Disclaimer
I do not own any of the characters or storylines from the Mass Effect Universe.
Author's Note
I don't know why I chose such fringe characters for my first posted story. Even though there might not be much interest in these characters, Aeian's recounting of the events on Tiptree in particular really struck with me, and I felt like her background story just had to be told. It quickly turned into a story more about her friend Neaira, however, because the suggestion that she might be an Ardat-Yakshi living a sort of normal life, made her too compelling to pass up.
Then I just thought 'Hey, wouldn't it be ultra tragic if the asari widow Shepard meets on the Citadel also turned out to be the mother of the cammando who was turned into a Banshee?' And I just went with it. I hope that by the end of this story (if you bear with me that long), this relationship seems believable.
This story kind of meanders a bit, but since we all know the ending, I didn't see the need to rush there ;)
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PART I
Prologue
Neaira could no longer tell where her own body ended and the darkness began. It suddenly felt as though she had never known anything except darkness—a cold, angry darkness that creeps along inside you, twisting and contorting whatever it comes across along the way as it sees fit.
Neaira could feel herself being overtaken. The feeling came in brief, panic-stricken flashes that seemed all too vivid and clear. But the flashes were welcome. She tried desperately to hold on to them, not knowing what might be left within herself once they were gone.
She couldn't fight back. She felt, even though she couldn't quite remember, that she had tried to fight: thrashing and flailing her body against the silent intruder. That was when she had had energy for such an outburst, and when it had seemed, wrongly, as though nothing but an unrestrained eruption of heated emotions could possibly halt the inexorable march of the darkness within.
But now she lay immobile, partly paralyzed by fear, but there also seemed to be some sort of external source holding her in place when all she wanted to do was move, run, escape.
Then, suddenly, she felt herself slipping, and she tried to hold on—to herself, to her own mind—but she sensed somehow, with a feeling of straining, inward pressure, that she just couldn't. She opened her mouth, which suddenly seemed gaping, cavernous, and out came not a scream, but an otherworldly screech that came from deep inside her own body. And as that screech rang in her mind, the only sensation left to Neaira was one of falling.
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Chapter 1
Neaira woke with a start. She could feel beads of sweat forming on her brow as she clenched the bedspread with her little fists. She sat up, listening, fear settling in. It was the irrational fear that takes hold of the young, the fear that casts sudden suspicion not only upon the most mundane of objects but also, worse, upon all that is left unseen in the dark. The house was silent.
In that moment, Neaira made a decision. She tore away the bedspread, and jumped out of bed, pulled open the door to her bedroom and began her sprint across the living room to the staircase that led to her parents' room. Her way was lit by the gentle blue of her uncontrolled biotic flare. She ran up the stairs, not daring to look back, and with one smooth motion she opened the door to her parents' room, and took a running leap onto the bed. She landed on her knees at the foot of the bed, stopping her forward momentum with her hands.
Neaira stared at her mother, allowing her biotics to cool down, already feeling slightly safer. Her mother woke and raised her head to look at her daughter, only slightly surprised by the little commotion at the bottom of her bed.
Her mother was alone, which was not so uncommon for the bondmate of a commando, and although Neaira loved her father dearly, she was glad that she was not here tonight, as it meant that her mother was more likely to allow her to stay.
"I had a bad dream," Neaira said.
"You're getting too old for this," her mother replied, but even as those words were escaping her mouth, she was pulling back the covers beside her, letting Neaira in.
Neaira didn't need more prompting than that; she quickly scrambled up the bed, and slipped under the covers next to her mother. As the two settled in, Neaira pulled the blankets right up past her nose, and began to wiggle her way until she felt the warmth of her mother's front against her own back. Her heart rate had settled, her breathing controlled, and by the time she felt her mother's hand rest gently on her waist, she was drifting slowly off to sleep.