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Chapter Text

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a turian Hierarch in possession of a powerful spaceship, must be in want of a good commander.

However little known the feelings or views of such a turian may be on his entering the Sol System, this truth is so well fixed in the minds of surrounding military base camps, that is considered the rightful property of some one or other of their flock.

“Anderson, did you hear?” Captain Hannah Shepard entered his long-time friend’s office one day. Anderson put his glasses down. “Have you heard the turian training ship is in orbit already? I came as soon as I heard,” she put a datapad on his desk.

Anderson took the datapad, then negated with his head.

“They got here not two hours ago, and I had to hear it from that damn Emily Wong,” she buffed.

“Relax, Hannah. I’m sure there’s a sensible explanation,” she took the datapad from him.

“It says: the turian delegation docked and was received in a beautiful ceremony, blah blah, after weeks of preparations, blah blah, high ranked military human dignitaries and ambassadors were in attendance. Where were our invitations, Anderson? I run a fine vessel, I have brilliant women under my command, my own daughter is a decorated commander, goddammit!”

“I’m sure your invitation got lost in the mail,” he said, opening his omnitool.

“Invitations don’t get lost, Anderson: people conveniently “forget” to put you on mailing lists. I suspect Udina, that weasel. I bet he wants to secure a spot for his protégé, Alenko. My Elizabeth is far more suited to train with the turians, her biotics are very advanced for a human. And did I mention she’s been decorated? And a Commander?” she paced, shaking the datapad.

“How important is this spot in the turian vessel, exactly? How does Lizzie benefit from it, or any of your girls?”

“Turian training, Anderson. They run the best military in the galaxy, no matter what the asari say. They’re disciplined, smart, and that ship? Did you look at the datapad?”

“Yes, I did,” he said.

“That turian warship can be hers, if she makes it. Hers to command. I like having Lizzie in my vessel, but she’s outgrown it. I want her to see the galaxy, do her own thing. Maybe become the first human spectre,” she sighed.

“This is very important to you,” he clasped his hands.

“It is, of course.”

“And have you asked Lizzie?”

“I’m sure she feels the same way, why shouldn’t she?”

“Look, I really think we should be asking Elizabeth. You haven’t asked her, have you, Hannah?” he put out his omnitool.

“No, but this is a great opportunity for her. The turians will be happy to have her, if only they could meet her: she’ll kick all the recruits’ asses, just you see.”

“Could it be that Elizabeth never signed to the program in the first place? I’m looking at my own datapad here,” he put it up, “and it says: military, ambassadors and hopefuls were in attendance.”

“It doesn’t matter: I’ll get her in. And you’ll help, Anderson,” she leaned on his desk. “My Lizzy wants to quit the military, after what happened with the batarian slavers, but she’s a natural leader! She’s just what the galaxy needs. I can’t let her. She has to meet Hierarch Bingleykus, he’ll see. You have to get to him, somehow. You’ll get her in the program.”

“I don’t like this, Hannah.”

“You have pull. You owe me. You’ll make it happen,” She put a menacing finger on his desk.

Anderson was left alone in his office with his datapad. Hannah Shepard was a woman of mean understanding, too much information, and uncertain temper. When she was discontented, she fancied herself furious. The business of her life was getting her girls promoted in the military; its solace was military prowess and good news.

Chapter Text

Anderson did contact Hierarch Bingleykus, in the end. He had always intended to do so, but he enjoyed playing with Hannah, getting on her nerves. He didn’t mention it to her all day, savoring every minute of it. It was disclosed in the following manner, when he made it to the SSV Kilimanjaro for dinner in the mess hall, as he did sometimes when he went to train his friend’s younger recruits in the arts of handgun wielding. Observing Hanna’s daughter, as she tested that new omniblade he got her, he said:

“I hope Mr Bingleykus likes it, Lizzy.”

“How on earth will that turian like it if he’ll never see it,” Hannah spat. “We’re not going to that damned ship.”

“But mom, I mean, Captain,” Shepard said, “we’ll meet him before the first sparring match, Emily Wong promised to introduce us,” she put her omniblade away. “Maybe he’ll consider giving us a spot.”

“Emily Wong? Pft. Why would she? She’s selfish, hypocritical, she made me look really bad the last time I was on an interview, she—”

“Mom, that was Al Jilani,” Shepard corrected her. “And you punched her. People do that a lot, now that I come to think of it, huh. Interesting.”

Hannah Shepard deigned not make any reply, but unable to contain herself, began scolding her recruits.

“Stop coughing, Jacqueline! For heaven’s sake, your biotics are all over the place, you’ll tear the mess hall to pieces!”

“Jack can’t control her coughing, Hannah, she probably has the flu. Better take her to Dr. Chakwas,” Anderson said.

“I don’t fucking cough for my own amusement, you know?” Jack said, still coughing. “When’s the first sparring session with the turians, Shepard?”

“In a week and a half. We have plenty of time to meet him and change his mind.”

“Ok, sure!” cried Hanna “And I happen to know Emily Wong won’t be back till the day before that. She’ll be outworld covering a strange artifact in Mars, so she won’t be here to introduce us to the Hierarch beforehand: we can’t change his mind in a day,” she punched the desk. “We need a one-on one meeting, as soon as possible.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Hannah: if you let me talk. Please,” he chuckled. “I already made the arrangements. I spoke to the Hierarch’s secretary, Mr. Bingleykus will see us soon and he agreed to give us a spot in the initiative: your girls are in, Hannah. How’s that for upping Emily Wong’s offer?”

Every recruit in the mess hall erupted in cheers and chatter. They were going to the turian training vessel! They were going to meet the Hierarch in person! And maybe one of them would take the prized ship home, when everything ended. The astonishment of the ladies was just what Anderson wished; that of Admiral Shepard perhaps surpassing all the rest; though when the first tumult of joy was over, she began to declare it was what she had expected all the while.

“I knew you’d change your mind, Anderson, it was for the girls best interest: it would’ve been insane to let go of such a wonderful opportunity. I’m not amused by your little joke, though, why didn’t you tell me as soon as you arranged things? I’ve been worrying all day, you son of a— ahem.”

“Now, Jack, please go see Dr. Chakwas after dinner, will you?,” said Anderson; and, as he spoke, he left the room, fatigued with the raptures of his friend Hannah.

“Well, Anderson saved our necks this time, didn’t he girls? We should be grateful. It’s hard to move forward in the Alliance Navy these days, but for you girls? I’d do anything. Ashley, dear, you’re a bright gunnery chief, but I bet you can be so much more, huh? I have most of my hopes on the Commander, of course, but every single one of you has every bit of a chance and will benefit from the first days of training. Take in all the experience you can get.”

“Aye, mam,” Ashley said. “I’m not afraid. My family doesn’t have a good history with turians, and I don’t plan on kissing any of them, but that won’t be necessary, will it? Just kicking turian ass, not holding back, and getting promoted.”

The rest of the evening was spent in conjecturing how soon the turian Hierarch would invite them for an official visit.

Chapter Text

Nothing Hannah’s recruits or the Captain herself would say was sufficient to draw a satisfactory description of Mr. Bingleykus’ character. They attacked Anderson in many ways, during lessons, in the mess hall, even in his office down on earth; private messages, phone calls, holos. But he eluded the skill of them all, and they were at last obliged to accept the second-hand intelligence of Khalisah Bint Sinan Al-Jilani’s tabloids. Her report, incredibly so, was highly favorable: she had been delighted with him. The turian Hierarch was young, incredibly handsome — for a turian, she said; Ashley didn’t agree— extremely pleasant, and he was going to be fighting himself at the next sparring match, during the first assembly. Nothing could be more delightful! Nothing was better than a good sparring match, to get to know someone.

“I can already see one of my girls settled in that ship,” Hannah said to Anderson. “And all the others going up in the ranks afterward. I couldn’t wish for anything else.”

Anderson met with the Hierarch in his office down on earth surrounded by his many collectible books and kinetic fireplace. The turian had hoped to meet Hanna’s girls right then, but they were busy in a mission and Anderson decided it was better not to disrupt their duties. But Hanna had trained them well, and he never realized he was wearing a bug, from which the girls could take a glimpse of the turian’s blue facial markings, sleek fringe and black formal armor as they boarded a ship of batarian slavers and saved a quarian envoy.

To the surprise of Anderson, Mr. Bingleykus insisted on having dinner at the Kilimanjaro’s mess hall with Hanna’s girls: it was imperative, he said, to share a meal with them, to get to know them better. He had, after all, had a nice brunch with everyone else upon arrival, he couldn’t treat them any different. It just wasn’t the turian way. Hannah Shepard was delighted, but then panicked: what would they serve the Hierarch in such short notice? Nothing on the ship was dextro. Even their water could kill him. She had to pull some strings, talk to her old friend Hackett: it was an emergency. She needed the turian embassy’s cook put on a shuttle asap, and they had to keep it low profile: having a turian Hierarch for dinner didn’t exactly go according to Alliance Navy protocol. But Hackett saw the benefit in it. The cook was there in no time, with a couple of crates of dextro food and drinks, plus a nice set of silverware and dishes: fit for a turian Hierarch.

Everything was set for Mr. Bingleykus, but then then suddenly, the Kilimanjaro’s vidcom began to bip: he wasn’t going to be able to make it. He had to go down to earth, quickly, in urgent business. She could not imagine what a business the turian could have on earth so soon after his arrival. She began to fear he might be always having to fly to one meeting or the other and her girls might never really be able to meet him, not even during the program.

Captain Shepard opened her datapad, a news banner popped on top of her email: Al-Jilani spam. She was about to close the tab, but the news spoke of the Hierarch. It appeared he was bound, last-minute, to an embassy party in London, to celebrate, yet again, his arrival to earth and what it meant for human/turian relations. No military involved, this time, just human dignitaries, some straggling royalty members and media influencers. Al-Jilani’s picture seemed to have been taken from between some bushes. Hannah sighed. They had a whole meal of dextro food to toss now. None could eat that.

More news by Al-Jilani’s yellow pages arose in the next few days. Hierarch Bingleykus was bringing an entourage with him, back from earth: twelve ladies and seven gentlemen, it said. The girls grieved upon that amount of potential competition, though Al-Jilani’s tabloid didn’t specify whether they were coming to the ship to train or watch. They could’ve been turians, for all they knew. Just before the first assembly, Al-Jilani announced, in big holographic letters, the turian hierarch had brought only six people from his trip to London.

Upon entering the turian ship, after undergoing massive amounts of security, they realized the young Hierarch’s entourage consisted solely of turians: five of his sisters and a young turian man.

Hierarch Bingleykus was good-looking and gentleman-like; he had a pleasant countenance, and easy unaffected manners. His sisters were fine, elegant women, with an air of decided fashion even in combat gear; but his friend, Mr. Vakarian, soon drew the attention of the sparring ground by his lean and muscular tall body, strong mandibles, impeccable blue facial markings, sculpted fringe, a very stylish customized kuwashii visor, and the report which was in  general circulation within five minutes after his entrance, of his having a reputation of being the sharpest shooter in Palaven and being a candidate for the spectres, not to mention tales of extraordinary reach at the moment of sparring. The room was divided between those fawning over his military prowess and his good looks: some said he surpassed the Hierarch in every possible way. People paid him more attention than Mr. Bingleykus during the greeting part of the assembly, paying him compliments, asking to spar with him, until Mr. Vakarian’s manners gave a disgust which turned the tide of his popularity, for he was discovered to be proud, to be above his company and above being pleased.

People decided he didn’t deserve to be compared to his friend, the Hierarch.

Mr. Bingleykus soon became acquainted with everyone in the sparring ring. He set aside time to fight with anyone who asked, he was lively, nimble and energetic. He could go on for hours, and was mad the first sparring session had to be so short. He’d make sure the next one would last longer: he wanted to have a chance to spar with everyone, and everyone should have a chance to get to know their instructors. He and Mr. Vakarian were indeed extremely different, what a contrast! Mr. Vakarian spent the whole sparring session making excuses to leave the ring, rehydrating on the sidelines, running away from small talk, disappearing into the lockers and sulking on the bleachers. He would only speak to the people he came with. His character was decided: he was the most disagreeable turian in the galaxy, and everyone hoped he would never set foot in the sparring ring ever again. Captain Hannah resented him the most, after he refused sparring with her daughter, Elizabeth.

Commander Elizabeth Shepard had been forced to sit down on the bleachers for some rounds, due to lack of trainers; during that time, Mr. Vakarian had been sitting around just near enough for her to hear a conversation between him and a sweaty Hierarch Bingleykus, who came from the sparring ring for a few minutes, to refresh himself and press his friend to join the training session.

“Come on, Garrus,” he said, drinking some water. “You have to come down to the ring! Spar a little, what did I bring you for? I hate seeing you sitting here like an idiot: you have to come down!”

“Heh: I won’t, thank you,” Mr. Vakarian leaned back. “You know I hate sparring with strangers; remind me why I allowed you to drag me into this? I should be in C-sec, doing some real work, not here playing diplomat and personal trainer to humans,” he sounded annoyed.

“You’re being an ass, Garrus, look around! You’ll get a lot of training here, there are so many talented people, you won’t be disappointed,” he wiped his sweat.

“It’s easy for you to say: you’re sparring with the best human in the room,” he looked at Ashley, who waited in the distance.

“Oh, she’s good. I’m getting my ass handed to myself there: spirits, I think I might be a little in love with that human,” he chuckled. “She’s coming at me with unrelentless fury, I think most of them are toning it down. I like the fire in that one,” he sighed. “But hey: isn’t that one of her crewmates nearby? She’s the ship’s Commander, I’ve heard about her, daughter of the Captain but she’s her own woman: a true force of nature with those biotics, saved an outpost from a band of batarian slavers all by herself, got decorated for it too,” he cleared his throat.

“Who,” Garrus said, turning around, “her? Huh, hmm, she’s ok, but not flexible enough to tempt me. I saw her sparring before: I’m not really impressed. Besides, she seemed way more interested in sparring with you, I don’t want your leftovers, Bingleykus,” he yawned. “You better return to your sparring partner, she seems to be working quite a bit of steam there and you’re wasting your time trying to convince me,” he removed his neck towel.

Mr. Bingleykus followed his advice. Mr. Vakarian walked off and Shepard remained with no very cordial feelings toward him. She had fun telling the story, though; she had a playful disposition which delighted in anything ridiculous.

The evening of sparring matches passed off pleasantly for the rest of Hannah Shepard’s crew. Captain Shepard was surprised and pleased to see Ashley was so well loved by all the turians in the entourage: she was the most popular that night, the Hierarch himself wouldn’t let her go. Elizabeth felt happy for her crewmate: she wanted the big prize more than she did. Jack had been mentioned by someone as “the most accomplished biotic in the Sol System”, and she wouldn’t allow anyone to forget it. They returned in good spirits to the ship, where they found Anderson sitting in the mess hall, waiting for them while reading a book. He couldn’t wait to hear how the first session had gone, and he wanted to know first-hand.

“Oh, Anderson: it was amazing,” Hannah said. “the sparring session was incredible. I wish you’d been there to see it. Everyone complimented Ashley’s moves, Hierarch Bingleykus sparred with her for two consecutive rounds! She was the only one who got asked twice. Bingleykus sparred with my Elizabeth once too, he made sure he sparred with as many recruits as he could.”

“The stamina of that turian, jeez!” Anderson put his book down. “I would’ve sprained my hip at the first match,” he laughed.

“He’s in excellent shape and his sisters are incredibly talented on the ring as well. I never in my life saw more elegant and ferocious moves.”

Hannah sighed. Not everything had been perfect: she had to tell him about Mr. Vakarian’s shocking display of rudeness.

“Ugh, I can assure you: Elizabeth lost nothing by not sparring with that turian. He’s disagreeable, horrid, not worthy of pleasing at all. He just walked there, like he owned the place, the nerve of that turian! Like he was the Primarch of Palaven or something. I was this close to breaking into the ring, grabbing him by that perfect fringe of his, and— ugh. I detest him.”

Chapter Text

When Ashley and Elizabeth were alone in the ship’s common bathroom, brushing their teeth, the first one called Shepard aside.

“Shepard, I need to tell you something: don’t tell anyone, or I’ll kill you. I SWEAR. I’ll murder you in your sleep.” She whispered.

“Alright, not the best way to begin a conversation , but do tell,” she laughed quietly.

“The Hierarch, Mr. Bingleykus, he’s so— so perfect. His moves, so well-timed, I could never see him coming. I sparred twice with him, and I never wanted it to end, Shepard,” she blushed. “I can’t wait to see him again,” she quickly filled her mouth with water.

“Whoa, Ash: you have a crush on the Hierarch? You? On a turian,” Shepard laughed. Ashley shoved her, making her lose her footing. Shepard wouldn’t stop laughing. “Sorry, it’s just— it’s really funny. You hate turians.”

Ashley spat her water. “I was wrong, then. Ok? He’s, I don’t know, his fringe, his thighs when they pinned me down on the matt: Shepard. I’ve never felt such a connection. He’s perfect. We talked a little while we fought. And he seems to like the way I fight too, did you notice?” she blushed harder. “He asked me to spar, twice, when other people didn’t even get the chance.  I didn’t expect such a compliment,” she sighed.

“Really, huh? Ash, how could he not: you were clearly the best fighter in the room, hell, even my mother thinks so. It was only natural he’d be drawn to you, who wouldn’t want to spar with the best fighter in the room? You’re selling yourself short, saying you didn’t expect it. And I suppose yes, he’s handsome. And you’ve like stupider guys,” she shrugged.

“What do you mean?” she spat the remains of her toothpaste.

“Oh, nothing. It’s just that he might seem nice and he’s obviously handsome, but you don’t know him, Ash: what if he’s, I don’t know, an asshole? Don’t let his handsome body distract you, you’re not there to get a boyfriend: you’re there for the ship. The Hierarch has nothing to lose: having a fling with a human, then going back to Palaven, leaving you here heartbroken and shipless. I’m just saying, don’t jump at the first turian who pins you to the floor. If you want to, let’s say, broaden your dating horizons, there are other turians out there, does it really have to be the Hierarch?. Where’s the reasonable Ashley I know?”

“You don’t get it, Shepard. There was a connection, I could feel it. You know I like poetry, right? Tennison? I felt what poems always talk about, that lightning strike. I was smitten,” she clutched her chest, dramatically.

“You’re a sensible woman, Ash, that’s why I’m so, I don’t know, concerned by this. Have you seen Chakwas? Are you sure you didn’t hit your head?”

“My head’s fine, Shepard,” Ashley put her toothbrush away, violently.

“Just saying, that turian hit you real hard,” Shepard chuckled.

“Oh, shut up Shepard. Why did I even tell you,” she grumbled.

“What about his sisters? Did you get a chance to spar with them?” she changed the subject.

Shepard listened in silence. In her opinion, the turian women were only faking to be nice: they were there for something other than backup. The way they moved, the way the observed: they were the ones doing the assessments, picking who would stay in the program and who wouldn’t. The Hierarch’s sisters had been trained in the turian military, like every other turian, but had attended the finest private schools, were well-versed in diplomatic affairs, they were as cunning as an asari: their words could twist you as easily as their arms, locking you and pinning you to make you trip on your own feet. The first night had been decisive, and she had been stuck in the bleachers, not that it mattered much, since she didn’t have much interest in participating anyway. But the fact that part of it had been Mr. Vakarian’s fault: that made her blood boil. If she got kicked out, it would be for her own lack of potential, not for some petty turian.

The Binglekuses were from a prominent turian family, but turians didn’t believe in passing titles: the Hierarch and his sisters had gone up in the turian Hierarchy on their own account. But Mr. Bingleykus didn’t really know what it would be like to be a Hierarch, specially at such a young age. Political maneuvers, the hard cold logic and ruthlessness that ruled the higher spheres, clashed with the easiness of his temper and good nature: he wasn’t like most turian hierarchs, which made him the perfect candidate to send on a ambassadorial mission where he would mingle with humans. Humans seemed to find him pleasant to deal with, and they didn’t need a diplomatic incident. His sisters, on the other hand, were every bit as calculating as he was kind. They never spoke without a second intention. They were there to make sure of two things: first, that their brother wouldn’t be too soft on the humans. Second, since it wasn’t on the turian’s best interest to get the strongest to win the prize, to make sure the strongest human in the initiative wouldn’t make it to the last round. That human, paired with a powerful turian-made vessel could mean trouble.

Between Bingleykus and Mr. Vakarian there was a very steady friendship, in spite of great opposition of character. Vakarian enjoyed Bingleykus’ easiness of temper, openness and abilities to mingle with others. As for Vakarian, he was reliable and always there when Bingleykus needed him; even if it meant he’d be highly uncomfortable. Vakarian was the smartest of the two, it didn’t mean Bingleykus was an idiot, by any means: but Garrus Vakarian was clever. He was proud, had a good sense of humor and good manners, but as many turians he wasn’t the warmest at first sight so he came off as a little distant and cold. Bingleykus made his best to be liked by everyone around him, while Vakarian always seemed to find new ways to offend everybody, unwittingly.

The way they talked about the sparring match was proof enough: while Bingleykus painted a picture of fun sportsmanship and wonderful moves, amazing progress in human/turian relations and the beginning of long friendships, or something more, with skilled human ladies such as Miss Ashley Williams, Vakarian had seen a bunch of desperate, vacuous, people fighting to catch his friend’s attention in the hopes to get a shiny ship and a meaningless medal, to rise in the ranks in their Alliance Navy: he felt no interest, he didn’t care for any of it and had taken no pleasure in the sparring taking place in the ring when there were real problems they could be taking care of, elsewhere. He acknowledged gunnery chief Williams had been a skillful sparring partner, from what he’d seen, but she lacked flexibility… and her waist didn’t seem very supportive.

Chapter Text

Hannah Shepard put on her nicest formal Alliance Navy suit: Emily Wong had asked for an interview; soon, she’d be on a shuttle bound to earth. She didn’t care much for journalists, in her experience they always made you sound like you wanted to say something and never actually allowed you to say what you wanted to say, but Emily Wong was well-respected and she had, after all, offered to arrange a meeting with the Hierarch, and although it proved unnecessary in the end, Hannah much appreciated the effort.

Emily Wong’s office was outside the city of Vancouver, in plot of land surrounded by massive trees. The network decided their correspondents needed some peace and quiet after being off-world so much, covering news in Tuchanka, pirate raids, crawling in the sewers of Omega and navigating the political swamps of The Citadel. Hannah hadn’t been to the countryside in ages, and the only plants she was used to were the ones growing in the SSV Kilimanjaro’s modest hydroponic garden. All that green hit her like a biotic blast. Miss Wong had instructed her to bring some of her girls with her, the ones who happened to have a chance to spar with the Hierarch, and so she did. Her daughter, the Commander, didn’t care much for showing off her badges and if it had been for her, she would’ve left the vessel wearing nothing but her training slacks: that child would be the death of her, some day.

Miss Wong sat them down in her office, offering them all coffee and an assortment of snacks. Elizabeth chomped down a couple of sandwiches, in such manner anyone would’ve guessed she had been raised by a krogan warlord. Hannah quietly slapped her daughter’s wrist, pointing at the crumbs in her formal attire. Ashley, on the other hand, sat straight as a stick; her uniform well-pressed, her hair perfectly tied back. She wished her daughter had been a little more like miss Williams, in that aspect.

“Miss Kasumi Goto, you had the honor of being Hierarch Bingleykus’ first sparring partner last night,” Emily Wong’s drone-cam flew quietly around he room as she took notes.

“Yes, mam,” she said. “But Gunnery Chief Williams here happened to be his favorite: she got asked twice.”

“I’ve heard that from other sources as well, it’s interesting, to say the least,” Miss Wong smiled faintly. “If I recall correctly, let me check my notes; oh, there it is: Miss Williams seemed to be the shining star of the evening. A quote from one of the turian ambassadors.”

“Hierarch Bingleykus is a very skilled turian, it was a pleasure to be his sparring partner twice,” Ashley said, barely moving a muscle.

“Unlike his friend, Mr. Vakarian,” Kasumi snorted a laugh. “Sorry, we’re not here to gossip.”

“Pftt. He called me ok. Not flexible enough to tempt him. What the hell’s up with that turian? I wasn’t even trying anyway.” Shepard pointed at everyone in general with her third sandwich.

“Bah, he’s not worth it, Lizzie: let it go. That Vakarian has a stick up his ass,” Jack had been unusually quiet until then, perhaps fearing Captain Shepard’s scolding. General laughter ensued. Captain Shepard didn’t look amused, at all.

“Off the record: I have seen you in action, Commander Shepard, I wouldn’t listen to what Mr. Garrus Vakarian has to say,” Emily Wong put her pencil down. “It’s his loss, not yours, he didn’t want to spar with you. Anyone would’ve been honored.”

“The asshole decided he hated Shepard without even speaking to her first,” Jack now had a whole sandwich in her mouth, as she spoke. Commander Shepard seemed like a classy asari matriarch now, in comparison. Hannah Shepard found some relief in that, at least.

“I saw her talking to him,” Kasumi interrupted. “ I don’t care much for mingling, but I love listening to people talk; you were behind a really loud fountain and I couldn’t hear a thing. What did you talk about, Shepard? At the greetings? Before the sessions started.”

“Yes, he looked annoyed, what did you ask?” Ashley broke her façade of perfection.

“She asked how he liked the Sol System and he couldn’t help but answer,” Captain Hannah interrupted. Now, can we go back to the interviews? Enough about that Mr. Vakarian.

“Off the record, again. I’m told Mr. Vakarian doesn’t speak much to anyone in general. He sticks to his close friends, and with them he’s actually quite agreeable. They all talk about his sense of humor, his kindness, his passion.”

The women laughed.

“I’m gonna go and call that a hell of a lot of bullshit,” Commander Shepard said.

“Off the record, yet again. I would’ve loved for him to spar with you, the shots would’ve been amazing. They say he’s legendary for his reach, and your biotics make you incredibly flexible. That would’ve been a great show for the press. But maybe not so good for Hierarch Bingleykus: it would’ve taken the spotlight from him and it’s his event, after all.”

“I doubt it.  Like I said, Vakarian didn’t think I was flexible enough to tempt him. His exact words. Agh. I can’t let him get to my head: I guess I’ll show him the next time, on the ring. That turian will never know what hit him.”

All the women cheered, except for the Captain. Her daughter had fire in her eyes and she knew what it meant: a diplomatic incident waiting to happen.

It was hard to go back to the interview after that, but Emily Wong was a professional: she did it somehow, and it all ended without further mention of Garrus Vakarian.

Chapter Text

Time came for another training session at the turian ship, this time led by the Hierarch’s sisters. Again, Ashley appeared to be the star of the evening: shooting range, jumping obstacles, setting up bombs. The turian women paid special attention to her, following her every move. Commander Shepard didn’t really care much for winning the competition, she was there only for the training— and now for payback, from Garrus Vakarian. She was saving energy for the ring. She didn’t mind Ashley getting both the turians’ and her own mother’s cheers; she mostly didn’t care for the turian women’s compliments since she felt they were absolutely fake. There was something off with their treatment towards Ashley, in particular, not that she didn’t believe in her crewmate’s skills, but at times it looked like they were actually making fun of her, without her knowledge. Shepard wondered if Mr. Bingleykus’ sisters noticed Ashley harbored more than professional admiration towards the young Hierarch.

“I think Ash shouldn’t hide her feelings for Bingleykus,” Kasumi told Shepard, materializing from nowhere, startling her near a watercooler marked levo. “If she hides it, how will she know if she has a chance?”

“Kasumi, how did you—”

“I hear everything,” she said. “You shouldn’t have private conversations in the bathroom, Shepard,” Kasumi giggled.

“Point taken,” Shepard shook her head, smiling.

“Look, all I’m saying is: I saw Bingleykus too. I think he likes her, but you know turians: he’ll never do anything if she doesn’t, you know, give him a little push. She has to tell him how she feels.” Kasumi filled a glass with water.

“They’ve only met once, Kasumi, isn’t it a little soon for that?”

“There’s no time to lose, Shepard: love can’t wait. The hierarch will be gone, back to Palaven, the sooner they get it out of their systems, the better. Imagine wondering what if, for the rest of your life?” she sighed, giggling again. She drank her water in a gulp.

“Let’s say she does let him know and takes him by surprise. Wouldn’t that mean Mr. Bingleykus is a bit of an idiot? How the hell can he not now? Why can’t he take a step, let her know how he feels? If he feels the way you say, that is. I think she shouldn’t expose herself like that,” she looked at Ashley in the distance, busy with a gun-range simulator, Mr. Bingleykus’ sisters in tow. “It could hurt her chances to win this thing. We’re not here to flirt with the turians.”

“We’ll see what happens, then, hmm? We have a couple of sparring matches scheduled for today, Bingleykus will be there. Ash will have time to talk to him, maybe he’ll let something slip, maybe he won’t. If I were her, I’d make the most of every round.” She bat her eyelashes, comically. Shepard rolled her eyes.

“I see you have it all figured out, haven’t ya? Fine. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but: I guess she could use it to her advantage, to win the prized ship at least. I still don’t think she should tell him, but there’s no harm in a little flirting. If it happens, good for her. If not, she can get a ship out of it all. I’m still weary of her infatuation, though. She’s only met him once. I don’t like this, Kasumi. ”

“Ah, but she has sparred with him, Shepard. If it had been, let’s say, a date, his tastes in food would’ve been all she would’ve gathered from it, how much he ate, if he liked red wine. But sparring? That’s how you really get to know people: it doesn’t get more intimate than that, at least in a public setting, If you know what I mean. Two rounds of vigorous sparring count as three whole dates, I’d say.”

“Whatever you say, Kasumi,” Shepard chuckled. “I still don’t like it.”

“At any rate, whatever happens, I wish Ashley luck. I’ve never met anyone who’s, heheh, been with a turian before. Any humans, at least. I wonder what would happen? A turian Hierarch and a human Alliance soldier: that’s bound to be better than Fleet and Flotilla. I better hold on to the rights of the story, someone will try to make a movie out of this.”

“Kasumi,” Shepard narrowed her eyes.

“Fine, I’ll give you five percent of the royalties if you keep quiet,” Kasumi cloaked herself, disappearing.

As she watched Ashley and spoke to Kasumi, Commander Shepard didn’t suspect she was being closely observed herself, with utmost interest, by Mr. Vakarian, who waited patiently for the sparring match to begin, sitting high atop the bleachers, hidden by a hoodie. At first, he didn’t think much of the Commander. Just another human woman, completely unremarkable. Third-hand recounts of her exploits and accolades were nothing to him, just words, like the words people told about himself— and people exaggerated, a lot. He had looked at her without any interest at the first sparring match. Whenever Bingleykus spoke about her, knowing she and Ashley seemed to be good friends, Garrus made it clear he didn’t feel attracted at all to that Shepard human, he had no fetishes for human females, and her face had no remarkable features to speak of; but as soon as he said it, he realized that, hey, the beautiful expression in those brown eyes of hers gave an uncommonly intelligent air to her face. To this discovery succeeded some others equally mortifying to the turian, as he sat up there, staring at her. Though he had detected with a critical eye more than one failure of perfect symmetry in her form, and even though it was unfair to judge humans by turian standards, he was forced to acknowledge her figure to be well-built for combat and pleasing, her waist to be very supportive. Her hair seemed… nice. He enjoyed her personality as well, as he discovered when he overheard her talking to her friends: he was taken by her sense of humor, among other things. But she didn’t know that. To her, he was just that sulky, rude turian, who made himself agreeable nowhere, and who had not thought her flexible enough to spar with.

Garrus began to wish to know more of Shepard. But he didn’t dare to speak to her yet, he wanted to know more about the Commander before even daring to speak another word to her, but how? Who could he ask?. He’d stay away from that sparring session, he needed to sort his thoughts. He was in no mental state to fight anyone.

There was a press conference in the turian training vessel, the next day. Emily Wong and her crew were there to give official reports of the Alliance Navy soldiers and their turian trainers in action. Representatives from the Citadel and the Council were present there too, expectant, watching their every move, eager to know all the details. Every single trainee was interviewed during the breaks, among them, Commander Shepard.

“What does Mr. Vakarian mean by listening to my interview with Emily Wong?” She whispered to Kasumi. “He didn’t listen to anyone else’s, just mine.”

“That’s a question only Mr. Vakarian can answer,” she hit a holo-dummie with her omniblade. They were being closely watched by their turian trainers, but out of ears’ reach.

“It’s weird, isn’t it? Crap, I think I’ll have to talk to him. I think he has a problem with me, personally, we need to sort it out before it gets a hell of a lot weirder. But if he’s been all sneaky on me, I’ll have to be all sneaky on him too. What do you say?”

“Don’t look at me, you know I love a little bit of drama,” Kasumi cloaked herself, then appeared behind the holo-dummie, shredding it to virtual pieces. “Vakarian has really gotten under your skin,” she chuckled.

“Alright. He’s over there, talking to Emily Wong. The drone-cam is off, I’ll get in, he’ll never see it coming.”

“Oh, I have to see this,” Kasumi followed, putting a towel around her neck. She waved a time-out petition at their trainers.

Emily Wong was mentioning Mr. Vakarian how she wished to see him on the ring for the next sparring session. Hannah Shepard’s daughter, Commander Elizabeth Shepard, was her trainee of choice: she said, not to listen to Ambassador Udina, the man was biased and he only cared his protegée Lt. Alenko would to make it into the Spectres. He was hoping to use Mr. Vakarian as a tool to escalate, since he was rumored to be a candidate.

“Oh, but Mr. Vakarian already knows that,” Shepard interrupted. “He heard all our conversation, Emily, didn’t you, Vakarian? He listened to us talk about the prospects of being the first human Spectres, how Alenko and I are in the Council’s radar.” Shepard could hear Kasumi’s muffled clapping under her cloak. “Didn’t you think I expressed myself well enough when I was teasing Emily about them just giving a spot to Udina or my mother, since they both want it so badly?”

“Hmm, with great energy; but who wouldn’t be excited about the topic,” he said.

“You’re mocking me? Spectre titles aren’t exactly handed out like candy to humans, as they are to turians, apparently,” Shepard put a hand on her waist. She could see the turian was breaking.

“Look! They’re calling you, Commander,” Emily Wong seemed distressed. Shepard looked back, and realized they were, indeed, calling for her. Vakarian was safe, for the moment, she had done more than enough. She felt pleased with herself.

Single combat simulations in the arena were about to begin, and Commander Shepard’s name had been drawn first in the raffle. She was pumped by her previous victory against Vakarian, she was ready for anything. She asked them to throw some virtual geth at her, the hardest of all settings. It was showtime. She would either fail miserably or come out rolling out in glory.

Her performance was impeccable. One after the other, the geth fell, overwhelmed by Shepard’s powerful biotics and perfectly-timed shots. She rolled, dodged, jumped, the crowd cheered when she ripped off a Geth Prime’s head with her bare hands and tossed it to the public. She was on fire. Vakarian could never claim her to have poor flexibility after that display.

The next trainee would be received with warm enthusiasm. Nothing would compare to Shepard afterward, the rest of the night would be dull in comparison.

Garrus Vakarian watched Shepard from his spot among the dignitaries in silent indignation. He refused all drinks and any kind of conversation from his peers, he didn’t even deign to fill Shepard’s performance sheets.

“Isn’t Commander Shepard a force of nature, Mr. Vakarian?” Emily Wong asked him. “What an incredible spectacle: there’s nothing like a good arena fight, such refinement in her moves, the pinnacle of polished galactic societies, there’s art in her tactics,” she sighed.

“Sure, sure,” Garrus muttered. “Polished societies. Hmm. Any savage can fight,” he said.

“Commander Shepard is hardly a savage, Mr. Vakarian. You must admit, she’s remarkable, look at her down there,” she turned to him, “I’m sure you can see that, you’re quite the soldier yourself,” she added.

“You saw me fight, briefly, just the other day, Miss Wong,” he said, fixing his visor.

“Yes, quite the sight for sore eyes,” she chuckled. “Do you often spar in Palaven?”

“No, I’m currently stationed on the Citadel. On c-sec; is this an interview, Miss Wong?”

“Completely off the record, Mr. Vakarian. So you currently live on the citadel?”

“Amazing deduction skills, Miss Wong,” Garrus growled. She was distracting him from the fight.

The next day they’d partake in full-contact combat training again, all day. Shepard couldn’t wait to get her hands on Vakarian, twist the knife a little deeper. She was still exhilarated from the night before: that victory in the arena had brought her praise from the press, her peers and of course, her mother, the Captain, who had all but forgotten about poor Ashley. Her mother wished maybe the Hierarch would set aside a couple of rounds for Elizabeth, but that was the last thing her daughter wanted. She played vids in her mind of herself locking Vakarian’s neck, making him fall and pinning him to the ground; maybe use a tiny bit of biotics on him. Enough to make him squirm under her.

On the ship, things didn’t quite go as planned. Commander Shepard saw herself, yet again, sitting on the bleachers. She had too many requests to spar, from the trainers, so she couldn’t just wait to be assigned randomly until she finally got to Vakarian, as she did before. She had to politely turn everyone down, claiming to have “lady pains”. Turians cowered away as soon as she began to explain, men and women. Sadly, it all meant she’d have to ask Vakarian to spar, personally, once she saw him: and she didn’t want to do that. He was capable of taking it as weakness from her part, and he wouldn’t let her forget it. But maybe it was the only way. She stood up and went to the snacks tables; turian snacks weren’t marked, but there was no way anyone would’ve mixed them up for anything humans ate. She picked up a couple of strawberries, marked levo, as she worked up the courage to walk towards Vakarian, who stood not three steps away from her, eating something from a bowl.

“Commander Shepard, why aren’t you taking place in the sparring matches?” Hierarch Bingleykus showed up from nowhere. He was short of breath, fresh out of the sparring ring. “Hey, Garrus! Come here! You’ve been avoiding the ring too, haven’t you? Here you go,” he took Shepard’s hand, dragged her towards her friend. She drew back, quickly.

“I hope you don’t think I moved here just to beg Mr. Vakarian here to spar with me, do you? I’m not desperate for a partner,” she crossed her arms.

Garrus, with grave propriety, requested to be allowed the honor of fighting a round with the Commander, but in vain. Shepard was determined; not even Bingleykus managed to persuade her.

“Seeing you on the ring is a delight, Commander; please, don’t deny us of the pleasure of seeing you down there; and though Garrus here dislikes amusement in general, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind obliging us for a couple of rounds,” Mr. Bingleykus pat his friend’s shoulders.

“Ha. Garrus is all politeness, isn’t he?” Shepard smiled, sardonically.

“Oh, he is. And look at him: who could ever reject him?”

Commander Shepard gave Garrus a once-over, then turned around.

Garrus watched her leave, a smug look on his face.

“I can guess the subject of your reverie,” Mr. Bingleykus said.

“No, you can’t,” Garrus answered, still looking at Shepard go.

“You must be thinking how tiresome it must be for her to come here and try to prove herself at some turians, if she’s anything like you, she’d rather be elsewhere, attending to more urgent matters,” his friend wiped the sweat of his brow plaques. “So you feel you understand her. You think I’ve embarrassed myself and it amuses you.”

“You’re so wrong, you have no idea,” Garrus chuckled softly. “I’m thinking about, ahem, more pleasant matters. I’ve been thinking about eyes, Bingleykus: have you noticed how much character they give to a face? How beautiful— heh… Ahem. Forget I said anything.”

“Commander Elizabeth Shepard,” Bingleykus said, raising both brow plaques, his mandibles wide open. “Spirits! Commander Shepard!” he whispered excitedly. “For how long?”

“Why does it matter? Don’t be nosy, Bingleykus. Don’t you have humans to batter? Vids to pose for?”

“No, it’s just, I’ve never known you to be interested in anyone, turian, human, not even that asari I introduced to you once: this is huge, Garrus,” he whispered, taking a snack. “Forget the training sessions, not that you’ve been invested in them anyway: we’ll get Shepard’s attention, somehow. You’ll see,” he ate a couple of morsels. “This couldn’t be more perfect, my friend. We’ll do double dates. You, me, Ashley and Shepard.”

“You’re getting way ahead of yourself, Bingleykus. Shepard wants nothing to do with me, as you’ve seen.”

That didn’t settle the matter, as far as Vakarian’s friend was concerned. He kept talking, making future plans, as Garrus listened with perfect indifference, his mind fixed on the Commander’s eyes.

Chapter Text

Hannah Shepard was fuming. She paced up and down the mess hall with her datapad, unable to believe her eyes: how dare he? Her ship wasn’t a hotel. Her crew was comfortably accommodated, now she’d have to make room for not only Udina’s protégée, Alenko, but a whole regiment of Alliance Officers from the terminus systems. Not even a please, nor a thank you, not even a could you? They’d be waiting to board in less than an hour. He didn’t even give her enough time to rearrange the girls’ quarters properly; she’d have to make some calls, bring in more food from planetsurface, yell a little on vidcom to Hackett, of course; someone had to have approved that madness.

Jack and Miranda were ecstatic by the news. A little healthy competition wouldn’t hurt anyone, according to Miranda; more people to play mean pranks on was always a plus, according to Jack. They both agreed it wouldn’t hurt to have a little eye candy around. When the officers arrived, Captain Hannah Shepard would’ve thought those two had never seen a man before in their lives; it seemed they were holding some kind of competition to see how many of the men they could get to fall for them. So far, they hadn’t gone any further than that, to her knowledge. She ran a tight ship, and interpersonal relationships between crewmates were highly restricted, unless they were on shore leave. In short: not under her roof. She wasn’t a turian Captain; from what she heard, they allowed their subordinates to mingle freely, as long as they performed on the battlefield. She hoped they weren’t filling their girl’s heads with those ideas in the training sessions. They needed to focus one hundred percent in their training on the turian ship, get a full night’s worth of rest.

Captain Hannah Shepard called Jack and Miranda to her office.

“From all that I can collect by your manner of acting, the two of you must be the silliest girls in the Alliance Navy,” she clasped her hands under her chin. “I have suspected it for some time, but now I am convinced,” she hid a smirk, putting her fingers to her mouth.

Miranda looked appalled and Jack’s biotics were showing.

“Silly it’s not a word I’d use to describe myself, Captain. With all due respect,” Miranda said, leaning forward. “But I apologize for my lack of professional decorum: it will not happen again.”

“I understand both of you are recent additions to the Alliance, and things are different in civilian enterprises, so this once: I’ll give you a pass,” the Captain leaned back. “I hope it will not happen again. Jack?”

“No, mam,” she grumbled.

“You’re free to do as you wish on shore leave,” Captain Hannah stood up. “Neither of you are with Cerberus anymore, but if you’d rather go back and bask on their freedoms, then—”

“No way I’m going back to that dump, ahem, mam,” said Jack. “I speak for the cheerleader and myself here: there’s no way in hell we’ll go back to that shit hole for some guy. Besides, we’re just messing with them. Pftt. They WISH we were interested in their sorry asses: have you seen them? Pining over us, all mopy? Starting fights?” she laughed so hard she ended up coughing and lifting the Captain’s desk just a little. The Captain pursed her lips.

“Of course,” Miranda said. “None of them are up to my standards anyway,” she yawned. “Too simple. Not much of challenge, really. Where’s the fun in that?”

“You’re only saying that because I was winning,” Jack couldn’t waste that chance to boast. She seemed to regret it immediately. Captain Hannah raised an eyebrow. “We haven’t done anything, Captain. But we don’t lack proposals and pitiful gifts.”

“We promise to tone it down, keep up to Alliance Navy standards, Captain,” Miranda said, standing up.

“I don’t know, Mirri: I’m getting bored of just playing with my food,” she grinned. “And the Captain can’t be everywhere at all times: don’t be a stick in the mud.”

“The Captain’s right here, Jack,” Miranda worked up her biotics, her hand ready to strike. “Shut up, now, or—"

 “Girls, back to your quarters: now. You’ll take your dinner in there tonight, I’ll have Elizabeth bring your trays. I don’t want any fights, understood? We’re a unit. We have to stick together. Those men are here for one reason only, Udina doesn’t fool me: they’re here to disrupt our routine in the hopes to weaken us, to make their champion Alenko win the competition.” She sighed. “I’d say he’s succeeding.”

Jack and Miranda looked at each other, not knowing what to say.

“You know, Jack? That Alenko seems like a smart guy,” Miranda whispered to her as they left Hannah’s office. Jack could tell she was planning something.

Hannah’s girls were busy having breakfast in the mess hall, getting ready to leave to the turian ship for another day of training; the terminus’ systems men were forced to eat at the shuttle bay, for lack of space, or so Hannah had them believe. The loud talking and clink of cutlery was interrupted by an excited shriek: it was Ashley, who stared at her omnitool, reading over and over.

“Shhh, everyone quiet!” Kasumi yelled. “What does it say, Ash? Who is it from?”

“It’s from the Hierarch’s sisters,” she tried to steady herself. She drank some orange juice. “They want to have a private meeting with me.”

Excited general muttering ensued.

“What time is this meeting?” Captain Hannah asked, patting her lips with a napkin.

“Tonight, after the sessions. It won’t be at the ship, they’ll hold it at a diplomatic station, where they’re sleeping. I should be able to make it by shuttle,” Ashley answered, sounding formal. Her eyes betrayed her excitement.

“Damn,” Captain Hannah pursed her lips. “With Udina’s stowaways and our own girls, we don’t have enough shuttles to spare,” she stood up, then paced around the tables. “It doesn’t mention anything about official transportation?”

“It expressly says I have to make it on my own; it appears the turians have their hands full with the press and their own people,” Ashley sighed.

“We’ll have to borrow a shuttle from the Alliance. I’ll contact Anderson, see if he can take you there; he hasn’t been around, as of late, I’m sure he’ll be happy to pay us a visit,” she opened her omnitool. “It’s not exactly Alliance protocol, but what is, these days? They owe me, big time, for the little infestation they brought on us,” she typed on her omnitool, furiously.

“Uhh! what if they offer her to stay the night?” Kasumi clapped.

“Good point, that would be interesting,” Hannah Shepard undid what she’d written. “I’ll tell Anderson to drop you off, Ashley, then get back immediately. You’ll think of an excuse: you need to spend as much time as possible with the turians to get an upper hand, I’m sure Udina has bent their ears enough about Alenko. I’m only leveling the field here,” she lifted her chin.

“Good plan, and all, but what if the turians offer to drive her back to the Kilimanjaro, mom? I mean, Captain? What then.” Shepard bit on her toast.

“I’ll say our shuttle bay is at capacity, we can’t possibly accommodate another landing,” The captain smiled, pleased with herself.

Anderson got to the turian training vessel just in time to pick Ashley up. She had cleaned herself up in the communal showers, put on her only nice dress and was on her way. Commander Shepard tapped her mother’s arm as they saw Ashley and Anderson take off, pointing at her datapad: if her nav-app was correct, there would be a space storm passing just by the turian diplomatic station, consisting of an assortment of galactic debris. Captain Shepard shrugged it off: the turians wouldn’t possibly have invited Ashley over if they’d known such a thing, would they?

Commander Shepard found it odd the turians were still around, kicking back, after they left for the Kilimanjaro. Almost as if they’d been waiting for the storm to be on its way so they could make it to their lodgings.

At around midnight, standard galactic time, the Kilimanjaro was wide awake. Captain Shepard hadn’t heard back from Anderson, the turians called to say they hadn’t received Ashley, and at the moment they were on a wild search for the shuttle. The Captain couldn’t do anything but wait; the turians assured them they would find them, safe and sound, and apologized for the confusion regarding the time of the encounter. Maybe something had gotten lost in translation.

Suddenly, a message in Commander Shepard’s omnitool. It was from Ashley’s personal account. She read out loud:

“Shepard, I’m fine. I’m writing this myself, so don’t worry. Tell the Captain I’m ok, just a couple of broken ribs and a slight concussion. We encountered a space storm, we were nearly at the diplomatic station. The shuttle got some damage, we were carried away by the debris. Anderson is fine, just a couple of bruises, sturdy old man. I might have to stay here a while, the turians are insisting since they feel it was their fault. Hierach Bingleykus says you should come over and keep me company, I guess it would be alright. This space station is crazy, Shepard. I didn’t get to see much, but it’s hella classy. They need to work on their levo food, though, please bring me some blast’os? And a chocolate bar.

See you,

Ash.”

“I’m leaving, now,” Shepard closed her omnitool.

“Wait a minute, Lizzie,” the Captain pushed her back, lightly. “You’re on your pajamas.”

“So? It’s an N7 pajamas, Alliance sanctioned,” she shrugged. “It’s basically uniform.”

“How can you be so— so!” Captain Shepard held her own hair. “You can’t go out like that. I’m your Captain, I forbid it.”

“Ashley won’t mind what I’m wearing,” Shepard walked to her quarters. “I have to get there, what if she’s really hurt and she’s not saying? I should go.”

Shepard opened her omnitool, “Joker? I need you to ready me a shuttle. We’re going to see Ash,” she said.

Kasumi followed her to their quarters.

“Shepard, need me to see you off?” She offered, as she helped her with her rucksack.

 Some toiletries, fresh clothes, the chocolate Ashley requested. No blast’os, since they were in the mess hall and her mother would be there waiting. “Kasumi, make sure my mother doesn’t try to stop me or Joker from taking off. I have no time for her nonsense,” Shepard said, putting her boots and her N7 leather jacket on. None could say it didn’t match with her pajamas.

Shepard, in her pajamas, and Joker made it to the turian diplomatic station without incidents. They signaled to be let in.

Shepard was walked to a dining room, where everyone was assembled except Ashley. The turians seemed to have realized she was in her pajamas, but she chose not to acknowledge the turian women’s contemptuous remarks cleverly disguised as politeness. Vakarian kept to himself, not even a wave of the hand, and Mr. Bingleykus did his best to accommodate her.

As for Ashley, Shepard had been right: she was worse than her message had led on, but currently being taken care of in the turian’s med-bay by a human doctor called Michel. Shepard demanded to see her crewmate, immediately; she was delirious, perhaps due to high doses of medigel, feverish and bruised all over. She was missing a tooth, but Dr. Chloe Michel, a cheery woman about her own age, declared she’d craft her a new one, even better than the original. Shepard rolled her eyes at the physician.

Mr. Bingleykus awaited outside the med-bay. He wanted to show her to her quarters himself and told her not to worry: she’d be right by Ash and Dr. Michel.

Chapter Text

Breakfast at the turian diplomatic station was awkward, to say the least. Shepard and Ashley were seated among the dignitaries, some of them complete strangers who didn’t seem very happy to share their table with those humans. Bingleykus’ sisters repeated, over and over, how awful it was to be injured, how many times they’d been injured themselves and how careful they were to avoid it, as if Ashley and Anderson had thrown themselves on purpose at that debris. The Captain had been shuttled back to earth, at his own request. Shepard wondered if Joker was ok, no doubt her mother had shaken him up a little after going behind her back, but what could she do? He was the best pilot in the Alliance, she couldn’t just let him go.

Shepard played with her dull food as she listened to everyone talking among themselves. Bingleykus gushed over Ashley, Vakarian was busy chatting nonstop with one of Bingleykus’ sisters, Attika. She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but the turian looked annoyed. Hell, Vakarian always looked annoyed, maybe that was just his face. The old turian sitting beside her was more interested in his omnitool than his food or anyone around him, checking news, emails. She wished she could go back to the Kilimanjaro, but she didn’t feel Ashley would be safe alone with the turians, and she didn’t trust that Dr. Michel: there was something off with her, but she couldn’t pinpoint what, exactly.

After breakfast, Shepard accompanied Ashley back to her the med-bay, for checkups. Mr. Bingleykus insisted on her coming back to the common room, where they’d spend some time before going to the training vessel. As she stood right around the corner on the corridor, Shepard heard Attica Bingleykus’ voice, clear and loud.

“Did you see what Commander Shepard was wearing this morning? Those were sleeping garments, pajamas,” she laughed. Shepard made a fist.

“She looked wild,” one of her sisters continued. “Humans are so unpolished, aren’t they? Still savages, the lot of them.”

“She could’ve changed before coming here, out of respect, at least,” Attika’s voice dripped disdain. “Coming here in her pajamas was completely distasteful, it was rumpled, it looked tattered.”

“Really? I didn’t notice any of those things you mention,” Hierarch Bingleykus said.

“You must have seen it, Garrus,” Attika said. “What if your sister, Solana, came here to see you in her pajamas? What would you say?”

“I’m not sure I’d like my sister to come see me here in my pajamas,” he grumbled. “But not for the reasons you think, Attika. Don’t twist my words.”

“She’s insane, that human. Hopping on a shuttle in her pajamas in the middle of the night, looking like that. And did you see her hair? I don’t know much about human hair, but from what I’ve seen: it was a disgrace.” Attica added. “It shows this Shepard human has absolute indifference to decorum, like most humans do.”

“It shows she cares for her crewmate, and that’s admirable, Attika.” Bingleykus said. “What do you say, Garrus?”

“I think. Hmm. I think her eyes looked particularly bright tonight, you know, with— all that exercise. Going out of the shuttle and, hmm, ehh, running to us.” He made a long pause.

“Look. I think these humans are ok. I do. But they’re humans, brother. Miss Williams can be the best soldier in the galaxy, but she’ll always only be just a human. Commander Shepard too.” Attika said.

Mr. Bingley didn’t answer.

Shepard didn’t wait to see if Vakarian deigned to say anything either: she rushed back to see Ashley in the med-bay. She was in the diplomatic station for her, after all, not to hang out with the turians.

The turians left all day to tend to their trainees. Ashley had been right: the diplomatic station was huge. She didn’t want to walk around, so she stuck to the gym, with pauses to check on her crewmate, hoping not to happen upon dr. Michel.

In the afternoon, they called them for dinner. Shepard was tempted to send them to hell, but her mother’s voice resonated in her head and she didn’t want to give Attika Bingleykus more to talk about. She put on her best casual attire and joined them, sans Ashley who was feeling worse, somehow; dr. Michel decided to run some tests in the meantime, she’d call if anything was amiss.

The food was a little better than in the morning. Maybe the turians realized they hadn’t eaten much the last time. Shepard faked her smile as best she could, ate in silence as she imagined herself grabbing Attika by the neck and tossing her out the airlock.

“Garrus, I hear you got news from your sister?” Attika said.

“Yes, she’s doing great in military school,” Vakarian pat his mouth.

“Has she grown much since last spring when I saw her?”

“I think so. She’s about the Commander’s height now,” he briefly locked eyes with Shepard. She crumpled her napkin.

“She’s so accomplished for her age, almost a good a sniper as you are, Garrus, dear. I heard she’s better than you were at fifteen. And her performance at hand-to-hand combat! I hear it’s exquisite.”

“It’s amazing to me,” said Bingleykus. “How every woman I meet is so wonderfully accomplished. We, men, are, how do I put it?”

“Always half-assing our way into life?” Garrus chuckled. Shepard suppressed a smile.

“That, exactly that,” he pointed with his fork. “Women kick our asses at hand-to-hand combat, reconnaissance, sniping, setting up traps, and what do we do?”

“Every war needs cannon fodder, Bingleykus. We’re good at that, at least,” Garrus laughed, softly nodding his head.

“We’re not all that great, who are you trying to impress?” Shepard couldn’t help herself.

“Well, every woman I’ve ever met is very accomplished,” Vakarian answered, quickly.

“Aha. Every single one of us? How many have you met? Have you met us all? We’re not perfect, that’s a little insulting.” She lifted her chin. “Implying these things come naturally to us.”

Attika and her sisters cried in protest.

“Are you so severe upon your own kind to doubt the possibility of all this?” Vakarian crossed his arms.

“We work hard. Implying we just happen to be amazing at everything erases all the effort.”

“Don’t assume everyone is as unskilled as you are, miss Shepard.” Attika hissed. “Don’t put the rest of us down because you’ve had it hard.” She gazed at her, scowling.

Shepard stood up, put her cutlery down and left the room.

“Commander Shepard,” said Attika, “is one of those young ladies that seek to uplift themselves to men by undervaluing their own gender; it works with some men. In my opinion, it’s a cheap device. Lowly. What do you say, Garrus?”

“Sure,” muttered Garrus.

Attika wasn’t satisfied with his reply, as to continue with the subject.

Shepard was met with worrying news in the med-bay: Ashley had taken a turn for the worse, and dr. Michel was working double time to figure out why. She decided to spend the night by her side, sleeping on the couch.

Hierarch Bingleykus urged the Commander to call Captain Shepard, who sent dr. Chakwas on a shuttle with Joker; he also instructed all the ship’s service crewmembers to focus their attention on Ashley and the Commander. His sisters weren’t exactly happy with all that.

Chapter Text

Shepard spent the night next to Ashley. In the morning, she sent a private message to her mother, the Captain: she had to come to the station. Ash had been poisoned by a dextro-blood transfusion, a mistake dr. Michel couldn’t have possible made: turian blood was distinctly blue, even under the dim lights of the med-bay. Dr. Chakwas spotted the issue just in time and started her on dialysis immediately. Her liver had sustained some damage, as had her heart, but nothing some healing nanobots and medigel couldn’t take care of. She had been lucky. A couple of hours more and they’d  been looking at a systemic organ failure, brain damage and death. Shepard put Michel under arrest, preventively, but she knew in her gut who had been responsible for it: Attika Bingleykus. That turian’s talons were all over the place, figuratively, of course. Her omnittol scans had found nothing and she was hand-tied. They had to leave that station as soon as possible.

Captain Hannah made it to the station when the turians were busy having breakfast; Shepard walked with her to the med-bay, where dr. Chakwas informed her of the situation.

“We can’t move her to the Kilimanjaro in that state,” Hannah told Hierarch Bingleykus, who waited outside the room. “She’s too frail.”

“Of course not, I wouldn’t even hear about moving her,” Bingleykus said. “I’m sure my sister Attika will agree,” he put an arm around her shoulders. Shepard tensed, but didn’t dare to say anything. She had to be careful.

“Ashley will receive the best care available staying with us,” said Attika. Her voice was cold, her eyes piercing.

“The Alliance Navy is grateful for your friendship, it will not be forgotten,” the Captain pronounced every word, stressing every vocal, but paying special attention to the last sentence. Attica’s mandibles flinched, slightly.

“I’ll remain with Ashley, if that’s ok, Captain. At least during the night, she needs a familiar face,” Shepard tried to hide the anger in her voice.

“I sanction it, if there’s no objections?”

“You can stay as long as you wish, Commander. We’ll shuttle you to the training ship and back, every day. In the meantime, we welcome dr. Chakwas in our med-bay, for as long as you need her. I’m concerned about dr. Michel, she came highly recommended by Huerta Memorial. I can’t apologize enough, I feel entirely responsible,” Bingleykus said.

“Dr. Michel is a pitiful little thing,” Attika’s laugh was icy, metallic. “She has a fetish for turians. I saw her, the other day, leaving chocolates for Garrus: sad, really. He would never — ” she stared at Shepard intently for a couple of seconds, then went back to Bingleykus. “She´s been talking to you quite frequently, brother, dear. I think she got some ideas in that little head of hers, maybe she just… felt like getting rid of that pesky competition.” She licked her teeth.

“Don’t say those things, Attika, by the spirits,” Bingleykus said. “Dr. Michel has been working hard on the station, maybe she was tired. Anyone can make a mistake.”

“Maybe we should’ve gotten ourselves a turian doctor, brother. There’s no need to work that hard when you know what organs you’re working with.”

“Enough, Attica, really,” he sighed. “I apologize for my sister. We all slept poorly last night, I imagine she did too.”

Shepard couldn’t focus on her training in the turian ship. At least Attica wasn’t alone with Ashley in the diplomatic vessel, she was right where she could see her. She didn’t buy that story about Michel, not completely. She punched her trainer hard. She believed that, yes, maybe she could’ve been infatuated with either one of the turians, but she didn’t strike her as the murderous type.

Time came for a partner change. Shepard could see Vakarian waiting in the sidelines, fixing his collar; she walked towards him, her chin high. She pushed aside another trainee on her way: Vakarian was hers, at least for that round. She would’ve rather kick Attica’s ass, but with her, physical fights would probably end in nothing. She still wanted to prove him she was a worthy opponent and she could use the distraction: a win, from wherever she saw it.

“Care for a round, Vakarian?” She put a hand on her waist. The turian’s mandibles flinched, visibly. She had caught him by surprise.

“I thought you’d never ask, Shepard,” he pointed at a spot in the ring. They stood in position.

Shepard swung the first hit, he dodged it, skillfully.

“I like your style, Shepard, you have good shape,” he came back at her. She rolled, managed to make him lose his footing for a moment.

“You’ve been sparring a lot today? Lots of partner rotation?” She jogged in place, figuring out his next move, whether to dodge or attack.

“I’ve done some, here and there. It gets boring, after a while,” he lunged at her, ready to lock her. She turned it around, grabbing his arm. She let go, giving him another chance.

“You fight with one, you’ve fought them all, huh?” She wiped the sweat off her brow.

“You can say that,” he chuckled. He came at her again, this time rolling, maybe hoping to grab her by the waist and pin her down. She performed a slight biotic jump, turned around, managed to lock him tight by the neck. “Damn, Shepard. Not bad.”

“I’m an N7, Garrus,” she whispered. “Toughest training in the human military.” She let go of him, ready for a third round. “I’ve got some moves.”

“I can, hmm, definitely see that,” he ran a hand through his fringe. “If only there were more like you training with us here, it wouldn’t be so mind-blowingly boring. Mind you, if everyone were as good as you are, humans wouldn’t need us to train them,” the left side of his teeth were showing. A turian smirk.

“Was that a compliment, Mr. Vakarian?” Shepard saw an opening and she took it. Vakarian didn’t see it coming: he was in the middle of a clever comeback when he found himself pinned to the ground by Shepard’s strong arms. She could feel the turian’s heart bumping through his chest, his agitated breath in her ear.

“Three rounds in a row,” he laughed, out of breath, still pinned to the floor. “I demand a rematch.” He quickly turned things around, pinning her to the mat. Shepard felt his crushing weight over her: she was immobile. But her legs: she pushed with a little biotic power, standing up with Vakarian in her arms; she quickly took him by the neck, helped by a biotic field. He was taller than her, she had to make both of them float to make it work.

“Commander Shepard!” A voice came from the sidelines: a referee. “No biotic displays allowed! Put your trainer down, or you’ll be seated for the rest of the training session.”

She snapped out of the excitement of it all. She and Garrus fell on the mat, a tangle of limbs.

“Thank you for that. It’s the most fun I’ve had since I left the Citadel,” he said, still sitting on the floor.

“It’s not over yet, what about that rematch?” She stood up, extending an arm to the turian.

“Let’s keep it gentle, for the referees,” he jumped back up. The dance begun, all over again.

“So, do you miss the citadel much?” Shepard said, dodging a blow.

“Some things, yes,” Vakarian ducked, then blocked. “I’m a c-sec officer. I get around a lot, shake bad guys here and there, not as much as I’d like: too much red-tape holding me back. You know what I miss?” He managed to grab Shepard by the waist, she freed herself by jumping and rolling over his shoulders almost managing to lock him back to back by the armpits.

“What do you miss the most, Garrus? Do tell.”

“The shops. Bookstores, antique stores, decoration stores, jewelry stores,” he chuckled, getting back on his footing. Shepard crouched, then attempted a lunge.

“Classy, huh? You share expensive tastes with your friend the Hierarch, I see.”

“I miss fighting through them, mostly,” Shepard laughed, losing her footing. Garrus took the chance to pin her to the ground. “There’s a wider variety of people to fight with there,” he whispered.

“I must say, I agree,” she said, trying to break free. “I was stationed in the terminus systems for a while, it was good, never a dull day. Until — well. You probably heard about that. I guess I’m staying with boring, for the moment, but the Citadel sounds great.”

“You should go, sometime.” He let go of her.

“Maybe I should.” She said. “And what about Palaven? You ever miss it?” She punched him, lightly.

“All the time, but it’s a strange thing. When I’m in Palaven I never want to go back to the Citadel. When I’m on the Citadel, I never want to go back to Palaven. Putting the two in perspective, spirits forgive me: I’m staying with the Citadel. I can’t stand boring for too long.”

“I think I understand,” they’d stopped fighting, altogether.

The alarm sounded: the sparring sessions were over. It was time to get to the showers.

Shepard waited by the turian diplomatic shuttle. She didn’t want to be the first to get in: what if Attica was the only one there? She had no patience for that turian: she was one snarky remark away from punching her teeth into her brain. She waited, checking her datapad, seeing if there were any news from her mother or Ashley. There was nothing, just Al-Jilani’s spam email listings, blast’o was calling for auditions, apparently. Uh.

Hierarch Bingleykus and Vakarian arrived to the shuttle bay together, freshly showered, ostensibly in a good mood. Shepard leaned as naturally as she could on a crate. It was time to leave, there was no time to waste. She was seated on the third row, alone with Vakarian. The hierarch needed a word with his sisters in the front seats.

“Is that elcor poetry?” Shepard couldn’t help but look at Vakarian’s datapad. She regretted asking, immediately. She wasn’t nosy, what had she been thinking?

“It is,” he said, putting it away, almost dropping it.

“That’s romantic elcor poetry,” she noted.

Garrus closed his eyes, sighing. He took out his datapad again.

“Poetry is the food of love,” he muttered.

“Say what again?”

“It’s what the book says,” he cleared his throat.

“Really? I think the book is wrong. I think poetry drives love away,” she took the datapad from his hands. “I mean, if love is strong already, anything you feed it will, hell, I don’t know, make it stronger. But tell poetry to someone who doesn’t care much about you, and you’ll only make sure it ends up nowhere,” she said, quickly. “A good sonnet will starve love away. I met a Krogan poet once, his poetry was terrible; his partner loved him already, it wasn’t the poem that convinced her to love him, believe it or not: it was him.”

Garrus took back the datapad; his brow plaques raised, his eyes wide open, his lips slightly parted. He didn’t say anything back and Shepard felt the urge to shoot herself out the airlock. What the hell had that been about poetry, again?

It was a long, quiet trip back to the diplomatic station.

Chapter Text

Commander Shepard decided to take a little walk around the station before dinner, to release her very tense muscles and forget about that shuttle ride. Ashley was feeling much better, but dr. Chakwas insisted on keeping her in bed, just to be safe.

The views from the pane windows were breathtaking. Endless stars and in the distance: earth, a tiny speck. She pressed her forehead to the glass, breathing in. That part of the station was in complete silence, nothing but the low hum of the electronic life-support systems. Suddenly, in the distance, a weak sound. Bickering. She pushed back from the glass, following the voices. It was Garrus— Mr. Vakarian— and dr. Michel. The doctor had been released from custody and remained in the ship, since she was found to be not guilty of the mistake that almost cost Ashley her life. Captain Shepard sent all the footage available to Admiral Hackett, who had it thoroughly examined: one of the blood bags had been contaminated beforehand, and the bag, the only proof had been long since incinerated by none other than Attika Bingleykus, while the doctor had been under custody during the day. They could do nothing without risking a diplomatic incident. Shepard could think of a thing or two, but there would be time for revenge.

What would dr. Michel and Vakarian have to talk about? Shepard wasn’t a gossip, but what if they were conspiring? She had to rule that out. She fixed her hair, smoothed her clothes. If they caught her, she could say she got lost during a walk.

“You type uncommonly fast, Garrus,” dr. Michel’s voice sounded excited, extremely high pitched. Shepard groaned, quietly, from her hiding place around the corner.

“You’re mistaken: I type rather slowly.”

“How many calibrations you must have occasion to do in the course of a week! They must be incredibly boring.”

“It’s lucky, then, that I’m the one doing those calibrations and not you.”

“Have you written to your sister? Tell her I wish to meet her!” she shrieked. Garrus grumbled, Shepard could hear he stopped typing altogether.

“I told her once, when you told me the first time.”

“I think your gun computer’s holo-keyboard is glitching. Let me fix it for you, I mend holo-keyboards remarkably well.”

“Thank you— but I always fix my own.”

“How can you contrive to type so even?”

He was silent.

“Oh, I just remembered! Tell your sister I loved to hear of her improvement on field medicine, I’m glad my tips were of use.”

“Will you make me listen to this till I write all that down? Or can I go back to my calibrations?”

“Oh, don’t worry. I’ll see her when she arrives, I’ll tell her myself. Do you always write to your sister, Garrus?”

“On occasion, yes. When I’m not busy with my calibrations,” he stressed the last word, emphatically. “And I keep them short.”

“I think a person who writes long letters must be very smart.”

Shepard suppressed a laugh. She didn’t want to risk being discovered and she assumed Michel didn’t mean what she said to come out as it did.

“I write very good letters,” he said. “Letters don’t need to be long to be good.” He resumed his typing.

Shepard whispered to herself “Very humble, Vakarian.” And as she did so, she accidentally elbowed the steel wall.

“Is someone there?” Dr. Michel’s head popped out the door. “Commander Shepard!”

“Hello there, I was just taking a walk,” she tried to look casual. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be in the med-bay?”

“I was keeping Garrus company while he did his calibrations,” she said. “Calibrations sound so boring, don’t they?”

Garrus growled. Shepard stood by the door; the turian typed, quickly. They were at the station’s main battery.

“I don’t know, are they, Garrus? You seem to be having fun there. Is it anything like elcor poetry?”

Shepard looked at dr. Michel’s puzzled expression.

“Better,” he chuckled in a low, almost purr-like tone.

“I have to be at the med-bay, dr. Chakwas is calling,” dr. Michel looked at her omnitool, her whole face contorted as she crossed the door.

“Those are great numbers you have there, Garrus,” Shepard put a hand on her waist. Garrus straightened, puffing his chest.

“I’m quite good at this. Spirits, I’m the best at this.”

“Hmm,” Shepard leaned on the screen, reading the numbers.

“Yes, Shepard?”

“Are you sure you can’t optimize it a little more than that? Squeeze in, I don’t know, 2,5% extra?”

Garrus made a guttural sound, his mandibles twitched.

“I don’t know, it’s pretty much as optimized as I can get it,” he said, he sounded pensive.

“Hell, Garrus. I thought you were the best, or was that all just a lot of boasting?”

Garrus rolled his sleeves. Shepard could barely see his talons over the holo-keyboard.

“There, check the screen,” he took a step back.

“Uh, impressive: 3,5%” Shepard nodded, smirking.

Slow clapping came from behind. Shepard turned around to see Bingleykus, wearing an unbuttoned shirt from which she could see part of his scaled chest.

“You’ll miss these guns once we leave, won’t you, Garrus?”

“We don’t have anything like this on C-sec,” he turned around. “And what’s that about, we, Bingleykus? I thought, maybe, you’d be inclined to stay here a while, even after the competitions are over.”

“Maybe, for now. But you know me, Garrus. I could decide to leave in five minutes, be out of here before dinner without giving it much thought,” he yawned. Shepard crossed her arms.

“Right,” Garrus unrolled his sleeves, leaned on the console. “I think, if a certain friend of yours asked you to stick around you wouldn’t hesitate it for a second. You would make any excuse to stay here, indefinitely.”

“No, I don’t think so. I mean it: I could take my things, right now. Plans change, I can’t be tied down for personal reasons. I’m a Hierarch, I have responsibilities. A duty to Palaven.”

“I think you want to believe that, Biengleykus: but it’s not true.”

Shepard stared in silence. She warned Ashley: she was a big girl, she knew what she was getting into. Turians put duty first, always.

“Look, I know you want to believe I’m a sweet-tempered guy, but you’re giving me too much credit. I could just go back to Palaven now, to prove my point, but I still have to see the competition to an end.”

“You wouldn’t,” Garrus fixed his visor. His friend coughed. He seemed uncomfortable.

“Look. If a friend asked me to stay, what kind of Hierarch would I be if I bent to their will? I can’t. Besides, that friend isn’t such a close friend, in this scenario, hypothetically. I can’t change all my plans for someone who wouldn’t do the same for me.”

“Are you sure, Bingleykus? No intimacy, at all, between those two hypothetical friends?”

Bingleykus groaned, exasperated. “If Garrus weren’t so tall, if he weren’t stronger than me, I swear I would take him down right here, Shepard.”

“We can always settle this with a sparring session, Bingleykus, but I don’t think it’s necessary,” he crossed his arms. Shepard noticed a hint of mockery in Vakarian’s voice.

“I think your insistence on denying it only shows Vakarian here is right,” Shepard said, finally.

Garrus fixed his collar, smirking.

Bingleykus looked angry.

“I see you want to end this argument, Bingleykus. Consider it dropped.”

“Perhaps I do. Arguments are too much like disputes. If you and Commander Shepard here want to wait till I leave the room to continue discussing my character, then I’ll be very grateful. I’ll leave, then you may say whatever you like of me.”

“Oh, don’t mind me, I should go anyway. And I’m sure Mr. Vakarian would like to continue with his calibrations.”

Garrus went back to his calibrations immediately.

The next morning, in the turian training vessel, as Shepard finished her warmups and moved on to her stretching, she felt a light tap on her shoulder.

“Shepard, care to save me the first sparring round?” Garrus Vakarian stood tall in front of her, a white towel over his shoulders and a pair of tight training shorts. Shepard straightened.

She smiled, but didn’t answer. He repeated the question, with some surprise at her silence.

“Yeah, I heard you before; hell, I just didn’t know what to answer. Maybe you wanted me to say yes, so you could, I don’t know, use it against me somehow, it’s what you do, isn’t it?” she lifted a brow. “I’ve been observing you, Vakarian. I don’t know what you intend, but I won’t give you the satisfaction. I’ll say no: now hate me for being one step ahead of you, if that’s what you want. Or not, I don’t mind.” She went back to her stretches.

“I won’t hate you, Shepard. I could never,” he said, softly. He sounded amused. He crouched, holding her ankles, helping her stretch further.

Shepard had expected him to get upset, to bicker; she was amazed at his gallantry.

Vakarian had never been so bewitched by any woman, human or otherwise, as he was with her. He believed, if it weren’t because he knew he had to go back to the Citadel after the training efforts were over, he’d be in real danger of falling in love with her.

In the distance, over at the med-tents surrounding the sparring ring, Dr.Michel accidentally dropped a medigel cannister. She’d been looking at Garrus and Shepard from the distance: she was jealous. Her great anxiety for Ashley’s recovery, for whom she didn’t care much anymore, received some assistance from her newfound desire of getting rid of Commander Shepard. She had moved on from Bingleykus, her eyes were on Vakarian now. Her first plan hadn’t worked as she intended, quite the opposite, and both the turians and the Alliance were closely looking at her, so she had to be more subtle with the Commander: provoking Vakarian into disliking Shepard, talking about how she and Alenko had been an item in the past and how he was now staying at the Kilimanjaro, probably planning to get back together with her, marrying the Commander after winning the ship. Garrus had listened; he wasn’t one to gossip, but Michel could tell, maybe, she had planted some doubt in the mind of the turian.

On another corner, Attika Bingleykus did the same. A she furiously ate a snack, she wished she had been gnawing at the Commander’s neck. She’d had her eyes set on Garrus Vakarian since they were teenagers, who was that human? How did she manage to get his attention in a week? Attika’s tactic was different. She was a diplomat, she was swift, sly. She tried to make Garrus dislike Shepard by making him imagine what it would be like to be with her. As soon as her brother mentioned his little infatuation to her, she had to do something. As she did the night before, when Shepard left to her room after dinner:

“Garrus, imagine if you married Commander Shepard, what would the Captain say? You’ll have to give her a few hints, isn’t that what humans do? Ask her mother permission?  And you’ll have to convince her not to use you as a trampoline to make it to the spectres.”  She would say, trying to sound innocent. Her words laced with poison.

To that, Garrus didn’t reply.

“And I’m sure your father, Castis, would LOVE to add the Captain’s portrait to the family gallery, back in Palaven, as it’s custom. Put her next to your grandfather, the Admiral, they’re in the same profession, you know, in different lines. As for the Commander, why bother with a picture? No portraitist could ever do justice to her beautiful eyes.”

“Ah. You know? No camera, no device, could ever capture Shepard’s expression. But the color, her eyelashes, their beautiful shape: I’m pretty sure they can be copied.”

At that moment, Commander Shepard came back to the dining room. She had left a hair band behind.

Garrus coughed, uncontrollably.

“I hope I didn’t interrupt anything,” said Shepard.

“I didn’t know you were coming back,” said Attika, making it sound as if she had, indeed, interrupted something between them.

“Well, enjoy the rest of the evening,” she said, taking her hair tie. The human looked suspicious, and in that moment, Attika rejoiced.

Which is why, looking at them cozying up at the sparring ring was not a turn of events Attika expected, nor something that made her particularly joyous.

Chapter Text

Ashley seemed to feel better in the afternoon, so the turians decided to move dinner to the living room, for a light tea and snacks evening of leisure after a long day of training. Shepard was a little suspicious of how agreeable Bingleykus’ sisters seemed to be, specially Attika, as they waited for Garrus and the Hierarch to come join them. The turian women’s powers of conversation were considerable: they could describe an entertainment with accuracy, relate an anecdote with humor, and laugh at their acquaintance with spirit. True diplomats, the lot of them. But Shepard was not fooled.

Shepard noticed, though, that they kept their efforts focused on Ashley, mainly; but when Garrus and Bingleykus arrived, she was no longer the first object of attention: Attika’s eyes were instantly drawn toward Vakarian, and she had something to say to him before he had even taken a step into the room. Garrus said hello to Attika, politely. She wasn’t as effusive to greet her own brother, but he didn’t seem to have noticed, since his attention was all focused on Ashley. Bingleykus made sure the room temperature was good enough for his guest, even if it meant lowering a few degrees and putting on another sweater. That station was an oven, most of the time: amazing for turians, not so much for humans. Shepard smiled shyly as she saw Attika scowling at her brother for putting that human first, and openly as she saw her reach for a shawl to cover her shoulders.

One of the turian diplomats, the old man who cared for nothing but his datapad, wondered if anyone was up for a game of cards, but Attika silenced him telling him she knew Garrus didn’t want to play cards at all, and none would want to play anyway. None said anything, the old turian shrugged it off and went back to his datapad. Vakarian took a holo-book from the living room’s bookshelf; Shepard realized it was the same elcor poetry book he’d been reading before. Attika stood up and took the second tome in the collection Elcor Poetry II: Elcor Neruda. 

Shepard pretended to look at her datapad, going through her email, partially hidden by the old turian diplomat who had now fallen asleep next to her. She noticed Attika’s attention wasn’t so much in her book but in Garrus’ progress with his book; she was perpetually either making some inquiry or looking at his page. She couldn’t get any conversation out of him, though: Garrus merely answered the questions and kept on reading. Finally, maybe tired of trying to understand the words in her page or sick of trying to be amused by the book she’d only chosen because it had been the second tome to the one Vakarian had chosen, Attika yawned and said: “How pleasant it is to spend an evening in this way. There’s no bigger enjoyment in life than reading; how much sooner one tires of anything than of a book! My penthouse in Palaven is filled to the brim with holo-books and vintage-bound books, there’s nothing like feeling the weight of paper between your talons. I strive to collect as many books as possible, from every culture available. I dare say, even humans must have some interesting books.”

“Elcor Neruda is based on a human’s work,” Garrus fixed his visor, without looking up from his book. “And I’m sure you’ve heard of Elcor Hamlet. You’ve been to the play, how many times? Hmm. Shakespeare. Also human.” Garrus kept reading. Everyone stayed silent.

Attika didn’t say a word. She put her book aside, looked around, by the looks of it, trying to retain composure as she met everyone’s eyes. Shepard tried to look busy. Awkward didn’t begin to describe the atmosphere in the room.

Everyone resumed their quiet chatting after a while. Shepard nearly dropped her datapad when she heard Attika’s voice again.

“What do you mean you’ll be hosting a sparring session here at the station, brother? You didn’t consult with any of us. Maybe some of us wouldn’t want to be bothered here,” she said. Bingleykus had been speaking to Ashley; he turned to his sister.

“If you mean Garrus,” the Hierarch said, “he can hide in the main battery all day and stay busy with calibrations for as long as the sparring session lasts, if that’s what he wants: but it will happen, it’s a settled matter. I already spoke to Admiral Hackett. It will be a good thing, for diplomacy, and that’s what we’re here for, isn’t it?”

“I would like these sessions better if they were handled differently,” Attika said. “But there’s something insufferably tedious in the usual process of such events. Wouldn’t it be more rational if diplomatic conversation instead of sparring were made the order of the day?”

“Much more rational, my dear Attika, but it wouldn’t be nearly as fun,” he chuckled.

To that, Shepard had to quietly agree.

Attika didn’t answer. Soon after she got up and walked about the room, making a show of it; she swayed her hips, showing her waist, walking in front of Garrus; but he didn’t once look up from his book. Shepard suppressed a second-hand embarrassment chuckle and had to pretend, quickly, to be very interested in some Tupari drink ad pop-up when Attika suddenly decided to approach her.

“Commander Shepard, let me persuade you to follow my example and take a turn about the room. I assure you it’s very refreshing after sitting so long, specially in the way you’re sitting.”

Shepard hesitated; Attika’s eyes told her she wouldn’t take no for an answer. She decided to accept: Shepard stood up, stretching her muscles. Garrus lifted his gaze right away, putting his book aside as he did so.

“Garrus, why don’t you join us?” Attika asked. Garrus sat back.

“No, thank you. I think I’m going to stay right here,” he cleared his throat, looking directly at Shepard. “There can only be two reasons for that invitation to walk around the room, and I’d interfere with both of them. I think I’ll pass.”

“What do you mean, Garrus,” Attika said, putting an arm around Shepard’s shoulders, her talons sinking into her skin; Shepard looked tense. Garrus could see Attika’s machinations were making her nervous. “Shepard, do you have any idea what he’s talking about?”

“Not the sightless clue,” she said. “But I’m sure he’d be disappointed if we didn’t ask about it at all.” She said with a smirk, her beautiful eyes looking directly at him.

Garrus knew Attika wouldn’t want to disappoint him, she would have to ask. Maybe not what Shepard intended, maybe she did really want to annoy him, but spirits, if it was… then, he’d play with it.

“I don’t mind explaining my reasons,” he said, popping his collar. “You either want to walk around the room to discuss some matters in confidence, secrets, and whatnot,” Garrus made a pause to look at Attika. He then put his eyes on Shepard, made sure both of them knew he was talking to the Commander. “Or because you know your, ahem, figures look better as you walk and you’re trying to show off to people in the room; if the first, I’d be completely on your way, and if the second, well, I can see better as I sit right here where I am,” he said, without breaking eye contact with Shepard. She finally looked away. Garrus averted his gaze towards Attika, who looked definitely not amused. She clenched her jaw, her mandibles tight.

“Shocking, Garrus!” Cried Attika. “I’ve never heard something more abominable, truly. How should we punish him for such a speech?”

“You know him better than I do; I’m sure you can come up with something to mock him as punishment,” Shepard said. She didn’t show weakness in her voice, but her eyes betrayed a little uneasiness. He liked the Commander’s boldness: she wouldn’t let Attika bully her.

“I don’t know him that well, Miss Shepard. My intimacy with Garrus hasn’t taught me… that,” she stressed it as if there had been a hidden meaning; Garrus fought the urge to say there was nothing between them, there had never been, but he didn’t want to make a fool of himself. “Garrus is calm, smart, he’ll defy us there: we can’t try to mock someone who can’t possibly be mocked, there’s nothing to work with. We can’t laugh without a subject.”

“Really? Mr. Vakarian can’t be laughed at?” Shepard laughed. “That’s one hell of an advantage. I hope that changes someday, I really love a good laugh,” she said.

“Attika is giving me too much credit: anyone can be laughed at, even the wisest person can be ridiculed by people who love a good laugh, if they try hard enough.” He fixed his visor, looking at Shepard.

“Sure, there might be someone willing to try, but I don’t feel like making fun of a wonderful person such as yourself.” she mocked him. He chuckled, quietly. Attika didn’t seem to catch the joke.

“Well, it might be impossible to mock me, anyway,” he crossed his arms. “I’ve made it my life’s work to study, and avoid, any weakness that could expose me to mockery. I have a deep understanding of ridicule, Commander.”

“Such as vanity and pride,” Shepard said, putting a hand on her hip. He swallowed.

“Yes, vanity is a weakness. But pride? Ah! pride, under good regulation, can only be a great thing.”

Shepard hid a smile with her hand. Garrus puffed his chest, slightly twitching his mandibles.

“Your examination of Mr. Vakarian is over, I presume?” Attika interrupted. “And pray tell,  what is the result?”

“Oh, I’m one hundred percent convinced Mr. Vakarian here has no defects whatsoever. Perfect in every possible way.”

“No, I have plenty of faults,” Garrus sat straighter. “I’m hot-headed. I hold grudges, I find it hard to forget it when people do something against me; my feelings aren’t easily changed. So yes, I suppose some would call my temper resentful: once my good opinion is lost, is lost forever.”

“Well, that’s a defect in my books,” she said, with a hint of humor in her tone. “But I can’t laugh at that, Vakarian. You’re safe from me,” she winked.

“Everyone has defects, not even the best training or the best education can get rid of those things.”

“And your defect is to hate everyone,” Shepard said.

“And yours, is to willfully misunderstand people,” he smirked.

Shepard smiled back at him, with her eyes. Garrus felt like it lasted hours, but it was only for a second.

Attika broke it off. She yawned, loudly, saying it was time everyone went to bed. It was late and they had to be at the training vessel in the morning.

Garrus sat there for a while, staring at the void, a little disoriented. He began to feel the danger of paying Commander Shepard too much attention.

Chapter Text

Shepard wrote to her mother, the Captain: Ashley was feeling much better and Dr. Chakwas agreed it would be best if she went back to the Kilimanjaro. Captain Shepard answered immediately: she regretted to inform she could not possibly send a shuttle off to get them. Joker had asked for medical leave and Anderson had offered his assistance, shuttling the girls to and from the turian training vessel, so his hands were full. Surely they could wait a little longer. Commander Elizabeth Shepard wasn’t amused: she was impatient to get the hell out of that diplomatic station, for her sake and for Ashley’s. She had to take matters into her own hands.

She decided she would take one of the turian’s shuttles, with or without their permission. They were getting out of there that morning, one way or another. She mentioned it during breakfast, blurting it as a server poured some caffeinated dextro drink into their hosts cups; the turians had mixed reactions. Mr. Bingleykus insisted on Ashley staying at least till the next morning, but his sister, Attika, made him realize she’d be much better among her loved ones in the Kilimanjaro. Arrangements would be made for her to be shuttled after the Commander was dropped at the training vessel, in the company of Dr. Chakwas. Shepard agreed, but she demanded Ashley and the doctor had to travel with them to the training vessel, and from there depart towards the Kilimanjaro. The turians agreed to the terms.

Garrus Vakarian felt somewhat thankful that they were leaving: Shepard had been in the station long enough. She attracted him more than he liked— Attika was awful to the Commander, and her flirting towards him was becoming insufferable. He resolved he had to be careful around his friend’s sister, not give her any hopes of any kind, crush any ideas about them she might have after Shepard was gone.

In the training vessel, as they got ready to say goodbye, Ashley had a change of heart: she wanted to stay and watch the sessions; Dr. Chakwas saw no problem in that, as long as she didn’t move more than necessary and kept her around to make sure her vitals were in the green.

 There weren’t sparring sessions that day; Garrus was both relieved and disappointed. He gazed at Shepard from afar as she trained her biotic abilities against holo-dummies, as she shot moving targets and lifted her own weight more times than any other human in the arena.

When the training sessions were over, the inevitable came: time to bid the humans farewell. Garrus took his time, drank his weight in water as he watched the rest gather around the shuttle; Shepard’s cheeks were slightly flushed, her eyes sparkled with the day’s exercise and perhaps with the prospect of finally going back to her own ship, to the Kilimanjaro. Vakarian couldn’t help but notice Attika was incredibly civil to the Commander; she even shook hands and embraced her, she gleamed as she saw her off, eager to push her into the shuttle. Garrus was the last to say goodbye. He walked briskly towards the party just before they got ready to get in, shook Shepard’s hand, helped her into the vessel; he lingered, longer than he should have. They locked eyes. Shepard smiled. He let go, walking away, quickly, his talons tensing in fists and losening nervously on his sides.

Captain Shepard didn’t seem happy to see them. Joker’s shore leave had been an excuse, and the Commander had been aware of it, to some degree: Anderson, who sat in the mess hall, could’ve picked them up at the training vessel with the rest anyway, they could’ve hitched a ride with the terminus systems soldiers, who were just making their way into the shuttle bay. The captain had wanted them to bond with the turians, getting to live with the diplomats under the same roof? That was better than years of diplomatic talks. A couple of days more wouldn’t have killed them, she said, but Shepard wasn’t so sure: Ashley was proof.

Everyone admitted they’d missed Shepard immensely: the ship wasn’t the same without her, it was like every conversation had lost its animation and almost all its sense without her. She was the glue that bound everyone together, some said. Shepard laughed, dismissing it with a joke.

Everyone seemed to have missed Shepard except Miranda and Jack, who were busy with machinations of their own, regarding the terminus systems soldiers. Maybe a specific terminus systems soldier. But they wouldn’t say. The men had dinner alone, in the shuttle bay, as usual; a private had been scolded for wandering into the women’s fridge in the middle of the night, but other than that, nothing else was said regarding the terminus stowaways, as the Captain lovingly referred to them. The subject of the soldiers was quickly dropped: everyone wanted to hear about their days in the turian diplomatic station, and they had a lot to talk about.

Chapter Text

“Hannah, I have excellent news,” said Anderson that morning, during breakfast. Joker was still on medical leave, and someone had to take the girls to the turian training vessel.

“Yes? Something related to the turians?”

“I’m afraid not. Maybe not so excellent news; more like a heads-up. Hackett is sending you yet another unexpected guest, at Udina’s demand.”

“That spineless pyjak! He’s trying to sabotage us, sending people our way when he knows we’re at capacity!” Hannah almost spilled her coffee. “Who is he throwing our way? Is it a journalist? I hope it’s Emily Wong, at least we know each other already, she’ll understand.”

“It’s not Emily Wong.” He said, patting his mouth with a napkin.

“Not Al-Jilani. Please, not Al-Jilani, you know how it ends, how it looks when—”

“It’s not Al-Jilani either. I’ve never met the guy in my life, but I’m sure you’ve heard of him, he’s a popular man.”

Hannah’s omnitool biped. She rerouted the message to her datapad. “Blasto? Goddamn Blasto is coming for dinner tonight?” she tossed the datapad on the table. Every girl in the mess hall quieted, then burst in excited conversation. “What the hell do hannar eat? What are we going to do?” Hannah sighed, loudly.

“Why is he coming? Does it say?” asked Kasumi.

“He’s promoting his new movie, looking for a real military human to be his sidekick on the next; according to Udina, it’s good propaganda,” she rolled her eyes. “Bullshit. It’s a circus, that’s what it is.”

Every single one of her girls were bubbly with excitement, all perhaps except Shepard, Ashley, Jack and Miranda, who maybe smiled cautiously but didn’t participate in the general excitement. Kasumi had stars in her eyes, Hannah could tell she would be a problem. She didn’t train movie stars, she trained soldiers, and at the moment she was set on making them win that shiny turian battleship.

“But Hannah. Blasto sent you a letter himself, how can you refuse?” he suppressed a laugh, badly. He took his friend’s datapad and read: “This one proposes the satisfaction of waiting on you and your crew, Monday, November 18^th, by four o’clock Earth Standard time, and shall probably trespass on your hospitality till Saturday, which this one can do without any inconvenience, as the movie director is far from objecting this one’s occasional absence from the set, provided this one’s stunt man is ready to take over. With outmost respect, Blasto.”

“Well how considerate of him, he’s one polite jellyfish: he invited himself so nicely,” Hannah huffed. “Monday the 18^th? That’s tomorrow. I’ll have to find food, drinks, make the ship hospitable for that one.”

“Look, it could be good for the girls. Not all of them will win the turian ship, maybe some of them are looking forward to being in the new Blasto movie; it can’t hurt anyone, and if Hackett approves, well, how can we say otherwise?”

“I personally have no interest in that, but none can stop him from trying to sway us,” Ashley said.

“Hell, I don’t know; I think he’s a little pompous. I hear he’s awful to his fans: I’m not really looking forward to meeting him, count me out of the casting or, whatever it is. If there’s food, I’ll eat, but that’s as far as I’ll go,” Shepard crossed her arms.

Kasumi squealed quietly, but she made sure to hide it well. It didn’t escape Shepard, though, who knew all about her hidden posters under the bed. Both Jack and Miranda yawned and feigned disinterest.

When Blasto arrived, they hadn’t expected him to look so regal; he wore red gossamer drapes around his tentacles, which caught Kasumi’s attention right away. She wasn’t able to contain her excitement then. The rest of the girls, as instructed by Captain Hannah, managed to retain composure: they greeted him with severe military politeness. During the meal, the captain said very little, but after a few drinks, her girls were ready to talk; Blasto wasn’t one to stay quiet, so he complied and answered every single one of their questions, as long as they were about himself. His air was grave and stately, his manners very formal. He complimented Captain Hannah on her crew, he knew they were all doing excellent at the turian training sessions; he hoped one of them would win the turian ship, and the competition.

“You’re very kind, Blasto,” Said Captain Hannah. “That ship will be a great asset to the Alliance Navy, and with one of my girls in command: it will be a force to be reckoned with,” she puffed her chest.

“You assume it will stay in the Alliance Navy,” Blasto answered. The Captain looked visibly tense.

“What do you mean?”

“Your top-ranked soldiers, Gunnery Chief Williams and Commander Shepard, are being rumored to be leaving the Navy. This one has heard they seek to run away with a couple of turian diplomats; this one thinks they can’t have both.”

Commander Shepard made a fist under the table. Could one strangle a hannar?

“This one thinks, maybe, it can help by rerouting attention, now that we’re better acquainted. This one gets a sidekick, you get to keep the ship for the alliance navy in exchange. If they agree to the terms : they do a movie with this one, then by the enkindler’s grace, transfer the turian ship to your command.”

Commander Shepard nearly choked on her roasted chicken.

Chapter Text

Blasto sat in Captain Shepard’s office after dinner. She looked at him, quietly, waiting. The hannar wouldn’t say a word and he didn’t look like he was about to move anytime soon.

“So, what’s life on the set like?” She said. She didn’t really want to know, truth to be told, but filling the void with conversation seemed a lot better than staring at its pink tentacles.

“The director is very kind to this one, most gracious. She allows this one to preach the word of the enkindlers on set, she even listens to this one’s words herself. This one gets to spread the word of the enkindlers all across the galaxy, while on tour.

“That’s very civil of your director, of course,” Captain Shepard said. “She seems like a nice person.”

“She is.”

Captain Shepard wanted to pull her own hair.

Chapter Text

Blasto was set on taking on of Captain Shepard’s soldiers: its director had been clear, come back with one of her women or don’t come back at all. Its whole career was in the balance, and most importantly, its reach across the galaxy: his duty with the enkindlers was at peril. It couldn’t leave the Kilimanjaro emptyhanded, but there was one little problem on his way. It was useless around humans, it didn’t get their cues, their facial expressions, how could they manage to communicate without chemicals it utterly escaped him.

Blasto had tried to talk to the captain the night before, but it had gone badly. It had been unprepared. It wrote a letter to its director, asking for pointers, as she had done for dinner: appropriate topics for conversation, what to say, when to say it. It stayed up most of the night rehearsing, and before breakfast, he waited by the Captain’s office.

“This one won’t leave without taking Commander Shepard as a companion for Blasto 4. This one has decided Commander Shepard’s performance in the arena is unparalleled; this one will make sure the Commander wins the prize, and you will proceed as this one proposed: the ship will remain with the alliance.”

“You suggest cheating? No. Don’t even mention it, don’t ever.”

“Commander Shepard is objectively the best fighter in the arena. This one can slip intel to the Shadow Broker. This one can let it slip Gunnery Chief Williams has an unfair advantage. This one knows about her cross-species liaison.”

The captain tried to hide a flinch. She knew hannar were bad at reading human expressions, but what if he’d been recording her? Both of her girls were skilled, each one in different ways; Williams was a sharp shooter, Elizabeth an accomplished biotic. But Lizzie was her daughter: seeing her win would mean everything to her. She couldn’t. They were both under her command, it would be unethical. Having Elizabeth win like that would mean absolutely nothing, the guilt would follow her forever. She refused, and politely escorted the hanar out of her office.

Something told her it didn’t need her permission to do it, though. But she trusted Elizabeth would do the right thing, if the time came.

In the mess hall, in the meantime, there was quite a commotion: the terminus systems soldiers were marching, in a tidy line, towards the empty tables. Miranda and Jack looked at them, as they sipped their coffees. Jack recognized one of them, lieutenant Denny; he had procured some weed for her, to ease the pain from the implants, allegedly. She waved at him, letting him know it was ok to join them. Miranda crossed her arms.

“Yo, Denny,” Jack greeted him as he sat. “What brings you guys up here? The Captain will bitch about it,” she took a bite of an apple.

“There’s a fuel leak in one of the shuttles, we can’t have breakfast there,” he grabbed one of Miranda’s toasts. She glared at him. “Hey, Alenko! Come join us! Bring me one of those trays, will you?”

Miranda bit her lip.

Alenko’s hair was impossibly shiny, perfectly groomed. That couldn’t be normal, how long did it take to get it like that? The four of them shared breakfast together, then shared a ride in the shuttle.

They arrived just as the turian diplomats arrived at the turian training vessel. As the four humans walked towards the lockers, they bumped into Vakarian and Bingleykus; they greeted them. Vakarian merely deigned to return the salute, he looked nervously towards the shuttle. His mandibles flinched, visibly, at the sight of Commander Shepard; the Commander noticed him as well, her eyes fixed on his so intently she accidentally tripped on Ashley, who was immediately assisted by Bingleykus who rushed by her side. Vakarian volted towards the lockers before anyone had the chance to engage him in small talk. Bingleykus talk with Ashley and the Commander for a moment, then followed his friend’s lead.

At the arena, the turians announced it would be a somewhat different day for the trainees: the humans would train against each other. They had an honored guest among them, Blasto, of all people. Commander Shepard cracked her neck, looking at the bleachers, searching for the particular shine of a Kuwashii visor. She had been looking forward to sparring with Vakarian again, the turian had been a little odd that morning. She was nearly knocked over by Miranda and Jack, who dragged Alenko and his friend to the sparring rings, wasting no time. Shepard turned her gaze back to the bleachers, no sign of Vakarian, but she could’ve sworn Blasto was staring at her; could hanar even stare at people? It dictated something to a drell. Someone tapped her shoulder: she had to get back to training.

Chapter Text

“I’m not going alone,” Shepard slathered some healing ointment on her nose. One of the male contenders had managed to scratch her nose, but nothing compared to what she’d managed to do to his ribs.

“I imagined you’d say so, I’m your mother, unfortunately,” Hannah sighed, hiding a smirk with her hand. “ You’ll be taking Kasumi, Ashley, Miranda, and Jack with you. No funny business.”

“Aye, ma’am.”

“No hanars will be punched, no messing with the sets. You’re representing the Alliance Navy.”

“You don’t have to tell me that, tell it to Jack and Kasumi.”

“I’m putting you in charge: if you’re ever to command your own ship, surely you can handle a small outing with the recruits. Their actions will reflect on you.”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Much better,” Hannah fixed her daughter’s collar, combed her unruly hair back. “Blasto is a nuisance, but we can’t afford bad press at the time.”

“We’ll mingle, take some pictures and reject them with kindness.”

“Exactly right.”

Lady Catherine’s set was in Noveria, just one mass relay jump away from home. “At least we’ll get a break from the turians,” Jack said as she shivered from head to toe. She refused to wear a heavy coat, no matter the weather.

An asari escorted them to a long shuttle, jet black with polarized windows. Jack was quick to jump in, but Shepard halted her: you just don’t get into a shuttle, any shuttle, without scanning it first, especially if you can’t see through the windows. She activated her visor: champagne bottles and flute glasses, snacks, exotic fruits and holo-magazines. No sign of bombs or guns. The shuttle was self-driving, which didn’t exactly make her feel safer, but in case of emergency, she could always override its code.

She jumped in, the others charged inside.

Lady Catherine’s condo occupied the top of a large skyscraper, the tip, resembling a twisted vine made of steel and glass, frosty with ice. A separated elevator with an encrypted key took them all the way up: they had been expected, the concierge knew exactly who they were as soon as they entered the lobby. The girls chatted excitedly, looking down from the glassed walls of the elevator, wondering what Lady Catherine looked like, what the actual condo was like, was she a hanar as well? Would Blasto be there too? Shepard stared blankly at her reflection on the window, her arms crossed. They were wasting precious time there, when they should’ve been training, trying to win that turian ship, and most importantly: showing those turians. Instead, they were playing tea-time with Blasto and his whatever she was.

The elevator dinged. Shepard was blinded by the distasteful opulence of the place, it hit her like a biotic blast. Golden mirrors, marble floors, embroidered curtains, ornate chairs and sofas, statues, paintings, and the list went on. She was so dizzy she barely registered the hand of her host approaching to meet hers. Upon touching it, she realized it had been a hologram.

Lady Catherine was an asari Matriarch, which explained a lot.

Shepard greeted her as she quietly observed Kasumi and Jack, as they appreciated the many small trinkets lying around, assessing their pockets. She’d have to conduct a discreet search before leaving, doing so beforehand would raise the asari’s alarms. Maybe an angry look would dissuade them: she was watching; Kasumi quickly put down a figurine, elbowed Jack. Shepard relaxed her shoulders and her stare. It didn’t mean they wouldn’t try again, but it would buy her some time.

Lady Catherine’s hologram led them to another room; Shepard could smell food and something else. Something strangely familiar. A lotion. She only knew one person who wore it on his hair: Alenko. And sure enough, he was there, sitting on one of those dreadful couches, eating a small sandwich.

“I didn’t know we’d have company,” Shepard crossed her arms.

Blasto came floating from upstairs.

“This one is glad to see all the prospects are here.”

Shepard seemed to be the only one not happy to see Alenko there. The other girls, especially Jack and Miranda, ran to sit by his side. Alenko was popular to the point even Blasto seemed to sink into insignificance, ignored even by Lady Catherine who chose that moment to make her hologram disappear as she was needed elsewhere. Pftt. Shepard sat alone in one of the ornate chairs, laid back, her legs straight. Glaring. She had to be there, she had to be proper enough, but she didn’t have to have fun or be lively. She didn’t want to be in a damn vid anyway: she was a soldier. And the sandwiches tasted stale.

The Commander was falling asleep, but instantly rose up at the mention of Mr. Vakarian. She immediately composed herself, luckily all eyes were set on the interlocutor: Alenko. He was telling a story she was very willing to hear, at last: the history of his acquaintance with Mr. Vakarian. She was so startled by the revelation, she even stuffed a sandwich in her mouth. ¿How did they even know each other? ¿why? Her curiosity was instantly relieved.

“I have been connected with his family in a particular manner from my infancy,” he said.

Shepard almost choked on her sandwich.

“I know this must be very surprising, Shepard, you’ve seen how the turian treats me. Cold is one word for it. I’ve noticed you’re getting kind of close to Vakarian, aren’t you?”

“Sure, as much as I ever want to be,” she cleared her throat. She could feel herself blushing, but masked it as a fit of coughing. “Sorry, the sandwiches are a little dry,” she excused herself. “I spent time at the turian diplomatic vessel, I had to spend time around him. I find Gar- Mr. Vakarian very disagreeable.”

“I don’t have a right to give my opinion,” said Alenko, “to whether or not he’s agreeable or not. I’m not really qualified. I’ve known him far too long to be fair. But people would be surprised to hear you say that about him.”

“Really? He’s been nothing but rude to anyone who meets him, how in hell would that be a surprise to anyone?”

“I can’t pretend to be sorry about that,” he pulled his hair back. “But people often judge him by his status and prowess. He’s seen only as he chooses to be seen.”

“Well, I see him like that. He’s bad-tempered,” she spat.

Alenko shook his head. He was infuriating, Shepard wanted to throw a small sandwich at him.

“I wonder if he’ll stay in the sol system for long,” he said.

“I figure he’ll go back to the citadel afterward,” Shepard said.

“I thought you wanted to get a post by the Citadel, if things go well,” he said.

“What? You think him being there will make me change my mind about the citadel? He’s not that important. The citadel is huge, I’ll never see him.”

“What if you make into the spectres? He’s a candidate and there’s a high possibility he’ll get in”

“We’ll never see each other, spectres work alone”

“Not always”

“What about you? I feel like you’re speaking about yourself here”

“No, I won’t leave the citadel or deny the spectres for him. If he doesn’t want to see me, he’ll have to avoid me. It’s not me, it’s him,” he sighed. “His father was a dear friend of mine, the best C-sec officer there ever was. Vakarian disgraces his memory. I can’t stand to see his face.”

How come she never knew that? They had had a small fling, and he kept all that a secret? It was not the place to ask that sort of question. Hell, they had already spoken too much in  Lady Catherine’s condo, a movie producer of all people: she would no doubt use the material, she was probably recording everything in secret. She decided to stop the topic right there and there. In her hunger to know more, she hadn’t realized everyone had been listening to them both, intently.

Alenko changed the subject, swiftly, talking about how nice it had been to bunk in the Kilimanjaro lately. Miranda’s eyes were all sparkles.

Blasto took out a couple of sets of holo chess. It wanted to make a little tournament, observe them. Shepard shrugged. She was turning into stone there. In other circumstances, she would’ve hated to be paired with Alenko, but sitting close to each other, out of the other’s ears reach, maybe he could tell her more.

“I was forced into the military, this life wasn’t really intended for me,” he sighed, laughing. “My biotics made it inevitable. My family couldn’t afford to raise me, so off I went to biotic boot camp. I’m not complaining, I’ve made the best of it.”

“Of course,” she pretended to look at her pieces.

“Vakarian senior sponsored me, a turian-human post-war relief initiative. He wanted to make sure his investment was put to good use, so he would visit regularly, write, video chat. He was more like a father to me than my own father. He wanted to leave me some relief after his death, to help with my implants and my career, but his family didn’t want to go through the trouble. Turian laws are complicated enough without including property cessions to humans,” he sighed. “And Vakarian is not happy with his father’s decision, so he did everything he could to stop it. He hates me.”

“But that’s horrible,” Shepard gasped.

“Maybe someday I can expose him,” he looked briefly towards a large painting depicting Lady Catherine.

Maybe Alenko wasn’t as bad as she thought, after all. One never ceased to get to know others. And Vakarian. That Vakarian!

“But why the hell did he do something like that? How can he be so cruel?” Shepard’s heart felt tight.

“He just hates me, Shepard, what do you want me to say. He was jealous of me. His father liked me, a human, better than him, his own flesh and blood.”

“I never thought Ga- Vakarian would be as bad as this, I mean, I always disliked him, but I never felt so disgusted by him. He’s a monster. He’s pure evil,” Shepard felt a cold shiver in her chest. She felt sick. “I do remember he told me, though, he had an unforgiving temper. Maybe that’s what he meant. I just didn’t want to see it.”

Shepard clasped her hands.

“How could he treat his father’s protégé like that? A boy who had none else in the world? He has everything! Money, status, health,” She sighed, “I can’t understand.”

“I even spent some summers in Palaven. Slept in the same house as Garrus, played with his toys, we didn’t eat the same food but shared the same table. We were like cousins. His father made him promise he would help me after his death, just as Vakarian’s father promised my own parents he would provide for me before they died of radiation exposure.”

“That’s horrible and strange. Vakarian is a proud man, he could’ve fulfilled his father’s wishes out of pride.”

“Yes, he’s usually moved by pride. His actions moved by pride make him look almost like a good person, to some, but his hatred towards me is stronger.”

“How come?”

“He gives money to charities, is hospitable to people. He’s proud of his father’s legacy and doesn’t want to see that tarnished. He has family pride as well, he takes good care of his sister Solana, he’s the best brother you’ll ever find.”

“What is Solana like?”

“Just like her brother: very, very proud. When she was little, she was very fond of me. She’s a stranger now; she’s fifteen, sixteen? And rising quickly in the ranks.  Since her father died she hasn’t left Palaven.”

“What about Bingleykus? Do you know him?”

“No.”

“He’s sweet and charming,” she looked at Ashley, who was beating Jack’s ass. “Maybe he doesn’t know what Vakarian is truly like.”

Blasto broke the chess pairs and called them to another room, where a table was served with little cakes and more tea. Shepard ate one immediately. Too sweet.

“Did you know Lady Catherin is related to Mr. Vakarian?” Kasumi whispered in Shepard’s ear.

“What?” she nearly spat her cake.

“She and Vakarian’s mother share ancestors,” she whispered. “It’s complicated, all asari family trees are complicated. She’s his great-great-great-something aunt. And here’s the fucked up thing,” she made herself invisible.

“Wait, what did you do? What do you know?”

“A little hacking here and there. Do you want to know or not?”

“It’s done, it’d be a shame to waste it,” Shepard whispered back.

“ Lady Catherine D’Bor has a daughter, she’s like three hundred: she wants to marry her to Vakarian.”

“But they’re related.”

“I know. I said it was fucked up. But that’s not all.”

“Go on.”

“Lady Catherine is a Matriarch, her lifespan is almost at an end. Her daughter will inherit all her fortune, her properties, and if she marries Vakarian: his things too. All she has to do is wait, what? Ninety years?”

Shepard couldn’t help but smile as she remembered Attika: her attempts at trying to win Vakarian over had been in vain. He was already destined for another. In families like his, people didn’t really get to choose, did they?

“Will Lady Catherine be joining us again? Her hologram, I mean. Blasto here speaks highly of her, I wish to know her better since she invited us here.”

“She’s an arrogant bitch, just like every rich bitch I’ve ever met,” said Jack. “She won’t even come here in person. At least we can eat her food.”

“I wouldn’t have put it that way, but yes, maybe you have a point,” Alenko agreed. “It must be something in her blood. That arrogance,” he mumbled. Shepard caught it: he knew, of course he did.

Blasto paid no mind to their comments and talked about the movie in length. The prospect of becoming a star didn’t entertain Shepard at all, but she could see something stir in Kasumi’s eyes. She tried to get Blasto’s attention the rest of the evening, talking about her previous occupation as an “art curator”. She finally caught the hanar’s attention when she mentioned prothean artifacts.

Kasumi wouldn’t shut up all the way back to the sol system.

Chapter Text

Elizabeth related to Ashley the next day what had passed between Alenko and herself. Ash listened, astonished and concerned: she couldn’t believe Garrus would be so unworthy of Bingleykus friendship, but she couldn’t question the word of a man as nice as Alenko. The possibility of him enduring such unkindness was enough to interest all her tender feelings.

“I think there must be a mistake somewhere. There must be some kind of misunderstanding, ¿maybe someone’s been playing them? Pitting them against each other. They both seem so nice.”

“Yeah, I think so, Ash. Someone went to great lengths to frame Mr. Vakarian and make him act awful towards Alenko. Makes complete sense.”

“You’re mocking me? You’re mocking me, skipper. But look, I don’t think Garrus— Mr. Vakarian— has it in him. Either Alenko is lying, which seems unlikely, or something else is happening there. Alenko was his father’s favorite, why would he treat him that way? He promised to provide for him. You’ve met Vakarian, we both have. I don’t think him capable of such cruelty, to be completely honest. Not on purpose.”

“Alenko seemed to be telling the truth: he gave me names, facts, everything. You can’t make up stuff like that, not in casual conversation, not that easily. Hell. I believe him, Ash.”

“Damn, skipper. I don’t know what to say.”

“None knows what to say in this situation, I don’t know what to say. What to think.”

But Ash knew something with certainty: if the Alenko-Vakarian affair became public, all hell would break loose. The media would eat it up. It was bad.

A message beeped on both their omni-tools: a personal greeting from Attika with an invitation to a celebratory training session at the turian station.

“It looks like we both made it to the second round,” Shepard  turned her omni-tool off.

“A party would’ve been nice,” Ash put her hair up in a ponytail.

“Have you met the turians? This is a party,” Shepard joked.

Captain Shepard was ecstatic. All her girls had made it through the first round of eliminations, and a good chunk of the terminus systems soldiers were sent home. Ash pictured herself sneaking away with Bingleykus somewhere in the station. Shepard thought with pleasure about sparring with Alenko as long as she could, and seeing confirmation of everything in Mr. Vakarian’s looks and behaviour. Miranda and Jack were plotting to take down as many soldiers as they could without giving away “an unfair use of biotics”. Kasumi tested her cloaking device, just in case.

“While it’s nice to have the ship all to myself sometimes,” said Kasumi “ It’s no sacrifice to join these sparring matches. I profess myself one of those who consider intervals of recreation and amusement as desirable for everybody.”

“Kasumi, how did you make it to the second round? We hardly ever saw you there,” Shepard tossed her backpack near the shuttle.

“Exactly.” Kasumi winked and disappeared again.

Elisabeth’s spirits were so high on this occasion that she even spoke to Blasto, who decided to tag along for the ride. She asked, as a joke, it if they would care to spar with her, at some point.

“This one by no means, objects to sparring. And even though the matriarch Lady Catherine needs this one in perfect shape for the vids, this one will take the opportunity to solicit Commander Shepard for the first two sparring rounds. This one expects Gunnery Chief Ashley Williams will not take offense and attribute to any disrespect to her.”

Commander Shepard felt herself completely taken in. She had entered her name on the rooster next to Alenko’s already for those very rounds. And to have that stupid jellyfish instead! Her liveliness had never been more ill-timed. There was no helping it, however. Alenko’s happiness and her own had to wait a little longer. She accepted Blasto’s proposal as nicely as she could. She knew what Blasto was aiming for, though: the hanar was on their vid bullshit again. The hanar’s intentions were evident as they increased their civilities to herself. The jellyfish could be quite charming: the hanar made it obvious starring in a movie with them, with the great Blasto would be incredibly agreeable to her. She had made it clear she didn’t want to star on their stupid little movie before, but soon she realized voicing her concerns in the middle of a sparring match in front of hundreds of camera drones would only bring trouble. It was useless to quarrel with him, at least at the moment.

Nothing in the world would make Shepard want to star in a Blasto movie. She wanted to be a real spectre, not a pretend one. And even if the turians hadn’t arrived with their fancy ship, their top of the line training: she would’ve found a way. She was sure of that. Not in a million years, Blasto.

Chapter Text

Blasto had been a terrible sparring partner: often moving wrong and completely unaware of it, the hanar gave her all the misery a bad sparring partner could give someone for a couple of matches. The moment she was finally released from it was ecstasy.

Until Shepard entered the refreshments room after the first break of sparring, looking outside and inside the diplomatic vessel’s gym, searching for Alenko among the cluster of Alliance uniforms, turian attires and medals, a doubt of him being present had never occurred to her. The certainty of meeting him had not been checked by any of those recollections that might not unreasonably have alarmed her. She had put on her best uniform, she even wore some perfume and made sure her hair was particularly shiny; she knew turians enjoyed beautiful hair, she had to look presentable, of course. She had prepared in the highest spirits for the conquest of all that remained unsubdued of his heart, trusting that it was not more than might be won in the course of the evening. But it was true: Alenko wasn’t at the celebrations. He had avoided them, for some reason or another. She walked around, trying to catch someone slipping his name in conversation.

“I hear it all,” Kasumi materialized behind her, whispering.

“Kasumi, you nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“You’re looking for the turian, Vakarian?” she took a protein bar from a tray. “Don’t deny it. I see it all, hear it all. You shouldn’t have private conversations in—”

“We were talking in our cabin, how?”

“I was looking for something, I couldn’t just open the door to leave and interrupt you. It would’ve been rude. I couldn’t help but listen,” Kasumi shrugged, then popped bar into her mouth.

“I’m looking for Alenko, actually. We were supposed to spar and he never showed: I was stuck for four rounds with that stupid jellyfish.”

“Jellyfish? Maybe. Stupid? Hmm. Anyway. I did happen to hear something about Alenko. Called away on personal business, they say.”

“Hmm,” Shepard pressed her lips.

“I also hear,” Kasumi stole a flute of electrolyte water, “that the real reason he’s away is,” she leaned to whisper, “to avoid a certain turian gentleman. A gentleman who happens to be here? A gentleman you stared at a lot tonight.”

“Blasto?”

“Hmpff,” Kasumi spit her wine, “yes, Blasto. Mr. Vakarian, of course. You were very distracted, Shepard. Looking over your shoulder, towards the crowd. Towards the turians? Careful, Shep. Some of them were looking back. I’m not the only one who notices things.”

Kasumi cloaked herself before Shepard could answer.

She decided it was better not to talk to Vakarian, not to search for him, at least for the time being. Her plan had gone to hell. It was a good thing Emily Wong grabbed her by the arm and insisted on a quick interview just as her eyes and the turian’s locked from across the room, his visor shining bright blue. She never thought she’d be happy to talk to a journalist, ever, but there she was, happily answering stupid questions.

The bell rang and soon the recruits were called back to the gym for another round of friendly matches. She was paired with one of the terminus soldiers, Jenkins, who happened to be Alenko’s number one fan. He wouldn’t shut up about him. Shepard knew Alenko was well liked in the alliance, they’d had a small fling during a deployment years ago, but she didn’t know how much people actually liked him. She knew nothing about him, really. She felt bad for calling him Udina’s lap dog, he’d been through a lot.

She was wiping her sweat, ready for her next opponent, when she felt a tight grip on her left shoulder. A pair of turian talons. She looked up, meeting Mr. Vakarian’s amused gaze. They both froze, staring at each other for what seemed like an eternity; the whole room had their eyes on them. Garrus bowed, making it known he wished to spar with her. Shepard wondered if she could keep quiet for the rest of the match, she was resolved to do so— at first. Then, suddenly, she realized that maybe it would be the greater punishment to force her sparring partner to talk. She made a slight observation on his fighting moves. He replied, and was again silent. After going at it for a couple of minutes, she addressed him a second time with: “Maybe you could say something now, Vakarian. You’re making it awkward. I gave you feedback, maybe you have some pointers for me? Some remark about the angle of my fists, the way I position my legs. The number of times I missed a clear opening.”

Garrus smiled, the way turians did, and assured her that whatever she wished him to say should be said.

“Very well. That will do, for now. Maybe for now we can be silent, then.”

“Do you always talk when you spar, Commander?” He grabbed her by the waist, ready to flip her. He caught her by surprise, but she managed to break free.

“Sometimes. One must speak a little, you know? It would be weird to be entirely silent for half an hour together, throwing punches at each other,” she ducked. “And yet some people want to speak as little as possible, so one has to ask all the questions, to accommodate the other.”

“Are you speaking about yourself or about me, Commander?”

“Both.” She managed to trip him, but he jumped back on his feet almost immediately. “I think maybe we’re a little similar. We both refuse to speak unless we expect to say something that will amaze the whole room, you know, something to be regarded for posterity and such.”

“That doesn’t sound like you, Shep— Commander,” Garrus attempted to lock her, but she scurried away. “And hmm. How much does it sound like me? I cannot say. At least you seem to think it does.”

“I can’t judge myself accurately, really.”

He didn’t answer, and they were silent again until the referee called a draw. They collapsed on the mat. Shepard’s omni-tool beeped: a voice message from Alenko:  sorry I couldn’t be there! I’ll make it up to you. We’ll have Barros Luco* sandwiches, my treat.

The effect on Vakarian was immediate: his mandibles contracted, his neck tensed, but he didn’t say a word. Shepard couldn’t resist.

“I’ve heard you know Alenko?”

“Alenko makes friends everywhere he goes, huh? Whether he’s capable of retaining them, that’s less certain.”

“Too bad the two of you aren’t friends anymore. And he’s seeing the worst part of it, I hear.”

Vakarian didn’t answer, he seemed eager to change the subject. Again, Emily Wong appeared in just the right (or the worst) moment. She and her drone managed to pass through the rest of the competitors, dignitaries and turians. She kneeled next to them, and immediately focused on complimenting Vakarian on his reach and Shepard’s remarkable flexibility. It was no wonder, she said, the match had ended in a tie. They were formidable: she’d seen them fight each other before, but this time it was like the whole room had frozen still. Their best performance yet, and she had it all on camera. She insisted on recording an official statement. They both reluctantly agreed. Captain Shepard would never forgive the Commander if she didn’t. Bingleykus would never forgive Vakarian if he refused.

“Mr. Vakarian, such superior fighting is not often seen. It’s evident you belong to the first circles of Palaven, you could even be a Spectre! Allow me to say, however, that your partner, Commander Shepard, does not disgrace you, and that I must hope to have this pleasure often repeated, especially when the last round of eliminations take place—Commander Shepard. I’m getting ahead of myself, of course, but the Commander is a clear favorite in the polls. Miss Ashley Williams, another favorite of the public, has been seen a lot with Hierarch Bingleykus, can we hope to see them sparring together tonight as well? I understand yours was an unexpected, completely out of protocol, event, Mr. Vakarian. It’s wonderful to see turians mingling willingly with the recruits, even if it’s not required of them.”

The last part was completely lost on Vakarian, but the part about Bingleykus caught his attention. He averted his eyes towards his friend, who was enraptured by the gunnery chief’s sparring session, and had been so all night. People had noticed. When he stopped watching, Emily Wong was gone.

“Sorry Shepard, miss Wong’s interruption made me completely forget what we were talking about.”

“No, I don’t think we were talking. Miss Wong interrupted the most boring people in the gym tonight. We tried what, two, three topics tonight with no success? What could we talk about?” Shepard stretched her legs.

“Hmm. What do you think about books?” he chuckled.

“Books! No, I don’t think we read the same books or feel the same way about books.” She said, hiding a smile.

“Really? Well, in that case, we could compare our different opinions, then.” He stretched his arms.

“Nah, I can’t talk about books in the middle of a bunch of people sparring. Too distracting,” she touched her toes and stayed there for a moment. “My mind is always full of something else”

“The present always keeps your mind busy, does it?” he said, reaching for a towel.

“Always,” she answered without knowing what she said. Her thoughts had wandered far away from the subject, her head was completely elsewhere. “Garrus, I remember you told me once that you hardly ever forgave other people. That you held grudges. I guess you’re cautious about not creating situations that might get you in a position to, you know, hold a grudge. So you avoid people who might do something to you, before they can actually do something.”

“I guess so,” he said, putting the towel down firmly.

“So, have you ever been blinded by prejudice?”

“I hope not.”

“Well, if you’re one of those people who never change their minds, maybe it would be wise to judge people properly first, no?”

“What are you getting at, Shepard?”

“I’m trying to figure you out, Vakarian,” she leaped back onto her feet, trying to look easygoing. It was just a light conversation.

“And what have you made out of me, so far?” he stood up, slowly, staring at her. His eyes playfully curious.

“I don’t know what to think, to be honest. I keep hearing all sorts of things about you, so many different things,” she walked towards a table, Vakarian in tow. She grabbed a bottle of water, as did he. “You’re very intriguing. You puzzle me.” She said, opening her bottle.

“It doesn’t surprise me to hear people have given you, ahem, conflicting reports about me, Shepard,” he chuckled. “But I’d like it if you didn’t base your impression of me on this moment, right now. On back then, when we were sparring. I wasn’t my best self back there.”

“But right now is the only moment I can actually get to know you. In moments like these, on the ring. Where else? We won’t have other chances, will we?”

“Sure, of course,” he said.

Shepard didn’t know what else to say. They parted ways. There were more rounds to fight and Garrus had to get changed, go back to his people. They were both dissatisfied. Garrus felt a powerful feeling in his chest, something unknown to him. Shepard felt a strange feeling of cold emptiness take over her body.

During a break, Shepard decided to hide in a corridor. She was sweaty and didn’t really care to mingle with the turians or the others in that state. She didn’t get the appeal of that hybrid celebration: it was strange and uncomfortable. She felt like a circus monkey, paraded for the turian’s entertainment. She didn’t get her wish, though: her worst nightmare, Attika Bingleykus, found her immediately.

“So, Commander Shepard. I hear you’re quite delighted by Kaidan Alenko? You were supposed to spar with him today, weren’t you? I have my sources, you don’t have to say anything. I know you two were briefly an item at some point, it doesn’t concern me. I find it curious that the young man quite forgot to tell you that he was the son of a human military couple stationed in Palaven, at the Alliance’s embassy. They had worked closely with Garrus’ father, you know? Before they died. Please don’t believe everything he says about Garrus: it’s all false. Garrus has always been nothing but kind to him and it’s Alenko who has been awful. I don’t know any details, but I know Garrus isn’t to blame for whatever happened between them. He can’t bear to hear Kaidan’s name or see him, and my brother couldn’t make an exception for him since he had to invite every single human still on the race. We’re so glad he took himself out of the way. I’m sorry you had to find out this way that your Mr. Alenko is a terrible person, but really, who’d expect better from a hu—” she stopped, giving Shepard a onceover.

“His guilt and him being a human seem to be the same to you, huh?” Shepard crossed her arms. “All I hear is you accusing him of being the son of a human couple working on Palaven.”

“I beg your pardon,” Attika sneered.

Fuck that bitch, thought Shepard. I’ve had enough of her bullshit.

“I see what you’re doing, Attika. Insulting me by insulting Kaidan. That’s low, even for you. I see nothing in your attack but your own willful ignorance.” Shepard bit her tongue before adding anything else. Was Garrus that way too or was it just Attika, poisoning her against him as well? The thought was in her mind, nonetheless.

Attika looked livid. She left, turning around, stomping on her way back to the refreshments room.

“Shepard, there you are, I was looking for you,” Ashley had a couple of sandwiches in her hand. Shepard took one, immediately taking a bite. She was starving.

“I’ve had enough of these celebrations. When are we going back?”

“We have hours left of this. Hey, they said we could head to the showers. No more sparring for tonight, how does that sound?”

“Something good, at least,” Shepard wolfed down the rest of her sandwich, following Ash down the hallway. “Though I wouldn’t mind kicking some turian ass. I’ll save it for the training sessions, I guess.”

“You got to fight Vakarian: that’s one turian ass right there. The crowd loved it, I even got to sneak away for a moment, to talk to Bingleykus. Thanks for that, skipper.”

“Bingleykus, huh? And how was that.”

“Ok, I guess,” Ashley blushed a little. “I asked about Kaidan. I couldn’t stop thinking about what we discussed the other night.”

“And?” Shepard held her back. They hid behind a pillar. They couldn’t talk in the showers or near the rest of the attendees.

“Bingleykus doesn’t know the whole story, at least that’s what he says and I think I believe him Shep. But here´s the thing: he vouches for Vakarian, one hundred percent. He says he’s honorable, a good man. I don’t know what’s going on, Shepard, but like I said: I believe Bingleykus.”

“Attika said something similar.”

“Attika?”

“I’ll tell you about that later.”

“Anyway, I’d believe Bingleykus more than Attika. And if they both agree about Vakarian, at least, then something else is going on. Maybe Alenko did deserve to lose Vakarian’s regard?”

“I’m not so sure about that. Maybe they’re both good people and it’s all a misunderstanding. Bingleykus doesn’t know Alenko, at all?”

“No, they’d never met until the event started.”

“Ok, so all we know about his past is what Vakarian and himself have told us.”

“And what about the inheritance Vakarian’s father left him? Garr— Mr. Vakarian was supposed to look after him, wasn’t he?”

“Bingleykus doesn’t remember exactly what Vakarian told him about that, but apparently that inheritance was conditional? I don’t know. Maybe it involves too much bureaucracy, with him being a human and all. Makes my head spin, thinking about it. Anyway, I think like you do, Shepard: there’s something else going on here. I don’t think Alenko or Vakarian are to blame, neither of them are horrible people. Something’s up. What? Who knows. Maybe it’s some political bullshit, as usual.”

They were ambushed by Emily Wong, who insisted on them hurrying to the showers: she needed good pictures of them mingling with the turians in the second part of the celebrations.

In the locker rooms, a neat row of fresh uniforms with their names on them awaited. Hackett had made sure his people would look their very best that night. Beautiful deep blue and the finest golden embroideries, fitted to perfection. She didn’t dare to ask how they’d gotten their most recent measures. She retouched her hair, put a little bit of color on her lips and made it to the salon where the cocktail party was about to begin, followed closely by Ash.

Bingleykus found them immediately. He praised their hair and their uniforms, then whisked Ashley away somewhere. Shepard was left a lone for a bit, but was joined shortly by Emily Wong who insisted on asking more details about her sparring match with Mr. Vakarian. Thankfully she didn’t have to answer: Blasto floated towards them, shining in pulses.

“This one has made an interesting discovery. This one has found out a relative of this one’s director is in the party tonight. This one overheard a conversation, without meaning to. The enkindlers have shined brightly on this one’s fortunes, providing with an unusual opportunity to meet a relative of the matriarch Lady Catherine. This one has to pay their respects to the gentleman. This one will do so at this very moment, and wishes he will forgive this one didn’t do It sooner. This one’s total ignorance of their connection should be sufficient apology.”

“You won’t introduce yourself to Mr. Vakarian!” Shepard laughed.

“This one, indeed, will do. This one will entreat his pardon for not having it done earlier. This one believes him to be matriarch Lady Catherine’s nephew. It will be in this one’s power to assure him that the matriarch is in good health.”

Shepard tried to dissuade the hanar, assuring him Vakarian would consider it impertinent and a little strange. He had an extranet connection at the station, after all.

“This one, as a follower of the enkindlers, has a different connection with the matriarch. Not a simple extranet connection. This one has a better understanding of the matriarch’s condition. This one will disregard the Commander’s advice.”

The hanar crossed the room, looking for Mr. Vakarian. Shepard and miss Wong followed him with their gaze, a hint of amusement on their lips. He was too far to hear anything, but Emily Wong was prepared: she deployed a small camera drone, which allowed them to see and hear everything from a safe distance, as they pretended to enjoy the view of a mountain of chocolate covered strawberries marked “levo”.  The drone’s sound glitched, but they could hear the words “apology”, “matriarch Lady Catherine”, “Noveria”. Shepard was extremely amused. Mr. Vakarian was looking at the hanar with unrestrained wonder, and when he was finally allowed to speak he replied with an air of distant civility. Blasto, however, wasn’t discouraged: he kept going. Vakarian’s contempt kept growing. When the hanar finished, the turian just bowed slightly and walked away. Blasto returned to Shepard and miss Wong.

“This one has no reason to be dissatisfied with Mr. Vakarian’s reception. Mr. Vakarian seemed pleased with this one’s attention. He answered with civility. This one is pleased with the turian.”

Shepard tuned out Blasto and miss Wong completely after that. She was focused on observing Ashley and Bingleykus, chatting enthusiastically by a window, drinking. They seemed comfortable with each other, and their happiness made her happy as well. They should enjoy it, while they could. A life together after all of this was over? What could they expect? Get married? Impossible. A turian hierarch and a human. Plus his sisters were a pain, specially Attika. She noticed Captain Shepard was around, observing as well. She overheard her telling Anderson a few days ago that maybe Ashley and Bingleykus wasn’t so bad after all. If it didn’t end in scandal, his favor had a small percentage chance to help her win the ship: not the best way to do it, but if it meant the terminus soldiers didn’t get it, so be it. Her girls were first.

Elizabeth found herself looking for Vakarian. He was ignoring people, picking something on a plate, taking sips of a drink. He looked nice under the dim lights of the room, his fringe made interesting shadows. Had he changed clothes? Her cheeks were on fire, she was feeling observed: she looked around, only to find her mother staring straight at her, her eyes filled with reproval. What had her mother seen on her face?  Shepard stuffed her mouth with some ham and cheese, grabbed a cup of wine. She felt her soul coming back to her body.

The human soldiers were called to the center of the room to be awarded small tokens, shiny pins to celebrate them passing the first round of eliminations. The biotics in the group were expected to make a display, to show humans had little to envy the asari, when well-trained. Jack set a table on fire (most definitely on purpose).  Shepard wanted it all to be over, she’d had enough of all that ceremony. She took her pin, levitated a chair and went back to the crowd as soon as she was able, tripping with Blasto in the process. She noticed Vakarian had been observing her intently, the whole time.

The rest of the night they had been expected to dance. Blasto insisted on dancing with her as an excuse to keep pushing to get her to star on the film. She had to pretend to listen. She tried, in vane, to introduce the hanar to other people in the room, people more willing to star in his movie: Blasto wasn’t having it. The hanar made a point of remaining close to her, talking nonstop about his goddamned project. If it wasn’t for Miss Wong, who good-naturally engaged the jellyfish in conversation again, Shepard would’ve no doubt remained hostage for the rest of the night. All fifteen minutes that remained of it.

She scurried away to drink some sparkling wine before leaving, her nerves desperately needed it. She noticed Mr. Vakarian stood alone nearby, fiddling with his visor: he was at arm’s reach, but he never came near enough to speak. Captain Shepard took forever to say goodbye to the turians, the shuttle was ready for them in the cargo bay. She better get a hold of Jack and Miranda, making them leave the party in a hurry would be a disaster. The two of them were greatly enjoying themselves, each one in their way, both of them outdoing the other. Ash and Kasumi weren’t a problem, of course. As for the hanar? Blasto could stay behind, for all she cared. She hoped they’d forget about the hanar, truth to be told. She grabbed Jack by an arm, Miranda by the other and both of them, still jiggling, happily drunk, attempted to lift her with their biotics. Shepard had to create a biotic field by the door: that definitely caught Vakarian’s attention, though she hadn’t really meant to. The turian hid his surprise behind an exaggerated yawn.

“Elizabeth Shepard!” Captain Hannah Shepard looked mortified. Time to leave, finally. Turian parties were stupid and boring.

“I’m so fucking tired, Shepard” Jack launched herself to the commander, who had no choice but to carry her over her shoulders towards the shuttle. “I think I accidentally took a dextro shot,” she slurred, laughing, then fell asleep.

Ashley joined them, accompanied by Bingleykus, who insisted on escorting them to the shuttle. Before closing the door, he quickly invited them, whenever they could, to come back for dinner to the diplomatic vessel. He mostly addressed Ash, and Captain Shepard noticed, of course. That only meant one thing, she knew it now, she saw it clearly: she had fewer chances to win the turian ship, it would be a scandal if she won, she’d be out of the race, but their personal acquaintance would be good for human-turian diplomacy. Her daughter Elizabeth was a wildcard: she performed brilliantly when it was least expected, but then just as quickly she’d lose the turians’ favor. What if she pulled another stunt? Blasto’s words still hung in her mind. She could say one word, and Commander Elizabeth Shepard, her daughter, could be the winner of the turian vessel. The hanar said “it had ways”, she wouldn’t ask.

But at what cost.

The captain was happy for Ash, very happy. At the same time, vids of her daughter starring in Blasto’s movie ran in her mind, over and over.