Soft


A not-quite Prequel to 'Tough Love'.


Disclaimer: I don't own Mass Effect.


"Omega's black market is a shit hole." Shepard decided as she sidestepped yet another shady character, scowling at the way her boots splashed in a puddle of some unknown liquid. Dark, grimy and reeking of aggression, the place was almost a textbook example of every human horror-story, mystery- novel, mob-dealing movie out there. She was pretty sure it covered a few Asari and Turian ones as well. Still, if it had the highly-illegal-yet-extremely-valuable proto-type her team was looking for, it would be worth every trauma-inducing minute scouring the place for it. But hot damn did she feel like she needed a shower.

At least the shops themselves were clean, even if the streets they were on weren't.

Shepard gestured to Garrus, indicating the nearest Shoppe and ignored the turain-sneer of contempt he'd plastered to his face. Mordin was mumbling to himself about diseases and Grunt was glaring fixatedly into some dark side-alley, probably scaring off some Vorcha.

"Correction. Omega is a shit hole." Shepard grumbled mentally, switching her helmets' display to a standby threat level. They moved quickly to the booth, Mordin and Shepard stepping up to look through the inventory while the other two took up guard positions on either side. Tali , Zaeed and Thane were out there somewhere, hacking every terminal they could find in order to pin-point the quantum-eezo-mass-whatever-it-was's location so they could do a quick drop'n grab, before blasting the hell away from this rock. Meanwhile, Shepards' group had the arduous task of sifting through crap manually until the techy-geniuses got it together.

Yeah. Shepard was definitely not bitter about this assignment.

The teller at the booth stayed wisely silent, even going so far as to settle back on her stool and start filing her nails. That the Asari's hands never strayed too far from her weapon was telling though, more so than her eyes watching them from beneath her lashes.

Shepard would have snorted, if not for her gaze catching on something obnoxiously out of place hanging on the wall in the far corner of the, afore mentioned, junk shop.

It was pink.

It was fluffy.

And it was a human pair of socks.

Her brows rose, and Garrus, glancing back, saw her expression. "What is it?" He questioned, interest and irritation warring in his two-toned voice. Mordin didn't bother to look up from where he was fiddling with the kiosk, but his body visibly tensed. Grunt was still staring at the alley.

The Commander shook her head, red hair whipping slightly with the movement.

"It's nothing."

The Salarian relaxed and Garrus returned to observing the streets, fingering his pistol just as another posse of thugs prowled by. Grunt continued to brood.

Shepard tried to focus on what she was looking for, but soon found all her efforts to be half-hearted, her attention always drifting back to the socks.

After her fifth time through the shop without really seeing anything, Shepard huffed, exasperated, and then snapped her fingers to get the teller's attention. Said woman looked up lazily and, gritting her teeth, Shepard pointed at the offending objects.

"Do you mind?" She snipped.

The Asari glanced between the socks and the commander, once, twice, before shrugging and handing them over.

Shepard nearly snatched them from her hands, glaring at the teller when she simply went back to her nail-care.

Then she looked down at what she was actually holding. And grimaced. The socks were an atrocious shade of pink, fluffy to a fault and wholly impractical. Still…

Jane Shepard didn't know what possessed her, but suddenly she was tugging her exo-suits' gloves off, bare hands brushing against the smooth fibers in her grip.

Her eyes dilated. A sharp gasp escaped her. And she held tight to the paired object, awareness narrowed to the feel of it between her palms.

It reminded her of a time before Saren, before N7 or endless mind-numbing, body-breaking missions; before boot camp and recruitment, before the bloody turf-wars and gang-fights of Earth. Before the fear, the loneliness, the gnawing hunger twisting in her belly, before that god-awful orphanage-

"Janey, darling, look what I've found for you!"

Jane looks up at the sound of her name, eyes drawn towards the tired, sickly, lovely features of a familiar face. The woman, long hair just a tad darker than the unruly red strands covering her own head, smiles crookedly down at her, slim arms extended. Jane reaches out for what the beautiful (but thin, too thin) hands hold, small fingers carefully taking the offered gift.

She turns it over in her grasp, confused at the neon flash of orange, the strange squiggled lines of lime-green color on fabric. It's a pair of socks, horrible and tacky.

"Feel them, Janey." The woman says encouragingly, nodding gently when the girl looks up. Her eyes are bright with some secret spark and suddenly the woman before her is radiant, despite the pallor of her skin.

Jane traces the fluffy strands between her finger tips, feeling their warmth, their smoothness, but her attention is all for her, for the gift giver.

"Isn't it soft?" The frail woman asks with her secret smile and laughing eyes.

Jane smiles back, gapped-toothed mouth stretching wide.

"Yes, Momma."

"- you alright? Shepard?" Garrus sounded concerned.

Shepard blinked, staring down at her hands.

"Elevated brain activity. Suggest removal to medbay." Mordin raddled, kiosk apparently forgotten. "Pre-test scan indicates high emotional stimuli. Results positive. Still inconclusive. Need more data-"

A slim, uncovered hand settles over Mordins' glowing omni-tool, shutting it off.

"Thank you, Doctor. I'm fine now." Shepard smiled.

Shepards' own omni-tool flickers open with a ping and Talis' voice rings out. "Shepard, we've found it! I'm sending you the coordinates."

"Thanks Tali." Her voice is strangely quiet and even Grunt turns to look at her, glare weakening for a moment.

Nodding to the teller, Shepard purchases her find without another word, carefully tucking the pink monstrosities into a small pack on her waist belt.

Then she walks away.

Bemused, her companions follow after.


AN: Written in response to "Tough Love". UnBeta-ed.

Enjoy!

~Delgodess