He couldn't deny that having someone, let alone a woman, share his apartment was pleasant. More than pleasant, especially as he could cook for someone. Being in the military he didn't have such opportunities. She'd stayed for longer than he thought, despite her protests. She would leave soon, he knew that much, but something was keeping him from urging her to return home. He hadn't lied knowing that the attack on both her and her sister was cause for serious concern. Yet he couldn't shed the desire for her to stay. Pavra couldn't stop her teasing, and by now his neighbours began to notice that he had extra company. Most of them didn't bat an eyelid, although a couple of elder turians' mandibles twitched in disapproval. He'd been moved by her story, more than he'd anticipated.

Am I beginning to like this human? His younger self would've been disturbed. Everyone in his family would've been horrified if they knew he allowed a human to stay in his home. Working at C-Sec had kept him going since he'd 'stepped down' from the military, and especially since he had given up drinking for good. Yet he had to be stupid not to acknowledge he'd looked forward to returning home. Once upon a time, he dreaded going home to his lonely apartment, being a workaholic and unattached to anyone. He'd kept himself that way for a long time – most of his adult life. He still kept his journal, and when she was out doing her night shifts, he took the opportunity to record.

I'm amazed she decided to tell me her side of the story – she'd been framed for her superior's crimes and sent to prison with a unanimous verdict. I still remember my thoughts at that time - distraught at the loss of three hundred of my own soldiers. The blame, inevitably, had fallen on me. No matter what the situation was, I was in command of those men, and they had died under my command. It was accountability that shone in the eyes of my own superiors, I could not handle.

I feel anger at the thought of Stefan Jensen framing Westfahl – but I feel guilt more so. I'd taken my anger and despair out on her. I thought her pathetic yet foolishly brave simultaneously. This combination only heightened the wrath I wanted to wield on her species. Yet despite this new liaison I find myself wondering what kind of person she really is under that pain of a broken life.

Pavra wouldn't stop her teasing, and he felt himself losing his patience with her. Especially since she'd do it unabashedly in front of other turians, who drew stern expressions at her jubilant teasing. She was making him look bad in front of the other officers and he didn't want his reputation tainted even more so than it already was.

"I can tell you're thinking of her," the young officer would tell him at lunchtimes. As much as he'd tell her off and try to keep her in line, Pavra was charming and humorous to be around.

"How can you possibly believe that?" he replied, taking several items of food from the buffet counter as they both slid their trays along.

"Marik, I've known you for a while now… it hasn't escaped my notice that you're distracted," she replied beaming, cheerful as ever.

"Stop it, Pavra," he chided her, but his tone wasn't strong enough to make her back off. They moved towards the table to eat their lunch.

"Were you ever married?" Pavra continued.

"That's enough," he snapped.

"It's a simple question," she said.

"And my answer is simple – none of your business," he replied waspishly.

She stared at him silently for a few moments while he ate. When she realised he wasn't going to elaborate or even talk anymore, she promptly ate her lunch. Yet he realised, later that afternoon, Pavra was poking at something that he preferred not to think about. He wondered if she'd be curled up on his armchair when he'd get home. After driving to the market and picking up a few groceries, his heart sank somewhat when he saw she wasn't on the armchair. He felt a familiar sense of melancholy, one that had often plagued him throughout his life – a feeling that had propelled him towards Reynor. Marik walked towards the spare room where she had stayed, but found that the room was empty, the sheets crinkled from her presence. Perhaps I pushed her too far. He stretched out a talon to grab the sheet, thinking to wash it straight away but all he did was press his face to it. He could smell her; a powdery, sweaty smell and one of washed clothes and past perfume.

He jerked it away from his face sharply, seemingly disturbed with his own actions. She's a human. He snatched the sheets, bundled them up and shoved them into the washer as hard as he could. He was pissed off she'd left without saying goodbye, without even giving him a thank-you for his kindness. He'd put a lot of effort in finding out how to cook human food, despite the fact that he could've taken a risk and let her try his own. He'd given her a safe place to stay, although he could've told her to find a hotel until they were done with her apartment. He could've let her stay out on the streets – she was a dirty human criminal…. Marik spent the next hour cleaning the house furiously, to get rid of her scent. She seemed to be everywhere. He found curly hairs on the shower room's floor and on the floor in the spare room. There were some stuck to the cushions on his sofa.

Goddamn her, he thought. I need a drink.


"You're not staying there anymore, are you?" Anise asked to her elder sister as they sat at a bar. Laurel had actually made an effort, Anise thought, glancing at the slim trousers and halter-neck top, which showed off her sister's slender shoulders and tattoo on her upper back.

"No," was the reply. Laurel took a long sip of her beer as if in thought.

"Can't imagine it was very…. well, I imagine it'd be uncomfortable," Anise continued.

"It was a bit… considering turians and humans don't like each other very much yet," said Laurel.

Anise looked down at her drink, playing with the glass. She hadn't drunk very much of it, but the evidence was there. A tender pink lip print on the outside. Laurel wondered why her sister had bothered to invite her out for a drink. A lot of the conversation had been initiated by Anise, and Laurel, tired from her previous shift barely had the energy to talk to her. She'd been tempted by the drink. It was obvious to her now that the Anise she'd known all those years ago had been and gone.

"You heard anything from Fern and Dad? Is Emma still with them?" asked Laurel. Anise shook her head.

"Emma left Dad a few years ago. Have you given any more thought to going back home?"

"No I haven't," said Laurel. "You say you want me to come home but it looks like you're going anywhere but home. You're an important diplomat… why would you go home?" Anise's lips pursed.

"I'm trying with you, Laurel," she said, her eyes sharp. "You make it so difficult. I won't be staying on Earth but I'll come with you when you decide to go down – which should be sooner rather than later." Laurel felt the same blood-boiling fury that she'd often felt when thinking about her family over the last few years.

"Sorry if I don't immediately jump on the next flight," she snapped. "After dad cast me out and never turned up to support me, doesn't make me exactly a loving, doting daughter."

"What astounds me," said Anise ignoring Laurel, standing up out of her seat. "Is that you've barely changed since you buggered off when seventeen. Dad was upset by your behaviour – everyone was. Emma only tried to help you. But all you were interested in was having if off with every boy in the neighbourhood while snorting coke. When Rachel told us you were in the Alliance we couldn't believe it."

"You barely know me," said Laurel, facing her sister with hatred written on her face. Her teeth were gritted. "You know sod-all about what I've gone through in the last decade-"

"Oh tell the story to someone who cares, Laurel! It doesn't ultimately matter what Dad did or said back then. The fact that your father is terminally ill without proper care is the fact here and now. To not return home would be completely self-centred – Fern and I have looked after Dad for years. Emma too. But you're like Rachel-"

"Rachel? Since when have you started calling Mum 'Rachel'?" said Laurel. Yet she knew Anise was doing this to spite her.

"Since I realised Emma was more of a mum than Rachel. Dad said you always had too much of her in you – probably why you both ran away."

"No, Mum ran away because Dad was an arsehole who was awful to her and us. He was a strict military man with a pole shoved right up his-"

"Dad is dying!" shouted Anise. "Don't you dare talk about him like that!" Laurel, completely incensed, stood up to face her taller sister and punched her right on the nose. Anise was propelled back onto the checked floor of the nightclub. Crying with pain, she held her nose staunching the flow of blood. Laurel rubbed her hand, which seared with sudden pain. She hadn't punched anyone in a good, long time. That felt good.

"What's wrong with you?!" stammered Anise, blood dribbling onto the pristine (probably expensive) dress. A turian and human security guard approached them both.

"Get out," one of them threatened Laurel. The other bent down to Anise, who was fussing over her nose and dress, asking if she wanted a medic. She heard 'C-Sec' mentioned, and was stopped by the security guard.

"Thought you wanted to chuck me out," she mumbled.

"Lady asked for C-Sec," shrugged the guard.

Onlookers were huddled at the bar to watch the proceedings, giving them drama for their night. Anise's bloody nose looked pink and swollen. Laurel clutched her aching hand as she sat on the stool ignoring her sister. She felt if she looked at her she might be tempted to punch her again and break something else. A tall familiar-looking turian showed up – Marik was the officer for the evening shift. As he took the details of Anise's statement, he passed her surreptitious glances. She couldn't help but smirk at his glances. If anything, he looked like he was trying not to smirk. She gave him her details; he gathered witness information and a medic was called. Laurel barely passed her a glance, or anyone else for that matter. She suspected that her sister would probably press charges – and her criminal record was already blackened at best. A tall figure moved into her view, breaking her thoughts.

"Down the station, is it?" she said to Marik tiredly.

"What about a drink and ice-pack at my place?" he said instead. She felt uneasy as he looked at her inflexibly. She saw his small eyes drift over her form.

"I….er-"

"Your hand looks broken," he said softly.

"Aren't you at work?" she asked him. It was around ten at night.

"Finish in an hour or so," he said to her. "You know where my apartment is."

"I'll probably need to see a doctor about the broken hand, Marik," she said, slipping off her seat, cradling her hand now knowing it was broken.

"You forget I once was a doctor," he said, stepping closer to her. He gently took her hand in his, nearly making her jump back. "I mended your hand once, I can do it again." Perturbed, she quickly took her hand back but nodded. She felt he was the only one she could confide in at this possible moment. Their previous meeting she'd forgotten about. In the hour waiting for him to finish she had her hand x-rayed, splinted and ice-packed and was waiting on his sofa by the time he'd finished and returned.

"No broken bones, but strained muscles," she said as soon as he came in. He saw the splint on her hand. She had it propped up on an ice pack from the hospital. The entire hand had swollen pink. He was quiet as he took off his armour.

"Funny really, I thought I'd break my fingers again – seeing as they've been broken…" she stopped herself. She felt a heat come to her cheeks realising her mistake. He was in his black undersuit as he went to pour a couple of drinks for them both and walked back seemingly unfazed. He handed her something strong smelling and foreign, but not altogether unpleasant. Her cheeks still felt hot and her sudden relaxed pose on the sofa stiffened her muscles even more so. Thankfully, he took the armchair opposite her. He rolled the glass between his talons, as if deep in thought.

"She might press charges," he said, as if trying to find anything to say.

"Fuck her," was Laurel's reply. His mandibles moved a little, as if he was quelling a laugh.

"Your language is still awful," he said. He seemed to be working up the courage to say something, but after a while he leaned back in the chair.

"What made you punch her?" he said. Laurel took a sip of the drink – it was sharp, tangy, and warmed each and every fibre of her body like she'd never felt before.

"She insulted Mum," she replied, twisting round from her previous angle to face him. "When I was ten Mum decided to leave Dad. Up and left. No one forgave her but me. Both him and Anise refused to see her but me and Fern kept in contact. She was the one who introduced me to my love of birds. She was a big lover of nature, although she worked in fashion. Soon gave it up years later to go travelling…." She drifted off, her eyes glazed with a fine sheen.

"Sounds like you were very close to her," was his reply, his voice so low it made the hairs on her arms stand up. It started to feel too close, too personal. She hadn't talked about this with anyone, and she sure wasn't going to get into it with Marik of all people.

"What about you?" she said suddenly, directing the conversation towards him. She realised she didn't know much about him at all. He seemed surprised with her comment.

"As normal as any other turian family. Entered boot camp when I was fifteen. Father was also a general and mother was an engineer that worked in water supply." His voice seemed distant and cold now that he was talking about himself. With the strong alcohol in her, Laurel felt a sense of reckless impulsiveness.

"You have to go to 'boot camp?'" she asked.

"Yes," was his terse reply. "The military is at the heart of our society. We're not individualistic like yours. A lot of your culture is centred on the self, which in part can be attributed to economic influences such as your capitalism." Well, I can't disagree with him there. She suspected he was trying to throw her off, but it didn't escape her attention that he became cantankerous quite quickly.

"You weren't close with them?" she said to him, pushing him further.

"No, I wasn't," he said, stiff now. The glass in his hand remained still, the alcohol un-drunk.

"Did you leave home permanently when you went to boot camp?" she said again. He gave a sharp nod. His talons clutching his glass curled tighter round his glass.

"You talk about your parents in the past tense," she tried again.

"They're dead," he said without emotion in his voice. It was an awkward five minutes, as they both sipped their drinks. There was a question that had been burning in her mind for a while now.

"Why aren't you with the military anymore and working in some dead-end C-Sec job?"

"I don't want to talk about my past," he snapped aggressively, making her jump. She'd gone too far. Still smarting from her previous altercation with Anise, Laurel calmly put the glass on his coffee table and stood up, walking towards the door. She could hear him get up, making her prickle at his quick movements behind her. She could barely hear him call her name, as her ears weren't adapted to hear the lower frequencies of his voice. She could certainly sense he was trying to stop her.

"Look, it's obvious we can't overcome our differences," she said, pressing the front door's controls hurriedly.

"You were deliberately provoking me and you knew it," he said behind her. "You can't overcome your differences, it seems, with anyone!"

"I could say the same for you!" she shouted loudly, whirling round. Her cheeks were red. "I don't have some 'alternate' agenda. I was asking about your family because…" she trailed off hopelessly.

"Because you wanted to move the discussion away from yourself?" Marik said. He was quite close to her now.

" No , 'cos I don't wanna talk about my dead mother, 'cos if I do I might just break down completely and I'd rather not do that in front of a bloody turian…" Swallowing hard, Laurel had to crane her head to look up at him seeing as he was so close now. Heat rising to her face, she twisted to open the door and was gone within an instant.


They didn't see each other for a while. She was inevitably busy with her studies and he tried to throw himself into work. Her words stung him: a dead end job. They stung because he knew it was beneath him, although he was still serving the public in a honourable way. The words stung because they were true, but also because he valued her opinion. It was also because it was unconsciously done, and he wondered what had suddenly made him so soft. When did he ever value a human's opinion? The time where he begrudged humans seemed far away, as if he was a different being entirely. It had made him realise something though; he had to sever this connection with her. Laurel was beginning to get under his skin and he was not comfortable with it. Circumstance had always brought them together but he would not go out of his way now to either meet or accommodate her. He needed female turian company. That's what he needed. He began to return to his old roots, whether out of self-hatred or a sense of duty he didn't know. Vuren was definitely not above acting superior around him, but at least Marik began to introduce himself to the riff-raff again - the social circles of the high military. On the Citadel, it was teeming with arrogance with its many bureaucrats, politicians and military officials who hadn't been out of the office for a long time. It was why he'd hated his previous job as military advisor so devotedly.

"I understand you've been invited to the veterans dinner next week," said Vuren, at one event, which was based at a bar near the Presidium. They were surrounded by a small group of turians. The rest of the bar was filled with politicians, officials and veterans of different races – asari, salarian and turian mostly.

"Yes, I have," replied Marik coolly. "Just deciding whether it's something I ought to participate in." Vuren's eyes were beady and horribly small, as he took in Marik, swirling his alcohol round in his glass.

"Of course you should. It's been a while since you've publicly shown your face. Why so, Marik?" Marik did not let this faze him. It seemed his old friend had a grudge against him. One of the females there had been catching his eye all evening, gave him a humble nod.

"Where is it you work now, C-Sec isn't it?" said Vuren again. There was a distinct murmuring between the rest of them. Usually this was seen as a honourable public service, but within these circles, snootiness ruled over all.

"If you would excuse me," Marik said, clearing his throat and heading to the bar. The old feelings began to come back; the urge to drink, the urge to hit Vuren until he couldn't stand up any longer.

"Reynor," he gruffly told the bartender, who gave him a knowing look. He was sat at the bar for a few minutes before the female turian turned up by his side.

"I hope you're not planning to drink that alone," she said, somewhat playfully as she took the seat next to him.

"Well maybe I won't now that you're here," he said, taking a long look at her. She had a lithe frame with an irresistibly defined waist. Her markings were a light red but they contrasted rather beautifully with her eyes – a rare blue colour.

"Kyra," she said, bowing her head in greeting. "I'll have what he's having." The bartender made another for her.

"Why are you here with these types?" he asked her bluntly. He'd never been great at initiating conversation, particularly with attractive turian women. She smiled at him, taking the glass from the bartender.

"I don't know," she said, cocking her head. "The company is awful….until I came to the bar."

They drank and talked until they decided they wanted sex with no strings attached. She was amazing, and the tantalising scent of her made him shudder as he fucked her relentlessly on the bed, on the floor, and in the shower in the morning. He asked her if she wanted to come with him to the military dinner, and in her eyes he could see this as being something more than no strings attached. Yet the blue in her eyes reminded him of Laurel. He tried not to look at the turian as he had sex with her, but he couldn't help it. His dreams were plagued with the damned human all night long. He made Kyra a beautiful breakfast the following morning, and their lovemaking ensued. They moved to the spare room behind the kitchen. He thrust deep into her as they ended up on the bed, barely giving her time to breathe.

"You're insatiable," she laughed, tickling his face with her thin mandibles. With each thrust, his face became closer with the sheets of the bed as he propped himself up on his arms. He could smell Laurel; a now very familiar blend of powder, sweat and perfume. She sweated a lot in her sleep and had made her mark on the sheets. He hoped Kyra wouldn't notice as he finally climaxed. When they cleaned up, he found her later leaning against the kitchen counter, sipping on a hot drink.

"I'm sorry, Kyra," he said sheepishly. "I-I haven't…"

"I get it, you haven't had sex in a long time," she said. "But spirits that was the best I've had, maybe ever."

Something left him unfulfilled though. When he went back to the usual mingling with the other veterans, politicians and the like, something sank in him. He thought of drinking constantly, like a hum at the back of his mind. His disillusion with C-Sec became more and more real with each passing day. Vuren and his boss at work did not hold back on gloating in front of him, or putting him down. He wanted the future, whatever and whenever that was. He'd been sober for so long but all he wanted was a fucking drink. He drank caffeinated beverages frequently, just so he wouldn't have to think of it. He had Kyra round more than he thought was possible, which took his mind off it. Yet the urge to drink pulsed through his mind and body at regular intervals. The old torments of bad dreams and headaches threatened to come back. He wanted to drink to forget yet drinking led to shame, which led to more drinking. Each time he had sex with Kyra he thought more and more of Laurel, which led to shame and brief disgust. It seemed to add to his arousal and then desire. With Kyra he soon imagined it was the human instead, visualising biting her smooth neck and thrusting his hand into her lustrous hair.

I might as well drink.


It might've been the night she decided to call in sick, but unfortunately she'd already triggered a review with her manager about her absence. The restaurant Laurel worked at was going to cater for some event that involved the Council, its ambassadors, politicians, high military figures and the like. It was to take place that evening and she had an essay due in for midday the following morning. Her word count was 4,678. She needed to get to 5,000, as well as proofread everything. Laurel absolved herself to the fact she'd need to do an all-nighter, and stocked up with heavily caffeinated fizzy drinks before her shift. It was at times like these she wondered why the hell was she doing this course and this job. Because of Mum. And because you want to do this, you enjoy it. You want to become what she was. Some part of her doubted that last one – she wasn't even remotely talented like her mother was. Her fellow colleagues, an asari named Haena and a salarian, Takoln, all lined up with her at the neon lit bar as they watched the large crowd enter. It was an assortment of turians, humans, salarians and asari dressed up in attire so formal Laurel felt rather shabby in her black wrap dress. Their boss had insisted they dress formal – normally no one would see her dead in a dress.

"Really wish I called in sick. My essay's due tomorrow," muttered Laurel to Haena, keeping her forward.

"That's too bad. I don't know how I'm going to last with him gloating and simpering all night," the asari replied, her brow crossing looking at their boss.

"Easy for you to say. I'm gonna regret him ever persuading me to wear this ." They turned to look at Takoln, who was bundled up in a human tux, with a red bow tie. Laurel had to stifle laughter with the back of her hand.

"I think you look very handsome, Tak," she said, making him roll his eyes.

"Fucking ridiculous," muttered Haena.

The guests filled the entirety of the restaurant, their faces lit by the low-hanging amber bar and the large blue fish tank by them. Soft music played in the background. They had to hand it to their boss – he had a wonderful restaurant. Haena and Takoln had almost become friends to her. She forgot how much she liked having friends – especially friends you could not be serious with. Some stuffy salarian official made a speech that made everyone applaud. It was events like this that made the night go quickly. She attended the bar as usual, ignoring the rudeness of some and the overly talkative of the others. Only one has summoned me as 'girl' so far, she thought. There hadn't been any finger clicking yet. Once the main meals arrived the noise seemed to reach its height and there was avid laughter that ricocheted off the walls. All she could think about was her essay. She had to; it was the only way she could keep everything else off her mind. Anise. Him. The usual things that made her worry – her life in general. Mum. Him again.

Laurel should've known he'd be here tonight, although she got the impression that he'd cast off things like this – especially snooty military gatherings like this. Perhaps he was trying to fill in gaps; there were plenty of them after all. She was busy with someone else when Marik approached the bar, dressed in all-navy turian formal, with a younger female turian beside him. For whatever reason her palms began to sweat and her cheeks felt like they'd recently been parboiled. She finished serving her human customer, turning to fiddle with the mess on the counter. You can't ignore them for long. Sanders is watching. It felt like the first time he'd walked into Mozarts all over again. Why did circumstance keep bringing them together? The sooner she was off the Citadel and back on Earth the better. She felt his eyes on her. The dress suddenly was clinging to her skin uncomfortably as her hands shakily swept the used lemon and lime slices into the bin.

"Laurel!" she heard Sanders her boss call. She wiped her hands on her dress and walked over to Marik and his partner.

"What can I get you?" she said.

"Hello Laurel," said Marik, giving her that usual x-ray look of his.

"You two know each other?" said the female turian who, Laurel didn't fail to notice, was very striking.

"I used to frequent Laurel's bar one time," Marik replied, not taking his eyes off her. Laurel gave a small, embarrassed smile. Kyra made a noise that sounded like a 'uh-huh' but made no other comment. Marik ordered a reynor for himself, asking Kyra what she wanted.

"What human alcoholic drink do you recommend?" she probed Laurel instead.

"Err… How about a G and T?" Laurel said. Gin and tonic was a very much out of date alcoholic beverage, but she had always preferred the older, classic drinks. Kyra gave it a cautious sip, her mouth puckering at its taste. Laurel had made sure to give Marik a tiny glass of reynor.

"It's…. interesting," Kyra announced on the gin and tonic. "Can't say I've ever tried that one. And I usually go for the human ones." Trying not to feel snubbed, Laurel smiled stiffly and walked to clean the bar area up. Haena turned up about fifteen minutes later, looking unflustered as usual. Marik and Kyra were still at the other end of the bar.

"What's up? Want me to tell a creep to shove it?" Haena whispered to Laurel after she'd served a particular drunk customer. She served next to Laurel. Haena's eyes caught Marik.

"Is it that turian? He keeps looking at you, despite the half-his-age turian next to him." Laurel's eyes fluttered briefly in frustration and embarrassment.

"No, it's ok. Don't worry," she assured Haena. The last thing Laurel wanted her colleague to know was the history between her and some retired turian general. The night dragged on and as some of the customers became rowdier, she became busier cleaning up after them. She tried not to pay attention to Marik, who was left by Kyra after a while, and mostly kept to himself. So he'd given in to his addiction; she felt a small surge of pity, but quelled it hastily. Tonight she had been working harder than she usually did – Saunders was watching their every move and she'd be damned if she didn't get the bonus this year. She needed it for a flight back home – a permanent flight.

When it finally reached two o'clock in the morning, a fight had broken out. Half the crowd had gone home, with Takoln cleaning out front and both Laurel and Haena cleaning up in the back. There was an almighty crash, the definitive sound of shattering of crockery that came from the main bar area. Looking at each other, Haena and Laurel moved outside only to see two turians fistfight in a way Laurel had never witnessed before. Human fistfights were messy, uncoordinated and ended up bloody very quickly. This was different; she hardly saw any blood and their movements were more calculated and lithe. Marik, not to her surprise was on the floor, while an unknown turian with blood-red facial markings stood above him. Before she could intervene, Marik brought himself upwards despite the other turian's jeering.

"Can't handle yourself, anymore old man?"

This red turian didn't anticipate just how strong Marik was, but he was completely inebriated. He landed a few well-placed hits, but this younger opponent was not fazed in the slightest. Sanders was pathetic and unsuccessful in trying to break them apart. Tables were thrown and more plates crashed as the two bodies rolled and kicked across the floor. Kyra was nowhere to be seen. Some leftover guests watched it with fascination, as if it was some reality TV show. Marik was ultimately beaten by red, who succeeded in slamming him to the floor. One of the chefs eventually came out breaking them apart, even though they'd finished. Laurel saw Marik's blood, a vivid blue, smeared across his face.

"Get out now!" bellowed Sanders. "You are banned from this restaurant! I'm reporting this to C-Sec!" Vuren glared at Sanders and spat blood onto the floor, whilst walking away. He kicked Marik hard in the abdomen as he did so.

"No point, he works for C-Sec," he remarked before leaving the restaurant. Silence ensued as people dispersed and hastily left. Haena and the chef stared at Marik, who didn't lift himself up this time.

"Did you listen to me, turian?" shouted Sanders again, bending down to Marik, who looked near unconscious.

"Gods, I don't think he's alright," muttered Haena.

"He's bloody pissed," snapped Sanders. Laurel bent down to Marik, her hand reaching out to touch the sleeve of his suit.

"I'll take him to A&E," she told Sanders, gently jostling Marik so he'd regain his composure. His eyes flickered in and out of consciousness.

"There's a shit load of mess to clean up!" Sanders replied, gesticulating with his arms.

"There's blood all over the carpet. I'll make up the extra hour," Laurel pleaded with her boss.

After her mentioning the carpet, he seemed to pale and waved her off. She clocked out before helping Marik up and calling a skycab. Despite being a turian, Marik showed all the symptoms of alcohol poisoning like that of a human: his breathing was irregular, he was unresponsive and his skin felt cold. This last bit she wasn't sure about – were turians naturally cold? Their thick metallic skin looked cold, but she didn't know. Her mind was racing as she tapped his omni tool and found his address, telling the cab driver. In her haste she forgot about her bag and she forgot herself as she helped him into his apartment - barely. Marik was heavy to half carry, and she tried not to feel both awkward and delightedly nervous to be so close to him. He was virtually breathing on her cheek. His apartment was dark and cold but she moved him towards the simulated fireplace, covered him with one of his thin sheets (where were the knitted throws, she thought) and brought a bowl of warm water.

She gave him some to drink and used the rest to clean the blood from his face. It was strange to see blue blood dribbling hot and thick from his face, spreading and swirling in the bowl when she rinsed the cloth. She wasn't sure if anything was broken or sprained or even bruised. His eyes were closed as she tentatively wiped the blood away from his plated face, not sure where to properly press, not sure how quickly his blood would clot or not. Her eyes studied his features as her hand drifted, his skin hard but pliable like leather. The way the plates of his face fitted together looked fragile yet sturdy. His once-bright forest green markings had faded, but they were still recognisable. His eyes were small, calculatingly sharp but she liked the soft flecks of brown in them. How hard was his hooded carapace – like that of a tortoise? He didn't look cuddly, she thought. Then immediately wondered why she had done this, and why she was thinking these things.

Feeling exhausted, she laid a pillow by him as he lay down. She took the sofa beside him, and let her eyes close. She fell asleep quickly, dreaming of tortoises.


She heard a whirring when she woke up the next morning. Laurel jumped up from the sofa, remembering where she was instantly. The body of the turian below her was gone, the sheet, pillow and bowl disappeared. She was still in last night's dress and makeup. The mornings were never kind to her hair – a real bird's nest. Smoothing down her black dress, she padded in her bare feet (where were her tights and shoes?!) towards the hallway, seeing no sign of him. The whirring was coming from the shower. She crossed and uncrossed her arms. She paced, bit her nails and then frantically tried to find her shoes. They were gone. What in God's name. Five minutes passed while she fretted and the door upstairs opened. He came downstairs before she stupidly left without her shoes, but he was holding them as he came downstairs.

"Hi – er, I was just looking for those," she said sheepishly. Marik was dressed only in a bathrobe, but smiled as he passed her shoes. She studied the attractive ridges on his chest but avoided looking at his too-alien-for-now feet.

"So you wouldn't leave," he said to her, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. She tried not to let her jaw gape open.

"I – uh – thanks," she stammered. How was this turian her sworn enemy over ten years ago now?

"I believe I owe you a debt and an apology – but thank you for bringing me home last night," he said to her, stepping close.

"How're you feeling?" She diverted his attention. His stare this morning was near unbearable. He looked like he wanted to devour her, which partly wasn't his fault, all turians looked a wee-bit fearsome.

"Aches and pains and a dry mouth. Mostly hungry," he said. He was oddly jovial this morning. "Would you like me to make you a breakfast?"

"It should be me," she joked, forgetting her awkwardness now. One of this brow plates moved as if to say 'I don't think so' and he turned towards the kitchen. She watched his large feet pad heavily across the tiles as he went to the fridge. His feet were like those of a cat or dog, walking on his toes like they were stilts to spring from. He fiddled around the fridge before he took out some food that looked like eggs, which automatically made her stomach grumble.

"I miss real eggs," she said, hopping up onto the bar stool and watching him with her chin in hands. "We used to have chickens when I was little on a smallholding." She knew he was listening to her even though he had his back turned. At least she knew that much about him – he wasn't the type to ignore people's words, or wait for them to stop talking to say something about himself.

"Where'd you grow up?" he asked her, shuffling the frying pan expertly on the hob.

"I… I was born on an island in the northern hemisphere," she said, unsure how to describe it to him exactly.

"I know a little about Earth's continents," he said, adding seasoning to the scrambling eggs. "What island?"

"Orkney," she said, surprised at him. "An chain of islands off the north coast of Scotland." He repeated the name into his omni tool, which projected several photographs and a map onto the blank wall.

"Beautiful," he told her.

"I'm afraid those photos lie, the weather is never that nice all the time. It's always windy, never gets warmer than fifteen degrees and rains eighty percent of the year." Marik chuckled openly at her comment, something she'd never heard before. She decided to take a risk.

"What about you?" He was silent for a moment.

"A small colony on Palaven, called Gothis," he replied, but his tone lacked the joviality a minute ago. He turned round, setting his sharp gaze on her, plonking the plate down in front of her. Scrambled egg with salmon – she hadn't had this for years. He'd made something similar for himself, although it lacked the cheery yellow colour of Laurel's plate. She thanked him and began eating. A question had been on her mind for too long to keep going now.

"Marik, can I ask you a question?" she asked, watching him carefully.

"Depends on the question," he replied. She sighed loudly.

"Who was that other turian last night? Why… why'd you start drinking again?" He stopped eating and stared at his now empty plate. Her heart began to beat faster.

"Laurel, I don't want to talk about it. Turians don't talk about such matters." He said it without looking at her.

"Why can't you tell me?" she snapped. "You seem so intent on being my friend, yet you don't want to talk about anything."

"Why should I tell you anything?" he exploded, slamming his talons on the table and rattling the crockery. "It's something I'd rather not dwell on, or talk over. Especially not with you - a human."

"You don't 'share' anything with anyone! I open up to you, yet you react with coldness when I ask about-"

"I don't want to 'open up' to you," he said heartlessly. "You humans are completely dictated by your emotions and impulses."

"There's something that's happened in your life you're ashamed of," she continued, ignoring him. "How'd you go from celebrated military general to some alcoholic merc-now C-Sec officer?" Marik stood up to his full height, enraged.

"How dare you," he growled.

"What? To stand up to you and tell you what you don't want to hear? I suppose you're not used to someone standing up to you – a turian that's enjoyed dominating over others!" she shouted, getting down from the barstool. She began to feel her puny five-foot-five in front of him. "That you're some washed-up grumpy arsehole with a habit that you can't kick. That's why you started a fight with that other turian. He used to be you and you can't bloody stand it."

"Get out," he bellowed. There was an edge to his voice that nearly made her shudder.

"You haven't changed at all, have you," she said quietly, after half a minute or so of silence. The air felt charged with static electricity as she heard the low hum of the fridge in the background. "You seemed so superior and sure of yourself when you tortured me all those years ago. Now you've let resentment eat whatever there was of you – which wasn't very much anyway." Alarm bells were going off in the back of her mind, but her eyes had started filling up with tears. He laughed callously, the flanging effect in his tone echoing loudly in the room.

"You're still affected by it! I thought you'd finally let go. You are pathetic - just like you were back then," he said. "Even for a grown woman, you're stupidly naïve."

"Why are you so relentlessly unpleasant?" she exclaimed. "It's hardly my fault we've been thrown together this many times. How can you belittle what you put me through?" How did he remain so unemotional, she thought desperately.

"Nothing like what some of your trigger-happy soldiers put my men through. I'll never forget three-hundred of my men going down because of your incompetence," he spat.

"I told you I was innocent!" she roared, blinking her tears away furiously.

"You still made a grave error in judgement," he snapped. "I believe your prison sentence was adequate enough."

"You unfeeling bastard," she cried. "You drowned me on and off for a week, beat me until I couldn't feel half my body, left me shut in darkness…. if you think I'm pathetic for being affected by such a thing then you're more cruel than I thought. I started to think you might've changed-"

"Save the pity speech," he said, turning and walking away from her. "Get out of my apartment, human, and don't come back."

"Fine, wallow in your self-pity!" she yelled at his back. In anger, she grabbed the plate she'd eaten on and threw it at the wall. It smashed satisfyingly against the wall into tiny little pieces. He'd already turned away from her and stormed upstairs. Laurel hoped he'd stop her from leaving, but it was simultaneously both the easiest and hardest exit she'd ever made from his apartment.


The next week or so was hard. She managed to finish her essay before the deadline and hand it in, but it was poorly edited and the conclusion was messy. Her enthusiasm for it waned, as did her energy to get to work to do her late shifts. After the fights with her sister and Marik, Laurel felt whatever zest she had in her drain away. She spent her days like a ghost, surviving and not living, wishing her life had gone differently. If only… if only… If only she'd listened to her father all those years ago; not take the drugs, not drink and drive, not go round each and every boys' house and end up having sex with every one of them. If only she hadn't embarrassed him with her drunkenness at one of his military opera evenings, slurring his comrades off or consistently upsetting his second wife, Emma. If only she'd tried harder at school instead of getting written warnings, detentions and temporary suspensions. If only she'd fit in as she was supposed to and wasn't a misfit unlike everyone else. It was difficult to admit that she'd begun to like Marik.

Laurel did not like admitting to herself she might be a tiny bit attracted to him, and denied it whenever it came into her head. Like an old-fashioned gentleman, Marik had lavished attention on her in a way that no other man had. It felt worryingly distasteful to her to feel attraction – he was another species . He'd evolved on a different planet and had completely different biology to hers. At the same time this attraction was like a secret crush that felt rebellious and overly optimistic - one that was probably better in her head than in the actual flesh. She knew the asari mated with many species including their own (they looked similar to human women – did they work 'down there' the same way?), but she doubted after twelve years humans hadn't tried it with anyone else. Yet she rarely saw cross-species relationships, or at least people looking cosy in a bar or on the street. Perhaps people were still wary of humans after all this time. She stayed in bed for a few days, not leaving the confines of her smelly apartment. She didn't ring work or her university. It was unlike her to step into a deep depression such as this one – usually she forced it back and got on with her day-to-day life to make the pain go away. This time she gave into it. Eventually she summoned up enough courage and energy to call work and university, ignoring Sanders' reprimands and saying she wasn't sure if she'd return.

She'd got out of bed after the second day, and by the third day had begun to enjoy her free time. The restaurant had taken up much of her time, like it'd sapped the energy and life from her. She spent time catching up on her sleep, but also time reading books that weren't to do with her studies. Within a space of less than two weeks, she managed to cut off the two people she might've had a good relationship with; Marik and her sister Anise. But it was clear to her now that she could never have a stable relationship with either; their pasts were just too murky. Anise was arrogant and Marik cold. It was obvious enough that the C-Sec faction that Marik belonged to policed her ward. It was inevitable their paths would cross, as it had done on and off for these last few years. It happened on just the one day she decided to visit a café when he must've taken a break. Laurel had immediately held up her large book in front of her space as she saw the top of his brown cowl moved across the room.

"Hello officer," said the human barista behind the counter, somewhat flirty. Laurel's eyes peeped over the top of the book to watch the interaction.

"You'd like your usual?" Laurel watched his agile form lean slightly against the counter.

"Actually I think I might go for something different today," she saw him smile. By the time he had his drink made and sat down near her, he'd noticed. After his behaviour, she should've been the one to walk away from him and give him the cold shoulder. When she locked eyes with him, his brow plates moved to cross over his eyes as if in a frown. His face was predatory, angry, and she felt primitive fear. He got up, leaving his newly made drink on the table and left without causing so much as a fuss. Why did this hurt so much? It ruined her day, and the next day, when she saw him leave another apartment her heart clenched.


AN; Hi! For some reason this website won't let me load documents that have a large amount of text in the doc manager. Then i couldn't edit it either so I've had to crop it down. I resorted to sending the doc to my email, then uploading it on my phone, etc etc. A massive faff. Anyways, this cliffhanger wasn't intended. I'm liking Archive of Our Own more and more these days, so if you're desperate, you can find me and this story on there. Thanks to all those you have read/reviewed/favourited/followed.