'I hate this ship.'
The words slip from my mouth before my brain even forms the thought, staining the beautiful mood lingering from our lovemaking. It takes me a moment to process my own words, what they mean - and I find myself chilled.
Faith, lying with her chest pressed against my back, strong arms wrapped around me, jolts in a surprise mirrored by my own. Why did I say that? I do not truly hate it - the ship itself is comfortable enough, and holds an immense practical value to our work. As the bliss of our union faded, I caught glimpses of Faith's plans for when we get back to work: she is going to use the creatively named Extranet Surge Tool on this ship, built where the cargo hold on a normal ship would be. The tool which has a singular purpose: to flood the extranet with whatever the Shadow Broker desires.
Once she has done so, the ship's usefulness will have been exhausted. The raw data has already been exported and archived. The networks of contacts can be managed from any given terminal, with the right access. The Shadow Broker's true power lies not in the huge files of knowledge - though that is by no means a small part of the arsenal - but the agents and informants present at every level in just about every major government, military body, criminal organisation, multi-planetary corporation and political power, constantly reporting to give a huge, complex view of what is really happening in the galaxy. And on top of that, the Broker's... my... power to shape the course of the galaxy through these people.
I do not need the ship for that. We will destroy it once we move back onto the Normandy... and yet the thought of seeing it crash into Hagalaz fills me with an entirely inappropriate and silly, petty anticipation.
Why did I say it?
'What do you mean?' Faith asks quietly, head just behind my own, warm breath tickling my still-sensitive crests.
I did not mean to spoil this perfect moment, what is wrong with me? 'I apologise Faith, it is nothing, I did not want to-'
She gently pulls me to my back, hovering over me, face singing worry.
'Saying you hate something isn't nothing,Liara. What's wrong? Did... did something happen while I was away?'
'No,' I shake my head, feeling my crest crumpled against the soft pillows beneath it, and catch Faith's concerned eyes, 'No, nothing happened, I was just...'
I smile up at her, then push her softly to her back, resting my head on her bare shoulder before speaking again. 'I was just... that was so... perfect.'
Breathing in deeply, Faith's heady scent filling my senses, I allow darkness to swallow me as I close my eyes. 'Then, I opened my eyes, and we were still on this ship... the words came out before I could stop them.'
I reach up and trail a hand lazily through her hair, still enjoying the strange sensation after all of these months: like water, given solid form. 'I am sorry, I did not want to spoil anything.'
Faith stays silent for several moments, breathing deeply, her own hand gently pressing into my back - a wonderfully comfortable sensation.
'What do you think of as home?' Her quietly asked question rings through me like a bell.
Home...
'I do not...'
I draw in a deep breath, trying to fill the uncomfortable void the innocent question uncovered... and that scent, that curious, heady, human scent, almost answers the question for me. That scent means safety, means home, but... Goddess... why is it so hard to answer as she intends me to?
My first instinct is to reply with mother's estate on Thessia - now technically mine even though it is managed by a private company and operated by those who have worked there for centuries - but that has not been my home for decades.
When I left for university, mother and I parted with not unkind, but not loving, words; her disappointment at my choice was clear in the cold way she handled my accommodation and paid for my studies, without a word of encouragement. But I was determined... that I was doing the right thing. That I would press ahead, with or without her blessing. That... that when she saw I was serious in my path, she might cease imagining it a childish fancy.
I looked back as I left that day, and realised even then that I did not feel I was leaving home. Mother had been so busy for years before I left, and most of the time we did spend together was my accompanying her to parties and meetings with dignitaries, at which my role was to impress with elegant, meaningless conversation as mother planted seeds of her long-term plans.
The house - a large estate near Armali - was not a home. It was a training ground for mother's acolytes. It was a place of education for myself and others. A graceful meeting place where plans and investments were made.
I could not consider sitting alone in my enormous and richly furnished room - studying, eating a cold meal I quickly prepared myself - as beingat home.
'I... I have not lived somewhere I would call "home" for years now, Faith. I had the quarters my mother paid for at university, then my dig sites.'
I smile into her shoulder, remembering that warmth, when she first caught me... 'But then you rescued me on Therum, and the Normandy was more of a home than any I have known since I was a child. You helped me find friends, a purpose that felt more... real... than my Prothean research ever did.' I take a deep breath. 'When it was gone...'
Those years... they were awful.
Alone.
Losing more and more of myself into the heartless underbelly of Illium and the sordid information trade.
More money than I had ever controlled, and yet, 'I owned, own, several apartments on Illium. I usually stayed in the one you visited, but for all I spent making it mine, it never felt like home. A-at least, u... until...'
Faith tightens her grip as my voice breaks, remembering that horrific event... Nyxeris... trying to pry information from my mind as I slept...
And Faith was there for me. Despite having suffered an appalling attack herself at the hands of a monstrous Ardat-Yakshi, she put aside her mission for days to help me, to comfort me when I thought I had nobody left. 'It felt like a home when you were there. It... it is absurd, isn't it? With all that happened... and we were covering up a dead body! But when we were done... I felt at peace. Like I could be happy, living there with you.'
I feel a gentle kiss on the top of my crests. 'I know what you mean. Despite everything, I still cherish that day. I... I know that was a random question, but I was thinking how... different... it is, when we make love on the Normandy. Somehow, over the years she's become my home. When I open my eyes and see my cabin... what you said reminded me of that. This place isn't your home, is it?'
'No,' I admit, knowing it as truth. 'I still feel an unwelcome intruder here.'
'What about the Normandy?'
The Normandy...
'I... do not know. I feel more comfortable there, than here. But the memories there are not mine. I... I could not join you against the Collectors. Some of the crew share jokes and moments I do not understand.' Every day I look back and see how foolish I was to keep away from Faith as she hunted the Collectors: in hindsight, my own work and reasons seem so petty. I used the excuse that I could not conduct my research, my hunt, from on board a ship, but that is simply untrue. I was scared, after two years of working alone, of letting anybody else in. Just as Faith was, when she turned me away before Ilos. We both made such foolish mistakes... but they led to us being here, together, now... so did the path lead us to a greater appreciation of what we have?
'Do you... want to feel at home there?' she asks quietly.
Do I?
Goddess... yes, I do.
I did not realise it, but for so long I have lived in places I feel just a guest:the months I spent on the first Normandy gave me companionship, a purpose... and a place I felt welcome. Illium... this hated ship... they are not places one can feel welcome. They are soulless, reminders of the years I was alone, without friends or support... I do not want to feel that way again.
'I do,' I whisper. There will be some things I can never get back, never have been part of, but to feel that comfort again...
'When we go back, it'll practically be a new ship,' her words sound less certain now, as if she is testing them herself. 'New crew members, a new mission... I probably won't even recognise it with all of the retrofits.'
'It will still be your ship, Faith.'
'No, no... I'm not worried about that,' she quickly clarifies, taking my free hand with hers, 'I was going to say, it'll be something of a fresh start, and... and it can be your... our ship... our home... too. Erm, if you want. I know that was sort of the plan anyway, and you'll still have your places on Illium and I bet your family's got a huge house on Thessia, but I thought I'd-'
Smiling, I push myself up and place a finger over her charmingly babbling lips. 'Are you asking me to move in with you?'
Looking uncomfortable, but with glittering eyes, she shrugs helplessly. 'Erm... Yes?'
Moving in...with Faith... Why is she so uncomfortable asking? 'You are aware we have been planning this for weeks now?'
'I-I know!'She sounds nervous! 'But we've almost been... assuming it. I thought I'd make it, you know, official.'
My breath catches at the serious undertone to the awkwardly proposed statement. It has been implied ever since she returned from her assault on the Collectors that I would relocate the Shadow Broker operation on to the Normandy, but we have never truly spoken about it. The practical need is there, but there is something deeper to the proposal, that I wish I had seen earlier... how could I have missed it? The Normandy is not just a transport for her, not just a machine of work and war. It is where she lives. Where her friends and those who have - more and more - become her family,live. It is her home... and she is offering to share it with me.
To give us somewhere we can call ours.
'I would love to move in with you, Faith.' I smile softly, and turn her parlance against her. 'Officially.'
The smile that brightens her face banishes the cold air of this cold ship, andfills that void I had not even noticed was there, so long had it been present, with a deep warmth and belonging... that for the first time in years, I might have a place I can call home... and a wonderful woman to share it with.
Doctor Amanda Kenson hummed appreciatively. 'Asari, you said?'
Doctor Karin Chakwas nodded in agreement. 'Yes. Quite lovely, don't you agree?'
'My tastes are usually a little more pedestrian,' the Alliance operative replied, 'but I've never been one to shirk new things.'
'You won't be disappointed. The asari are wonderfully creative when it comes to pleasing alien tastes.'
'So I've heard. Though such things are usually frowned upon in the Alliance.'
'Oh, don't tell me you've never been curious!' Chakwas scoffed, 'I've treated enough soldiers to know... hell, I'm not even going to deny I've a sordid tale or two of my own. I'm sure you have an experience to share.'
Kenson smiled wistfully, but the expression did not touch her hard eyes. 'Well, there was one time I dabbled with krogan-'
'You didn't!' Chakwas overrode, face twisted in horror. 'I've heard that is immensely damaging to your insides!'
'Immensely is right,' Kenson said, drawing a hand to her stomach, 'I actually had to have minor surgery afterwards. But when a krogan Battlemaster challenges you to a drinking contest, refusal to participate is... unwise.'
Chuckling, Karin swirled her glass of Serrice Ice Brandy and took another sip. 'I'm sure there's a tale to tell there.'
'Perhaps once I've had a few more glasses of this lovely vintage.' Kenson replied, leaning back into her chair in the sick bay, opposite the medic. 'Where did you get it?'
With a smile, Chakwas remembered Shepard awkwardly presenting the gift. The soldier was still not totally comfortable with such open gestures of affection to her crew, but made the effort more and more often these days. 'Commander Shepard found it for me. I don't know if she's a connoisseur, to have found such a quality bottle, or if she just got lucky, but I appreciate it either way.'
'Does she make a habit of giving alcohol to the person who might be performing surgery on her?' Kenson asked, sounding slightly incredulous.
Karin looked up and saw the hint of a ghost of a smile on Kenson's lips, a slight twinkle to her hazel eyes, and judged an old joke wouldn't fall flat. Many young soldiers were notoriously attached to their battle wounds. 'Only if I promise to leave a scar.'
The operative's naturally harsh expression vanished for a second with a fleeting smile that actually touched features beyond her lips, leaving Karin pleased with herself. Kenson was a hard, closed off person, much like the Commander herself, but also like Shepard there was clearly a rich personality beneath it, a personality Karin wanted to get to know.
'She seems an unusual woman,' Kenson mused, 'not what I was expecting from the stories.'
Doctor Chakwas raised an eyebrow in her direction. 'Were you expecting the Butcher of Torfan, or the Hero of the Citadel?'
'Well, I saw why the batarians fear her, at very least,' said Kenson, peaking Karin's interest before continuing, 'And she single handedly fought off more than thirty men to protect me. But perhaps I was expecting somebody a little more...'
'Bombastic?' Karin suggested with a smile.
Kenson nodded, smiling stiffly. 'I suppose. She has the spark of a leader, and determination like I've not seen for years, but not that... let's say bravado, one often associates with war heroes. Especially hot-shot commandos.'
'For all of her harshness, she's not a cold woman, and she's never felt her actions are worthy of boasting,' Chakwas said, thinking of what she knew of Shepard, 'which is worthy of praise in itself. I think you'll find working under her quite different from any assignment you've had previously.'
'Well...' Kenson took another sip of brandy, posture finally relaxing into something more natural, 'if she finds gifts like this for all of the crew, I think I could get used to it.'
Kelly frowned, and bit her tongue in concentration.
The work was nearly complete, but she would not be happy until it was perfect.
She was already bandaged up from more than one accident, but injury would not stop her.
This was for the crew... For the Normandy... For Shepard.
If she could not get this right, she did not deserve her place on board. She needed to focus, to make sure everything was perfect, so when it came to that crucial moment she could step up, and-
'What are you doing?'
With a startled squeak Kelly jerked her hand and sank the needle - again - into her finger, dropping the large mass of artificial flesh to the floor, still attached to the suture.
She looked up helplessly, and saw the wide-eyed, apologetic look on Specialist Traynor's face for disturbing her.
'Oh bugger, I'm so sorry Kelly! I couldn't see what you were doing, I thought-'
Kelly dropped the needle and waved Sam into silence, flashing the befuddled woman a reassuring smile. 'Don't worry Sam, you startled me is all... it's not the first time I've stabbed myself today.'
Sam instantly dropped into the seat beside Kelly in the mess, and took the redhead's wounded hand in both of hers. Sam's hands weren't as soft as Kelly was expecting; but after a seconds' consideration it made sense, considering the Comms Specialist was working quite happily in installing some of the equipment in the almost-complete war room, with blowtorches and metal and all manner of things designed to get in the way of good grooming.
The touch was gentle though, as the woman inspected the wound, and wiped away the bead of blood. 'It's not bad, and it looks like you've already got some medigel... do you want me to do it?'
Kelly nodded, smiling. 'Please. I think I'm done with medical equipment for the day.'
Sam picked up the small tube Kelly had already used more than once during her practice, and carefully applied a drop of the substance, instantly numbing the tiny wound, sterilising and sealing it. 'I'm really sorry, I didn't see you were holding a needle! What were you doing, anyway?'
Kelly wiggled her fingers in Sam's hand. 'I said don't worry! I've been training as Doctor Chakwas' assistant, and she's still not happy with my sutures. I was practicing. It all seems a bit... barbaric... but apparently you can't just slap medigel on a gaping wound, glue it up, and hope for the best.'
Kelly reached down and picked up the amorphous lump of synthetic flesh the medic had given her to practice on and dropped it back to the table. The training had been going quite well. Kelly was pleased with her progress on the theory side; drugs, diagnosis, knowing what to do in a given situation, but actually doing it was causing her slightly more trouble. But still, she had accepted the position, and would do it to the best of her ability.
'I... I thought you were Shepard's yeoman?' Sam replied, still holding Kelly's hand. The redhead decided not to pull away; Sam seemed comfortable enough, and her touch was nice.
'I am. But that's not a full time position, and on a ship like this we all need to pull our weight wherever we can. Doctor Chakwas can and will do most of the work, and all of the ground crew know how to treat battle wounds, but sometimes the Doctor needs an assistant, so here I am!'
Sam thought about that for a second, then nodded, absent mindedly letting go of Kelly's hand. 'What's it like? When she's here... Shepard, I mean?'
Immediately missing the comforting contact, but feeling amusement flow through her, Kelly remembered how she felt at her own first meeting with Shepard. Sam was certainly fascinated by the woman: an understandable reaction, given her fame and that aura Shepard seemed to carry with her, and Kelly had already deduced that the young Alliance woman had a bit of hero-worship, not unlike that she had held at first.
That Shepard had left almost as soon as she had dropped off the new crew members had, for Sam, only added to her mystique.
Kelly did hope Shepard returned soon though - the new crew members were professionals, accepting Tali's orders in helping with the upgrades without question, but it would be better for their integration if Shepard was present. The Spectre knew it too, but Kelly had seen the almost imperceptible flicker of pain across her face, as she had declared that she needed to go to Doctor T'Soni's ship to make their final preparations before moving the full war operation onto the Normandy. Kelly had seen the subtext: she knew that a few days of uncertainty were better than keeping an exhausted, upset and on edge Shepard away from what she needed.
Kelly caught Sam's chocolate eyes. 'It can get intense. You want to work hard when she's there, if nothing else because she can be a little... scary. But she's not unreasonable, and cares a lot for the crew. She'll push you to your limits, but never expect anything she wouldn't be happy to do herself.'
'It's all so exciting! I... I've never worked with soldiers before. Or an AI. Or aliens,' Sam said, smiling shyly, 'It's just been human scientists up to now. Miss... erm... Tali... is the first quarian I've met, and she's the most famous quarian in the galaxy. And Shepard said Detective Vakarian and Doctor T'Soni will be on the crew as well! I read stories about the Normandy, fighting Saren and the geth; I never imagined I would actually be here. I even saw that ridiculous film, did you see it?'
Kelly grinned, teasing, 'Which one? The one where they replaced Shepard with a man? Or the all-elcor, twenty-five hour long adaptation?'
'No, no! The one with the two leads from Vaen... ah...'
Kelly raised a brow. Sam was almost too easy. 'Uh huh?'
'You know... the one with... ah... that turian, who I think was in Fleet and Flotilla, playing Garrus Vakarian...' Sam looked away, blushing. Kelly knew the one she meant; with the human and asari lead actresses from Vaenia. Though the film never had them actually get together, it had far too many situations where they were forced to get mostly undressed as part of their escape plans to possibly take it seriously- not that this had stopped Kelly from re-watching it.
More than once.
The cult of celebrity that had erupted around Shepard after she saved the Citadel was frankly amazing and the Alliance was all too willing to exploit it to increase recruitment. Kelly suspected that they had sanctioned more than one of the movie productions out there... perhaps even hiring actresses from an erotic movie to play key roles in the version Sam was talking about.
Leaning back in the chair, Kelly smiled happily at Traynor. The pair had gravitated together naturally: neither were fighters like most of the others on board, and Sam's open, unjaded world view was endearing.
That her accent is sexy as hell certainly doesn't hurt...
Kelly might have been worried that the woman was a bit too naive, but she had seen the way Sam acted around Shepard on the shuttle from Arcturus, and as Shepard had given her the assignment to help set up the war room. The Comms Specialist was very eager to please but still professional, so the psychologist was not worried about Sam's efficiency being impaired... and decided a little more joking around was in order. 'Well, you'll meet the real Garrus Vakarian soon enough. But don't mention that you've seen the films, his head is big enough as it is.'
Sam shook her head. 'It's unreal. These people who saved the Citadel, working across the room from me... I only just graduated and now I'm here, with Commander bloody Shepard, and her alien crew...' Suddenly her eyes narrowed. 'Wait a second. Is that why you said something about if these...' Traynor slightly arched her back, pushing out her chest and gesturing towards her suddenly pronounced assets, 'were blue that I might have a shot?'
Seemingly independent of her mind, Kelly's eyes flicked downwards... twice... taking in the expanse of now-taut fabric encapsulating twin globes of what were certainly rich, coffee-brown... Whoa girl. Down. Stop. Nope! Kelly bit the inside of her cheek before her mind descended further into the gutter, and dragged her thoughts back to Sam's words, simply smiling mysteriously at Sam's curious face. The Normandy was a small ship with a tiny crew, meaning there were no secrets. But on that one, Kelly would say no more. It was for Shepard to either divulge or let slip on her own.
Steve grunted, muscles aching in a most pleasant manner. It had been quite some time since he'd last done this.
James panted like an animal, a not entirely inappropriate reaction to what he was doing.
Gritting his teeth, Steve braced for the inevitable. He knew what he was letting himself in for, when he had agreed to this... but he had not expected James to be so forceful on his first time.
James pushed harder, taking another inch for himself. It was only a matter of time now.
Steve's resistance was failing, but he was determined to make Vega work for his prize. With one final surge of effort, he pushed back, surprising James.
'Whoa... didn't know you had it in you, Esteban!'
'More where that came from, Vega!'
But it was soon to be over, and both knew it. With a huge roar, Vega heaved forward and Steve finally felt himself give out, and with a moan his arm collapsed underneath the bigger man's, slamming into the crate they were using for their battle. After a few breathless pants, James launched himself to his feet, and threw his arms in the air in celebration. 'Woo! You ready for round two?'
Laughing, Steve held up his hands in submission. 'Give me a minute!'
James looked around the cargo bay, grinning widely. 'I can't believe we just did that in here. In the Alliance there'd be some uptight Major riding our asses.'
With a nod, smiling at the younger man's enthusiasm, Steve said, 'I hear Shepard's pretty relaxed about this kind of thing, as long as it doesn't impact our duties.'
'No worries there, you're too much of a workaholic to do it often, and I don't think anybody else'd take me on.'
Rolling his shoulders to work out the soreness, Steve stood up as well. 'She might join in Vega, you never know. Think you could take down a Spectre?'
'Hell yes! She looks tough, but we're talking biology here.' Vega pointedly flexed his muscles as he spoke. 'No room for fancy tactics or that kinda shit. She wouldn't stand a chance.'
With a knowing grin, Steve replied, 'So you'll challenge her?'
'Erm...' The cocksure expression vanished from the big guy's face. Steve wasn't especially surprised; Shepard was definitely smaller than Vega, but there was something about her that suggested she didn't lose very often.
He decided to let Vega's hesitation pass - for now at least. 'Well, if you do challenge her, let me know so I can hide.' He gestured around the huge, open area. 'You think you'll like it here?'
'Top of the line ship, awesome gear, more action than I can imagine and a CO who doesn't care if I wear a vest on duty? Hell yeah amigo! What 'bout you, you been poking around the transports yet?'
Steve looked over to the M-44 Hammerhead hanging from the ceiling with a smile. 'I had a quick look. The Kodiak's got some interesting modifications, and I haven't worked with a Hammerhead for a while. Shepard told me she gets some pretty heavy use out of the thing, so I'm going to see if I can get some extra armour plating for it.'
'Well, I think I'm gonna set up my bunk down here, so if you need any heavy lifting done you only gotta shout,' said Vega, grinning at Steve.
'You mean I'll be putting up with you 24/7?'
'You love it Esteban! So, you ready to go again yet?'
Steve wasn't usually one for competitions like this, but his muscles ached pleasantly, and he was enjoying bantering with the man. 'Sure. One more round then I'm back to work.'
Vega sat down, and slammed his elbow onto the table they had set up. 'You're looking at the arm wrestling champion of Arcturus, you think you've got it in you?'
Steve dropped into the opposite seat, and clasped Vega's hand. 'You're going down.'
Tali groaned, her body aching with the aftermath of a day's hard labour, as she sank onto her back in the small pile of spare robes she called her bed. She was in the hold beneath the engine room; the retrofit crews still operating, around the clock, above her. But nobody would disturb her down here unless it was an emergency, so she was left alone with her thoughts... and the space around her.
Jack...
The engineer could still see remnants of the volatile biotic's brief stay. Dents in the walls and ceiling, made during the explosive nightmares that terrified the engineers above as she cried out. Tali could see several small carvings in most of the walls and pipes; some images of violence, some words she did not recognise, some patterns of a dangerous, exciting beauty.
Recognising their value, Tali had asked the retrofit crew not to polish them away. She had not been there when Jack had died, but had heard from Garrus that it was brutal, the woman overloading her biotic implants to allow the others an easier path... and Shepard had executed her, to save her a slow, debilitating and painful death.
Her squads on both Freedom's Progress and Haestrom had been massacred, but the quarian could not imagine having to do what Shepard did. To look at an ally... a friend... and know that the only mercy she could afford them was to kill them...
Tali shuddered, and cast away the grim thoughts of Jack's death.
Her memories, her life, were what would be remembered. Despite a childhood Tali almost wept to imagine, Jack had chosen to sacrifice herself, push herself further than she knew she could go, so that the others could complete the mission. There were memories of pain in the carvings, but also laughter and companionship; Jack had become almost sociable by the time they had hit the relay, acknowledging Tali and the others when they happened to pass in the corridors, and there was that time she had actually played a practical joke on Ken, scaring him by hiding amongst the pipes like she did, and jumping down like a... ugh... spider, causing her and Gabby to laugh and laugh and laugh until her suit had let out a warning she was in danger of hyperventilating.
Smiling sadly at the memory, she ran a gloved finger over one of the grooves; something that looked like a cross between an inexpertly carved flower, and a blade. Perhaps it was meant to be both. Loss had become almost a fact of life to Tali, but after the disaster on Haestrom, Shepard had advised her that to keep going without losing herself, she had to not bury it away, but remember the good times, acknowledge what was accomplished... and drive herself, to do better in the future.
She felt an urge to get back up, get back to work, at the thought, so she could take pride that she had done all she could to prepare the Normandy... but her body screamed in protest. Legion, thankfully, had now restricted his objections to her tendency to overwork herself to simple visual cues in her helmet displays. The geth had been mostly quiet during the upgrades, which Tali counted a small mercy. When he was quiet, it was almost possible to forget he was there at all.
Almost possible to imagine that her suit was managed as it had been for years: by a complex VI.
But it wasn't. The signs were all there. She was wearing upgraded shield generators; the geth able to operate the immensely complicated programs needed to run them. Her omni tool was loaded with powerful battle programs Legion would manage during combat. She had been sick for months on end now; the geth still keeping his promise of bolstering her immune system to allow her to remove her mask safely - to the stage where she now vaguely wondered what it was like to be able to breathe through her nose, to not taste that disgusting... stuff... that had set up a permanent headquarters at the back of her throat.
She vaguely wondered if it was worth it. To live, constantly wondering and worrying about the AI she harboured, for the undeniable improvements it was making to her life. Soon, she would be able to wander the semi-sterile environment of her home bare-faced... an entirely alien concept.
She also knew that she would be the only member of her entire species able to do so - and coming from a culture that idealised a certain degree of conformity, the idea was both thrilling and terrifying.
Quarians wore suits. They hid their faces. It had begun as a statement, to mourn the loss of their homeworld, the billions the geth had murdered, but it quickly transformed into a core part of their culture and traditions. It would be easy enough to wear transparent face plates, but nobody did.
Living in a suit, on a ship, was as normal to quarians as having a home planet was to other species. Even if they never visited: the knowledge was there, that they had a place they could go, feel welcome, be amongst their people. A welcome Tali would never feel amongst the quarians again... but a welcome she had earned for herself here. She had earned her place on Shepard's squad. She had earned her position as head engineer. She had earned the respect of the aliens on the Normandy, and was honoured to call them her friends, her family.
She was not a quarian to them. Not a thief, a beggar, a suit rat, a gypsy. There was almost a nervous excitement to the thought. She was simply Tali, their friend - and soon the last remaining barrier between them would fall.
She feared abandoning her identity as a quarian, but in truth so much of it had already been lost. Her homeworld was lost. Her status amongst the flotilla was lost. Her ancestral hatred of the geth was lost.
But soon, she would be with her true family again. Garrus had called earlier, saying that in a few days they would have exhausted the use of the Broker's ship, and would be moving back to the Normandy. Shepard would be back. The team's rock... the human who forged the crew and drove them onwards, through and above whatever opposition or adversity they faced. Perhaps it was a lingering part of her old identity, but Tali always felt reassured when her Captain was on board.
She was also looking forward to having Liara back on the crew. She had formed a comfortable friendship with the asari on the SR1: both being young (relatively), alien to the others, and inexperienced in combat they had been drawn to each other. She had barely had time to catch up with Liara in the last few months with all that had been happening. The asari had clearly changed a lot, but so had she, and Tali hoped things would still be comfortable between them.
Garrus even mentioned that Kasumi might visit, though he did not know if the upbeat thief would stay. Tali liked the strange human, and the way she would always play silly jokes on the crew, but understood her reasons for leaving. Despite what have proven to be a solitary combat style - haunting the battlefield like a silent ghost - Kasumi's playful demeanour had led her to form easy friendships with nearly the entire crew, and the death of so many had affected her deeply.
But most of all, she wanted her turian back. She wanted to hear his drawling voice, managing to make light of everything from her preference for shotguns to the geth in her suit, always making her feel better. She wanted his formidable presence when she ordered the retrofit crews to do something, since they still raised a brow at having a quarian order them around. She wanted to have him there for the few hours she spent, when not sleeping or working, looking for something to do: he always had an idea for a nice way to relax.
Smiling softly, and ignoring the stupid geth telling her she needed to sleep via a flashing alert in the corner of her HUD, she thought to her future on this ship, with her friends, with Garrus, and what she could make of it once they had stopped the Reapers.
A/N: Thank you to Jay8008 and Vector 71 for the ideas and editing :-)
No big action or drama today... but hopefully sets the scene for some of the friendships and perhaps more on board. Looking ahead, I still have a fair amount I plan to cover before the Reapers actually arrive - I want to take a closer look at the political turmoil that Shepard's actions cause in preparing for war, and Liara will have a personal issue to deal with that will ripple outwards to affect the asari war effort. The Reapers will arrive one day, I promise! But in avoiding the 6 month incarceration the game forces on us, there's a lot of time to fill... I hope I can keep it enjoyable!
Thank you all for reading and your continued feedback, it always makes my day to hear from you!
