Cora Harper was trying not to think. She was trying to not remember. It was still fresh though; too painful. The events that had transpired on Ark Leusinia haunted her, gnawed at her and threatened to break her down. She couldn't allow it. She had to be stronger than her freshly-exposed wounds. But she needed to take her mind off of it. The easy answer from non-biotics was always: "Have a drink or two (or three), relax a little."
Easy for them to say.
As a biotic, however, inebriation was an impossibility for her. She burned through it far too quickly, so that was off the table. So instead she immediately scuttled off to the arboretum, ignoring the concerned eyes of Scott Ryder the entire time. But she had to come here, there were too many things from which she couldn't otherwise escape. Because no matter what, invariably there was one thing that she couldn't escape:
The place still smelled like ship, and it was a smell that haunted her still; haunted her since childhood.
It was one of the reasons why she spent so much time in this particular room. In this miniature arboretum aboard the Tempest, it was easier to get lost, to be reminded of things that were livelier and perhaps not so goddamn sterile. Smell was an important intoxicant, she reasoned. And as for the plants themselves?
Well, they never talked back (or down) to her.
Cora Harper - lieutenant, former asari (admittedly "adopted") huntress, and perpetual backup Pathfinder – stood stock-still with her fists firmly burrowing into her not unsubstantial hips. She felt the seams in her Official Andromeda Initiative™ casual outfit digging into her knuckles as she did so. It was a pose she so often took when she felt this…contemplation tie her down with its greedy little fingers. Was she Gulliver to these Lilliputians in her head?
Maybe.
"Damn it, Sarissa…"
I don't understand it. Just what the hell was she thinking? You sacrificed the Pathfinder – the Pathfinder! – for what? The illusion of leverage? Against a foe that could easily outgun you and outmaneuver you? It goes against every brilliant thing you've ever taught me!
The decorated Asari warrior, tactician-philosopher, and personal bodyguard to the original asari Pathfinder – Matriarch Ishara – had chosen to let her charge die. A unilateral decision was made, and Ishara was sacrificed for a small packet of data that, in hindsight, likely would have done very little against a foe that massively outgunned them (ha, "outgunned" is a preposterously gross understatement). The ark was in no shape to even maneuver through the damn Scourge, let alone take on the Kett at the same time. It was useless and futile and far too costly as far as one Cora Harper was concerned.
"Poked the hornet's nest…"
Indeed, that was the only thing that Sarissa had accomplished with her little misbegotten gambit, and it made Cora sick. The fiasco had apparently had an effect on the legendary commando as well, because Sarissa had all but disappeared after her crimes had been exposed.
Unwilling to bear the shame, perhaps.
Cora grimaced because it was all Scott's fault. The human Pathfinder, her current boss and a kid (she grimaced at the thought of the age disparity, as well) to whom she had given no quarter outside of her duties, had encouraged her to speak up and expose Cora's hero. And right now, she hated him for it.
A bigger question gnawed at her though: why, exactly, had he encouraged her in the first place? What did he stand to gain from it?
Perhaps, "hate" wasn't entirely correct, because it wasn't so much that she hated him as much as it was that she hated herself for it. She hated that Scott had put the decision in her hands.
And that was the crux of the matter.
And why shouldn't he? Cora squeezed her eyes shut, trying to force the pain from her mind. Stupid, naïve girl. I really haven't grown up, have I?
Sighing, Cora ran a set of callused fingers through her long, soft hair. She was one of the few blondes that had found their way to Andromeda, she realized with a muted chuckle. Probably didn't hurt (help?) that humans were the only verified Andromeda species that had actual hair upon their heads.
Though I've heard that quarians do, but it's not exactly like I can readily verify that claim.
Opening a storage cabinet filled with various fertilizers and plant foods (thank you, Suvi), her fingers curled around a manual watering can that might not have looked out-of-place in twentieth century Midwest America. Cora held the ancient-looking thing in her hands for a moment, admiring its little creases and imperfections that arose throughout its otherwise smooth dull gray surface. It was such a simple thing, really. No exaggerated tech was needed, no advanced courses in bioengineering; just a bit of water and some gravity. She had constructed the damn thing herself with a soldering gun and a few scraps of metal she'd cobbled together on Eos a few weeks ago.
And maybe with some help from Gil.
Whatever.
Eos. That was another thing. She dreamed of roses. She thought that she could smell them, feel their sweet intoxication course through her nose and down deep inside her. She could almost feel the warmth bloom from within.All this despite not having smelled such vibrant life for years.
About six hundred of them, am I right?
Another unwanted laugh.
Will I even get them? Ever? This whole thing has been an absolute clusterfuck from the first moment we were awoken when…
She thought of Alec. The real Pathfinder. Cora shook her head; that was a train of thought that did no one any good anymore. He was gone, and she'd have to make the best of it. A thought struck her then that made her cheeks flush in more than a sliver of shame. Yes, Alec Ryder was dead, but she'd not really asked Scott how he was handling all this.
I was so angry…jealous and ashamed in equal measure. And selfish. And -
"Lieutenant Harper, it would be more efficient to use the sprinkler system." The digitized voice of SAM, the resident AI, had pumped in from the overhead speaker.
Rolling her solemn blue eyes, she grunted. "Yes, I know that, SAM."
"Is it not preferable to use a more efficient technique?"
She didn't answer for a few seconds, instead noting the sincere curiosity in the AI's voice while working the muscles in her neck as she filled the watering can.
"Did I offend you, lieutenant?"
Cora nearly snorted. Persistent little bastard.
"No, SAM. You didn't. I, uh, just wanted to do it myself, I guess."
A beat of silence.
"Why?"
Oh, come on.
There was a soft knocking – bare knuckles on bare metal – from behind her. "Hey Cora. Everything all right?"
She stiffened ever so slightly, and her stomach clenched just a little bit, because his voice was soft, almost like he cared.
Breathe. Remember her teachings on -
The thought of Sarissa made Cora's face flush with fresh, hot anger. She cleared her throat before turning around to find Scott wearing that ridiculous Blasto! shirt. It was so off-putting in how disarming it was. But he stayed there, standing just outside the door – purposefully outside the door.
Respecting her territory.
"Yes, Pathfinder. Fine."
Inwardly, she rolled her eyes at herself.
Great start, Cor. What exactly was that?
She saw him straighten up a little, rubbing his hands together at her terse response. Alec's (the proper Pathfinder) son took a tentative step forward, managing a few uncertain glances around the little botanical haven.
"These are nice, Cora. You, uh, take care of them yourself?" For all his apparent insecurity, she couldn't help but notice the intensity that his quiet, brown eyes attached to his studying looks. Casually, he touched one of the fern-like plants.
"This was growing on Eos, right?"
Cora stood still, watching him with an appraising eye. Her hands clutched pleadingly at the watering can – security as much as safety.
What are you getting at, Scott? Don't try to play nice with me.
Somewhere in the back of her mind – the quiet part that rarely had reason to speak (though that voice sure seemed to have quite a lot to say regarding certain recent events) – began to whisper its discontent.
She tried not to listen to that damn voice; it was there only to remind her just how inadequate she really was.
Okay, Cora. What if he's not "playing" nice? What if – now hear me out – Scott Ryder is actually a nice person? What if it's not some act? Are you going to drive him away too? Just because he's not his father and had no choice in being the Pathfinder? You should probably talk to someone about that, by the way. You seem to have a real problem with letting that go.
Cora could only watch him turn from the transplanted plants, squaring himself to face her properly. The defeat in his eyes slapped her across the face. It stung. "Uh, is everything all right? Do you want me to -"
"What? Oh, no. No." She extended a raised hand, as if her words wouldn't be enough to keep him here.
"No, Scott." Cora sighed, looking squarely at the floor before she could send her gaze to him properly. "Look, Scott, I'm sorry."
He tilted his head, confusion the obvious reason. "For…what, exactly?"
She tucked the can closer still to her body.
"For giving you such a hard time. For actively pushing you away. For being such a bitch to you."
Widened eyes, a faint firing back of his head. It was the eyes, though. Always the eyes…
He was dismissive, the asshole.
"You mean for being a professional? For keeping me on my toes and certain of my objective?" He smirked at her. It was genuine, she thought. Notably, that genuineness was a characteristic that Alec had so rarely possessed. "For making sure that I didn't completely embarrass us for the entire cluster to see? Pretty sure Tann would have skinned me alive if I'd managed to fuck up first contact with the Angara."
Cora's cheeks flushed in embarrassment – capillaries engorged as fresh blood pumped in – at her behavior. How can he not see how horrible I've been? Is he naïve or just stupid? She didn't think it was the former, and it certainly wasn't the latter. No, Scott wasn't stupid, just a little inexperienced.
Isn't that what "naïve" implies?
Oh, shut up.
"So why apologize, Cora?"
"So why apologize." Christ, Scott – where do I even start?
Another breathy sigh escaped her lips – a heavy deflation that forced her to let go of her watering can turned shield. It dropped solemnly to the floor with a tinny thud. The rocking water within it sloshed around, bemoaning its violent state.
"Because Scott, you're doing things here that have never been done before. You're…this group is being tightly knit together, by you. I can see it, plain as day. And -"
"And you've kept yourself above that because you have to be the 'lifeguard on duty', right?"
I guess that was obvious, at least that part was.
"Yeah, something like that. But there's more to it." She suddenly felt quite naked without the can as protection, like it had interrupted the most direct route to her soul, and without it?
Well, it was just too easy to peer inside.
But somehow, at least for now, it all came back to Sarissa; no surprise there.
She'd been a hero to her; a goal. Someone she could look up to and model herself after. Someone to emulate. And the illusion of invincibility had come crashing thunderously down around her, leaving Cora all alone to pick up the pieces of the shattered fortress. And Scott was maybe here to help her do just that.
"They say you should never meet your heroes. You ever heard that before, Cora?" He grabbed a stray datapad, pretending to sift through its contents.
Cheeks flushed again. Where, exactly, would she have heard that before? When she was a kid at school? Nope, never went. From one of her friends? Never had any of those either. From the other asari that she fought alongside with? Hard "no" on that one too. Turns out that for all their physical similarities, asari don't really like idioms the way humans do. Or at least the asari of the military persuasion didn't. How could he not know –
She cleared her throat, staring past his shoulder. "No, I haven't heard it," she replied in a far more professional tone than she perhaps had intended. It sounded like she was addressing a commanding officer delivering a reprimand. It sure didn't look like the Pathfinder was here to do that.
Her measured response seemed to have caught him by surprise.
"Well, I think it's because when you do, you find that they're just like us. They're not special – maybe just have done special things. They're flawed and they fuck up just like we all do. It sucks to have that illusion shattered."
"Yeah. It does." Why was her voice growing thick?
He returned the datapad to its approximate original location. His soft eyes – the eyes of the naïve, the unprofessional, the genuine – locked with her own and seemed to beg to be let in, just this once.
"Do you, maybe want to talk about it?"
Did she? Did she really? What exactly would she have to say? What good would words do right now? Anything? Everything? Nothing? She had just exposed one of the grossest betrayals she could imagine, and it was committed by her goddamn hero.
What exactly was there to say?
Nothing. At least, not yet.
"No…not right now."
She watched him swallow hard, shoulders slumping in apparent defeat. She'd gone and done it again.
Damn it, Cora. What won't you just –
"But maybe…" she took a tentative, hesitant step toward him.
Scott smirked a little in response, but his eyes were all business. "Do you want to hug it out?"
Cora returned the smirk this time. She had to admire his persistence.
"Yeah, maybe. I could go for one of those."
When she felt his strong arms wrap around her to encase her in a reassuring shield, she leaned into it with her head against his shoulder. It was…almost instinctive, like she didn't realize how much she…
Maybe she could leave the watering can where it was.