Shepard found Tali engrossed in her work, cloistered beneath an instrument panel on the engineering deck. The quarian had been withdrawn lately, even for her. She'd grown so strong, so independent over the last few years, but Shepard still saw traces of the shy young girl she'd first befriended. She meant too much to Shepard not to seek her out and try to bring her out of her shell.
"Tali?"
"Something you need, Shepard?"
"You've been working pretty hard lately: I was just wondering if you wanted to take the night off. We could stop at the mess, grab a bite, maybe a glass of wine? Hang out, like old times."
"I… I don't know. I'm very busy."
It took some cajoling, a few threats of inducing a suit breach, but Tali reluctantly agreed to join the commander. They brought their refreshments back to the captain's quarters, stretching out on the sofa to watch some quarian vids. Shepard couldn't understand most of the humor, but Tali laughed until she almost cried, finally starting to loosen up. The wine didn't hurt either.
"So, are you going to tell me what's been bothering you?"
"Nothing much. You wouldn't understand."
"Try me."
Tali leaned forward, head in hands, bracing her elbows on her knees. "I suppose it was only a matter of time before this happened. I've been away from the Fleet for a long time, now. I'm not making much sense, am I? It's the suit, Shepard: you barely notice it when everyone else is wearing one too. But here I'm the anomaly. I feel it every time I'm around other species, every time I catch them staring at me."
"You have my full permission to shoot anyone who gives you a hard time." Shepard would have offered to step in, but she knew Tali could handle herself, and her shotgun.
"That's not it. I don't care what they think. It's just… my suit is a part of me. It's my lifeline, my sanctuary, and my prison."
"Huh. I live in my armor, but I can't say I have any emotional attachment to it."
"I told you, Shepard. You can't understand."
The conversation soon turned to other things, the wine softly blurring the edges of the evening, the quarian comedies getting funnier and funnier the more Shepard drank. Tali grew bolder, explaining some of the more unpleasant aspects of being confined to an envirosuit, telling Shepard she'd never survive life as a quarian. Shepard, more than a little inebriated and never one to back down from a challenge, boasted that she could out-quarian Tali any day, twice each seventh day in Earth's lunar cycle, whatever that meant.
And that was how Shepard found herself aboard the Flotilla, doing her best to look confident as she stood in her bra and panties, waiting to be fitted for a quarian exosuit.
"You've got to be kidding me, Shepard."
"What?"
"Quarians don't wear underwear."
"Oh. Right." She glanced around the room: a half-dozen quarians surrounded her, armed with tools and instruments she'd never seen before. Tali took the lead, seeming to enjoy the opportunity to order her commander around. There would be payback, Shepard decided, but first there was the matter at hand. There was no way she'd let on how awkward she felt, or how nervous. Too late to back out now: might as well take the plunge.
She stripped down as casually as she could manage, as though she was simply carrying out her normal business. Not standing in all her glory in front of a small group of well-sculpted quarians wearing tight, tight suits, completely at the mercy of whatever Tali had in store for her. She wondered whether this was an elaborate prank, whether Joker would jump out with a hidden camera and tell her this had all been broadcast live on the extranet. Tali must have noticed her flush, and put her fears to rest.
"You are about to become one of us, Shepard, if only temporarily. No outsider has been granted this privilege in the history of the Flotilla. Keelah se'lai."
"Keelah se'lai, Tali Zorah. I'm honored."
"Close your eyes. This may sting a bit." Oh, shit.
It was only an antiseptic spray, but the bitter chemicals seemed to seep into her pores: her eyes burned, her lungs felt raw, every tiny abrasion on her skin burst into flames. The whole room was disinfected, purified, leaving no trace of the outside world and no opportunity for contamination. Harsh but necessary, this agonizing first step only made its successor all the more heavenly. A dozen gloved hands caressed her, skillfully applying a thin coat of medigel, soothing and cooling her inflamed body. It felt better than ice cubes on sunburnt skin, more welcome than any lover's touch. She was really starting to enjoy herself when fingers were replaced by bristles, prickly brushes painting long strokes of bioengineered gel along every surface, only her face kept bare. It stiffened as the nanoparticles set to work, building first a barrier, then a tight weave around her. It would keep her clean and dry, eliminate waste, prevent contamination. Her second skin felt like perfectly tailored leather, yielding to her movements but taut enough to provide a constant reminder of its presence.
A thin coat of shimmering armor covered this layer: she was finally starting to look recognizably quarian. Ceremonial adornments and finishing touches followed: it took the greater part of an hour to fasten her into the low-slung belt, gloves, arm and thigh bands, and to buckle the high wedge-heeled boots that elongated her legs, furthering the illusion of quarian anatomy. Elaborate, strict, and confining: Shepard was no stranger to such games, under other circumstances. It wasn't until they fitted her mask that eros turned to claustrophobia, the hiss of the hermetic seal announcing her isolation from the very air around her. Trying to ignore her pounding heart, only the anchor of Tali's hand on her shoulder allowed her to calm down and slow her breathing as she carefully draped the hood that would complete her transformation.
A nearby wall rippled at the wave of an omni-tool, displaying her reflection. She looked… quarian. Tali's accomplices nodded their approval, and she thanked them for their work. All wanted their holos taken with this novelty creature, this metamorphosed alien. Shepard was happy to oblige, delighting in the unique experience.
Heads turned as they returned to the Normandy: Tali explained that walking a mile in her shoes meant living among others, being an outsider. Besides, there was too much work to do to linger aboard the Migrant Fleet. Shepard expected everyone to gawk at her suit, but many of them seemed to be staring at her ass, as though wearing a mask meant she couldn't see them checking her out. She made a mental note to be more discreet around quarians in the future. For all their apparent modesty, these blasted suits left little to the imagination.
"One week, Shepard," Tali called out as she stepped onto the elevator, "and then we'll see who out-quarians who!"
The first few hours went well. Hygiene and sanitation took a little getting used to, but she'd endured stranger things during long missions on hostile planets, long before she earned her commander's rank. And the suit seemed to know her, anticipate her needs, cue her with subtle touch and vibration how to activate its various functions. A bit unsettling, but not unpleasant. Shepard paced around her quarters, standing, sitting, twisting into asanas, exploring the feel of the suit tight on her skin. More than once she reached up to scratch an itch only to realize she had to command the suit to do it for her. Often she poked herself in the faceplate trying to brush the hair out of her eyes.
Before she bunked down for the night, Legion requested permission to enter her quarters, insisting on holding vigil at her bedside despite her best efforts to shoo him away.
"Shepard-Commander. Tali Zorah is concerned you will calibrate your suit incorrectly and suffocate in your sleep."
She didn't protest after that.
That night, Shepard dreamt of lying in her bed, when suddenly there were hands all around her, three-fingered quarian hands gently but firmly holding her down, a few at first, then dozens, then hundreds, holding her immobile as she writhed ineffectively, screaming for air as one final glove wrapped itself around her mouth. She awoke in a cold sweat to the blank stare of Legion's solitary eye, the geth unfazed by her panicked gasps as he watched the suit respond to her tachypnea, increasing its carbon dioxide concentration to calm and sedate her. Intervention was not required. Shepard-Commander was in no danger, despite her pleas to the contrary.
Nonetheless, Shepard was determined to adjust to life in an exosuit, much as she'd adjusted to the rigors of guerilla warfare in her youth. It was only armor, and no suit of armor would get the best of her. Her stomach rumbled: it was time to figure out how quarians ate. Coffee was simple: once irradiated, she could sip it through a nozzle in her mouthpiece. Solid foods, on the other hand, had to be pureed into a paste thin enough to be sipped. It occurred to her that a quarian could spend a lifetime without knowing the simple joy of chewing food. Breakfast conquered, she set about the business of commanding a warship, acutely aware of the eyes glued to her backside as she paraded around the Normandy.
By the third night, she was starting to crack. She was overcome by the urge to rip off the suit: she couldn't even touch her own skin, see her own face. She felt trapped, bound. Sleep was no respite: nightmares of suffocation visited her at every opportunity. Shepard began to seriously consider visiting Tali, admitting defeat, and asking to be released from their bet.
But Tali wasn't cruel. She wanted Shepard to understand the quarians' plight, not be tortured by it. Remembering what she herself had once endured, the horror of her first few nights imprisoned in metal and living synthetic cloth, she went up to the commander's quarters to offer comfort.
"Shepard. How are you holding up?"
"Okay, I guess. These things are really itchy."
"No, they're not. But I think I know what you mean."
"Huh."
"It's horrible, isn't it?"
"Yeah. How do you stand it? Why don't more quarians go crazy, rip their suits off and run around just for the hell of it?"
Tali giggled. "Some do. They regret it when sepsis sets in, but we all have our moments. You get used to it, though. I haven't been entirely fair to you: there are ways to cope I neglected to mention."
"Such as?"
Tali held out her omni-tool, transferring a series of programs to Shepard's. "Thank me in the morning," she said, a twinkle in her eye as she hugged the commander and took her leave. "I appreciate what you're doing, Shepard, and I know how hard this must be."
Shepard activated the newly acquired code, and a series of additional functions were highlighted on the inside of her mask. She chose the first of these, and felt bands of pressure rippling up and down her suit, massaging her muscles and invigorating her skin. Unbuckling her boots, she crawled into bed and began to unwind: this was even better than a hot shower at the end of a long day. Thoroughly relaxed and quite intrigued, she decided to explore some of the other functions, each more delightful than the last, ranging from simple vibration to stimuli she could neither recognize nor describe. She spent the night engaged in sensual discovery, eventually slipping into deep undisturbed sleep when her sensory cortex could handle no more.
The rest of the week was far more tolerable: Shepard grew used to her second skin, and her crew became immune to the shock of seeing her in alien clothing. It was still a relief when the time came to end her captivity, strip off the armor that kept her isolated and sheltered. Tali met her in her quarters: the suit was far too complicated to remove by herself.
"Shepard, I'm impressed. I didn't think you'd actually go through with this."
"Thank you, Tali. For letting me into your world, helping me to understand your people, showing me how much I take for granted. Keelah se'lai."
"You know what the worst part is? Not being able to touch another living soul. It gets so lonely sometimes." She reached up to unclasp Shepard's mask, but the commander stopped her, turning instead to take her hand and lead her into the bathroom. Locked inside, she triggered the disinfectant cycle to sterilize the space.
"Did you breach your suit, Shepard? Remove your mask, even once?"
"No. But I know this is still risky, and I understand if you don't want to join me."
"I'm not like you. I'm not attracted to women, not in that way."
"I know."
Tali reached up once again, lifting off Shepard's mask, guiding her hands to remove her own. Shepard took off her gloves, eliciting shudders from the quarian as she caressed her cheek, skin meeting bare skin. She wanted to rip off both of their suits and show Tali the wonders of shared lovemaking, the pleasure than only another could give. But this was not what she'd invited, not what she desired, and so Shepard stayed passive while Tali slowly unclasped her myriad fastenings, a more exquisite torture than she could have imagined. After an eternity they both stood unclothed, arms wrapped around one another as hot cleansing water streamed over them, bodies pressed together as intimately as lovers. She stared into Tali's bright eyes, leaned in and kissed her tenderly, offering but not demanding. Tali smiled, tucked her head into the crook of Shepard's collarbone, and rocked slowly in her arms, a sweet slow dance neither sexual nor chaste.
"Thank you, Shepard. I…"
"I know."
This time it was Shepard who completed the ritual of fastening Tali into her suit, painstakingly assembling each component until only her mask remained. Tali grinned wide, planted a soft kiss on her surprised commander's lips, and disappeared behind her exotic veil once again as she snapped her mask back into place.
As soon as she was alone, Shepard ran her hands along every inch of her body, enjoying the feel of her skin and the reassurance that each part of her was right where she'd left it. She dried off, luxuriating in the feel of her fluffy towel, her silky pyjamas. And then she stopped: something was missing. She felt exposed, naked in a deeply unsettling way. Remembering the feel of the suit tight against her body, cradling her, binding her, rubbing against her with every movement, Shepard glanced through her bathroom door at the pieces of exosuit scattered on the tile. She'd spent the week anticipating its ceremonial launch through the Normandy's airlock. Gathering the remnants and packing them carefully into the storage compartment beneath her bed, she decided perhaps she'd keep it after all.