"Ah, C-c-commander," Donnelly stammered, a nervous grin crinkling his cheeks. "What brings you down into the depths?" He was unsure of whether he should be pleasantly surprised or panicked. Russell couldn't blame him.
His last visit to an occupied engine room had not been pretty. Garrus was laid up in the Medbay shot full of holes, one shallow breath from going tits up and Russell was to blame. Chakwas wouldn't let him into the see the extent of the damage, Garrus' condition too unstable. Unable to cope with feelings that would have had him off kilter sober, Russell blindly made his way to the engine room. It made sense, now that he thought about it. The third floor was a hive of activity, the only secluded area available to him was the forward battery and far too many memories lurked there. His own quarters were too far.
He surprised Donnelly and Daniels, and too high to see straight, forced them to evacuate at gunpoint. The room finally cleared, he'd screamed, raved and cried until his throat was raw. It hadn't been his finest hour; he'd hit bottom.
He had clawed his way back up since then but he was sure the memory lingered in the minds of the engineers as surely as it remained in his. He could have eked out the rest of his time on the SR-2 without ever again setting foot in this part of the ship, but his Executive Officer had other plans.
Rescuing the crew from being reduced to primordial sludge had helped him regain some of their esteem, but going around to each and every crewman and squaddie, checking on their wellbeing would do even more, or so Miranda would have him believe. It was embarrassing and demeaning; as if he was a misbehaved child subjected to forced contrition for breaking a playmate's toy. But the item he'd broken couldn't easily be repaired or replaced.
Russell linked his fingers against the small of his back to keep from crossing his arms over his chest. Kelly said the posture made him seem unapproachable.
"How are you holding up?"
Donnelly and his partner shared a brief look before he answered hesitantly, "Nothing abnormal to report. Engine output is-"
"I didn't ask about the engine, I asked about you."
"We're fine, Commander," Daniels stepped in for her dumbfounded partner. "Thanks for asking."
"Do you need anything?"
"Nothing I can think of off the top of my head. But don't offer Donnelly anything. He's one of those 'give him an inch, take the whole stick' types." She grinned, nudging Donnelly in the ribs.
Russell felt a knot of unease start to uncoil as Daniels salvaged the situation. This was starting to feel less like a bad idea. "Well if you need anything, put in a requisition order with Kelly or EDI, and I'll make sure we find time to get it." Relieved, he chanced patting Donnelly on the shoulder, in a gesture that should have been friendly but came across, in his eyes, as awkward. With as much composure as he could muster, he fled the engine room glad to have the task out of the way. That was the first of his stops that afternoon, and hopefully the hardest. One down.
Each visit was as trying, if not more so, than the one before it. It wasn't that the crew was unreceptive to his plight. But their surprised expressions struck a chord in him; this wasn't like him. Going around, buddying up to the crew, after it might have been too little, too late, wasn't a very Russell thing to do at all. He'd always kept others at a distance, save for those who forced themselves into his life, but this... He didn't hate it, but he wasn't sure how he felt about it.
He shook himself, trying to lift the malaise. Self-doubt wasn't something he allowed himself, even at his lowest. He wasn't one to waffle. He, above all others, was supposed to be sure of himself. He should know just who he was and what or who he wanted.
He'd saved the area by the elevators on the third floor for the last part of his tour for obvious reasons. Garrus' words the other night had really worked their way under his skin. Stupid turian.
In his younger days, Russell had been a charmer, a risk taker. It hadn't always worked out well for him, but to think he'd been reduced to this; too afraid of rejection to ask a simple question. If his past self could see him now, he would make sure the current Russell died of embarrassment.
He walked up to the door of Life Support, his hands balled into fists. He took Saren head on; he challenged beings greater than himself on a regular basis, so this should have been nothing. As his fingers brushed the door panel, the door slide open and Thane started through it. His fingers touched the exposed patch of flesh just above where leather met scales as Thane walked into his hand. The scales were warm and smooth beneath his fingertips.
He withdrew a little slower than he should have and swiftly tucked his hand behind his back. "Sorry…" Heat crept up his neck and suddenly he hoped that blushing was not a universal concept.
"Pardon me." The drell gave a curt bow. "Russell," Thane said slowly trying to enunciate each syllable properly, "need me for something?" A dopey grin spread across Russell's face. It had taken some doing for the assassin to become comfortable enough to use his given name, but it was well worth the effort. He didn't want Thane to stand on ceremony when it was just the two of them, and partly, he wanted to hear how his name sounded coming from his lips. The rumbling emphasis his vocal patterns put on the R was particularly satisfying. The way the double-l's and double-s's tripped him up wasn't bad either.
"I'm making the rounds, trying to see how everyone's holding up."
"I don't suppose you need to ask me since we speak so frequently." Thane raised a brow ridge, almost imperceptibly so, a slight smirk curling the corner of his mouth. "But I am doing well, in case you were wondering." He straightened the hem of his jacket. "Did you get a chance to read that book I gave you?"
The dedicated datapad housing the book in question sat atop a stack of its neglected brothers on Russell's desk. He wasn't exactly a "reader," and even if he were, the title of the book was extremely off-putting: The Fuck-Up. What sort of title was that? Going by the author's name, it was a human work, but he couldn't fathom what it could be about. "I haven't gotten around to it yet, but I'll try to make time soon."
"I admit, is a bit difficult to get acquainted with in the beginning, but once you do, it's well worth it. You would like it. "
He'd rather take Thane's word for it. "Let me ask you something."
"By all means." Thane nodded, clasping his hands in front of him. Briefly, Russell wondered what that particular posture meant.
Blood rushed in Russell's ears as he tried to focus. This couldn't be as hard as he was making it, could it? Suck it up and ask him. If he shoots you down, you at least have your answer. You'll live. "Do you find—are you attracted to—"
Russell hadn't even heard the justicar approach, yet there she was beside them. She spared them each a nod. "Commander. Sere Krios." Her usual detached façade was securely in place but when she looked at Thane, Russell saw something else: warmth.
Thane returned the nod with one of his own and a smile. "I'll be along shortly," he said rather cryptically, leaving Russell to look covertly between the two. Samara touched Thane's arm before continuing towards her quarters and something inside Russell's chest burst.
Thane tipped his head again. "My apologies, you were saying, Russell?"
"Do you like… clawball?"
Thane cocked his head to the right and slowly blinked one set of eyelids and then the other. "I can't say that I've seen enough of it to have an opinion on the sport, really. Why do you ask?"
"There's a game coming on a little later and I wanted to know if you cared to watch it with me, —and Garrus —but I guess you'll be occupied, huh?" He nodded towards the observation deck, and Thane followed his line of sight.
"Ah, yes. I have an appointment to keep. Another time, then?"
"Yeah…" It made sense that the two of them would get friendly. They were next door to each other, lonely, and well matched in a number of ways. They were both well read, and he supposed, relatively close in age. Russell was… What could he possibly have to offer? He was a junky from the streets of Earth who was lucky he was able to read and write his own name. OK, so that was a bit of an exaggeration, but it didn't make the situation feel any less futile, or him less coarse by comparison.
The drell in question looked on, askance in the wake of Russell's silence. For an instant, Russell thought of telling him how he felt anyway just to get the weight off his chest. The idea of professing his affections by pressing Thane against his own door and ravaging him in a clichéd show of passion had occurred to him, but he didn't have the heart. He blew out a sigh, dragging a hand along the nape of his neck, pulling his gaze away from Thane's face; it was starting to hurt to look at him. "Sorry. I guess all of this extra duty has worn me out. I'll catch you later?"
"Of course," Thane said briskly and headed off towards the observation deck.
Safely in the elevator, Russell beat his head against one if its cool metal walls. Garrus' encouragement had gotten his hopes up, only to have them snuffed out. It was too much to hope that this would go right. After all he'd done, he didn't deserve for it to go right. Stupid turian.
He wouldn't let himself brood. He wasn't some moody teenager. He was Commander Shepard. He had bigger fish to fry that his love life. He repeated those words on the ride up to his loft and hoped that with time he would start to believe it. Solitude was often the best cure for a wounded heart, but it worked just as well on bruised egos.