and the ADVENT coalition. And yet, here we are now.

	"Stheno?"

	"Yeah?"

	"We'll be in touch, right?"

	"Of courssse. More than jussst a call a week, opportunity permitting."

	"Long calls?"

	"The longessst."

	"'C-Cause I wanted to say I'm sorry for being selfish before."

	The line goes quiet again, before a soft thrill and a deep and awkward laugh follows. I guess she's not used to hearing her own laugh yet with her newly modded vocal chords.

	"You're jussst worrying about your waifu."

	I grow beet red before I whine into the phone's receiver. "Stheeenooo! You dork!"

	I'd pay to see her expression, but I can hear her laugh, far more at ease. "No bigger dork than you are, geek girl."

	"I am so going to get back at you."

	Stheno's one step ahead: "With what, dirty talk through the phone? Babe, I fully intend to hear that." Damnit.

	"Dork."

	"I love you."

	"I love you. I'll miss you."

	"Try not to let it eat at you, baby. I'll be back for you." Part of me wishes I could keep her to that promise.

	"At least get yourself a camera next time, Stheno."

	"You'd want that, don't you? But I will."

	"...You're not hanging up yet, huh?"

	"No. Not at all."

	"'Cause I wanted to let you hear a little something I made for next weekend..."