When Marik headed into work a couple of days later, he was met with the news that Anise Carter had disappeared. Completely. She was last seen on the security footage heading towards the rapid transit cab queue, but afterwards there was nothing. Unsurprisingly wherever she'd been after that, the cameras had been sabotaged. It was clear she'd caught an illicit transport off the Citadel, which blackened her name considerably. Although Laurel was still living at his place, he hadn't seen much of her. He knew she'd quit her job, but he presumed she was focusing on her studies. She also didn't yet sleep in the same bed as him. She wasn't too concerned or surprised when he told her about Anise's disappearance.
"I told you, Marik, we didn't talk for years. I hardly recognise the person she is today," she had told him very irritably one night. This whole situation reminded him of how strange and unprecedented this was. How did this just happen to be Laurel's sister? How was the attack on Anise at the embassy connected with the attack on Laurel at her apartment? Something niggled at the back of his mind, but he couldn't seem to reach whatever it was. If he hadn't known Laurel any better, he would have suspected she was lying about her sister. But he knew she was telling the truth…. wasn't she? Unless she was carefully guarding her emotions, it seemed she cared little for her sister.
"I don't know, Marik," said his colleague Pavra, kicking the back of her heels as she stood by her desk one day that week. "It seems… too coincidental. Surely Laurel must've had contact with her sister. Who do the sisters know that would carry out an attack on them?" Perhaps Laurel wasn't telling him everything. Maybe if he opened up to her more she would do the same? Two days later, Anise's husband, Ian Carter, was found dead. His body was found in a vent deep in the seedy part of the wards. It was a clean, single shot through his head. He hadn't been expecting it – the exit wound was in the middle of his forehead. Whatever Anise Carter had been dabbling in was unknown to her husband – he was a manager at a human interstellar shipping company. Nothing black or unusual in his records – not that had been recorded anyway. Despite his status as an enforcement officer, he was dabbling into investigation more than he liked, much to his superior's chagrin.
"And stop poking at the CID's files," Pavra later hissed to him. "You're making us all look bad."
"I can't help it," he had hissed back.
"Just because you like that human," was Pavra's reply. He didn't justify her comment with an answer. In fact he liked this human enough to ask her to another military evening. He felt surprised he was still invited to them, but most people he liked to think didn't know of his past endeavours. He wanted to keep it that way. Laurel reacted with surprise when he asked her. He felt perhaps he owed it to her after his behaviour the other night. Maybe taking her to a public event such as this would erase any doubt he had. He began to feel nervous as the evening drew closer, although for reasons he couldn't put in words. Was it Laurel? Was it perhaps seeing Vuren again? By the time the evening came round, he came home from work to find Laurel already dressed for the evening.
"You're home early," she greeted him, rolling her shoulders forward as she did when shy. He'd only seen her in a dress once, and liked how this one gathered in at the waist, as well as showing off her arms and legs. He hadn't yet made her aware that turians found the waist incredibly attractive – he was unsure how a human would perceive this. Besides, he was aware that she was often self-conscious around him. Her style was different from the current 'fashion' as humans and asari termed it. She was busy slipping on various types of shoes, testing them out. They looked terribly painful to walk in. She was doing her best to avoid looking at him, stabbing her foot into the shoe.
"Laurel?" he tested. She swerved round, wobbling to look at him. His eyes flicked down to her feet. She was now a few inches taller but even more round-shouldered. He couldn't help but chuckle with laughter at her, startling her.
"Why're you being so coy?" he said, stepping towards her and stroking her warm cheek with the back of his talon. He tried to control the rush of blood as he stood close to her, fingering her waist fondly.
"It's not often I have to wear…"
"Horrible footwear?" he finished for her.
"But I can match your height better in these," she protested, although he felt her already wincing.
"You'll seriously hurt your feet," he warned.
Before she could hesitate, he lifted her up into his arms. He felt the breath go out of her in surprise, as he shook off her shoes. They plopped to the floor, clacking. She stiffened in his arms but relaxed as he nuzzled her.
"Better?" he purred, inhaling the scent on her neck. He felt his lower plates loosen slightly as he cradled her in his arms. I am becoming a young man again. Constantly aroused. He had to admit it was getting silly. The days he hadn't had sex with her he masturbated. He was quite sick of making a horrible mess in the bed so he'd retreated to the shower.
"Can I not just go in jeans and shirt?" she whined, gingerly stroking the top of his cowl.
"No," he growled into her ear, rubbing his mandibles into her hair. "Because I have to wear formal and I'm not letting you off."
"What if I just broke the rules?" she whispered into his neck, pinching a tender spot with her surprisingly sharp teeth. For a moment his mind clouded at this bold move.
"It would be my fault as a result," he said, his blood pumping hard in his ears. One of his hands was drifting further up her leg, making her breath hitch slightly. She had some sort of human perfume on, and while strange, it was not entirely unwelcome. Some of the other races sometimes wore perfume that was near unbearable to smell. This was subtle. Flowery.
"Well I don't care about that," she smiled into his neck, dragging a tongue up and under his chin. He walked towards the wall and propped her up against it.
"I'd have to punish you," he said into her ear, making her shudder.
"You're insatiable," she breathed as he fondled the cushiony fat around her stomach, her thighs, and hips. Yet he could also feel her tenseness underneath him, as if she simultaneously wanted and didn't want him. She rubbed her fingers over his back gingerly, keeping her chin on his shoulder. He knew time was getting on, and set her back down the ground. He was pretty sure regret flooded through her features. He tried not to show crushing disappointment on his face, or embarrassment. He was fully unsheathed, despite being clothed, making it uncomfortable.
"We'll be late," he told her, making her relax slightly. There was the same blush up her neck again. He finished getting ready, thinking about her. Did she feel afraid to touch him? Did she feel his hard plates and edges were off-putting? He had sharp teeth and talons. He'd heard many times that humans feared their appearances, which at first made him swell with pride and satisfaction. He had to admit humans were not a particularly threatening-looking species. But maybe that was his superiority talking. He felt confused by his attraction to her. Why? By all intents and purposes she should be unattractive to him. She was small; she had smooth skin and a protruding nose. Her hair was unusual – no other species had this. Her many digits on her feet and hands were alarmingly alien at times. Her flat teeth looked strange. Yet thinking these things did nothing. He was beginning to think that his feelings were going beyond attraction.
What? You cannot be serious.
They both caught a cab to the venue, which was in a large room situated in the Citadel Tower, adorned with buffet tables, bright neon lights and a well-stocked bar. As soon as they had entered the room, Marik felt the usual stiffening of his joints. Laurel squeezed his arm, although he wasn't sure what it meant – reassurance? She decided to get them some drinks (him non-alcoholic), passing him a glance as she went over to the bar. He greeted several old friends, many old colleagues, trying to skim over those certain details in his life that were less than savoury. Talking to old colleagues made him pine slightly for Palaven and the old days – those where he was stationed on various dreadnoughts and cruisers. He was hoping not to bump into certain individuals, Vuren namely, but also others such as his C-Sec boss or Kyra. Thankfully, before anything insidious could happen, one veteran that went by the name of Camtis Vitaso walked straight up to him.
"Absedeus Marik… now that's a name I haven't had the pleasure of saying in many years," Vitaso said, craning his neck by way of greeting. Vitaso was showing his age, with slight cracks in the white markings on his dark brown face, a noticeably shrunken cowl and stiff movements. Vitaso had been his senior by a couple of ranks and had been a noble and great commander in his heyday. He had been a ruthless, strict leader, but one that Marik had greatly admired. He had been at the forefront of the Relay 314 Incident. He'd occasionally take lesser ranks under his wing – Marik had been one of them.
"I hear you are now working for C-Sec," said Vitaso, his arms characteristically behind his back. He never drank, and despite his old age still stood tall and stiff.
"Yes sir," replied Marik, forgetting himself. Vitaso drew a small smirk.
"You haven't changed," he smiled. They chatted briefly, talking about the mundane things while Marik's insides slowly began to curl inside of him. It didn't feel right to be talking to Vitaso. Between the years of his 'polite demotion' from the military and now, he hadn't spoken to Vitaso, and he wondered just how much the turian knew about him. He began to wish the veteran would leave before Laurel returned. Unfortunately, luck was not on his side recently. Don't mess this up, his ever-present negative mind chided. Not for Vitaso and not for Laurel. Whom should he choose? Laurel was too busy trying to not spill the drinks to notice Vitaso as she walked up to them. She handed Marik his drink as he introduced her to Vitaso. As predicted, Vitaso eyed her with barely concealed disdain. Marik didn't blame him – as one of the main leaders during the Incident, he'd faced the human military up front and lost a lot of soldiers. He'd encountered some fierce fighting, had been injured and had extensive surgery as a result. Vitaso flicked his dark eyes between him and Laurel.
"And how did you two come to be… acquainted?" he asked, his arms still behind his back. There was a ten second silence that seemed to hang apprehensively in the air. He caught Laurel's wide eyes, imploring him. For what, he didn't know or guess. She was waiting for him to talk, probably afraid she'd say the wrong thing. After all, Vitaso was his acquaintance. Yet the words seemed to drown out anything he had prepared in his head. It was a bad idea coming here – why did he insist on playing the game? Every inch of his skin felt like it was itching.
"Through work," blurted Laurel. Vitaso looked undeterred by this.
"I don't remember C-Sec employing humans," he remarked. Clearly he's out of the loop, thought Marik. Humans had started being accepted into C-Sec's ranks a couple of years ago. He wasn't happy with it either, but what could he do?
"Oh I don't work for them," she said, taking a swig of her cocktail. "I had a break-in and Marik was the officer who dealt with it."
"I see," said Vitaso. "What is it that you do?" He saw her falter slightly, and then take another swig, for courage it seemed.
"I'm… in-between jobs at the moment. I used to work for a restaurant," she told him. Vitaso made a grunt in reply.
"I see. Quite the acquaintances you make, Marik. I wouldn't have pegged you a pioneer in interspecies relationships." Laurel hid her smile behind her glass as she watched him. Marik felt the simultaneous prickle of anger and embarrassment. The itch grew stronger.
"Only did my duty as a C-Sec officer," he added, causing Vitaso to look at him more sharply, with eyes narrowed.
"Yes, I imagine," replied Vitaso. "Let's hope you only keep doing your duty." With that, Vitaso turned to speak to another veteran, leaving Marik standing there. Laurel held out his drink.
"Keep it," he snapped.
"Marik, please…. don't let him get to you," she replied quietly, her voice soft. Don't talk to me like a child.
"Get me something alcoholic," he murmured. "Spirits knows I'm gonna need it."
"Like hell," she hissed. "You'll turn this from something merely annoying to something catastrophic." He couldn't be bothered arguing with her, and turned away to the bar. He felt her eyes on his back and heard her sigh loudly as he walked up to the bar. I don't need her disapproval. Fuck them all. He ordered reynor.
Laurel wasn't sure why he even bothered asking her to this uptight, humanless ball. She tried reasoning with him again, but he shrugged her off, telling her to go home. She refused to let him do this to himself; getting himself drunk would only lead to more grief and humiliation. It got to the point where an asari matriarch came up to the bar, spent ages chatting with him, while she miserably sat there drinking and becoming tipsy. An unusual sort of jealousy overcame her as he chatted away to the asari. Why does he waste time with me if I am so revolting?
When the asari finally moved off to chat with someone else, she finally became angry with him, telling him he'd end up embarrassing himself.
"You're causing a scene," he hissed, turning from her back to the bar. The 'scene' being a turian bartender and a salarian further down. This only pissed her off further.
She flung out an arm and snatched his glass from his talons. She was going to swig it, but for someone already drunk he had lightning-fast reflexes. He painfully grabbed her arm, twisting it. She threw the drink down his suit in response. Good. I hope it stains. And stings. She made sure to get some in his eyes as well. He stared at her with uncharacteristically wide eyes for a moment. Someone behind them sniggered.
"We need to talk outside," he then hissed in her ear.
"No, we don't," she snapped, turning away from him and moving towards the exit. She had enough; life was too short for this. Several turians stared at her as she stormed out of the room, towards the elevator and back to the rapid transit hub. Her arm stung from where he'd grabbed it, his talons had sunk down into the fleshy skin. When she returned to his apartment, she spent a good hour soaking in the bath, crying on and off. It was easy to give into anger and destructiveness, but this time she felt just plain dismal. Like the kind of dismal where a grey filter had replaced her normal colourful view. She'd ended up falling asleep on the sofa in front of the telly when she felt warmth on her back. Laurel sat up, blinking away sleepiness to see Marik slouched beside her. She could smell the stench of reynor and the clock on the wall said it was just after midnight. Disappointment flooded through her, but she didn't say anything.
"Vuren was there," he began. She knew whom he meant. The other turian he'd fist fought in her old restaurant. He started drunkenly telling her what had happened for the rest of the evening. It had been a rather boring affair until this turian showed up and announced in front of a crowd that Marik had been part of the Blue Suns for a year, explaining the absence.
"That's done it for my reputation. What was left of it," he said, sadness in his voice. She touched his hand briefly, giving it a squeeze, but couldn't bring herself to say anything. She felt simultaneously fed-up and curious to know more.
"Vuren was always so keen to oust me," he continued. "I had refused him a promotion years ago because I felt he wasn't ready at the time. He's held a grudge ever since."
"It seems unlikely for a turian to hold a grudge for that long," she said.
"Our instinct is to equate the self with the group, but of course many lack that honour. Myself included." There was a long, dead silence. Finally, she spoke.
"Why won't you tell me what had destroyed your reputation? What had disgraced you so?" She knew that turians' accountability and discipline was so steeped in their culture such mistakes were highly stigmatised, especially ones that included demotion. She watched him, the dark pits for eye sockets gazing down at the floor, his metallic carapace shining in the half-light of the nearby lamp.
"I committed manslaughter a few years ago," he told her. "I was provoked by a turian I'd disliked, and thrown him across the room with a biotic throw. He was killed instantly - his neck snapped, like a twig. Unfortunately it'd happened in a krogan-run bar and the owner was furious with the damage done. Many witnesses had seen it happen."
"What happened after that?" she asked, on the edge of her seat with sudden anticipation. Finally, he's opening up to me. Haena from her old workplace had been right, but it still shocked her that he'd killed someone instantly with biotics.
"I'm not going into all of that now," he said, waving a talon. "But I was given a sentence back on Palaven that let me off lightly, despite my alcoholism. I had connections and status, as well as wealth, and I wanted to avoid embarrassment to the Hierarchy, as did many others."
"I didn't know turians could be biotic," she confessed.
"It's not common, and it's mostly frowned upon. We are given separate squadrons, known as Cabals. I've known some brilliant biotic soldiers in my lifetime – but it is right for us to judge them. Biotic powers are dangerous and unstable."
"That's a bit of a sweeping statement, don't you think?" she said. She was beginning, she felt, to step on thin ice.
"Not at all," he admonished. "I could not master my own biotic abilities very well. They didn't manifest as well as I'd predicted and were often out of control. Shame had permeated my soul and no matter how hard I persisted I was always going to put others in danger as a result. They later trained me as a medic."
"Did you stay with the Cabals?" she asked him.
"No. I had my amp removed. Thankfully my leadership skills propelled me high very quickly, erasing the biotic past."
"I don't understand why biotics are stigmatised in your culture," she told him, genuinely surprised.
"It's more complicated than you think. But they are not trusted. I could've been sentenced to a life as a medic or maintenance officer, as my biotic abilities weren't combat proficient. Thankfully, I managed to escape that fate." He had walked in with a bottle, and it was resting in his other hand, which brought it up to his mouth. He slugged it back. It was hard to feel sympathy for him when he kept drinking, which was the root of his problems, it seemed.
"With a society based so much on discipline and honour, it seems a system that doesn't forgive mistakes that easily," she said to him.
"No, it doesn't. Perhaps that is why we attacked you immediately all those years ago. Our military doctrine was not only to defeat an enemy but remove their threat permanently. We are methodical…. Yet I sense some of that in your own society, Laurel."
"It varies between countries," she said. "We are all so very different… individual." She wanted desperately to heal that hurt in him, that humiliation and self-loathing. What could she say to a turian to make him understand? Were they really that different or had she got it all wrong? It was easy to think of what to say to a human, to gauge their emotions, to find some common ground. But with an alien? What tools did she have other than mere words?
"Marik…. I… I didn't tell you the whole truth about the nuclear probe during the war," she began. Her heart's pace began to speed up, as he turned his head slightly to set his gaze on her. His natural predatory features in that moment made her feel afraid. Her words suddenly dissolved in her mouth. Lovers or not, there was something still so foreign about him that unnerved her.
"What did you want to tell me, Laurel?" Her heartbeats started to thump so hard she thought they could be visible from her chest.
"I helped detonate the bomb." His eyes looked wider than she'd ever seen them before.
"I never had the chance to properly defuse it, which was through a clunky remote-controlled device. When we found it, it was dangerously close to a turian military patrol – your ship. Before I could start defusing, Jensen shot the two other crew members, Jonesy and Kalen, in the head. He held me at gunpoint and told me to detonate it. I was foolish thinking that maybe the explosion wouldn't hit the patrol - that it was too far away. I did as he asked."
"Just like that? No questions asked? No retaliation?" Marik said quietly.
"Just like that." This had the opposite effect, she realised. If anything, this was probably the worst thing she could've told him in this moment.
"Then how did you end up on Shanxi? How were further supply lines cut? It hadn't been the first time," he asked, an edge to his voice. She swallowed what felt like a rock.
"It was part of his plan to frame me, make sure he wasn't the instigator. Our ship was armed, and he shot down your cargo freighter - made sure you wouldn't get your provisions. The freighter put up a fight however, which shocked us both. We crashed on Shanxi, barely making it out alive. We fought, until he broke my arm and knocked me out… dragged me to a collapsed building." A dark look crossed Marik's face and a prickle of terror ghosted over her skin. She felt like pleading with him.
"Why did you decide to tell me this now, human?" he said icily.
"Marik… I wanted you to know that I too live with a mistake… with guilt…" Her voice broke as she spoke.
"You presume to think that my mistakes are the same as yours," he spat. "You made me think you'd tried to fight Jensen, that you did everything in your power to stop him. Yet you didn't. You were a coward and for that three hundred lives were lost."
"That's-"
"I half wished we ended up making you humans submit to us," he spat. "Or at least make you a client race like the Volus. We were better in every sense, yet… the Council…"
"Where'd that line of thinking get you?" she said, her voice wobbling. Where was her fight? "You fucked up and paid in reparations. I don't think your pride can ever understand that."
"My pride has nothing to do with it!" he bellowed, making her teeth rattle in her jaw. "Killing someone, anyone, is never an easy thing to get over. I am haunted by it every single day. Yet somehow your tale is cold-blooded. A single button to be pressed and boom. Gone!" Despair flooded her.
"I thought you'd understand!" she wept, tears now running in rivulets down her face. Oh, how I loathe myself. How I wish I were dead.
"Oh I understand, alright," he said. She saw the tension in his biceps, straining, itching to lash out.
"What else could I have done?" she cried. "It would've still happened." He threw himself up onto his feet, making her jump, the bottle still in his hand.
"Because of you, I was blamed for the loss of my soldiers. Not because it was my fault – because I was their leader. I was responsible! I lived with that guilt and I was punished."
"I don't understand why you weren't with your patrol, on your dreadnought," she bit out. He looked away, his talons pressing deep into the fabric of the sofa. Perhaps there was guilt in that? A survivor's guilt?
"A major supply line for my ground-based squadron had been sabotaged before your damage. I was the nearest commanding officer. I'd already sensed a possible surrender was underway, so I trusted my XO to command my ship while I went groundside."
"So you have survivor's guilt," she stated. "You weren't with your crew."
"You have no idea what I feel. You could not possibly understand," he said sharply. There was a brief, stilted silence.
"I'm sorry, Marik," she said, the fight having gone out of her. She was tired of feeling like a piece of shit.
"To hell with your apology," he snapped, and suddenly lobbed his bottle across the room as hard as he could. It smashed against the wall several metres away. It made her jump, and she quickly got up from the sofa, attempting to exit the room. She felt him snatch her wrist, pulling her back round into his chest. She met his eyes, craning her head. His body was warm as he caged her in his arms. The alien body she'd made love to.
"What do you want me to do then, turian?" she said, not putting up a fight. Her docility seemed to disarm him and he let go of her instantly. He turned round and sat back down on the sofa.
"I have tried living with the guilt," she said, staring at the ground. He wasn't looking up at her anymore. "I came to several points where I couldn't. I tried to end it all. So help me God I wished you had me killed on Shanxi. I cannot do this anymore with you. I cannot heal myself, love myself when I'm around you." Laurel turned away from him and went upstairs to grab her things. She was so distraught she started to sob. By the time she came back downstairs, she saw him asleep on the sofa. She made sure all trace of her was gone. It was time to go home, for good.
Our military doctrine was not only to defeat an enemy but remove their threat permanently. She tried to erase his words from her mind on the journey home. She was coming home. It had been so many, long years since she lived and breathed air that was unlike anywhere else. And it was unlike anywhere else on Earth as it was on Orkney. Would home have changed further? Would there be more buildings built on precious environmental land? Had the government allocated more funding towards public services? Had things in the country equalled out for the better? These thoughts drifted through her mind as she slept on and off during the flight back to Earth. She watched the various stations and satellites fly past, as well as other ships heading off world. It felt more than just strange after she'd landed, struggling to get used to the different gravity and the smell in the air. London had been cleaner than ever in its long tumultuous history but it still had a certain smell, warmth and feel. It didn't take long to feel like it hadn't been any time at all, and she felt overwhelmed all over again with the sudden loss of her mother.
Anise had been kind enough to leave her the family address before disappearing off to wherever. Her family had spent years living in England, close to the Alliance headquarters in London, but from seeing Anise's email on her omni tool, her father now lived back home in Orkney. As she took a flight up to the small cluster of islands her emotions ricocheted between dread and relief. Dread because the last time she'd seen her father was nearly twenty years ago and relief because Earth was helping her forget about Marik. Doubt occasionally pushed itself through also, making her question why she bothered to listen to Anise. Why the hell should she come home? Despite any doubt and growing resentment for Anise, Laurel decided that coming home was the better option. Somehow as home grew closer, reality felt real again. She could stop living some half-life, some half waking dream.
Each part of him ached, from the tips of his cowl to the talons on his feet. Without having to guess what'd happened, he already felt shame, regret and a large dollop of self-hatred all at once. When he managed to open his eyes, Marik saw that his apartment was in total uproar. The TV screen had come off the wall and had smashed onto the floor. The remains of glass bottles were strewn everywhere, the shards twinkling brightly like confetti. Chairs had been knocked over as well as a bookcase. Some unimportant sculptures had been knocked and smashed to smithereens. It looked like a fight had occurred, but he wouldn't be remiss to say that perhaps alcohol had won the night. He must've really hit the bottle hard because he couldn't remember a damn thing and it scared him senseless. Marik hauled his aching body up to the shower room, seeing glass shards stuck in his arms and lower legs. As the warmth of the shower water ran over him, he began to remember certain things from the night.
It had been utterly disastrous and he felt his mandibles curl in utter shame. He felt picking out the shards of glass from his skin was an adequate punishment, wincing at the pain. His cobalt-coloured blood trickled down with the water. He'd taken Laurel to a military veterans evening, which was a stupid idea from the off. He'd met with Vitaso as well as several others. He began drinking after meeting Vitaso, leaving Laurel by herself. She must've left early. Vuren had showed up. For the most part he'd been civil, but as the evening went on things became progressively worse. He still couldn't remember much of it, but he did remember that everyone now knew the truth about his year away; the Blue Suns. He leant his forehead against the tiled wall of the shower, closing his eyes in misery. How could he escape himself? Ever since his mistake all those years ago, he'd gone from bad to worse. The Hierarchy wasn't sure how to deal with him, with his alcoholism. Unable to ruminate further, he finished showering and dressed. He took his hand wraps from a nearby drawer and retreated to the punch bag in his fitness room. As he walked downstairs, his omni tool bleeped, signalling an email.
For the briefest, dumb moment he hoped it was Laurel. He glanced down to read it. C-Sec.
Her father's house was in an old, converted barn house, one that dated back to the previous century. It was surrounded by low-lying farmland, absent of any trees, which was typical as the wind constantly howled. She saw sheep and cattle behind the house, which surprised her. Was her father keeping a farm? It would only make sense, as there was very little else employment wise. The nearest Alliance base was miles and miles away, back on the mainland. She'd arrived in late May, just as summer was about to begin. Everything had bloomed and hadn't yet been cut back before it became uncontrollable. She could hear coastal birds from afar as she walked down the gravel path to the front door. A cat was skulking near the hydrangeas further along the path, lifting its tail as it noticed her and meandering over. Laurel bent down to give it a stroke as she rang the door.
"What is it?" came a barely audible, gruff voice over the intercom.
"Dad, let me answer!" said another voice, a voice she presumed belonged to Fern.
"It's Laurel," she said, silencing them both. Her mouth felt spongy and dry. She decided that it was best to pre-warn them. Anticipation was something that made people act in certain ways. She was worried it would build up to something her father or sister couldn't handle. She wanted it, despite her resentment and hurt, to go right. Fern, her youngest sister, opened the door. A familiar face, one that was still Fern, greeted her but a Fern that had changed significantly.
"Laur," she said, using a nickname Laurel hadn't heard for years. Before Laurel could say anything, her sister threw herself into her arms, squeezing the breath out of her. Her sister smelt of fresh baking.
"I've just made banana bread," said Fern. Shocked at her sister's affection, Laurel couldn't help but draw a small smile.
"Ugh, you kept mum's old recipe?" she asked. Her sister shrugged, turning to lead inside.
"I altered it for the better," was her reply. Inside the house was beautiful; open and airy, with the old wooden beams that structured the house above them. On one side was the living area, a wood burner (surely it was electric?) centralising the space. On the other, was the kitchen. She glanced up to see a mezzanine above the kitchen, with a closed area on the other. Her mum would've loved this house; it was light, it was spacious, it was in the middle of nowhere surrounded by countryside. Before she could even register her father over in the living space, a golden retriever nearly knocked her off her feet.
"That's Boomer," called Fern, who was instantly making tea and serving banana bread. Laurel bent down to stroke Boomer's long golden fur, Boomer's large dark eyes drinking her in with immediate approval. Laurel caught a whiff of Boomer's fur, that typical scent that belonged to certain dogs. Ah, she missed Earth's animals. Living on space stations for so long made her forget how much she loved them; the domestic animals, the wildlife…. The Citadel, Marik, everything felt so far away and newly alien again.
"Here," said Fern, pushing a mug of tea into Laurel's cold hands. "I know it's nearly June, but it's still bloody cold up here."
"I've missed it," said Laurel, without thinking. Fern lacked the obvious glamour that Anise so carefully crafted into her late image. Back when they were younger, Fern had been the self-involved, highly-strung sibling, with mountains of friends and heaps of anxiety. She spent each waking moment trying to construct the perfect social circle and obtain perfect grades alongside. Now, like Laurel she wore very little makeup, and made do with a jumper that had permanent dog fur stuck to it and relaxed jeans. Her hair, curly (unfortunately) like her two other sisters, had been left to its natural state, although it was evidently damaged from years of straightening and God-knows-what-else.
"You look like me," smiled Laurel, forgetting she was staring at her sister so closely. She then bit into the bread. "Wow, this is nice! You might've converted me."
"I found loads of mum's old recipes when we moved out several years ago. I found that amazing one – you know the one – the blue cheese and leek pasta? God, that was so delicious," Fern smiled. Her skin was sun-kissed; much like Laurel's had been at one time, with rosy cheeks probably as a result of the constant fresh, sea air around them. Fern guided them to the living area, where their father was noticeably absent.
"He's upstairs these days, bedbound. He's obsessed with people bothering us so he's hooked his omni tool up to the door," said Fern, curling onto the sofa.
"This is a really lovely house," confessed Laurel. "How long have you been living here?"
"Only five years. Dad's pension came in and well… let's just say he's comfortable. Being high up in the military does nice things for your bank account."
"I'll bet," murmured Laurel, sipping the tea. They were quiet for a little while, and Laurel tried to enjoy the peacefulness while it lasted. Boomer jumped up on the sofa next to her, snuggling into her side.
"She likes you," said Fern.
"She likes everyone, she's a retriever," replied Laurel, giving Boomer a rub around the ears.
"It took her months for her to do that to me," replied Fern. Silence surrounded them once more. It's time to ask the question, Laurel. It's now or never.
"How is Dad?"
"He's doing… ok," said Fern. "He's been retired for a few years now. He's got quite an aggressive form of cancer. It's been treated for now and he's recovering, but they said it could make a comeback."
"I'm sorry you've been left to deal with it all," said Laurel quietly.
"Don't be silly," replied her sister. "You've no need to be sorry. Was Anise the one to convince you to come here?"
"She seemed to threaten me with 'dad is dying' and you couldn't look after him anymore." Fern's brow crossed.
"Only because she didn't want to come back herself," she replied with annoyance. Laurel sipped the tea, savouring the taste. Things tasted different here. It was probably the water, and the milk – milk being something she hadn't had in a long, long time. They spent a long time talking on the sofa, although the space-time lag was making her feel progressively dozy. Laurel couldn't help but feel somewhat awkward at first, her body tense and stiff even if the dog snuggled into her. Fern, on the other hand, seemed very relaxed. She was still her youngest sister, but she had completely changed. Apparently Anise had been correct in saying that their father refused any carers. Fern said it was hard looking after him, but she said she wanted to.
"I wasn't there for mum."
As they continued to talk, sorrow overcame Laurel and she tried to rein in her tears. She didn't want the attention, the possible affection that might be the result. Fern was doing better than she was before, working as a travel writer for a small company, after having 'eleven jobs in eleven years.' She was dating someone she knew from her local exercise class. She was glad to live where she was, despite it being isolated (still, after all this time). They didn't know what to do with all that time that had been lost. Fern seemed to regret, as did everyone else, the time not spent with their real mother. Emma, their former stepmother, had divorced their father a year after he retired. Laurel couldn't say she was sorry. Emma, like their father, was cold and aloof with added snobbishness. They talked well into the evening; Laurel having filled in Fern the details of her life, missing certain things out.
Fern didn't question her about the war, about what had happened to her in prison, whether she was really responsible for what she'd been framed for. She seemed to know, somehow, the truth. Fern cooked them a meal, taking her father's up to his room on the mezzanine level, and eating hers with Laurel downstairs. Laurel suspected that her father was avoiding coming down to see her – despite what Fern had said about him being bedbound. And it was becoming harder, the longer she sat there chatting to Fern, to acquire the courage to go upstairs. Fern seemed to sense this however, and told her they didn't have to rush. Surprised, Laurel took this advice to heart and spent the rest of the evening drinking homemade cocktails while watching the latest films on the large screen in the living area. The alcohol loosened her up slightly, even answering Fern's questions about her time spent between prison and now.
"Nothing but a bunch of waitressing jobs on the Citadel," she said, watching a film about an asari disguised as a human, trying to fit in. She tried not to let the feeling of worthlessness seep in like it usually did.
"I'm sorry I never came to see you while you were in prison…" Fern suddenly said after a few moments of silence, watching the screen in front. Laurel turned to look at her, her glass now empty in her hand and her heard swilling pleasantly. You're going to open up, aren't you? You've had two glasses and already feel like spilling.
"S'ok. Getting a flight offworld for a teenager to an Alliance space prison ain't easy," she replied.
"What you did…."
"Fern, look, now isn't the time," sighed Laurel, feeling a surge of something, something painful, about to rise out of her. It was temptingly easy to crush the champagne-style glass in her hand.
"I just want to say that I know you didn't do it," Fern said, ignoring her sister's protests. She had a lot more to drink than Laurel, although Laurel had always known her as slightly weak when it came to drinking. Laurel turned to smile at her weakly. This is not what I wanted to discuss. But I guess it would come up.
"And Mum knew as well. I wish you could get some justice for what happened." Laurel swigged the last of her drink.
"The past is past," replied Laurel. The mood had quietened, perhaps soured after that. They exchanged a few words before Laurel settled down to sleep. She slept on the sofa bed facing the patio doors out onto the garden, overlooking the night sky. She thought of Marik. A turian. A turian whom she slept with. Who had peeled her clothes off and pleasured her most intimately, brought her a release she'd never felt before. She thought about his body, his totally alien body that bore little relation to hers. The hard and soft plates of his skin, pliable like leather, springy like foam. Skin that she was cautious to touch. Skin that was tougher than hers – skin that had made her own bleed. Eyes that burnt right through to her soul, a stare that still made her feel cautious, afraid. It was hard to believe that he wanted her, more than she him – at first anyway. It felt awkward for her still. Not only because he was turian. Because of what had happened during the war. Did he remind her of that terrible time? Of course he did. And it was harder to accept that despite everything she wanted sex with him again.
Absedeus Marik had been requested to attend Executor Pallin's office a day later, after he received his initial message from C-Sec. Thankfully, the C-Sec message had been from Pavra, although he knew his meeting with Pallin would not prove fruitful in the slightest. Executor Pallin was the head of Citadel security and a liason between C-Sec and the Council. For such a prominent figure to request a sudden meeting set Marik's teeth on edge and his plates to quiver in unease. He wasn't due to go into work for another day, but Pavra's message was also something that made him anxious. It wasn't surprising that she knew, as she would've had to deal with it at the time back at the offices. They found that Anise Carter worked for Cerberus. Would Laurel be shocked by this? She seemed to hold no affection or regard for her sibling – he was beginning to understand this. It seemed Anise had cut off contact with her sister many years ago, just as their father did. He knew it would trouble Laurel, perhaps for the same reason as him; Anise was a diplomat specialising in interspecies alliances. Had she been supplying Cerberus with sensitive information? He knew little of Cerberus but he knew enough: a terrorist pro-human group with a notorious history. He'd known about them before their first public story, which was their failed attempt to steal antimatter from a human cruiser back in 2165.
It seemed Cerberus, despite their belief in 'human ascension', committed more acts of terrorism against their own than any other species. He viewed this poxy paramilitary with nothing but cold disdain. No other race had such a group, although he viewed the ideals of the Batarian Hegemony with equal disdain. Humanity had a lot in common with the batarians, whether they liked it or not. Laurel wouldn't agree. Of course she wouldn't, he grumbled to himself as he took a skycar to Pallin's office at the far end of the Presidium. He made sure to put on his best clothes and appear presentable – not the drunken merc that everyone now knew him to be. He nodded at the receptionist, who waved him in, saying he was expected. Marik tried not to feel surprised as he was twenty minutes early. Executor Pallin was a severe-looking turian, his plates sharp and rugged with his clothing carrying the weight of superiority. His colony markings were white and mostly covered the top half of his face, so it was difficult to look him in the eyes – which were very sharp in contrast. He was well known (although many turians had this trait) for his rigidity, unwavering in his resolve. He was also outspoken in his political opinions, one that did not favour human's rapid advancement, more so than others in similar positions who had learnt to live and let live. Marik tried to tell himself he could be forgiven for feeling sudden heart palpitations and weakness in his spurs. However, despite his status, Pallin was not one for rudeness.
"General Marik," he greeted him, giving him a salute. This surprised Marik who faltered slightly as he returned the salute, feeling something crack as he straightened his back and legs to attention. General had been the last 'official' title before his court sentence.
"An honour, sir," he replied. He'd never personally met Executor Pallin, especially since he was a lower rank in C-Sec.
"Take a seat, Marik," Pallin offered him, sitting down in his own behind his desk. Despite his taller height, Marik still felt incontestably small in the presence of Pallin.
"Thank you sir," Marik replied, the feeling of fear having not grown smaller. Pallin observed him for a moment, and cleared his throat.
"You've done a great many things for the Hierarchy," he began. "Your outstanding service has been indisputable. Your achievements are impressive – originally a biotic, then a trained doctor and soon rising up to the title of General from regular infantry? Despite your various mistakes, the way you handled the events of the Relay 314 Incident is to be commended." Pallin paused, his beady eyes sucking in Marik.
"Thank you, sir," he repeated. Pallin interlinked his talons.
"But I haven't called you into this office to offer mere praise. Quite frankly, I am disturbed by what I have heard of you. I'd like you to set my mind at ease," he said.
"By doing what?" Marik asked, even though he knew. "Sir," he quickly added.
"I'd like you to dispel the rumours I have heard," said Pallin, the hint of poison in his deeply guttural voice. Marik was about to open his mouth to further prod Pallin, but the turian cut him off.
"You have already proved that your alcoholism has led to unfortunate consequences, namely the death of another. Despite the Hierarchy's somewhat too-lenient punishment you still continued with your habit, knowing fully well what the consequences would be. You were helped, you were warned, yet you persisted."
"May I speak freely, sir?" Marik cut in quickly. Pallin's mandibles flared in warning.
"You may not," he said, a chill in his voice. "You have disgraced yourself, Marik. I use your term 'General' only because I am to remain civil. You have caused a great deal of embarrassment on the Citadel. When I heard of your employment with C-Sec I thought you had taken a turn for the better. Then I hear reports of your drunkenness in public, which rose to a brawl at a restaurant. But now I am hearing further reports of you - a once decorated military general - having worked for the Blue Suns. I implore you to challenge such rumours." Pallin gave off a certain scent that just warned of hostility and not of the physical kind. Marik's shoulders slumped in defeat, knowing that to argue with Pallin was pointless and arrogant if he should do so.
"The rumours…. are true, sir. I was in their service for a year," he said, with a steady voice. Pallin impatiently expelled air through his nostrils.
"I wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt, I really did," said Pallin. "But since these rumours arose from a veterans evening where you became embarrassingly drunk, again, I am somewhat inclined to believe them." Marik wanted the floor to swallow him up. His plates became cold with the feeling of shame, utter shame that made him want to end it all then and there. Maybe mercenary work is the only way I can feel accepted. Feel like I can use my power. Use it to an end that is unconstrained by prejudice and blind submission. Pallin stood up from his desk, to which Marik mirrored, standing as straight as he could.
"Although it is within my power, I will not exercise it. I'll grant you this small mercy; willingly terminate your employment with C-Sec. I do not want you cause any further shame and embarrassment. The humans will use anything against us in order to get their oar in. Your misbehaviour is not an excuse I want to give them." It was difficult not to let this insult sting, but he knew that the Executor was ultimately right. Pallin said nothing for a few minutes, having gone back to his terminal screen.
"I understand, sir." Pallin gave it another minute before looking back up at Marik. Pallin's mandibles twitched and he bounced a knee with what looked like tense impatience.
"I would also like you to dispel the somewhat disturbing rumours I've heard – about you being involved sexually with a human. Please do not tell me this is true." Pallin's face was contorted, his mandibles pulled tight with revulsion. As if things couldn't be any worse. Marik's shoulders slumped, resisting the urge to bury his head in his hands.
"I-I… am," he stammered, not meeting Pallin's eyes.
"I see," the Executor answered. The silence was insufferable. "While I do not usually give a damn about your sex life, I am concerned about this one. As a public figure it is your duty to maintain a respectable, consistent image. For all your other misdemeanours, this one could carry potential political ramifications if things were to go south."
"I don't understand," replied Marik. Pallin's nostrils flared somewhat.
"Don't play dumb with me. It's been thirteen years-"
"Yes, exactly, thirteen years," Marik cut him off.
"Barely enough time to understand one another. Do not tell me you are suddenly ready to accept such an aggressive species and their current agenda."
"I don't see how fucking's got anything to do with it," snapped Marik.
"Hold your tongue," Pallin barked. A brief silence that seemed to last eternity. Pallin tilted his head a little.
"It's not just sex though… is it, General?" Marik kept his mouth close this time, furious that the Executor had shamed him like this. He couldn't disobey the high official. It wasn't in his blood, in his genes. It would go against everything. Haven't you betrayed all that, anyway? The negative voice in his head was unrelenting. His worst enemy. Before Marik could get up and salute the Executor goodbye, Pallin spoke.
"I still hold great respect for you, Marik." Marik stiffened, his back still turned. He counted to five and turned round.
"But I expect you to take heed of my words."
"Thank you sir," said Marik, trying to keep his anger and despair out of his subharmonics.
"Dismissed," Pallin then cut him off before he could say anymore. He felt Pallin's eyes burn into his back as he left the office. It was tempting to just find a bar, but despair flooded him like nothing else. He returned home. What could he do? He felt like smashing the place up. He wanted to drink, spirits he wanted a drink so badly. The pain and shame would go away. What did he say to her before she left? Where had she gone? It had been something cruel, no doubt. Something that had driven her away without saying goodbye, without leaving him a message. It had only taken until now for him to contemplate it properly.
Back home, Marik stripped himself of his clothing, dumping it on the floor and ran a bath, perhaps hoping to drown in it. If he ran it hot enough, after making a strong caffeinated beverage, maybe it would take away the impulse to drink. His muscles were tense and there was a distinct ache in his spurs and arms. Lowering himself into the incredibly hot water (more than a human could stand), he suddenly remembered what had happened that night. He'd called her a coward. She had opened up to him; told him possibly something she hadn't told anyone else, and he'd thrown it back in her face. He had become drunk at the veterans evening and flirted with another asari. She tried to stop him from drinking, but he'd been rude to her. He submerged himself into the water, letting it envelop his senses. After opening his eyes, he looked at the tiled wall of the bath. They'd made love here. He had taken her from behind, enclosing her body with his, pushing her hard against the wall. Consumed her. She was so much more pliable, softer, more rounded than a turian. She felt tighter, yet with a remarkable suppleness that welcomed him. He felt himself growing briefly aroused despite his pain.
What else? Marik had become drawn to her, and not just sexually. He couldn't place a finger on it. Her resilience? Her kindness? She'd been so aloof at the start yet slowly she'd unravelled, revealing a playfulness he'd never seen before. He didn't deserve her. He thought of ways he could tell her that they shouldn't carry on. I'm sorry, Laurel. I cannot be what you or I need me to be. I tried to block you out of my mind all those years ago. I succeeded. I'm sorry I forgot you.
Despair clenched his jaw, made his eyes sting. He threw his coffee at the wall, where it shattered loudly. He punched the tiles of the bath wall. The tiles cracked, one by one.
On the second night, Laurel decided to go out with Fern. They took a skytrain to the nearest city on the mainland, after having dinner and dressed up for the night. Laurel had enjoyed her time spent home more than she'd thought she would. During the day they had gone on a long walk, enjoying the country scenery of their birthplace. Fern thankfully hired a nurse hours before, although she decided to avoid telling their dad for obvious reasons. They went to a popular nightclub district, which was bright and alive with countless people, all dressed up, milling around inside and out. Laurel wasn't keen on getting drunk, but she knew her sister had downed a couple of glasses of spirit while they got ready. They found a fairly quiet bar to begin with, tucked down the end of the long street away from the noise and brightness of the district. Places like this certainly were better cared for than what she'd seen before…. although the last time she'd been clubbing on Earth it had been in London, and it had been over thirteen years. Fern ordered them a large cocktail pitcher and they found themselves a booth in a far corner. The place was decorated with synthetic cherry blossom and fairy lights with the tables and chairs made out of smooth, chromatic materials that caught the light.
"This is a nice place," commented Laurel, taking her first sip from the pitcher. The daiquiri went down a treat, making her taste buds tingle. Fern's long earrings glittered in the dim light.
"I like to start here," she smiled. "Start nice and quiet…"
"I'm not getting drunk, Fern," said Laurel, raising her eyebrows.
"We'll see," Fern quipped. Fortunately they didn't run out of things to say. At first it was light and jovial, but as the pitcher's contents slowly went down, it became more serious. They'd spent a couple of hours drinking cocktail after cocktail, with the bar significantly busier now. With the pleasurable light-headedness and energy now felt in her body, Laurel proved her own words wrong.
"I told you," said Fern, laughing. It was like they were catching up on lost time, and Laurel briefly longed for the days when she used to sneak out when sixteen. When she used to go drinking with friends, when she tried drugs and had casual sex. But there was always something about casual sex that left a bitter aftertaste. And the drugs always made her feel much, much worse afterwards, as did the alcohol. And her bank account was always drained. She ignored the old memories. By the time she fully opened up to her sister, they were in a bathroom in another nightclub, with no clue how they got there. The music next door was booming. A cleaner was mopping up vomit on the floor. A couple of women sat next to them on the washbasin were laughing and crying. There was makeup smeared all over the mirror. Fern touched up her hair and attempted her lipstick again.
"I'm confused about someone," Laurel finally slurred. She felt relieved at having said it, as if her chest would've burst.
"Finally," moaned Fern. "I thought it'd take you forever until you told me about any new squeezes." Laurel leaned against the mirror, gazing distantly at the two other women.
"So? Who is it!?"
"A man."
"Oooookay, first part out of the way. Who is he?" asked Fern, eyes wide with curiosity and alcohol. Argh, I shouldn't have said anything. Laurel, despite the alcohol, could feel her cheeks and neck warming. Shame permeated her, making her feel flushed and hot, more so than she already was in a sticky, sweaty club. She knew Fern would never let go of the subject however, especially not tonight.
"I slept with… a turian." Fern's eyes were so big they looked like they were going to pop out of her head. Her mouth dropped open a little. Laurel pressed the back of her hands to her cheeks, feeling as if they were on fire. Fern's eyes were still huge, like saucers.
"Ugh, I knew I shouldn't have said anything," murmured Laurel, beginning to turn away.
"No! No no no," began Fern, taking her by the arm and pulling her back round. "I'm not…. I'm just, well, wow!" Laurel crossed her arms, eyebrows raised.
"'Well wow'? Is that a euphemism for 'well, gross?"
"Hah! No! What was it like? How did it work? Did you have to buy anything for it? What did he look like? Is he like a human?"
"Just… put the brakes on," laughed Laurel.
"I've never… I've never seen another species! Yet you've had sex with one!" Fern's voice was a little too loud with excitement. Thankfully, everyone was too drunk and too busy crying, vomiting or cackling with laughter.
"I've seen them on the news, in the media, on film and stuff…. but in real life? Wow… what's he like? What's his name? What does he do?"
"You never saw an asari, salarian or turian while we were in London?" scoffed Laurel.
"Not up close! Besides I've been living here all my adult life!" squeaked Fern. "So what's his name?!"
"I, uh, his name is Marik," replied Laurel, unable to hide her smile.
"Marik! Are you not… scared a bit when you guys have sex?"
"Um… no?" laughed Laurel.
"Well, I used to find turians scary when I was younger… I thought salarians were cute. Krogan were bloody terrifying. Asari are like us… The hanar! I remember dad bringing me a hanar stuffed toy back from the Citadel once…. I think it was asari handmade or something…"
"The sex was painful at the start," continued Laurel. "He… he has plate-like skin. We didn't think of it… well my thighs were badly chafed afterwards, but he felt…" Laurel trailed off again, her embarrassment rising once more.
"Felt what?! Was it good?"
"It was… pretty great," replied Laurel. Fern punched her lightly on the arm.
"Since when did you turn into such a prude, Laur?!"
"Since I fell in love with an alien," laughed Laurel. Fern, even when drunk, didn't miss a thing.
"You're in love with him?" exclaimed Fern loudly. A snigger was heard from behind them. Oh god. I must be really drunk now.
"No of course not," she slurred in reply. Here's hoping Fern will forget about this in the morning. She had to admit she admired her sister's complete lack of judgement.
"What does he do?" asked Fern, sitting up on the washbasin now.
"He works for C-Sec, the Citadel's version of the police," said Laurel.
"Oh my god, this sounds like some sort of telly drama!" exclaimed Fern, clapping her hands. Laurel shook her head, suddenly feeling horribly sad. It's just the alcohol, ignore it. She didn't say anything until Fern caught on. Fern dragged them out the back, where everyone was smoking or getting some fresh air.
"So. It's complicated?" Fern asked once they were in a small, tucked-away corner, underneath a light emitting pleasant warmth and light.
"I… Well, he's a turian for a start," laughed Laurel. God I'm drunk and need a cigarette. She managed to nab one off another smoker, and lit it up immediately. Her head felt even lighter at this point.
"Yeah. I guess things are still a bit sour at the moment," replied Fern. "But… I'm surprised. You faced them during the war, didn't you?" Laurel took another drag, inhaling deeply. She let out the smoke through her nostrils, preparing herself.
"That's when I met him," she replied. Fern knitted her brows in confusion.
"You met him during the war?"
"I was interrogated by him." There was a still silence, despite the noise around them. Fern looked shocked.
"Give me your hand," she suddenly said. Laurel tried to brush her off, but Fern was adamant, grabbing her free hand and spreading out the misaligned fingers.
"What… Did they?" Fern's hands were warm as she held hands gently.
"He was their captain. His small unit captured me on Shanxi. The remainder of his soldiers were the ones killed by the probe. He was angry, rightfully so, I guess. But…" Fern's eyes filled with immediate tears.
"Oh Laurel…"
"You're such a goddamn baby," Laurel replied, smiling while enveloping her sister in a tight hug. But she couldn't help herself; the tears came to her eyes as she hugged her sister. Maybe it was the alcohol, but this time Laurel felt it more than ever.