A/N: Because this fabulous femmeslashy OTP has grabbed me by the heart and the unmentionables and will never let go, ever.

I.

The poor thing is shaking at the knees as she approaches the steps leading to Aria's Afterlife alcove, but has the sense to keep her still smooth (young then, the pirate queen guesses) faceplates calm and slightly loose. After a perfunctory scan from one of her lieutenants, Aria crooks a finger at the turian standing in front of her. "What do you want?" she says imperiously, as befits the official ruler of Omega.

Her delivery has the intended effect, for the young woman's composure collapses instantly. "I'm Nyreen Kandros," she says in a rush.

Aria wants to snort, but raises her brow instead. "And?"

From all four corners of the room, her men's punctuated grunts take the place of laughter. Nyreen looks to each guard, taking the measure of them, and in that instant, her posture shifts her face under Afterlife's lights, reflecting the electric green of her predatory eyes that are sharp, alert, and a little unsure of her place here: a newcomer. "I want to work for you," she answers in that richly flanged voice.

And eager to make her mark. Aria cocks her head to the side with both corners of her mouth quirked up. "Keep talking."

II.

"Again."

Nyreen lets out a disgruntled huff. "I've lost count of how many times you've made me repeat this."

"We'll stop once you stop being complete shit at it," Aria says without missing a beat. "What the hell did they teach you in the cabal units?"

"Nothing apparently," she growls and gathers a blue corona around her fist. After concentrating it into a tighter ball, she suddenly spreads her talons, extending the blue into a modest sphere that already begins to flicker like the shabby ceiling lights in her apartment. Sure enough, the turian can't hold the energy in place, and the sphere quickly sputters out. "Dammit," Nyreen hisses.

The sight is too pathetic to watch anymore. "You're too tense," Aria notes impatiently, "Too wound up and aware of what's going on in your hand."

"Well how else am I supposed to put up a barrier then?"

"Definitely not like that." Aria grabs Nyreen's arm and traces a path down to the tip of her talons, following the grooves of her plates through her tunic. "Don't think about it so much. Your biotics are an extension of yourself." She smirks. "Loosen up."

Her trainee's mandibles press tight against her face.

III.

Nyreen waves away the dust from her face and squints into the darkness of the corridor that Aria is showing her. "How far do these tunnels stretch?" she asks. Despite her attempt to whisper, the words bounce against the damp walls, oddly reverberating into parts unknown.

"Farther than you can imagine," Aria says, picking her way across the floor in dainty steps. "It took me decades to explore every single one, but I know them all by heart now."

"Has anyone else discovered them?"

"A few, I'm sure, but they have the good sense not to run into me while I'm down here." She turns around and shoots the turian a look. "These tunnels are one of my best-kept secrets."

Nyreen nods. "They're insurance."

"A failsafe."

"Only for you, of course."

Aria slowly comes closer to Nyreen until the two are inches apart. The latter towers over the former, but there's no question as to who's in control. The pirate queen gives a crooked half-smile. "Not anymore."

She watches the realization dawn in those bright green eyes. "I…see," Nyreen says carefully as her sub-harmonics betray everything.

Shaking her head, Aria plucks at the hem of Nyreen's tunic. "Keep walking, babe."

IV.

Aria can feel eyes on her as she dresses. "Where are you going?" Nyreen asks.

"Out."

A small sound, like a double-layered click, comes from behind her, and she knows her partner is agitated again. Aria has been hearing that sound more and more often lately. It usually accompanies the end of one of their arguments (another thing that's become common), but she hasn't mentioned that trend to anyone, least of all Nyreen. It's a topic for a later time.

"Lock the door when you leave," Aria says as she slips on her white jacket.

"Aria."

She turns to face Nyreen, who's still naked and sitting on the bed with her back propped against the headboard. "What?"

They stare each other down while her mandibles twitch once, then twice. "Nothing—never mind," she mumbles finally, glancing away. The movement presents the side of Nyreen's long, slim neck to Aria, who resists the urge to bite the skin (again.)

Something inside her gives. Sighing, she leans over to stroke Nyreen's head crest. "We'll talk about it after I wrap up tonight's business."

"Okay," she says, relenting.

With a curve of her lips, Aria kisses her, gentle and shallow. "See you later."

V.

Nyreen left one of her tunics behind, a black, plain thing with a wide hood that Aria knows she prefers—preferred? Prefers. Apart from that single article of clothing, there's nothing else in Aria's room to suggest the lingering presence of one Nyreen Kandros. She'd been thorough in her packing, and Aria had been thorough in her purging—at least, she thought she was. Somehow, a simple tunic had escaped her notice, undiscovered until she found it under the bottom of the dresser today.

It's old, by the look of the fabric; the edges need hemming, and there are several tears along where her cowl would fill out. The black shade, once a brilliant patina, has long faded into gray. Suddenly, a stray thought runs past Aria: perhaps this had been what Nyreen was wearing the day they met each other. If so, the turian is far more insipidly sentimental than she's given her credit for. Aria snorts then, an inelegant sound that has her baring her teeth in a poor approximation of an amused smile because this tunic, this worthless rag, on her property is anything but humorous.

Later, she throws it away because unlike Nyreen, Aria isn't sentimental.

VI.

Aria and Nyreen are standing in a secluded corner of the bunker while her people pointedly walk around the unspoken space she's carved out. The noise is at fever-pitch, but here, the illusion of privacy and calm create a little silence to quiet the nerves.

"We're leaving for the mines in six hours," she announces.

Nyreen grunts. "Ready when you are."

She watches her friend stiffly clutch her rifle. "Nervous? Or afraid?"

The turian notices what Aria's staring at, sets the gun down, and crosses her arms. Her mandibles—giving her away so easily even after all these years—flutter wildly. "Both," she says curtly.

"Well shake it off."

"I know."

"I can't have you panicking down there."

"Aria, I get it."

"Don't pout; it doesn't suit you. What I'm doing here, it's called tough love. You need some."

Nyreen's body freezes, but her eyes narrow. "No, it's not. You're ensuring that I survive just long enough to carry out your plan, and after that, well—we both know what happens to people who aren't useful to you anymore."

Aria blinks. "Is this the part where I smile and say that's not true?"

"Even if it was, nothing would change."