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1-25-2186
[ CRESCENT NEBULA | TASALE SYSTEM | ILLIUM | VISTA COVA | MARA HORIZON'S LUXURY SUITES | MANSION 14 ]
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John stirred in the soft cradle of morning. The kind of stir from a sleep so deep and so unbroken that it left his body heavy and mind utterly blank.
Eight solid hours of blissful, slack-jawed oblivion—the deepest he could remember in years.
Sunlight crept across the floor and climbed the bed's edge before crossing rumpled sheets and gracing his face with its gentle warmth.
He blinked against it, a staccato rhythm of squinting and furrowing.
Glancing down, he saw her nestled against him, cheek smushed against his chest, her breathing slow and rhythmic, a soft snore escaping. One arm tucked in, the other draped lazily over him. Her dark hair, an untamed tumble, spilled over her face, obscuring her features in a way that was both endearing and a little amusing.
Carefully, he reached up to tuck a lock behind her ear. She stirred at the touch, her lips parting as if to protest, only to smack them softly and flutter her eyes open just a crack.
"Good morning," John murmured, voice a little rough with sleep, smile unmistakably fond.
"...Morning," she whispered back.
She stared up at him and hardly moved, eyes dancing between his.
"…What?" He said quietly, smile still there.
"…Just making sure you're still here." Was her barely perceptible whisper.
Slowly, carefully, she stretched up to kiss him lightly on the cheek, lips warm and unhurried.
"Where else would I be?" He murmured, arm reaching up to run his hand down the length of her back.
She could hardly find it in her to explain what she felt. John was supposed to be dead. Yet here they were, drawn under covers, clothes recklessly abandoned, love stamped and sealed.
"…I don't know." Was her sheepish answer. An unexpected yawn followed, hand rising to rub the haze from her eyes as if that would help ensure last night's fun wasn't some misconstrued fantasy.
"Sleep well?" He asked, voice still low as he stretched, body arching against the mattress.
"Next to you? The best I've ever had."
She sat up slowly, the motion graceful despite the languid pull of sleep still weighing her down. The sheets slipped from her frame, pooling around her hips, and the sunlight embraced her, painting her skin with its radiant glow.
Captivated, John couldn't help but stare. The faint light dimmed the pale glow of her irises, leaving her gaze sharp and striking, piercing him in a way that made his breath still. She tilted her head slightly, absently running her fingers through her hair to tame it, though the effort seemed more instinct than necessity.
"What about you?" she asked at last, a sly smile growing at his ogling.
"Like a brick," he replied, adjusting his pillow to give himself a better view.
She said nothing, leaning in instead to press a deep, lingering kiss to his lips.
"Carry me to the bathroom?" she murmured against him, "So we can shower together?"
"Thirty more minutes," he muttered, reaching for the blanket in a futile bid to prolong their morning.
"I'd love to spend all day naked with you," she whispered, brushing her lips against his with a playful smile, "but we have errands to run, remember?"
"…Yeah," he grumbled, unable to suppress his spreading grin. Before she could protest further, he slid his arms in and under her back and legs and heaved her from bed.
She squeaked a surprised yelp before letting out a happy little giggle as she instinctively anchored her hands around his neck.
"Uh… Uhm—" Her cheeks reddened, "Be careful. I'm… a little sore."
Not that she was complaining, but a 'little' sore was a generous understatement.
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Totally worth it.
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He couldn't help but smirk.
"I'll be careful." he promised.
He took them to the bathroom and her gaze swept over the space with awe. It was the first time she'd seen it since their arrival last night.
"Wow." It was all she could say.
But 'wow' felt like underscoring how overwhelmingly beautiful it all was.
Asari oak paneled walls. Sectioned granite vanities. Fixtures a blend of a metal and glass. All of it exuding a warmth both natural and refined.
And the opulence of all the amenities! It was staggering and far too numerous to catalog. Like a store that would make any commoner's wallet cry. Shelves lined the walls, stocked with toiletries so foreign to her that she couldn't even name half of them.
In the center of the room stood the pièce de résistance: the shower. Encased in glass so flawless it rivaled the clarity of crystal, it commanded attention. Spacious enough to fit a small gathering—it radiated luxury. Five showerheads, each strategically mounted at different angles, promised an all-encompassing cascade of artisanal water, with a sixth fixture directly overhead, poised to drench its lucky user (users in their case) in soothing streams.
It was a siren's call to indulgence, whispering promises of comfort so extravagant she almost felt guilty for even witnessing it.
The floor was a masterpiece in itself, smooth stone with veins of earthy grays, browns, and greens woven like an artist's brushstroke.
It was all breathtakingly, almost offensively beautiful—too much for her sensibilities to fully absorb. And yet, she couldn't look away.
Passing by the sensors that would trigger the rainfall shower, he brought them gradually under the steaming stream.
"Feel good? Not too hot?"
"It's perfect." Her grasp tightened around him as the steaming water poured over them both. "Keelah, I haven't taken a real shower in ages. And doing this with you makes it a million times better."
A gentle kiss and a soft smile before lowering her to stand on her own. Passing over some soaps, he helped himself to shampoo.
"I love you."
"I love you too."
Unhurried kisses between scrubbing. Quiet moments spent in soft embracing.
Time was stretching farther than it should have.
"…We'll never finish this shower if we keep this up." She said with a soft mumble before giving him another kiss.
"Getting pruny ain't great, I suppose." John said between another smooch before waving his hand to stop the shower.
Handing her a towel and drying off, they went through a normal morning routine of prepping themselves for the day.
Each of them loosely dawning robes, they meandered out to the living space. John settled himself on the plush couch to flip through a paper menu while turning on the flat screen.
Popping the cork tab off a bottled glass of water, she poured them each a glass.
They were making good on time. 0900 hours (According to Terran calculation for Illium). The planet's orbit took an extra hour over Earth's. So John guessed it made up the difference of sleeping in a little late. That meant they'd have to meet back up with Prazza's team at the airport at around 2000 hours. Shirking the need of doing any more napkin math, he made his choice of what he was going to get for breakfast. He didn't even try to guess what Tali was going to order.
"So…" Tali sat beside him while handing him a cup and reached for a menu herself. "whatcha getting? Some eggs like you usually do? Pig slices maybe?"
"No bacon for me today. Just steak and eggs," He muttered lamely with a smile, "You?"
"Something turian. I'll spare you the details."
"Let me guess. Juppah vessel."
"No."
"Everything you eat is purple."
"Everything turian is purple. Your steak and eggs look like snot and blood." She nudged his shoulder before kissing him on the cheek.
"Fair point." He relented with a small chuckle, "I do like my eggs a lil' runny."
"Disgusting."
She took a sip of water, tapping the rim of the glass as a thought struck her. "You ready for a real exo-suit? Think you can handle it?"
He flipped through a few channels before turning to her with a small shrug. "We're going to find out. Think you'll still be able to pick me out from the crowd when we finally get to the Neema?"
"Of course. We'll put a nice little N7 symbol on it. Maybe even a realk. You're going to have to let me pick the colors though."
His brows furrowed worriedly. When she saw his tawdry, albeit completely exaggerated, expression, she slapped him lightheartedly on the chest.
"Oh stop," She said as he winced pitifully at her, "I'll pick something you'll like. Probably."
"Uh-huh." He shoved her softly into the couch just as she was trying to get up, "You better."
"Well," She said with a silly laugh at his antics, "I'll order breakfast then."
Scuffling lazily across the wood flooring and relishing every barefooted step, she stopped by the fridge's screen to tap in their order before deciding on rinsing yesterday's wine glasses and stowing them into the dishwasher.
Passing around the island to retrieve John's rumpled robe discarded the night prior, her grin grew twice its size after scooping it up. She couldn't help but give it a deep whiff.
She would've tossed him on that bed again had she not been so damn sore. Looking up, she gazed at John who'd been absorbing the news and let herself pretend, if only for a moment. To pretend that this was their life. Ordering take-out because they were too lazy to cook in their giant mansion on a lazy weekend morning.
But reality loomed, shadowed by the names they dared not say aloud here. Cerberus. Collectors. Reapers. For now, blissful ignorance was the best gift they could give each other.
"Oh my god."
Welp. That didn't last long. Her grip on the robe loosened and she looked up to see what he was staring at.
"What?"
"Listen." He dialed the volume up.
'After careful analysis of the audio and video taken at the South Star Café, it has come to the utmost conclusion that Commander Shepard has returned from the dead! But that's not all! His quarian counterpart, now identified as Tali'Zorah nar Rayya has been spotted alongside him, sparking a wave of speculation about their relationship and the purpose of their presence on Illium. It's leaving the galaxy absolutely buzzing—'
Tali's heart sank.
Illium's tabloids were renowned across the galaxy for their unparalleled dedication to sensationalism—a fact Tali supposed she shouldn't have been surprised by. The planet was a paradise for voyeurs, thanks to its excessive surveillance and loose interpretation of personal privacy laws. If Illium had an unofficial motto, it might've been: 'Your life is our content.'
They also got her name wrong, if that was worth mentioning.
The vid feed on the screen continued with a voiceover drenched with enthusiasm and poorly disguised glee:
"—could even be more than just a friend. Let's take a listen!"
The scene switched to an elcor correspondent. Or rather, the bottom half of an elcor correspondent, head awkwardly cut off by a camera operator who apparently believed framing was a conspiracy.
'Flabbergasted: It can only affirm our assumptions that there may be a possible love triangle. It cannot get any more obvious than this.'
Eyes glued to the screen and feet slowly guiding her back to the living room, she sank into the couch next to John, soul being pulled to the floor.
The screen then jumped to grainy footage of the two of them standing outside the South Star Café. The angle was just off enough to make it look as though John was lovingly gazing into her visor while she was either gesturing animatedly or trying to throttle an invisible rival.
"That 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒑𝒊𝒅 blue 𝓫*𝓽𝓬𝓱."
Tali felt her stomach drop to her knees. The blood drained from her face so quickly she half-wondered if she looked like she was going to die. She sank lower, feeling her shoulders sag as though gravity had decided she was its personal vendetta.
The clip, doctored with all the grace of someone with a room temperature IQ, immediately cut to John's response:
"Tali. I have no idea what you're talking about."
The feed then returned to the elcor, now fully visible in the frame. Whether it was a mistake of timing or an accidental discovery of the camera's telescopic function was anyone's guess.
'Descriptive and informative: The quarian seems to have a grudge against another former member of Commander Shepard's team: Liara T'Soni, who now lives on Illium providing her services as an information broker.'
On que, Liara's cold azure face appeared as a mug shot at the corner of the screen.
'Disappointedly: Doctor T'Soni has refused to comment at this time.'
"Oh, keelah." Tali moaned with a rasp.
Tali's face reappeared on the screen.
"That damned wh*re kept you away from me. Why? Why would she do that?" Tali watched herself in the vid shake angrily.
'With half-merited honesty: The ensuing argument between Shepard and Zorah provides evidence against Liara's possible infatuation with the Commander. With Finality: We'll provide more as the story and study progresses. Back to you, Alania—'
With a sharp motion, she snatched up the remote and switched it off, the screen going dark in an instant. Her frustration boiled over as she slapped the remote back onto the glass coffee table, the sharp clack echoing in the otherwise quiet room.
"Hun. It's fine. Who cares?" He said softly, patting her hand in a reassuring gesture.
She shot him a sharp look. "Who cares? John. Liara? Since she lives here? Cerberus?! Since you ditched them? The Alliance? The council? Everyone's going to care. And I'm sure the reapers would be positively thrilled knowing you're alive again."
"You really think a tabloid as bad as this is going to reach anything past this city?" he scratched his brow thoughtfully.
She didn't hear him, middle fingers pressing into her temples. The pit she felt in her gut, knowing Liara was keenly aware of the vitriolic smoothie of anger she'd been brewing in her proverbial blender, also wasn't helping her mood.
"I can't believe—" She groaned again, "I should've watched my mouth."
He sighed and leaned back, lips pressed thin. "Okay. Yeah. Fine. We might be a little in over our heads here."
She actually found it in her to laugh. "They're making it sound like we're in some twisted soap opera. You, me, and Liara is some ridiculous love triangle."
His smirk was half-hearted at best. "Well, for starters, I don't date people eight times my age."
"Ugh. Not the point."
"She's probably not ecstatic about getting caught in the limelight no."
"Nope."
A moment of silence.
"Nor is Cerberus knowing I ditched them to go have dinner with you."
"Uh-huh."
"…I'll probably get stamped as AWOL with the Alliance and the Council."
"Yup."
"And… I suppose I shouldn't expect a fruit basket from the reapers, then."
That earned an eye-roll. "What do we do?"
"Figure it out as we go, I suppose." He reached for her hand and gave it a supportive squeeze. "Same as always."
She was staring at the hand holding hers. Eventually the anxieties ebbed, and she bubbled out a chuckle. "What is it about you and trouble always following you around, huh?"
"Must be the name. I don't know."
She sniffled.
"You okay?"
"Just a little sniffy." She answered, sensing John's sudden worry, "Probably an allergic reaction from… uh. You know. Last night."
"Ah."
"I took some medicine. I'll be fine."
"You sure?"
"Yes. I promise."
He brought her closer and she swung her legs over his lap. "Good."
Holding in a deep breath, he let it out in a huff before giving her thigh a pat, the worry gradually abating.
She gave him a look. "What?"
"Just admirin' your legs is all."
"Hope they were good enough for last night." She said, museful.
"Uh, yeah." That grin of his grew from ear to ear, "They were. Trust me."
"Well, good. They're all yours." Another sniffle.
"You absolutely sure you'll be okay?"
"If every stray microbe I came across could kill me, John, I'd have already died years ago."
Just to make her point she gave him another kiss before reaching over to take a sip from his cup of water.
"Don't worry so much."
"Ironic coming from you, dear."
She wanted to pinch him.
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Juel's eyes cracked open at an agonizingly sluggish pace, vision swaying slightly as he blinked against the dim, gritty light of dawn. Overhead, the shadow of a slow-turning industrial fan swept lazily across his face, its rhythm oddly hypnotic. He groaned, the dull ache in his head telling him it was probably time to wake up.
"Ugh…"
He hadn't a clue of where he was. Something faintly sticky clung to his face and he tried to focus.
Crinkled candy wrappers, sugar residue adhering them to his glass face, one of them uneaten, the print of a smiling salarian missing a tooth staring ominously at him.
Keelah.
He peeled them off one by one, his disapproving grimace deepening with every piece.
"Olasie?" he croaked, voice scratchy and muffled by a hangover well on its way to settling comfortably in his gut.
A groan answered him. "…Present."
He tried to turn his head, but the world spun precariously, forcing him to cringe and squeeze his eyes shut at the nauseating sensation.
"Where… where are we?" He mumbled, cheek still plastered to the cold and unforgiving concrete of wherever this place was.
"Not a clue." She grumbled, crumpled trash tumbling off her as she pushed herself upright into a poor postured sitting position. She glanced around, rubbing at her visor as if she could wipe away the headache pounding behind it. "…we're in an alley?"
"Next to a dumpster," Juel added.
They turned to each other.
"We're really living it up." Olasie said with a squint, sweeping her arms to rid the gravel stuck on her sleeves.
"Yeah." Juel scoffed before bringing an arm up to fumble for a button that wasn't there. "Oh. Great. My omni-tool's gone."
His arm fell lazily back down to the ground. Had he been more awake, he might've cared more.
Olasie noticed her wrist was distinctly missing her own bracelet. "Brilliant. Me too."
"Kasnya. What did we do last night to end up here? Was it just us? I can't… remember."
"I don't know." She mumbled, running a check on her suit. Her breath left her at the cool touch of fingers on skin.
"Juel. I'm missing a section seal."
He suddenly felt a lot less tired. "You okay? Are you hurt?"
"No. Weird… it's just my thigh's—" She was robbed of her voice and her eyes widened, horror and disbelief all in one expression. "Oh. Oh my god."
She tried to rub away a blotch on her skin that wasn't going away, "Somebody…—somebody put a tattoo on my thigh."
Sure enough, Juel saw an entire section seal missing, with it, a small tattoo of some pathetic looking flower that looked native to Illium.
He croaked, face scrunched repulsively at how ugly it looked. "Oh my god."
She played with her open skin frantically hoping she could rub the ink off, "JUEL!"
"I get it! You'll be fine. It's—it's okay…" His hands wrung anxiously as he continued to look at the thing that had clearly been drawn mid-hiccup. "Hot hell... that's an atrocious tattoo…"
She whirled her glare on him and snapped, voice pitching, "SHUT UP? JUEL? PLEASE?"
She was furiously trying to rub the ink from her leg, as though sheer willpower alone could undo the damage.
"Stop! You're going to get it infected!"
Two frustrated hands pulled away and they gripped nothing. "Oh, this really can't get any worse."
Back against the dumpster now, she fished for a pouch of antibiotic gel and slapped it into his hand.
"Help me."
"Alright, alright," Juel muttered, scooting closer. He gave the tattoo one last incredulous look—petals uneven and terribly blotchy shading—before popping the cap and spraying.
As she smeared, he prepped a strip of suit tape from his pocket before carefully binding it around her leg and smoothing it in place with a compressive massage for good adhesion.
"That should do it." He said with a sad smile, patting her thigh. He paused, suddenly hyper-aware of how close his hands had been to... delicate territory. His cheeks warmed, and he quickly turned his gaze elsewhere.
"Yeah." She said, still caught in the disbelief of her circumstances.
"Your leg looks fine by the way. All I saw was mild irritation, that's all."
"JUEL. There's more than just irritation. There's a TATTOO." She repeated, eyes narrowing, "and a real shit one at that."
"It gives you character. You good?"
She squeaked out her addled reply. "Yeah. Thanks."
He got up and offered her a hand of which she accepted. "Probably a good time to find where we're at."
"Obviously."
Olasie and Juel, like two downtrodden tweakers, stumble out from the alley and onto the street. It seemed they weren't too far from whatever bar they were probably patronizing.
"Does this look familiar?"
"I don't remember anything aside from watching you dance awfully last night."
"I tried my best."
"How far are we from dock?" He was squinting now against the sun, hand up to try and spot the Nehrra'dam. It was clearly nowhere in sight. He wasn't even exactly sure why he was looking. He had no idea where he was and, for all he knew, could've taken a taxi far from dock.
Olasie bent into a squat, hands holding her head. "Our omni-tools are gone. I've got a tat on my leg. And we can't remember anything."
"You betcha."
"Who here would even give a drunk quarian a tattoo? Who would ever think that was a good idea?"
"You, apparently."
She moped but said nothing. A few moments of them milking the silence.
"…If it helps, it was probably free." He finally added.
She stabbed him with her eyes. Seeing as how she hadn't drawn blood, she stared off toward the horizon. "I'm surprised I didn't die."
"You are pretty lucky, yeah." Nothing would be better than to pick at the corners of his eyes and hurl into a toilet. Squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, he stretched his neck to try and relax his unrelenting headache before stepping next to Olasie to have her stand back up.
"One direction is as good as any. Come on."
She took his hand for him to pry her up and they began to walk.
"Of all the places you could've gotten one, that's probably the best spot. Aside from, you know. Your future boy-toy."
"STOP."
What met her was a sleezy laugh that was soon stopped by a searing lance from his headache.
Five minutes turned to ten. Then to fifteen. Snapshots of familiarity began to flow into his mind. This looked familiar. Or at least he thought so.
"Take a left. I think I know where we are."
They crossed a street, taking care to keep passersby at a distance.
"Some night huh?" Juel said.
"I'd agree with you if I could remember."
"It was probably an adventure worth forgetting."
"Number one rule and we broke it. Never lose it enough for the locals to take advantage of you."
"I hope no one was with us. I hope to god no one else tagged along."
She didn't say anything but did agree with a worried stare.
Juel caught sight of someone leaning heavily against a nearby pillar, posture screaming a hangover mirroring theirs. It wasn't just the slouch or the limp hand clutching the edge of the column—it was the sheer aura of misery radiating from the figure.
It was Fatimah. Their drone operator.
"…Fatimah?" Juel said with some relief they'd finally crossed by a familiar face.
"The one and only," came her grumbled reply, barely audible over the din of the street. Fatimah didn't bother looking up, face tilted down as though the effort of raising her head would cost her dearly.
"What happened to you?" He asked, brow furrowed as he took in the disheveled realk and faintly greenish hue of her demeanor.
"Too… many turian escoupé shots," She mumbled regretfully, hand clutching her stomach as though to physically hold her insides in place.
Olasie saddled up next to the column, leaning on it herself. "Where is everybody?"
Fatimah waved vaguely in the direction of the restaurant they were loitering near. "Inside," she murmured, "Getting breakfast. Ugh… where did you two go?"
Before Juel could answer, Darehk and Teri appeared from inside the restaurant, the door swishing open as they stepped out, raised brows and looks that was clearly both concern and judgment.
"You two look terrible," Darehk remarked, crossing his arms.
"We feel terrible," Olasie shot back, her voice a low grumble.
Giving them another once over and noting the mangy state of their clothes, the faint remnant of trash still clinging to Olasie's knee, and Juel's perpetually exhausted expression, Teri sighed.
"Where's Kylie and Lukh?"
Juel froze, his eyes narrowing as if he'd just been accused of a crime. "…They were with us?"
"What do you mean 'tHeY wErE wItH uS?'" Teri mocked incredulously, throwing her hands up and waiting for an explanation.
"Keelah," Fatimah interrupted with a mutter, brushing at a grease stain on her shoulder. She paused mid-motion, face lifting just enough to give Juel a pointed look. "eughh… did you lose the bosh'tets?"
Olasie groaned, head dropping into her hands as she exchanged a weary glance with Juel.
"…Looks like we did," she admitted, sighing as she glanced over her shoulder in the futile hope of spotting them nearby.
"How could you lose them?" Darehk said, astonished, "I can't believe this."
"We don't remember anything." Juel stared up at the sky and cursed its migraine-inducing glow, "We woke up in an alley next to a dumpster. That should give you an idea of how wasted we got. Don't have our omni-tools. And Olasie has a tattoo now."
There was a beat of silence as they all stared at Olasie, their expressions unreadable.
Fatimah broke it with a slow and flat drawl. "Keelah, guys… you really fucked up."
The groan that followed from everyone was comical in its synchronization.
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As if it were a surprise, the food that was delivered was an artful masterpiece. Presentations you'd only see in a culinary magazine. Stuff so meticulously arranged, it hardly looked like it was actually supposed to be eaten.
John thought it incapable of making something as straightforward as steak and eggs look this appetizing.
But Tali's dish? Hers was something else entirely. A stunning arrangement of delectables so artfully assembled, he almost wanted to try it for himself.
By request, their order was contactless, so it was assembled in the kitchen's ensuite cooking system. Watching robotic arms unfurl from above the 12-burner range to prepare their meals was definitely entertaining to say the least.
"You know," Tali began to cut into her meal, "I think this is the first time you've ever seen me eat."
John was half into stabbing a morsel with a fork when he gave her contemplative frown.
"…Huh. You know what. I think you're right."
She took a bite, then ran her thumb over a trace of grease on her lower lip. "Disgusting, huh?"
"Endearing, really." John said instead, leaning in slightly toward her.
She gobbed exaggeratingly and all he could do was admire the woman.
Her omni-tool rang and she glanced down to see who was calling her.
It was Darehk.
Odd.
Reaching for a napkin and scrunching up a brow, she finally accepted the call.
"...Hello?"
"Hey. It's Juel."
"Juel?" Tali simply stared at John, fork in hand, "What's up?"
"We, uh…" There was a long pause followed by a hoarse sigh, "We fucked up."
"…What do you mean? And why aren't you using your own omni-tool?"
"It got stolen."
"Stolen." Tali repeated flatly.
"Yeah. It's gone."
"Huh." She remarked before finally swallowing, her look pursed and still on John, "Someone stealing from a quarian? Irony."
Juel wanted to roll his eyes into the back of his head. "Not funny."
"How'd it get stolen?" She put Juel's voice on speaker so John could hear.
"Olasie and I… we got wasted with the squad. Woke up in some alley. Had to walk our asses back to port."
That was brow raising, sure, but she was expecting something worse with the set up Juel was making.
"Is that all…? Just get another one."
He grumbled and resigned himself to the storm Tali was about to blow his way. "It's not just that."
"What else?"
Juel only glanced at Olasie who'd been right by him. "…We lost Kylie and Lukh somewhere in the city and they're not answering our calls."
"You can't be serious." Tali was pinching the bridge of her nose, "Juel— they could be hurt. Or signed into slavery. Or—"
"We know. We get it. We're already looking for them."
"I cannot believe you lost Kylie and Lukh. Is everyone else okay? Everyone else accounted for? Is Olasie there? Put her on."
"Everyone else is fine." Olasie said, taking over the call, "Hungover, but okay."
"Mention that tattoo you got on your leg." Juel could be heard saying over the call.
The sound of Juel being walloped on the back of the head could be heard over the phone followed by muffled slurs.
"A tattoo?" Tali scowled and stuck out her tongue, "Olasie, you hate tattoos."
"AW, REALLY, TALI?"
"What did you two do last night?" Tali said, bewildered how someone could get that tossed up from a night of partying, "What kind of illicit substances could you have possibly taken to not remember anything?"
"I'd tell you if I could remember."
Completely engrossed with the conversation but saying nothing, John merely cut his eggs, expression an equally balanced blend of amused and worried.
"Is… Shepard there? Can he hear?"
"Yes."
"Shepard. The authorities aren't gonna listen to a bunch of quarians complaining about their lost friends. But you? Can you help us out?"
John let out an unsure shrug. "I can give the police a call. Hopefully we can find where they are."
"Thank you." Olasie mumbled, "We're gonna go. We're going back to the alley to see if we can retrace our steps. For however helpful that'll be."
"We'll be heading back into town soon." Tali said with a frown, "We'll meet up after we run our errands."
"Okay. Don't be long please."
Tali ended the call and jabbed her food with a little more force than necessary.
"One problem after another." Tali muttered, "Fantasy was nice while it lasted."
"The story of my life, dear." He nodded a little sourly, scooping up his coffee and bringing it to his lips, "Story of my life."
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Some hours later.
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He yanked the curtains aside with all the enthusiasm of a condemned man and stepped forward, presenting himself with the resigned dignity of someone who knew was about to be judged.
If Tali could whistle, she absolutely would have. Instead, she settled for a slow, appreciative nod and the kind of smirk that would've made John rethink the fashion experiment she'd sucked him into if he had the opportunity to see it.
The exo-suit was top-of-the-line. Pricey, sleek, and designed for long-term exposure to places where death was the local weather forecast. He'd stuck with neutral colors—grays and blacks—because he had some dignity left. But Tali had insisted on adding a realk (as she so adamantly called it) with a sharp streak of red and white. Something about tradition or authenticity. Though he suspected she just wanted to brand him like personal property.
Jokes aside, no one was mistaking him from an actual quarian. The hands were an instant giveaway. That, and his legs were alarmingly straight—not the natural, comfortable, rear-curved stance quarians had. But hey, that just made him exotic.
Maybe too exotic.
There were, after all, a fair number of women on the Neema who might take a second glance as he walked by. And not out of curiosity alone. This was a fleet full of people who'd spent their whole lives with the same faces. A new face—especially one attached to broad shoulders and a firm backside—was bound to cause a ripple.
And that was fine, Tali supposed. They could look. They could look all they wanted. Didn't change the fact that his ass was hers.
"Well?" He adjusted the realk around his helmet and faced her.
"Ooooh." From her chair, she crossed her legs and enjoyed the view. "Cute. Great butt, John. Straight legs. Mmm."
He rolled his eyes and turned to the mirror. "Surprised they actually have accessories for quarians at all here."
She nodded absently. The suit John was wearing was designed for someone to be wearing it for weeks—if not months.
And it came with convenient accessories for eating and breathing.
Or some of the other things. Things not spoken.
Like peeing.
Or pooping.
Tali had already skimmed the brochure. It cheerfully informed her that the exo-suit, if purchased with the 'Explorer's Essential Bundle,' came with:
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ㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ• Levo-friendly laxative supplements (in case you weren't going enough).
ㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ• A catheter attachment (with 'no pinch™!' invasive and non-invasive inserts.).
ㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ• And, of course, an exciting selection of liquidized food (Now with a wide variety of great tasting flavors!).
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John was going to have quite the wake-up call. Nothing he couldn't suck up through a straw.
Ha. The joke made her smile look a tad stupid.
"I don't know, Tals. Should I really be wearing this thing? Doesn't that look a little… weird? I'm not quarian."
"Nonsense!" Tali claimed happily, punctuating it with a single pronounced snap of the brochure closing in her hands, "When you're on the Neema? You'll be glad you're wearing one. It'll give you a sense of individuality."
John gave her a skeptical look when she stood up to loop an arm around his. "Tali, I was in the military."
"Doesn't count. You still got to keep your face."
"Fair enough," he conceded, still trying to adjust to the look, "If you say it looks good, then it looks good."
He didn't have any other reason to say no. The original plan was to just put up with whatever gear he'd walked out of Lazarus with. It was familiar and plenty functional. It seemed like a solid idea to him until Tali gave him a very persuasive list of reasons why that was actually a terrible idea.
He was fully convinced by the time she got to the part where his skin would end up looking like he'd just peeled off a cast he'd been wearing for six months.
"You better not show me off." he chided with a minor, half-serious laugh.
"I won't." She rolled her eyes. Then, with significantly less conviction, she added, "...probably."
"Tali."
Holding her cheek wistfully, she answered the drawn-out pronunciation of her name by patting him on the shoulder with a wide grin.
"Should we give the police another call?" John asked, stepping back into the changing room.
"They said they'd call us if they found anything." She replied absently, already distracted by the display of colorful realks beside her. Her eyes darted between them for no other reason than to just look.
"I guess," he muttered, separating the section seals lining his body. It sounded like he was having difficulty.
"Need help?" Tali asked, peeking through the crack in the curtain.
"Nope. I can handle it." John placed a firm pointer against her visor and slowly pushed her helmet out of view.
A few more seconds of finagling.
"You sure?" Her head returned, peeking through again.
"I am very sure."
His confidence was immediately undercut and undignified when a particularly uncooperative neck latch began to pinch him.
"Aw, shit."
"I have been wearing one my whole life, you know." Tali said as if she couldn't hear his obvious grumbles of pain. She yanked the curtain aside before crossing her arms and sticking out a hip. "Sure you don't need help, huneey?"
"Yeah, I—...I need help."
She undid the offending clasps and tossed them into the container beside him.
"Need help putting on your pants too?"
John closed his eyes, took a deep breath, exhaled through his nose, and couldn't will himself, even if he tried, to appreciate anymore how charming her sense of humor was. "I love you."
Her eyes were grinning. "Love you too."
Pants on, shoes laced, and he gave it all an odd look just before he put on his shirt.
He wondered why he bought the outfit at all. It wasn't like he'd be wearing civilian clothes again anytime soon. He shrugged before carefully folding his purchase into the container with Tali latching the case shut.
His ringer went off.
"Oh. Look at that. I'm getting a call from the police…" John mumbled before thumbing his omni-tool, "Hello?"
"Hi, this is Officer Arah at Vista Cova's Police Department. I'm trying to get a hold of Mr. Shepard?" John made his way up to the counter with Tali pulling out a chit to make their purchase.
"Yes. Speaking." He stated as Tali conversed with the clerk.
"We've found your friends. They're waiting here at the station."
"Are they okay?" John eyed Tali, nodded, and gave her a thumbs up.
"They're drunk, nauseous, and very, very, dirty. Other than that, they're fine."
"That's great news, Arah. I'll be there soon. Sorry for your trouble."
"It's what I do. We'll see you soon, sir. Take care."
"Bye." John ended the call and let out a hoarse breath.
It was good to know they weren't dead.
"They found them?"
"They did." He said with a small nod and shouldered the small case, "Let's get going."
They waved goodbye to the volus store keeper before stepping out onto the busy streets of Vista Cova.
Before long, they were speeding down the airway to the VC's police station.
The hum of their air car was the only noise for a while, the both of them content to sit in quietude as Vista Cova's ceaseless grid of violet and silver stretched out beneath them.
But then it slowly dawned on him the abrupt change of circumstances his life had taken. The decisions he'd found him traveling. The memories he'd left in the wake of his death.
It was all mesmerizingly beautiful from this height, but John's attention was now elsewhere, head back, eyes half-lidded and watching Illium's skyline through the window without really seeing it.
It wasn't until Tali shifted slightly beside him—tucking one leg beneath the other—that he finally spoke.
"Do you ever think about them?" He asked quietly. Not hesitant exactly, but softer than usual.
She faced him, brow creased slightly. "Who?"
"The old crew."
She stared at him for a second, gauging the tone.
There was no bitterness, no forced nostalgia, just… longing. Something simple and unadorned. The kind of question you asked when the silence had stretched too long, and you didn't want to be alone with your own thoughts anymore.
"All the time," she admitted.
He swallowed, eyes going back to the window, as if the answer was both expected and somehow still hard to hear. "Do you… know what happened to some of them? To those that made it out?"
Her hands found her lap and she took in a slow breath. "Some of them." A small smile tried to tug at her mouth, but it never reached her eyes. "I think Adam's still in the Alliance. Probably terrorizing some poor engineering ensign right now. Most of engineering actually. Monica. Both the Dravens. Bakari."
That earned a faint, amused grunt. "Sounds about right."
A few moments, John still regarding the distant view with an equally distant stare. "…What about doc?"
Her hands stirred slightly at the mention of her name and it was as if they were reaching for a memory she couldn't quite hold. Like John, her stare went wayward to gaze at the skyline blurring past.
"I don't know." She answered almost apologetically. It wasn't really an answer she wanted to hear herself, but it was the truth. The bonds they'd forged—bonds that were supposed to be unbreakable, had been all but burned in the ashes of Ullipses. Those survived went their separate ways just as the galaxy always intended. Life just… moved on.
"I just know that I miss her." She said finally.
The silence after wasn't uncomfortable, but it did stiffen the air.
Her hand absently began playing with the ends of her necklace and started walking down a mental roster — faces and names flickering through memory like pages turning in a well-worn book. Some were clearer than others. Some hurt more than others.
"I don't know what happened to Joker," She said timidly when he thought of his face, "He didn't say much after… everything that happened."
John didn't answer right away, just gave the faintest nod, like the words were already expected. Of course Joker didn't say much. There wasn't much to say.
The thought carried them for a few seconds longer, Illium's skyline passing unnoticed through the window, until John's voice broke the quiet again, softer this time.
"They told me Pressly didn't make it out."
He said it with a strange kind of caution, like he was testing the weight of the words before fully handing them over to her. Like maybe, after all this time, they wouldn't land quite so hard. But they did.
"He didn't." She murmured, "He died before he could get to the escape pod. The corridor collapsed as he pushed me inside."
John blinked and faced her again and she met his stare. His hand reached over to cover hers gently.
I'm so sorry."
"Don't be."
John bit his lip and turned away again, a sigh leaving him. "…I miss them all."
"Me too." Her hand turned beneath his, palm to palm, "Every day."
"They gave me a list," he said, "When they woke me up. All the names. Those that made it out and those who didn't."
He shook his head again, the faintest trace of bitterness tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"Thought about writing all their families." He stared up at the clouds and held his gaze upward, "…But what good what that do. Two years too late from a guy they all thought was dead anyway."
She didn't say anything and merely stared at the man ruminating at the glass more to himself than anything. "Thought about contacting those still alive." He continued before scoffing at how absurd of any idea that was, "Then I figured that would be opening nothing but misery for them."
"Maybe you can someday. Not now, but someday."
"Yeah."
Finally, Tali gave his hand a soft squeeze, and John squeezed back.
The skycar began to slow, descending toward the police station's landing pad. She was the first to speak again, her voice now lighter—more out of necessity than anything else.
"Let's go collect our wayward idiots before they end up in the evening news."
John snorted, the sound breaking the spell. "If they aren't already."
They waited for the all-clear chime before stepping out into the oppressive heat. The air hit like a solid wall—dense, humid, and heavy with the smell of sunbaked metal and distant exhaust.
"Whoa. It's hot," John muttered, squinting against the glare bouncing off the pavement. He pulled out his newly purchased sunglasses and put them on, taking a long look at the shimmering waves of heat rising from the car's frame.
"Place is a damn oven. Let's get inside. I'd rather not spend too much time out here."
"Okay." She suddenly seized his arm and clenched it into a vice.
"Tali?" He faced her angry glare that she kept resolutely forward.
"Liara. Is. In. There." The malice that suddenly dripped from her tongue was enough to ground a skyscraper.
Sure enough, when John peered through the police station's windows, he saw Liara standing at the receptionist's desk speaking to Talukh and Kylie.
John's audible gulp fell on deaf ears.
It seemed the storm had enough time brewing.
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Liara felt a curt jab on her shoulder. Turning to see where the offending finger came from, she saw Tali with a glare that burned fiercely. With an expression like that, Liara was surprised she hadn't been graced with a fist to the face yet.
"Tali."
"Don't." Tali threatened.
John caught up and put a hand on Tali before offering Liara an apologetic look.
The quarian didn't budge. So John pressed harder into her shoulder to try and stave off her temper. It was beginning to worry him, seeing her consumed with this much hate. John could literally feel the rage radiating through the woman's bones.
Kylie and Talukh were too hungover to really pay attention to the feud between the two. That or they were pretending not to notice.
"Liara." John acknowledged with an abrupt nod.
Tali's hands made this noise that reminded Liara of what it sounded like when you choked someone's neck. If it were her guess, Tali's hands wanted to be around hers.
Liara gulped and subconsciously rubbed her throat with a clammy palm.
"How'd you know we'd be here?" John began with a frown.
"Information spreads fast. It's what I do now." Liara intoned before giving Tali a look, "That and every channel on Illium is talking about the Commander's not-so-subtle return. Your 'confrontation' with Tali yesterday is the hottest talk of the planet."
"I meant every word, you bitch."
Liara's gaze fell to the floor; Tali's insult ignored. "I would have come sooner if I'd known you were coming to Illium. It's good to see you again, John."
"Likewise, Liara. But you have a lot of explaining to do." John said as lines of worry creased his forehead, "A lot."
He drew the asari in for a hug and suddenly felt a large salvo of laser beams trying to carve a hole into the back of his head. The burning sensation, as John guessed, was probably from Tali's eyes. He willfully separated himself from the friendly embrace before putting a fist over his mouth to awkwardly clear his throat. John then turned to face the two not so sober quarians.
"Kylie. Talukh. Go ahead and go outside. Wait by our taxi."
"O—okay."
"Yeah. You got it, Shepard."
Tali inwardly growled at the relatively distressed asari in front of them. Had they been anywhere else beside a police station, she would have obliged Liara with a lovely set of black eyes no one would ever mistake for eye shadow. For symmetry purposes, of course. A swift kick to the crotch from a hard kick was also on the table. With luck, it'd be more painful than giving birth. Something the tabloids would've gleefully dedicated entire front pages to.
Unlucky for them, political and police districts were bastions of order, free from the slobbering masses of snooping journalists. Which was a crying shame, really. Because she was fairly certain "Quarian Engineer Eviscerates Noted Xenoarchaeologist in Fiery Lover's Quarrel" would've been the kind of headline to keep news anchors employed for weeks.
John's gaze remained fixed on the two quarians shuffling awkwardly across the lobby before giving Liara another look.
"Look," John started, ever the mediator, "This isn't the place nor is it the time to discuss whatever's happened between you two."
Liara nodded vigorously. "I agree."
Tali's gloves chaffed harder against the bone-breaking grip she held around nothing.
Just as she was about to give Liara a good piece of her mind, John placed a hand around her shoulder again and squeezed.
"Tali?" He tugged at her arm, "This can be discussed later."
Tali forcefully jabbed a finger against Liara's chest. "Don't think you're out of this. Ever."
Liara eyed the offending finger before looking back to the translucent glass mere inches from her nose.
"I can understand why you're mad. But you don't have an idea of what you're saying." Liara murmured evenly.
Tali didn't know. She couldn't know. She had no inkling of the hell the past two years had been. The sleepless nights spent combing the Illikah System for even the faintest whisper of John Shepard's remains. The cost of finding him. The choices she had to make or the impossible lines she had to cross.
She did it for Tali. And all she did was shout and spit words at her.
The worst part was that Liara understood why she was angry. She understood.
No, she hadn't handled it perfectly. She made mistakes—miscalculations. But she hadn't anticipated this. She hadn't expected her reaction to be this furious. It was like staring at a different person.
But had it really been a miscalculation? Had she been so wrong to keep it from her?
Tali wasn't just another person in this equation. Liara and Garrus were contacted because they were independent. They didn't have anyone to answer to after the dust had settled following John's death.
But Tali?
Tali was the daughter of an admiral.
An admiral who sat on a board of five that governed an entire civilization. A civilization that, at the time, was—and still is, if not more so—one of the most politically volatile in the galaxy.
It was a calculated call on Cerberus' part. Tali was a risk. A liability. Because, for all her brilliance, for all her resilience, she was still part of a system that wouldn't hesitate to use her as a pawn in their broader political maneuvering.
And that wasn't paranoia on Cerberus' part.
That was fact. And it was a good call.
The Fleet in the coming years had every reason to see Cerberus as an enemy. The incident with that quarian—the one who'd sold out his own people for the promise of a future Cerberus never intended to give him—had confirmed every fear the Admiralty had about aliens meddling in their affairs.
The aftermath of the Idenna's near destruction had led to a month's long skirmish between Cerberus and the Flotilla. Did it for the purposes of serving only a point. To let them know that if they ever thought they could get away with what they'd done, that the Migrant fleet would be more than happy to direct its resources to bleaching their enemies with unconscionable violence.
The quarians ultimately got their revenge. A giant display of 'You fucked around. You found out.'
Miraculously, the quarians, for all their time spent scouring, never got even a whisper of a station that housed the most important scientific resurrection project in recorded history.
If Tali had known—would it have been different? Would they have been content to just leave it alone?
Hell no.
The Fleet would have made it their life's mission to atomize its existence.
And instead of it being the covert success story the Lazarus project was, it would have turned into nothing more than a cautionary tale.
It didn't matter why Liara had done it. Didn't matter that she had agonized over it, that she had spent years rationalizing the decision. To Tali, she was left in the dark and her dearest friend misled her.
Tali gave Liara a mirthless laugh. "Two years, Liara. Two. Years. I thought he was dead." Her vocalizer hovered over Liara's lips menacingly and almost felt the shallow breaths she took, "I deserved to know. Everyone did. I looked you in the eye. Asked you straight to your face and𝒚𝒐𝒖. You 𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐝 to me."
Liara's shirt rumpled from the two fists that grabbed her collar. "Did you like watching me suffer and pittle around in my own emotional filth?"
"Is there a problem, here?" An officer approached John with both her hands settled on her hips.
"No." John said between a long and drawn out sigh. Tali kept her daggered glare on Liara but said nothing.
"You sure? Because I'm about to separ—"
"I think a former Spectre can handle this, thank you."
"Up to you, pal." Seemingly unfazed she was staring at the legendary commander, "But as soon as your quarian friend here spills some blood, you're responsible for the mess and bail."
Tali largely ignored the unintentional compliment.
"Tali. We don't have time for this."
"John. You have no idea."
"I don't. But you know this isn't right."
" 𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯. You. Have. NO. Idea." She repeated.
"Maybe. Maybe not. But we have responsibilities to take care of. And those take priority." To patronize his point, he placed a thumb behind him at the two quarians waiting outside.
Tali let go, turned around, and walked out of the station to the patiently waiting taxi outside.
"Liara. Sorry." John breathed with a small shake of his head.
Partial shit storm averted.
"Don't be. I probably deserve it."
"Look. Hold off on the judging for another time. Tali's angry and I hardly have an idea of what's going on. I wish we had more time to talk... but I've got a lot to do."
There was a brief moment of silence after Liara gave him a melancholy nod.
"Was it wrong?" Liara's eyes glistened with tears as she asked him the question.
"What do you mean?"
Liara was about to offer some reply; an explanation, or even an excuse, but it never came. Instead, she simply bit her lip to stop herself from tearing up any further.
"N— nevermind. Go. Update me with everything when you can. Please keep in contact. If you ever need my help, don't hesitate to call me. Same number as always."
"I will." He dipped his head, "I'll see you around. And thank you for bailing out our two friends here."
"They signed themselves into indentured servitude, actually. I managed to buy them just in time." Liara rifled through one of her pockets to reveal two shredded contracts, "Brought them here so we could lawfully dispose of these."
John took a look at the papers and sighed. "Liara, Jesus. Thank you. You saved us a lot of trouble."
"I was the highest bidder at the auction. If I hadn't gotten there when I did... you wouldn't have had them now."
"I'll make sure to tell Tali that. It was good to see you."
"Be well," Liara murmured, reaching out to touch his hand, "Be safe."
And with that, Shepard walked out of the station before meeting up with the three quarians waiting by the air car.
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ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ
The ride to port was quieter than John would've liked. He kept his head forward, tapping thoughtlessly at the steering wheel to an equally thoughtless tune. He decided it best to distract his thoughts by driving the taxi himself instead of having the self-drive function do it for them.
The two that sat in the back constantly rubbed at the sides of their helmets with the occasional groan to remind them of their nausea.
More importantly was Tali, whose legs and arms remained crossed, eyes aimlessly wandering between the day's pearly stars and passing air cars.
"Do you know when we're leaving?" John asked to stir up some kind of conversation.
"In a couple hours." Tali murmured between a low sigh, "Turn right here."
John did as she said.
"You know," He put a subtle laugh in-between his words, "I think Liara near pissed herself."
"She should've. Shame doesn't even come close to what she deserves."
"Was it really that bad, Tali?"
"More than you can imagine."
Talukh's gruff voice spoke up.
"Ah, you know how it is. Women. Am I right?"
Kylie and Tali both give him an unimpressed glare, which only made him shrug.
"So. I heard you guys accidentally signed yourselves into slavery." John began.
"Yeah." Kylie said, holding off a wave of nausea traveling up her stomach.
Tali whipped her head around to face them both. "What?"
"Yeah. Your friend Liara bought us at the auction."
"How much were you bought for?"
"Ha," Talukh chuckled as he squeezed his shoulder embarrassingly, "Not as much as we were expecting."
"Two-hundred." Kylie admitted.
"Two-hundred thousand?" Tali asked, her eyes wide and shocked.
"No." Kylie wrung her neck even harder, "Just, uh—...two hundred."
Tali blinked several times as she digested what she just said.
They almost got sold into slavery for a measly two hundred credits. Two hundred. A sum so insultingly low that even the most unscrupulous of slavers would have winced.
Could you even stack shame on top of something such a cruel and wicked practice? Apparently, yes. Because getting sold into servitude was one thing. Getting sold at a price lower than a half-decent skycar rental? Embarrassing.
"That's it?" John rose a brow, "No offense, but I would expect it to be a bit higher."
"We were drunk." Kylie murmured.
"And we looked like shit." Talukh added.
Kylie shrugged. "Still look like shit."
"Both valid points."
"How'd you end up signing yourself into slavery?"
"Don't remember. The, uh— details are a little vague." Talukh said with a frown.
"Thinking we should keep it that way." Kylie mumbled.
"Better make up a good story for Prazza then." Tali sighed at the absurdity.
John gave Tali's thigh a good pat.
"Don't worry hun. Everything'll be better soon."
"I guess," She said with a partly forced smile, "I'm just... glad everything worked out."
When John brought the air car down to park just outside the spaceport, Tali clicked her tongue and gave Kylie and Talukh a frown. "I called it by the way; about you two signing yourself into slavery. Idiots. Both of you."
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Elsewhere, on Omega.
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It had been a spectacularly shit day, to say the least.
It started, as all disasters did, with something small. In this case, Sidonis, who'd been minding his own business and happily chewing through the last of a somewhat stale sandwich, realized that the offending plastic jabbing into his ass pocket wasn't his wallet.
It was a tracking device.
With the words 'Fuck you, Archangel :)' written across it in permanent marker.
The deadpan stare Sidonis gave Garrus across the rickety table was the exact same one Garrus returned. No words, just two men in a mutual state of disbelief. Neither could blame the other. Both were equally tired of living on the edge of every two-bit merc's shit list. It was finally time to face the music.
That, unfortunately, was the high point of the day.
The first tripwire went off not long after, the blast rattling every window in their hideout. By the time Garrus and his team scrambled to their positions, rifles pointed toward the street, they were already late to their own siege.
Because marching across the bridge, backlit by the glow of burning storefronts and the ambient hellscape of Omega, was a column of people. They weren't just any people, mind you. It was Cerberus.
Garrus didn't have to squint too hard to make out the woman leading them.
The exasperated sigh nearly let his soul escape.
Miranda Lawson.
"Who are these peeps, boss?" Gregg yelled from down below, "You know 'em?"
"Yeah..." Garrus said, lowering his rifle slightly, "I know 'em."
"What do we do?" Sidonis asked.
"Stay put." Garrus said before turning on a heel to take the stairs down to meet their visitors, "And keep security."
The dust was still settling when he went down and approached her. Removing his helmet and tucking it under an arm, he was surprised to suddenly be on the receiving end of a handshake. As if they were old colleagues meeting up during a corporate luncheon instead of two people from fundamentally opposing sides.
Garrus returned the handshake, if only because being polite cost nothing. Plus, they had just saved their asses. Even if they were who they were.
"Lawson, right?" he said, tone as dry as his mouth.
"Correct, Mr. Vakarian." She said evenly.
It wasn't much of a shock that they'd found him. He'd made quite the name for himself out here.
He hated it regardless. But hating it wouldn't make it untrue.
Jacob didn't hide his surprise. "We're going to be honest, Vakarian. We weren't expecting you to be Archangel. We had our suspicions, but never had a real reason to dig."
"That's a little tarnishing on the ego." Garrus tried.
Jacob tried to weasel something onto his tongue, but Garrus pocketed the resulting awkwardness by staring at all the destruction. "Wasn't expecting such a welcoming party. Why are you all here?"
Miranda's expression remained as stoic as ever, but she'd be lying if she didn't feel ecstatic. Finding Garrus here? Confirming, without a shadow of doubt, that he was Archangel? It was a windfall she hadn't even allowed herself to hope for.
It was perfect.
Garrus Vakarian wasn't just some capable asset; he was Shepard's right hand, one of the few people who could claim to know the Commander personally and professionally. If there was anyone who could pull Shepard back into the fold, it was him.
"Shepard is alive and well. We're here to recruit you for the cause."
Straight to the point. No finesse. No preamble. He should've expected that.
"Where is he?" Garrus asked with a grunt.
"Shepard is on Illium with Ms. Zorah and Dr. T'soni."
His brows went up a little. Like he'd stubbed a toe.
"Spirits. That's not good. Tali and Liara? Together? After all this?"
"We're aware the secrecy has likely… strained their relationship." Jacob said.
Garrus wasn't surprised they knew about that either.
"If the three of them are in the same room, then yeah. I'd say it's pretty irreparable given Tali's relationship to John."
Garrus let his eyes wander across the rest of his team — misfits and survivors, all of them — dug into their positions. Their stances were tense, weapons lowered but not relaxed, eyes holding steady on the mass of troops holding overwatch around their perimeter.
"Your team is also welcome aboard." She said, sensing that he was thinking about them.
Garrus didn't say anything long enough for her to take the hint that he was still deliberating. So she gave him something that might convince him instead.
"You're aware of the collectors, yes?" She knew quite readily he was aware of the collectors.
Garrus' fingers flexed on the grip of his rifle, gaze flicking involuntarily toward a dark corner in the room. A corner that had no one in it. Reflex. Habit. A ghost that wouldn't die.
It had been a week since he'd last thought about Ullipses.
A whole week. New record.
"What about them?"
"They're the ones behind the settlement disappearances."
Garrus took that and gave it a long and thoughtful chew. "…Does Shepard know?"
"He does."
Garrus then stared at his boots and tried to bring himself up to speed with everything that was going on. "So, he went to Illium with Tali. How? Why?"
"We crossed paths." Jacob intervened, "They were searching for a lost pilgrim on Freedom's Progress."
"Small galaxy." Garrus intoned before scratching a brow, "Can't imagine how the reunion went."
"It was… rough." Jacob teetered, clearing his throat.
"Why were you there? What was important about that place?"
"It was the latest city to get abducted. The quarians were there trying to search for a pilgrim there."
"Did you find the pilgrim?"
"We did." Miranda resumed, "And the evidence to prove the collectors are behind it."
"Okay. That explains the how." Garrus glanced at her, eyes narrowing. "Still doesn't explain why Shepard isn't with you now."
"He left with the quarians and Tali." Jacob's shrug was half-apologetic, "Didn't exactly give us a heads-up."
Garrus' brows cinched together and actually smirked.
"We're working on it," Jacob said to desperately save face.
"So Shepard really ditched you guys."
Jacob rubbed the back of his neck. "Look, it sounds crazy—"
"It isn't."
"Okay. It isn't. But I'm trying to make a point here." Jacob took a deep breath, gave Miranda a quick glance, and spoke. "Yes. We're Cerberus. We eat babies and shit. As bad as that sounds, we're here because we're trying to stop what's happening. And we need help trying to convince John to join us. But it looks like he'll be heading to the Migrant Fleet with Tali'Zorah to get things figured out first."
"How can I trust you?" Garrus eyed the black man with a steady eye. Garrus was a good judge of character. Being a cop did that.
Jacob definitely was not a baby eater.
"You'll just… have to see for yourself."
The pause stretched between them until Garrus finally gave a slow and wary nod.
"If I go," Garrus said slowly, "Can my team come?"
"If they're willing."
Garrus turned to face his brothers in arms.
"Arch, we have family," one of them by the name of Skyles said hesitantly, "We can't just up and leave."
"And don't think we owe them just because they just got done saving our arses. We coulda' handled 'em." Yelled Gregg.
Garrus turned back around to Jacob. "Did you clean house?"
"We cleaned house. Any sorry ass that was planning on killing you is dead as dead."
"Any idea how many people were massed up for an assault?"
"Close to two hundred people? Most of them were in the buildings we leveled with charges. We made sure there weren't any civilians before doing so."
Garrus let out a hoarse air of breath.
Yeah. The bravado could only take you so far. They definitely wouldn't have survived that.
"Their families can be situated at a Cerberus facility for safety." Miranda offered, "If that isn't an option, we can always find them a new place to live. They'll be safe. They'll be provided for."
Gregg, and the other human, Skyles, were the first to raise their heads at the proposition.
"You'd really do that? If we help you, I mean?"
"Absolutely. Salary. Housing. Protection. No questions asked."
Gregg stepped up to the plate with the biggest and most sincere smile a man could make. "I'm fuckin' in! Baby eatin' or not!"
Skyles nodded emphatically. "Same here. I'm ready to get my family off this freakin' rotting hell hole. This is not the place to be raising a family."
Garrus was the objective. But if they could recruit his entire team? Even better.
"Sidonis," Garrus called out, turning around and looking up to see him now standing from his perch on the second floor.
Sidonis' arms were crossed so tightly his talons were digging into his forearms. His gaze was distant and locked on the rising plumes of smoke obscuring Omega's skyline.
"What do you think?" Garrus managed to ask even though he knew it in him that he didn't entirely have the right to ask anyone to do what he was considering.
"They're terrorists," He said, loud enough for the Cerberus operators to hear, and with none of the usual edge of uncertainty in his voice. Just cold fact. "You want me to dress it up, or is that good enough?"
Garrus didn't answer right away. His gaze drifted past Sidonis, past Miranda and Jacob, and settled on the rest of the Cerberus personnel spread out across the ruined perimeter.
Terrorist or not, this was operational. A proper sweep-and clear. Stuff that only made sense if Cerberus was really in deep and invested. If they were serious.
And Garrus knew, deep down, that they always were.
Because as much as he hated to admit it—as much as the word Cerberus left a bad taste in his mouth, he couldn't see the angle. There was no play here that made sense if they were just trying to lie. Cerberus didn't work this hard, deploy this many boots, just to play some elaborate con on a handful of vigilantes huddled in a half-condemned ruin.
They didn't send Miranda Goddamn Lawson just to feed him a line.
This was the real thing. And that terrified him more than if it had been a lie. Because if Cerberus, the boogeyman of black ops, the whispered nightmare in every bureaucrat's ear—was pulling out all the stops, then whatever was coming down the pipe had been ignored by anyone who fucking mattered.
"They wouldn't come all this way to lie to us," He said bitterly.
Sidonis' brow pulled low, and this time, when he spoke, there was more bite to it. "They're terrorists," he repeated again more forcefully.
"I'm not asking us to be friends."
Sidonis gave a weak show of hands because he was failing to understand his position. "When Cerberus asked you to help them the first time, you essentially told them to go to hell. What's different now?"
Garrus had to shrug. It was small. Barely a lift of the shoulders. But it was there.
"They carried their end of the deal," He admitted at last, and there was no deflection. No dry humor, no bravado. Just honesty. "They brought Shepard back just like they said they would." He gave the death around them a pitiful glare. "Don't think I can walk away from what has to be done this time."
Sidonis didn't answer immediately and eventually sighed.
Garrus was a better man than him. Always had been. Smarter. Sharper. And with just enough idealism left in him to pretend they were still fighting for something, even after all they'd done to survive on Omega. Sidonis had long since stopped pretending. But Garrus? Garrus could still make him believe, if only for a moment.
Regardless, he felt somewhere in the pit of his soul, that somehow, this was going to be the beginning of the end. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but before the year was over, one way or another, this was how his story would end. He could feel it in his heart. The kind you couldn't outrun, no matter how many times you'd cheat death or bury your conscience under another layer of bullshit excuses.
Ultimately, he knew debating internally of his fate was pointless. He realized it when he saw Garrus still standing there waiting for an answer he knew would only go one way.
It seemed Garrus found a better hill to die on. He figured he might as well be there too.
"Wherever you go, I'll be right behind you, Vakarian."
Garrus gave him a nod of solidarity.
Jugath, their batarian explosives expert, straightened up from where he'd been leaning against a half-collapsed doorway. "Same here," he said, "I'm in."
The two salarians who were nearby, Parland and Amarath, gave their nods of assent in unison.
Lastly was the krogan, Morehk, who let out a low grunt that could've meant anything from mild approval to 'I'll follow you into hell.' It didn't matter. Garrus knew where he stood.
Turning back to Jacob and Miranda with a hard stare and straightened shoulders, he dipped his head to let them know they were onboard.
"We're in."
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It was collectively—though quietly—decided that the drunken debacle of yesterday's escapades would be laid to rest permanently. No one would speak of it. No one would document it. No one would so much as joke about how close Lukh and Kylie came to becoming Illium's newest members of its wage-less workforce. Some stories just didn't need to leave the planet's atmosphere.
Olasie couldn't even begin to imagine the disciplinary actions that might've been foisted on her had anyone with real authority gotten wind of just how bad it got. Fraternization, public intoxication, unauthorized disappearance of personnel… all serious enough. But the sheer humiliation factor? Getting blackout drunk, harassing an elcor, and nearly losing two squadmates to who-the-hell-knows-what? That would've been the crown jewel in her career coffin.
Maybe they'd been roofied. That was the story she was leaning toward. It was easier than facing the reality that they'd done this to themselves. All four of them with nothing but a jumbled haze in place of actual memories? A convenient excuse wrapped in plausible deniability. Blame the elcor. Or the bartenders. Or society at large.
Hell, for all they knew, that elcor might've been exacting a vendetta for their horse-riding incident. A dark part of Olasie suspected they had it coming.
Her body still hadn't fully forgiven her for the abuse. The headaches and sour stomach were only just abating, leaving her feeling wrung out and dry, like a sponge that had been left in the sun. She wasn't sure she had the willpower to deal with anything more complicated than lying face down in her bunk until their next deployment dragged her out again.
Juel, trailing behind her with John and Tali just ahead, clutched the rail leading up to the Nehrra'dam's docking ramp with a miserable grip of a man who regretted every choice that led to this moment. His hangover had not been as kind, clinging to him like a bad smell.
"Question," John muttered quietly to Tali, just loud enough for her to hear.
"Yes?"
"I don't want to impose, but what are the accommodations going to be like? Where am I sleeping?"
"In a biohazard room," Juel grunted from the back.
Tali's hand flew up in an effortless shooing motion, brushing Juel's sarcasm aside like an annoying fly before leaning closer to John. "With me. We'll be sharing my room."
"Oh." His tone was neutral, but the tiniest tilt of his helmet betrayed his surprise—and maybe just a little satisfaction.
Olasie, just ahead, could already feel the incoming flood of mush through the air itself. Ancestors preserve her. She prayed to every available spirit, deity, and cosmic entity that her room—being right next to Tali's—wouldn't have her hearing whatever Tali and her resurrected boyfriend were going to get up to.
Enyah was going to have a field day.
John's expression may have been hidden, but the way his shoulders squared and his pace changed slightly gave him away. Pleased. Very pleased.
Tali, on the other hand, looked a little preoccupied. Olasie hoped she wasn't thinking about all the things she was going to do to him. Ugh.
They found an unclaimed table just past the main corridor, settling into the seats with that unique kind of weary stiffness that you'd expect from their day. Other marines came and went, some offering nods of recognition or brief waves, but most were too wrapped up in their own conversations to pay them any mind.
Tali leaned in slightly over toward Olasie, eyes searching her bandaged thigh. The glare Olasie gave her could've melted steel when she realized what she was searching for.
"What," she hissed, low enough to avoid attention, "are you looking at?"
Tali's hands flew up in mock surrender. "Nothing."
Juel, still slouched in his chair with his arms folded across his chest like a man who'd already checked out of the day entirely, grunted. "So, what's the plan now?"
Tali glanced over. "For what?"
"For getting him aboard the Neema." He nodded toward John, "What are you going to tell Captain Raven?"
"The same thing we told everyone here. Just enough."
"You think that's gonna fly?" Juel's tone was skeptical, but not confrontational. Just exhausted.
"She's not going to ask questions." Tali's reply was confident—at least on the surface.
Juel's shrug was indifferent, but Olasie wasn't quite so ready to let it go. A frown tugged at her mouth, foot tapping an uneven rhythm beneath the table.
"She might not," Olasie said, "but… what about your dad?"
All three heads swiveled toward her, and she immediately regretted speaking.
"Well," Tali started, then sighed, her fingers fidgeting with a loose thread at the cuff of her sleeve. "Now that you mention it…"
John's helmet angled slightly. "There something I should know?"
Tali blew out a breath, shifting in her seat. "There's… something important happening soon."
"A mission?"
"Yes."
"What is it? Where?"
She wrung her hands. "I can't say. It's classified. I'm sorry. We can't talk about it here."
"How important? Can you tell me that at least?"
For just a flicker of a second, the mental image of Haestrom's sun crept up, tied tightly with the memories of Ullipses—like two ugly scars sutured together. She wanted to tell him. Wanted to tell him they were connected somehow. But she couldn't. Not here.
"Important." She repeated.
"I see."
"But," she forced herself to add, "I think it'll be a great icebreaker between you and dad."
"...Doesn't your dad think I'm dead?"
"Erhm. Yeah." She bit her lip, "That's going to be, uh, really weird explaining that."
From his slumped position, Juel groaned, head now buried in his arms resting over the table. "I don't envy you."
John sat back, hands meeting at his waist, thumb idly tapping against the back of his glove.
"Can't wait." He said dryly.