~ Finding The Heart ~
It's A Deal
Disclaimer: The characters in this story are the intellectual property of Bioware, not mine.
WARNING: Rated for MA for future chapters. 16yrs+ readers only please. Foul language, adult concepts.
Author note: I've purposefully tried not to describe Shepard too much, after all, fans of Mass Effect will each have their own versions of Shepard, so I leave those parts up to your imagination.
Shepard wasn't sure if it was fear, courage or simple presence of mind (something she must have lacked the day before when she allowed him to almost kiss her) that had, thus far, prevented her from chasing after Zaeed when he scurried out of her quarters yesterday evening. Regardless her subconscious had kept her tossing and turning all night. Shepard had not slept well. Thoughts of his story had melded into dream, dreams of her being a member of Zaeed's gang hunting down the Demon Maws or her being Vido and consoling him with hugs that almost turned into kisses. That last one was especially dumb, but laughable in that facepalm-worthy way that her brain had of actually being that bad at tact, as to throw herself straight at a man she wanted when he was still recovering from the loss of the woman he loved.
Images of his pained expressions and various replays with alternative endings to their conversation had also dogged her mind all night. Of course in one of her dreams he actually had kissed her. She sighed and hugged her coffee, breathing in the steam as if it were the oxygen upon which she depended. Damn I just can't stop thinking about it – that kiss that almost was. She shook her head with disappointment. This is ridiculous. Then with a sigh: Although I suppose on a lighter note it beats involuntary images popping into my head of the Prothean's untimely end...
That said, truth be told, as nightmarish as they were; those Prothean visions were actually a source of mild comfort to Shepard... at least since her resurrection. She figured they were possibly just about the only things in her head that nobody could or would dare try to mess with. The only person who ever even got close to understanding them besides herself was Liara, and that was only because she'd spent more than a hundred years studying the Protheans and happened to belong to a species partially capable of telepathy. For all her other thoughts and feelings, Shepard now reserved a little doubt.
Whilst Miranda seemed honest in her protests that her brain had not been tampered with when Cerberus brought her back, Shepard – partly because of those Prothean visions and what they portrayed – now had the failsafe assumption that she could not entirely trust or believe what Miranda (or anyone) said was true. Reaper-sleepers could be anyone, anywhere, and indoctrination could be subtle enough for a person experiencing it not to notice it when their motivations and beliefs (and therefore their actions) had been realigned. She also had to assume that she wasn't immune to that herself. It was her biggest fear: that chasing Saren (and during more recent events) she'd been exposed to Reaper artefacts that might have done just that... to her.
Dying and being brought back (by Cerberus no less!) just made that fear more real. Nonetheless she reminded herself that it was the Illusive Man that had given her a ship, a crew, and bade her take on and take out the Collectors. He was well-aware of the Reaper threat, even if his methods were questionable at times, and he wouldn't be stupid enough to use their technology. Would he? Then again he did beg me not to destroy the Collector Base... However at that thought she stopped herself solidly and refused to think any further on the matter. Shepard knew she could drive herself nuts with paranoia if she thought about these things for too long. So, as she had grown accustomed to doing: she shelved her qualms about her own 'realness' and 'authenticity', and the possible grand machinations of the Reapers, then instead tried to focus on the task at hand.
She'd gone over Chakwas' report on Zaeed again this morning, just to refresh her memory, mainly because if she was going to be stuck thinking about him; she might as well try to direct it towards something useful. Kicking addiction to alcohol is not just a matter of chemistry, she read, the addiction is also mental. Pills and injections could kill his physical need for it easily enough and he'd had those, but the emotional motive behind it was what really needed to be solved. And me complicating matters with my sudden bad-boy crush is surely not helping matters. She was willing to dismiss the whole thing as such and call herself an idiot and a fool, because of all the people a sane person might want to date, she was sure he was not one of them.
Unfortunately, she also knew that she should talk to him. She had to sort out her own thoughts, come to a decision, and then explain herself to him so that the poor man would be able to figure out where he stood either way. Was it sensible to have a relationship with anyone given what she was up against right now? Absolutely not. But she also knew that this was not a problem that was going to go away: when Shepard knew her feelings on something, she acted – right or wrong (albeit usually right). It was who she was... And she knew that if she let this fester, it would do far more harm.
Rejection she could handle. In fact she'd be relieved. It was easy to dismiss instincts of attraction if the person on the receiving end of those instincts wasn't interested, after all the one consistent fantasy she'd ever allowed herself to have was to be wanted. If he didn't want me, I'd shrug and move on, because not being attracted to me, is a huge turn-off.
So... She confidently paced out of her cabin, waited calmly for the lift to reach the lower decks and strolled down the corridor to the Starboard Cargo Hold...
...Except it was him who tried to kiss me...
Then found she couldn't find the nerve to request entry once she got there and her body began to quiver a little with adrenaline. She waited for a moment, staring at the ceiling whilst trying to clear her thoughts and get over her apparent embarrassment, dismiss that last thought and gain at least some clue as to how she was going to attempt to broach the topic when...
"Shepard do you require assistance?" – EDI chimed.
Shepard face-palmed and dragged her fingers down her face: "EDI if I had to take you onto a battlefield I'd have shot you by now for giving away my position."
"Apologies Shepard, however I do not fully understand the context of your displeasure –"
"Never mind EDI, don't worry about it – just open the damn door." Forget request for entry. Regardless whether he wanted to see her or not, she still needed to talk to him, and that was that. The door sprang into life and EDI said no more. At first Shepard was confused – Zaeed was not in his usual corner, or any corner she could view from the doorway. Where is he? "Zaeed..?" He's probably asleep or something isn't he? I'm going to walk in on him naked, that's what. Because that would improve the situation... [Mental face-palm]
"Here, Shepard." She tracked the origin of the gruff voice – he didn't sound at all alarmed by her presence – and found him as she rounded the corner to the trash compressor. He was on the floor, slouched against the wall with his knees up, staring at the deck plates. He was without the top half of his armour – he had only a stained, white, sleeveless vest and a gold chain about his neck to insulate against the cold of the room. That worried her instantly, as this was probably the first time she'd ever seen him anything less than battle-ready with a weapon in hand. Silver lining to every cloud: her brain pointed out that she now knew that the answer to the question of whether or not both his arms were tattooed, and the answer was 'yes, they are'. Thank you, brain, for that pointless observation. She dragged her eyes back into observing more useful things, like the way in which he was slouching and what his body language was telling her about his condition.
"Zaeed..? Are you alright?" She ventured.
"Thought you were gonna space me..." His head sagged and swung a little from side to side as he spoke. Is he drunk..? She sighed: Not again... No I think he's actually worse this time. She then wondered – noting at least one empty bottle lying on the floor near him – how the hell in this state he'd recognised the door had opened, let alone who'd walked into the room. Well... it wasn't likely to be anyone else, was it? He was nursing a shot glass while a mostly-full bottle of whiskey stood between his knees. Humph. Space him, indeed. But did he make that comment because he was drinking again, or because of what had nearly happened in her quarters the evening before? Is this... 'shame' I'm seeing?
Her mind reeled with the guilt that she may have potentially helped kick him back into this. Yet she didn't think he'd be the type of person to apologise for inappropriate behaviour on any other day. She wouldn't have put him above sexual harassment and she reminded herself he'd already crossed that line very recently albeit relatively mildly, unsuccessfully, whilst thoroughly hammered. It was odd then, that in retrospect he had seemed almost painfully ashamed when he'd made that quick exit from her quarters.
Shepard shook her head and sighed loudly. Likely she wasn't going to be able to have a sensible conversation with him now, at any rate. Mental addiction indeed. Hiding in that bottle... She shrugged and folded her arms, hugging her elbows as she shifted her weight from foot to foot uncomfortably. She actually felt – for the first time since seeing Ashley on Horizon – lost for words. What am I supposed to do..? Then it occurred to her that there was little she could do, except try. OK. Fine. I'll try. I'll try a new tactic and see what happens.
Walking over to him she picked up the bottle, extended her hand and silently asked for the shot glass. He gave it up without hesitation, but was most definitely avoiding eye contact. Don't know what he expects I'm going to do with it, smash it over his head maybe? I guess he thinks I'm mad with him. The thought did occur to her that such an act would sooth the temper she'd walked in with the day before... but all of that disgust and anger had dissolved away... once she discovered there was a truly depressing reason for it.
She eyed the bottle with a raised eyebrow – scarcely believing the label, which was one of the finest Earth brands: distilled nowhere other than humanity's homeworld itself and from the small island that birthed his quirky accent, no less.
"Jeez you really know how to get the good stuff don't you Zaeed...?" She murmured.
"Got cash to spare." He shrugged. Still refusing to look at her, not even her boots, only the floor.
She mused over the situation awhile, absent-mindedly staring at the shot glass. She noticed it had a name and a date etched into it: Schott AG 1884 – Damn this thing is ancient. She stared at the little object with no small amount of awe – this was a real piece of history she was holding. Where did he even find this?! And how much did it cost? Never mind... I don't want to know... She was beginning to understand that this man had a fascination for history, a fondness for antiques and that he had far, far too much money to spare and spend on both. Still somewhat in disbelief, she poured herself a shot in the empty silence.
Shepard did not, as a rule, drink. She used to, a long time ago, until she witnessed somebody become dependent upon it. Only Garrus and Tali (and Ashley) really knew that Shepard would, on occasion, have a drink – albeit at times of celebration which as of late, hadn't been that often. It was a rare thing and she did it only ever in the presence of people she trusted with her own safety, which technically hadn't been the case for several years if you count the two for which she was not amongst the living.
The sound of her pouring herself a shot had at least caught his attention. He gave her a brief, worried and confused look as she slid down the side of the trash compressor to sit opposite him. She dumped the bottle to her left and he quickly ducked down again. She nursed the drink awhile before downing it in one gulp whereupon the burning liquid hit her throat and made her eyes water. She coughed. I'd forgotten that sensation.
"Best damned stuff in the galaxy, that is." He nodded towards the bottle with another furtive look. Perhaps she had confused him enough for him to relax a little.
"I'll bet." Shepard coughed again as the warmth hit her empty stomach and she began to feel a little woozy. "But it's still going out the airlock." She caught the fleeting look of dismay that came from Zaeed, but he said nothing against it. Maybe he misheard me and thinks I'm putting him out the airlock... That made her smile with dark humour and she tried not to laugh.
"Thought it was me you were going to toss out of an airlock." He said, gruffly. So he had heard her correctly, then. Another fleeting glance in her direction, quickly ducked away. "Especially after..." He paused, silent for a moment except for laboured breathing. "Well..." He tried again, still couldn't find the words. Finally he shook his head and his voice took on an angry tone: "Look Shepard I don't know what came over me, I mean forget drinking..." Another pause as he pulled one hand down over his face. "...Nyaghh, what's the bloody point?" He slammed his head back against the wall, eyes scrunched shut. He doesn't know does he? Hasn't realised he only got that close because I didn't stop him...
Maybe the alcohol temporarily muzzled her senses and clarity of thought. Maybe she was fed up of thinking of herself as living on borrowed time and distrusting her every thought and feeling. Maybe she was just sick and tired of the loneliness she'd cloaked herself in for sake of that – to protect others or to protect herself: she wasn't really sure which was the real reason anymore. Maybe she was exhausted from constantly watching what she did and what she said because of who she'd woken up working for. Maybe coming back from the dead left you feeling like you had to justify every moment you were alive, because that was the only way to face the people who thought they'd lost you. Hell maybe it was just the fact that she was never good at talking about this kind of stuff.
Or...
Maybe it was because this was first time in what seemed a very, very long time that she was faced with someone who was not taking her for granted.
Whatever the reason, Shepard shrugged her shoulders, let out a long sigh, then stretched to place the shot glass carefully on the floor next to the bottle. In one swift movement from there she pushed off the trash compressor behind her and fell forwards. Her knees hit the deck between his with a loud thud and he jerked his head up to see what the hell she was doing. As he did so, her hands found either side of his cold face... and she planted her lips onto his.
Gently at first she pulled at his lips with her own, then she began pressing her tongue to them each time in soft, kitten kisses. He hesitated at first, stunned by what was apparently really happening, then he began to return her attentions. That snowballed quickly. He opened his mouth to her and feverishly slid his own tongue along hers. Cold hands found hers where they lay on either side of his face, then found her cheeks; squeezing them as he kissed up to her desperately with furious passion, breathing hard through his nose. She kneeled right up, pressing her body against his. She felt the cold shape of his flesh through her uniform as surely as he could feel the heat of hers. He grabbed at her behind and pulled her towards him, fumbling as he tried to scramble his way back up the wall, trying to – trying to do something... when he knocked her off balance and brought them both down, hard, with an almighty thud as they hit the floor.
Shepard, sent sprawling, smacked the mostly-full whiskey bottle with a flailing arm when she tried to brace herself against the fall. It went spinning across the deck plates, emptying its contents and clinking off surrounding objects. Shepard flinched when the sharp sound of glass hitting glass reverberated through the air, realising then that the bottle must have caught the shot glass as it fell and spun outwards or vice versa. She flinched again when she added to that the age of that particular item of Zaeed's belongings. Zaeed meanwhile scrambled to lift himself off of her, having momentarily landed face-first into her breasts and between her legs.
Oh crap I hope I haven't broken it...
Shepard strained, frantically trying spot the glass and its condition. Then she suddenly realised that... everything... had stopped. Zaeed froze. She froze. Hands either side of her chest on all fours he stayed like that, rock still and staring at her. The gold chain around his neck hung motionless above her as she met his gaze. More than anything he just looked shocked: genuinely lost for words. She wanted to laugh so hard at that (his face was a picture) and at the absurdity of it all, but she managed to (just about) merely smirk instead. She'd never seen such an expression on his face and with no small amount of mischievousness in the gleeful realisation that it was she who had put it there, bit her lip coyly and smiled. Oh... I enjoyed that. More than I've enjoyed anything in longer than I can remember...
"Shepard..." He began frowning, but couldn't seem to find any other words to follow that.
"I'm not hurt if that's what you're wondering." She raised an eyebrow as she propped herself up on both elbows and tried to look serious as her heartbeat settled back to a sensible pace. Part of her was finding this all rather hilarious, and the humour was hard to contain. The rest of her was convinced she was going stark raving mad. Yup. Crazy. Definitely crazy.
"What – on God's green Earth – was that..?" He blinked and frowned, eyes wide. The confused look on his face made it impossible to contain the grin she'd been holding back.
"Umn... Therapy?" She ventured sheepishly, and giggled as she did so. That raised his eyebrows and made him look even funnier. The whole situation was insane and yet somehow utterly comical at the same time. I am – I'm going completely crazy. I should call Chakwas: I need to be put on medication...
"You..." He began frowning slightly, the fuzziness from the alcohol he'd been imbibing evaporating in a flood of adrenaline. He pushed away from the floor and stood straight up and amazingly; didn't wobble. Shepard sighed then, getting herself up to face him likewise. Suddenly it was all-serious again, and a hell of a lot less fun. This isn't the Academy. He's not a toy, this isn't a game, and the poor man's got enough on his plate without you throwing yourself at him, idiot.
She stood with her arms behind her back and tried to recover her professionalism as she spoke: "I'm sorry if I overstepped the mark." She respectfully bowed her head with no small amount of guilt as she then tried to meet his eyes. Still her voice sounded sheepishly weak, and she had great trouble not looking away. She was sure her cheeks flushed with embarrassment, every inch of her skin felt like it was radiating heat. It took a lot to swallow that and look again, straight into his eyes.
"No..." He spoke to her softly at first, half-lidding his eyes with a slight shake of his head – still shaken but not angry, at least. His face wore a perplexed expression. "When a woman throws herself at me like – like I think you just did – I usually consider myself a lucky man. Rare for it to be over my mark. But..." He paused and tilted his head, "...why'd you do it?" His face ticked as he asked.
"Surprised?" She let go an agitated breath, "You're not the only one." Shepard put her hands on her hip as she stared down at the floor and shook her head. Yup. I am definitely going crazy. Alternatively: this is exactly why I do not get involved with romance.
"Shepard if you want somebody to screw your brains out there's a whole host of men and a few women through those doors I'm sure would be happy to oblige." He thumbed over his shoulder in the direction of the cargo bay door. "Blokes who haven't had half their face blown off n' aren't nine years your elder, for starters."
Shepard raised her face and stared at him blankly. She knew he was right, none of it made any sense but she had no excuses to fall back on, she knew she was here, she knew he'd caught her attention now and she knew for damned certain: it wasn't just going to go away.
Zaeed frowned at her with just a touch of suspicion when she said nothing. "Shepard What the hell do you want with an aging bounty hunter who's past his prime like ol' muggins 'ere?" He pointed to himself with a shrug then crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall. Shepard caught herself studying his tattoos, but quickly pulled her eyes up to focus on what he was saying: "If you were a whore I'd probably take the offer and pay you for it – that's a fair exchange in my eyes: money for a service. But you're no whore, Shepard. You don't seem the type to want for money either – not when the Illusive Man himself has failed to buy your allegiance." He shook his head. "So what's your game?"
Shepard sighed. Whores indeed. The man had an interesting slant on prostitution – she still couldn't quite believe this was someone she actually wanted anything to do with. Unfortunately his suspicion of her had made him all the more interesting to her – Shepard wasn't used to having to prove her intentions were good ones. Although clearly I need the practice... She thought, recalling how Ashley had been a light year from the level of trust Shepard thought she'd earned from the woman when she met her on Horizon. Still, being doubted was novel in this instance at least.
"Is it really that hard to think I could be interested in you?"
"What – you tellin' me you like my ugly mug? Hell yeah! Why didn't I notice that before?" He jested, with one eyebrow raised to emphasis the sarcasm. He does do sarcasm so much better than I do. He also has a point.
Shepard outright laughed: "Zaeed, even I don't really understand what changed." She smiled bashfully as she tried for an unusually direct approach: "Maybe it was just that I've never seen the side of you I've seen these past few days." She shrugged and looked him in the eye: "You're clearly not the man I thought you were, and I guess I must have seen something about you I like."
"Shepard you are absolutely the strangest woman I've ever met. I cause you a shed load of grief, you condemn my drinking habits and threaten to space me if I don't sort myself out, then the very next day you share a drink with me then kiss me so hard a teenage boy would've prematurely ejaculated before he even got his goddamned trousers off..."
Shepard gagged at that last part and felt yet more blood rush to her cheeks. She clasped her mouth, giving away her surprise. Zaeed chuckled as he watched her do this, as if he hadn't expected for her to be embarrassed over that. "Damn near blew my head off..." – He added for good measure, no doubt with double meaning intended and got another embarrassed smile from her. An awkward silence followed, until finally Shepard tried to change the subject.
"You know, you never answered my question last night." She looked him straight in the eyes, sober.
"Huh?" He shrugged his shoulders. "...'Bout what?"
She dipped her head a little as she held eye contact: "I asked you: what do you want?"
Zaeed took a deep breath, "I uh... Think I need a bit of time to figure that out. Right now all I can think about is that kiss..." He half-laughed, rubbing the back of his neck as he sighed an exhaustive sigh. "Look... Shepard – for crying out loud I'm old enough to be your father –"
Shepard quickly cut him off: "No you're not. That's actually physically impossible - there's only nine years difference. Besides my father was forty when I was born, so as I'm thirty two this year that makes you a good thirty one years too young to be my dad. He'd be seventy two this year – you're only forty one."
"Shepard..." He shook his head and scowled at her warped sense of logic on the matter. In the back of his head there was also a dull memory about a lie he'd gotten so used to reciting as truth he sometimes forgot it was a lie... The truth being that the records she'd have used to guess his age were about seven years out, thanks to a very large sum of money and the worry he once had that he might otherwise be considered too old to do the work he lived by. Not that he thought seven years would change her mind, given that last statement.
"I want to know what you want." She was stubborn to a fault. She stared at him expectantly - and I'm not giving an inch.
Zaeed huffed and shook his head. "..." He opened his mouth then clamped it shut. A certain degree of frailty touched his expression. He tried again to speak: "...If... Say I wanted this to go somewhere... If I wanted... you –" He shook his head and smirked as if saying those words somehow tickled, "– and after that kiss I'll be damned if I'm not thinkin' about it... How would we even go about it?"
Shepard considered the question, sucked her cheeks and then replied: "I'll cut you a deal. One: No more hiding in a bottle when you don't want to deal with something."
"Fair." He nodded, emotionless.
She raised two fingers: "Two: That bottle goes out the airlock in your place."
Zaeed sighed as he looked down at the bottle and its spilled contents then back to Shepard, but: "OK." he nodded, and didn't even flinch.
Three fingers: "And three: The rest of whatever else you have stashed away – here, off-ship and due in delivery – gets given to Gardener to share with the crew. Hopefully that might make up for you being such an ass to everyone lately and salve some feelings."
He growled a sigh. "Remind me again why I'm doing this?" He wasn't – as some might think – questioning the end of his addiction, she was damned sure of that. He wants another kiss, that's what... Cheeky bastard. She could see it in his face.
Shepard raised a brow but maintained a straight face. "Do all that and instead of being spaced before lunch today, you can drop by my quarters when you're through arranging it all."
"Right." He smirked at that with a glint in his eye. He wasn't about to ask what he'd get when he got there. She could tell he was more content to use his imagination about that.
Shepard momentarily lost her concentration and her cool in her surprise as she realised he'd agreed to all of that without so much as a hint of dispute or an "I'll have to think about this." His eyes told her what he wanted as his reward, making her nearly stutter as she added, trying to sound indifferent:
"You can keep the shot glass; I checked the date on it."
"Cheers." He stretched his jaw to one side and back. "Would be a pity to throw away an antique like that." Then his eyes shot her a deep, cold stare: But I'd do it if you asked – that stare seemed to say. The seriousness his eyes betrayed in that moment was mesmerising. She did her best to resist it.
"I'll give you until 20:00 h on Friday – you've got that long to get everything else sorted."
"Should be doable." He nodded and shrugged.
"So. Do we have a deal?" She raised her chin and an eyebrow.
"We have a deal." He nodded. Shepard nodded then turned to leave.
Zaeed raised an arm in her direction, not intending to touch, only to block her path. "Shepard..." He started, his face suddenly carrying a very solemn look. He sighed, looking down at the floor before raising his eyes to hers with a piercing stare. "I'm too old for games."
Shepard froze, then nodded calmly: "Agreed." Her instincts were clear enough. Then, adding with more vulnerability than she intended to let slip, she admitted more than she wanted to: "Me too." She swallowed hard.
His expression relaxed just enough for him to smile a little. "I guess I'll drop by your quarters once everything's sorted, then." It was a special smile – one she'd never seen before. It had just a flavouring of hope to it, and instantly she knew that she wanted it to be her smile... The one that only she got to see... She filed that image and accompanying thought away somewhere to be reviewed later. She nodded. Then, with a smile of her own in return... One probably as equally unseen by other people as the one he'd given her... He dropped the obstructing arm and she left.
