"Give me your arm, oh bearer mine. Let me help you fill the world with teeth." -Young Ahamkara's Spine
With Meren at the helm, the trip back to the Prison nearly ended in disaster on no less than two separate occasions. First, it had been a near-miss with a small, errant asteroid thirty seconds into their flight. Only thanks to the autopilot kicking in had they evaded the collision. Then, shortly after, there had been a slight mishap when Meren had mistaken the jump-drive prime matrix for the sublight thrusters, nearly launching the ship straight through the Kuiper Belt. Fortunately, Variks had intervened before her grievous error saw them reduced to a miasma of their molecular components. After that, Meren's piloting privileges had been promptly revoked and Variks had taken over, leaving her to warm the copilot's seat.
In Meren's defense, the craft hadn't exactly been easy to fly. The navigational interface had been designed for a pilot with a much longer reach - not to mention a couple more arms. Someone with a standard human biological configuration could hardly be expected to operate the vessel with any degree of proficiency. Especially someone who'd only had five minutes' worth of basic instruction and no real flight experience under their belt.
Still, in hindsight, the rash of near-death encounters had almost been preferable to the awkward tension that had settled between them as soon as Variks had taken the pilot's seat.
Prior to that, conversation had already been strictly limited to the occasional terse directive from Variks - or the sporadic apology or flustered reaction from Meren. In the wake of her demotion, however, the strained silence had become oppressive, the two of them reduced to staring at anything but one another, pointedly avoiding so much as a glance in the other's direction.
By the time they reached the Prison and the docking umbilical had latched onto the side of the ship, initiating the pressure equilibration cycle, Meren was contemplating the merits of opening the auxiliary hatch manually and taking her chances in the void of the Reef's outer reaches. At least that way, she could be free of the unbearable discomfort that was sitting next to an uncharacteristically sullen Variks.
Thankfully, the equilibration cycle indicator blinked green, signaling the end of their confinement, before she could give the notion any serious consideration. The exterior hatch opened a second after that, and soon enough, the two of them were disembarking, stepping through the gangway into the Prison's dingy loading docks.
As per usual, the area was deserted, with the exception of the odd sentry frame stationed before the reinforced blast doors separating each cluster of bays. Barring the receipt or transfer of new prisoners - and maybe the occasional supply delivery - the loading docks rarely saw much in the way of sentient foot traffic. The same went for most of the Prison's lowest levels, the majority of which comprised storage areas, maintenance corridors, and the main depot for the expansive railed prisoner transport system - which Meren had unfortunately never convinced Variks to take her on a tour of. Plus, there were the maximum security cell blocks, of course, home to dozens of cryo-frozen Eliksni prisoners.
In other words, the perfect place to strike up a very private, very awkward conversation.
And judging by the way Variks had stopped short as the gangway's hatch sealed behind them, it looked like he intended to do just that.
Meren braced herself. She could see the muscles in his jaw working beneath his rebreather. There was a flash of something like frustration in his eyes. Then he was shaking his head, his hands coming up before him as if to wave away an unseen annoyance.
Yet the words that followed weren't the ones Meren was expecting.
"You stink of..." Two of his hands were gesticulating now, and he seemed to struggle for a moment, grasping for a word that wasn't coming. "There is no word in your tongue. A carcass left for too long under the suns. Decay. Rot." He waved a warding hand again in her general direction, then gave up with a low hiss.
A beat of silence.
"Eliksni has a specific word for the smell of a corpse...rotting in a particular environment," Meren reiterated skeptically. She'd been through too much to even be offended by the statement.
Variks chuffed at her. "A shame your language lacks such distinction."
"Right."
At that point, Variks, for all his nobility, could apparently endure no more of her stench because he stepped back, his muzzle turning up and away, a hand gesturing vaguely towards the far end of the docks.
"You must bathe," he said. "And this armor of yours - incinerate it. I will arrange for a suitable alternate."
His delivery was less than charming, and the sentiment behind it equally so. Nevertheless, Meren could have thrown her arms around his neck and hugged him right then and there. As it was, she settled for a faint smile.
"You're not just going to take a sonic pressure-washer to me in the middle of the loading docks, I presume?"
The humor seemed lost on Variks. "The prison is equipped with standard facilities," he replied, not an ounce of amusement in his voice. "They should suit your needs. Come."
What passed for the Prison's showers were located two floors above the zero level, tucked away down a series of cramped, poorly-lit corridors. The facilities themselves were hardly lavish. They consisted of a small front room, clearly designed for non-existent human guests or staff, outfitted with a row of storage lockers for personal effects and a bank of rundown benches and shelving units. Occupying the only visible wall space, a slightly off-color rectangle outlined where something had once been mounted - a display panel, or maybe a mirror. By all appearances no one had set foot in the space in decades.
The adjoining washroom had a slightly larger footprint, though it was no less utilitarian. A row of shower spigots sprouted from the far wall, broken up by warped partitions, with a regular interval of drains set into the floor below. The fixtures, much like the rest of the Prison's construction, appeared to have been cannibalized from whatever Golden Age wreckage the original architects had managed to get their hands on. They looked to be functional, at least, and a quick twist of the nearest valve confirmed that the water, while rust-colored and tepid, did indeed run.
In lieu of towels, Variks scrounged up a frayed old sheet from a storage closet nearby, along with an outsized olive drab jumpsuit - the sort a maintenance technician might wear - and a pair of work boots that matched the suit in both size and condition. The items were deposited in Meren's arms without comment. The luxury of soap, it seemed, was not to be had.
Meren couldn't find it in her to complain.
"The water will warm, given time," Variks advised, motioning to the showers. "When you have finished, leave the armor and cloak to be dealt with. I shall await you outside."
With that, he turned and disappeared into the hall, leaving Meren to her solitude.
As promised, the water was warming by the time she'd stripped off the tattered remnants of Cayde's cloak and armor and tossed them to the corner. It wasn't a hot shower by any means, but the steady spray felt incredible on her aching body all the same. For the first time since her capture, Meren let herself relax, savoring the soothing torrent as it washed away the sweat, grime, and stress of the last few days.
It was only when the water began to run cool that she forced herself to emerge. She dried herself the best she could with the ratty old sheet and shrugged on the oversized jumpsuit, rolling the pant legs a few times until they didn't drag on the floor. As expected, the boots were a bit big, but the fit became manageable with a torn-off scrap of sheet-towel wadded into the toes. The last order of business was a final pass over her hair, combing out the tangles with her fingers as best she could.
The finished product was a sight, to be sure, but at least she felt somewhat less like a feral creature and more like a human being again.
Variks was waiting in the corridor when she stepped out. His eyes swept over her momentarily, appraising how the jumpsuit hung from her slight frame. Undoubtedly, he was privately gauging her scent as well.
"Better," was his verdict. "Now, come. There is more you require yet."
He set off without further explanation.
"More?" Meren called after him, breaking into a quick walk to catch up.
If Variks had heard her, he didn't answer.
More, as it turned out, started off with a trip up to the Prison's all-too-familiar main control room, the space where she'd spent countless late evenings alongside the Scribe, the two of them chatting amicably over a shared pot of tea. Only this time, there was no steaming mug of some steeped Eliksni concoction waiting for her, and Variks was anything but chatty. He led her right past the empty table they'd once spent so many hours hunched over, heading instead for the far side of the room, where a bank of consoles and their respective array of monitors dominated the wall.
It was to the console nearest the back corner of the room that Variks directed her.
"Wait here," he said, waving a hand towards the lone swivel chair before the controls.
He'd made the same request of her several times before. And like every time prior, Meren did as she was told, planting herself in the chair while Variks disappeared from sight.
For a fleeting moment, it felt like she'd never left.
Variks returned a few times after that, each trip bestowing upon her a new nicety or two, until before long, she was cozied up in her chair, draped in a blanket, scarfing down her second plateful of assorted fare.
The second plate had been piled high with a hearty helping of nuts, dried fruit, and a few pieces of something that could have been either a particularly chewy and tasteless piece of meat or some type of fungus. Regardless, Meren ate it eagerly, sipping intermittently at a cup of coffee the Scribe had conjured from somewhere. In no way was it a glamorous meal, but after three days of subsisting on non-potable water, a single raw potato, and a handful of questionable Eliksni ration bars, the spread might as well have been a feast fit for the Queen.
Variks, meanwhile, had come and gone several times since he'd delivered her amenities. Presumably, changing out of his disguise and doing who knew what else. He hadn't volunteered any details, and Meren hadn't bothered to ask. Instead, she'd settled for eating and watching the monitors, the views cycling through live surveillance feeds of various sections of the Prison.
For the moment, Variks had seen fit to reappear and was lurking somewhere out of her line of sight. There might have been a skirmish in progress that he was watching through the arena viewport, or he could have just been keeping an eye on her. For all she knew, he could have been asleep. It was difficult to tell, and she was too preoccupied with the scene unfolding before her on the security feed to turn and check.
Alone in a cell, an Eliksni was pacing the length of the far wall, the picture of restless anxiety. Back and forth, back and forth, seemingly prattling on to no one. The feed's quality was grainy, and the angle was less than ideal, but Meren could just make out some sort of equations scrawled across the wall behind him. Differential calculus, maybe? More curious still were the piles laid out on the floor before the cell's energy barrier. It wasn't until the pacing Eliksni stopped to rearrange the objects, sorting them into some kind of order, that Meren got a clearer look. She could have sworn they were shed Eliksni teeth.
It was all incredibly odd.
The spectacle captivated for a moment more before the view blinked out, the feed switching to a maintenance corridor somewhere below the holding cells. Nothing of interest there, so Meren abandoned the screen in favor of her food. She was downing the last of her coffee when she finally heard Variks approach, the sound of his footfalls accompanied by the telltale tap of his staff.
"Finished?" he asked.
Meren glanced over her shoulder, setting the empty cup aside. "Yeah, thank you. Everything was delicious." She offered a smile, but it quickly wilted when it went unreturned.
All Variks offered was a flat "Good."
The next moment, he rounded her chair, his eyes scanning the monitors briefly before hitting a command key on the main console. A second later, the feeds blinked out, the monitors all going dark.
Variks' attention remained fixed on the dead screens for a beat longer. Then, with a slow breath, he leaned his staff against the side of the console deck and lowered himself into the seat at the next station over, swiveling it until they were face to face.
He was back in his usual emerald robes, the furs of status draped once more across his shoulders, the ringed veil affixed about his rebreather, obscuring the lower half of his face. Even his helm was back in its proper place atop his head. He looked every bit the Variks that Meren was accustomed to. The Variks she'd grown fond of. The Variks she'd missed...
Yet, the expression on his face was not that of the Variks she knew. Gone was the teasing warmth in his eyes, the crinkle of a smile at the corners. In their place was a countenance uncharacteristically severe, almost cold. It felt like she was sitting across from a stranger.
"Now," he began, hands folding primly in his lap, "I wish to hear about this unintentional situation that saw you delivered into the claws of House Kings."
"Welll..." Meren started, suddenly feeling the full weight of Variks' expectant gaze. She'd known the inevitable interrogation would happen at some point, but it wasn't until that moment that she realized how woefully unprepared she was to unravel the whole ordeal. "It's kind of a long story."
"Start from the beginning, then," suggested Variks. "We have time."
Meren could see him settling in his seat, the furs about his shoulders bunching up slightly as he shifted his weight back, making himself comfortable. Clearly, he meant to see the whole tale through to its end.
At least the debacle of the capture itself was easy enough to sum up. It was the events leading up to it that would prove the trickier bit to explain.
With a centering breath, Meren started talking.
"It was Cayde's idea," she began. "The whole thing - he wanted to cheer me up, so he suggested a trip...someplace outside the City. There was a comms relay post the Vanguard had been keeping an eye on out in the middle of nowhere. House Kings had set it up a while back, I guess, but all intel pointed to it being abandoned." She paused. "Anyway, Cayde was convinced there'd be some tech to salvage, or something for me to take back and analyze." Meren didn't miss the disapproving hum that drew from Variks, but she forged on, "So, we went. It was only supposed to take a couple of hours. We'd scope the site, tinker around a bit, and be back before anyone realized we were gone."
Meren let out a sigh, the words coming more easily now. "Except, the intel was wrong. The site wasn't abandoned, and when we got there, the Kings were waiting. They shot Cayde...and took me."
To Meren's mild surprise, Variks looked utterly unconcerned by the news of the Exo's demise.
"Cayde wanted to cheer you up," he repeated back to her, his voice laced with suspicion.
"Just as a friend," she was quick to add. "I...I had a rough week. A couple weeks, actually."
Variks made a faux-sympathetic noise - Meren hated the way it sounded coming from him. "And what was the cause of these 'rough weeks'?"
As soon as the words were out, Meren's stomach gave an uncomfortable twist. At its current trajectory, the conversation was headed straight towards the proverbial minefield. She had to steer it away, and fast.
"I told you, it's a long story," she muttered, eyes flicking to an empty patch of wall over his shoulder.
"And I said, we have time."
Variks' composure didn't slip, but his tone sharpened, causing Meren to shift uncomfortably in her seat.
"You don't want to know, Variks." The words came out a touch more desperate-sounding than she would have liked.
"Oh, but I do."
The look he was giving her now made her skin crawl. His eyes had narrowed ever so slightly, and if the mask hadn't been obstructing his jaws, Meren imagined she'd see a toothy 'grin' bared back at her.
The urge to bolt hit her hard and sudden. Still, Meren crossed her arms and pressed herself back in her chair, willing herself to appear calm. Collected.
"Fine," she conceded after a beat. "The Vanguard rescinded my credentials. My contract. Everything. They fired me, essentially." Then, almost as an afterthought, "I may have written something...mildly inflammatory."
At that, Variks' demeanor abruptly changed. The sly smugness was gone. In its place, a hardness that Meren had rarely seen on him.
"The whole story." His voice was deadly calm. "From the beginning."
So much for avoiding the minefield.
Meren's eyes turned to the ceiling, searching the featureless plating for some way around the question. There was none, of course - she'd already said too much.
With a reluctant sigh, she brought her gaze back to him and did the only thing she could.
She told him everything.
About the Eliksni incarcerated below the Tower. How they wasted away, day by day, deprived of Ether. How the Vanguard had refused to hear her pleas, let alone take any sort of action. How she'd watched them die, one after another, all for a lack of simple compassion.
Then, the trial.
She told him of Brelor's cruel end, of the injustice of it all. How she'd been powerless to do anything. She told him of Revys, the one who'd survived only to be locked away with the others. Of how she'd gone to visit Itrik, Yalsis, and Spekkis in hopes that she'd learn what had become of Revys after so many months. And finally, she told him how their suffering had been the catalyst for her rash act of defiance against the Vanguard. An act that had cost her so much, yet hadn't changed a single damn thing.
Variks, in turn, listened through it all in silence, never interrupting, never breaking eye contact. Not even when Meren had to pause to gather her thoughts or choke back a sudden swell of emotion. She'd never seen him so still.
When her tale was finally finished, Meren slumped back, feeling both drained and strangely liberated. For better or worse, he had the truth, now. The whole, awful truth.
There was a long moment where nothing was said. Variks just sat there, staring at her, his hands still folded neatly in his lap. Then, when he finally saw fit to speak, the words came out too calm.
"Why have you never spoken of this before?"
Meren had braced herself for something more along the lines of a chastisement. She hadn't expected...whatever this was.
"It never came up." She shrugged. "Besides, we'd barely met each other. Opening with 'the Vanguard's neglecting Eliksni prisoners in the Tower's basement' didn't feel...I don't know, apt, at the time."
Variks said nothing.
"Aaand, by the time we did get to know each other," Meren continued, "a lot was going on. Skolas, and your Servitor trying to blow up the Prison. The work with the Psions. Other...things." She trailed off, unsure if he'd caught her meaning. "It didn't seem relevant."
Still nothing.
Meren wetted her lips, fidgeting with her hands in her lap. "You're upset..."
That finally got a reaction out of him.
"Not upset," he replied. "I am disappointed. In your Vanguard. And in your decision to act with such rashness, as well."
It was Meren's turn to fall quiet, her eyes dropping to her hands, now knotted tightly in her lap.
"Why did you not think to consult me?" asked Variks. "Perhaps I could have advised you on a more productive approach to the matter. Something more...level-headed."
Meren peeked back up at him. "Well, I didn't exactly have a way to get in contact with you." She hadn't thought to ask for his personal comm designation during all their weeks together. And then, when the Vanguard had recalled her and it would have been prudent to do so, exchanging contact information had proved to be the furthest thing from both of their minds.
Predictably, the look Variks gave her was less than sympathetic. "An oversight on your part," he chided.
"Sure was."
Her impudence earned her a chitter of disapproval. Then, "And now? Your place with the Vanguard. Lost. Why, when there was nothing to be gained?"
"It was the right thing to do," Meren answered firmly. "Maybe not the most thought-out, but it was right."
Variks chuffed. "Your compassion is admirable, Meren, but your judgement, lacking," he said. "You are fortunate it was only your station that was taken, and not more. Next time, you may not be so lucky."
"There won't be a next time. The Vanguard's not exactly in the habit of handing out third chances," she muttered.
Variks regarded her in silence for a moment. For the first time since they'd begun talking, the look on his face wasn't one of stern composure, but rather, something closer to contemplation.
"But if they did?" he finally asked. "What then?"
Meren scrunched her face at him. It wasn't like the Scribe to be asking pointless hypotheticals. "What are you getting-" She didn't get to finish before Variks was up and on his feet, setting off across the control room. "Variks?"
He brushed her off with a wave, his attention focused on a mess of shelving units just beyond the viewport, overloaded with a chaotic assortment of spare parts, spools of cabling, and miscellaneous electronic components. He rummaged through the jumble briefly before retrieving a single datapad. An older model, but one still in widespread use among the City's general populace.
Meren watched, perplexed, as his fingers flew across the display, rapidly tapping and swiping the surface. It took him at least a full minute, maybe more, to accomplish whatever he was doing. But at long last, his task seemed to be finished. He straightened and, without a word, came striding back to her side.
"Here." The datapad was extended. An offering.
Meren accepted it cautiously. "What is this?" she asked.
His eyes met hers for a fraction of a second, and then he was turning, making his way back to his seat.
"Consider it...leverage," he replied, sinking back into the chair.
The datapad's screen had remained on as Variks had handed it off. Now, Meren stared down at a file directory, its contents divided into multiple subfolders, each labeled with a brief descriptor. At first glance, it reminded her of the datapad he'd offered her before, filled with Eliksni schematics and technical notes. These files were different, though. The directory headings boasted titles like 'Sand Eaters', 'Dust Giants', 'Skyburners' - the list went on. She tapped one at random, the folder's contents springing to life onscreen.
There was a document detailing vulnerable points in the plating of an Imperial Land Tank. Another listed the locations of a dozen or so Siege Dancer supply depots. Yet another showed the layout of a massive, heavily fortified bunker, along with infantry and vehicle count, defensive emplacements, and patrol routes. There was a map that had to have been the ruins of Freehold, marked up with annotations in Ulurant. Every file she opened was more valuable than the last - maybe not to her personally. But to someone who had inadvertently stepped into a war with the Cabal on Mars?
Leverage suddenly took on a very different meaning.
Meren's gaze lifted from the screen, settling on the Scribe sitting across from her. He was watching her intently, no doubt gauging her reaction to the data trove.
She could only stare at him for a long second before finally finding her voice.
"Are you insinuating that you want me to... bribe the Vanguard," she began slowly, "into reinstating my contract. With a datapad full of Cabal military intelligence?"
"Not a bribe," corrected Variks. "An exchange. Information in return for a favor."
"So, a bribe."
Variks ignored the quip. "If you wish to regain your standing with the Vanguard, this is how. Show them the value of the information you possess. Prove your worth. Make yourself an asset once more. Do this, and they will see fit to overlook your recent...ah, indiscretion."
Meren wasn't convinced it would be that simple. Negotiations with the Vanguard rarely were, in her experience. And that wasn't even taking into account the fact that Zavala or Ikora might not even agree to meet with her in the first place, let alone entertain the offer. The content of the datapad alone was certain to raise questions, besides.
Still, she couldn't deny that the prospect of being back in the Vanguard's good graces had its appeal. It would mean getting access to the Tower's classified archives again, for one. It would also mean having a couple of Cryptarch-initiates on hand, eager and ready to go digging through said archives for her, no questions asked. Not to mention the perk of being able to file expense reports for every cup of coffee she consumed on Vanguard property.
Yet, something about the situation nagged at her.
"And you're just giving this to me?" She eyed Variks, suddenly wary. "No strings attached."
"It is the least I can do for a friend."
Variks' answer came without a hint of hesitation, almost as if he'd anticipated her suspicion. Unfortunately for him, the attempt had the opposite effect of soothing her concerns. The response only set her even further on edge.
"Uh huh," Meren muttered. "What's your angle here, Variks? Be honest."
His head tilted slightly, the movement exaggerated by his helm. "Your suspicion wounds me," he lamented. "Can a Scribe not bestow a favor upon a friend without ulterior motive?"
"Not one that's you."
He let out a low chuff, the noise a bit too amused for Meren's liking.
"Ah, Meren, always so distrustful." His tone was almost teasing. "But, if it would put your mind at ease, know this is a gift. With it comes no condition or obligation." He paused, and his voice lowered. "I know what your work with the Vanguard means to you. And if this" -he motioned to the datapad- "is the means by which you may return, then I shall gladly part with it."
"You have backups of all of this, don't you?" Meren was only half-joking.
"Of course I do."
That got a faint smile out of her, and for a moment, everything felt like it was right again. It was just her and Variks talking, trading playful barbs. All that was missing was a cup of tea.
The moment didn't last.
The next thing Meren knew, Variks was leaning forward, the spark of amusement fading from his eyes, his voice suddenly serious once more.
"Use this opportunity, and wisely," he advised. "There will not be another."
Meren didn't doubt that.
"I know," she assured him. "And...thank you. Really."
Variks' eyes flicked to the datapad clutched securely in her hands. "The pleasure is all mine," he murmured.
A brief silence settled between them, then. Meren took the opportunity to shift, the chair beneath her squeaking as she adjusted her posture, tucking a leg beneath herself, the blanket she'd been wrapped in now sliding down around her shoulders.
"Oh." Something suddenly sprung to mind, and her eyes shot back to Variks. "So I have to ask. How did you know I was..." She waved a hand vaguely.
"Held captive?"
"Yeah."
Variks seemed to consider her for a moment, claws drumming out a slow rhythm on the arm of his chair.
"One among the Kings was not as discreet as they should have been," he finally explained. "Spider caught word. He passed it on to me."
"And you paid him."
"I incentivized him to uphold his word," Variks clarified. "Nothing more."
Before Meren could form a reply, Variks was rising from his seat, smoothing his robes and retrieving his staff. A clear sign the conversation for the day was drawing to a close. And for once, Meren couldn't say she minded.
After everything, she felt drained, physically and mentally. Maybe tomorrow she could pry for more details about the events leading up to her rescue. Or, perhaps she'd ask how much Spider had charged Variks to retrieve her. She doubted she'd receive a straight answer, but she could still try.
"Now, it grows late," Variks remarked, "and there are matters I must attend to. Forgive me for cutting our time short."
Something about the statement gave her pause. Variks' voice sounded…odd. And the way he was standing, a hand clutching his staff, his eyes directed toward the viewport - it was almost like he was avoiding looking at her all of a sudden.
"It's not a problem." Meren followed his lead and rose from her seat. The blanket slipped down to the floor, forgotten.
"Good," replied Variks. There was another pause. He took a breath. "Then, I wish you success in your errand. I am certain the Vanguard will find use for the information you provide."
Meren directed a smile at the side of his head, even if he wasn't looking at her. "I'm sure. And...if all goes well, maybe you and I can put our heads together and think up some way to convince them to reconsider their stance on Eliksni prisoners. I told Itrik and the others I'd-"
"That will not be possible."
The smile vanished. "What?"
Variks' response was slow in coming, but when it did, his words were unwavering.
"They stand in judgement before your Vanguard, now," he said. "It is not your place to interfere, or mine."
"But-" Meren blinked. "They're going to die, Variks!"
He turned his head, then, enough to look at her full-on but not quite face her. "Not all can be saved, Meren." A strange solemnity had crept into his voice. "This is a harsh truth, but necessary. One we must all come to accept." He quieted for a beat, and then said, "I am sorry."
Meren stared back at him, speechless. It hurt to hear him say something so callous. Worse still was the realization that he meant every word.
"Variks..." She took a step towards him, only to halt as his eyes snapped back to her.
"That is enough."
The clipped words rooted her in place, the datapad still clutched in her hand, its screen gone dark. Something was wrong.
She'd thought him terse simply over her misadventure with the House of Kings. Or maybe the fact that she'd neglected to share with him the details leading up to her fall from the Vanguard's grace. That apparently wasn't the case.
Before she could consider further, Variks swept a hand toward the control room's exit.
"Now, if that is all, your transport awaits," he said. "Deck Zero, Bay 16. It will see you returned to your City." Then he was moving, striding towards the door. "I believe you know the way to the docks."
It took Meren an instant to process what was happening. It struck her like a slap to the face when she did.
"Wait, what?" She shook her head, pushing the shock aside. "That's it? You're just...sending me away?"
Variks slowed to a stop, claws flexing around his staff. He didn't turn, but she heard him take a breath.
"Go home, Meren." He sounded suddenly tired. "Please."
She could have let it drop there. Done as she was bid. Walked out the door. Let him be. It would have been the sensible thing.
But when in the past three months had she chosen to do the sensible thing?
"No!" Meren clomped forward, closing the distance between them. "You don't get to do that!"
That drew a sharp look from the Scribe, his head snapping around, eyes squinting a fraction. "Meren..." he warned.
"Don't 'Meren' me," she fired back. She wasn't sure what had come over her, but whatever it was, it made her bold. Bold enough to walk straight up to the Scribe, stopping short of jabbing him in the chest with a finger. "You don't get to drag me halfway across the system, interrogate me, give me some kind of half-baked de-motivational speech, and then kick me out the door when it's convenient for you. We are not done talking."
Variks drew himself up, eyes narrowing to slits. "Yes, we are."
It didn't deter her in the least.
Even when abruptly dwarfed by the Scribe's height, Meren stood her ground, chin tilted upward, returning his glare. "What's the matter with you? Huh? First, you won't even sit down and eat with me. And now, you're acting like you can't wait to get rid of me. What if I wanted to-"
"You made the decision yourself." The interruption came out a hiss. "You left."
Meren almost couldn't believe the words that had come from his mouth. It took everything not to roll her eyes in his face.
"Oh, come on. Is that what this is about?" Her departure apparently had been taken as a personal slight. She'd thought him beyond such pettiness. "You know I didn't have a choice!"
"The least you could have done was say goodbye." His voice had dropped. Disapproval dripped from every syllable. "But to leave without a word…"
"You were asleep!"
"A simple note would have sufficed, in that case," he replied. Then, with a sneer, "Or is common courtesy beyond you?"
Meren threw up her hands in frustration, nearly losing the datapad. "Where am I going to get the paper from, Variks? We're in the middle of the Reef, and ninety-eight percent of post-Collapse communications are digital! You know that!"
"A transmission, then."
"I didn't have your network designation!" She wanted to shout. Instead, she was growling through clenched teeth. "Or your comm code, because I was an idiot who forgot to ask."
Variks had no argument for that save to glower back at her. Good.
Meren huffed. "You were asleep," she reiterated. "And I was running late enough as it was. What if I'd missed my ride? What then?"
Variks' patience was fraying before her eyes. She dreaded to think what his temper might be like.
"I could have arranged passage back to the City on your behalf," he told her, an edge creeping into his voice. "Had you asked. Did you consider this?"
Admittedly, the thought hadn't crossed her mind. Then again, he'd never brought it up as a possibility until now.
"What did you expect me to do?" she retorted, again nearly losing the datapad as she flung her arms open. "Wake you up and say 'Hey, good morning, Variks, thanks for fucking me senseless. By the way, do you think you could pull some strings to get me a flight home?'"
"How eloquent," he replied, deadpan.
"My point stands."
"As does mine." His mandibles clicked once. Then his head gave the faintest tilt, eyes searching her face. "Perhaps I disappointed."
The comment took Meren aback, her frustration momentarily forgotten. "No! No, I mean, you were..." she faltered, trying and failing to come up with a fitting adjective. "Well, we did do it twice."
For the first time since the confrontation began, Variks' expression morphed into something other than a glower. It was still completely humorless, but it was the kind of flat look one gave when unimpressed.
"Only twice? I must be slipping."
There was no missing the dry humor in his voice. Nor the slight shift in his posture, the subtle way his shoulders settled, a little of the tension easing out of them.
Meren bit back a smile. "Don't sell yourself short."
Variks' eyes didn't return her grin, but she saw a glimmer of amusement there, and maybe something more.
"Mm, and yet, it was not enough to merit a parting word," he countered, his rigid posture continuing to deflate.
"I've already said I was an idiot."
Variks leaned into his staff, meeting her on her level. "Even so," he said, his gaze suddenly intent, "that does not excuse the manner in which you left."
Meren sighed. "You're not letting this go, are you?"
"It would seem not."
Meren shook her head. He was impossible sometimes.
And yet, despite herself, she found the stubbornness endearing. It was one of the many things that made him so very, infuriatingly him.
It took a moment, but the next words finally came.
"Variks," she finally began. "I'm...sorry, alright? For not saying anything before I left. It was…inconsiderate, and you deserved better from me. I was just afraid-" She stopped herself abruptly, cutting off the rest of the confession.
"Afraid."
Variks had caught the slip. Of course he had.
"No, it's nothing," she insisted.
Variks wasn't buying it. His head had canted, and in his voice was a note of genuine concern.
"Tell me."
Meren tried her damnedest to resist, but the look he was giving her was making it difficult. She felt herself wavering, the excuses already on the tip of her tongue, ready to explain it away, to make light of the whole thing.
Her resolve crumbled.
"Oh, for Traveler's sake..." Meren muttered under her breath. She couldn't believe what she was about to admit.
"I was afraid that if I woke you up and said goodbye, I wouldn't leave." She tried not to wince as the words left her mouth. It sounded so stupid when she said it out loud. "If you'd have asked me to stay...I would have. Without question. You don't know how badly I wanted to. And I...came so close to..." She trailed off. "That's what frightened me most of all."
Variks' expression shifted, the mask of neutrality fracturing ever so slightly. A long silence hung between them before he spoke again, his tone quieter.
"Does it frighten you still?"
A single soft word was all Meren could muster:
"Yes."
There was more to that yes. An unspoken admission she knew he would understand, but didn't dare utter aloud.
For a moment, they stared at each other, the truth of it hanging there in the space between them. Then, the spell was broken. Variks' eyes flicked away, and he drew a sharp breath.
"You will be my undoing," he said.
There was a weariness to the words that hadn't been there before. As if the fight had drained from him all at once.
Meren opened her mouth to respond, only for a hand to come up. It wasn't hostile, or even dismissive. Just a request for a moment's silence.
She obliged.
Variks turned from her, then, making his way to the viewport, his staff clicking softly against the floor as he went. Meren followed, albeit slowly, keeping a pace or two behind him until he came to a stop before the wide pane of transparisteel. He leaned his weight onto his staff, staring down into the empty arena below.
Neither spoke for a long time.
When the words finally came, Variks sounded like himself again - the Variks Meren had grown fond of, rather than the Scribe who'd almost booted her out the door.
"It is a dangerous game we play, you and me." He spoke without looking at her, his eyes fixed on the arena's empty pit. "Much to lose. Little to gain. We know this. Yet, here we are. Two fools, bent on playing it all the same."
Meren came up alongside him. She stood a respectful distance away, close enough to catch his eyes in the reflection in the viewport but far enough that she wasn't within arm's reach.
"Do you regret it?" She'd meant their ill-advised evening together, but the question ran deeper.
Variks' gaze didn't move from the pit. "I should," he answered.
It might have been the most honest thing she'd ever heard from him.
Still, Meren understood his meaning well enough. As a Scribe of House Judgement, his duty was to his people. He had no business being involved with a human. It would have been sensible to keep her at arms' length. Probably to avoid contact altogether.
Likewise, the inverse would have been prudent for her.
"Well, there's a ship waiting to take me back to the City," Meren said at length. "If you want, I'll board it. And that will be that. Otherwise..." She hesitated, her eyes flicking over to him. "My schedule is entirely free for the next few days."
"You would stay?" He didn't sound surprised, merely curious.
Meren contemplated for a few seconds, then cracked a grin. "I mean, the Psions aren't going to research themselves, are they?" she replied. "And besides, there are some other xenobiological experiments in need of conducting. Live Eliksni specimens are surprisingly difficult to come by."
She was rewarded with a chuckle and a sidelong glance. "Is that so?"
"It's a real problem."
Only then did Variks turn to her and step in her direction. He stopped just shy of her, a hand moving from his staff, coming up to graze her cheek as he tucked a strand of damp hair behind her ear.
"Then perhaps Variks could be of assistance, yes?" he purred.
Meren smiled up at him. "Oh, absolutely. With two 'researchers,' we could take a whole new approach. Two-pronged, as it were. Very efficient."
The look Variks gave her would have set her pulse racing if it hadn't been already.
His hand fell away, and he took a step back. "A tempting offer," he remarked, "but perhaps we should continue to discuss this research proposition of yours somewhere more…private." He paused, then inclined his head towards the exit. "Perhaps in the comfort of my quarters."
The suggestion was obvious, and not entirely unwelcome. Still, Meren needed one reassurance before agreeing.
"Only if you're certain you want me here," she said, a touch more seriously.
His voice softened, and a gentle hand found the small of her back.
"I am," he replied.
It was enough for her.
With a nod, she let the hand at her back guide her toward the door. There was no denying the anticipation in the way he steered her into the corridor, nor in the pace they set. Yet they kept a respectful distance as they walked, the way one might when conferring with a colleague. A necessary pretense.
It was only behind the secrecy of closed lift doors that the facade fell away, and Meren found herself swept up in his embrace. In his arms, her weariness seemed to melt away. In its place, a gnawing hunger took hold.
The stop at the lowest level forced them apart and into the depths. The trek tested both their patience and restraint, each passing second more tortuous than the last. The temptation to touch, to claim, almost too much to bear.
It wasn't until the door to Variks' pod slid shut behind them that the last shred of self-control was abandoned. In a heartbeat, clothing and armor were being peeled away, left to lay where they fell. Then hands were roaming, teeth nipping, claws raking. In a rush of white-hot need, the world was reduced to a blur of passion.
They didn't make it to the nest.