She let him order another round, and then let him draw her away from the bar. His long arm went around her back and three long fingers were possessive and hot on her ribs. He led her to a quieter corner of the bar and they found a place to lean against the wall. While he was still, eyes quick and calculating, Shepard was on her fourth or fifth beer, and was having a hard time keeping her head above the soothing, smooth sensations of being almost drunk. She decided to let go of it, and let her hips sway to the music, alternately watching her nameless turian and the dancing, swaying, hot bodies on the dance floor. She felt hot herself, and she let her head twist and turn, wishing her fatigues had a button or a clasp she could undo, but the jumpsuit was one piece, form fitting, stifling.

"What brought you here tonight, Shepard?" He asked. She almost answered, and then froze. The feeling was gone. It was replaced by something else. 'Shepard' was wrong. The realization that something was wrong washed over her as quick and insidious as the drunkenness she relished.

Instead, she let her training take over. She snapped her eyes to him, he looked calm, standing a bit away from the wall, arms crossed, half empty drink in one hand.

She brought her head up, slammed her shoulder into the center of his chest, right into his high center of gravity, and slammed him back against the wall. With him in his armor it only made a light thud, and surely did no damage, but she counted on it getting her point across. She hadn't brought her sidearm, just a large knife sheathed in the back of her belt, so she pressed a hand up under his chin, pressed her thumb against his neck. A turian's jugular—the equivalent—was slightly more towards the front of the neck than where a human's jugular would be—she pushed as hard against it as she could, and brought herself as close to his face as possible.

"Who the fuck are you?" She hissed. For two seconds, she considered going to find Clyden just to take his pistol and point it at the him, but she imagined that a standoff between a human female and a large turian in the middle of the bar would not be a good way to spend her last night before her new assignment, so she simply counted on the fact that they were surrounded by beings to prevent him from pulling anything on her here.

Before those two seconds of thought were over, he laughed again, and the velvet of his voice confused her. Her body liked that sound, but her mind didn't trust him anymore, and the hot rage that had slammed him into the wall pressed her hand sharper into his neck.

He brought up a hand and she almost threw up a fist to block it, before she realized that he had placed it on top of her head, his talons just resting on top of her hair. Gentle.

"I'll admit, that was a slip on my part. But it must be fate." He ran his hand down the side of her face and while that would have flipped a switch of desire on her before, now it enraged her. She swept her hand up and beat his arm away from her face and grabbed the cowl of his armor and pulled him down to her level.

"Fucking explain. Now." She used the officer voice she had been perfecting for years and it seemed to work. He held up his three fingered hands in the universal signal of submission, ducked his head and met her eyes.

She dropped him, and crossed her arms behind her back. The posture was both reminiscent of 'at-ease' and brought her hands where she could rest one on the handle of her knife.

"My name is Nihlus Kryik. I'm a Spectre." He paused as if waiting for her to respond with some sort of glowing praise. Her previous interest had definitely taken a turn. When she didn't respond, he kept talking. "You are my next assignment."

"Bullshit." She cut out.

"It's true."

"I know my next assignment. It has shit-all to do with a spectre. Just a routine shakedown."

"That… is correct. As far as you should know. Perhaps we should leave? There are many ears around."

"I'm not going anywhere with you until you say something that makes me trust you." He gritted his teeth, jutted his jaw forward, and cocked his head to the side.

"You're assigned to the SSV Normandy, Alliance vessel. It has an experimental drive core and state-of-the art stealth systems." She didn't respond so he continued. "Your CO is David Anderson. Your destination is Eden Prime."

"God damnit."

"Do you believe me yet?"

"What the hell is there to believe? Fucking…" She threw her hands down and got in his face again. "Why couldn't you have just kept your mouth shut, let me take you to some hotel room and fuck you?" He opened his mouth as if he was about to say something, and she could see the bright points of his teeth glinting in the dim lighting. He shut it again, and then shrugged.

"Well, we can still do that, if you really want." He sounded apologetic, and for some reason it made her laugh. Something was clearly wrong with her judgment.

She ran her hand through her hair. It was mussed from where he touched it, and the thought made her warm again, brought that pleasant pressure back to her inner thighs. God, she could be stupid sometimes.

"Yeah, sure, maybe if you let me go get my guns first." She said it as a joke, still feeling a little self-deprecating for having not planned for this; but what he did next threw her for a loop.

"You can take mine." He pulled the weapon from its holster and offered it to her, grip first. She met his eyes again, and she got the impression that she was some sort of wild animal to him, untamed and unpredictable. He was doing anything to show her that he was trustworthy, and as she met those green on black eyes again, she got this feeling. It was different than the one that settled in her hips and thighs, different than the one that made her slam him against the wall. It curled in her chest and settled down, like something warm and hopeful. She liked it even though she didn't want to.

She took the weapon and compulsively checked the heatsink, tucked it into her belt. She shifted nervously, her legs were tingling. She didn't want to be standing still. He had turned on her fight or flight response, and she was itching for… something.

"Okay." She placed her hands at her hips, pistol in easy reach. "What do you mean I'm your assignment?" He finally moved from where she had thrown him into the wall and snaked that arm around her again.

"We should walk." She followed, hand on the sidearm.

They ended up outside the bar in a quiet but still populated street. He stopped at a terminal to call a skycar, and she nodded him in. Once they were both seated in the vehicle, he turned to her and spoke, ignoring the hand she kept planted on the gun.

"You're my next assignment. The shakedown is a cover. Something happened on Eden Prime."

"What happened?"

"That I don't know yet. I'm briefed in the morning before we ship out."

"Okay. But you still haven't told me what this has to do with me. I'm just assigned to the Normandy. And why is the council sending a Spectre?"

"I requested you."

"For what? A team?"

"Not quite." He spoke slowly. That velvet was hard to resist again. But something told her to trust him. To believe him. It was something in the frustration he showed with having to explain it, and that look he gave her when she first walked up to him. And then there was that feeling his eyes gave her.

But then she made herself repeat something; she walked up to him. He didn't seek her out and start naming classified information. Which she decided leant him some credence. As much as her hackles were still raised, she was sickeningly curious.

"I can't believe you walked up to me." He laughed as he spoke her thoughts out loud. "I just got the confirmation that I was going to Eden Prime to evaluate you. And you walked up to me." His laughter was somehow infectious. She chuckled and removed her hand from the pistol. She knew how stupid it was as soon as she did it, but he didn't make a move—at least not the one she warily expected. His hand landed on her thigh and he ducked his head to hers.

"You're a candidate for Spectre status. I am to evaluate you."

She sat dumbstruck for a moment. She realized how close his face was to hers and one thought overrode the one she distantly remembered should be foremost.

"So… Does that mean I can't sleep with you now? Conflict of interest?" She belatedly realized that those four or five beers were probably still making their effects known, but still sat flush against the seat of the car. She did want him.

"I can't say that I would mind." His hand crawled higher so that it rested against her hip.

"I'll keep it a secret if you will." She muttered.