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akiwisfics · 4 years

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In the Middle Chapter 7

Notes: Not technically cross-posted anymore, but two chapters already written. If people get annoyed by this, please savior “kiwi crossposts” to save your eyes.

Description: The war's over, but the mess is still left behind. Kasumi finds herself among the wreckage with unexpected companions and questions that seem almost impossible to answer for. Life keeps moving forward, however, and the surprises it leaves behind aren't always pleasant ones.

Pairings: KasumixSha’ira

“Ms. Maeda, come out please.”

The major was using her alias. That was a good sign. She kept her eyes closed as she listened carefully, noting that most of the steps outside the tent at the moment were whisper-quiet. Trained and unlike the cacophony that Kasumi had grown accustomed to at their camp. The STG had taken over completely at this point, then, but where were the others exactly?

Kasumi had seen no reason to report the initial incident to the STG exactly for this reason. She didn’t want them crawling over the place, rifling through things better left private. They’d done enough already, enough so that she was half-tempted to play up her injuries, appeal to their humanity as a wounded gazelle.

It was probably Sha’ira. She couldn’t blame her for her due diligence. While no doubt she knew there were more secrets to uncover, one of their group members had been killed. She was going to do her own investigation this morning, though mostly to make sure there weren’t any other trip mines in the area they needed to worry about. From there, she could likely figure out some information based on the mine alone. They were a common enough accessory in both various militaries and the terminus systems, but rarely were the models of the same caliber. Most mercenaries had to make do with whatever and whoever would be willing to deal outside of the Citadel, so they were usually handmade or modded in some fashion. Military, naturally, were usually more manufactured, less prone to misfires.

However, a really well paid mercenary could get what they want, especially if they’d been working for a long time. Not many survived in their line of work without knowing how to make their own shit.

Her alibi checked out if there was trouble, at least. Despite what verbal spat (? if it could be called that) her and the consort had the evening before, there was little denying the fact that she had been laid up from her injury, and as far as they were aware, unarmed. Rolling over just confirmed what she knew already. Sha’ira had left early that morning. Her hands still felt warm from when they touched. She admired how freely the consort gave her affection, a small gift with every passing brush and squeeze. While Kasumi affirmed what she could with what ways she could afford, she hadn’t remembered anything beyond a smile or a pat on the shoulder recently. Hugs were even foreign after Shepard’s passing.

Their conversation wasn’t really done, was it? She could admire Sha’ira’s stubborn passion if she wasn’t on the receiving end of it. Maybe it was just a common feature for people like them. It was the only reason she could think of as to why she still hadn’t stirred from her cot.

The tent flap zipped open, and Kasumi met the Major’s exasperated gaze with a placidly affable smile. “You should know better than to spoil me with all this attention,” she greeted, and decided the joke could last a little longer. “I have nothing to do with what’s going on.”

He sighed and pitched his voice lower, just in case there were any prying ears. Based on what little she heard beyond more salarians, he didn’t need to worry. “I’m well aware. Can we discuss this outside?”

“In my condition, Major?”

“The mine didn’t kill you, and it clearly didn’t leave you deaf. Outside.”

He seemed more hurried than last time. If it’d just been the turian’s death, they would’ve swung by sooner. Maybe they had. Though the recovery was quick, Kasumi had been left to her own devices for the most part yesterday. She had her visitors, but beyond a few awkward conversations, the last 24 hours had been a hazy doze-- likely thanks to whatever medigel and drugs Sal had tossed together.

Maybe she could get a change of clothes first. The t-shirt and sweatpants was even more bare compared to their last meeting. Despite a little soreness in her knees, a little bit of heaviness in her chest, it was still easy to stand. What work Sal had done did its job.

A small contingent awaited her as she finally emerged. Major Kirrahe waited just a few feet away, flanked by two members that she vaguely recognized from her run-in. The camp was deserted beyond the rest of the unit, soldiers listlessly flitting from tent to tent, though never staying for longer than a minute or so. They weren’t searching through belongings. Not yet anyway. Clearing the area then? The others were probably secured in a smaller perimeter then, maybe the building where their tower had been installed. It wasn’t the most comfortable, but the interior was gutted enough to house all of them.

Something had happened. She doubted Sha’ira would be considered among the suspects, but Kasumi realized to the STG-- she was the only one accounted for yesterday.

“Nothing in your tent was touched,” Kirrahe offered as he approached. His brow was furrowed and he looked tired, more than anything. Though salarians rarely needed to sleep for long, the major looked overdue for at least an hour or so.

“Not that we’re on the best of terms right now but--”

“One of our men went missing yesterday.”

Ah, another victim then. That narrowed the scope considerably. An average mercenary or soldier wouldn’t easily get the best of an STG member, not without some considerable knowledge of the area. However, that didn’t make much sense. Their group had been there a week, tops, and as far as she was aware, only herself and Sha’ira knew about the other camp in the old university section. “You think one of us did it?”

“... Not necessarily…” he scratched at one of his scales, a nervous habit. She would have to remember that. “We’re simply narrowing down our suspects, Ms. G-- Maeda. Your camp is the only other known party in the area.”

Not the only, but a tabloid reporter didn’t strike her as a murdering type.

“We found him dead earlier this morning. How did the turian die?”

“I never actually saw the body, so.”

Kirrahe hummed in response. “Justicar Samara has offered her expertise with interrogations, but considering you’re the least suspicious person here…”

Oh. This was a nice position. The plan right now had been just to sneak in at some point and take her mods back, but this was a much better and less risky solution to that problem. The major didn’t need her, and Kasumi wasn’t thrilled over the prospect of interrogating people that barely knew her-- people that likely had their own ideas as to why she hadn’t really socialized with anyone else. However, it beat trying to aggravate what good grace that had been left from their first encounter. “How about a deal then?”

“Absolutely not.”

“If there’s a murderer around, I’d like my pistol at least.”

His saucer eyes narrowed. “I’m sure you have another elsewhere, Ms. Maeda. The mods are staying in our possession.”

Sore loser. “You’re making it very hard to do my job, Major. I don’t mind the challenge, but can you really afford it?” She had copies back home, at worst blueprints in case she had to make any necessary repairs or replacements. However, “home” was currently Illium, and wasn’t really easy to access at the moment. She could have Urch or Tianna dig through her workroom, but that wasn’t really time that they could afford. Not with dear Kiera breathing down their necks and Urch’s own research on Khalisah.

“Based on your little save the other day, your observational skills are fine without them.” He sighed and seemed just a little bit less like a military man and more salarian. More like they hadn’t just gotten out of war, hadn’t just pulled himself out of the front lines. “I’m not asking for your help for free. Consort Sha’ira had made very specific… requests on your behalf.”

“She isn’t a suspect then?”

“While technically not cleared, she doesn’t really have means or motive. Her and Sura will likely be released shortly.”

That was nice to hear. “I guess I’ll ask her when I see her.” Clothes came first though. She wasn’t exactly intimidating in her pajamas. The soldiers by Kirrahe stiffened at first as she moved to leave, hands just a tad too secure to their guns for comfort. Right. Just because she had been cleared of one crime didn’t mean they weren’t aware of plenty others. Hopefully they had the sense not to panic the rest of her camp even further with the behavior. They weren’t really known for their panic, but there didn’t always need to be a lot of change for people to start noticing. Sometimes all they needed to see was them with a bit more unease around her than usual.

Still, Kasumi smiled in return and was relieved to see them leave her alone as she began retreating back to her actual tent.

“Ms. Maeda?”

Though she guessed they weren’t done yet. She showed nothing as she turned back, waiting for Kirrahe to continue.

“Do you have any suspects?”

Katul was a thought. He went missing first, but no one had actually mentioned if he was still alive or not. If he had returned after the one person he seemed to have tension with had died, that didn’t look good. However, nothing could shake the ghastly visage he carried and how much it resonated inside of her. She doubted little could shake him from his deep, pervasive grief. It took her months to even want her life again, much less act out against those that took Keiji. Whatever problems the two turians had, it wasn’t like revenge. They would’ve seen something happen far before this. She would’ve acted much faster than this.

Dharshan was also… strange, though she doubted her suspicions on him were anything more of shades from her own past. Though she tried desperately to not let that inhibit her work, she could count what few positive interactions she had with other batarians on one hand. The man was a source of ire recently, but that wasn’t out of any murderous intent on his part. He just couldn’t take the hint that she wanted nothing to do with him.

“If I’m honest? I don’t think it’s anyone from here,” she answered after a moment. “No one really strikes me as the serial murderer and poke the bear type.”

“Poke the bear?”

“... You know. Big, scary, and a bit silly to go after?” Maybe the bear thing was the problem? She wasn’t sure if the major was familiar with Earth biology. “Lot of the people have military experience, but none of them would be dumb enough to go after the STG is all I’m saying.”

“True. I have to ask--”

“Sha’ira and I haven’t mentioned you all were here, no. They either had to have stowed away in the shuttle without us noticing somehow, or had access to the channel like I did.”

“Right. … Thank you anyway.”

She hadn’t blamed the Major for the thought. It would be easier for it to be someone from the group. Someone that they could get today, and not be left digging in the ruins for some phantom. A phantom that was laying traps for everyone. Kasumi knew she had plenty enough to ask still, but unfortunately for them both, a phantom seemed far more likely than anything else at this point.

About all they could hope for was someone close by, and that it was just that. One.

However, Kasumi knew better, and Kirrahe did too.

Her tent was well kept, despite the knowledge that Sha’ira had been in at some point. She knew to grab the QEC, knew to bring it to her when she needed it. It hadn’t surprised her. It was the same reason that Sha’ira was one of the last to leave her tent in the mornings, but one of the first to have movement inside its confines. She didn’t know what all went into being a half-retired consort, but any job worth its credit had its fair network of associates to make it all work.

Maybe that was why it was easy for her to pick Kasumi at her seams. She learned as much as the consort gave away, and yet she couldn’t help thinking that she was just at the surface of what was there. It wasn’t an alluring darkness that drew her in, that much Kasumi was certain. She knew enough to recognize the shades of someone with blood on their hands, how they looked onto the world and regarded the value of life around them.

Like Kirrahe. She didn’t doubt that an unexpected loss of someone from his command affected him, but he made sure not to show it as he talked, as he observed the world around him. He knew enough. Knew that letting that side show meant it was a vulnerability for someone to pick at later, and maybe then another man would die under his watch.

But Sha’ira was different. Her hands had trembled when she spoke of Nelyna, even as she knew enough to try to obscure the incident from Kasumi’s questions at first. She still worried and fussed over Kasumi after her injury, even though someone as close as Shepard would’ve stayed, but she wouldn’t have--

What would she do here? The Major had known her from the war, so perhaps he would’ve approached the situation entirely different either way. She couldn’t recall meeting the man on the Crucible project, but that didn’t really mean much.

The grey-box was still safely tucked in her duffle bag. She ran her fingers against the cool metal and allowed a brief rush of comfort before she finished getting dressed. She could peer into the contents later, maybe to glean some advice from his past experiences-- ones that she hadn’t been afforded on her own.

She spotted a shadow looming over her tent from the corner of her eye and tucked the keepsake back in the confines of her clothes. It was only a second of hesitation before she took the locust instead. Kirrahe already mentioned her having another weapon on her. It shouldn’t spook him too much, and now that there was someone actually making moves against them, she sure as hell wasn’t going to go unarmed.

“Just a second!” she called out as she holstered the gun on her hip. In one fluid motion, she unzipped her tent and emerged-- and froze, half smile at the flash of red and gold in front of her. Well. Maybe should’ve gone without the gun then.

Samara regarded her with a tad more warmth than before, though it really wasn’t much. Her eyes didn’t have the glean of murderous biotics, which was comforting. She found the pistol at her side immediately. “... I see the Major was correct.” Was that relief in her voice…? “I had brought an extra pistol in case you were left without.”

“It’s an old habit.” She stepped beside her as Samara turned back to the main road and halo of buildings. Their target was in the middle, close enough to camp for anyone to pick up the signal of the comm tower from the comfort of their cot. Unless Sal spilled on her work on the Crucible project, this would probably lead to some questions. She just hoped any lies that came up before were believable enough, or so outrageous that they were easily disproven if needed.

Kasumi glanced to her companion, noting idly how quiet her steps were beside her. Her skills were as sharp as ever. “... Can I ask you something?” she chanced.

Samara regarded her with cold eyes, but still she nodded.

“What are you doing here?”

“... I could ask the same, Ms. Goto.”

That was fair. Sha’ira mentioned some grand plan that fell into place with everything, that their intentions and choices would always have meaning. If she thought more, she would know. If she was truly, deeply honest with herself. She wanted to see that red hair in the wreckage and a beating heart. She wanted to find herself again, for once building instead of taking. It wasn’t that simple. It never was. Here she stood, walking with a justicar to solve a murder. Sure, a different sort of thing, but it wasn’t the sort of closure that Sha’ira had been talking about before.

Still, the fact that Samara was talking to her was a good sign. A good chance that Samara would try to murder her by the end of it, but… Shepard still connected them all somehow.

It wouldn’t hurt to give. Just a little. “The crucible plans are gone, if it helps.”

“We had suspected, but it is good to hear confirmation from you directly.”

“Did you know it was me?”

Samara hesitated, stopping just shy of earshot from the salarians guarding the building entrance. It surprised her to see some sort of softness in the way she regarded her, nurturing and motherly. “... I had believed it, though you left no proof,” she said, voice startling serious for how she regarded Kasumi. “... My code may dictate your fate; however, I am allowed… discretion in regards to your heart. It’s rarely necessary, nor is it a train of thought a justicar should explore often. Yet…”

She hadn’t needed to say it, but it still felt nice.

“Commander Shepard trusted you. Whatever reasons you have to be who you are, there is some righteousness in how you regard the world. I am simply grateful that assessment had been correct the first time.”

It was the closest she would get to a compliment. A strange feeling settled inside her at receiving it, undeserved… or maybe just as weird for the justicar to give. Kasumi gave a taut smile in return. “That’s sweet… I think.”

“Do what you will with it. It saved your life this time. It may later.”

Ah. That feeling was gone now. What a surprise.

“We have more important matters to attend to. I would focus on that for now.”

“Right. How do you want to go about this?”

Samara hesitated. “... You are aware I’m afforded little gentleness in my work.”

And neither was Kasumi. However, she didn’t have the same weight dictating her every move. “Right. I’ll lead then… uh, if that’s fine?”

She nodded in agreement, giving away nothing as to how she actually felt about the matter. Probably for the best. They had enough of a heart to heart to last a lifetime. Samara was rarely afforded an unique voice on matters, one that wasn’t dictated by law or code. It was nice to see underneath that she seemed… almost normal. Kasumi was aware she had one daughter still, back in Thessia last she heard. It was strange that they weren’t together, but no doubt she was safe from any remaining trouble left in the galaxy. She still had something pushing her forward to each new day.

Kasumi felt a pang of jealousy at the thought, one quickly buried for later. There was little to envy from Samara. She hadn’t needed to murder Keiji. She hadn’t needed to murder any family for being monsters. There was nothing to envy of that pain no doubt buried inside. And if she was healing, allowed herself the thought? … It was good for Samara. Something that she probably never let happen before. She deserved that chance.

Then Sha’ira’s eye met hers. They must have finished their interrogation with her, just stepping out of the gutted building with a new weight of exhaustion sagging her shoulders. She remembered, albeit vaguely, that she seemed to struggle sleeping the night before. Either not adjusted to the uneven ground, or their conversation still hanging over her head. She wished there had been a better way.

Still, the smile was warm, even tinged by the lack of sleep clear in her heavy gaze. “How are you feeling?” she asked as she bounded the broken steps to where her and Samara stood.

“Better, thanks to you and Sal,” Kasumi said, just as the consort’s finger tips found her again, grazing over the bandage against her temple. She ducked her eyes out of courtesy to the attention and tried to ignore the curious eyes boring into her back.

Sha’ira remained undeterred as she pulled the bandage back, studying the healed over gash. Whatever she saw was to her satisfaction it seemed, as she peeled the bandage completely off this time and folded it neatly between her fingers. “I would have preferred you in bed longer, but I understand these are extenuating circumstances. I trust you two will clear up matters quickly.”

“What’s the next step for yourself, Consort?”

She smiled just a bit wider. “Not wise for any of us to have idle hands right now, Ms. Maeda. Come by my tent later?”

“You bet.”

Satisfied with the response, Sha’ira slipped between them, hand briefly brushing one of her shoulders as she left.

Kasumi sighed in relief, happy to know that she could put off that awkward conversation just a bit longer. Then felt those curious eyes on her again. She looked to the justicar, and noted the bemusement sent her way. “What?”

“... How long have you two known each other, exactly?”

“Does it matter?” She kept the defensive edge out of her voice. It wasn’t like Samara to be curious, and while not welcomed, it wasn’t for malicious purposes. God, she hoped not anyway.

“Simply…” Then Samara caught herself and shook her head. “No, that’s true. Let us continue then.”

“I didn’t think you were much for gossip either way.”

If she didn’t know better, she would almost say there was a blush on the justicar’s cheeks. Honestly, she appreciated signs of something beyond the stern warrior bravado she put up. Even if that figure was so morose underneath.

She let Samara lead the way into the gutted structure, following about a half step behind and naturally falling into what habits she knew and felt comfortable in. Interrogations weren’t new to her, though rarely did they involve people that already knew her in some capacity. She usually didn’t have her face out in the open either. And there wasn’t an obligation to keep those people alive afterward-- usually. Sometimes she had if the person was freaked out enough, but that was as rare as innocence in the Terminus Systems.

Ten of them total? Nine, if they disregarded the victim’s widow. No one looked surprised to see her as she crossed the threshold. There were four more salarian guards positioned around the large ruined lobby, ones that didn’t directly look at either her or Samara as they came in. The ramp leading to the roof was installed in the back, and through its make-shift stairway, she noticed another soldier casually squatted on one of the remaining pieces of stone, idly checking the sniper rifle secured in his hands. They had a skeleton crew back at their own camp then. Made sense.

Katul and Sura sat furthest from the entrance, talking quietly amongst themselves. Though the turian looked haggard, he didn’t appear injured, which made his disappearance odder in her eyes. What had he been doing to be gone so long? Sura seemed… better than yesterday. Maybe her words meant something after all, even if it barely covered everything.

Darshan was, predictably, praying by the ramp, robes trailing on the dirt and dust as he paced. She smelled a hint of rosemary in the air. Though it wasn’t typical for the few rituals that Kasumi knew of, perhaps he was making do with what resources were still around. Sal sat on his knees against the left wall, another cigarette planted between his odd litt lips. He waved as soon as he saw her, but for once didn’t seem to be in the mood to follow that up with any remarks or questions. Mostly normal then.

Elcor and Krogan on the other side. Neither of them were up for talking, it looked like, but she wasn’t sure if that was how they actually felt or a natural disposition of the species. Meeran… Maron? The pilot was absent once again. Either speaking with their benefactor or had already been cleared to leave. The volus was sat on a broken piece of concrete, short suited legs dangling over the ledge as he observed the space around them passively. Maybe Nora helped him up it. The drell appeared to be asleep next to the broken piece, using the cool concrete as a backrest as she slept.

No panic. They had been stuck inside here for a while then, but not quite long enough for anyone to start complaining. Likely the structure and how very armed their guards were kept any aggression to a minimum.

Frankly, Kasumi didn’t know enough to really exonerate them, but nothing from the dossiers she read stood out either. Military backgrounds, but so did everyone in some capacity or another at that point. They just got out of war. Near extinction. She was surprised anyone had the energy right now to go on a killing spree.

“I will let you lead,” Samara reiterated as she observed the crowd herself, just as passively. If she had any suspicions, she kept it to herself.

The only thing they could do was just… start. With any luck, Kasumi would get more answers along the way. She scanned the field of faces in front of her and chose the first name that came to mind. “Sura?”

The asari stopped her conversation short and turned her head to them, obvious relief shown in soft eyes. Kasumi only hoped that relief wouldn’t be misinformed.

There were a few theories.

The happiest would be that the murders were coincidental. Sure, that would mean that there were two separate murderers out there that Kasumi no doubt would be involved in, but separately? They wouldn’t be so competent as to make two people from two separate camps to disappear and then murder them. It would just be one-- one which may have been some crime of passion or whatever, and another competent enough to take out an STG member. Two people not working together, weren’t collaborating together and now were more likely to make sloppy mistakes.

Or they weren’t coincidental. Then… why a group anyway? It just seemed natural. A hunch, it would be called on any popular media. Really it was just recognizing the signs from personal experience. Sure, one person could’ve killed the turian Thyra then placed mines all over the place, but that was a pretty short time window from them starting to search for Katul, to finding and killing Thyra, and then placing the traps. Guy would have some pretty decent cardio.

Then the next day killing someone from the STG? Something that would give Kasumi trouble even on home turf? Just having another body somewhere facilitated every single step.

Exactly who and why were harder questions. If it was just STG targeted, she could maybe suspect another government organization, like the Alliance or one of the few surviving spectres in the galaxy. Maybe to protect what few secrets could be found in the remnants of the Crucible. However, it wasn’t just one of their members dead, and whatever secrets could be found weren’t very much and would require a shit load of resources to make. Those few organizations left also, almost certainly, had better things to do with their time than just blanket killing other groups in the area. If there were other ones here, no doubt STG had or were investigating them as well.

The other option was either mercenaries or just a couple of crazies, though they weren’t mutually exclusive categories. People like them tended to be shorter-sighted, and usually, they didn’t need a lot of resources to sell information to the highest bidder. If Liara was still alive, she might have even expressed interest in something like that. It was a thought, briefly in the haze and chaos of everything happening, to keep the plans for herself, sell them when things calmed down, and go about her merry little way. Maybe Shepard had improved her a little.

So mercenaries were her strongest theory, but it hadn’t exactly explained Thyra’s death. Their camp was stationed near derelict reaper carcasses, something that would pique Kasumi’s interest if it hadn’t reminded her of nightmares-- screaming, melting colonists, the screams of banshees ringing in her ears, the metallic taste in her mouth turning everything to ash--. Perhaps others were able to stomach looking into the jungle of wires of old gods. But she couldn’t. Not yet.

(They also weren’t close enough to the old university to be a bother, but maybe, just maybe, there was a scrap here or there near their position to grab someone’s attention. Either way, they’d need everything to know how it worked. Kasumi made sure of that.)

So it really wasn’t interrogation perse. Just… asking questions. Knocking herself out had left her without crucial information. She would go out in the night later, find the graffiti wall and the spot where Thyra died. She wouldn’t leave without more information though, and preferably not without her mods. She did have a spare cloaking unit, tucked between the pages of one of her books. If she was really that desperate--

“Um.”

Ah. Sura first, she guessed. There weren’t many spots left that would be considered private in the vicinity of the camp. Sura’s steps were expectantly careful on the plywood, practiced like a commando should be. They weren’t quiet-- commanding the building to heed to every step. In another time and place, Kasumi would imagine her head hanging just a bit higher, not lost on grieving her lover.

“I’m sorry. I was just getting my thoughts together.” Kasumi provided a bit lamely as they all stood somewhat listlessly in the open expanse of the roof. The sky was clear today, sun a bit harsh on the high point of the roof. Neither Sura or Samara seemed bothered by the heat, even though she couldn’t recall Thessia being particularly tropical-- especially when compared to the likes of the Salarian homeworld. Her stops at both planets were brief affairs.

“I know this is…” Sura half-started, then seemed to think better on her approach. “What did you do again?”

“Consulting.”

The asari looked awkwardly between them, but knew better than to question the answer given.

Kasumi scratched at the healing scar and sighed. “... I don’t think you did it for the record. You both seemed, well, happy with each other. And we talked before.”

Sura sagged at the very thought, and Kasumi was reminded how little she wanted to do this. She hadn’t even wanted the conversation yesterday, and now? Now she was expected to pick apart a story she didn’t have. What a dumb string of events.

And despite it, she mustered what voice she had and continued. “I assume you went with Thyra that day? Did you two get separated later on?”

Sura nodded. “We were just trying to cover more ground. She-- Thyra was never much for trekking. Small for a turian, you know?” She knew that look. Sura was already on that stage of ‘what if’. The very thing she warned her against. “... She promised she’d stay on the main roads. I… I guess she heard something.”

“I’m sorry,” and Kasumi truly meant it. “No one could’ve known this would happen. Just… don’t think on it too much. It just makes it worse.” Like how she could’ve stayed with him. She could’ve called off the plan. All sort of things. It didn’t, wouldn’t bring him back. “... How did she die? I was uh, out of commision before the body was actually found.”

And why did Sura look surprised by that. She didn’t say, but it was enough to get Kasumi’s mind to wander. “... She was shot. Sal suggested a sniper, I think? I’m sorry, I- I don’t really have much more than that. The shot looked clean? I’m not really--”

“It’s fine,” she wasn’t expecting her to memorize every detail. Not everyone had a morbid recollection like that. “Tell the guards you’re free to go.”

“... Thank you.”

Samara hummed behind her, just as she had bid Sura on her way. “... I am surprised,” she noted, though her tone indicated nothing on that actual feeling. “I would expect you to be much harder on your associates.”

“If I thought she had more to say, I would’ve asked. You said it yourself. I’m not heartless.”

“What brought you on the Normandy to start with, if I may ask?”

That was… fair. Kasumi knew her story, even if Samara didn’t know that she knew. Maybe she had. While she wasn’t part of that initial trip into Illium, she had listened in on everything that happened on the Normandy. It kept her safe, and it kept her from being too bored when she was relegated to support. That became less so once Shepard and her had developed their odd sort of friendship, but well, it still didn’t hurt to listen.

Would it benefit Samara at all to know more than she did? … Probably not, but that didn’t mean it was worth sharing the sordid details. If anything, she was glad to hear that Shepard respected her privacy. “Cerberus offered a good deal at the time. I didn’t have a reason to stay once that was done.” Not technically a lie, but Samara could guess that there was more to the story if she really wanted.

“You don’t work for credits.”

“Presumptuous, but you’re right. Again--- does it really matter?”

“If you have personal matters that might affect your reasoning--”

“Noted, Samara. The concern is touching though.”

The small hiss of breath on her end was interesting, but Samara didn’t press further.

---

Sal came up next, though that wasn’t who she asked for. He was smart enough to put out the cigarette in the lobby and left his smile there too. If anything, he just seemed annoyed about the whole situation. Kasumi could understand it on some level; he likely knew some of the people currently holding him there. It probably didn’t feel great to be under their scrutiny for once.

His steps were quick up the roof, not subtle at all and lacking the grace she would expect from someone in his rank. Maybe he had been forced into the Crucible project early, and hadn’t been on the front lines in some time. Either way, he bursted through the door to the roof and was immediately on her, grabbing her arms and lifting her jacket up.

“Hey!” Kasumi called out and tried to push her jacket down through his grabbiness. Sal was undeterred as he snatched one of her wrists, twisting it out of the way.

“I can’t believe you just walked out of that tent without clearance first! You’re my patient first of all and--”

The warp immediately knocked him off his feet. He crashed onto the hard concrete and screeched several feet away, nearly off the roof completely. He looked kind of sad crumpled like that. The only indication that he was alive after the assault was a meek and pained cough.

Samara breezed past Kasumi, the aura of biotics surrounding her frightening and sudden.

“Hold on!” she called after the justicar. The cry was ignored.

Latching onto Sal’s collar, Samara dragged the poor salarian back to the center of the roof. He was only given a moment of reprieve before being dropped back onto the ground once he was at a position that seemed satisfactory to her. “Explain. Now!” she snarled.

Sal groaned, pathetic as he curled into himself.

“... He’s a medic,” Kasumi supplied for him.

And she was fine, for the record. Sal? A quick once over from Kirrahe after, and he was sent on his way. It was little consolation at that point.

Nora came up next. The drell was a strange sticking point for everyone at that point, she assumed. Between the birds, how she often wandered alone-- and as far as she could tell, she had been just as reclusive as Kasumi herself. All things considered, she was the most suspicious person among them, but it was all the more reason she hadn’t considered her at all.

Frankly, it was too obvious an answer. What she remembered from the dossier was that she was like most drell-- she served the hanar until the war, and then went from company to company, doing what she could for the war effort. Her specialization as a sniper was a point against her, but beyond maybe a bit of post-indoctrination crazy (or something), she was about as normal as what she expected from anyone that spent most of their life fighting. Especially for folks like the hanar.

As an aside, she hadn’t heard much from the hanar since the war finished. She wasn’t sure if the insular nature of its society kept it that way, or if perhaps, enkindler proselytizing at the moment would be in… poor taste.

Nora didn’t stand out much as a drell. Her blue skin and spots were something Kasumi had seen in plenty of others, though the way her eyes constantly observed her surroundings, using the drell’s photographic memory to its full advantage, spoke of someone with experience. Compared to the previous two, she stood very nonchalantly and seemed unconcerned by the turn of events.

“It must be nice to have friends in high places,” Nora said, observing the concrete and brokenness below them.

“It’s not as cozy as it looks,” Kasumi responded in kind and sat at the edge of the building, letting her legs dangle over the asphalt. Nora plopped down beside her and it was like any other morning.

“They must like you. No chaperones… well, one chaperone, I guess.” And she blinked and twisted her body around to peer at the justicar, head tilted at an odd angle. “You must have a lot of work to do, Justicar. Lots of bad people left in the galaxy, I would imagine. Though you folks stay in asari space, don’t you? And lots of you died when...”

Whatever look Samara gave Nora shut her up pretty fast. She turned back around, huffing.

“You don’t keep good company.”

Kasumi snorted.

“Am I a suspect?”

She shrugged. “Who did you go with?”

“The batarian. He’s the only one that likes me enough. Except for you, maybe.” She tapped on the concrete space between them, and seemed to wince at the temperature underneath. “Are you familiar with drell physiolo-- no. Of course you are.” Kasumi wasn’t sure why she would think that, but plenty of time with Thane taught her enough. “It’s cold here. And wet. If I did more than I’d need to, I’d kiss my sorry ass goodbye. I’m already going to have to for coming here at all.”

That was an interesting point, actually. “Why are you here?”

“Simple. I don’t want to go back to Kahje. At this point? I’m gonna die somewhere. Might as well be at a place I like. Picking fights with STG and people just trying to live aren’t on my to do list in the meantime.”

“Do you have your rifle with you?” Samara remarked from behind them.

“Nope! Feel free to check. Make it this girl that does it though? She gets me.”

Kasumi paused. “Do you even know my name?”

Nora threw her arms up. “It’s probably fake. Mine is. Who gives that shit for free these days?”

“Izumi Maeda.” Samara practiced the words with careful fluidity, as if testing the strength when spoken out loud. Admittedly, it sounded strange coming from someone that had long known better. Like it was too thick in the justicar’s mouth, too careless and too big. It would spill over any second.

“Did Sha’ira tell you all?”

“Among other requests,” she replied, a bit more thoughtful than before. Maybe she felt bad after nearly cleaving Sal in half. “... She is… unexpectedly shrewd.”

“Surprised me too.”

“Are you close with her?”

Kasumi wasn’t sure what she meant. That they talked? That they were friends? Had she slept with her? That was always the problem with being too tactful. Sometimes that ambiguity hung in the air, and she was left wondering if one answer or another would give away too much. Deflection it was then. “You met her before?”

Samara sighed through her nose, glancing only once or twice to the door. Perhaps to make sure they would stay alone for the moment. She hadn’t heard any footsteps. Krogans especially were loud, no matter how hard they tried to be sneaky. “... Our paths have crossed a few times. It seems it always ends the same.”

“Yeah?”

“It is the nature of politics to fall into a realm of grey, Ms. Goto. I’m sure you’ve seen that enough.”

That she did, but where was she going with it, exactly?

“A word of advice as friends,” and her voice was grave, graver than usual. “I would be careful with her. A knowledge like the consort’s... at so young an age? It is rarely gained through clean hands.”

…

Why couldn’t she just have nice things?

The krogan, it turned out, was named Belak, and was one of many that joined Urdnot after Grunt’s infamous joining. She was surprised to hear it-- considering the age that clearly showed on his scaly skin and the worn scars that gnarled deep into his plate. He looked happy to see her alive, and a little gentle prodding kept him from trying to headbutt her in greeting. She didn’t need a more severe concussion as congratulations on her speedy recovery.

Still, they talked for a while. He had gone with the volus, figuring that he needed someone big to keep the scrawny thing from rupturing his suit somewhere. They had been on the other side of the perimeter when the call came in, not nearly enough time to set up something so elaborate and then book it.

“Wasn’t long after we found Katul, actually. Guy was banged up from a nasty fall,” and he laughed, a deep bravado and gruffness that was so, so krogan. “They’re just all bones and so, so tiny. Surprised he didn’t break his back.”

“It was the other turian that died, remember?” Kasumi remarked, but couldn’t help feeling a bit nostalgic honestly. She wondered how Grunt was doing with all this mess. No doubt he was back at Urdnot helping to clean up. Though she didn’t really know what a normal Tuchanka was supposed to look like.

“Yeah, I guess that’s sad, or whatever. At least you got hit doing something nice.” He perked up then, as if remembering something. “Hey, is Sal going to be alright? Squishy bastard owes me a few hundred credits.”

A lack of empathy didn’t mean a guilty conscience, so after checking in with the volus, both were let go to continue their business.

“Should we get the elcor next?” Samara asked as the volus left, bumbling down the stairs with a heavy sigh.

Kasumi looked at the width of the planks and shook her head. “He won’t make it up. We’ll talk to him once everyone else is done.”

“That leaves… the batarian and the turian, correct?”

Neither of which Kasumi really wanted to talk to. However, no one would let her procrastinate further. She would keep her words as neutral as possible and hoped the threat she left the priest with yesterday was enough to keep his mouth shut. The last thing she wanted was Samara to know.

To push off that particular issue a bit longer, she chose Katul first. It would be good to start with something simple maybe. A cursory check of his injuries? Maybe a lighthearted joke about him being her errand boy? Neither of them seemed appropriate. Perhaps a simple ‘how’s he feeling’ would do to ease an already skittish man into talking.

His steps were heavier and slower than usual. A surprise with how haunted he was ordinarily.

He came to the roof, and Kasumi’s voice died in her throat.

Something was wrong. She hadn’t noticed in the crowd before, but now that it was just three of them, she had much fewer distractions. The shiftlessness, the way his eyes seemed to drag as he flitted his gaze from her, to Samara, to the expanse beyond them, to the sky above. He… he was ghastly. And the pain inside was so open for the world to see, so much more raw and visceral than before.

She saw a man a moment away from wailing, and she felt that brewing inside her, always ready to claw itself to the surface. It just needed the right trigger-- a smell, a tugging thought, sometimes just a certain shadow that would creep in at night, tricking her just long enough to think it was Keiji in her sleep-addled mind.

She stared and dug right into Katul’s soul, and found something even worse inside.

Samara’s touch on her arm startled her, and at once she was back in reality. She wasn’t alone, and too quickly she would have to put herself back together. Kasumi brushed the touch away with as kind a hand as she could muster and found her voice again. “... What happened?”

“Sura hadn’t told you?” his voice was even, but he stayed rooted just past the door that he came from. “Thyra is-- was my daughter.”

No.

No, she wasn’t doing this.

It didn’t matter that he was gone for too long. That his movement and time was the most unaccounted for. It didn’t matter. The STG could work that out for all she cared.

“Leave,” couldn’t come out quick enough.

“Ms. Goto?”

She didn’t know she was staring.

“Would a break help you?”

How come it didn’t bother Samara? Maybe she wasn’t supposed to feel this way. Maybe it shouldn’t take a new piece of her every time, leaving her with holes and broken parts that no amount of wiring and tinkering could fix. She wanted to stop remembering, but it-- it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair to him. It wasn’t fair to her. The emotions, the passion, the love and inspiration that carried her forward.

Samara had lost more. Lost worse. It was one thing to lose a lover. It was another to lose a child. To lose children. Her daughters. And she did it by her hand. Her hand with the same biotics and skill that terrified her. Who was Morinth? How could she put so much inside herself that she was okay again? Kasumi wanted it. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t--

She felt cool fingers curled against her temples, and suddenly she found two passive eyes looking back, except they were warm, motherly. She saw a gentleness there, of a person buried underneath. Someone that saw her daughters before her, trembling and vulnerable.

Sympathy. Understanding. “... I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

Kasumi closed her eyes and breathed.

She didn’t ask for Darshan, but he found them just the same. Kasumi had slumped against the wall next to the door at that point, already more exhausted than she had ever been. Samara was messing with her omni-tool not far, back to the cool demeanor she was used to. The silence had been comfortable, but it didn’t take much to pick up Darshan’s heavy gait, weighed down by the robes he had on him.

“Company,” she called out to Samara, who quickly shut the omni-tool down and turned to greet their visitor. By the time Kasumi stood, the door had creaked open.

There he stood, and already she felt herself stiffen.

“You weren’t requested,” Samara greeted coolly. “I understand this is a process, but you must exercise patience, priest.”

She rubbed her temples. “It’s fine. We’ll get this done quick.”

Samara looked ready to disagree, but the priest interjected quickly, sweeping into the roof. “I appreciate your accommodation, Ms. Maeda. I… I must confess something.”

Not this again. Kasumi rolled her eyes and crept closer to the man, ready to throw him off the building if even a single word came out about her time in slavery. She was not going to be this man’s redemption arc, no matter how badly he wanted it. “If this is about what we--”

“There is another group here.”

What?

Samara seemed less than impressed. “We’re aware of several actually.” What?! “But please elaborate, priest.”

“... I had tried telling you yesterday,” he was not going to blame her for this. Fuck that. “It’s a band of batarians. I’m not sure where they are exactly, but one of their members reached out when we first landed.”

“Why didn’t you say something sooner?” She tried to keep the irritation down. Certainly, certainly he had his reasons. They could be refugees. Could be another dead end. It’s not like slavers had the resources or the market to start culling again.

“I…” Darshan glanced to Samara, and thought better on his initial response. Fortunately. “... I am aware of our reputation right now. I assumed they were just trying to survive. It didn’t make sense to incite panic at the time.”

“But if they have been here for some time…” Samara found her mark.

“Please. They might have their reasons. We didn’t all just die when the reapers came, and if there are some life left--”

“It’s okay,” she found herself saying, even if she wasn’t sure she really meant it. It would do better than to panic the priest further anyway. “Did they say where they were when you talked with them? How did they make contact before I had the tower up?”

“I ran into a scout while we were setting up camp. He… he didn’t mention where the rest were.”

That was a lie, but that was fine. If his story checked out, they were likely between the two camps. Still a lot of ground to cover, but if they had a settlement, there would be signs before she saw it. Pathways, landmarks for strays. She had a lot of work to do this evening. After all of this, she wasn’t sure how much sleep she would be getting anyway. Though they had a sizable unit at the camp, Kasumi knew enough about STG habits to sneak out. A quick chat with Sha’ira, a stop by her tent, and she would be out as soon as the sun set.

But what to do with him? It would be easier to let STG do what they liked, took out a potential liability before he had the chance to spill further information and awkward conversations. He didn’t really deserve it though. Despite hiding this for as long as he did, he had… reasons. Understandable reasons. He didn’t know she recognized her own biases. As far as he knew, she was just an angry woman that wanted nothing to do with him.

But even beyond that, she doubted the STG would let him roam freely around the camp. She looked to Samara, who remained carefully stoic. “... I’m sure the major will have his own ideas, but don’t kill him?”

She nodded. “They will be upset if you leave.”

Kasumi offered a smile in apology. “I’ll bring good news back. Promise~.”

---

The elcor was still waiting patiently by the time she bounded down the last few steps. Oh. She forgot about him.

He craned his neck and looked at her. Sometimes, if she looked hard enough, Kasumi would say that the elcor were a species that was constantly smiling. Still, he had clearly behaved, and she had enough information to go about her business. It’s not like an elcor could hold a sniper rifle. … Or could they?

“You’re free to go,” she still offered.

“With relief: I am happy to hear that this matter will be resolved shortly. Exasperated: I have much to do, then. Please, excuse me…” and off he went, lumbering and squeezing through the entrance of the gutted building with some effort.

She would have to brush up on her elcor biology later.

---

The QEC felt good in her hands. It was modded of course, like most any piece of tech Kasumi carried around with her. Multiple encryption channels, decryption keys for whenever she was ever curious, voice modulator and screen distortion if she ever felt like being super spooky. Amazing how many people still fell for simple tricks like that.

“I’m glad I could keep it safe for you.” Sha’ira’s eyes wrinkled when she smiled. The one just wide enough to show perfect teeth. It was nice to see such warmth easily given after spending all day with a justicar.

“I hope you didn’t just guard it all day. You certainly had better things to do.”

“Something more difficult, I’m afraid.” Sha’ira brushed her shoulders, dusting off what soot and dust that may have collected clamoring up and down the building all day. “Did we find anything?”

She grinned. “A crumb trail. Don’t wait up for me.”

Sha’ira’s smile waned, eyes deadly serious. “... Alone?”

What other choice was there? Samara was good at what she did, but what she did wasn’t subtle. Major Kirrahe would be doing his own investigation, and following up with whatever parties were out there. If she asked, sure, she could probably get a guard or two to keep her company, but that was if he let her out of the confines of the camp in the first place. “Sneaking around is kind of what I do. I’ll be fine.”

“What about you friend?” Her brow furrowed. “... Do the others know about them?”

Khalisah? The idea of seeing her in a catsuit was hilarious honestly, but she had a better use for that camera this evening. Maybe a bit of bargaining and she could be a security camera. Make sure no one was looking for her back at camp. Though she wouldn’t really expect someone so… normal to make a habit of staying up all night. “I’m sure she’d like to keep the others from finding out. Do you mind?”

“If you trust her, then I shall as well. Hopefully she’s able to defend herself.”

Oh, most definitely not. The reporter seemed smart enough to have a security system in place at her campsite though. She wouldn’t be taken out easily.

Still, Sha’ira didn’t look pleased. Her eyes flickered to the rest of the campsite, careful-- always careful of who was watching or listening. “... If I can’t dissuade you, at least stay long enough for me to apologize.”

There they were again. How often they danced like this? Sha’ira was an adept one, Kasumi admitted. She tangled herself in her words and slipped through where each opening laid. She didn’t think the consort meant an actual apology, but more an olive branch, ensuring the conversation continued in a way that Kasumi wouldn’t shrink away again. It was being offered with an open hand again.

To Sha’ira, was she a ghoul looking back? An empty face, staring unblinking into her well of grief, just as Katul had before her?

“... You don’t need to,” Kasumi chanced, awkwardly given between half-starts and half-finished thoughts she didn’t want to voice. “... I… I would like to continue that talk, actually. Maybe when I get back?”

The relief that washed over Sha’ira made the concession alone worth it. “I believe it would be good for us both.” She found her left hand, threading it between her own and squeezing gently. “... It won’t be without its rewards, Kasumi. I promise you that.”

She still wasn’t sure. But maybe she would find something in it, or make something new out of the little bits of herself she had left. If she could be better, was it wrong to reach for it? Samara had. Katul would, in time. She saw the earnestness in the way Sha’ira looked on her, so open. The only thing she could think to do was tuck herself further away. “... I like chamomile?”

“Done. Oh!” The smile was back as she stepped away, back toward the entrance of her tent. “... I left a surprise for you at your tent. Though you feel it unnecessary, I think you’ll find it apology enough for the trouble.”

As if talking about her problems was a burden to anyone but the listener. “All day for me? You spoil me, Consort.”

And there was pride in the way she smirked. A look that wasn’t so unfamiliar on herself. “I do my best.”

Please don’t ask for anything else.

- Kirrahe

She stared at the assortment of mods, having been packaged neatly in its own dark bag-- secured safely inside her tent and out of sight. She began sorting through the collection, knowing the order with automatic, fluid grace and motion. Though she rarely disassembled her omni-tool completely, it never hurt to know how each one connected to one another.

Her hand brushed against another datapad, buried deep within the bag.

Be safe.

- Sha’ira

…

Of course. Of course she knew Kasumi would. Maybe the woman was dangerous.

It made the whole game more exciting that way.

#kiwi crossposts #mass effect #fanfiction #multichapter fics #kasumi goto

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incorrectly-quoted-queers · 5 years

Text

Drunk Punch Love- Chapter 1

Pairing: FemShep and Garrus Vakarian (Shakarian)

Rating: PG-13 (with some tossed F-bombs)

Summary: Their awkward, badass journey through saving the galaxy and accidentally falling in love

Chapter 1: Meet Me At The Bar

Anya Shepard had never been pursued romantically. She'd never had time for that, between missions and her dislike of flowers. However, over the past two months, her handsome lieutenant made it pretty clear how he felt about her. While he wasn't her most frequent pick for away missions, he always made sure to show Anya that he had her back. Kaidan took care of her plants any time she was away, he always was ready to support her after any tough missions, and he kept the best sports streams from Earth on hand. It was flattering, honestly, having her own personal admirer. She was starting to get a bit of a crush on him, too.

So how the hell did she end up here, stumbling over herself with her best friend on Noveria?

The second she met Garrus Vakarian, something between them clicked. They both grew up with strict military parents who expected them to grow into tiny versions of them. And every step they took to try to be their own person, the more they only seemed to affirm their parents' legacy.

Until they didn't.

When she looked in his eyes, she saw all those years of frustration, with her parents, with COs, begging them to look past rules and instead do the goddamn right thing. It took years and too many traumatic events to finally get heard, and seeing him argue with C-Sec authorities about Saren brought all those feelings right back.

And when she helped saved Dr. Michel, and he looked at her like he found his partner in anti-crime? Anya had barely left his side after that.

Sure, they grew up on two different worlds, and he liked cop noirs where she loved war movies, and the one time she tried some of his food she barfed for hours, but it was like she found someone that made her feel so comfortably herself. Garrus went on every mission with her and she'd never felt so sure that somebody had her back, not just watered the Ivy.

Anya may have been his commanding officer, and he treated her with endless respect, but he didn't know how much leaning on him helped her, too.

And here she was, rubbing her cheeks to try to burn away blush while they were on a frozen planet full of corporate assholes. Well, less corporate assholes, after what they'd accomplished.

She still couldn't quite wrap her brain around how she got herself here, getting drunk with him, him holding onto her waist, her losing her mind as it fritzed. Liara came on the mission to face her mother, but after Benezia's unfortunate demise, she decided to go back to the ship and spend some quality time with Chakwas and by herself.

She and Garrus, however, needed to warm the hell up from the frozen wasteland and the drinks at the hotel bar looked pretty nice. They promise to be back to the ship in a few hours, but were going to enjoy a non-Saren break. Shit was fucked enough without them ignoring all opportunities to blow off some steam.

Anya wasn't sure when the blushing started, though. Yeah, sometimes it happened when she drank. But only about three drinks in, and she was swimming in all the things he was saying. Instead of casual soldier banter or mission talk, they were stumbling into some very deep conversations. Things she hadn't talked about in years. She didn't even realize she should be embarrassed until after she'd already told him about how her parents caught her making out in a closet with her first boyfriend (a Drell by the name of Ryel) and, worse, how she'd been woefully unprepared for the effect that the kiss would have on her mental state, especially in front of said parents.

Garrus' laughter made it all go down smoother, but Anya wasn't sure if that was for better or worse, just quite yet.

While humans were new to the galaxy, and were far less adept in inter-species relationships, Anya had always managed to be able to find something attractive about most anyone. When she was in elementary school, she had a huge crush on an Elcor child she met because he spoke what felt like poetry to her young ears.

And sure, she'd had flirtations with turians before and even had a few suggestive encounters, but none of those men were Garrus so that made things a bit more complicated.

Why did her hormones have to go and get all flustered now?

His jaw had always been so defined, and his voice always rumbled like that. She always had enjoyed hearing him tell her stories and watching the way his markings laid across his skin. Hell, she even had an honest admiration for the way he moved, as a soldier and as a person.

But what was so different now that made those "nice" things suddenly magnetic?

Just as she was losing her brain to the abyss of embarrassment, he placed a hand on her shoulder. She almost jolted out of her skin. "Hey, Shepard, I think we both needed this. But it's about time we headed back to the Normandy, right? Can't get blamed for making the Captain go AWOL."

Anya choked out a laugh and shrugged off his hand, careful to ignore how it glided off her back... Mostly. "Right. Yeah. We should do that." Just as she pushed off the high table, though, she wobbled. Was she drunker than she thought?

A little too helpful and thoughtful, Garrus caught her by the waist and held her up. Her bones could nearly melt out, the way her skin was heating up. He just grinned at her and shook his head. "Shepard can't hold her liquor. Duly noted." He threw her arm around his shoulder and, after paying the bill, took the lead. "It's okay, I'll get us back nice and safe. C-Sec had me carrying heavier and drunker people home. You'll be easy."

In her own desperation, Anya tried to pull away a bit. "Garrus, you don't have to-"

"With how many times you picked my ass up from those Asari Commandos today, it's the least I can do. But don't you dare tell anyone else I admitted that."

Anya thought, to Hell with it, and leaned in. Literally. She leaned onto his sturdy shoulder and just let her brain get its fill of whatever bizarre shit it was on tonight. Maybe it really was just the booze, too strong to let her think straight.

She had an attractive biotic chasing after her, right? No need to go for guys who'd never want her.

While she had a bad habit for that, she especially didn't need that bullshit with her best friend.

She tried to latch onto that phrase with a ferocity, like the platonic nature of it could save her from the way she was flaring up right now. It didn't make sense. It had to not make sense.

If it did make sense, she had one too many problems that a probationary Spectre trying to run down another Spectre trying to destroy the galaxy needed. Christ, thinking that only made her feel like shit for daring to think of anyone romantically.

By the time she was paying attention, they were already back to the Normandy doors. Most people on the ship would be asleep, with the probable exceptions of Joker, Pressley, and unfortunately enough, Kaidan.

He often waited up for her when she went away.

Suddenly his antics were less charming and more felt like a desperate puppy. Though, being carried around by an attractive turian who was one hell of a shot probably didn't help with that.

Dammit. Scratch the attractive.

"Have you always been such a lightweight? The vids act like humans are professionals at drinking."

Anya tried to focus on the things he said versus the joking, friendly, comfortable way he said them. "No, but I guess it's been a long while since I was a young cadet passing time."

"You haven't been drinking since cadets?" Garrus chuckled and the way it rumbled against her side nearly set her body on fire. "Joker may say I have a stick up my ass, but maybe I'm not the only one."

"You don't have time to drink much anymore when all your old drinking buddies keep dying."

Just as they entered the Normandy airlock, Garrus gave her this sympathetic, heartbroken look. "I'm sorry, Shepard."

Anya laughed back at him again, like it helped cover up all the weird feelings that were bubbling up in her. If she was going to ignore the romantic ones, she guessed the miserable ones were the only ones left. "You don't even know what you're saying sorry about."

"I may have done some digging on you. I know about Akuze, and several other suicide operations that you survived." Garrus shook his head and a flash of anger came on his face as the decontamination stopped. 'They couldn't have sent anyone else, could they?"

"Part of the job." Garrus picked her back up and they moved into the Normandy. The lights were low, Joker wasn't even at the helm, and they started walking towards the nav system. Pressley was awake, as expected, but other than a raised eyebrow he let them pass, unbothered. She appreciated that right now, especially with the gloom fog rolling in over her head.

Garrus responded, "Sure, but even the best can only take so much." Leading her to the stairs, he didn't even ask before he slung her over her shoulder and walked her down the stairs. "We need to find you more hobbies, Shepard. Drinking doesn't seem the best option."

Staring down at his strong back and well-toned legs, with his face so close to her ass, Anya was a little overwhelmed by it all. She didn't even speak until they were at the bottom and he put her back on the ground. "Y-You didn't have to do that."

"I didn't. But maybe you deserve to be carried sometimes, instead of having to carry everything for everyone else." He started dragging her towards her room intently, but those words he just said overwhelmed her senses more than anything else.

Most people just praised her, awarded her, and then begged to see what more she could accomplish. They might want to support her, but only so she could push on further and further.

But here he was, Garrus Vakarian, wanting to carry some of her burdens, no promise of her saving the world for him.

"Garrus, I-"

Anya barely opened her mouth before that not-so-secret admirer was on them. "Shepard! You okay?"

All the more flustered, she felt overrun. However, instead of speaking over her, Garrus just looked to her like it was her place to figure out what she wanted here. Hell, he looked half ready to hand her off to Kaidan, like he expected her to want that. There might have even been a twinge of disappointment in his eyes, if she didn't know any better.

Coughing, she kept a hand on Garrus' side but straightened. "Garrus and i were just... celebrating surviving Noveria. I might have drank a little more than I should have."

"Well, don't worry about it. I got you. I can get you the rest of the way and Garrus can get to sleep."

Garrus let go of her waist like he expected her to walk into Kaidan's open arms, but something snapped in Anya. Kaidan's sweet attentiveness was still sweet and well-meant, but looking up at this alien man, she didn't want to budge an inch. "He's already gotten me this far so let's just keep going. But thank you, Kaidan. You should get yourself to bed."

The guy looked dejected, and it made Anya feel a little bad, but not bad enough. Especially when Garrus said nothing, but his arm found its way around her waist again and tightened.

He helped her into her room, set her in her chair, and shut the door behind him. Except, he didn't leave. He stayed in the room with her. When he turned back around, she was stupidly fumbling with her boots.

Garrus got on his knees and started pulling at her shoes. However, after getting one off, he just stared at her foot. "Why didn't you want to spend some alone time with the Lieutenant? It wouldn't have hurt my feelings. The entire ship knows he's in love with you."

"Yeah, but who said I was in love with him?"

For a moment, Garrus stilled and glanced up at her, like trying to figure out what she really meant by that. She didn't quite know what she meant by that. "Fair. Alenko does come on strong."

"Sometimes I think I'm going insane on this ship. Too many people idolize me. Kaidan and Dr. T'Soni are the only ones who try to take it romantic. It's sweet, but it still feels like so much." Anya didn't know what was happening to her, but she found herself tearing up into her clenched fists. "Eventually, it feels like you're not human anymore, just this unstoppable idea that needs to keep going because it makes everyone else stronger. Humanity is counting on me to be their representative to prove to the galaxy that we're worthy. But along the way, I forget what it's like to be a human in the first place."

Garrus ran a soft talon across one of the tears falling down her cheek. "Don't worry, Shepard. You'll always be a squishy, emotional human to me."

And she couldn't explain what came over her, but that's when she leaned forward and pressed her lips onto his forehead. Maybe she hadn't noticed how good it felt to have him by her side, but now all the emotions tumbled over her uncontrollably. Maybe there was a reason she gave up drinking for so long.

His blue eyes looked up at her with confusion. "Shepard..."

"Please, don't say it. I'm tipsy and we can forget about it tomorrow, go back to being friends. Best of friends, actually. It doesn't have to be anything more for you, but just don't leave. Not right now. I'm... inordinately human right now."

Garrus didn't give her any response to the kiss, but asked, "What do you need?"

"I just want to be held and forget these bad feelings. I just want them to go back where they came from, before the booze."

She crawled into her bed, at best expecting to be tucked in. Instead, Garrus laid down next to her. He opened his arms. "C'mere. I'll stay until you fall asleep."

Anya didn't ask questions. She just pulled herself into his arms, cuddled close, and let his breathing be what she fell asleep to. Sure, she had no damn clue what this meant for their friendship, but it was nice to be soothed, if only for a little.

///

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incorrectly-quoted-queers · 5 years

Text

Drunk Punch Love: Chapter 3

Pairing: FemShep and Garrus Vakarian (Shakarian)

Rating: PG-13 (with some tossed F-bombs)

Summary: Their awkward, badass journey through saving the galaxy and accidentally falling in love

Chapter 3: A Russian Ballet

When Anya Shepard felt lost in the world, she turned to ballet.

Despite being raised by a serious space-faring military woman, her mother brought up young Anya like she could relocate them to her home country at any moment. Oksana Shepard wasn't too sentimental, but she was sentimental about that.

Anya always assumed that losing a husband will do that; bind you to nostalgic traditions.

So, sure, as a child she had several matryoshkas and Oksana tried her best at borshch or pirozhkis during the holidays. Not because they were exactly holiday food, but her mother always said they reminded her of home.

Funny enough, Oksana never took enough leave to take Anya to Russia herself. Their relationship was... complicated, but Shepard still relied on it.

And between the fact her mother was also radio silent on a top secret mission and she was starting to feel the pressure and stress of finding Saren, she needed something to unwind. Soft sounds of classic Tchaikovsky rippling through her body helped.

Having the training room all to herself at such an early hour, with no one to look at her and think anything, really helped melt away the world. She could take a moment to breathe with her hands on the makeshift barre she always hid on her ships, stretching her legs and keeping her toe extensions straight, not her aim.

The world was nicer in these softer, precise movements. At least for a little while. She knew it didn't fix everything that was broken, but dancing did remind her that there was beauty in exercise and training and her life, not just brutality.

After seeing Liara's face the past few days post-Noveria, she couldn't help but spend a few hours with her last night, giving her the comfort she needed. They talked and played card games. Anya hoped that it helped, enough at least. But now, she needed serenity and peace. Because she couldn't keep helping people if she didn't get her brain together. Some days lately it felt like she was unraveling.

Anya Shepard was the Commander of this vessel and, despite all the mess she'd caused the last few days, flirtations with turians didn't change that. She needed to be in top shape for anything, including caring for her crewmates; her friends.

But just as she finished brushing up on her pirouette turns, the door opened and in came the face she didn't want to see. Blue eyes, tall shoulders, and all. Before he could even really look at her, the shock already radiating through his face, she shouted, "Out!"

Dear god, if there was anything she didn't want her subordinates seeing, it was her in a soft ballet skirt and a leotard. Grabbing her hoodie and sweats, she covered her suddenly annoyingly dainty outfit, hid her barre back behind some weights, and walked outside. Her arms were crossed and she was trying to keep her face from going red. She still wasn't quite sure if she was fuming or embarrassed.

The second the training room door was shut and it was only her and Garrus in the hallway, she frowned at the words flashing on the wall next to it. "Garrus, it says reserved for Shepard. Why would you just walk in-"

"I just wanted to talk to you." Garrus couldn't even look at her, keeping his eyes glued to the ground like she was a bloodlusting varren ready to bite. "I didn't realize you'd be doing any... intimate human rituals in there-"

Somehow, with that one clueless sentence, all her redness faded away and Anya tumbled into laughter. "Oh my god. No- Garrus, I was doing ballet. I was dancing."

"No offense, Shepard, but I've seen you dance. It isn't that."

"Stupid club dancing and ballet are different. Humans have many different ways to move to music."

Garrus peered at her like she just said something wild. Well, probably to a militaristic species several types of dancing probably was pretty wild. "Are you just making something up to not make this weird?"

"Have I ever been that great at elaborate lies?" Anya chuckled, and then glanced at the training reservation. Still a half hour left. To hell with it, might as well prove her point.

Grabbing his hand, Shepard opened the training room door back up. "It'll be easier if I just show you."

"I'm not sure-"

"Shut up, it's not some sort of sex ritual. Why would you even think that?"

That's when the door shut behind him and her best friend looked so very trapped, his eyes getting shifty at her question. Garrus coughed and acted like a cornered prey animal. "I, uh... I mean, you weren't wearing much clothing, and your legs kept... You know what, I don't understand human dancing, clearly, so don't ask me what the hell I thought."

While Anya could spend all day crossing her arms, smirking at his adorable awkwardness, the double time beating that her heart was doing needed to cut it out. They decided on just friends, right? This was something that could've easily happened before Noveria with no weird, sexual connotation to it.

Unzipping her hoodie and taking slower breaths to hopefully chill her heart the fuck out, Anya refocused. "Fine, I'll let it pass. But that doesn't mean I'm not going to educate you on human dancing."

"I know you said it's not sexual, but you're taking your clothes off and I feel confused."

Anya wanted to toss her sidearm at his forehead. Instead, she gestured for him to sit on the stack of training mats across from her. "Less fabric and weight means smoother motions. Stop turning my soothing hobby into a night at Chora's Den." Garrus shut up then, and rightfully so. If he spent one single second more making her feel like a stripper she was going to kill him.

Either of embarrassment or rage, she wasn't sure. Apparently that was a confusing set of emotions for her.

Once she was down to her ballet garb again, she put her feet in fifth position and gave him a pointed look. "Okay, we're starting with ballet. Ballet is based on precise and formal positioning, steps, and moves. That's what my mother trained me in when I was little. I'll give a tiny demonstration." Anya did a chasse twirl, a stylized kick, and a classic fifth position changement (switching her feet midair).

Garrus looked perplexed and a little impressed, but mostly because Anya was pretty sure he had no clue what he was looking at. Trying to stifle some giggles, she went back to her original spot. "There's also tap-" she did some flaps and a kick ball-change, "but it's normally done with shoes that have metal on them so it makes a sound. There's also dances from different cultures, like my Russian ancestors were known for this, called the prisyadka:" Anya started doing the goofy, stereotypical low to the ground, Russian squat kick. When she was done, her sides were hurting, how much she was laughing. Garrus was staring at her like she morphed into a completely different alien species. "There are a lot of other dances, but I just wanted to give you some examples."

When she sat down next to him, he was frowning, his world seemingly turned upside down. Which was fair. She guessed if she didn't know dancing her whole life she'd be pretty baffled, too. After a long minute of waiting for him to speak, Garrus just said, "Humans are... weird. So do you just stand in front of each other and do that? Or is it meant to be a more... private thing?"

Anya found herself shrugging. "For me, I use ballet to relax. But for most people it's to perform. Some people find dancing very entertaining. My favorite when I was younger, though, was dancing with other people."

"That sounds even more absurd than anything I'd seen before." Anya raised an eyebrow at him and Garrus grumbled at her, knowing she was dissecting his statement. "I know people dance together at bars, but I meant what you just showed me."

"Well, what I just showed you can have partnered dancing, but I think it's a little too high concept for you. Let's try something else."

This time when she grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the center mat, Garrus clenched up further. "I don't know if I'm exactly prepared for your kind of dancing. No sexy suit."

"Next time you call my ballet wear a "sex suit" I'm going to punch you straight through your visor. And no, this is a very simple dance. But it's different, and as punishment for interrupting my ballet practice without knocking, you have to do it."

Garrus groaned, finally in the center of the room, standing tall in front of her. She tried not to focus on his shoulders. What was it with his shoulders? It was either because she looked there when she was avoiding eye contact or they made her feel-

Anya preferred not to finish that thought.

With discomfort writhing down his plates, Garrus asked, "Commander's orders?"

"Of course."

He shook his head. "I don't know why I asked. They always are." Scratching the back of his neck, he looked her up and down. Anya decided she was going to interpret that as him acknowledging that her clothes were just for dancing. Definitely that. The out of his element turian asked,"So what next?"

"It's called a waltz. To start, you take my hand, and you put the other one right above my lower back. Then I put my hand on your... shoulder." Ignoring her own stuttering on the famed, not to be named body part of his, Anya instead focused on Garrus. His looks of bewilderment were becoming a sort of drug, and she loved every new one. But he let her place his hands properly and then she stepped a little closer to him, just so they could be a comfortable distance for flexible movement.

That's what she kept telling herself, anyway.

They spent some time directing his feet, and the more Garrus stepped on her toes, the more he loosened up and seemed to be enjoying himself. Vakarian always looked tense these days, and not just because of their Noveria encounter. Saren's plots were weighing down on everyone.

Anya didn't want to acknowledge how her chest felt, all warm and knotted and unkempt all at once, seeing him laugh and smile. She was just his best friend, helping him remember that under all these galaxy-changing missions they were still people.

It was nice to see him as he was, a serious turian with a talent for sarcasm, but who could be a real goof when you caught him off guard.

Just as he was finally starting to get the steps, and her toes were feeling a little less sore, she was remembering his horrified face when he came in. And then she realized she completely glossed over something he said. Slowing down their twirling, she asked, "I just remembered: what were you going to ask me when you unceremoniously barged in here?"

While Garrus was smirking at his feet, happy to be finally figuring it out, the second she stopped talking his face panned up to hers and he wasn't very happy anymore. He even dropped her hand and just stood there. Guess their dancing was over.

Anya's own smile fell away and Garrus went stiff again, too quickly. "Right. I was going to warn you that Kaidan and Liara are planning on confronting you about their feelings. Neither of them seem to think you don't like them, even though you avoid Liara's affections and that night... well, Kaidan didn't seem to think that night meant anything."

Everything pleasant about the training room shattered. Between the concept of two of her officers jumping her for love confessions and the phrase "that night didn't mean anything,'' everything stabbed right through her chest and her lungs and her heart. She felt like a taxidermied butterfly, for fuck's sake. That night didn't mean nothing; like hell it didn't. For her it changed everything. Even if she couldn't do anything about it.

Looking away from those bright blue eyes, she stepped backwards. She shouldn't be dancing with him either, should she? She was just making it worse. "Thanks for the warning, Vakarian. I- I should take care of that."

"I didn't mean to ruin your dancing."

Anya shook her head as hard as she could, because for some dumb reason her tear ducts felt so heavy right now. And of all goddamn things, she did not need that. She'd already been too much of a squishy idiot in front of him. "Don't worry about it. I enjoyed it while it lasted." Pulling on her overclothes again, Anya added, "If you could, keep the ballet to yourself? It's not really something I share with people."

Garrus looked so distant, and she could've sworn it seemed like he didn't want to be. But that didn't make sense, did it? He didn't want to be the third party vying for her affections. He made that clear.

Funny thing was, he was the only one with an actual shot at winning them.

Before she left the room, Garrus started talking again. She used to enjoy everything he said; the past few days, she wasn't sure anymore. His eyes soft and bright, his head cocked in that friendly way that just felt so inviting, he said, "Thanks for sharing it with me."

Anya didn't mean to sound so bitter when she said, "I always accidentally end up sharing everything with you, don't I?"

He didn't respond to that. Shepard was okay with it. She didn't really think any answer would change the fact that it was true and, unlike before Noveria, it didn't seem like either of them were all that comfortable with it anymore.

But the possible crumbling nature of their friendship didn't matter, and neither did the two clueless, hopeless romantics ready to ambush her. She didn't do ballet today for them or Garrus, anyway. She did it for herself, to ready her body and mind for the battle coming. They were a few hero stops away from Virmire, and she needed to be prepared to do anything to stop Saren.

Anya was all amped up, ready to tell the two people pacing by her room that she didn't see them like that. That these emotions needed to take a backseat to the mission at hand. That their kind, friendly faces that she did love didn't matter to her the way the wanted.

But she couldn't handle it. Instead, at the last moment she veered to engineering, where Tali would happily hide her until they got tired of waiting.

She did not need anymore heartbroken, lovelorn soldiers on her mission. They could wait until Saren was done. Everything and everyone had to. Taking down Saren was all that had to matter.

///

Author's Note:

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#Drunk Punch Love #garrus vakarian #femshep x garrus #Anya Shepard #shakarian #Mass Effect #Mass effect fanfiction #bioware romances #dancing

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