Chapter Four
A/N: I've combined chapter four and chapter five, because in hindisght...chapter 4 is just too much by itself. I'm not totally happy with it, so, here have two chapters in one.
Training changed after she started coming up to par, when her hits began landing more often than not. Aetius couldn't teach her to use a gun larger than a pistol, but he could teach her how to use a knife. Now that Clara had hit her stride, learning became easier and it didn't take nearly as long for her to adapt to new weapons and situations.
Aetius had been training her for nearly a year, now. It had been a year since Nihlus had accused her of working with Cerberus, a year since she had seen Earth. Some days she missed it, the simplicity of her old life and the routines she had easily retreated into. Life on the Citadel was fast paced and hard, and with the sizeable chunk of her paycheck going into savings she barely had enough money to eat on most days.
She was considering getting a second job at the local museum as a tour guide – specifically, in the ward dedicated to Earth history from the 1900's to the 2000's. It paid well, and the hours didn't conflict with her job at the Café. It did mean that she would have to rearrange her schedule for training, though.
Aetius listened patiently as she explained her worries and offered nothing but support for whatever she decided to do. They were tiptoeing around something bigger, though, and neither of them seemed willing to take the first jump. Aetius was paid well as a bodyguard for Fist, but not well enough – not when half the money went to his family back on Palaven. Rent was getting harder and harder to pay for both of them.
Finally, Clara snapped. One night over dinner – leftovers from the Café, reheated to luke warm temperatures and served on disposable plates – she couldn't take it any more.
"Do you want to move in with me?" she asked, the words tumbling out before her brain could think of stopping them. He glanced at her, sandwich raised to his mouth. He lowered the meal to his plate and shrugged.
"Sure," he responded. "Your place is bigger than mine anyway."
She blinked at him, incredulous, "It was really that simple?" she asked. "No arguing, no debating, no worries?"
"I could think up an argument if you like," he offered. "I don't like your curtains, and your carpet feels weird against my feet."
Clara frowned, but the expression couldn't hold when all she wanted to do was smile. "You don't like my curtains?"
He shrugged, "I figured we could take my curtains to replace them. You know, melding of two houses kind of involves melding of the things in them. We can't really change the carpet, that costs too much, so I'll just invest in some slippers."
The image his words brought to her mind was too hysterical not to laugh, and he waited patiently with only the slightest pout as she got her giggles out. She calmed and with a smile, leaned up to kiss his mandible.
"We can start moving whenever you want," he said, bumping his leg against hers. "No rush."
Clara looked back down at her food and sighed as images of their potential future began running through her head, "We can get actual plates and nice silverware."
"I can burn those old curtains," he quipped, flinched away with a laugh as her elbow connected with his side.
It was a slow process, bringing his things into her house. Each day they cut into her training (which honestly was mostly done out of habit than real need) and began bringing his things over, bit by bit. His TV replaced hers, since it was nicer, and they began hanging his pictures of his family up almost immediately. He spent his nights with her, more often than not, and eventually all that was left were the formalities.
Tonight, Aetius was moving out. Officially. His things were in her place and her dresser was now their dresser, her bed now their bed, and all that was left was the technicalities.
Aetius walked her to the museum at noon for her interview and pressed his forehead to hers. He'd wished her luck and she'd responded with a kiss before sending him on his way. As he left he promised to pick her up from the Café and walk her home.
The interview went well, and they told her they would contact her at the end of the week. Clara left for work in a hopeful mood, crossing her fingers and praying that things would go her way. If her boss at the café noticed the change in her disposition, he didn't say anything – he just passed her her apron and kicked her right out into the battlefield.
Nine o'clock came and went, and Clara was starting to worry, her teeth biting into her lip anxiously as time seemed to slither by. She glanced at the clock, and her heart stumbled. She wasn't normally one to worry, but Aetius was missing – usually he arrived a good half hour early to entertain her during her late shifts. Tonight, he was missing. Her shift had ended five minutes ago.
Finally, she could take it no more – she could feel it deep in her bones. Something had happened. Aetius was notorious for being on time, his years in the military teaching him well, and his absence was a dark cloud over her mood. She only hoped that her feelings were wrong, that he was fine, that he had simply lost track of time.
It didn't stop her from navigating through the wards towards his apartment, moving swiftly through the crowds until she finally spotted his building. A group of men sped past her, ones shoulder connecting with hers as he hurried away.
"Hey, watch it!" she snapped, turning to glare at his back. Her gaze lingered on the yellow and black emblem on his outfit, and her heart plummeted in her chest.
Cerberus.
She didn't know it was Aetius, didn't know if that was who they cornered, but the completely irrational fear that it was him and that they had hurt him had worked its way into her head and she couldn't ignore it. She took off, running down the hall and to his door and her heart stopped and tears bloomed in her eyes when she realized his door was unlocked.
Aetius never left his door unlocked.
She stepped in, her heart hammering away like a hummingbird and her legs stiff and her eyes wet and suddenly she stopped. She didn't need to look for him – he was right there, in front of her, the first thing her eyes landed on.
"Oh, god, Aetius!"
She was at his side in an instant, her hands fluttering over his form as she tried to find something – anything – to stop the bleeding. He coughed, a horribly wet sound, and his hand brushed against her cheek. She cringed as she felt the heat of his palm, the trail of wetness left behind and she realized his hand was cut and his blood was everywhere-
"Hey, Clara," he coughed, his breath coming in short rattles. "Sorry I was late."
She sobbed, pressing her hand to his mandible and running her thumb over the obscured colony marks – she could barely see them under the blood.
"Oh, Tito," she whispered, her lip quivering. "What happened? Christ, I – I have to call C-Sec…"
He shook his head and nodded towards his omni-tool, "Did, sent out a distress call the moment I heard someone trying to hack my door. They're on their way. Not sure I'll last long enough for them to get here with a medic."
"Don't say that!" Clara snapped, and she was crying, silent tears dripping from her eyes despite how hard she tried to hold them back. "Don't you dare give up! You're going to get through this, you're going to be fine."
"No I'm not," he protested and a sob ripped through her, "They injected me with something. I feel like I'm gonna be sick."
"Just hold on for a little while, they can't be far off," she said. "We'll save you, Tito, I promise. C-Sec is gonna get here and you're going to be fine. Just hold on, okay? We'll get through this."
Aetius smiled, but this time when he coughed blue blood splattered from his lips and dotted his chin. Clara whimpered, but forced herself together. She remained diligently by his side, holding his hand and murmuring words of encouragement as he continued to fade.
"Clara, listen to me," he said, squeezing her hand tightly. "You have to keep fighting."
"Tito-"
"You have to keep fighting," he reiterated. "Promise me you wont give up. Promise."
Clara nodded her head, the tears coming freely now as she tried to speak, her voice coming out as a waver, "I promise, Tito. I promise, just please, rest. Please. I can't lose you."
He smiled, his mandibles flickering slightly and he closed his eyes with a short exhale, "I'm glad you're here, Clara. I was afraid. All these years I thought I was going to die alone. You here…makes it easier. I'm not as scared any more."
Her lip trembled as she tried to smile, for him, "You don't have to worry, Aetius. I'm not leaving you – never."
She waited by him patiently, running her fingers over his face and whispering promises to him over and over, until his eyes stayed close and chest stopped moving. A sob ripped through her throat, her shoulders shaking as she tried to hold herself together just a little longer, just long enough for the police to get here so she can tell them-
The door opened and she turned, saw the officers, and all attempts at reigning in her emotions vanished. The dam burst as she sobbed, and one of the officers stepped forward to pull her away. She collapsed into his arms, the idea of standing on her own too much, her own weight was crushing, and he supported her awkwardly.
"We're gonna need forensics," the turian supporting her called, his voice vaguely familiar but in her grief, could not be placed.
"Get her out of here," another voice demanded. "See what she knows."
"Now? She's distraught, don't you think we should let her calm down?" her support beam asked. Clara shook her head, gasping in breaths as she tried to explain, to say what she knew. The officer pushed her back slightly, resting his hands on her shoulders and leaning to eye level, "Hey, hey, calm down. You don't have to answer anything right now."
She looked at him, blue eyes surprisingly gentle, and she managed a word: "Cerberus…"
There was commotion from behind, from the cops, and Clara tried to turn but she hear their words and she froze, unable to head anything else as the officer exclaimed, "We've got a pulse!"
Everything moved then, people rushing about while the officer she had clung to stayed by her side, barking out orders and calling for medics. They arrived an instant later, stretcher ready as they pulled Aetius' on.
Suddenly there was hope, building in her chest – Tito was alive, he wasn't dead, he was alive and they could save him-
"Miss," the officer interrupted, pulling her back to the present. "I need you to tell me what happened."
"I saw – Tito was late, he was moving out today," she coughed as she inhaled wrong, choking on her own saliva, and pushed forward. "Was on my way, saw them leaving – the uniform, the symbol. It was Cerberus. I ran, thought I could h-help-"
A sob ripped through her, interrupting her explanation and the C-sec officer took the lull to look at one of his coworkers, "Call in Nihlus, he's going to want to hear this. I'm going to take her outside, she needs to get out of here."
"Yes sir."
The rest of the events were a blur of tears and awkward offerings of sorrow from the officer she had unwittingly clung to; they gave her a blanket to wrap around her shoulders, and it was with a bitter, choked laugh that she thought: I'm in shock, look, I've got a blanket!
Eventually she stopped crying and she was ushered down to the station. They put her in a room and she realized she was going to be interrogated – she was probably a suspect, until they could determine she wasn't just a hell of a good actress. She was in there for maybe ten minutes before an officer came in, and a quick look told her who they were. In any other instance, she may have smiled at her luck or laughed about coincidences.
"Miss Johnson," Garrus greeted. "I'm Officer Vakarian."
"You're the one I cried on," she said, her voice hoarse. She offered a weak smile that felt fake and forced and nearly made her cry all over again. "Sorry. I – I wasn't –"
He shook his head and sat across from her, "You don't have to apologize, Miss Johnson. I understand."
"Call me Clara, please," she protested, shaking her head. "I've never liked being called Miss Johnson. It reminds me of a teacher I hated. How is Tito? Aetius," she corrected awkwardly, "Is he alright? I haven't heard anything, they just ushered me here…"
Garrus frowned, his mandibles pressing to his cheeks, "We aren't sure. He was injected with an unknown poison, it's worked his way through his system and the medics are trying their best to stabilize him. We'll let you know as soon as we know more.
She nodded, swallowing down her fears, and Garrus requested: "Clara, I know this is still very fresh, but I need you to tell us what you remember. Just take us from the beginning."
Clara swallowed, her mouth achingly dry. She took a drink of the water offered to her, letting it whet her tongue before she even attempted to explain.
"Aetius began moving in to my place a few weeks ago, tonight he was going to get everything finalized and then we were going to go out for dinner," she explained. Her fingers dropped to her lap as she began to toy with the hem of her shirt, "He promised to stop by when I closed shop down at the café, but he wasn't there today. He's never late, so when he still wasn't there I went to his apartment. I just – I felt like I was going to be sick the whole way. I've known him for over year now and this was the first time he wasn't there."
She was starting to tear up again and she forced herself to hold them back, her breath jumping awkwardly as she pushed forward, "I was almost there when I saw three men running past – they bumped into me, and when I turned to say something I saw the emblem on their uniforms. One of them was covered in blood – red blood," she clarified quickly, "His. Tito obviously didn't let them get him without a fight."
Her lip trembled again and Garrus waited patiently until she spoke again, her voice louder as she tried to keep her emotions under key and failed. "I ran the rest of the way, and his door was unlocked so I went in and-" she took a shaky breath and tears slipped unbidden through her defenses, "He was laying on the floor. He said they'd injected him with something, like you said."
She wiped her tears away angrily, avoided looking at Garrus as she said, "I stayed with him until you showed up. He – I couldn't just – I couldn't let him be by himself. If I had known that he was – I could have done something, tried something, anything, and he would be stable and I-"
"You did all you could, Clara," Garrus informed her, but she knew how this worked. She had played the role before, long ago when she had just turned 18 and nearly burned down her first apartment. The words meant nothing, but she nodded anyway.
"Is there anything else I can do?" she asked, looking up desperately. Garrus hesitated before shaking his head.
"No, but someone else wants to talk to you before we let you out of custody," he said, sounding apologetic.
Clara sighed but nodded, running her hand over her face, "If it helps. I'll do whatever you need."
Garrus stood and left then, not bothering with any platitudes or 'I'm sorry's, which she appreciated. She was tired, she was emotional, she was in shock, and she just wanted to be home and in bed, curled around the pillow that probably still smelled like Aetius. She sniffled and wiped at her eyes again, bracing her arms on the table and taking in deep breaths as she waited. Barely a minute passed before the door opened again. She looked up to see her newest interrogator, and her heart dropped.
Nihlus stood there, arms crossed and expression bland. Of course he was here, he had a personal goal to hunt down Cerberus and this was a Cerberus attack. Of course Nihlus was involved.
"Great, it's you," she groaned, pressing her face into her hand. It made sense though, that it was him. Of course it was him. God just hated her that much.
"You know, I almost believed you that night," he said calmly, arms crossed over his chest. "When you said you weren't Cerberus. I watched you afterwards, for a few weeks. You play a long game, Clara – if that's your name. Of course, imagine my surprise when the next Cerberus sighting leads me right back to you. So, how did you do it?"
Clara was dumbstruck for a moment. Her hand dropped to her lap and she stared at him, her mouth gaping and her heart thrumming in her chest as anger slowly sat in. Anger wasn't close to describing how she felt, the complete fire that filled her veins and turned her vision red. "You bastard," she hissed, the insult slipping from her lips before her mind could even process it, "How dare you - I didn't attack Tito. Get out!"
Nihlus shook his head, "You aren't in charge here, Miss Johnson. Why did you try to kill him?"
"I didn't!" She protested, and as soon as the anger filled her it dispersed. After all she had been through, she couldn't keep it up - she was just so tired. She ran her fingers through her hair, inhaling shakily. "I didn't hurt him. I was at work from noon to nine, you can check my timesheet."
"That doesn't mean you didn't organize it," he said calmly. "You may not have personally attacked him, but you could have easily planned it."
"What do you want from me?" She asked. "A false confession? Information I don't have?"
She had to give him props for his tenacity - he didn't let up, throwing questions at her left and right and she answered truthfully, until she could barely raise her voice to respond. All she wanted was to go and see Tito.
Eventually he left, but as quickly as he disappeared Garrus had returned, hesitantly moving towards her. Clara shook her head, speachless. Garrus placed a hand on her shoulder, almost timidly, and an instant later she was leaning against him and crying anew.
One day, she would apologize for using him like a walking tissue. Today, it was all she had to keep from dying.
...
Finally, after what felt like ages, she was released from custody and she could go to the hospital. At first they wouldn't tell her his room or where to find him, but an officer who had been at the scene arrived just in time to let her though with a sympathetic glance. Chellick, she thought his name was. She couldn't remember.
She couldn't see him yet, not really. She was in his room, waiting for him to return from whatever the medics were doing to him. She tried to keep herself occupied, reading and watching the television set, but nothing could keep her mind from the fact that Aetius could be dying and she wasn't there by his side.
She hadn't even told him she loved him.
She whimpered, bent herself in two and buried her face in her hands, desperate for some kind of reprieve. It was while she was doubled over in pain that the medics returned, Aetius' body spread out on a strange stretcher that they used to lift him into his new bed. They took their dear sweet time checking everything over, and on one hand she appreciated it – it meant they were being careful. On the other she wanted them out, so she could wait for him to wake and-
"Ma'am?" a medic, more formally dressed than the others, stepped into the room with a glowing datapad.
"Yes?" she asked, sitting up and facing him. She tried her best to look brave, but the look one his face was far from inspiring.
"We managed to stabilize Mr. Quintus – had we gotten there any later and we might have lost him," he informed her, frowning deeper as she visibly relaxed. "However, I'm afraid that's the only good news we have."
Clara's heart dropped to her stomach. The medic continued, unawares.
"The poison he was injected with can't be found anywhere in the medical records," he said. "It's new, privately engineered to effect turians. I don't think it was complete, Mr. Quintus was just an unfortunate test subject."
Clara's fingers clenched and her stomached rebelled, bile rising in her throat. She forced it down, forced herself to remain calm and devote herself to listening. There had to be something she could do, anything, and the medic was the one who could tell her.
"Without the information regarding the creation of the poison, creating a cure will be…difficult," he said, choosing his words carefully. " The serum was made to deconstruct itself after taking root. We were lucky he got here before it could totally erase itself. But, I'm afraid Mr. Quintus isn't going to wake up any time soon."
Clara's heart stopped.
"H-he's in a coma?" she asked.
"Yes."
She choked, trying to think up a response but finding herself suddenly completely incapable of talking. She opened and closed her mouth, trying to retort, trying to let him know to leave, but she could only nod stupidly and try not to cry. All she had done was cry, ever since she found him, and even though he was alive she still felt like her world was ending.
The doctor seemed to get the message. He left with a sympathetic glance, and Clara doubled over again. Breathing was difficult, like her chest couldn't expand properly, like her lungs were stuck and couldn't take in enough air. She hadn't felt like this before, never in her entire life – not even when she lost her family.
She sobbed and forced herself to stand, approaching his bedside and pressing her hand against his. The vitals looked normal, nothing weird once you looked past the fact that he was in a fucking coma, and it just looked like he was sleeping.
Only Clara knew better. If Cerberus had had their way, Aetius would be dead. They had failed, though, and Aetius was alive.
She clung to that small sliver of hope – Aetius was alive.
Aetius was alive.
But for how long?
...
Chapter Five
After nearly sleeping in the hospital three nights in a row the nurses had forced her out, demanded she bathe and get a proper nights sleep. They were right – the sleep had been sorely needed. That didn't mean she would admit it to them. It was during her forced absence at Aetius' side that the Quintus family arrived on the Citadel. Clara only discovered this when she woke, eyes dry and face sore, and found them waiting on her doorstep. She stumbled over herself, offering apologies and useless niceties that felt hollow. She hadn't stopped crying for three days straight, had gone through endless boxes of tissues at the hospitals expense, and had called in personal time off at work – days her boss promised wouldn't be taken from her vacation time.
His mother was tall and regal, with dark plates that clashed with the pale purple of her colony marks and the light grey of her eyes. Her husband was the opposite in colouring, pale skin and dark eyes, and looked so dreadfully similar to Aetius that her heart ached and she had to refrain from crying anew.
The smallest of the three was a young turian, and Clara didn't need to ask to know she was Aelia. She looked sickly, gaunt for a turian, and her light eyes were tired. She offered Clara a smile, though – tired and empty, but a gesture that Clara treasured none the less.
"You're Clara," his sister said kindly, offering a hand, which she accepted awkwardly. "My brother spoke of you often."
She smiled, holding back a whimper. She would be damned if she broke down in front of his family – she would be strong, like she hadn't been for days, "Tito – Aetius, that is…he talks about you a lot. He was planning to visit you in a few months, when he got time off."
That made Aelia smile sadly, and Clara stepped aside quickly. "Come in, I'm sorry I wasn't expecting you to stop by. I would have cleaned, or at least tidied."
Aetius' mother stepped in quickly, placing a warm hand on her shoulder and meeting her gaze firmly, "You do not have to do anything for us. My son treasured you, and spoke of you as if you were a goddess. I simply wished to meet the woman who brought life back into his eyes."
Clara relaxed, the unspoken fear that they hated her drifting away at his mothers words. She had worried, considering the past between turians and humans, that they would hate her, that they would disapprove of her relationship with their son and that they came here only to take his things and leave her to mourn alone.
"I'm sorry, I don't know your names," she apologized. "We never – Aetius just called you his parents."
His mother offered a smile, kind despite the deep pain in her eyes, "I am Iovita," she said, "And this is my husband, Gaius."
She met the mans gaze for the first time, and she realized his silence wasn't a form of disapproval – his eyes were sad, his mandibles tense against his face, and she knew he was afraid that if he spoke he would break down. It was a feeling she knew well.
"I have some dextro tea, if you'd like some," she offered. "I – it just came in the mail today, it was – is Tito's favorite."
"I'll go make it," Aelia announced firmly, "You stay in here and rest. You've lost just as much as we have. It is unfair to make you work as if you haven't."
Clara was touched, her cheeks flushing as she held back thankful tears and just nodded, motioning towards the kitchen. Despite her frail appearance, Aelia moved gracefully and her presence demanded respect. Clara could see why her brother loved her so dearly.
"I'm sorry," she said, apologizing again though she didn't know what for. "I don't – I'm sorry. I'm just sorry."
She was crying again and they were kind enough not to mention it. Turians didn't cry, they couldn't cry, and Clara knew this, but she was certain that didn't mean they didn't grieve. Iovita had almost lost a son – could very well still, and Clara couldn't imagine the pain she had endured. For the first time, she thought she was the one who got it easy.
"Aetius spoke very highly of you," Iovita said as they sat in the living room, looking around at the small but comfortable life Clara had built for herself. "The detectives said you were there when they arrived."
Clara nodded, staring down into her lap as she remembered. It all still felt like a dream, a distant nightmare, that tomorrow she would wake in Aetius' arms and they would spend the day together as they always did, "I noticed something was wrong when he didn't pick me up from work," she explained. Her fingers clenched in the fabric of her robe as she said, bitterly, "I was too slow. I should have left earlier, should have done something more. He was fading when I got there, and I should have done something, looked for something to help him, but I couldn't leave him alone."
"The police say there was nothing that could have been done," Gaius cut in, his voice gruff and thick with pain. The ffedback from his subvocals made her translator pop uncomfortably. "I am thankful you stayed by his side – it is what he would have wanted. I'm sure he'll tell you as much when he awakes."
If he awakes. Clara pushed the traitorous thought aside – of course he would wake up. Aetius was strong, powerful, thick headed and stubborn as hell. There was no way a poison could keep him down for long.
Clara nodded instead of saying any of that, pressing her lips together. Aelia stepped back into the living room, four cups balanced precariously on two plates, and sat them on the coffee table. Clara thanked her, picking the lone black concoction amongst the other blueish drinks. They were silent for a moment, unable to say anything to fix the pain they were all feeling, but the company helped.
"We have been planning on staying here, in the Citadel, while our son recovers," Iovita said finally. "I wanted to give you the name of the hotel we will stay at, so you can contact us easily..."
Clara was shaking her head before she even finished, her fingers shaking, "No, no, you can't – Aetius wouldn't want you holed up in a hotel. Stay here. There's room, I can take the couch – it pulls out into a bed – and you two can have my room and the spare."
Aelia was the one to protest first, "No, we wont take your bed from you. I will sleep on the couch. Do not argue – I may be sick, but a night on the sofa won't kill me."
It was a bad joke, but Clara appreciated the sentiment.
"You – most of his stuff is here," she said after a moments hesitance, "I don't know – he had some pictures of you all together, I don't know if you want anything but feel free to take whatever."
"We will look," Iovita agreed, "But there is little to take. You loved him as dearly as us – to take what mementos you have of him would be cruel. We have our memories at home, memories spanning twenty five years. You had but one."
Clara couldn't keep the tears back this time, her shoulders shaking as she spoke – telling them stories that were once happy memories but were now bitter reminders that Aetius was holed up in the hospital dead to the world, machines the only things keeping him alive. They listened and shared in turn, and eventually her tears slowed and her speech steadied. They remained in her home for hours, until they were all tired and resigned themselves to visiting the hospital after they woke.
The only trouble was that sleep could not be found that night, even curled around Tito's pillow. His scent still lingered in the room, on the sheets, but the pillow smelled more of her than him. She lay for hours, tossing and turning until finally there was a timid knock on the door and Aelia slipped inside her chamber.
"I'm afraid I lied," she said bashfully, her mandibles twitching in embarrassment. "Your couch is dreadful. I would endure, but Aetius wouldn't approve."
Clara knew she was lying – Aetius often enthused about the couch, claiming no sofa should be as comfortable as that, but Clara knew what the real problem was. It was the same problem that she was having. Clara was used to sleeping with a turian at her side, his weight dipping the bed and rolling her towards him. Aelia was grieving, and Clara doubted the girl wished to be alone.
"You can stay in here," Clara offered. "It's a big bed."
Aelia slipped into place on her brothers side, curling under the covers and facing Clara with a curious gaze. She met it evenly in the dark, blinking sleepily and waiting for her to speak.
"What is my brother like?" Aelia asked finally, "I mean, I know him, but I haven't seen him in years. You've seen him every day for the past year. What is he like?"
Clara smiled softly, throwing herself back into memories, "He's kind. When I arrived here, I was alone and terrified and I got caught up in things better left to criminals. He didn't let that colour his opinion of me – he talked to me regardless. He hounded me for months, asking me out for drinks and convincing me to keep him company at work. I didn't think I was ready for a relationship, didn't think it was anywhere in the cards for my future, but Aetius…he made me reconsider."
Aelia smiled, "He was a good man. He defended me, when I was younger. I've always been small, for a turian, and I've always been fragile. I got teased for it – even after they discovered it was a disease. He would fight them off."
Clara could see it in her head, a younger Aetius protecting his sister, and it made her heart warm. "I was lucky to find him," she admitted, curling her fingers in the sheets. "He makes life better."
Aelia reached across the bed, placing her hand over Clara's and said, "You make his life better. This last year was the happiest he has been in ages. I can never thank you enough for that."
Clara teared up, but Aelia said nothing, simply ran her thumb over the back of her hand in comfort.
...
The morning came quickly after that, and Clara didn't even recall falling asleep – one moment her eyes were closed on the cusp of unconsciousness, the next her alarm was ringing and she was rolling out of bed, chuckling as Aelia groaned and burrowed deeper under the covers.
Breakfast was a simple trip down the the Café, her boss offering her sad smiles and free drinks and condolences. Clara smiled and nodded and promised to return the work at the end of the week, and was quick to lead Aetius' family away and back to their son.
Somehow, it felt wrong to stand in the room with his family. Despite how nice they had been, how understanding and welcoming, it felt wrong to stand by and grieve alongside them when this was the first time they had seen their son in years; so she gave them space. She wandered into the gift shop, flipping through items with boredom clouding her senses – she barely even listened as the cashier explained the purpose of raised prices on drinks when Clara could simply cross the street and get twice as much for half the cost.
Eventually she wandered back to Aetius' room, and his family had settled down. Aelia was more than willing to share the couch with her, resting her head on her shoulder as they watched some strange turian television drama Clara had never heard of before.
Was this going to be her life now – standing in a hospital room, surrounded by newfound family, waiting for her lover to get better? She pursed her lips, tried to think. It wasn't that she wanted to abandon Aetius – not at all. She wanted nothing more than to sit here by his side every damn day until he woke up. But therein lies the problem – when would he wake up? Would he ever wake up?
She wanted to stay positive – she was positive, actually – but she couldn't be sure, she couldn't be certain, until she had that goddamn cure in her hands ready to go.
Sitting here, after a day away, she wondered if this is where she was meant to be. She knew where she wanted to be, where she saw herself: she wanted to be with Aetius. She wanted to be by his side, to hold him and love him so completely it put any other love to shame. She wanted to stay and let everyone else deal with Cerberus, deal with finding a cure.
But that meant there would be more turians out there, at risk of dying because some damn human supremacist organization wanted to test their fucking science experiments. Clara was more than willing to bet that finding a turian they were able to subdue out in the fucking traverse was next to impossible. That left places like the Citadel, like Elysium, like Illium. Places where people had families.
Clara wouldn't let that happen. Not while she was still breathing. Not when they had the cure.
Clara sighed, sleep still clinging to her eyes as she waited patiently for the machine to fill her cup with fresh coffee. Clara hadn't been a large fan of coffee back on Earth, had never really had the urge to drink it after she graduated. Now, however, she sorely needed the energy and this was the only way she could think of getting it.
A flash of red caught her attention, and she turned her head to inspect the distraction. She scowled when she recognized the source.
Nihlus. Of course.
She narrowed her eyes and turned back to her drink, pulling it from the machine and watching as steam curled from the lip. She stepped aside, letting the next person in line get their fill, and grabbed a lid. She paused as the slip of plastic slid into place.
Nihlus! Of course!
She turned and he was still there, waiting to talk to someone behind the desk. He seemed to be ignoring her – she doubted he didn't notice her. He was too well trained to let anyone in this room go unacknowledged. Too bad for him, she thought, and in an instant she was walking up to him and grabbing his forearm, spinning him to face her. He looked down at her and narrowed his eyes, mandibles flickering in irritation.
"What do you want?" he asked.
"You're trying to stop Cerberus," she said. "I'm going to help you."
His glare intensified, "Finally gonna cough up your old employers secrets?" he asked. She rolled her eyes.
"Christ on a bike, you're like a dog with a bone," she grumbled before saying firmly. "My lover is in a coma because of them – they have a cure. I want it."
He looked at her for a long moment, eyes hard as steel. "You really have no ties with them."
She tossed a hand in the air, exasperated, "Now he listens!" She shook her head and sighed. "Look, I can tell you where I got the information, but not here. Not now. Right now we just need to find out what the hell our plan is."
"I never said I was going to let you help," he said bluntly, pointing a finger at her. "You're a civilian."
"Aetius has been training me to fight for the last year," she said firmly, unyielding. "I'm not saying I'm perfect, but for now you just need information. Something – anything – to get you to Cerberus. While we're searching, you can train me."
"Why would I waste time training you when I can have any and everything the Council has to offer at my beck and call?" he asked.
"Because I'm committed," she responded calmly. "I'm an unknown. I have no records of notice, I barely exist. What better way to sneak into a super secret organization than with someone they don't know to look for?"
Nihlus stared at her for a long while, his mind racing behind piercing green eyes. For a moment, Clara worried that he would say no. How could she save Tito when her only shot at getting into Cerberus wouldn't help? She had nothing else to offer him, nothing else that would convince him to let her help.
"Fine," he agreed, sounding positively disgusted with the fact that he even had to trust her. "But I can change my mind whenever I want and send you right back here."
"If you do you have to have a good reason," she retorted quickly, "and if you do, you have to promise to find the cure for Aetius."
He nodded, extended a hand. "Deal."
It was an alliance born of convenience – Nihlus would need help taking down a multi-faceted terrorist organization of the scale Cerberus presented, and while she wasn't ideal she had a reason to fight, something to push her forward. It wasn't much, but it was the best he could hope for. She knew this. She used this.
"You know where I live," she stated, knowing it to be true even if he never said so – he had kept his eye on her for who knows how long, and she hadn't moved since she first came to the Citadel. There was no bother pretending. "Aetius' family is staying there, but they'll be here all day. You can fill me in then."
Nihlus nodded, short sharp and to the point. Clara turned away from him and headed back to Aetius, retaking her place by his bed and wrapping her hand around his.
For the first time that week, she felt hope. She knew, with sudden clarity, what she was going to do. She knew what she had to do. As she sipped her coffee, listening as his family talked and watched television, she wondered what would happen with them. She would tell them, of course – after all they had offered her, how could she not? She would let them stay in the house while she was gone, would get in touch with her bank and get them to pay rent from her generously sized savings while she was gone. After that, she would quit her job at the Cafe and let the museum know that something came up.
"Clara? Are you alright?" Iovita asked, reaching out and placing a caring hand on her shoulder. Clara smiled, and for the first time it didn't feel completely forced.
"I am," she said. "I have to go, I'll be back later tonight."
"Of course," his mother agreed, watching curiously as Clara stood and abandoned the room, giving Aetius' hand a final squeeze on the way.
Nihlus didn't leave her waiting long – barely five minutes after returning home he was knocking at her door, impatient as ever. Clara wished the game had told them exactly how much of an ass Nihlus was; she could have prepared herself better that way. As she opened the door he pushed past, all business.
"We leave tomorrow," he said shortly, "I have a private ship that can take us throughout the universe as needed. We can use the travel time to prepare."
Clara blinked, her throat drying out slightly as his words sank in. "So soon? Don't you have to, I don't know, research?"
"I can gather information better from my ship," he said as he walked through the living room towards her kitchen, forcing her to give chase. "I have information networks set up that I can tap into with ease, but I need my ship – and my crew – to do so."
"Well, what about my training?" she asked, twisting her hands in her shirt.
"Less questions are asked on my ship," he responded. Clara pursed her lips together – it was as if he had anticipated the inevitable onslaught. She shouldn't have been surprised; he was a Spectre, after all.
"Wont the Council wonder why you're taking a civilian on board?" she asked.
Nihlus looked at her, a sly gleam in his emerald eyes: "You think you're the first human I've had on my ship without the Council knowing?"
The innuendo in his tone didn't escape her. She blushed and brushed past him, pulling down the makings for tea and setting to work an instant later. "Well, if you're quite done, I need to set things up for while I'm gone."
"Have you forgotten something?" Nihlus asked, and she turned to send him a questioning look. His arms were crossed over his chest as he leaned against the wall, the picture of nonchalance. One glance at his eyes told her he was anything but relaxed, though. "How did you get your information on Cerberus?"
She sighed heavily – she had forgotten that little detail. How was she going to explain this? 'Well, I used to play this game called Mass Effect for shits and giggles, but one day I woke up and everything in the game was coming true!' No. There was no way on Earth – or Thessia, or Tuchanka, or any other planet you could name – that would pass as a satisfactory explanation.
"You aren't going to believe me," she cautioned.
"I tend not to believe anything you say," he retorted dryly. "Considering your history. Or lack-thereof."
Clara pursed her lips to keep from snapping, and instead focused her attention on the tea kettle. Telling him that she was from a world where all this existed in game-form was not an option – she had to settle for something a little more probable.
"I'm from the future."
Shit. That was not what she had intended.
She could feel the turian's eyes boring into her, staring her down, but she refused to face him. She was silent as she very patiently waited for the water to boil. After a moment, he simply couldn't take the silence any more.
"Prove it."
Clara turned and looked at him, surprised. "No disbelief? No demands for the truth? No calling the crazy squad and shipping me off to the nearest asylum?"
"While those options haven't been ruled out, I figured I would be nice and give you the chance to explain your specific brand of crazy," he said just as quickly, tone as dry as ever. She even laughed a bit. Her laugh turned to a sigh and she ran her fingers through her hair.
"How do you want me to prove it?" she asked, leaning against the counter.
Nihlus shrugged, holding out his hands in an open gesture. "Surprise me."
Her lips pressed together anxiously as she bit at the inside of her cheek, considering the red-plated turian. She was running through all the information she had stored away about Mass Effect over the years, trying to figure out the most relevant and least consequential piece of information she could offer him. The answer was surprisingly easy to find.
"The turian military and the Systems Alliance have been discussing the possibility of creating a frigate, with the backing of the Council." She hesitated, concerned that maybe the information wasn't enough, and continued. "You've also been looking into Shepard," she said, very carefully leaving out the ambiguous first name. "You're considering them for a position as the first human spectre."
Nihlus blinked and, for the first time, seemed to have no response. Then he said: "I hadn't told anyone about that. Not even the council, especially considering how she handled Torfan. If you know, does that mean I'm successful?"
A blasé shrug kept her from giving away her secrets, hid the surprise and strange satisfaction that settled in her stomach. A female Shepard wasn't what she had expected, but she wouldn't have it any other way. The world needed more badass female role models, and knowing that Shepard was one of them gave her the inane urge to smile. She instead turned back to the kettle as it whistled. "I can't say either way."
"You're a civilian. The only way you would know is if it was made public." He countered.
"Unless they messed up big time – enough to get noticed." she said calmly.
There was another moments silence, his eyes burning against her back as she poured herself a cup of tea. Then, "How did you come back in time? Why?"
"It was an accident," she said – one of the first honest things she could say. "The tech wasn't even supposed to propel people through time, but it did. I was just a scientist sitting in on a demonstration, but the angle was off just slightly. I got caught in the beam and wound up here."
"Technology doesn't suddenly do something outside of its programming," Nihlus argued. Even though she refused to turn and face him she knew he was staring her down – she could feel it in the prickling at her neck. "You must have missed something."
"What do you want me to say?" Clara demanded, turning and fixing him with her most honest stare. "That this is some sort of space magic? That my colleagues lied and set me up? That this is all part of some cosmic plan to save a world that doesn't need saving? By coming back here, I could destroy everything with one wrong move."
"Then why try?" He demanded, taking a step towards her and fixing her with that damn stare – the one that made you think he could read your thoughts, made you think he knew everything you were going to say before the words could dare form on your tongue. It was one of the many things she hated about him: his damn hubris. Maybe that was why BioWare had killed him off, a lesson in humility.
She didn't let him change her mind, not this time. She stood firm, glaring up at him: "I have a chance to save people. Good people, who didn't deserve to die. I have the chance to fix everything that went wrong."
"And what if they're supposed to go wrong?" he countered just as quickly, one step ahead, and her blood boiled. "What if these people are supposed to die? What if you can't fix it?"
"Then I fix it," she snapped. "What do you want me to say? You know damn well if you went back in time, could stop the First Contact War, could stop so many turians from dying needlessly, you would do it. You know this. What do you think I'm doing?"
"Meddling," he said calmly. "You're meddling."
"Are you going to stop me?" she asked. She threw out her hands, gesturing wildly as she said: "This whole thing, this whole plan to stop Cerberus? It has nothing to do with what's to come. It has nothing to do with Shepard. It has nothing to do with saving the world. This is about me, saving the man I love. This is about revenge. Surely you can understand that?"
He stared her down, his mandibles pressed tight as he considered her. She couldn't read his mind, couldn't read his expression even after her time with Tito, and it set her on edge. She resisted the urge to shuffle back and forth, to force him to respond.
"Fine," he said, and despite his acquiesce it was clear he wanted nothing more than to rip her argument apart. "Fine. I get it. You've got 12 hours to pack. If you aren't on the dock, I'm leaving without you."
Nihlus turned and stalked away, as done with the conversation as she was. She waited until the door slammed shut behind him, until she was certain he was away, before she slid down to the floor and let her head fall back against the cabinet.
She closed her eyes and drew in a shaky breath, pressing her palms to her eyes until she saw stars.
This was going to be hell.
...
A/N: And there we have Nihlus, that jerk.
No, but I love Nihlus. I really do, I even love him when he's a jerk like this. I think that, considering the information he has, he's acting very reasonably. Clara is an unknown. He has to be cautious.
And we have our motivation.
So, I'll have you know, in the original draft of this Aerius died straight away. There was no beacon of hope. There was no light at the end of the tunnel, and I realized that would never work. Because even though Clara puts on a brave face and she adapts, you could quite clearly see in this chapter that she's still human and she's still very, very weak. Clara needed something to push her forward, and revenge alone wasn't enough. She needed hope, otherwise her integrity wouldn't survive through what is to come.
Thank you again for sticking through with me this long. Next time, we meet Nihlus' crew. Also we're about halfway through Act I.
Lots of Love;
B.E. Nomads