Bioware owns the characters and everything else you can find in the Mass Effect Wiki. Calinstel owns 99.5% of the ideas behind the Quarians that I'm using. The rest is mine.

I haven't put out the new chapter for my other story yet, but I will, I promise. It should be concurrent with my next chapter.

This started out as a full chapter, but the idea ran away on me, starting growing, and turned into a monster. So quickly did this story spread that I had an opportunity to give you an early release of sorts. I hope this story finds you well. Read it slowly; it gets rough in some parts.

Chapter 10: Snuff

Tali's hand grasped at a pair of flexible handles and lifted, removing the weight of the cumbersome tool-bag from both its carrying strap and her shoulders. Carefully, and using a swinging motion, she set the bag on the deck next to her tool box. She activated her omni-tool, illuminating her large but sparsely appointed cabin, and keyed the unlocking sequence for the box's drawers. Opening the top one, she knelt down next to her dull-blue bag and removed a multi-meter of volus manufacture. That's odd, I didn't use this today. Actually, I haven't used this thing since I was back on the Fleet.

She put the tool in the drawer and pulled out another. She recognized it immediately, a pair of pliers designed for removing the snap-rings that retained eezo injectors, but only of the type found on late-model turian vessels. The Normandy used that type, of course, having been a conglomerate of both Alliance and Hierarchy tech. But that was the SR1. Cerberus had built the new one to entirely human specifications. Now, why did I take this with me?

Completely baffled, she began sifting through the bag, searching for something, anything, that she had actually used that day. She found dozens of ancient quarian tools, a few asari tools, batarian ones, even a set of old deuterium line couplers for the odd hanar vessel. Her movements started becoming more frantic as she searched. Becoming terrified with the absurdity of it all, she heedlessly tossed the instruments about her room as she pulled them from her bag, each a piece of prized equipment accumulated through years of hard work. The tools soaring in all directions, they hit her padded walls with a dull thud before clattering to the ground.

Her face and mask soaked with tears of confusion, she reached the bottom of the bag without having discovered even a hint of what she sought. In a rage of disbelief, she got to her feet, digging through the remaining tools in her box, yanking open each heavy drawer, sifting through their contents, and hurling away what she found. By the time she reached the lower-most drawers, she began ripping them out with screams and grunts, each drawer as wide as she was tall and half as deep. Tearing them clean off the box and tossing them to them across her room, she scattered their contents like seeds on a field.

She dropped to hands and knees, sobbing and sorting through the accumulated tools, piles and piles, half a dozen centimeters deep in places. As she searched, it seemed that more and more engineering paraphernalia accumulated about her. It felt like no sooner than she would pick up one to examine it, three more would take its place on the floor. Ancestors, what the hell is going on here? Keelah, there has to be something human! What was I working on the Normandy with?

Then it hit her. The bag! I just got done working on the her number three engine and I had the bag with me. But I just searched it, didn't I?

She scrambled across her room, kicking aside the discarded apparatus as she went, displaying careless disregard for expensive property and toes alike. Coming to a halt at the base of her box, she picked up lightweight bad and shook it. Empty. Crying and catching a howl of rage behind clenched teeth, she made a last-ditch attempt at regaining her sanity. Turning the bag over and shaking it vehemently, her breathing stopped as something small and shiny hit the ground accompanied by the sound of shattering glass.

Praying that the object was human, that is, had been designed by humans or at the very least intended for use on human equipment, she bent down to examine what last little prize the bag had finally been willing to release.

The object had not survived the fall. In her carelessness and haste, she had shaken the bag too hard and splintered the delicate item into hundreds of small pieces, some of which were still rolling away as she watched. Acting quickly lest she lose more, she gathered up what bits and pieces she could find and held them in the palm of her hand. No longer in danger of further destruction, but still broken forever, she examined the object, hope burgeoning in her with every passing second.

Yes, this was definitely of human manufacture. She sorted through the pieces with a finger; there were various gears, a few screws, a hinge, some shattered pieces of glass, and a dial face among other identifiable parts. Clearly it was a meter of some kind, designed for measuring something. A dial face... With human numbers... Pressure? Nowhere to hook up a sampling tube. Current or voltage? No wires anywhere. Time?

"Yes!" she screamed. John's watch! Why the fre'eg didn't I recognize it before? Didn't I melt this thing down? Did I ever get around to doing that?

Confused, she rubbed her left thumb over its index finger. Lacking the tell-tale lump of her wedding ring and starting to panic, she pressed harder into her finger, wondering if somehow it had sunk into her skin. When that failed, she brought the hand to her sternum, pressing in hard and wincing. The pain was still there... But no ring. Empty. Nothing.

She pressed harder, and harder still, falling to her knees and crying. The acute sting only intensified with more force, but still she kept at it. "Please be there..." she begged between uneven breaths, stricken and moaning with grief, "Please... Ancestors, Please!" She collapsed forward, her mask clanging as her head struck the ground, "Why aren't you there?!"

Screaming until breathless and hoarse, a fire in her throat, she continued to press and rub, feeling her worn and beaten skin breaking open with the aggressive contact. Warm, wet fluid flowed between and around her breasts, turning cold as it soaked the inside of her suit. Finally, when it became too much to bear, she relented with a hideous wail. The pain was still there, at least, and could bring her some small comfort, a reminder that she hadn't entirely lost her mind.

A disgusting mix of tears, saliva, and mucus coating her face and the inside of her mask, all while laying prostrate on the floor, the image reminded her of a time on the fleet before John had returned. She had been so alone aboard the Neema, but not here. She began to wonder why none of the crew or the ground team, why neither Jane nor John, had come to check on her. She'd been yelling at the top of her lungs, but no one had bothered. She almost didn't want John here, she realized. She would have to explain to him what all the fuss was about, that she'd lost his ring.

Ten more minutes passed and no one arrived, although it could have been ten seconds or ten hours or ten days for all she knew. She absentmindedly looked about the room, wondering how she could possibly have found herself so alone in the galaxy once again. Of course they couldn't hear me, she thought with relief, my walls are padded with sound proofing insulation. Still, I was pretty loud...

Before the thought could completely coalesce in her mind, her omni-tool chimed. Activating it, she felt relieved to hear her aunt's voice.

"Tali, child, I heard all the commotion. Can I come in?" she asked.

"Of course, Auntie, I'll be right there," she replied, taking a moment to collect herself before approaching the doorway. Flinging the thick curtain aside, her fear of abandonment all but disappeared at the sight of her aunt Shala. Relief transitioned to annoyance and no small measure of trepidation as the older woman stepped into her room and revealed the imposing figure of Rael'Zorah.

"Hello, Father," she said in quiet monotone as he joined her aunt in the room, "It is good to see you."

"I wish I could say the same, Tali," he replied, "What's been going on here? What's all this noise about? The insulation isn't perfect, but it's the best we can do for you without drawing unwanted attention to the clan. You don't want that, now do you?"

"No, father, I do not," she mumbled, her head low in shame, her fingers starting to interlace, "I am sorry."

"Stop doing that, girl!" he yelled. Tali's hands flew apart, coming to rest at her sides. "How many times have I told you not to do that?! It makes you look weak... Not becoming of a Zorah."

"Of course, father," she said softly, "It won't happen-"

"Speak up, girl!" he yelled, he hands balling into fists and relaxing, "How do you expect anyone to take you seriously when you mumble?"

"Rael," interjected Shala before Tali could respond, "Don't be so hard on the child! Today is her big day. You should be praising her for what she's done for the fleet."

"Yes, Shala, you're right," he admitted, his posture changing from irate to formal indifference. "Your willingness to provide for the interests of the Fleet has been noted. You've earned praise in the eyes of your people. Now, you never bothered to answer my question did you? You thought I hadn't noticed."

"What was the question, Father?" she asked.

"Do not play dumb, girl." He began pacing about the room, picking up the odd tool, examining it and tossing back on the ground in disgust, "Zorahs are not dumb. You heard me and I will not repeat myself."

Tali hated when he played these games. She honestly couldn't remember what he'd asked, or if he had even asked anything at all. Half the time she thought he just made things up. It came to her as she recalled his entrance.

"I was... Just upset about losing something, is all," she replied in annoyance.

"Some thing or some one?" he asked, "If this is about that vile human commander of yours again, we're going to postpone today's festivities and I'll have you remanded to the custody of the Neema's psychiatrists for the next month or until they figure out what's wrong with you, clan name be damned."

"Father, what about John? Where is he?" Her voice trembled, a hand going to her vocalizer, shreds of memory creeping into her mind. "What happened to him?"

"You speak out of turn, girl." He examined his fingers as he spoke, "You killed him, remember?"

"No! No, no no..." She shook her head in disbelief. "He's fine! I just saw him. We were together in his room. Or on a mission. I can't remember which." Why am I having such a hard time remembering when I last saw him? Maybe it was in the mess hall this morning? Or was it in an escape pod when I tried to grab for him?

"No child," said Shala, moving to embrace the young woman, pain in her eyes, "I'm so sorry, but John's been dead for months. And you... did kill him. You put the family dirk through his chest." The older woman held her tight, "I'm sorry to have to keep reminding you like this. It tears me apart inside every time."

"No! Auntie, why would you say that?" She hook her head, too shocked at her aunt's own misinformation to be upset. Surely, she didn't intend this as a sick attempt at a cruel joke, but how could her aunt have been so wrong? She did remember John dying though. "I mean I know John did join the Ancestors over Alchera, but that was two years ago, and he's back now. They brought him back to me!"

"Yes child," her aunt said, rubbing her back, compassion in her eyes, "That is true... And it did happen two years ago. But he died again very recently, by your hand, I'm sorry to say. Please try to remember," the woman's voice cracked, "I know it's painful... but please understand what the doctor said. It's not good to try and repress these kinds of traumatic experiences."

Tali began to remember what happened. In an instant she was taken back to that night.

...

She sat on the edge of the bed she shared with her human, saddling up next to him at his urging. It was there, next to him, that she came to terms with her relationship. It was a lie, a gorgeous, wonderful lie without a doubt, and one she could toil under no longer. There was only one way out, only one way to finally end it. She climbed up on top of him, arms and legs acting in sensuous accord, feeling his radiated warmth underneath her for the last time. She sat on his hips, legs on either side of his torso, her knees tucked under his armpits. Looking down at him, seeing his handsome smile and bright blue eyes, she began to weep behind her mask. She closed his eyes with a finger, one at a time. Slowly, her hand moved to her dagger, unsheathing it. Tears fell harder as she gradually brought the weapon up and over her head. With her free hand, she tenderly stroked her lover's cheek, enjoying the sensation for the last time. He looked as beautiful and perfect as ever, smiling up at her with utter adoration. The poor thing just didn't know, had no understanding or concept of what she was about to.

Tali smiled back, a sorrowful smile, gently whispering her last words to him, "Sleep my love. It all will be over soon. I will make it quick."

She drove the weapon through the center of his chest, a loud dull thump echoing though the room as hilt met cartilage.

...

Her eyes glazing over, she found herself back in her old room, staring at a wall.

"I'm afraid she's too far gone, Shala," said Rael, holding out a hand to indicate his apparently catatonic daughter, "Her mind is gone, or going. She's lost her grip on reality." He sighed loudly for effect, "She'll never be the same again, will she? Do you think we can just move ahead with the award ceremony anyway? I'd hate to disappoint the entire Fleet."

"I don't know. I think it's a possibility, yes," admitted the woman, "but it might be touch-and-go for-"

"I can do it," interrupted Tali, holding Shala by the arms, pleading with her eyes, "I mean I remember. I remember everything that happened, what I did to him. What I had to do." She sighed to herself. It still ached to think about, a lingering pain somehow long forgotten. "And now I have to do this."

"That's the spirit, Tali," said Rael, placing a hand on her shoulder, "You're doing the right thing. Shall we?" he asked rhetorically.

She gave a resigned nod, never taking her eyes off the floor.

Her father's grasp tightened on her shoulder as he led her from the room, Shala falling into step behind them. They marched through the throngs of her fellow quarians, each seeming to have kind words to say to her, though they all sounded indistinct to her ears, dead to the world as she was. A few passerby went to far as to pat her on the back or hold out a hand to greet her, bold attempts at congratulations, signifying an achievement of serious import. She dutifully ignored them all with a cold indifference.

As the three of them walked to their destination, the crowds of her fellow quarians became louder, perversely aiding her in taking her mind off the task at hand. The Neema's lighting slowly graduated from dim and sparse to bright and warm. They continued onward and the vegetation growing freely aboard the ship intersected her path at more frequent intervals, becoming denser and less well-maintained. Everything around her continued to change as she traveled from one side of the ship to the other; even her suit seemed lighter and less confining.

Things had become so altered that it almost seemed as if she had walked aboard a different ship, if she was indeed still on a ship at all. What's going on here? Nothing's right! Keelah, am I a complete lunatic now?

The vegetation became thicker still, covering the walkway completely. The sounds of the crowd still assaulted her ears, but from off in the distance, growing louder as they neared the ceremony. The foliage beneath her feet resolved into a dirt path as the forest neared a clearing. Beyond the clearing, the path became demonstrably wider and had been paved in smooth stone. At least the entire compliment of the ship, maybe more, lined the road, all uproarious in their cheers.

She tried to mute the noise and shut them out as she walked between the multitude, but she found her omni-tool missing. Worse, so was the glove on her hand. Without a thought for the suit-breach or the ailments that would soon follow, instead wanting, needing, to shut out the incessant chorus of her people, she slapped her hands to her helmet, in an effort to manually undermine her audio pick-ups. Surprise and panic gripped her when bare hands met pointy, bejeweled ears. That's it, I'm as crazy as a bosh'tet aren't I?

Looking to Shala for an explanation, she was struck to see her face for the first time in her adult life, the woman looking exactly as she had so many years ago. She smiled at her, one which Tali returned. Strangely, she was left with the sense that everything would be just fine.

She glanced to her father, wondering what he would look like without his mask, but only a faceless blur greeted her. The crowds, were the same as he; each one's face an amalgam of indistinct features that wouldn't materialize no matter how hard she squinted.

"Auntie, what's going on? Where's my suit? My mask? The ship?" she asked, confused, but far less concerned than she felt she ought to feel.

Shala closed her eyes, slowly shaking her downcast head, strands of jet black hair falling over her face. When she opened them again, she looked to Rael, a tear falling down a pale-blue cheek. "She's really gone, isn't she? Half her spirit is already with the Gods, and her mind has broken as a result." She would have said more, but became too choked up to try.

"Yes, Shala, it seems that way, doesn't it?" he confirmed, "Doing what she did... This is the result. Girl, I know your mind has not gone that far. Your canoe is at the family long-house. You haven't stepped aboard it in weeks. If by 'suit' you mean your selmaas, then you're wearing it, girl. As for the mask, I have no idea what you mean. If you're feeling exposed, you may pull your scarf over your face and head, but it's hardly advisable at a time like this. The people want to see you. Be proud."

Shala looked indisputably distraught with Tali's condition. "Rael, are you absolutely sure she should be doing this? She's hardly in her right mind." She asked, a few more tears joining the first. She turned to Tali, stopping the girl's march to the temple with a firm tug at her shoulder. "Tali, is this what you really want?"

"Of course it's what she wants!" shouted Rael, pulling the girl from her aunt and dragging her on, "I sacrificed for the good of the clan and so did she. Now she has nothing left to do but to give more. What else can she do? Stay in her hut, a gibbering wreck? Her condition is her own doing and I will not feel any sympathy for what she brought upon herself" He continued onward to the temple steps, sometimes dragging, sometimes guiding her, the crowd filling in around her.

"I... I need to do this Auntie," said Tali. Yes, she remembered now. "It's okay. I will not be a hrarxa any longer." At those words, Shala let out a quick sob. Followed by her aunt and father, she ascended the steps slowly, with each one the altar at the top drew nearer.

Only a few moon-cycles ago, Clan Zorah had sent out envoys to far away lands, demanding tribute in the form of trading goods and dozens of quarian sacrifices from every other clan they met, all under threat of death, destruction, and pillaging. Tali had been there. She remembered it all now.

...

It was a warm summer morning when she left her city-state. Sent by her father, a powerful chieftain and warlord, she hoped to return with riches and glory for her people. She had heard rumors of a newly discovered clan, one found at the farthest reaches of the horizon, and traveled for months until she could make contact with one of their representatives.

Upon hearing her demands and not wishing to risk an all out war, even one that they might win, the foreign clan made an offer of comprise. They would offer no goods, no women, and no children. Instead, a single champion named John'Shepard would willingly sacrifice himself to the gods in the name of her people and for the benefit of both clans.

She had scoffed at the suggestion, incapable of believing that a single man could equal the value of all the other potential sacrifices combined in the eyes of the Gods. He had proved her wrong, however. During the negotiations and deliberations, word traveled that one of clan Shepard's family-groups had been attacked where they lived on the outskirts of the ogwer. The description of the aggressors matched that of her clan Zorah's oldest foe, a splinter group that had left her city-state in centuries past. In response to the horde opposed to them, the Shepard clan sent only a single man to deal with the threat, their champion. Such was the confidence they had in him that it overruled any fear she felt for the hated splinter-clan, enticing her to join him as an observer.

For many more months she traveled with him as he hunted down and killed every last splinter-clan that stood against him. They died in droves all around, each and every one failing to land even the most superficial blow to his person. Entire legions of the enemy cooperated as one, only to fall like haresh grass under the reaper's scythe. Tali had been truly amazed by him, but more than that, she discovered he was without a doubt the kindest and most handsome man she'd ever met.

Though it pained her, she consented to his clan's offer of sacrifice in the name of peace, knowing for certain now that he could have single-handedly wiped clan Zorah from under the light of Kaeli'steiz. So giving was the man however, that he would rather end his own existence than have anyone else die in the ensuing conflict. If just two lives could be spared at the cost of his one, he had reasoned, it would be worth it. On the long journey back to her clan, her burgeoning love for the champion became deep with an intensity she never thought was possible, surpassing all stages of bonding faster than any quarian before her.

When the time came to offer himself up to the gods, however, the champion faltered, breaking his blade on the stone altar rather than plunging it into himself. He would not, could not, do it, but the opportunity for second chances had long since passed. The duty of carrying out the sacrifice then fell to Tali, the envoy who had accepted the offer of his clan on behalf of hers.

Beside herself with grief, yet with a strange calmness about her, she drew her dirk and stabbed.

...

Her Father's words interrupted her bitter recollection.

"That's a good girl. I'm glad you can leave this world with a clear head," he said.

Although she could not tell from the blurriness of his features, she was left with the impression that he was smiling. An odd notion because she couldn't remember her father ever smiling at her before. She lifted herself onto the altar, laying down atop the stone slab crowning it. "Why are you smiling, Father?" she had to ask.

"I gave my wife to the Gods to ensure a bountiful harvest ten summers ago. Now I will watch as my daughter gives of herself. There is no higher honor than sacrificing one's all for the good of the people, and I couldn't be happier," he replied.

"How could you kill mother like that? You were bonded to her. She was your seara." Tali wondered aloud, drawing her dagger from her hip. As soon as it left the scabbard, the metallic stink of fresh blood pummeled her nose. Not just any blood, but blood that smelled very familiar and somehow foreign at the same time. With her free hand she parted the purple Zorah-patterned silk of her selmaas, just enough to keep her breasts covered but expose her sternum.

"Well I wasn't really bonded to her," he said simply.

"What?" she asked, holding the dagger high above her, razor-sharp tip pointed at her chest. Drops of unnaturally bright blood fell from the dagger, splattering her bare cleavage and running down her chest and stomach, feeling slick and cold against her skin. Somehow, the contact provoked an odd, intense pain, as if it had been there the entire time but only now could she register it. "I still don't understand this, Father... What you say might be true, but it doesn't explain how I was able to kill John'Shepard. How could I possibly sacrifice the man I was bonded to?!"

"I don't know. How could you?" he asked.

The raucous cheers of the crowd, content to be marginalized until now, intensified with a renewed vigor. Gradually a chant coalesced out of the din. They chanted her name over and over.

'Tali. Tali. Tali.'

About to bring the weapon down, she hesitated. The voices of the crowed seemed to get louder.

"Tali! Tali! Tali!"

She needed to find another way. This wasn't right. Something was very, very wrong with all this. Her father was right. How could I have done it? Setting the dagger down, she moved to get up off the slab, but found she couldn't. Her body lay paralyzed. She couldn't control her arms, legs or head. She could only look straight up and stare impotently, feeling the blood trickle from the center of her chest, starting warm and gradually cooling. The clamor of the crowd increased tenfold, coalescing into a single, all-powerful voice.

"Tali! Tali! Tali!"

An arm began working again, though not of her own accord. Without sensitivity, it slowly moved away from her to the knife laying at her side, its hand intent on grabbing the weapon. She couldn't let that happen. She couldn't let it move from her. Not yet, not while she could still possibly have an even greater calling worth living for. She needed to- No, she absolutely had to will her other arm out of paralysis and snatch that part of herself back before it was too far gone from her side.

As her right hand neared the dagger, she managed to lift her left hand. As her numb fingers grazed the pommel she snaked her obedient arm across her body. Just as her hand gripped the weapon, she seized onto the forearm of her possessed appendage, knocking the dagger free and pulling it in close to her sticky red chest. Remaining content to stay for a few minutes, the arm began pulling away again. She clutched it even tighter than before, pressing it into her. It pulled even harder, so she responded in kind, but in the opposite direction, her fingers and nails digging deep into flesh that she could not feel. It started furiously tugging for release, yanking away from her, but she would not yield, could not relent in her desperate need for it. Eventually, the efforts of her wayward appendage became half-hearted and slowed to a stop, giving Tali a much needed reprieve in her struggle, even as the gestalt of voices became clearer and more incessant.

"Tali! Come on, wake up. Let. Go."

An eye opened, scanning her surroundings. The cabin. John's cabin. John. Thank the Ancestors, he's not dead and I'm still here.

As she lay in bed, the lasts wisps of dream-educed reality evaporated under the warmth of the ship's artificial dawn. She lay on her right side, curled up tight behind John, encapsulating his form with hers, blinking a few times to let her mask clear the sleep from her eyes. The vivid dream had already taken its leave of her psyche by the time she sat up, only consigning within her only a deep yearning for her human and an impending sense of loss. Coupled with those emotions was the very real pain that radiated through her chest and the sensation that her left hand was stuck. She looked down to examine it.

"Yeah, Tals. Can you let go now? It's gone numb," John said with a smirk.

She released his forearm with a start, dropping it to the bed. "John, I'm so sorry! Please forgive me!" She leaned over his supine form to examine the bare arm, a red, three-fingered imprint embedded deep in his tissue. The skin had broke open where her fingertips had been, but just barely. "I... I don't know what came over me."

"It must have been a heck of a nightmare," he said.

"Yeah, I don't remember what it was about, though," she tried to recall the dream, but found nothing but vague images that fell from her mind like water down a drain. "Something really bad happened. I did something bad. Keelah, John, your arm is really red. Are you going to be okay? Should I get the doctor?"

"I'll be fine," he said, holding one of her hands in his and offering a reassuring smile, "Red is good. It means the blood's flowing again."

"I figured, but..."

"No 'buts' young lady," he said, reaching out to tickle her. While she laughed, he continued, "You don't get to worry about me, it's my turn to worry about you. First off, you didn't want anything to do with me last night, and second, you're having nightmares so bad that even I'm feeling it."

"Me too," she mumbled. Something must have been pressing or rubbing against her makeshift Pal'tec vis surden while she slept. It had been anything but gentle, as her suit's moisture collectors could attest to, struggling to mop up what she had apparently bled out. She used her suit's internal medi-gel dispensers to address the throbbing pain quickly and discretely, not wanting to worry John with something so trivial. "I was feeling grumpy after an old acquaintance sent me a disturbing message. I had some trouble sleeping, so I took some sleeping medication. I guess it knocked me out harder than I thought."

"I'll say. You were dead to the galaxy," he said, wrapping his arms around her waist and chest, pulling her beck down next to him. She gladly complied at first, but began to struggle when merely having her back and rear-end pressed into him had left her wanting and unsatisfied.

"I... I was," she tried to speak as she rolled over to face him. Once settled, she continued at a fervent pace, "I won't let it happen again, John. I'm so sorry. It was stupid and selfish of me. If there had been an emergency I don't know what I would have done. What if we were attacked? Or we got an urgent mission or something? Keelah, if they needed me in engineering-"

"Tali..." His fingertips hid the light of her vocalizer.

"Sorry again," she replied, "Rambling..." She sighed. "Again..."

John shook his head in disbelief. Did this girl ever think she could do anything right around him? "So what was the letter about?" he asked.

"Nothing John. It's not important. Just someone trying to get under my skin," she said. As much as Hannah Shepard had upset her, she wasn't about to tell anyone of her offer. She cared about John so much that she was more than willing to keep that little secret to herself if it spared him the grief of having an even more dysfunctional family, not that she was one to talk.

As she looked at him, she was struck with the odd sensation that she had already lived this experience before. Slowly, she climbed atop him, sitting on his hips, legs on each side of his torso, her knees in his arm pits. She gazed down on his beautiful face, his gorgeous blue eyes, and his loving smile. He was perfect in every way. She was struck with a sudden urge to do something truly unfathomable.

She slid her hands along his chest, up to his shoulders, and began spreading his arms apart and bringing them up and over his head, holding them firmly down against his pillow.

John was more than content to play along. "Ohh, kinky," he said with a smile.

"John I want you to close your eyes and do not open them. Swear to me that you won't open them, no matter what happens, no matter what I do," she said, tightly holding onto a small digit from each of his hands with one of hers, freeing her other one for use.

He bit a lip and closed his eyes, but not without complaint. "Aww, Tali, what if I want to peek?"

"Swear to me, John!" her voice turned harsh, "This is important. I have to do this and I don't want you looking at me when it happens."

"Alright, alright, I was just kidding with you anyway," he said, biting a lip and waiting for whatever surprise she had in store for him.

He's so loving, she thought, so trusting. His word is his bond. There's no possible way he'll open his eyes when it happens. He has no concept of what I'm about to do, no idea of how difficult this really is for me. He probably won't even realize what's happened until after it's all over.

She moved her free hand high up to her head. A soft hiss filled the room. John took a sharp intake of breath, but kept his eyes shut, closing them even tighter than before. Warm, supple lips met his. Lips smoother than the finest silk in the galaxy fell upon rough, dry ones, unworthy to even conceive of being granted such a sensation.

Without thinking, John parted their kiss with his tongue, needing to hide his shame by moistening his parched lips. That was all it took, changing what was intended as a light peck into something much more. With a sharp moan his quarian lover seized it in her mouth and gave hers to him in return. Between hot, shuddering breaths and gasps, her mouth opened wide to attacked his in the most loving, if undignified, way possible. Saliva coated John's face under the attention of his inexperienced paramour. Teeth knocked together awkwardly every now and again, not for an instant diminishing the couple's shared lust. The human joined his quarian in moaning every time his lips or tongue came too close to her gnawing canines, only serving to heighten their communal experience.

Tali's legs began to quiver, her core tightening. At the height of her climax, her thighs compressed John's waist in an uncompromising vise of quarian flesh, forcing all the air out of his lungs in an instant. Her screams of ecstasy were no less deafening outside her mask, although the unimpeded cry sounded so much more exquisite to the man's pained ears. Under the assault of the new sensations, and through proper timing, John was able to achieve the desired result as well.

Giving herself a few quick seconds to examine her lover with her own eyes, she used the last ounce of strength in her shaken and spent body to reattach her visor. "You can open your eyes now," she mumbled.

...

During her lunch break, Tali worked at composing her reply to Hannah. While it was true that the dreadnaught captain had requested her response in person, Tali felt the opportunity presented by an e-mail exchange would allow for further elaboration on several key points of discussion. Examining the document a few more times for spelling, punctuation, formatting, and to ensure there would be no chance of a miscommunication, she hit the 'send' button and logged off.

...

From: Tali'Zorah vas Neema

Subject: Re: An Offer

Dear Hannah,

Fuck You.

Sincerely,

Tali'Shepard

Favorite and Follow if you like this chapter. Please review either way.

I love hearing from the lurkers and my regulars both. Everyone should speak their mind. Do so now or forever hold your peace.

Right, so expect a full-sized chapter to come in about one to two weeks from now, along with Jane's story.