There were never enough hours in a day. Reyes looked over various open programs on his omni-tool, his brows drawing together in a frown of concentration. At the moment, he was trying to simultaneously make decisions on how to repurpose some of the abandoned bases that sprinkled the surface of Kadara, determine where to divide and distribute seized Outcast property, as well as monitor reports on an increased Outcast presence on Elaaden. So that's where most of them had slunk off to. Axius was probably going to end up being a problem. The turian may even posses the leadership capabilities required to rally some kind of retaliatory strike...
His thoughts were cut off as the doors to his private room swished open. It was the asari waitress, he hadn't bothered to learn her name. Annoyance lanced him as he noted that she hadn't even brought a new bottle with her. "Yes?" he asked flatly.
"The, um, the human Pathfinder is downstairs, Sir. Kian said I should run up and tell you."
He searched her face carefully for a moment before nodding, his expression blank. He gave a dismissive, "Thanks," in response.
He waited for her to leave before he allowed that new bit of information to sink in.
She was back. Everything else he'd been doing suddenly seemed so unimportant. He looked down at his omni-tool and closed all tabs.
More than likely, he was the reason for her visit. He felt a thrill at the thought, and ran a hand through his hair to make sure it was in place.
Minutes went by, and the anticipation was a delicious curl in his belly.
After a quarter hour or so, impatience got the better of him. Something must have waylaid her. He stood and idly strolled out into the thumping rhythm of the music, the darkened atmosphere, and the smoke. It shrouded everything in a blanket of obscurity, which was exactly the reason this place was his favorite to operate out of.
He glanced around the upper floor, a favorite spot for more intimate gatherings, as the crowd always seemed to run a bit thinner. Darkened corners invited all manner of happenings, from the illicit to the depraved. He didn't see Sara in the dozens of gathered souls, so he quickly moved on.
The balcony looked down over the bulk of the bar, offering a fair vantage point, and leaning against the rail, he allowed his eyes to make a slow thorough sweep.
Downstairs, it was a hive of activity. Even so, his gaze lit upon her immediately, as if he was magnetized to her, tuned to her frequency. He saw no sign of any of her crew, which was severely out of character for her. The lower level was big, and filled with bodies, but he'd still have little trouble spotting them if she hadn't made the trip there alone.
She was wearing a leather jacket and a scarf, which was also not her usual. She made a habit of armoring up whenever she left the Port.
Taking the stairs, he sauntered casually over to her, noticing for the first time what had caught her attention. Tartarus catered to eclectic tastes and attracted all manner of customers, and as such, offered a healthy variety of visual pleasures. In the cage before Sara, gyrating vigorously, were two men, one human and one turian, bumping and grinding together to the beat of the bass that surrounded them.
The music in question wasn't very conducive to conversation. If you sat a respectable distance from someone, you practically had to shout to be heard over it.
He moved very close, dipping his head next to her right ear. "What's the matter? Haven't you seen male strippers before?"
Her posture seemed to relax and he dared to think she'd been waiting for his arrival. "Not turian ones," she said with no small amount of fascination.
He grinned and decided proximity was key to enabling conversation. Taking hold of her hand, he pulled her close, and she allowed it. "Dance with me."
He loved the anonymity that reached out to hold them as they lost themselves among clusters of dancing bodies, some frantic and doing their best to keep up with the beat, others, like them, dancing slow and close.
"What are you doing here? Alone?" he asked, resting his cheek against the side of her hair.
"I slipped away from the others." It was only half of an answer.
Reyes knew that with SAM as her constant companion, that was an impossibility. He was sure that even now, everyone on the Tempest was well aware of where she was and what she was up to, but he kept quiet.
"Something's wrong." It was an observation more than a question. After all, he of all people knew better than to push her into talking about things unless she chose to be forthcoming on her own.
"Bah, s'nothing," she said, waiving her hand dismissively before returning it to the clasp of his. "Except, maybe Drack isn't speaking to me."
He hugged her a bit tighter, hearing the pain that colored her words. From what he knew of her, the krogan was her favorite team member. She brought him everywhere. That would explain her current atypical solitary presence.
"I wish he'd yell or swear at me. I can't handle the silence, this being ignored crap. He's supposed to back me up while I make the hard decisions, not hold them against me." She sighed, her breath coming out to brush across his face. "Maybe I've made a mistake."
"Don't doubt yourself," he told her firmly. He wanted to add an ever to that, but he hated dealing in absolutes.
"I'm not," she argued, her voice firming. "I'm just... drunk, I guess."
That much was becoming increasingly obvious. He couldn't decide what to make of it, her candor revealing a rare weakness that he found fascinating and adorable.
They swayed to the music without really hearing it, speaking quietly to each other as he held her close. She smelled like sunshine and alcohol.
"You're very handsome, aren't you?" she asked softly against his neck.
"So I've been told. Never hurts to hear it from you, though."
They moved in a warm comfortable silence and he found himself becoming increasingly aware of the soft body pressed against his. He pushed closer, moving his thigh to nudge intimately against the juncture of her legs, using the hand on her back to bring her in.
He brushed the side of her cheek with his thumb.
She looked incredibly edible, but uncharacteristically vulnerable. "I came here, you know," she confessed. "I looked for you that day when Sloane asked me for help. I wanted to share what she'd told me. But you were gone."
He did know. He'd been told immediately upon his return that she'd been there, making a beeline for his room, then standing in the doorway, staring at the emptiness inside. And since then, he'd come up with and discarded half a dozen ways to broach the subject and apologize.
"Doesn't matter, now," she went on, before he could speak.
"Sara..."
"You should make it up to me."
"How?" She need only name it.
"I don't know. Give me some time to come up with something good."
He chuckled, letting his breath tickle over her ear. "Come with me to my room and maybe we can brainstorm about it together."
She laughed and the sound reached into his chest and gave him a squeeze. "Um, maybe." She pulled back, looking up into his eyes. She sank her teeth into her bottom lip, and surprising him, her hand wandered down to graze over the fly of his pants.
His arms tightened around her instinctively. He was instantly erect, blood pooling in his groin so quickly it nearly left him dizzy.
Mierda. "Sara. Come with me to my room." He repeated, letting some of his urgency color his tone and piercing her with his stare.
"But... there's just a couch."
Holding her close, he flexed, pushing his erection into her belly, letting her feel him through their clothes.
She moaned in answer, moving against him. Her responsiveness never failed to ignite him.
"We can get up to all kinds of trouble on 'just a couch'," he assured her. Leaning down, he captured her lips. He kissed her, wanting her to feel his fire. He pushed his tongue inside her mouth, drinking her in. She tasted like sugar and whiskey.
She returned his kiss with enthusiasm, leaning into him before abruptly breaking it off. "Alright," she said, breaths ragged and heavy. She took his hand and they headed for the stairs.
They'd barely entered his room before he was upon her, pulling her close, lips demanding and possessive.
The outside world was shut away as the doors sealed behind them.