Chapter 9

Somewhere between the elevator and the cabin door, their movements had slowed, turned tentative and unsure. Garrus paused a moment, pressing his forehead to hers, before she reached behind her to unlock the door. Her eyes never left his as she led him over the threshold, taking slow and careful backward steps. She reached up, wordless, as the door whisked shut behind him, and he guided her hands over the clasps of his armor, letting it fall away like pride from a penitent.

Shepard brushed curious, gentle fingers over his skin, sending nervous jolts through his body. Her eyes were liquid in the light, her mouth solemn. He shivered and pulled her closer, burying his face in her unbound hair. The elusive scent of the Earth flower he remembered from the observation deck lingered in the air around her. The rippling light of the empty tank cascaded strangely over interlocked plates and skin. He could feel her heart racing in the silence.

She glanced up, her eyes a blue-lit gleam through dark eyelashes, before pressing her lips to his chest, imprinting a soft kiss on his bare skin. He caught her up in his arms as they reached the steps, carrying her the last few feet to the bed. Shepard moved to the pulse under his jaw, trailing fingers of fire through his veins.

She reached up as he laid her down, pulling him with her. He caught himself before falling on her, the sweet, inviting smile on her lips making his heart stutter. The sheets twisted and clenched under the hand he used to brace himself. Garrus held her eyes a long moment, talons on the zipper of her high-necked uniform. His lungs were suddenly airless.

"You don't have to ask for permission, Garrus." Shepard traced the left side of his face, freeing his visor and gently setting it on the nightstand before her hand returned to his cheek. Despite the trail of armor by the door, it was only now that he felt truly naked.

Her eyes were a clear light in the darkness. "I trust you."

The hint of a smile flitted over his face. Hard blue eyes softened in the semi-darkness. "I know." He pulled the zipper down past her navel in one long, smooth motion. Her head was thrown back, her eyes half-closed as she bared her throat to him. Her quiet sigh hung in the air above them as his mouth grazed her neck. He wasn't sure whether he was grateful or intimidated by her blind faith.

Pale skin gleamed under the starlight, baring a delicate vee of flesh, and he traced a careful line over her abdomen, between the valley of her breasts, her collarbone, before she lifted her chin for a kiss.

The turian bent down, feeling her hands glide over his waist, his chest, before slipping to his back and pulling him closer, separated only by heat and physics. Her soft inhale echoed in the silence of the loft, and he felt her nails pierce him before he broke away. He didn't care; he was with Shepard, and he would take the bitter with the sweet. Musk and perfume mingled like incense between them. He looked down the scant inches into her face.

Her eyes were feverishly bright, her lips parted and soft. Reverence. That was the only word he could use for the emotion that illuminated her face. He brushed a thumb over Shepard's cheekbone, and she leaned into the caress, a pink flush creeping over her skin. Her body shifted subtly under him, a silent request echoed in blue eyes.

Carefully, his hands swept the fabric from her shoulders, before she twisted underneath him, freeing her arms before guiding his hands to her hips. Soft cloth whispered over warm skin, parted, fell, forgotten.

At last she lay on the sheets, completely nude in the moonlight. Her supple body melded to his hard planes and their fingers locked above her head. Longing suffused her face and he was caught between the primal violence bred in the bone of his kind, and long-unspoken tenderness. He suddenly remembered the sight of her on Omega, when he removed his helmet, a streak of gunpowder on her cheek and radiant with joy. The moment in which she ceased to be a ghost.

Had it been then when he first let himself acknowledge it?

What an idiot he had been.

She felt almost delicate beneath him. Her face floated in the dark cloud of her hair; his eyes were intent in the shadowed darkness.

They paused on the brink, not for doubt, but for time. Time, which would swiftly and inevitably take this stolen hour from them. She laid her cheek against his, breathing deeply, immersing herself in a single moment. He memorized her shape in his arms.

He felt her heartbeat through his chest, her shallow breathing against his ribs, the soft meeting and parting of skin. He paused one last fragile time, fighting instinct and desire in the face of her vulnerability. Garrus hovered over her, eyes sober on her face. "Shepard, I don't want to hurt you." She freed a hand as he continued softly, urgently, "let me know if-"

Shepard laid her fingers over his mouth, stopping his words. Gently, she stroked his face. Her eyes burned steadily. "You won't."

He nodded almost imperceptibly, before her mouth met his and their bodies pressed close.

ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME

He woke in darkness, reaching out unthinkingly.

She wasn't there. Garrus closed his eyes, falling back to the mattress as reality flooded his senses, followed closely by those ugly sisters, guilt, anger and fear. The battery was quiet but for the low hum of the ship. He slipped from the bed, dressed in silence, and left.

The third deck was nearly deserted, one straggler hunched over coffee at the mess table. In the kitchen area, Rupert was silent and methodical. He flicked a glance at Garrus beneath his eyelids, but said nothing. The turian left him alone, the elevator door sliding shut like a casket lid.

Crap, how he hated elevators.

He blinked in the bright light of the CIC. The galaxy map swirled serenely in space, untroubled. Long arms trailed and fluttered amid a pearly glow, moving with surety, order and grace.

It struck him as a truly inaccurate portrait.

Joker seemed to share his grim mood. There were no sardonic quips as Garrus slid into an empty seat in the cockpit. The coffee at his elbow was untouched, cold under the pre-dawn light. Miranda sipped from her own determinedly, black and bitter, not at all her usual. There were shadows under her eyes. She nodded as he sat down.

"We're almost into dock. Dr. T'Soni will be waiting for us."

He met her eyes briefly before turning back to the faint skyline. Color was beginning to bleed into the city, rose and violet and gold, sound to trickle through the morning, though aboard the Normandy there was only the hum of the engine. Cars moved like well-organized swarms of bees in the stirring city. Somewhere down below, arguments and worries and passions were breaking like dawn into the waking minds of Illium.

He closed his eyes and leaned back, waiting.

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She had not slept in – God, she didn't know. Time, as Jack had once told her, slipped away from you in a cell. At irregular intervals, someone would come disturb her. Sinking back into meditation was out of the question. Her eyes would be about to close, and a crash would echo through the closed door, or the remaining asari would douse her with ice-water, blind her with an overpowering light in her eyes. The rest of the time it was dark and cold and silent.

Small things, all, but done over and over, hour after hour, time out of mind, until they became unpleasant little monotonies . . . Her nerves were on hair-trigger, the ice a constant hum of low pain in her agitated state.

He was breaking her, she knew, or at least her concentration. He must have gotten something from Schroder – she's pleased she could at least reason that out. It was getting hard to think. At some point, Chek had come in and shackled her to the wall. It's uncomfortable. Her clothing was damp and cold from the asari's latest ministrations, her arms numb where they were restrained above her head. She was fairly certain that her shoulders were still in the proper sockets, but it was impossible to be sure.

This one might be up to her crew. Pray she can hold on until then. Her stomach clenched, and she wondered where in the vastness of the galaxy they were, Joker and Miranda and Tali and Chakwas. And Garrus. Garrus most of all.

Her eyelids began to fall again. Her vision blurred constantly and her head was swimming. The ventilation system coughed to life, a brush of icy air against her cheek. She clenched her teeth to keep them from chattering in the slight chill. The wall was cold against her back, hardly an improvement over her soaked uniform. A tremor went through her, and then another. Shepard wasn't sure whether it was hypothermia or hunger – she couldn't remember the last time she'd eaten either. Her lips were cold.

Was this why she had been brought back from the dead?

Her head began to drop.

The door hissed open and she flinched against the sudden light. It hurt her eyes, after so long. Shepard blinked at the dancing afterimages it left, before looking up at her visitor.

Impotent, tired anger filled her at the now-familiar feeling of a syringe sliding into her skin, the slightly unpleasant sensation of the drug percolating through her body.

"You could have just shot her."

Shepard looked up in surprise. The asari's face was tight, her eyes alive with hatred. Her armor covered the gunshot wounds, but the commando still moved stiffly.

"Your mate?"

White streaks contorted on a dark field. "No one deserves to die like that. It was inhumane."

"I didn't mean for it to happen." Shepard met the asari's eyes squarely, battling exhaustion and guilt. The image of the dead asari's last moments – contorted and screaming – reached for her. She shivered again. "I won't lie, I would have killed her . . . but not like that. I don't torture people."

"I don't want your excuses."

Lack of sleep was making her mind wander. "I don't want to die on an alien dissecting table." She laughed, a breath from hysteria. "Looks like we both get it anyways." Her head fell.

A hard hand yanked her back up by the hair. "Believe me, if it were up to me, you wouldn't have to worry about that. I'd kill you right here." She glanced at her hand, wrapped around the unraveling coil of Shepard's hair.

The commander froze at the bite of cold metal at her throat. "But I saw what happened to Tolor and Arak. Chek might have my head if I killed you. He may even be able to kill me, if he put his mind to it." The knife moved over her skin thoughtfully. "I don't really care to test him that far." The woman pursed her lips, tapping the blade against Shepard's throat. She hadn't broken the skin – yet. "He might get pissy if I scar you . . . Goddess knows why – it's not like we're getting paid to deliver your lovely face."

The asari's hand moved and pain tore through Shepard's scalp. The woman held a wealth of dark hair in her hand, black over indigo. "But I don't think this will bother him."

Her head felt suddenly light. She closed her eyes and tried to deny it.

Please, no.

Perhaps only another woman would have understood. Or one who had spent time in an internment camp. It was a way of dehumanizing the victim, debasement and humiliation. Krogan cut the crest, turians snapped the fringe or mandibles. It reduced the victim, took their identity and their pride.

Perhaps that had been why the asari had done it. It seemed so small in the face of everything else, and yet the small things were the ones that people clung to.

It felt like disfigurement. Short, uneven tendrils fell around her face, whispering over her shoulders before falling like leaves to the floor. The asari continued to work, scything until only scant inches remained to her.

She remembered Garrus running his hands through her hair, remembered the way she used to love it loose and windswept on shore leave, the comforting ritual of mirror and comb. Shepard stared blankly as the asari opened her hand and let the shadowy locks slip through her fingers.

"I suppose it was a vanity of yours, Shepard." she said quietly. "But you won't need vanity where you're going."

"Aleris?"

The woman jumped. Shepard closed her eyes and let her head hang. She knew that voice. She just hoped he'd tell the asari to go away so she can sleep. "Did you dose her?"

"Yes, Chek." The woman was subdued now, the fire in her eyes smothered. Sated spite and her commanding officer seemed to bring her back to her senses.

His voice was silky. "Then why are you still here?"

Quick steps receding. The door stayed open, and Shepard felt a hand go under her chin, lifting her head. She opened her eyes and set her jaw. Goddamn, she was tired and half-dead and hurting, but she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of showing it. She ignored the shorn locks at her feet, staring determinedly into golden, hawk-like eyes. Their hard iridescence reminded her of tiger's-eye.

"You're not half-broken yet, are you Shepard?" A tinge of admiration colored his voice. "You just can't help making enemies among my crew." He touched the shorn locks that grazed her temple lightly. His eyes lingered for a moment on the ragged cut that framed her face. "A shame."

Her nerves whispered uneasily. She gave him a hard smile. "I never did get along with gutter scum."

"Really?" He turned her head to one side, than the other. She offered no resistance. Shepard knew what he was looking for.

He inspected her neck, first one side, then the other, found nothing. She had had her Red tattoos removed at the first opportunity. "Given your past, I'm surprised."

Shepard let the jibe roll over her. "Says the barefaced turian. How much lon-" She gasped as his hand moved from her chin to her throat. Christ, he's strong. You just don't know when to shut up, do you, Shepard?

"I admire your insolence, Shepard – to a point." His talons tightened around protesting muscle and cartilage, and she tried to jerk her head away. Her trapped arms were useless. "After which it becomes an irritance."

Shepard could hardly hear him. Her eyes rolled back and suddenly she was years away, in an abandoned building, with the smell of bootlegger vodka and metal shavings in her lungs and another man's hands wrapped around her throat.

Picks held her down, the rough concrete floor nicking at her skin through worn clothes. "You've got something of an attitude problem, sweetheart."

She scrabbled for purchase with her legs, but he outweighed her by a good forty pounds. The sounds of the street filtered into the empty warehouse – sirens, shouting, revving engines, the occasional gunshot. The feel of him on her midsection made her stomach churn. She can't breathe. "We can't have the kiddies thinking they can call the shots."

Brownout had gripped the city again tonight. She could see the stars through the grimy skylights above, distant eyes in an infinite face. A shuttle crossed the night sky serenely, stars glimmering in and out of its passage, blinking like the eyes of Argus.

How she wished she were there instead.

Her hands darted for his eyes, consumed with the instinct to fight and flee. She scored a red line on his cheek before he slammed her head into the ground. She bit her tongue and tasted blood, an echo of the rusty metal smell that lingered around Picks. Bursts of color popped in and out of her vision.

His face was almost friendly. He always enjoyed handing out lessons. "After this, you fucking jump when we tell you to."

"Let go."

"Excuse me?"

Her eyes flew open again. Her heart was pounding, and the ice shrieked through her veins. Her body twitched and shivered reflexively under its influence. The pain was blinding, but it couldn't mask the terror in her eyes. Her face was wet with mingled sweat and tears, and she wavered on the edge of consciousness. Sleep deprivation, starvation, hypothermia, torture. How much more could she endure? Damn Cerberus's eidetic memory.

She blinked through a veil of mist and pain. The turian's face was unreadable.

"Begging doesn't suit you, Shepard." Was it her, or did he sound disappointed? "Giving up already?"

Shepard thrust the fear back into the deep recesses of her mind, where it hovered like a shark in deep water. She took one deep breath, then another, chest rising and falling sharply. She'd always excelled under confrontation. "No," she replied, a smile coming in spite of her. "I just have to wait until the Normandy gets here."

ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME

"Are you close to the rendezvous point?"

"About halfway there. We've been sticking to patrolled trade routes – slower, but less conspicuous and less likely that we'll be boarded."

"You ought to change ships. The Normandy managed to salvage a few minutes worth of footage on the Citadel."

"I warned Schroder about the AI. How much did they get?"

"Not enough to pick you out of a line-up themselves, but enough for someone at the docks to make an identification. Change ships, and tell Schroder that the next time he screws up, I'll stick him in the most remote backwater facility we have."

The fiasco with Tolor lingered in his mind. Damn Schroder – he should have come to him first. "If it comes to that, I'll space him myself."

"Don't be excessive, Chek. One more thing – Liara T'Soni met with the Normandy's crew this morning. She's joined them."

The turian paused. "Why did you not mention this to me at the beginning of this meeting?" His talons clenched behind his back and he could feel a headache starting behind his eyes. Tolor, Schroder, Aleris, now T'Soni. Shepard was a dangerous commodity. He needed to conclude this mission quickly.

He flashed back to her in the brig, half-dead and clinging to defiance. Her face, still striking despite Aleris's work, cheekbones bared and full mouth set in a line of anger. Her eyes were the blue-gray of desert shadows, and as cool. The idea of her being cut open by insectoid aliens is almost distasteful. The only other person on the ship that he could admire.

The Shadow Broker was waiting. Chek caught a flicker of what looked like amusement in his eyes. His gut told him something was off – the Broker both despised and feared the asari scientist. "And yet I thought you bought T'Soni off. You don't seem terribly upset by her about-face."

The Broker laughed. "Liara T'Soni hasn't betrayed me. She's my fucking plant."

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Even at this hour, Nos Astra was a hive of activity. The Normandy's crew watched the milling crowd of people from a quieter section of the docks. Miranda sat in a hard bench, legs crossed, and tapped her fingers against the armrest in agitation. Her right foot jogged up and down.

"Miranda," Tali whispered in a strained undertone. "Will you please stop that? You're shaking the bench."

The woman blinked in surprise, snapping out of her reverie. Her expression was a distillation of contrition and consternation. "Sorry." She stilled.

Garrus leaned against the wall next to the two women. Unlike his companions, he seemed utterly composed, coolly scanning the crowd, his face giving nothing away. His mask rarely slipped, a tightening of the jaw, a slight flare of his mandibles, an occasional flicker of impatience and concern in his eyes. Muffled advertisements drifted from the trading floor.

"She's late," Miranda said flatly. "Do you think she's been detained?"

"After the incident with her assistant, I imagine the Broker is keeping a hands-off policy," Tali commented.

"I'd like to believe you."

A flash of pale blue caught the turian's eyes. Dark brows over greenish eyes set the asari apart from her compatriots. It was Liara . . . but a decidedly different woman than their naïve scientist or jaded information broker.

The dark armor she wore was a clashing contradiction to the small briefcase she carried. Her confidence was not. She moved with the kind of assurance that spelled destruction for any obstacle in her way. Her face was grim.

Liara returned Tali's quick embrace absentmindedly. "I'm sorry to have kept you waiting. I had to lose some rather persistent tails." She shook Miranda's extended hand briskly. "Ms. Lawson, despite the circumstances, it's nice to see you again." She turned to Garrus.

"Nice get-up," he offered.

A smile teased the corners of her mouth.

Miranda took point, keying in the Normandy's access code. "Clock's ticking. Let's not wait around." The airlock hissed open, florescent lights flat and bright.

Liara cast one look behind her, a dark weight in her eyes. An almost inaudible sigh broke from her. "Indeed not."


A/N: Thanks to all of you guys who have been reviewing. I always love hearing from you!