Chapter Thirteen: The Moth to the Flame
Patrem: Father Pari: Familiar form. Dad.
Matrem: Mother Mari: Familiar form. Mom
Fratin: Brother
The Citadel 5381:04:23:19:02:24 (Post Garrus wolfing down five slices of pizza)
Shepard watched, a tiny smile twitching at the corner of her mouth, as Captain Arterius placed the stack of pizza boxes in Vakarian's arms. "You can take these back to the Normandy with you." He slapped the Spectre's shoulder, a companionable gesture that seemed to settle the earlier tension. "You'll stay on as XO?" he asked, lowering his voice. He tilted his head a little, clearly hoping Vakarian would agree. "We can discuss the details once I'm back on board."
The Spectre nodded, but his eyes sliced toward Shepard, leaving her little doubt that she'd prove to be a bone of contention. She made a mental note to stop at Delan's and buy a set of light armour after she talked to Von. Surely she could find something comfortable enough to live in. Wincing, she did the mental math, her 'saving up for a ship' account set to take another big hit.
Frulk pushed away from the table. His chair's metal legs scraped across the tile, dragging her attention from the turians. She strode over and grabbed his hand, leading him away from the others. Angling to block listening ears, she whispered, "Make some time for me in a couple of hours?"
She looked into his eyes, a tiny frown pinching the skin between her brows when she noticed that they'd started to change colour. Flecks of his father's crimson and his mother's gold asserted themselves amidst the—quite literal—baby blue. With krogan, mental and emotional maturity played a huge role in their physical maturity, and her poor Frulk had taken more hits than her freedom money since Anderson came down with his delusions of grandeur.
She reached up to caress his cheek, pressing her lips tight in a smile that did nothing to squash the sick ache in her chest. "I want us to spend tonight together, okay? I'll get up early to get to the docking bays."
He nodded and leaned into her hand. "I'll take Mordin back to Dr. Michel's, then drop Vakarian off at the Normandy before checking in at work."
"Okay. I'll get my shopping done and stop by to see if Barla Von has anything more to offer on my way over to the Armax. I'll call you when we're finished up there." She took both of his hands and squeezed them. "Thank you, Frulk." Holding his gaze, she tried to lace hers with the depth of how much she loved and appreciated him. "For everything."
He nodded and leaned in to brush her lips with his mouth. "I'll see you later." Pulling his hands free, he turned away. "Doc? Spectre? The bus is leaving." He stopped to look at Samara. "You coming with us?"
Samara shook her head. "I have things to attend to." She shuffled the pizza boxes around, sorting them. "I—my daughters … I—"
The turian captain interrupted her, drawing the asari's attention when he stepped around Vakarian to sit next to her. "I understand the importance of taking care of your daughters." Something flashed across the captain's face that made the ache in Shepard's chest pulse a couple of times. "We need to find out why they ended up in that council chamber. Would you be willing to accompany us to Therum? From the look of the text Urdnot Grunt found, we could use some asari knowledge and assistance."
Samara shook her head, retreating. For all her badass, bounty hunter bravado, Shepard knew the nais … the mother wallowed in a mire of grief and guilt. Time and knowledge couldn't do anything to ease all the emotions that had to be simmering beneath that calm, blue exterior.
Shepard moved closer to the asari, loving the captain's idea of Samara joining them on the Normandy. Despite her initial misgivings, something about the asari bounty hunter settled her nerves and gave her confidence. Between Samara and Arterius, there wasn't much out there the two of them hadn't seen.
Retaking her seat next to Samara's right hand, Shepard shrugged. "I could sure use your instincts and knowledge in sorting through all this." Through her stare, she tried to impart everything else she needed, support being chief amongst those.
The bounty hunter looked away to the other members of the party. When Samara's gaze met hers, Shepard nodded and raised her eyebrows, practically begging the asari to agree. Samara returned the nod, the gesture almost imperceptible. "I'd be glad to be of assistance in any way I can, Captain," she replied without looking away from Shepard for long seconds. When she finally turned back to the captain, she stood. "What time do you wish me to report to your ship?"
"I'll book priority docking and relay clearances for 0500 Citadel time,so you have about fifteen hours to settle up any business before you need to report to the docking bay. I'll send you all the information and clearances you'll need," Arterius said. He extended his hand to clasp wrists. "Welcome aboard, Samara. I'm glad to have someone of your knowledge and experience along for the ride."
Samara nodded, slipping a sideways glance at the open pizza box. Shepard grinned and closed the lid before passing it over. "By all means. Thank you for everything, Samara. I'll see you tomorrow morning."
Shepard walked everyone to the door, hesitating when Captain Arterius didn't follow them. She met his stare, her stomach flipping somersaults and pulling belly flops when he simply started gathering together the remaining pizza boxes. After watching him for a second, she closed the door and returned to the table.
"I take it we're headed straight to the arena from here, sir?" she asked, loading her arms with leftover soda.
"That and I wanted to talk to you alone for a few minutes." Balancing the boxes in one hand, Arterius opened the fridge and slipped them onto one of the empty shelves. "You live a remarkably spur of the moment life, Shepard."
She carried the soda to the refrigerator, muttering a thank you when the captain held the door open. "My life is my work," she said as she bent to unload the bottles onto the bottom shelf. When she inhaled and gagged on the the stale, out-of-date milk stink, she made a mental note to grab some baking soda. Truly, her life made her look like a complete loser. "I grab food on my way to and from the precinct and crime scenes." Straightening, she looked him in the eye and shrugged. "Never had anyone around to feed."
He nodded and pushed the door shut, stepping into her, close enough that she backed into the counter, the lip digging into her spine. "And if you did? You strike me as someone who takes care of others but not in the domestic sense."
Indignation flared, burning the back of Shepard's throat for about two seconds before it cooled. He was right. Frulk looked after her. So, instead of snapping at the captain, she nodded and gave him a crooked smile. "Yeah, that's about right, but …." She clamped her mouth shut on the confession that tried to sneak past her high security privacy barriers, her neck and nose heating.
Arterius closed another step, standing no more than a finger's width away, his stare so intense that her belly started flip-flopping again, her breath catching in her lungs until they blew up too big for her ribs. Jeesus pleesus, he smelled so damned good: a mixture of herbs, spices, and gun oil … the scent warm and heady as it burrowed down inside her, making her tingle in all the right places.
No … in all the wrong places. He's your captain.
"But what?" he asked. Despite his voice coming out in a low, rumbling whisper, she knew the question posed a demand rather than a casual inquiry. "Tell me, don't burrow down behind safe barriers. That's not you any more than domesticity is."
"Respectfully, sir, you don't know me." Indignation exploded, water poured onto molten lead.
Arterius just nodded, his intensity unwavering. "But I want to. So, finish the sentence."
Shepard swallowed the urge to push him back and tell him to mind his own damned business … the Normandy beckoning, insisting she just do as she was told. Taking a long breath, she said, "Sometimes I wish I was. My mother was brilliant at all that domestic stuff … very nurturing."
He nodded and turned toward the table, the absence of the pressure both a relief and a disappointment: her front suddenly cold. He gathered up the empty bottles and strode to dump them in the recycler. "There's more to nurturing than cooking meals and folding laundry. I've watched you with your partner and just now, with Samara. You've got a caring heart."
Nodding, she gathered up the napkins and other detritus. "I know, but … " She shrugged. "... I guess I just haven't felt as safe or protected since she died." Even as the words tumbled out, she winced, her heart dropping into her boots, landing with a sickening splat … raw meat falling onto the floor. Fuck, she'd gone straight to the pathetic place.
"I'd better get moving," she blurted out, dumping the garbage into the receptacle. "I've got things to do on my way over to Armax." She spun, coming nose to chest with Arterius's armour. "Oh, sorry, sir," she said, embarrassment spilling the words out in an awkward tumble.
"Nothing to be sorry for." Arterius shook his head, not backing off a single millimetre. "It made you angry when Vakarian told you to remain in armour," he said, stepping in a touch closer. Shepard backed away, but ran into the counter. When she tried to slip past him, he placed a gentle but insistent hand on her upper arm, holding her there.
She led his gaze on a merry chase for several seconds before she allowed his eyes to catch and hold hers. Damn, but weren't his eyes the exact blue of the sky over the Pacific Ocean just before sunset? Steeling herself, she stared straight back. If he intended to test her, she'd rather be damned for being herself than for playing coy. She'd never done coy or bashful particularly well.
"It did." She lifted her chin and clenched her jaw, locking down the rest of her reaction. Part of her wanted to spin and bury an elbow in his side, and for a second she weighed the consequences of doing just that. Fortunately for Arterius, the larger part of her hoped that his testing amounted to something personal … that Frulk's nose and her instincts knew their stuff.
"And my stepping in?" he asked. She swore she heard a rough sort of teasing in his voice. It sparked both an urge to lash out and the exact opposite. He squeezed her arm a little when she didn't answer right away. "Did my stepping in anger you?"
She kept holding his stare, meeting his invasiveness with sparks that warned him that if he pushed much harder, she'd burn him. "Yes. Not as much as Vakarian, but I don't recognize anyone's right to give me orders in my home." She pressed back against his hand. "Respectfully, Captain, what are you playing at? Is this part of the Arterius hazing ritual for new crew members?"
"I don't play, SI Shepard, and I don't haze new crew members or get personal with them as a rule. This is uncertain, new ground for me and entirely personal." He released her arm, the pressure in his stare also backing off. "As long as we're on personal time, the name is Saren." The pressure backed off a little. "Were you tempted to defy me and keep it on despite wanting to remove it in the first place?"
Surprised, almost to the point of being speechless, Shepard pushed back, taking up all the space he surrendered. Good lord, he was interested. Someone flipped the switch on her internal blender, setting it to puree. Muttering a soft curse—she had to chuckle at her sheer level of bullheadedness when her instincts insisted she tell him to mind his business—she nodded. The Normandy still beckoned, so she answered, "Yeah, I was."
"But you didn't. Why?" The smoke in his voice thickened, the subvocals heading straight to her groin, all the muscles in her pelvis pulsing in a slow, aching wave. Shit. Shit. Shit.
"Because I want to ship out with the Normandy," she replied, keeping it simple and honest to hide her sudden breathlessness. She closed her eyes and took a couple of deep breaths, knowing that turians picked up pheromones almost as readily as krogan. Getting all slick between the thighs and embarrassing herself didn't have a place on her to-do list. Neither did stripping down and wrapping those thighs around her captain: someone she wanted to regard her with at least a little respect and esteem. When she opened her eyes again, she focused on the keel of his armour. She needed to distract herself before she did or said something stupid.
Kitten videos. I need to watch more kitten videos. Nothing distracts like an adorable kitty doing something silly. Damn it, why can't I remember a single kitten video? Okay, sports. I wonder who won last night's biotiball game? No, I hate sports. I wonder if I can get armour in some obnoxious shade of purple with green highlights. That would drive Vakarian insane while still technically obeying his orders. Damn, I need to get packed. No, I can do that tonight. Fuck, this isn't working … he still smells so damned good, and those eyes … . Damn you Frulk for sending my brain down this fucking path.
The pressure holding her against the counter vanished. She straightened and blinked in surprise, both relieved and oddly disappointed as cool air rushed into the space between them once more. Had she said something wrong? After waiting a second, she met his stare again. "Captain?" He looked pissed, or distressed … or something. His eyes flashed, and he held his mandibles high and tight except for the odd tiny twitch.
He stepped back another two, measured strides. "I want to make something as clear as black ice, Shepard." His mandibles twitched then clapped against his mouth. "Your place on the Normandy is not in question, not for any reason outside of you endangering the ship or my crew. Even then, I'll discuss the decision with you. I won't retract my invitation out of personal pique. Our professional relationship will remain entirely that: professional."
She opened her mouth to apologize … to give voice to the horror that accompanied the idea that she thought so little of him as a captain, or even just as a torin. Before she got a single word out, a talon stabbed the air, halting her apology.
"I saw something in you when you appeared on my vid comms covered in blood, wounded and dressed in ragged BDU's, exhausted from not only fighting but then having to meet with the council. Even after that a day of surviving complete hell, you took the time and the risk to go behind the council's backs to warn me that my people were in danger." He closed the distance between them by a single step. "You have a fire in you that's rare in this galaxy."
Denial reared up to shoot that idea down, but again, he cut her off. "I haven't made a secret of my esteem." Another step and his stare burned so hot and so intense that it felt as though he could see straight through her to all the secrets she desperately needed to keep. At the same time, it seemed to reveal all of his secrets as well. Her fingers lifted as if she could touch them, but then she realized that her hand was about to caress the captain's face and wrestled it back under control.
Sort of.
Her hands trembled as he moved the tiniest bit closer. Once again her heart raced with shallow beats, her breathing rapid … her lungs trying to take up all the space inside her ribs. Excitement stepped up to make her entire nervous system tingle in the most delicious way, her skin begging to find out what those talons felt like against it. She swayed a little, one hand reaching back to clamp on the edge of the counter. Dear sweet and fluffy lord, she was going to fucking well swoon. Who did that? Certainly not her, and she was pretty certain no one had since corsets fell out of fashion.
"I want you in the worst way," he said, his voice pitched low and throaty, subvocals cutting straight through her, making her primary female sexual characteristics swoon despite the rest of her body's resolve not to. The bastards! How dare they betray her that way? He stepped closer still, the talon that had risen between them reaching out to caress the line of her jaw, slow and …
She drew in a shuddering breath … holy shit. Red alert! Awoooga! Awoooga!
… seductive, the woven polymer of his glove warm and rough enough to send every nerve down her neck straight to red alert. "And in every way imaginable." He cleared his throat and took a deep breath. "I should have said nothing until the mission was complete—I loathe commanders who use their position and power to get what they desire—but I'm a torin of a somewhat passionate nature … reckless, some call it." He stepped back and took another, shuddering breath. "Quite frankly, I don't think I would have made it a day on in that small a ship without telling you that I want that fire to warm me."
"And if it burns you?" she asked, her voice no louder than the breaths that shuddered in and out through her mouth.
He chuffed, the back of one talon stroking her cheek. "Then it burns me."
Her knees threatened to give out, but she locked them in place, her bid to avoid hitting the floor in a puddle of hormones aided by the fact he pulled a sudden and complete one-eighty, snapping into a rigid parade rest. "I want you to understand that—as inappropriate as it is to express—my desire in no way endangers your position on my ship. If you aren't interested, I'll accept that answer. I don't want to pressure you or have you feel coerced in any way." His talons raked over his long fringe. "If you're concerned about potential backlash, I can place you under Vakarian's direct command."
For a second, Shepard felt in real danger of her ovaries leaping out of her body and tackling him to the floor. His concern that she feel free of coercion … well, it said a great deal about the torin … his honour … his heart. She swallowed—the gulp audible—then cleared her throat, easing the tightness enough to utter words rather than dolphin squeaks.
"Thank you, Captain … " She pressed her lips together in a tight smile when he tipped his head and raised his brow plates. "... Saren." A long, slow breath helped calm the pots banging, triangles clanging, and various other alarms going off in her pelvic region. "I'm interested." She laughed and let out a heavy, breathless puff of air. "Dear god, yes, I'm interested."
Unsure of how to phrase the 'but' she felt in her belly, she kept it silent. It formed a vaguely worried shape … worry about awkwardness with the crew, or even with Saren if things went off the rails. And things did. All the time. Especially with her. Self-sabotage: her councillor at C-Sec claimed she could make Shepard a lifelong case study.
Saren stepped all the way into her, his keel touching her shoulder, but his hands remained at his sides. Good lord, he was tall. She didn't realize just how tall until she stood nose to cowl with him. "I have very specific and varied appetites," he said, his voice low and cutting all the way through to the vibrator still stabbing into her liver. "We'll take things slowly, and if you change your mind, you need simply say so."
When she nodded in reply, he lifted a single talon, the knuckle pressing against the tender skin under her chin, tilting her face up until their eyes met. "You have to talk to me. The words ... the consent … is everything. I need you to think it all through and to speak your mind, or we'll remain nothing more than Captain Arterius and SI Shepard."
"I understand." The words hung between them, more weighted and profound than any two words she could remember speaking. Dear and fluffy lord, he really wanted her, and with an intensity that sparked as much terror as passion. How? Why? He knew nothing about her. They had only just met. A great many men over the years had shown instant and intense interest only to have it dissolve into smoke the moment they came, lifted their mouths from her tits, and rolled off. All their lovely words and promises ended up dumped into the trash inside a knotted condom.
Saren turned a little, opening an escape route without backing away. Somehow, that slight movement dissipated all the smoldering tension, leaving nothing but a comfortable familiarity lingering between them. "Do you mind if I accompany you on your errands?" he asked. "We have a little under two hours before our appointment at the Armax." His mandibles fluttered. "I'd like the chance to get to know you."
Shepard took the first full, deep breath since the rest of the meeting broke up and nodded, giving him a genuine smile. "Yeah." Spending some time without all the grrr and argh of burgeoning crisis would be a great thing. She might even learn enough about him to trust his interest in her. "I'd like that," she said, remembering that she needed to use her words.
"Will you indulge me and wear your armour?" Again, the pad of his talon skated along the line of her jaw. She looked up, but that time he didn't meet her gaze, his brow plates lowered, his expression bemused.
"Sure," she agreed. "Heaven knows I've taken enough bullets over the past few days." She slipped away from between Saren and the counter, edging toward her bedroom. "I'll be right out." Instead, he followed her, offering assistance with all the pieces she knew she'd need help to seal into place, but had been too nervous to ask.
A lot of strange men had been inside her bedroom over the years. Even Frulk had been a stranger moving around her stuff once, but she'd never felt as self-conscious about her badly assembled nightstand and sparse belongings as she did right then. She really did live like a stranger in her own life.
Saren should see her desk at work. For better or for worse, that truly reflected who she was.
Saren's talons stroked her hair, startling her. When she turned to look at him, he smiled and cocked his head a little. "I couldn't help it. Hair … " He chuckled, his mandibles sweeping out and then back in a motion that felt self-conscious. "... only humans have tassels of silk on their heads." Another slight flutter. "I should warn you now that I'm very tactile."
Shepard nodded and smiled. "I don't mind, although one of my errands will be to get all but a centimetre of it shaved off."
As if encouraged by her permission, his right hand returned to her head, that time tracing the 'V' of scars down the side. "This looks like jaws." He leaned around her shoulder to look her in the eye. "Varren?"
She smiled and ran down her armour, checking the front seals. "Yeah. My first day out of the academy, I was sent to question Barla Von about one of his clients. He's a jumpy little bastard thanks to getting into bed with far too many batarian slavers and gangsters." She shook her head, a wide grin blossoming when his mandibles dropped, incredulous. "No, not literally … associating with them."
His talons traced the scars on the other side.
"When Frulk and I walked into his office," she continued, "he thought we were trying to shake him down and sicced three attack varren on us." Her fingertips skated along the furrow cutting through her jawline just behind her chin. "The alpha varren knocked me down and crushed my skull in his jaws. It was almost a year before I got back to work."
Satisfied her armour wouldn't fall off in combat, she turned to face him, glad that he'd invited himself in to help. "Everyone at the precinct except for Frulk, my father, and my bosses call me Dog-Bite or DB." She turned toward the bedroom door, stepping into a quick march to the front door. "Well, I guess we'd better get moving."
It took Saren until the hallway to catch up with her and stride toward the elevator at her side. "Your patrem is with C-Sec?"
"He's a legend on the force," she replied, glancing his way. "Both for his record and for being a bastard."
"And your matrem?" He stepped ahead of her to palm the elevator control.
"She was a true legend in C-Sec," Shepard replied, a soft, sad smile kissing her lips. "She was the cop everyone wanted to be, myself most of all." She nodded thanks when he gestured for her to go ahead and stepped into the carriage. "She died when I was twenty." She cocked an eyebrow, deciding to push and see if the street ran both ways, and hit the control for the main floor. "How about your family? They all military?"
Saren chuckled and nodded. "My patrem and fratin are both fleet generals. Pari has been retired for cycles, but Desolas stands at the head of the Third Defense Fleet, protecting the edges of the empire from pirates and slavers." He stared up at the numbers as they flashed down from 30 to G. "Desolas is the reason I'm not in a cabal. My matrula was carrying me while she was a guard at the Digeris site when the Prothean ruins were excavated."
Shepard nodded, murmuring understanding. "Loose eezo stores, lots of dust in the air."
"Yes. My parents took over my education when my biotics manifested, and then Desolas threw the weight of his rank and hero status behind me when I entered the academy." Saren stepped toward the door even before it opened, and for a moment Shepard worried that she'd pushed too hard, getting too personal too soon.
Wait. She'd just asked if his family was military; she hadn't pressed. He offered the rest. But then, when the door opened, he stepped through and turned back, one hand holding the portal open, as if to make sure it didn't lose its mechanical mind and slam closed on her. Old-fashioned manners. Not all that surprising, considering the source, and a major relief.
"It must have been hard learning how to control your abilities on your own," she said, waiting to speak until he strode at her side. She couldn't even imagine trying to learn how to use biotics without guidance. "I would have probably destroyed several small towns in your place."
He chuckled and cast a sidelong glance that caught her eyes, his hand brushing against the outside of hers. "I broke my share of furniture. Once we made contact with the krogan after the First Contact War, I trained full time with a battle master. I had more than a few bad habits by then, but he straightened me out in a cycle … or five." He glanced at her face, his expression intense and searching. "Biotics don't concern you?"
Shepard paused, surprised. "Not at all." She grinned up at him as he stepped forward to open the door. It really wouldn't take much to get used to the respectful treatment, even with it being so old fashioned. "Without your biotics, we would have been too late getting to Anderson," she said as she slipped past him, "and who knows how much longer Alenko and Frulk would have laid in the garden." She squeezed his talons on her way by. "You saved the day; I was just the bullet in the gun."
Realizing she was holding her captain's hand, she tried to pull it back. She'd acted on impulse, and while it might have been compassionate, it had also been completely inappropriate. Instead of releasing her, Saren held onto her fingers, his thumb brushing along her knuckles once before he let them go and strode ahead to call a cab.
"I have nothing new for you, SI Shepard," Barla Von said when they entered his office ten minutes later. He kept his back turned toward her, and his tone bled arrogance like a severed vein.
Saren swooped past Shepard, closing the distance between the door and Von so quickly that she suspected him of using a charge. The little fellow turned to face her, coming suit to face with a wall of silver armour, and let out a startled little shriek.
Shepard bit back a sudden rush of anger—she didn't need protecting or an enforcer—and hurried after the captain. Gripping his forearm, she eased him back, meeting his glance with a sigh and a shake of her head. He seemed to get the message: 'I need to deal with this idiot every day, and I do … quite effectively.' A single nod replied, but he backed off to glower viciously near the wall.
Turning her attention to Von, she backed up until her thighs made contact with his desk. She lifted a hip to sit on the edge, and leaned down, one forearm across her thigh. "Shut up, Von. Seriously. Anderson attacked the council chambers and killed the human councillor, and you'd tell me that there's been no uptick in chatter?" She lifted her arm from her thigh and reached over to rest her hand on his shoulder. "I call bullshit."
The glowing eyes of his mask shifted back and forth between her face and Saren until she slammed her hand down on that shoulder. No. Fury spiked hot and sweet, her veins lined with smoldering coals. "Von, sweetie. You know that no matter how impressively ferocious Captain Arterius is, I'm so much worse. After all, I'm just waiting for an excuse to put you down. He's not. At least not yet." She thumped him again, then grabbed his air hose and pulled him in close enough that her face pressed against his. "Now, focus on the scary woman and tell me what the Shadow Broker has heard." Patting him again, she said, "I'll help you out by asking specific questions and speaking slowly."
"SI Shepard …." He tried to back up a step, but she grabbed hold of his hose again. He let out a sound that could have been a moan or a fart. She didn't smell anything other than the fear that clung to the inside of her nose, but would she? She always imagined fear smelled like rotten oranges or very brown bananas. Anyway ….
"Did Anderson get off the Citadel?" she asked, casually looping her arm around his neck. She didn't hate a lot of people, but her hatred for Von ran so deep, it had taken root like cancer in her bones. It took far more control than she'd ever admit to stop herself from yanking that hose free. "Or do I need to be watching my back every second?"
Von chuckled, low and cold despite the breathlessness. "You always need to watch your back, Shepard." He took a breath, actually managing to make the wheeze menacing. "You've made a lot of enemies on this station." Another wheeze. "Anderson's people are the least of your worries."
Shepard laughed, lacing it with ice. A lot of things terrified her in life, but ordinary criminals didn't rank on that list. "That just means I'm doing my job," she said, knowing he heard her conviction. "Now … Anderson. Where is he?"
The volus drew himself up, arms puffing out a little. "Rumour places Anderson en route for Altakiril. Prothean ruins litter the lower latitudes. He hopes to find something of use there." He shrugged. "I know only that he reportedly made contact with several asari matriarchs on Illium, asking them about something called the conduit. He believes there is a clue on the turian planet."
Shepard looked over at Saren. "Another turian colony." She shook her head and shrugged a little in answer to the question in the captain's stare. Knowing he wasn't asking her, just trying to sort his priorities to accommodate the new intel, she turned back to Von. "And that's it?"
He made a very turian sort of chuff. "Considering vol-clan has just handed you five hundred thousand credits worth of intel … yes."
Shepard sat up, one hand lifting to rub the massive scar on her jaw. "Do you know why I haven't killed you or locked you up, Von?" She shrugged when he just made a soft humming sound. "I mean, you did nearly kill me the first time we met, and you've ensured I can never have long, beautiful flowing hair for someone to run their fingers through."
Sliding her fingers through the short hair, Shepard allowed herself to imagine what long, flowing curls of deep mahogany would look and feel like. Raking it into a ponytail … feeling a lover's hands tangle in it … a baby's fist clinging to a lock ... . Regret flowed over her tongue, a bitter syrup that pooled in her throat, tweaking her gag reflex a little. She'd never been overly vain, but sometimes, a woman liked to feel beautiful … desirable even.
Her gaze slid toward Saren, but didn't connect.
Maybe you don't need long hair after all.
She threw off the momentary melancholy and turned her attention to Von once more.
"Vol-clan does not need to tolerate your harassment, C-Sec," Von said, backing away. She didn't miss the emphasis on her employer. "The Shadow Broker would never allow my death to go unavenged."
Laughing, she stood and popped her shoulders once before letting the affected mirth die. "Maybe, but you don't need to worry about whether or not I'm willing to test that theory as long as you stay useful." A disdainful hand patted the top of his head before she turned her back and strode for the door. She didn't look back to see if Saren followed, knowing he would.
"Have a nice day, you slimy, little motherfucker," she called back over her shoulder at the door.
They'd made it halfway to the mall before the captain said, "You can be truly terrifying."
She grinned and shrugged, just one shoulder. "I do my best." She stopped and closed her eyes, taking a long, deep breath of the clean, floral scented air of the presidium. "I hate the way he makes me feel. I always come out of there needing to run through decon a half dozen times and then take a handful of showers."
Opening her eyes when a heavy hand rested on her shoulder, Shepard gave the captain a thin smile. "I'm fine, but thanks for the backup." Her initial annoyance at his protectiveness had cooled to appreciation. Dealing with Von always took an emotional toll that she did her best to forget between drop bys.
"Better than fine," he agreed and nodded toward the mall. "I'm looking forward to witnessing my first hair slicing."
Laughing, Shepard led the way toward her barber's tiny shop in the corner of the mall. "Hair cut is the term. Hair slicing sounds terrifying." She glanced at his fringe. "Forgive me if it's rude to say this, but your fringe is different than the other turians I've seen." Her face and neck heated, but not as much from embarrassment as the desire to reach up and skate her fingertips along the lengthy, fine spike that extended back from his cheekbone.
His shoulders rolled, the talons of one hand reaching up to tug at the collar of his armour. "Genes enhanced by fashion," he replied. His mandibles fluttered. "As a youth, my biotics made me an outsider, an uncomfortable fact that I embraced and enhanced by modifying my appearance."
Shepard's fingers crept toward his once more, just brushing his talons before she got them under control. "If they're treating you like you're—"
"—a freak, then why not look like one," he finished, chuffing softly. "At least the piercings grew in."
"Freak is not the word I would have used," she qualified, her voice gentle. "But kids can be monsters. I think that's universal."
That time his talons gripped her fingers for a moment before returning to his side. "A great many things are. But yes, I rebelled and had my fringe enhanced, pierced everything I could get a piercing gun through, tattooed and dyed and generally made my mari old before her time." He stopped at the barbershop's threshold and touched the display of suggested hairstyles. "I suspect that if we'd had contact with humanity, I would have had a hairpiece made just to hear her gasp of dismay."
Shepard grinned and shook her head, that mental image far too good not to indulge in. "That would have been documented and the vid pulled out every time you brought someone home to meet the parents." She held up her hands, sweeping them out as if highlighting a spot on the wall. "A lifesize portrait entitled 'Never forget; never forgive'."
He gave her a gentle, playful shove toward the chair. "Go get your hair sliced."
Shepard turned to give him a glare with no heat, then waved to Tim, her barber. "Hey, Tim. Got a few minutes to take care of my mop?" Her cheeks heated again, but that time the heat grew out of the intensity of Saren's stare.
"Sure, take a seat, I'll get out the clippers." The older, balding man spun the chair around for her to take a seat.
Shepard slipped into the chair. Lifting her feet onto the stand, she wriggled a little, feeling like a little kid.
Tim stepped up behind her and swept the cape over her armour. He'd no sooner fastened it around her neck when she felt Saren's presence looming right behind the barber's shoulder. She glanced back and grinned. "Yes?" A tiny shrug teased him. "You have no hair to cut, Captain."
He cleared his throat. "Could I do it?" His mandibles gave a single hard flick, and he cleared his throat. "I … um … just …."
The skin between Shepard's brows tied itself into a knot. "You want to shave my head?" Her belly pulled a half gainer and a double twist before splashing down. "Well, I …." She stuttered to a stop and looked over at Tim. "I … just … well, why?"
Squaring his shoulders, Saren also looked at the barber, his expression clearly expressing his reluctance to explain himself in front of a stranger. When he met her stare in the mirror, something asked her to indulge him, but more than that … to trust him. Another test, maybe?
She shook her head, her shoulders popping in a slight shrug. "It's all right with me, there's not much you can do to mess it up." Turning to Tim, she raised her eyebrows. "Do you mind?"
He chuckled and snapped a guard onto the clippers. "You'd be surprised how much I get asked." After turning them on, he passed them over. "I put a slightly longer guard on, just in case I need to neaten things up afterward."
An entire flotilla of butterflies exploded through Shepard's guts as Saren peeled off his gloves and hung them from his belt. Sharp, gentle talons ran through her hair a little as he familiarized himself with the different directions that it grew. His touch eased her down into the chair, calming the butterflies.
"Do you shave with or against?" he asked, glancing over at the barber, who hovered next to Shepard's arm.
"Against," Tim replied. The intense nervous energy coming off of him set all of Shepard's nerves on end and tightened the muscles in her lower back until they threatened to lock up. In fact, he seemed a lot more nervous than Saren, giving Shepard pause. Sweat prickled her upper lip and between her breasts and shoulder blades. Jeesus pleesus, how many turians had asked to cut someone's hair? And just how badly had they messed it up?
You're going to look amazing with tufts of red sticking out between the scars. Just fantastic. On a completely different note, headscarves are making a comeback.
Shepard turned to stare into the mirror as the buzzing closed in on her head, Saren's talons pressing her head forward. Not sure what she expected to happen when the clippers made contact, she jumped, then chuckled at herself when they just slipped through her hair, a hot knife through butter.
She watched Saren for a few minutes, an affectionate smile greeting the intensity of his care and concentration. He held his mandibles down and slightly away from his mouth, surely the turian equivalent of holding one's tongue between one's teeth. As he worked, his talons caressed her head, easing the tension from her muscles. Her eyes slipped closed, the pressure of his touch and a low, rolling sort of subvocal melting her into putty. To hell with the quality of the hair cut … she had a new barber.
A very familiar—and suddenly not unwelcome—throbbing, buzzing pleasure settled deep into her pelvis. Where she'd tried to squash her reaction to Saren's touch before, she let it build. When she started getting a little slippery down below, she allowed it. Hell, he'd made it more than clear that he wanted her; what did it hurt to give him proof that she wanted him right back?
All too soon, his hands cupped her jaw, lifting her head to look at her reflection in the mirror. "Well?" he asked, stroking his talons up around her ears to her brow, then back. She leaned into his touch for a moment. Eyes still closed, she breathed him in and savoured the calloused warmth of his talons. When she finally opened her eyes, it was to see his locked on hers, a hopeful … and slightly proud … smile awaiting her verdict.
Shepard turned one way and then the other, admiring the neat, even cut. "Nicely done, Captain," she said, letting some of the heat that he'd stirred up shine through her smile. He'd asked for a small amount of trust and come through. "It looks great."
Tim dusted her off, swept up the hair, and then took the cape off. She paid him, winking as she gave him a generous tip.
"Thanks for indulging us," she said and squeezed his shoulder. "Much appreciated."
Saren stopped halfway across the mall, turning to look out over the presidium. "Are you going to pick up some more comfortable armour so you can keep your word to Vakarian?" he asked without looking at her.
"Yes. I can't wear this stuff all the time. It's chafing in places that … well, if they're going to chafe, I'd rather it was from a much more pleasant friction." Her crooked grin faded a little when he didn't even glance her way.
"I'll meet you at Delan's," he said, sounding distracted. "I've just thought of something I need to do before we head over to the arena."
Shepard watched him, sensing something off. Oh well, surely torins could prove as odd as men. "Okay," she said. "I'll be here when you're finished."
He turned back, flashing her a smile, one talon tracing the underside of her jaw once more. She pressed into it a little. "I won't be more than a few minutes." He checked the chrono on his omnitool. "We've got about forty-five minutes to get to the Armax. Dress in your new armour to save time."
With that, he strode off, moving with purpose, long strides carrying him toward the bridge. Shepard watched him for a moment, letting the muscles between her legs pulse good and hard a few times. She shuddered once, a delicious prickle of gooseflesh lifting along her arms. Damn, he was all sorts of sexy.
Turning toward Delan, the hanar shopkeeper one of the best on the Citadel, she hoped that sensing pheromones didn't have a place on the list of hanar talents.
"Greetings, SI Shepard," the hanar said, "welcome to this one's humble emporium." It—she used it because with hanar being as private as they were, she didn't know how to tell male from female—floated in front of its kiosk.
"Hey, Delan. How are things going today?" She moved past it to activate the armour menu. She chose a dark green set that mirrored a very traditional sort of marine armour. Most of it was a heavy canvas sort of fabric—sealed, of course—with plates that snapped on over top. A bulky utility vest and broad belt set it off brilliantly.
She checked the ratings: pretty great for light armour. Not a lot of protection from biotic attacks, but she could make up for that with enhanced shield emitters. She clicked on the emitters and a medical exoskeleton upgrade. Having the suit administer medigel where and when she needed it … nice upgrade. Especially with how often she'd been shot since Anderson showed up. Heating and cooling controls hid beneath the spiked gauntlet on her left arm. All the bells and whistles. C-Sec armour stopped bullets. Period.
Pulling down a set of heavy black, lace-up combat boots, she replaced the cheesey ones that came with the set. She buckled the top, then stepped back to look in the mirror. "Badass," she said, grinning like a fool. "Completely badass."
"Completely," Delan agreed. "This one finds that armour most becoming on you, Senior Investigator."
Shepard grabbed a dark, camo-green boonie hat off the rack and slapped it over her shaved head. A wide grin split her face as she regarded her reflection. "Excellent. Now I just need some dark aviator glasses and a cigar that I never light." She glanced back at Delan. "Do you have the accessories … the vest, belt pack, arm guards, and holster in black?"
"Of course, this one carries the entire selection of its fine goods in a variety of colours if you wish to express your individuality more fully." Delan sorted through its stores and laid out the items she'd requested.
"Black is fine, Delan, thanks." Shepard swapped them out, her grin widening as she caught movement out of the corner of her eye and turned to see Saren striding across the mall. "Do you have any aviator glasses?" she asked the shopkeeper without looking away from the turian captain. "Dark ones."
Saren halted when he saw her, his talons catching on the floor, and his mandibles making a slightly helpless-looking flail. "Mission accomplished," he said, his subvocals rolling low and deep.
Her grin warmed into something more sultry as she stared back into those eyes, the memory of his talons on her head and neck heating her all the way through. "Oh?" Her tongue flicked out to wet her lips, her mouth suddenly lined with sand. "What mission is that?"
Closing the distance between them, he leaned down, his mandible warm and solid against her cheek. "Driving both myself and Vakarian crazy, but in much different ways." A breathlessness underscored his voice that pulled a swan dive straight down through her, splashing down—quite literally—in her pelvis.
Delan placed a set of large glasses in her hand, the tough polymer cool against her palm, the shielded tentacle even cooler. She slipped the glasses onto her face and struck a pose, hip cocked, arms crossed, head canted cockily off to one side. "Well then, mission accomplished indeed."
Saren grinned and jutted his chin toward Delan, saying, "Invoice the hierarchy for all of SI Shepard's gear." To Shepard, he said, "You're on my crew, your gear is covered."
Shepard straightened, the inevitable question whispering through her mind, as she snapped back to all business. Would he be doing the same if Samara stood there, or was he picking up the tab because of their tentative personal relationship?
A half-sigh, half-chuckle met her hesitancy. "Samara and Mordin have already wracked up tabs over a hundred thousand credits." He shrugged. "I think Mordin's is for lab equipment." He nodded to Delan and activated his omnitool. "At least I hope it is, and he's not charging the hierarchy for booze, narcotics, and salarian lap dancers."
"Thanks, Delan. Have a great day." Shepard pulled on her gloves and gathered up her bag of C-Sec tac gear. Following Saren, she headed for the exit, but slid to a quick halt after two steps. A brilliant … and slightly evil … idea crawled through the very back of her mind. Too brilliant, and too delicious to ignore.
"Saren, just a second." She spun and jogged back. "Delan, can I get a tube of black armour paint, please?" She paid him, grabbed the offered tube and dropped it into her bag. "Thanks."
"What is that about?" Saren asked when she rejoined him. "Doing a little customization?"
She looked up, meeting his quizzical expression with a mild, innocent one. "Perhaps," she said, knowing from the one brow plate that crept up his brow that he suspected the deliciously evil part of her plan. "Let's get to the Armax. We've got some holograms to kill."
(A-N: Wow, long chapter. These two loved getting to know one another so much that I just let them go for it. This version of Saren wanted to take some time to let people know who he is, since his background is so very different from the game. So, yeah, next chapter, the Armax and then talking to Frulk. Thanks for all the support, as always. You are all super awesome.)