A Thousand Years
Hi all: first off, I want to say thanks for reading. This is my first fan fiction that I have decided to post publicly. I am a HUGE fan of Mass Effect and through my hundreds of playthroughs, I've been drowning in these beautiful ideas, thoughts, and stories that I just need to get out and on paper (figuratively speaking…). I've done timelines, storyboards, sketches… And I think I am ready for this. I beg for your pardon if this ends up being a waste of your time, and I pray that this message tugs at your heartstrings: Please, go easy on the newbie. Enjoy.
"I have to say, Councilor, I'm surprised." Shepard paced in front of the Turian's desk, agitated. An urgent and cryptic message had been left for him on the Normandy to see the Turian Councilor on the Citadel as soon as possible. The Turian's steely eyes followed the Commander.
"You have never been a fan of me. Or any human for that matter. You made it perfectly clear you don't approve of me working with Cerberus. And yet you have the audacity to ask me for a favour?" Shepard stopped in front of Sparatus' desk, eyes narrowed at the Councilor who stared right back, unabashed.
"Shepard, we have never seen eye to eye. I'll admit I have been hard on you. And humans in general. But I… Have my reasons." He adjusted himself in his leather seat before reclining slightly. He looked worn; defeated. "I wouldn't ask you if I had any other choice. But I don't. You know the Terminus systems. You have a ship and an able-bodied crew. You know how to handle a gun. You are the only one I can rely on for this mission. If you can look into this for me - even if it ends up being a dead end - I can guarantee that you will have my favour." He leaned forward towards Shepard and lowered his voice. "You want to have a member of the Council that is in your debt. Trust me. It is in your best interest."
Shepard hesitated, and then turned away from Sparatus. They had the time, the resources. And as much as Sparatus had been a royal pain in the ass, the Turian was basically begging for help. "…send me the information you have. I'll check it out." Shepard headed towards the door, not wanting to waste anymore time.
"Shepard! … Thank you. You really don't know what this means to me." Sparatus stood as the Commander left his office. He had honestly not expected the Spectre to say yes. He glanced around his office, and then to the empty desk that sat just outside.
"I hope you find her." He sunk back down in his chair and held his head in his hands. Whether she was alive or not, whether she had left of her own free will or had been captured… He had to know. He needed closure. Even if Shepard brought back nothing but dusty old bones, at least Sparatus could begin to move on, to heal. He groaned as a sharp pain hit him right in his chest. Heartbroken and pining away for a human… How did he get here?
2 years prior
"I'm not having a goddamn Human work for me!" Sparatus slammed his data pad down on his desk, absolutely infuriated. "These Humans think we owe them everything since the Relay Incident. We've paid reparations. We've done our part. We owe them nothing more!" He spun on his heel, seething with anger. Stalking towards the windows, he gazed down on the perfectly manicured landscape of the Citadel. The Humans didn't belong here. They were aggressors, animals, violent uneducated apes. Just the idea of having one work for him made his blood boil.
Chesik sighed, picking up the data pad that Sparatus had been looking at. "Sparatus… This will look good for us. We need the good publicity. The reparations from the war aren't enough. You know that." He slowly approached his hot-headed friend from behind. He rested a hand on Sparatus' shoulder. "Listen, the girl is young. She's eager to please, to learn. She will do admin work, nothing more. She will gain some experience and move on to something different - you'll have her for 2 or 3 years, tops. Her father –"
"-is a bully. Just like every other human on this station." Sparatus muttered, his eyes fixated on the flowing fountains. He knew this had already been decided for him. Why argue? He knew better than to disagree with orders from Palaven. He didn't need the Primarch getting involved.
"-is an up and coming politician on the Citadel who is very popular with Humans as well as the Council races. This will be good for everyone, trust me. Let me handle the details, ok?" He patted Sparatus' on the shoulder before leaving the Councilor's office. Sparatus grunted in response. Some days, he regretted getting into politics.
"…Aurelia!" The Turian Councilor barked from his chair. He could connect to her omni tool and contact her that way, but he preferred yelling at her through the door. It was a little more satisfying.
"Yes?" The door slid open as Aurelia floated inside, data pad in hand. She paused at the forefront of his desk, ready to take notes. Purple dress today. She chose purple. Aggravatingly his favourite colour on her porcelain skin. His mood worsened.
"Did you re-schedule my meetings for tomorrow?"
"Already done."
"I need the summaries of the meeting minutes from last week sent to my omni tool. Point form. Turian interests need to be separated and highlighted."
"Already sent, sir."
"And my trip itinerary for next week?"
"I uploaded it to our shared drive that should be accessable by both your omni tool and laptop at anytime." She tilted her hip ever so slightly, her creamy white skin catching his eye from the peepholes in her deep purple dress. Just her sides were visible – the high neck and long sleeves gave nothing else away. It left enough to allow Sparatus' imagination run wild. She was a distraction – a nuisance.
"Why do you insist on dressing as if you are employed for Chora's Den?" His last question caught her off guard. She blinked a few times, obviously trying to process this information.
"…w-what? This…. My father brought me this dress back from Illium. It's the latest in Asari fashion –"
"Are you an Asari?"
"No, but I-"
"You will not wear that while working for me. Are we clear?" His tone was cruel and firm. It was nothing new to her, although this last insult topped his previous attacks. She dropped her head, her ebony black hair shielding most of her face. To hide the tears. She refused to cry at work. No matter how cruel or unkind this Turian was to her, she was determined to not let him win.
"I said, are we-" he began to stand just as her head snapped up in defiance – something she had not done before in her months of torturous employment.
"But if I was an Asari, this would be fine, right? Or a Turian? Batarian? Yes, anything but a Human!" She slammed the data pad she had been carrying onto his desk and rushed out of the room, choking back tears. She had to stop to allow the automatic doors to catch up to her. Seething, Sparatus stormed across his office but stopped himself just a foot from her. His hands clenched into fists, his mandibles quivering. The doors opened, and she all but flew out of the office and basically fell into her chair just outside, head in her hands. The doors closed, and he was by himself again. Left with nothing but her scent and the image he had voluntarily burned into his memory – the image of her in front of his desk with a titilating hint of her soft flesh beckoning his touch. He uncurled his fists and stared down at them. How many times had he wondered what she felt like? Tasted like? How warm would her soft peachy skin be on his hardened fingertips? Would she let him –
NO!
He had to stop. He had to clear his mind. He took in a deep breath and slowly strode back over to his desk, his eyes caught by the bright text of the data pad she had thrown on his desk. He hesitated before picking it up. It was the details for the Charity Ball next month that he was dreading. She had needed his signature to authorize and confirm his attendance… And if he had a "plus one."
