25 – Bad Reputation

The war consumes ninety-five percent of my thoughts. The brief respite I get comes from the comfort of another. Being intimate with Aria is like a powerful anaesthetic: It wears off in 4-6 hours. It's enough for me.

I look at her and I wonder if it's the same. Sometimes it seems like it doesn't even touch the sides for her. The screaming of Earth keeps me awake at night while she sleeps soundly.

I saw the bloody-minded, almost suicidal drive she had to take Omega back. A force within her so powerful she tore a hole in a kinetic barrier with her bare hands. In that moment I saw something in her that I never bargained for. In Afterlife she held herself like she owned everyone and everything – and hell mend you if you took her nonchalance for complacency.

But in that cage she would not be beaten. She did not lie down to die. She ripped through the impossible with grit and passion, and in the expenditure of that incredible effort, she had no fear of pain.

But what of her race, her homeworld, the wider Harvest... Does it cause her the same anguish?

Does she use me as her solace, or am I the only one trying to escape from this plane of existence?

The anticipation is close to my favourite part. That's when I know our meeting is imminent and my mind starts to derail from grave matters to conjuring up new things to do to her. A good thought gets me half way across the galaxy before I realise any time has passed.

A flawless execution of that thought is often slowly (or swiftly) followed by ecstasy. Moments of bliss, such as these, are proceeded by jarring remembrance of what I'm hiding oh-so-briefly from underneath these smooth sheets, in the apartment that's the second most home-like place in the galaxy for me in the midst of this horror.

It's usually while Aria has a brief post-coital snooze that it all comes rushing back to me. Aria's face doesn't betray an iota of bad dreams. But then, she's not easy to read.

To her credit, she has reliable nap timing: A solid twenty minutes if I've done my job properly. Out like a stealth ship dropping from radar; then when she wakes, she resumes her après-sex haze drink and evasive chat like she was never softly snoring while I dared to stroke her forehead.

"I heard things are getting bad on Thessia," I say softly, looking up at her.

Aria doesn't flinch. It's probably not news to her.

"The Matriarch's have put out an edict?" I say, uncertain on the concept.

She snorts. "Of course they would. They'd throw as many maidens at them as it took to save their blue asses."

"You say 'they' – and I get that's the political collective – but aren't you a Matriarch?"

"Calling me old again," she says with a smirk. "Didn't we already discover how hazardous that is for your health."

"I felt pretty healthy after the last time," I chuckle. "Revitalised, even."

"I never assumed the title. I didn't need it by that point. It's just a stage of life. Last I was on Thessia I was a matron. And there was no going back. Prefer to sneer from afar," she says cryptically.

"So it's been centuries," I surmise, turning over and propping myself up on my elbow.

"Yes, Shepard," she says, becoming weary of my probing.

"And you don't want to go back?"

"I've made my peace with never setting foot on Thessian soil again," she says calmly. "They didn't want me then. I don't see why I should die for them now."

There's a story there I so badly want to prise from her chest, as my hand rests there in a comforting fashion. Her cool skin belies the fury within her. I can see that even mentioning her homeworld and the ruling order has incited turmoil within her.

But there's no prising anything from Aria. If I've accepted that much of her, that's it. Though, it doesn't stop me trying to open her up at the times my chances for success are significantly high.

But it's the times when she's shuttered and the storm is raging within that my desire to plant affectionate kisses all over her face and neck becomes strongest. It's a tactic that rarely works to open her.

Might just this time. I see the softening in her eyes. The barrage of lip contact might have weakened her defences.

She parts her lips to speak-

-And a Hellish door buzzer sounds instead.

The sounds drills through me until Aria reaches for her omni-tool, smashing a button to make the buzzing stop.

"Who's that?" I ask.

"Didn't I ever tell you I couldn't see through walls?" Aria says sarcastically, slipping her omni-tool on her wrist and sliding out of bed.

"Well who would be coming to see you?" I ask, as casually as possible. "You probably don't get sales, or Enkindler acolytes round here."

"They all know who lives here now," Aria says evenly. "After the Salarian youth scouts incident."

I'm struggling not to ask.

"Best you stay here out of trouble," Aria orders, counting on her nudity to bind me to her thrall.

Kind of works.

"Don't stray, Shepard," she murmurs, leaning over and brushing my lips with a kiss. "If I see any item of clothing on you, don't think I'll hesitate to lash you for it."

"We've already played that game," I remind her as she wraps a white silk garment around herself and ties it with a firm knot. "I still got away with every bit of clothing."

"I said – Lash you," she says over her shoulder, as she walks away, her hips swaying more than they need to as she saunters away.

Tease. She knows I love her hips. It's my favourite part.

I should stay. I should relax in bed and wait for her patiently. I shouldn't get up, grab my t-shirt and underwear to protect my dignity and sneak to the end of the dimly lit hallway into an alcove that provides perfect cover for listening in.

But I can't help myself.

I sneak a glance round the corner to see the back of Aria reaching the door, before deciding the proximity makes that too dangerous.

I'm a goddamn N7 operative, I should have the skills to spy on my lover.

I think about her face if she caught me.

Nope. Too risky.

I'll just listen.

"They're nervous, Aria."

"About what? I've covered everything."

"They don't think you're on the up-and-up."

"Are you serious? What rock are these people from?"

"They know you. But it's the company you're keeping."

"Shepard?"

"You hanging off a Spectre makes them nervous."

"She's no where near this."

"Yeah, but how they supposed to know that?"

"Get it done, Bray. Or I will. And you can tell them my associations are none of their damn business and I'll be making a personal appearance if this doesn't get smoothed out."

"All right, boss."

The hiss of the door shutting indicates that I should scamper back to bed, roll into the covers and pretend I've been there all along like a good, obedient girl.

But I'm a fraction too slow.

Doesn't matter. She knew I was there.

"You can come out now, Shepard," Aria calls through.

Meekly, I reveal myself. Her face is difficult to read.

"Got thirsty," I say unconvincingly.

"So you did," Aria comments. Standing there with the folds of the white gown tumbled around her shoulders reminds me of the old statues of Greek Goddesses. She might enjoy that compliment – but now is the wrong time give such praise.

"Having problems?" I venture.

She should be angrier that she caught me eavesdropping. But she seems quite laissez faire about it – is that expected of me? Does everyone think I listen in when I feel like it, and just accept it?

"The little Volus bastard I'm trying to pry the last 12% out of isn't playing nice."

"What problem have they got with me?" I ask, though the answer is obvious.

"Commander Virtuous – any one with half-way dodgy dealings wouldn't want to be near you," she says. "You're a bigger pain in the ass than you should be."

"You're near me."

"But I fear no one," she counters with a smile. "And I've seen what's under the armour."

"And Bray's negotiating for you?" I say dubiously.

"Don't be racist. He can be very eloquent," Aria says airily, moving into the kitchen.

I follow quickly after her: "And he's negotiating in the middle of the night?"

"It's barely late evening Shepard," she snorts, gesturing to the clock above the counter.

She's right. I came over a little earlier than usual, and time's a bit of a blur when we're together. I had just assumed...

"Shepard – just come out with it," she demands, tensing herself for a confrontation.

"Are you telling me the truth?" I ask slowly.

"Why wouldn't I be?" she replies, just daring me.

Her nonchalance spikes on my internal bullshit meter, which in turn gives rise to a power-trip founded on assumptions and Traynor's vague warning that has been niggling away at me. The Commander façade slips on, which dangerously fuels my arrogance, and a certainty that I don't know everything about her. As she's always telling me.

I know I'm spinning, but I can't stop myself.

"If you are doing something that remotely resembles war-profiteering or taking advantage of soldiers or refugees – then so help me, Aria," I warn her, my voice escalating. "I will bring my full force to bear on you – And I won't hesitate to use my Spectre authority to get around whatever 'in' you have with C-Sec here."

"Shepard," she soothes, almost patronisingly. "My 'in' is with Tevos. You're a council Spectre. So: good luck with that. And secondly – you have nothing to worry about. I'm ruthless, controlling and powerful – but I'm not evil."

Can't argue with most of that. I know she's not evil. I hope I know.

She sounds convincing. But she's not saying much at all. Maybe she doesn't need to – she's already told me about Armax and the shares.

I was too quick to go for the throat. So much for my intent of giving her the benefit of the doubt.

But there is doubt.

"Let's not fall out over a little sim-combat arena, Shepard," she says dismissively, pulling me into her arms. That confuses me: Her placation after I abruptly threatened to take her down. Or maybe she's forgoing her righteous indignation because she doesn't want to fight.

It's only righteous if I'm wrong.

I don't even know what I'm wrong about.

But something feels wrong. Is it the substance of the blackmail? There must be something sincerely amiss for the sellers to be so cautious about a Spectre's proximity to the Aria. I'm not known for collaring financial crooks.

I let her hold me, my hands awkwardly tucked up between us, as she pulls me to her chest. I think this is supposed to be comfort, but she's so very out of practice.

I think she senses this and tries to go with her strengths: She slides her hand down my side, over my hip and round to my rear for a playful squeeze. She kisses me on the cheek; then nibbles at my collarbone. Her other hand moves up under my t-shirt, to claim my breast with a firm cup. She pulls my trick of surreptitiously moving her palm to excite the nipple.

She's trying to make me forget.

Or maybe she's trying to do to me what I was to her just moments ago: use affection to prise me open.

I managed to extricate myself from her grip,

"How about I get you a season ticket for Armax?" she offers, like she's bribing a child with candy.

"Thought you wanted me 'nowhere near this'?" I recite dutifully. "Cause I'm just a 'pain in the ass'?"

"Punters are a different game. They'll love you," she says. "I could probably turn out a few pay-per-view events featuring the great Commander Shepard."

"For charity, sure," I negotiate, letting my mood recede slightly.

"Fuck, that white hat is permanently attached to your gorgeous little head, isn't it?" she laughs, pulling me in and giving a hard kiss to the face. She squeezes me so tightly it hurts.

The more tightly she holds, the more I want to slip away.

She's never been so desperate to hold onto me. Or maybe never tried so hard. She probably senses the unease within me. Or perhaps she has no idea what she's doing.

Eventually, I manage to untwist myself from her arms once more. She looks suspiciously at me once separated.

"Aria, I'm gonna go," I mumble, looking towards the bedroom.

"Shepard, don't," she says quietly, dropping all affectionate pretence. So quietly I'm struggling to determine if there's an inflection of anger or sadness in her voice.

"I've got-"

"Bullshit reports to read, crew members to corral, boots to shine – whatever," she mutters, turning away from me.

I could stay. I could justify myself. I could try and sort out what the Hell is happening in my head and hers.

"Shepard, if you're going – just go," she snaps. She's still aware of my presence though she's now propped up on a high stool in front of the window, with her back to me.

With the little light shining through the blinds, and her skin showing through reams of bundled white silk, she looks more majestic than ever. But her wrath is real. I should hope not to incur that before I can clear my head.

I really should go.

–

Just a girl, in a Citadel bar, staring at the same damn drink since I got here an hour ago.

I don't know whether to be grateful or somewhat offended to not have been hit on in this meat-market of a club. Escaping Aria's in search of a private drink coincided with the weekly singles night at the Dark Star Lounge. I thought about leaving, but relocating would cut too much into my drinking time – or 'looking at drink' time, as it turned out. I'm not as hardcore as I want to be.

However my luck may be about to change as I feel a presence behind me, and hear the clearing of a throat.

"Well fuck me sideways with a frigate."

I know that gravelly tone. This is not a pick-up. I damn well hope.

"Aethyta. How are you? Feeling violent today?" I ask politely, half-swivelling round to her.

"It's early, give it time."

"Do you want to join me?" I invite the Matriarch. Extending the courtesy should hopefully keep me from a beating.

"You're in my chair," she points out.

"One right next to me looks just as plush," I offer.

After a hard stare, which I'm too tired to return, she takes the seat next to me. Despite the several patrons that had been waiting patiently, the bartender recognises her immediately and serves up what I'm guessing is her usual: double measure of dark brown liquid with fruit perched delicately on the rim.

"So, went back to drinking to cope then Shepard?" she says, dipping the strange looking purple fruit in her liquor and sucking the alcohol tainted juice from it.

"Who's saying that?" I scoff, looking at the same drink I've been nursing for the past hour.

"Nobody needs to. I've tended bars for decades. I can recognise the signs."

"You don't wanna hear about it," I tell her, quite assured that she doesn't.

"You're right. I don't," she shrugs, tossing the fruit on a napkin and downing half the liquor in one gulp. "So – you gonna ask how Liara is?"

"I was working up to it," I admit, still not looking at her. Of course it's the first question I had as soon the Matriarch appeared beside me, but I was wary of getting smacked with her biotics again. "So how is she?"

"She's doing good," Aethyta nods with a small smile. "Evacuating whole goddess-damn systems from Reaper invasions. That was last month. This week she's wouldn't tell me where she's going. But I think it's for that giant monstrosity your people are building."

"The Crucible?"

"Yeah. She still reports to your boss. Does him favours. Sends him intel and people. Coupla' solo missions – research she tells me. Nothing she needs backup for, or I'd be out there like a shot."

"Hackett? I know she was funnelling resources, didn't know she was still working with him directly," I say, somewhat surprised. I know he sent her to Mars. Didn't know they'd keep in contact to the extent that she'd be working for him instead of the Matriarchs. Suppose it's because we're leading the charge on what we assume will be our best chance.

"The kid knows how to make herself useful. And she can do things no one else in the galaxy can at this point," Aethyta says. "Probably has a wider-reaching comm network than most governments with the Reaper attacks. I know she was helping reconnect some homeworlds with their colonies and so forth."

"Glad she's doing good," I reply tightly.

I am. Goddess knows the galaxy needs Liara working on its behalf.

So consumed with thoughts of Liara, I completely tune out Aethyta and the surrounding bar noise. I think about the similarities to the way I left things with Aria, to the way Liara left things with me. I was pulling away from Aria, spying on her and confused enough at her intent to run. I wonder if that was how Liara felt with me. It's not wholly accurate, but I can see some commonality.

I don't even notice the ruckus brewing beside me until Aethyta starts shouting.

"Hey – I said what you looking at?" Aethyta challenges the Batarian and Krogan sitting along the bar from us.

"Not looking at you, sweet cheeks," the Krogan rumbles. "Though maybe we shoulda been."

"Your friend – she's Aria's pet human right?" the Batarian asks, pointing directly at me. "Girlfriend or whatever."

Girlfriend or whatever.

Swell.

Aethyta's laugh comes from a place that terrifies me. "You hear that Shepard? You're the girlfriend."

"Yeah, yeah," I mumble, trying not to give these guys full view of my face. I hardly know what to do in this situation, but avoiding it as much as possible seems to be a solid first step.

"Was: Saviour of the Galaxy. Now: little woman of big, bad Aria," Aethyta howls, elbowing me in the ribs. That's not helping – unless she's trying to start a fight with me. I won't hold back this time.

"Yeah, little woman," the Krogan guffaws, raising his glass. "Aria let you out for the evening?"

"Wasn't talking to you two scrubs – get lost," Aethyta says, turning aggressively back towards them.

They almost think about displaying their exception to such an order from an Asari backed by a mere human. But they swiftly reconsider.

I wonder if that was Aria's reputation for wrath that caused them to not only leave their barstools, but vacate the club through the nearest exit.

"That's rich," Aethyta mumbles, going back to being amused. "How does that feel, huh?"

"Doesn't bother me," I lie. Not because I want fame. Would just prefer to avoid infamy.

"Yeah, right," Aethyta snorts. "I was with Benezia for a hundred years. I know what it means to be the one at the side, holding the bag and referred to in the context of your beau."

That's not me, is it? I'm not Aria's gangster moll, seeking the association to danger. I'm not the oblivious housewife, cleaning bloodstains and asking no questions.

Am I?

"Course it's not like that for you," Aethyta says, answering my internal thoughts. "It was probably like that for Liara though."

"Shouldn't have been."

I recall Liara's frustration the last time I saw her – that awful night in her cabin, where she told me that when she dared to walk her own path I resented her for it.

I think I understand a little better. But she's not here for me to say so.

I almost wish she was here for me to tell her about this sudden epiphany – until I realise that's completely contrary to the crux of the issue. She shouldn't be waiting around for me to 'get it'.

"No she shouldn't," Aethyta agrees. "Kid's off doing good while you're known in certain circles as Aria's arm-piece."

"Maybe I'll see the bright side and use it to my advantage," I say to the Matriarch. "Seems to come with a certain respect."

"Aria's not all talk and bullshit – that's where the respect comes from," Aethyta points out. "But any bullshit she does spin always seems to spring up roses anyway."

"When'd you last talk to her?" I ask curiously. They've both been in the same place for a while now. Given the current situation it would be interesting to know if such a meeting had taken place.

"Last I talked to Aria, I was on Omega around the time Nezzie dumped my ass," Aethyta recalls. "It was definitely after – cause I woulda remembered a fight with Nezzie about being in such an 'unsavoury place' with 'characters of such ill repute' if it involved T'Loak. Though those types of fights did happen to damn often... Just not involving Aria."

"That why you didn't work out with Liara's mother?" I ask softly. It is slightly self-serving – I'd love the conversation deflected from me for a moment to breathe.

"Something the kid keeps asking me," Aethyta says, swirling her new drink. "Hoping to hear a better version of the story. Don't have an answer for her. Only one who does is..."

"Benezia."

"I was gonna say dead," Aethyta mumbles into the now empty glass. She's powering through them. "But you're right too."

"I get that your relationship ended," I start cautiously. "But didn't you want to be in Liara's life? Don't know about Asari culture, but humans co-parent all the time when they're separated or divorced."

"Wasn't my choice. Nezzie left me after I went off on another stupid merc contract to recapture my glory days," Aethyta groans, reliving the memory. "Didn't just wanna be 'bondmate of Matriarch Benezia' any more. Was sick of her canned, proper life in politics. Just needed to breathe and hit something. Or vice-versa. Call it a three-quarter life crisis."

"I can relate," I nod, thinking of the tedious hours spent in diplomatic meetings this year which I've only coped with by imagining tactical situations – mowing down Reapers on a battlefield with wild relish.

"I did it every couple years, but it was wearing thin with her. Kept saying I was too old to be running about with kid gangs. She gave me an ultimatum that last time... but I didn't believe her," Aethyta says, her voice choking. "Wouldn't of got on that damn carrier if I knew the house would be empty when I got back. Wouldn't have done any of that shit if I knew she was pregnant."

"You didn't know?" I echo softly.

"Not until it was public knowledge over a year later when Liara was born. I read that I had a daughter in the damn gossip feeds, can you believe that?" Aethyta says, slamming her empty glass down and ordering another drink. This time the bartender leaves her the bottle. "Tried to contact Nezzie, tried to visit. She was done with me – as a bondmate, as a co-parent... And she had her squad of commandos make sure I was in no doubt to her feelings."

"Do you think it was because you're Asari? Because Liara's..."

"Pureblood? Might've been part of it. Nezzie wasn't ashamed, or shallow. But it's something she woulda wanted to protect Liara from. Easier to do if the other parent is nowhere to be seen," Aethyta shrugs. The quick succession of drinks consumed is showing in her now.

"At least you get to know her now," I console.

"Yeah... I'm not gonna say any more. Said too much. Must be your annoying face, Shepard," Aethyta says, polishing off another drink. "For all I know, that waitress is one of the Brokers' agents and that bottle of Brandy has a bug in it."

"Has she been... keeping track of me?" I ask tentatively. I'm not sure Aethyta would even know, but what the hell.

"Not that I know of," Aethyta dismisses. "Last thing she said about you was along the lines of outta sight, outta mind. That probably means you're not being followed."

"Good to know," I murmur, unsure whether that means she's trying to respect my privacy or doesn't care to know any more.

Wish I could master 'out of sight, out of mind' well enough. For just about anything in my life.

–

Aria's in the same place.

She has moved, I can tell that much by the glass of rum that wasn't there when I left. But she's still sitting by the window.

"I shouldn't have left," I announce, the footsteps I take echoing in the dark apartment.

"Didn't miss much," she says plainly.

"No, really Aria," I murmur. "I shouldn't have left."

"It's fine, Shepard."

She's immovable by words or sentiment in this static pose.

"Do you want me to go now?"

She takes a moment. "No."

"OK then," I say, coming towards her. I don't feel bold enough to caress her. But I do dare to take sip of her drink, brushing my arm against her skin. A small, 'accidental' contact to rouse her, I hope.

She turns her head to the side, just to watch me as I replace the glass.

Hesitantly, I place my fingertips on the back of her bare shoulder.

"I do trust you," I tell her, with so much difficulty that I think I may be lying.

"I know," Aria replies.

Her tone says that she's lying too.