Author's Note – Next chapter up! Glad y'all seem to like this little side trip. Thanks as usual to everyone who has read, faved and followed, with special shout-outs to my reviewers: Scarlet Arachnid, Madcat Capers, Drummerchick7, ValeriNeria, CACNTommyBoi & the eternally anonymous Guest!
Six Years Earlier: 2179 CE, Arcturus Station
"Buy a girl a drink?"
Talia glanced sideways at the redhead who had slid onto the barstool next to her. Easy enough on the eyes, but - "I'll pass." Not why she was here tonight.
"I could buy you one instead?"
Talia glanced back, trying to decide if the winsome smile was enticing enough to bother. "Got one," she replied, lifting her mug. And you didn't chug a perfectly mixed Black and Tan, thank you.
"The next round, then?" the redhead persisted.
Mild interest was shifting to mild annoyance. "Why?" she asked bluntly.
"Drinking alone is no fun."
"I'm not drinking alone." Shep and Alistair were on the dance floor with their partners of the moment, but it was way too early in the evening for either of them to be hooking up. They'd be back for another round in a song or two. Another night, Talia might be out there with them, but tonight, she was in the mood to sit and drink good beer. She'd already turned down a couple of offers for drinks or a dance.
"I am."
Talia regarded her with an upraised eyebrow. The pout was plainly intended to be more cute than mournful. "I can see a dozen warm bodies who would be happy to cure that for you," she observed. "Why me?"
"Because you are the most interesting person in the room."
The sincere warmth in the redhead's voice had the needle on the bullshit meter bouncing. "Got a thing for scars, do you?" Talia inquired, taking a sip from her mug. She'd never made any real attempt to hide them, though the eyepatch facade over the implants that had replaced her left eye were a definite improvement on the empty socket. Her clothes hid the worst of it, but the left side of her face and neck still bore the marks from the acid burns. Most people wouldn't call her hideous – or even ugly – but more than a few called her intimidating as hell, and she was fine with that.
Her would-be drinking buddy didn't seem to be among that number, however. "Scars just mean that you survived," she observed, still piling on a thick layer of sincerity.
Talia snorted. Apparently, being good looking meant that you didn't get a lot of practice with pickup lines. "Thanks, Doc, but I've had my psych eval for this year."
"I'm not a psychiatrist." The redhead cocked her head, seeming to consider something for a moment before going on. "I'm a journalist."
Oh, hell, no. "And?" Talia sat up straighter, putting a crap-ton of ominous behind that single syllable.
The redhead shrugged. "And N7 is hot news: the best of the best. I wanted to do a story on the new graduates from the program, and I picked you as the focus." She leaned a bit closer, voice lowering. "Even before you entered ICT, you'd survived Batarians, thresher maws … I meant what I said before: you are the most interesting person in this room."
"To a vulture, maybe," Talia grunted, but now that she knew the woman's angle, she'd actually relaxed a bit. She'd been dealing with reporters since Mindoir; they could only survive if you fed them. "There are seventeen others who finished the program this time. Go bug them for your story." Shep had a military pedigree stretching back six generations; Alistair had dragged himself out of the slums of earth on sheer determination. Not that Talia planned on informing the nosy bitch of anything she might not already know. Which reminded her: "You already knew who I am."
"I never said I didn't," the redhead pointed out, then, suddenly conciliatory, "Look, I'm sorry if you feel that I deceived you. Let me buy you a drink and we can talk for a bit. I give you my word that I won't publish anything unless you give me permission."
"The word of a reporter," Talia drawled, rolling her right eye toward the ceiling.
"I'm a journalist, not a reporter," the redhead corrected her, big blue eyes all serious now, "and I keep my word."
"Ri-ight." Talia leaned back against the bar, took another drink of beer. "I feel so much better now." On the dance floor, Erin had obviously spotted her company and gave her a big, go-for-it grin. If she only knew.
"Well, if you don't want to talk, how about a dance?" The redhead put a hand on her arm, but Talia snatched it away.
"Lady, what is it about 'No' that you're having trouble with?" she growled, her patience rapidly reaching its limits.
"You haven't actually said no yet," the other woman pointed out smugly.
She was right, damn it. "Let me correct that, then," Talia snapped, leaning down until they were nose to nose: close enough to smell the delicate floral scent of her perfume. "No. Hell, no. And fuck off." She sat back in her chair, glaring. "Clear enough?"
"Crystal." The redhead looked more amused than offended. "Can't blame a girl for trying," she said with a careless shrug as she slid off the bar stool and sauntered away, making sure Talia got a good look at what she'd turned down.
Oh, Talia could blame her, but she resolutely turned her eyes away from the swaying hips and back to the dance floor, taking a deep swallow of the Black and Tan and trying to ignore the irritating feeling that the redhead had managed to best her somehow. The girl was a lot more than just easy on the eyes, but she obviously knew it, used it. Wouldn't hurt for the princess not to get her way this time. Damn reporters, anyway; bloodsuckers, the lot of them, ready to screw over whoever they needed to in order to get their exclusive scoops.
"Okay, what the hell is wrong with you?" Alistair leaped easily onto the barstool the redhead had vacated and ordered a beer. "She was hot!"
"She's a reporter," Talia told him.
"Ouch," he winced. "You're sure?"
"She told me she was. Actually, she said she was a journalist." Talia sneered as she emphasized the word. As if that was any different.
"Well …" He turned his head to glance after the redhead, clearly enjoying the view. "At least she was honest, right? I mean, if you know it, what's the harm in a dance … or whatever." He gave her a lopsided leer, waggling his eyebrows.
"I don't like reporters," she reminded him flatly. "You want to take a run at her, be my guest."
"I'm not the one she's interested in," he countered, watching her closely. "And we're supposed to be celebrating?"
"I am," she replied, lifting her mug. His exuberance could get wearying at times, but it went a long way toward counterbalancing the dark moods that threatened to drag her down on occasion. Tonight wasn't one of those occasions, however. "I'm fine," she assured him. "Just in the mood for low-key tonight."
"Well, she definitely doesn't qualify as that," he smirked, nodding toward the dance floor, lecherous grin back in place. Against her better judgment, Talia followed his gaze, and -
Fuck …
The redhead had snagged a partner of sorts in the form of a guy who was built like a krogan: narrow hips, broad chest and shoulders, no neck, and was currently demonstrating moves that would make an asari pole-dancer blush. Lithe curves moved in sensuous synchrony with the beat, the blue eyes closed, seemingly lost in the music. Her partner didn't have a chance in hell of keeping up, but he seemed happy to just shuffle his feet and enjoy the show, though she barely seemed aware of his presence. Eyes still closed, she drew her hands over her head, arms undulating as her head tipped back to expose the pale line of her throat, red hair catching dim fire in the flickering lights on the dance floor.
Talia swallowed, aware that Alistair was saying something to her, but unable to focus on the words. The hands came down, moving seductively over the swaying curves, and the chin lowered, blue eyes sliding open and looking straight at Talia for an electric moment, the full lips curving into a knowing smile.
God damn it.
Talia twisted away, back to the bar, trying to ignore the dryness in her mouth, the heat prickling her skin. It hadn't been that long since she'd gotten laid, damn it. "Like I said, be my guest," she growled, draining the Black and Tan in three swallows and lifting the empty mug in a signal for a refill.
"Ri-ight." The smug bastard didn't even try to hide the amusement in his tone. "I'm not much for redheads, anyway."
Talia shot him a skeptical look. "Since when?"
His grin was unrepentant. "Since tonight, anyway. I'm in a blonde sort of mood." He glanced toward the door and his eyes widened. "And if you'll excuse me, I think I've just spotted the next Mrs. Theirin." He hopped off the barstool, then hesitated, looking back at her. "You're sure you're all right?"
"Christ, I'm fine!" she exclaimed in mock exasperation, shoving him in the direction he'd been moving. "At least, I will be once you leave me the hell alone and go get laid!"
Mollified, he turned to go, but couldn't resist a parting shot. "Wouldn't hurt you, either."
"Yeah, right," Talia muttered, turning to claim the newly poured Black and Tan, determined to consume this one with the reverence it was due and resolutely keeping her back to the dance floor. "Not this time."
2185 CE, Hagalaz
Ancient fucking history, unfolding in her mind's eye in the split second before she reacted.
The omni-blade disintegrated with another flick of the wrist as Talia released her grip on the intruder and leaped back as if she'd been burned, only to leap back in a second later, instinct propelling her forward just in time to catch the redhead before she hit the floor.
"Don't hurt her, Talia!" Liara cried out, moving quickly toward them.
"Seriously?" Talia glowered irritably at the asari, straightening under a burden that wasn't nearly what it should have been, the feel of bones jutting too prominently beneath the skin and the familiar stench of wounds left to fester only adding to the pulse of anger behind her eye and the edge in her voice. "If I was going to fuckin' hurt her, she'd be dead already!" Not like she'd been in any condition to put up a fight; Talia wasn't sure how she'd made it as far as she had.
Not that she gave a damn. Professional curiosity, that was all.
"And what the hell was that shit all about, anyway?" she demanded, gesturing awkwardly toward the comm panel, regretting it almost immediately as the woman in her arms cried out in pain.
"Be careful," Liara cautioned her reprovingly, brushing tangled red hair away from the pale face, drawing her hand back with a hiss. "She's burning up!" she murmured in dismay.
"What - what hap-" The redhead was barely conscious, but still struggling to speak.
"He's dead," Liara told her soothingly. "He can't hurt you any more, Leli."
Blue eyes hazed with fever and pain fought to focus. "But … you … why -"
"That's what I'd like to know," Erin spoke up. Her tone was mild, but Talia could see the wary tension in her friend's features.
Liara saw it, too, and her expression grew apprehensive. "Well, everyone who has seen the Shadow Broker face to face is dead, so ..." She trailed off, looking beseechingly at Shepard.
"So, you're gonna be the new Shadow Broker? Just like that?" Talia asked, still balancing the potential benefits with the possibility that they'd just been played by someone she'd thought was a friend.
"Is that a good idea, Lia?" The wariness in Erin's face was giving way to worry. Worry for the asari, not about her.
"It's either that or lose everything," Liara replied, biting her lip. "His contacts, his trading sources; those will really help us."
"Us?" Erin's green eyes were openly questioning, and Talia couldn't really blame her. The asari had kept Shepard at arm's length ever since their reunion on Illium, seemingly consumed, first with the need for revenge, then the need to rescue the ally she'd thought dead. The one who'd helped her get Erin's body away from the Shadow Broker.
The one who was huddled broken in Talia's arms
But Liara had built her own empire in those two years: a formidable information broker in her own right. Shep had to be wondering if the reasons they'd been given were the real ones. Talia damn sure was.
Blue eyes brimmed with tears as Liara turned away, walking back to the communications panel. "With the Shadow Broker's information network, I can give you -" Her voice broke. "I can -" Her shoulders slumped, shaking visibly.
Erin took a step toward her, hesitated and looked toward Talia, the question in her eyes plain. Talia tipped one shoulder up in a half shrug, nodded.
Do it.
"I'll just … get her back to the Normandy," Talia murmured. Whatever conversation followed was bound to be awkward, emotional and most likely followed by make-up sex. Definitely time to go.
"Talia -" Liara had turned toward her, cheeks wet but concern touching her face. "Take care of her?"
"Jesus." Talia huffed a sigh, but Shep was giving her a look that was easy enough to read. "I promise," she said, wondering if they honestly thought she might just dump her over the side.
The asari gave her a quick, grateful nod, and Talia turned and strode toward the door. "Joker, this is Talia. Send the shuttle to my coordinates and tell Chakwas to prep the medbay."
The corridors on the massive ship were empty save for the corpses they'd left behind. She stepped over and around them, moving confidently back the way they'd come until she reached the door they'd breached from the exterior. The superstorm that concealed the ship was still raging outside, so she crouched just inside, waiting for the shuttle to descend through the wind and lightning.
"You came." The wondering words were a whisper, barely more than a breath. Talia did her best to ignore them, ignore the slender arms that wrapped around her neck, the face pressed into her shoulder. "You came."
Damn it.
The story is coming together, and I think we'll be doing the past-to-present thing for the next few chapters.
