I apologize for the wait, work has been killing me.
Mass Effect belongs to Bioware.
The back door was thankfully unguarded, not that she could say the same about the rest of the exits in the building. There was something odd about the level of security, but she imagined it was to be expected with the kind of names that were on the guest list.
Regardless of security, she couldn't be here. Not with him.
Somehow, perhaps through divine intervention and careful, strategic sneaking—she had been—was—an infiltrator, after all—she managed to slip into a cab without anyone noticing. Quickly, she drove it off the lot, realizing she was probably the shittiest role model for driving intoxicated, and thanking advanced technology for AI-mediated steering. Eventually, she found herself in a bar on the lower part of the wards— the Archos— where the volus bartender understood the self-pity in her eyes well enough to offer her a few drinks on the house.
She sat, slumped over her seat, ignoring the inquisitive glances she was receiving from the patrons. She was dressed far too nicely to be sitting in a sleazy bar alone and miserable. Her only saving grace in all of this was that she hadn't cried, not once. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction. But god, she'd come close.
Liara had always turned her down on information about the other woman, insisting that it wasn't her place to say. Now she understood her reluctance—it was harder this way, knowing who it was sharing his bed, taking her place. Five years gouged out of her existence—she'd made her peace with that. Finding the Normandy under new management, she could understand; the Alliance had missions to fill. And her friends had lives to live, people and places to go back to.
But losing him…she wasn't prepared for that. Not like this. Not when it felt like only weeks since they'd had that final quiet moment to themselves before they marched towards certain death. Had he really forgotten all of that? Did he even realize how much he meant to her?
She drowned the drink she held between her palms, quick to blame the bitterness of the liquor for the way her eyes watered. She set down the glass with a heavy hand and glanced over her shoulder, at the turian that was staring at her with something short of amusement.
She hadn't even noticed him sitting next to her; she'd been too busy wallowing in her sorrows to observe anything past the glass in her hands. Still, through the daze of alcohol he wasn't bad looking, and maybe she didn't mind that he was looking at her.
Maybe she even needed the distraction.
Shepard noticed his eyes settling suggestively on the tightly drawn sash at her waist, and despite her better judgment, she straightened up on the seat for his benefit. His mandibles flared, and his eyes met hers.
"Buy you another?" he asked, resting an elbow on the countertop. He made a quick motion to the empty drink in front of her.
Shepard nodded, and he signaled the bartender for another round. He leaned closer as their drinks were being served, "So what's a woman like you doing in a place like this?"
Her eyes flickered to his, holding them for a moment before she turned back to her drink, "Enjoying the atmosphere," she said dryly.
"Doesn't look like you're enjoying much of anything," he noted, then with a grin, "someone I should know about?"
"I'd rather we skip the subject," she said, pleased that her replies were the right amount of coherent and casual. Maybe if she kept piling on the alcohol, she'd be downright apathetic.
"Oh?" now he really seemed curious, but thankfully, he knew to drop it. Instead, he opted to lean in closer, so that his face was inches from hers and the low tones in his voice seemed to hum evocatively against her eardrum, "Wanna get out of here?" he asked, his voice tinged with implications that weren't altogether reputable, "maybe I can help you forget about it."
He settled back on the stool, green eyes watching her. On any other night, she would have declined him, one night stands—interspecies or otherwise—didn't interest her. But tonight she was feeling impulsive, and this turian wanted her. More than she could say about Garrus.
"Something on your mind?" she asked suggestively, eyebrows lifting slightly to show she was interested.
He stood and smoothly guided her to her feet, placing a hand on the small of her back to steady her. He led her through the exit, though she noticed the searching glance he cast over his shoulder as they left.
"What's your name?" Shepard whispered, her voice oddly disjointed, though whether from the drinking or the compelling sensation of his body moving against hers, she couldn't say. His mouth was pressed on the curve of her neck and his mandibles tickled against her jaw as he replied with a stirring tone, "Doesn't matter." He gripped her hips unceremoniously and pinned her against the wall, her head tilting back as she gasped in surprise.
She only faintly registered that they were on an elevator, their destination becoming increasingly irrelevant with the pace of his tongue against her skin, his fingers stroking the curve of her back as he ground against her at a dizzying pace. She had enough sense to know how to return his advances—her hands reached up and began to stroke the leathery flesh beneath his fringe, eliciting a pleasured growl that reverberated from his chest. She shuddered with mixed excitement as she felt his teeth ghosting over her skin.
"Do you like this?" he growled, his breath hot against her exposed neck, fingers curling around her hair.
"Yes," she breathed, absorbed in the feeling of his slender body against hers. He withdrew slightly with pronounced hesitation, facing her. "You certainly are a very interesting woman, Commander." She could not deny the predatory glint in his eyes as they met hers.
"You know who I am?" she asked with mild interest. He gave her a look of amusement that was almost unsettling. "You really don't know anything, do you?" His voice was laced with something indistinguishable that she distrusted immediately, "I'm disappointed, Shepard, that you let your guard down so easily. It's almost like you want to be captured. Do you realize how much you're worth?"
"A word, Vakarian," Sparatus said, drawing him away from the Primarch's niece. The concern in the councilor's voice was unmistakable.
Garrus regarded him with inquiry, "What has happened, Councilor?"
"Nothing," he said, casting a glance at the guards stationed by the doors, they seemed unaffected by anything. "At least, not yet," he gave a sort of indicative glance at Garrus, "you know Shepard best, Vakarian, if she would want to leave this place without alerting the guards, could she do it?"
Garrus felt the blood rush from his veins, "Yes," he answered, realizing what he was getting at, "don't tell me she…"
"Perhaps she hasn't," the Councilor said quickly, "but in case she has, it is best to alert C-sec."
"This is my own fault," he growled, desperately scouring the crowds as he moved towards the stationed officers, "I should have warned her."
