Savior of your Nightmares

"Hey there, sleepy head," it was a lovely voice, one that Samara hadn't heard in a long time, "you hungry, love?"

The nickname use was unreal, as well as the mention of food. Was she dreaming? It certainly felt so. So the warrior concluded to open her eyes, and enjoy the dream while it lasted. The sight which greeted her left her speechless, as well as baffled and, in a small measure, both happy and sad. There she was, in a splendor of shining glory, radiant. Her mane was lustrous, as it had once been, and her eyes were pools of crystalline water, pure and lucid blue, and her skin . . . oh her skin had its lovely caramel tone back, and the justicar swore that it would feel soft and probably taste of cinnamon . . . .

Cinnamon was a delicacy that asaris loved and, once they found that the humans had it, would be the source of blossoming trades with humans for it. The smile the young female had was breathtaking. It left the stellar entity meant to give light and heat in shame, and brought ease to the cerulean life form. If Hannah could smile in such way, then certainly there was nothing wrong, right?

"What happened?" She had to be dreaming, there was no other explanation.

"I made breakfast," the blonde looked at the tray she held with such a lovely expression, that Samara knew she would kiss the once-frail human, "is it so strange?"

"It's perfect," the soldier beamed, and that was her undoing.

Taking care of leaving the tray in a safe place, she then gave the now puzzled young woman a deep kiss, which elicited a moan, and soon, she confirmed her thoughts; Hannah tasted of cinnamon. Minutes later, they were a tangled mess of cobalt and caramel limbs, each extremely flexible and moving comfortably against each other. Samara didn't know when, but she was once again melding; perhaps now she'll be able to find out how it was that they met the first time. The memory was blocked tight and it was clear she didn't think about it.

This time though, the most predominant memories were about her childhood. Those prized moments meant to be spent with parents she spent surrounded by models of machines and an odd relative her age who was left with them because his parents were also all around. All of them scientists, it was as if their kids had to be smart enough to care for themselves. The boy did enjoy taking the models down and then reassembling them in way he wanted, but she didn't like the machines, and while he was praised for his structure, she was frowned upon and with questions regarding the validity of her as their daughter or if she was in one piece or if part of her was missing.

It was no wonder then, that her teenage was lived in anger and resentment, blaming her parents and Alliance alike for her misfortune, a wish to harm those two individuals because of it, juse to get lost and with so much pain, it became almost unbearable. Althogh those memories were blocked, Samara could feel her partner's thoughts about the whole incident: it concluded in their meeting, and their current dealings; Hannah was willing to undergo such torments just for the gratification and certainty of their meeting.

"Hannah . . . ." There was something the natural seductress wished to say, but had no words to express her feelings . . . .

Just then, something she had never felt before, came. She saw the mind of the creature before her breaking, a fracture that could never be undone, and a deep-set instinct that forced Samara's hand. Using only her hands and nails, she broke the caramel skin to reveal blood and muscle and bone and sinew and organs, all down the length of both arms, and from chest to pelvis, revealing the human beneath. Something, the justicar in her, panicked, and tried to regain control of the limbs, which felt reluctant in doing her bidding. Instead of snapping the neck in one fluid movement as to not allow the torment to begin, they began snapping rib by rib, and she was enjoying the sound.

The pathetic creature with her moaned and pleaded, but her words remained incoherent due to her broken mind, were anything but music to her auditive organ. She felt a cruel, sadistic and gleeful laughter escaped her, as she finally exposed the heart of the mere human she had been laying with mere seconds ago. It all seemed to fit in some twisted way, in some twisted logic, and she rejoiced in holding the beating heart in her hand. The way it pulsed and struggled to keep the stupid creature it served alive were meaningless.

With a final feeling of release, Samara sighed in relief as she softly and slowly crushed the vital organ in her hand, feeling the life leaving the prone blonde, and taking her time to take those golden locks within her other hand, and watching as the last breath and shine of life leave both, lungs and eyes, respectively. She even managed to feel the lungs exhale, much to her exhilaration, and she finally rleased the heart in her hand, a pulpy, bloody mess left on the sheets. The body before her convulsed, and only sadness was left; even the justicar in her reinforced the feeling of loss, not over the human, but on the killing act that took place. The asari felt a need to recapture the feeling, the excitement . . . the moment . . . .

Samara was frightened, and felt that such was the way her daughter felt.

"Hey there, sleepy head," it was the same lovely voice, one that Samara had felt she wouldn't hear ever again, and she felt dread at hearing it . . . "you hungry, love?"

The nickname use was unreal, as well as the mention of food, as well as the entire sentence. Was she still dreaming? It certainly didn't felt so. Samara concluded that opening her eyes was the only choice, and dreaded the realization that her dream was but a premonition of what was to come. Would she be able to change it? The warrior would certainly try. The sight which greeted her left her speechless, again, as well as baffled and, in a small measure, both happy and sad. Then terror swept over.

There she was, in a splendor of shining glory, radiant. Her mane was lustrous, as it had once been, as it had been in the dream, and her eyes were pools of crystalline water, pure and lucid blue, and her skin . . . oh her skin had its lovely caramel tone back, and the justicar swore that it would feel soft and probably taste of cinnamon . . . . Maybe her nightmare was repeating itself . . . . The smile the young female had was stunning. It left the stellar entity meant to give both, light and heat, in shame, and brought sheer, agonizing terror to the older life form. This wasn't the nightmare, because even that one left the one in the dream, far behind. Nothing she could conjure could look so awe-inspiring, not even the dream could compare to the real thing.

"What happened?" She desperately wanted to be dreaming, else the prospect would be bleak. "Are you okay? Hannah —"

"I made breakfast," the blonde looked at the tray she held with such a lovely expression, that Samara knew she would kiss the once-frail human, "I am okay, or I wouldn't have cooked, right?"

"But, Hannah, when did you wake up?" Somehow, she still felt as if things would easily lead back to what her nightmare showed her. "Why are we in bed?"

"Actually, I was hoping you would tell me," the once weak human looked at the food, and placed it aside, then curled tenderly next to her companion, "I woke up here, but I don't remember much, just a feeling of being moved . . . I assumed you did it . . . ."

The warrior placed a hand on her brow, focusing, then she remembered as she carried them both after the sun had risen to its zenith, back to the bed, to get some proper sleep . . . it was curious how useless it felt then to prepare something to eat, since she could tell that neither of them had been hungry.

"Yeah, so it seems," the perplexed cerulean face got a giggle from the human, and it was such a surprising sound, that Samara immediately forgot everything. "You're laughing!"

"Of course I am, silly," it was like dealing with a child; it was then that the dream came back, and the warrior realized that her companion had not had the best childhood; even if it had been a dream, there was a certainty that it was true. "Why are you making that face? Is something wrong?"

"There are plenty of things wrong," she almost said beloved, but she managed to restrain herself and took hold of a hand, "for once, we're not eating a meal you prepared, for another, you're acting stranger than usual."

"Oh, sorry," the tone was genuinely apologetic, "I didn't realize . . . ."

"That you were walking and cooking without troubles?" Electric blue pierced sky-blue in a soft stare. "Honestly, it scares me. I just hope your paranoia is gone."

"Well, I do feel better," Hannah acted all prim and proper, almost as if not wanting to remember their previous days in which she was anything but, "I made some flapjacks; one of the first meals I learned to cook."

The corporal passed the justicar the tray. The asari took one whiff and froze. It had cinnamon. Once again, the nightmare became too vivid to ignore, and she felt as if the usual case of morning sickness was affecting her.

"It has cinnamon," the words sounded shy, and also, perhaps, a little hurt. "I thought your kin was keen on the spice . . . ."

"The asaris love cinnamon," Samara had to speak softly as to gather her thoughts and ease her emotions; she wasn't afraid, just . . . unsettled. Gathering a bite, she ate it, and despite her best tries, she loved and hated the flavor. "I'm sorry Hannah, it's just . . . ."

"It's okay," yet, there were sniffles easily heard, "it's just one of those mood swings, I should just —"

A tender hand intercepted the frantic one, and took it in a loving embrace. The soothing effect was immediate; the human stopped moving, perhaps even thinking, just staring at the caring cerulean hand, then at the female who had grasped it, and just held back. The remaining free blue hand took solace on the caramel cheek, and the human sighed, in peace.

"I had a nightmare, sunshine," the justicar couldn't prevent that nickname from flowing, and the human seemed to stop breathing, "really bad one . . . ."

"You can tell me about it," Hannah sounded earnest and worried, making the older life form smile, "you can tell me anything . . . ."

It didn't take a lot of coaxing, and finally, with the pancake breakfast forgotten, did they consider the facts. Both had come to the same conclusion, but neither had a wish to speak about it, doing so would make it a fact. Despite the actual fact that there was no way Samara had a genetic disorder, since asaris were either born with, or without it, the strength of the feeling was enough to not even allow her to enjoy one of the delicacies that were hard to grow for lack of needed soil, which delight the extraterrestrial life form.

"You are not an Ardat-Yakshi," the corporal began slowly, as if testing the treading path and the word in her mouth, "yet the dream was clearly of you being one . . ."

Samara exhaled a rather heavy sigh. She took the stray tray and made her way to the entrance of their recent abode. Hannah followed closely behind. They sat on a hovering platform that rocked slowly, and there, finally, could the asari enjoy of the special spice that made everything sweeter. In the end, she hummed in pleasure, especially at the feeling of the smaller female pressed against her.

"If such is how she —" The warrior wasn't allowed to finish either thought or sentence.

"Don't think about it, about her," those clear-blue eyes looked deeply into the electric ones, and the blue cheeks turned soft violet, "just focus on me, on us . . . ."

Samara closed her eyes for a brief, painful moment, and with a heavy sigh, she nodded.

"Love, just for this day, let us forget about the world," no asari voice could even hope to compete with Hannah's; even when the galaxy had yet to discover humans, their full potential wouldn't be uncovered until later, as they were clearly at par with asari in seduction, "you need some time to gather your thoughts and get ready . . . ."

"When you make such offerings," she was leaning close, whispering near the hearing organ, "I lose focus . . . maybe we shouldn't be together . . . ."

"Offering?" Clearly, the humans were slightly deft on some approaches. "Ah, and the tough justicar's skin is shed to reveal the sexy asari within . . . ."

"Your advances are clear —" A laugh interrupted her, and she was puzzled.

"This is priceless," the twinkle in those soft-blue eyes made the warrior question her own reasoning, "we can . . . meld anytime you feel like it; it shouldn't affect my pregnancy, as long as I don't try melding . . . ."

Samara could only shake her head at the antics. Now she was the one who had been making subtle approaches to the subject, not the human. The asari didn't care about it anymore; she just made use of the intentions, and decided to take up on the offer. She made sure not to trigger any melding with her mate, for fear of actually harming the child.

Hannah, for her part, didn't care for the means, just the ends; the owner of her heart wasn't thinking about the nightmare, or anything else for that fact. Sometimes, life forms were simple to understand, mainly because they all seem to have the same basic needs.