Fic: Almost Home (1/2)
Title: Almost Home
Fandom: Mass Effect (spoilers for ME2)
Characters: Tali'Zorah, Kal'Reegar; with tidbits of Shala'Raan, f!Shep, and Admirals Gerrel and Koris (the latter of the illustrious Qwib-Qwib).
Rating: Part One is rated T, Part Two is rated M
Beta: The fantastic captain_rex who has better grammar than me and I've been doing this longer and am a native English speaker - I bow down before her grammar superiority! She gave me fantastic feedback and was a great cheerleader :oD
Art!: The accompanying bit of art is by featheredraven and is found at the end of the first part, though the scene it depicts is seen in part two.
Author's Note: This is the first time I've actually been able to complete a BigBang entry. Three cheers for FOLLOW-THROUGH! Written for biowarebang, and run by the illustrious sagacious_rage. Writing most of this, I listened to Idan Raichel's "Mi Maamakim" on repeat which I will now irrevocably associate with the quarians (a song about love in Hebrew!), along with Paul Pena and Kongar-ol Ondar's "Konguerey", a song which translates roughly to "where has my country/homeland gone?" about the loss of culture, ancestral lands and language in the modern world of the Central Asian steppe.
Part One
She never should have accepted. Now she had to see him every day. And he called her “ma’am” and she had to summon and dismiss him like they hardly knew each other.
It could have been a closer partnership - she knew that. She did not have to keep her military attaché at arm’s length. She had seen other Admirals sharing laughs with their attachés…but she worried about how it could look. It was all she could think of, and the way gossip spread in the flotilla, there was no way not a single person would wonder aloud and start a fire. Or maybe no one would think a damn thing, and she was worrying for nothing. It was an unknown - and as the youngest Admiral in the fleet, she wasn’t too keen on taking risks of the political sort just yet.
So she tried to pretend it wasn’t there. Pushed it down, away from herself - sometimes physically, after he left; breathing deeply and meditating away the tears that threatened.
# # # # #
There was no one better for the job. He’d been given a command (fairly young for it, however) after returning from the data mission with Tali two years prior. He’d been in charge of a unit for less than a standard cycle before her name was bandied about in earnest for the job. She’d stuck with the Normandy, with Shepard, after her father’s death and the Admiralty Board remained a member short of its standard fifteen. But as the empty seat continued to remain so, names began to circulate. Hers was a popular choice. She was the hero that Shepard had proclaimed her at the trial on that long-ago day. She was her father’s daughter, so her technical expertise was not questioned; she’d served in the military (of a sort), proven herself capable of leadership, and had far more experience under her belt than anyone her age. Barely out of her Pilgrimage, she was fighting on a galactic field.
When he heard about her role in the victory against the Collectors, he was proud. They may not have seen his smile, but they could certainly hear it in his voice. That was the feisty girl he knew - always elbow-deep in the action.
But when his name came up as a potential attaché, he saw vague, unformed fantasies (hopes? dreams?) dissipate before his eyes. Of course he was perfect for the job. But now, more than before, she was literally his boss and that was asking for trouble.
So he played his part. He did his job; and tried not to let silly things like being proud of her and loving her laugh and the way she narrowed her eyes when teased keep him up at night.
Sometimes it worked, and sometimes it didn’t.
# # # # #
“So Admiral, how is the flotilla?”
Shepard’s voice over the vid-console was mocking, and it made her laugh.
“I hate it when you call me that!”
“I know,” Shepard replied. “It’s definitely why I do it. So, how did you manage to take out time in your busy busy schedule to accommodate the personal whims of little ol’ me?”
“Augh!” Tali let out, and Shepard’s rough feminine laughter echoed in the small unit she had all to herself. There were perks to being an Admiral.
“No, really, we’re still weeks from our regular date, so it must be something.”
“Something, yes. Something different, no,” she let the wry tone creep into her voice. Even she knew, a year into the job, that continuing to dwell was sort of emotional masochism. She hated complaining about it, but she had to talk to someone and it’s not exactly like anyone on the flotilla could hear it. She suspected her aunt had suspicions of one sort or another but she never said anything, so Tali kept just as mum.
“Ah. Our favorite marine commander?”
“Our?” Tali leaned back from the screen and tilted her head, not quite keeping the indignance from her voice.
“Heck yes. I told you, if you didn’t want him, I’d be glad to take a whack at it. You know,” the image on the vid-console held up her hands defensively, “delicately and germ-free of course.”
She wished in that moment she was back on the Normandy. Just so in her silly girlish frustration she could give the other woman a good shove. She stopped grinding her teeth for a half a second and realized Shepard was screwing with her - complete with the grin on her face.
“If anyone’s getting delicate and germ-free with my attaché, it would be me. You remember that,” she pointed forcefully at the vid-screen, wishing Shepard could see the defiant face she was making right now. She thought it was pretty intimidating.
Shepard bit her lip. “Still that bad, eh?”
Tali sighed. “Less frequently, which I guess is good, but it seems I gave up a frequency of light regret for infrequent crushing despair.”
“Drama queen.”
“Yes, because I so desperately want to become the center of attention when someone finds out.”
“Don’t they have anything better to do? You know, like find new worlds to colonize or new ways to blow up geth?”
“Gossip is traded like platinum, eezo, and technology all at once. It is the premium in the Fleet. I’d complain, but it’s also how I know what is going on around here, so I can’t, what is it you used to say? Bite the man that feeds me?”
Shepard let out a short bark of laughter. “Hand. The hand that feeds you.”
“Oh, right.”
They were silent for a moment, and then Shepard spoke again, this time with none of her cheerful mockery. “You know you can’t do this to yourself forever. You can’t know something will happen until you know how he feels about you. If you don’t even want to know that, well, maybe it’s time to really work on letting it go. If you can’t make yourself ask, you’ll spend your life wondering and then be really upset if suddenly he shows up with some floozy he linked up with over the weekend.”
Tali let out a weak chuckle. “We don’t do that. But you’re right, I’d hate her.”
“And then you’d resent him, and he wouldn’t know what hit him. You can’t keep it a secret forever.”
“I’m bad at this!”
“Everyone’s bad at it. It’s why we forgive each other for being bad at it. I mean, remember I told you about the thing with Garrus? Love him to death, but that was so disgustingly, endearingly awkward that we decided we were better off without throwing sex into it. Sex complicates things. Intimacy complicates things. Sometimes it’s nice to complicate the hell out of something, and other times it’s just emotional masochism. Or a case of hives that doesn’t go away for a week,” she added wryly.
Tali had been downright fascinated when Shepard had shared her story. The turian held little romantic appeal for her, but she was utterly in love with his voice. She had a thing for voices - it was possibly common among quarians, but she never got around to asking anyone. Kal’Reegar’s voice was strong, but could also be very gentle. Once or twice, his simple ‘ma’am, you seem tired, maybe we should finish this later?’ made her want nothing more than to curl up around him, wrapping her body around his. She was briefly lost in that daydream and almost forgot why the turian story had held her interest - Shepard had been willing to risk some pretty nasty medical possibilities just to be with someone she loved. So what if it turned out to be a different kind of love than the one that made two people crawl into the same bed every night? At the time, she had been jealous of her forwardness. She supposed she still wished she had even an ounce of it.
“You still with me, Tali?”
“Yes. I suppose you are right. Either I can deal with the consequences or I can’t. Either I do something about it or I don’t.”
“Basically what it boils down to, girlfriend.”
Tali giggled. Ash always used to call them that - once she warmed up to the aliens on the ship, her less-than-professional moments had always involved street slang that didn’t always translate properly.
“I’ve got a meeting to prep for. Talk to you later?”
“Definitely. I’m here if you need me,” Shepard smiled. “Good luck, T.”
“Thanks,” she said, and disconnected the session. She felt no better about her chances, no less worried about the potential backlash, but she was that much more confident that she had to draw the line, and soon.
# # # # #
“Will that be all, ma’am?”
“You know, I haven’t said anything in a while, but you really haven’t been working on calling me ‘Tali’,” she hoped there was a slight flirtatious tone to her voice, and not one of superior authority.
“It doesn’t feel right, ma’…Admiral. Miss Zorah?” the last was in a questionable tone that was almost comical, and he completed the picture by tilting his head inquisitively.
“Because I’m your…boss?”
“Superior ranking officer, ma’am.”
Tali winced as he ma’am’d her again. She tried a different route. “If it’s just the two of us, you have my permission to refer to me by my given name, Kal. Just because I’m an Admiral now doesn’t mean we didn’t serve together for eight months, hot bunking with a science crew bouncing around the galaxy.”
He loosened his stance, and the way he bowed his head…she imagined if she could have seen his face, he might have been smiling.
“I’ll remember that…Tali.”
She smiled.
# # # # #
It helped to keep his distance from her; closeness, using given names, being alone, these were things that dissolved the barriers he’d worked so hard to put up. But sometimes, just sitting across a desk from her, working, it was so damned comfortable he could almost pretend that after they had left, they would be returning to a shared cabin, decontaminating their sleeping space and crawling into bed together. It was a happily-ever-after scenario he tried not to picture. She was out of his reach - now more than ever.
He approached her office and pressed the seal on the door, and with a clink and a hiss it slid aside. Instead of finding her industriously tapping away at a datapad, he found her slumped over in her chair, head resting on the desk. He briefly panicked until he saw the rise and fall of the curve of her back as she breathed in and out. She was only sleeping.
It was only a matter of time before he found her like this. She was stretched too thin - working with Shepard’s pet geth (the idea still made him twitch) on building some sort of case for mutual détente and options for the Fleet, and hiding it from the other Admirals (well, mostly) while keeping on top of her regular duties had been taking a toll.
He hesitated before going over and touching her lightly on the shoulder. His fingers curled around her tiny form (though he supposed most females were tiny, she always seemed especially so to him - maybe it was her youth? his desire to take care of her?) and he squeezed her shoulder briefly, giving it a gentle shake.
“Ma’am. Ma’am,” he hissed softly. “Admiral. Tali. Wake up, ma’am.” She startled awake and sat up straight, knocking a stray datapad to the floor.
“What? What’s - what was I?”
He leaned down to pick up the datapad and set it back on the desk. “You were asleep.”
“Oh. Oh. I didn’t sleep very well on my off-shift.”
“Did you even take an off-shift?”
“Um…”
She was very bad at lying, and he loved that about her. He smiled. “That’s what I thought. Maybe you should take your sleep cycle now.”
“My day will be ruined - I can’t do that.”
“You’ve come down with a mild fever. Nothing a day of rest won’t cure. Meetings can be rescheduled.”
She tilted her head up at him. “A mild fever? But how could I…?”
“You’re an Admiral. You don’t have to have an explanation for everything you do. Just the important things. Or the scandalous ones,” he added, trying for lightness. “It’s a perk of the job.”
“Well I suppose…”
He pulled up his omni-tool and pushed her back a day, sending a mass communication to everyone on her calendar that she would be unable to keep her appointments and would reschedule as necessary. “No choice now, it’s already done.”
She was quiet, looking up at him from her desk, and he folded his hands behind his back, relaxing into his at-ease military posture. She flexed her fingers as they lay on the dull metallic surface. “You haven’t called me ma’am in nearly five minutes,” she pointed out quietly.
He shifted. “It’s been difficult, but I’m working on it,” he admitted.
“Walk with me?” She rose from her desk.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You did that on purpose,” she said, pointing a finger at him, her voice playful.
“Yes, I did,” he acknowledged, and they walked out into the corridor.
She cursed her inexperience and her shyness in these matters. Waking up in her own pod, she realized she must have been awake enough to go through her decon protocols, but she was damned if she could remember doing it. But there had been a chance there - maybe that was one of those moments that meant the tables could have been turned, and she'd completely missed it. She threaded her fingers into her thick black hair (she hadn't even braided it before she went to bed) and let out an exasperated noise from the back of her throat.
She checked the clock - still time to do some work, and then she'd try to regulate her sleep schedule again. She knew she couldn't keep letting this go on. She was burning out, but until she had something she could take to the Board and know she wasn't making a fool of herself, she couldn't stop. Pulling herself out of her soft, comfortably padded sleeping cocoon, she dressed herself quickly in her suit. She secured her head wrap, flexed her fingers to make sure the gloves were tight, and hit the seal. The soft hiss that was her suit expelling air pockets and closing all ventilation ports let her know it was okay to open her pod. The dim lighting in her cabin rose as she exited her pod and she paused only long enough to grab a lightly pink vacuum pack of vitamin nutrition and a datapad before she headed out the door.
Entering her office, she found Kal'Reegar sitting at her desk, and she stopped short.
He heard the door slide open, and froze before standing quickly and moving away from her chair. "Ma'am! I thought you were taking a cycle out?"
Moment, her brain prodded her, and she folded her arms across her chest and shifted her weight to one hip like she'd seen other girls do; like she'd seen Shepard do. She really had to stop pretending like human women were anything like quarians - she was probably…oh Keelah! She was probably making a fool of herself! Again! She straightened back up and cast about awkwardly with her arms for a moment.
"Do you...um...do you always sit at my desk when I'm not here?" The last part came out very fast, and she wasn't sure if amused and flirty came through so much as awkward and possibly a little peeved. Dammit.
"Just catching up, ma'am."
Back to the ma'am thing again. Okay, maybe not a moment. She was truly tired of this. Maybe there was nothing there. Maybe she was making it all up because he was tall and broad-shouldered and had that great voice (back to the voice thing - she wondered if any other species was this attracted to voices, or if before they wore suits quarians even had this obsession) and was kind of a hero, helping Shepard take out the geth to save her on Haestrom. Maybe it was all just hero worship, complicated by the fact that he was nice and treated her like she actually knew what she was doing.
"Sit down, Kal. I can just as well sit on the other side like anyone else. There's no rule that says..."
"I don't customarily sit with my back to the door, ma'am. I apologize, I took advantage of your absence - sometimes it's hard to find a quiet place to work around here."
She nodded, her voice empathetic. "Don't I know it. How about I pull my chair around to the end of the desk so that neither of us sits with our backs to the door?"
He hesitated, seemed unsure - she tried to talk to him like a normal person, but it seemed now that maybe her position made this camaraderie uncomfortable. How long did it take to develop that relationship she'd seen between other Admirals and their attaches? The one she envied where they were not only an important link to the flotilla, but were trusted friends?
She dragged the chair over across the floor, and sat down in it at the end of the table she used as a desk so the door was in her peripheral vision. Then she looked over at Kal, who sat down slowly, seeming to stare at her as he did, even after he found the seat. She looked away first, and went back to her datapad, her long fingers tapping and dragging while he stared at her a moment longer.
# # # # # #
There was something about her - there was no doubt. She kept surprising him. He had no idea where it came from - maybe it was her youth. Despite her experiences, she still had a naïveté about her that allowed her to treat others as equals, as cherished students, even if it they didn't deserve it or it wasn't exactly...appropriate.
He sat down in her chair, and watched her on her datapad, thrown back into her work as though what he had done wasn't a complete breach of protocol. He never would have done it except she had gone along with his suggestion so easily that he was sure she would sleep the rest of the work cycle away. He had escorted her to her cabin (being single, yet with a certain status afforded him a cabin with only three roommates) and discovered how good it was to be an Admiral. It was very small, having only a small table that doubled as a desk and the half-bubble of a sleeping pod (his curiosity led him to quickly glance at her curved cot, and the way the blankets hung off it, less than perfect, made him smile) with the small area screened off that melded into the curved cabin wall. But it had privacy, which was a premium on any ship in the flotilla. He had left her there as she approached the bubble and began to program it to open, oblivious to his continued presence. It had amused him that she had been so vulnerable in that moment.
They worked in silence for an indeterminate amount of time - he lost track, the only sound that of their shifting bodies and the occasional beeps of datapads.
"Is there something I can help with, ma'am? I mean, something else?" he asked out of nowhere. It was as good a time as any.
She raised her head and looked over at him. "How so?"
"I know you've been working on other projects. I know you've been up at all hours doing something secretive, and I wanted to let you know...I might be able to help, if you'd allow." He let his voice exude an almost disinterested confidence - like it didn't matter if she shared her secrets or not. She seemed to stare at him for a long time, and it made him unusually nervous - like he was a particularly difficult equation she was turning over in her mind. He didn't like being under her microscope.
"I, um...I'm not sure..." she started.
"I'm familiar with a lot more than military matters, ma'am. My mother is still an engineer on the Appella. My father is military, but I'm not completely unfamiliar with what I suspect you're working on."
He imagined that if he could see her, she would have a brow raised. Funny how three hundred years had not changed their instinct towards varied facial expression - about the only thing it had done was integrate more importance on voice pitching and body language. He'd thought, once or twice, that maybe it was a genetic memory - now an instinct - ingrained in all quarians, towards the hope that one day they would be without their envirosuits, and be able to freely express themselves in that manner. They didn't want to forget. Just in case.
She sat back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. As far as body language went, it was either a challenge or she was upset. Her tone made him leans towards challenge. "And what is it exactly that you think you know?"
"Colonization. Something with Legion - the two of you bouncing back and forth like emissaries."
"Have you been screening my messages, Kal'Reegar?" She hardly ever used his full name, and still it felt like a tease, a challenge. He smiled, but tipped his head for a moment to hide even the hint of it from her inquisitive stare.
"No, ma'am. Just peeking at the occasional datapad and some diagrams and specs for making newborn pods larger with regulated auto-decay." He paused. "And by larger, I mean the size of a village," he added, leaning on one arm and tilting his body towards her. It was outlandish, it was risky, but damn it was cunning. He had been raised that the only good geth was a dead geth, but he'd met Legion, briefly. And that confused the hell out of him.
She nodded slowly, still sitting back in her chair. Then she leaned forward too, on folded arms, and stared right into his helmet. "You're awfully well-informed for someone who has only been peeking, Kal'Reegar vas Rayya." She did it again, and something in him was a little thrilled at the way she threw his full name at him with that daring taunt.
"Just a little curiosity, ma'am," he said, and he surprised himself by letting flirtation creep into his voice. He hoped she didn't catch it. Well, mostly.
She leaned back again and re-crossed her arms. "Well since you've done some extensive peeking, anything you'd like to offer?"
"Not really ma'am. It's a good idea - and I never really thought I'd be in favor of colonization a few years ago, but you're right - going to war with the geth would significantly injure our fleet when the Reaper threat reemerges. I know the Alliance and your Commander Shepard say it could be anything from next month to a generation from now - they're awfully good at waiting, what with being machines and all. We need a home base and the fleet needs to be a fighting force again. We could have a small colony up in less than a year. It would take generations before we're wandering around without ‘suits and longer than that before the bubbles could be completely eliminated, but it's a better idea than I've heard before. The problem would be population increase and power generation to keep the bubbles functioning adequately," his voice was now thoughtful, and she smiled.
She booted up her omni and the orange glow was reflected in her faceplate. "If you find some time, Kal'Reegar vas Rayya, I'm sending you my research. See if there's anything else you care to add, any notations, et cetera. I've set the file to track changes and notations so I can tell what you're contributing. If you think your mother can help and keep it under her helmet, I'd love another engineer’s prospective. I've always been an engines girl - I'm not as good with biologics."
With a last beep, the orange holo of her omni faded, and she looked up at him. "Thanks for your help," she said, the tease out of her voice, replaced by a relieved gratification. "It'll be nice to share this with someone."
"Of course, ma'am," he said, and nodded at her. She tilted her head, and he let her name roll off his tongue. "Tali."
# # # # # #
In addition to their regular day-to-day interaction (he normally met with her briefly at the beginning and end of every work cycle), now they were spending their off-time together too. Bent over datapads, zinging numbers and diagrams and holos back and forth on their omni tools, the Admiral-and-attaché formality they sported during their work cycle dissolved with nary a backward glance once they began working on the biome project in their personal time.
They researched in silence, reading and sending pertinent information other scientists had put forth, both quarian and alien, about colonizing and terraforming. There had always been a short list of colonization-planet options (just in case - the quarians made a reputation out of preparing for everything), but until she became an Admiral, she never had access to that list. Now, however, she could write up entire dissertations on the pros and cons of every planet, (longer ones were attributed to the planets with the most potential) and the projected funding they would require. Her experience with the Alliance had given her the idea that they might assist the quarians in their efforts, at least maybe in terms of funding, in exchange for the power of the flotilla's military in their fight against the Reapers. Before, the Fleet had never really put forward their military strength as a viable bargaining chip, but with a homeworld in play, suddenly their entire population was not at risk of extinction on military assignments. Kal's mother, Orila'Reegar, was surely sent by Keelah - she was subtle and stayed silent the majority of the time, but offered valuable insight just when it was needed most. Tali suspected Orila’s mate's distaste for the colonization effort kept her from being more helpful. As she had no desire to cause trouble, Tali took what she was given and was thankful for it.
It was only a matter of time before they started discussing their personal lives to alleviate the monotony. But she was no longer scared. Well, not entirely. Kal had gone from acquaintance to friend and crush to reliable advisor to, well, a true friend - someone she trusted in a way she trusted few people. It only made her heart trill that much faster when he finally asked her whether or not she managed a personal life amidst all her work.
"I mean, we're here most nights, or in your office, pouring over data and you've never...mentioned anyone." He looked away and she just stared at him. "That is to say, if it's none of my business, you can feel free to tell me to shut it."
She shrugged, and poked meaningless icons on her datapad, stalling for time. "There hasn't really been anyone. I went from my Pilgrimage straight into full-time research. I've been so committed to each mission that I haven't really had...time." She shrugged again.
He searched for a tactful way to phrase his next inquiry. There wasn't one, but he was sure as hell going to try. "So you've never...?"
"Linked? No," she said it with such disregard, like it didn't even bother her. Sometimes it did, but she kept herself busy enough to try and chase it out of her mind. "I mean, I'm not a complete child. I've used stims once or twice. I just have bounced around so much in the last five years that developing personal relationships to that level has been out of the question." Tit for tat, she said to herself, and took a deep breath. "You?"
"Twice."
"You spend a lot of time with me, so...no one that...stuck?" It was such an awkward word to use.
"No. Liked one well enough - she was a med assistant over on the Baleer. But the reaction was too severe. When it's that bad, it takes a certain level of commitment, and, well," he shrugged. "We weren't quite up to it, I guess."
"You or her?"
"A little bit of both, I think. Makes you really think how much you want it, you know?"
She nodded, and then was struck by that urge to tease again. "Do I want to know the stim count?" she let a chuckle creep into her voice.
"Probably not," he said with a chuckle of his own. "Have I mentioned that on the flotilla a military man is prime as orange paste sometimes?"
She let the idea roll over her. "Ooh, I love the orange."
He laughed. "See what I mean? Being in command of my own unit was like being orange paste with some of the pink in there for good measure."
"You're making me hungry!" she complained good-naturedly, clutching at her stomach dramatically.
“What time is it, anyway?”
She checked her omni. “Wow. It’s well into our sleep cycle,” she said, and he pulled up his omni to see exactly how far.
He rose from his seat at her little table. “I should leave. Let you sleep. You have an early meeting tomorrow.”
“Sometimes I wonder why I pay a PA when you memorize my schedule anyway,” she said wryly.
“Everyone has to feel useful,” he said, meaning the poor little girl who was the PA to the youngest Admiral in the Fleet.
“You are plenty useful, Kal,” she said, and then put her hand over her mouthpiece. “Oh, you were talking about…”
He nodded. “I was, but thanks anyway. Glad to hear it.” He moved towards her door, and let it hiss open, standing in the archway so it didn’t automatically close. “Rest well, Tali.”
She nodded, twisted in her seat at the table. “You as well, Kal. Pleasant dreams.”
“Yes ma’am,” he acknowledged, and disappeared, the door hissing shut behind him.
She hummed when she braided her hair before bed, and couldn’t quite figure out why.
# # # # # #
The next day, she left an orange paste packet with a smiley face drawn on it (Shepard was fond of drawing smiley faces on heavy weapon ammo - it had become quite the joke) on top of a report she left for him while she was at her meeting. That afternoon there was a serving of pink paste in her drawer. She saved it and the following day, wrapped it with an orange paste packet and wrote “for emergency use only” on the foil.
Two days later, there was a small innocuous grey pouch holding two stims injections tucked under her datapad. The screen on her datapad read “take precaution - restricted use”.
She was so glad no one could see her blush. She hid the stims in her suit, and let out a nervous chuckle. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to laugh or if she was…vaguely insulted. His escalation of the joke from some double-entendre food sharing to a stims pack was…well, the implications simply flew around in her brain, multiplying at an exponential rate.
On one hand, maybe he was just playing. On the other, maybe he thought she should get out more - certainly the sort of folks who had their suits programmed for these sorts of things didn’t use stim packs. (And she’d downloaded a program. Once or twice. But she always deleted it as though someone could just look at her and know she was “that sort” of girl.)
If she had a third hand, that hand would be weighing the other option - that it was a not-so-subtle suggestion. The first was the most likely, the third was the most desired, and the second didn’t really seem like him at all. Logic dictated that he was playing, but she had no way to compete on that level. She certainly wasn’t going to get more risqué than some extra rations, so she let it drop, and when they worked in silence that night, she tried to keep it from being awkward.
He didn’t mention any of the running joke at all, and it made her a little bit sad.
# # # # # #
Too much, too fast, he cursed himself. This was no quickie in duct maintenance. This was Tali. Maybe he’d misinterpreted. Maybe she was letting him save face. It wasn’t like it wasn’t a bad idea anyway - what with being her attaché, a position that was supposed to be relatively objective to a certain point, and her apparent reluctance to get involved in any sort of relationship.
He hated not having the upper hand - it wasn’t something he was used to, and it unsettled him. He was about to apologize as the door to her cabin opened, having let it infect his mind for three whole days, when something hit his faceplate and bounced off, landing on the floor. Bending over to inspect the object, he saw it was the same brand of stims he left on her desk. Could have even been the same package.
“Thought you might need them,” she said, and the joke fell awkwardly flat. “I don’t have that kind of free time.”
“Tali, I’m sorry, I was…”
“Just joking?”
He tilted his head at her. He knew females. She was angry. It was in the tense pose of her muscles even while she sat back in her chair with one leg crossed over her knee. It was in the way she bobbed her foot as she jabbed the datapad.
“Are we Admiral and attaché right now, or are we Tali and Kal?”
She turned her head sharply. “What?”
“I want to know before I say this. Are we Admiral and…”
“I heard what you said.”
He paused, waiting for her to continue. “Well?”
“Tali and Kal,” she replied quietly, the datapad now sagged loosely in her fingers.
He stepped further into the room. “I know you’re not very…what I mean to say is,” he held up the packet. “This is me asking.”
She stared for a moment. “Asking what?” If possible, her voice had gotten softer.
He walked closer to her, and knelt down so that they were almost at eye level. She had to look down at him a little bit, and he found it endearing. He laid his hand on her knee and she twitched, and he set the packet on the table and slid it towards her.
“Asking to change Tali and Kal.”
She looked at him, then at the packet, then back at him, then down at his hand resting on her knee, which was trembling a little in her effort not to bob her foot and kick him in the faceplate. Then back to him, then to the stims. She reached out a finger and touched the package briefly before drawing her finger back. She twisted her hands in her lap a moment before leaning forward and standing, moving to pace in a small circle away from the table, leaving Kal crouched down, and looking up at her silently.
“I don’t…” she began, and then resumed her circular movement. She paused again and turned to him, fidgeting. “I want to know if it can work, Kal, I really do, but what about the Board?”
“Do you really care that much about what they think? Besides, Tali’Zorah is a bit of an unpredictable element in the fleet.”
“Not just my job…yours.”
“Your position as an Admiral, most of the Admirals, are pretty much amilitary unless we are in a declared state of war.” She paused in her pacing, and he rose as he spoke, and then stepped towards her. “I looked it up.”
She was almost completely still as he closed the distance between them, and reached his hand up to her helmet, curving it around her faceplate. He could almost imagine what she might look like, beyond the angles reflected back at him.
“I lied,” she blurted.
His reply was carefully amused. “How so?”
“When I said once or twice, I meant I’d read about them once or twice. Or a few times. Heard stories. Never actually…used them myself,” she didn’t even look up at him, and he couldn’t help but find her utterly adorable. “Not that no one ever offered, I just never…”
“Had time?”
She looked up. “Yes. Time. Never could…you know, take time away from…”
“Your work.”
“Yes.” Now she was fidgeting in earnest, and she stepped away from him to sit down again. She slid her hands under her thighs to keep from twisting them in her lap. He turned to face her.
“Would you like to?”
“Take time? Yes!”
“Try them?”
She looked back at the package. She’d studied the diagram. It showed several appropriate seals where the injection could enter her suit and spread like a particularly invasive medigel, covering her in a thin sheen of nanogel that was compatible with her suit. It lost effectiveness fairly quickly, lasting only a couple of hours, and could be washed away easily with the sonic shower in her pod. It was meant to replicate and transmit even the lightest of touches into electrical impulses that mimicked bare-skin contact. The package guaranteed a satisfactory experience, and came with two injections, “to enjoy with a partner!”
She couldn’t even speak, so she looked back at him, and nodded. He reached for the package on the table, and then stood, taking her hand and getting her to stand with him. He took them around the other side of the table where the long cushioned bench, presumably for a mealtime gathering, ran parallel. It was not wide enough for them to lay on, side by side (well now he felt good and disgusting - she deserved better than this - but he couldn’t quite think of how to make that happen, so this had to do), so he just sat her down, and had her face him. She tucked one foot under her body, and he mirrored her pose.
“How much have you…been touched?”
She shrugged. “No more than usual.”
He gave an awkward chuckle. “Now I feel like I’m taking advantage.”
“That would imply that it wasn’t completely consensual,” she responded quietly. He touched her faceplate first, tracing the edges of it just under her hood. He wondered what color her hair was - blue-black like his, or maybe lavender or an odd color like a peachy-pink he’d seen in a vid once. Then his hand moved down her shoulder, her muscles stiffening, her hands laid in her lap, and he could tell she was struggling not to twist them.
“Relax,” he instructed quietly, and she took a deep breath.
He added his other hand, and just ran them lightly from shoulder to wrist, smooth stroking motions, tilting his head this way and that. He felt her muscles loosen, felt her begin to relax.
“You’re beautiful, you know that?”
“Would it sound silly to say you are too?”
He let out a nasal rumble of amusement, one hand stroking the inside of a wrist. “I prefer handsome, dashing, that sort of thing.”
“Then yes, you are those things,” she replied shakily.
Then he moved to her legs, from her bent knees up her thighs, and he heard her breath catch. He wasn’t going to use the stims tonight. She was doing so well - it had clearly been some time since anyone had touched her like this, but he didn’t suspect he was the first. She just had to talk herself into letting it happen.
“Can I…?”
He nodded. “Please.”
She shifted closer to him, and touched each side of his helmet, and his hands came to rest on her waist; her perfect curved waist. She explored his neck, his shoulders, and there was something delirious and wonderful in her light exploration. There was none of the feverish quest for sensation, completion. Just…curiosity.
She went from shoulders to his elbows before then leaning her touch a little into his knees, his thighs. Keelah, he didn’t even need the stims! She was arousing him just by mimicking his purposeful, repetitive strokes over her suit. He tried to inhale as quietly as possible, but it was a bit shaky, and he didn’t think he pulled it off just right.
It was only a few minutes of having his hands on her, but then he stroked upwards, past her breasts (perfectly sized for her little body - those would get plenty of attention later) and cradled her helmet in his hands. She did the same, and they leaned towards each other, faceplate to faceplate, helmet to helmet.
“What is this, Kal? What does it mean?”
“It means things are different. And I couldn’t be happier with the change in status quo, ma’am.”
She felt justified in lightly jerking her helmet against his, her hands now resting on his waist. She gave him a squeeze and he flinched. “Stop ma’aming me. That’s an order.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, humor in his voice.
This time when she squeezed at him, he squeezed back, and she fell backwards, he on top of her, and the fear dissolved.
Continue to Part Two
Fandom: Mass Effect (spoilers for ME2)
Characters: Tali'Zorah, Kal'Reegar; with tidbits of Shala'Raan, f!Shep, and Admirals Gerrel and Koris (the latter of the illustrious Qwib-Qwib).
Rating: Part One is rated T, Part Two is rated M
Beta: The fantastic captain_rex who has better grammar than me and I've been doing this longer and am a native English speaker - I bow down before her grammar superiority! She gave me fantastic feedback and was a great cheerleader :oD
Art!: The accompanying bit of art is by featheredraven and is found at the end of the first part, though the scene it depicts is seen in part two.
Author's Note: This is the first time I've actually been able to complete a BigBang entry. Three cheers for FOLLOW-THROUGH! Written for biowarebang, and run by the illustrious sagacious_rage. Writing most of this, I listened to Idan Raichel's "Mi Maamakim" on repeat which I will now irrevocably associate with the quarians (a song about love in Hebrew!), along with Paul Pena and Kongar-ol Ondar's "Konguerey", a song which translates roughly to "where has my country/homeland gone?" about the loss of culture, ancestral lands and language in the modern world of the Central Asian steppe.
Part One
She never should have accepted. Now she had to see him every day. And he called her “ma’am” and she had to summon and dismiss him like they hardly knew each other.
It could have been a closer partnership - she knew that. She did not have to keep her military attaché at arm’s length. She had seen other Admirals sharing laughs with their attachés…but she worried about how it could look. It was all she could think of, and the way gossip spread in the flotilla, there was no way not a single person would wonder aloud and start a fire. Or maybe no one would think a damn thing, and she was worrying for nothing. It was an unknown - and as the youngest Admiral in the fleet, she wasn’t too keen on taking risks of the political sort just yet.
So she tried to pretend it wasn’t there. Pushed it down, away from herself - sometimes physically, after he left; breathing deeply and meditating away the tears that threatened.
# # # # #
There was no one better for the job. He’d been given a command (fairly young for it, however) after returning from the data mission with Tali two years prior. He’d been in charge of a unit for less than a standard cycle before her name was bandied about in earnest for the job. She’d stuck with the Normandy, with Shepard, after her father’s death and the Admiralty Board remained a member short of its standard fifteen. But as the empty seat continued to remain so, names began to circulate. Hers was a popular choice. She was the hero that Shepard had proclaimed her at the trial on that long-ago day. She was her father’s daughter, so her technical expertise was not questioned; she’d served in the military (of a sort), proven herself capable of leadership, and had far more experience under her belt than anyone her age. Barely out of her Pilgrimage, she was fighting on a galactic field.
When he heard about her role in the victory against the Collectors, he was proud. They may not have seen his smile, but they could certainly hear it in his voice. That was the feisty girl he knew - always elbow-deep in the action.
But when his name came up as a potential attaché, he saw vague, unformed fantasies (hopes? dreams?) dissipate before his eyes. Of course he was perfect for the job. But now, more than before, she was literally his boss and that was asking for trouble.
So he played his part. He did his job; and tried not to let silly things like being proud of her and loving her laugh and the way she narrowed her eyes when teased keep him up at night.
Sometimes it worked, and sometimes it didn’t.
# # # # #
“So Admiral, how is the flotilla?”
Shepard’s voice over the vid-console was mocking, and it made her laugh.
“I hate it when you call me that!”
“I know,” Shepard replied. “It’s definitely why I do it. So, how did you manage to take out time in your busy busy schedule to accommodate the personal whims of little ol’ me?”
“Augh!” Tali let out, and Shepard’s rough feminine laughter echoed in the small unit she had all to herself. There were perks to being an Admiral.
“No, really, we’re still weeks from our regular date, so it must be something.”
“Something, yes. Something different, no,” she let the wry tone creep into her voice. Even she knew, a year into the job, that continuing to dwell was sort of emotional masochism. She hated complaining about it, but she had to talk to someone and it’s not exactly like anyone on the flotilla could hear it. She suspected her aunt had suspicions of one sort or another but she never said anything, so Tali kept just as mum.
“Ah. Our favorite marine commander?”
“Our?” Tali leaned back from the screen and tilted her head, not quite keeping the indignance from her voice.
“Heck yes. I told you, if you didn’t want him, I’d be glad to take a whack at it. You know,” the image on the vid-console held up her hands defensively, “delicately and germ-free of course.”
She wished in that moment she was back on the Normandy. Just so in her silly girlish frustration she could give the other woman a good shove. She stopped grinding her teeth for a half a second and realized Shepard was screwing with her - complete with the grin on her face.
“If anyone’s getting delicate and germ-free with my attaché, it would be me. You remember that,” she pointed forcefully at the vid-screen, wishing Shepard could see the defiant face she was making right now. She thought it was pretty intimidating.
Shepard bit her lip. “Still that bad, eh?”
Tali sighed. “Less frequently, which I guess is good, but it seems I gave up a frequency of light regret for infrequent crushing despair.”
“Drama queen.”
“Yes, because I so desperately want to become the center of attention when someone finds out.”
“Don’t they have anything better to do? You know, like find new worlds to colonize or new ways to blow up geth?”
“Gossip is traded like platinum, eezo, and technology all at once. It is the premium in the Fleet. I’d complain, but it’s also how I know what is going on around here, so I can’t, what is it you used to say? Bite the man that feeds me?”
Shepard let out a short bark of laughter. “Hand. The hand that feeds you.”
“Oh, right.”
They were silent for a moment, and then Shepard spoke again, this time with none of her cheerful mockery. “You know you can’t do this to yourself forever. You can’t know something will happen until you know how he feels about you. If you don’t even want to know that, well, maybe it’s time to really work on letting it go. If you can’t make yourself ask, you’ll spend your life wondering and then be really upset if suddenly he shows up with some floozy he linked up with over the weekend.”
Tali let out a weak chuckle. “We don’t do that. But you’re right, I’d hate her.”
“And then you’d resent him, and he wouldn’t know what hit him. You can’t keep it a secret forever.”
“I’m bad at this!”
“Everyone’s bad at it. It’s why we forgive each other for being bad at it. I mean, remember I told you about the thing with Garrus? Love him to death, but that was so disgustingly, endearingly awkward that we decided we were better off without throwing sex into it. Sex complicates things. Intimacy complicates things. Sometimes it’s nice to complicate the hell out of something, and other times it’s just emotional masochism. Or a case of hives that doesn’t go away for a week,” she added wryly.
Tali had been downright fascinated when Shepard had shared her story. The turian held little romantic appeal for her, but she was utterly in love with his voice. She had a thing for voices - it was possibly common among quarians, but she never got around to asking anyone. Kal’Reegar’s voice was strong, but could also be very gentle. Once or twice, his simple ‘ma’am, you seem tired, maybe we should finish this later?’ made her want nothing more than to curl up around him, wrapping her body around his. She was briefly lost in that daydream and almost forgot why the turian story had held her interest - Shepard had been willing to risk some pretty nasty medical possibilities just to be with someone she loved. So what if it turned out to be a different kind of love than the one that made two people crawl into the same bed every night? At the time, she had been jealous of her forwardness. She supposed she still wished she had even an ounce of it.
“You still with me, Tali?”
“Yes. I suppose you are right. Either I can deal with the consequences or I can’t. Either I do something about it or I don’t.”
“Basically what it boils down to, girlfriend.”
Tali giggled. Ash always used to call them that - once she warmed up to the aliens on the ship, her less-than-professional moments had always involved street slang that didn’t always translate properly.
“I’ve got a meeting to prep for. Talk to you later?”
“Definitely. I’m here if you need me,” Shepard smiled. “Good luck, T.”
“Thanks,” she said, and disconnected the session. She felt no better about her chances, no less worried about the potential backlash, but she was that much more confident that she had to draw the line, and soon.
# # # # #
“Will that be all, ma’am?”
“You know, I haven’t said anything in a while, but you really haven’t been working on calling me ‘Tali’,” she hoped there was a slight flirtatious tone to her voice, and not one of superior authority.
“It doesn’t feel right, ma’…Admiral. Miss Zorah?” the last was in a questionable tone that was almost comical, and he completed the picture by tilting his head inquisitively.
“Because I’m your…boss?”
“Superior ranking officer, ma’am.”
Tali winced as he ma’am’d her again. She tried a different route. “If it’s just the two of us, you have my permission to refer to me by my given name, Kal. Just because I’m an Admiral now doesn’t mean we didn’t serve together for eight months, hot bunking with a science crew bouncing around the galaxy.”
He loosened his stance, and the way he bowed his head…she imagined if she could have seen his face, he might have been smiling.
“I’ll remember that…Tali.”
She smiled.
# # # # #
It helped to keep his distance from her; closeness, using given names, being alone, these were things that dissolved the barriers he’d worked so hard to put up. But sometimes, just sitting across a desk from her, working, it was so damned comfortable he could almost pretend that after they had left, they would be returning to a shared cabin, decontaminating their sleeping space and crawling into bed together. It was a happily-ever-after scenario he tried not to picture. She was out of his reach - now more than ever.
He approached her office and pressed the seal on the door, and with a clink and a hiss it slid aside. Instead of finding her industriously tapping away at a datapad, he found her slumped over in her chair, head resting on the desk. He briefly panicked until he saw the rise and fall of the curve of her back as she breathed in and out. She was only sleeping.
It was only a matter of time before he found her like this. She was stretched too thin - working with Shepard’s pet geth (the idea still made him twitch) on building some sort of case for mutual détente and options for the Fleet, and hiding it from the other Admirals (well, mostly) while keeping on top of her regular duties had been taking a toll.
He hesitated before going over and touching her lightly on the shoulder. His fingers curled around her tiny form (though he supposed most females were tiny, she always seemed especially so to him - maybe it was her youth? his desire to take care of her?) and he squeezed her shoulder briefly, giving it a gentle shake.
“Ma’am. Ma’am,” he hissed softly. “Admiral. Tali. Wake up, ma’am.” She startled awake and sat up straight, knocking a stray datapad to the floor.
“What? What’s - what was I?”
He leaned down to pick up the datapad and set it back on the desk. “You were asleep.”
“Oh. Oh. I didn’t sleep very well on my off-shift.”
“Did you even take an off-shift?”
“Um…”
She was very bad at lying, and he loved that about her. He smiled. “That’s what I thought. Maybe you should take your sleep cycle now.”
“My day will be ruined - I can’t do that.”
“You’ve come down with a mild fever. Nothing a day of rest won’t cure. Meetings can be rescheduled.”
She tilted her head up at him. “A mild fever? But how could I…?”
“You’re an Admiral. You don’t have to have an explanation for everything you do. Just the important things. Or the scandalous ones,” he added, trying for lightness. “It’s a perk of the job.”
“Well I suppose…”
He pulled up his omni-tool and pushed her back a day, sending a mass communication to everyone on her calendar that she would be unable to keep her appointments and would reschedule as necessary. “No choice now, it’s already done.”
She was quiet, looking up at him from her desk, and he folded his hands behind his back, relaxing into his at-ease military posture. She flexed her fingers as they lay on the dull metallic surface. “You haven’t called me ma’am in nearly five minutes,” she pointed out quietly.
He shifted. “It’s been difficult, but I’m working on it,” he admitted.
“Walk with me?” She rose from her desk.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You did that on purpose,” she said, pointing a finger at him, her voice playful.
“Yes, I did,” he acknowledged, and they walked out into the corridor.
She cursed her inexperience and her shyness in these matters. Waking up in her own pod, she realized she must have been awake enough to go through her decon protocols, but she was damned if she could remember doing it. But there had been a chance there - maybe that was one of those moments that meant the tables could have been turned, and she'd completely missed it. She threaded her fingers into her thick black hair (she hadn't even braided it before she went to bed) and let out an exasperated noise from the back of her throat.
She checked the clock - still time to do some work, and then she'd try to regulate her sleep schedule again. She knew she couldn't keep letting this go on. She was burning out, but until she had something she could take to the Board and know she wasn't making a fool of herself, she couldn't stop. Pulling herself out of her soft, comfortably padded sleeping cocoon, she dressed herself quickly in her suit. She secured her head wrap, flexed her fingers to make sure the gloves were tight, and hit the seal. The soft hiss that was her suit expelling air pockets and closing all ventilation ports let her know it was okay to open her pod. The dim lighting in her cabin rose as she exited her pod and she paused only long enough to grab a lightly pink vacuum pack of vitamin nutrition and a datapad before she headed out the door.
Entering her office, she found Kal'Reegar sitting at her desk, and she stopped short.
He heard the door slide open, and froze before standing quickly and moving away from her chair. "Ma'am! I thought you were taking a cycle out?"
Moment, her brain prodded her, and she folded her arms across her chest and shifted her weight to one hip like she'd seen other girls do; like she'd seen Shepard do. She really had to stop pretending like human women were anything like quarians - she was probably…oh Keelah! She was probably making a fool of herself! Again! She straightened back up and cast about awkwardly with her arms for a moment.
"Do you...um...do you always sit at my desk when I'm not here?" The last part came out very fast, and she wasn't sure if amused and flirty came through so much as awkward and possibly a little peeved. Dammit.
"Just catching up, ma'am."
Back to the ma'am thing again. Okay, maybe not a moment. She was truly tired of this. Maybe there was nothing there. Maybe she was making it all up because he was tall and broad-shouldered and had that great voice (back to the voice thing - she wondered if any other species was this attracted to voices, or if before they wore suits quarians even had this obsession) and was kind of a hero, helping Shepard take out the geth to save her on Haestrom. Maybe it was all just hero worship, complicated by the fact that he was nice and treated her like she actually knew what she was doing.
"Sit down, Kal. I can just as well sit on the other side like anyone else. There's no rule that says..."
"I don't customarily sit with my back to the door, ma'am. I apologize, I took advantage of your absence - sometimes it's hard to find a quiet place to work around here."
She nodded, her voice empathetic. "Don't I know it. How about I pull my chair around to the end of the desk so that neither of us sits with our backs to the door?"
He hesitated, seemed unsure - she tried to talk to him like a normal person, but it seemed now that maybe her position made this camaraderie uncomfortable. How long did it take to develop that relationship she'd seen between other Admirals and their attaches? The one she envied where they were not only an important link to the flotilla, but were trusted friends?
She dragged the chair over across the floor, and sat down in it at the end of the table she used as a desk so the door was in her peripheral vision. Then she looked over at Kal, who sat down slowly, seeming to stare at her as he did, even after he found the seat. She looked away first, and went back to her datapad, her long fingers tapping and dragging while he stared at her a moment longer.
# # # # # #
There was something about her - there was no doubt. She kept surprising him. He had no idea where it came from - maybe it was her youth. Despite her experiences, she still had a naïveté about her that allowed her to treat others as equals, as cherished students, even if it they didn't deserve it or it wasn't exactly...appropriate.
He sat down in her chair, and watched her on her datapad, thrown back into her work as though what he had done wasn't a complete breach of protocol. He never would have done it except she had gone along with his suggestion so easily that he was sure she would sleep the rest of the work cycle away. He had escorted her to her cabin (being single, yet with a certain status afforded him a cabin with only three roommates) and discovered how good it was to be an Admiral. It was very small, having only a small table that doubled as a desk and the half-bubble of a sleeping pod (his curiosity led him to quickly glance at her curved cot, and the way the blankets hung off it, less than perfect, made him smile) with the small area screened off that melded into the curved cabin wall. But it had privacy, which was a premium on any ship in the flotilla. He had left her there as she approached the bubble and began to program it to open, oblivious to his continued presence. It had amused him that she had been so vulnerable in that moment.
They worked in silence for an indeterminate amount of time - he lost track, the only sound that of their shifting bodies and the occasional beeps of datapads.
"Is there something I can help with, ma'am? I mean, something else?" he asked out of nowhere. It was as good a time as any.
She raised her head and looked over at him. "How so?"
"I know you've been working on other projects. I know you've been up at all hours doing something secretive, and I wanted to let you know...I might be able to help, if you'd allow." He let his voice exude an almost disinterested confidence - like it didn't matter if she shared her secrets or not. She seemed to stare at him for a long time, and it made him unusually nervous - like he was a particularly difficult equation she was turning over in her mind. He didn't like being under her microscope.
"I, um...I'm not sure..." she started.
"I'm familiar with a lot more than military matters, ma'am. My mother is still an engineer on the Appella. My father is military, but I'm not completely unfamiliar with what I suspect you're working on."
He imagined that if he could see her, she would have a brow raised. Funny how three hundred years had not changed their instinct towards varied facial expression - about the only thing it had done was integrate more importance on voice pitching and body language. He'd thought, once or twice, that maybe it was a genetic memory - now an instinct - ingrained in all quarians, towards the hope that one day they would be without their envirosuits, and be able to freely express themselves in that manner. They didn't want to forget. Just in case.
She sat back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. As far as body language went, it was either a challenge or she was upset. Her tone made him leans towards challenge. "And what is it exactly that you think you know?"
"Colonization. Something with Legion - the two of you bouncing back and forth like emissaries."
"Have you been screening my messages, Kal'Reegar?" She hardly ever used his full name, and still it felt like a tease, a challenge. He smiled, but tipped his head for a moment to hide even the hint of it from her inquisitive stare.
"No, ma'am. Just peeking at the occasional datapad and some diagrams and specs for making newborn pods larger with regulated auto-decay." He paused. "And by larger, I mean the size of a village," he added, leaning on one arm and tilting his body towards her. It was outlandish, it was risky, but damn it was cunning. He had been raised that the only good geth was a dead geth, but he'd met Legion, briefly. And that confused the hell out of him.
She nodded slowly, still sitting back in her chair. Then she leaned forward too, on folded arms, and stared right into his helmet. "You're awfully well-informed for someone who has only been peeking, Kal'Reegar vas Rayya." She did it again, and something in him was a little thrilled at the way she threw his full name at him with that daring taunt.
"Just a little curiosity, ma'am," he said, and he surprised himself by letting flirtation creep into his voice. He hoped she didn't catch it. Well, mostly.
She leaned back again and re-crossed her arms. "Well since you've done some extensive peeking, anything you'd like to offer?"
"Not really ma'am. It's a good idea - and I never really thought I'd be in favor of colonization a few years ago, but you're right - going to war with the geth would significantly injure our fleet when the Reaper threat reemerges. I know the Alliance and your Commander Shepard say it could be anything from next month to a generation from now - they're awfully good at waiting, what with being machines and all. We need a home base and the fleet needs to be a fighting force again. We could have a small colony up in less than a year. It would take generations before we're wandering around without ‘suits and longer than that before the bubbles could be completely eliminated, but it's a better idea than I've heard before. The problem would be population increase and power generation to keep the bubbles functioning adequately," his voice was now thoughtful, and she smiled.
She booted up her omni and the orange glow was reflected in her faceplate. "If you find some time, Kal'Reegar vas Rayya, I'm sending you my research. See if there's anything else you care to add, any notations, et cetera. I've set the file to track changes and notations so I can tell what you're contributing. If you think your mother can help and keep it under her helmet, I'd love another engineer’s prospective. I've always been an engines girl - I'm not as good with biologics."
With a last beep, the orange holo of her omni faded, and she looked up at him. "Thanks for your help," she said, the tease out of her voice, replaced by a relieved gratification. "It'll be nice to share this with someone."
"Of course, ma'am," he said, and nodded at her. She tilted her head, and he let her name roll off his tongue. "Tali."
# # # # # #
In addition to their regular day-to-day interaction (he normally met with her briefly at the beginning and end of every work cycle), now they were spending their off-time together too. Bent over datapads, zinging numbers and diagrams and holos back and forth on their omni tools, the Admiral-and-attaché formality they sported during their work cycle dissolved with nary a backward glance once they began working on the biome project in their personal time.
They researched in silence, reading and sending pertinent information other scientists had put forth, both quarian and alien, about colonizing and terraforming. There had always been a short list of colonization-planet options (just in case - the quarians made a reputation out of preparing for everything), but until she became an Admiral, she never had access to that list. Now, however, she could write up entire dissertations on the pros and cons of every planet, (longer ones were attributed to the planets with the most potential) and the projected funding they would require. Her experience with the Alliance had given her the idea that they might assist the quarians in their efforts, at least maybe in terms of funding, in exchange for the power of the flotilla's military in their fight against the Reapers. Before, the Fleet had never really put forward their military strength as a viable bargaining chip, but with a homeworld in play, suddenly their entire population was not at risk of extinction on military assignments. Kal's mother, Orila'Reegar, was surely sent by Keelah - she was subtle and stayed silent the majority of the time, but offered valuable insight just when it was needed most. Tali suspected Orila’s mate's distaste for the colonization effort kept her from being more helpful. As she had no desire to cause trouble, Tali took what she was given and was thankful for it.
It was only a matter of time before they started discussing their personal lives to alleviate the monotony. But she was no longer scared. Well, not entirely. Kal had gone from acquaintance to friend and crush to reliable advisor to, well, a true friend - someone she trusted in a way she trusted few people. It only made her heart trill that much faster when he finally asked her whether or not she managed a personal life amidst all her work.
"I mean, we're here most nights, or in your office, pouring over data and you've never...mentioned anyone." He looked away and she just stared at him. "That is to say, if it's none of my business, you can feel free to tell me to shut it."
She shrugged, and poked meaningless icons on her datapad, stalling for time. "There hasn't really been anyone. I went from my Pilgrimage straight into full-time research. I've been so committed to each mission that I haven't really had...time." She shrugged again.
He searched for a tactful way to phrase his next inquiry. There wasn't one, but he was sure as hell going to try. "So you've never...?"
"Linked? No," she said it with such disregard, like it didn't even bother her. Sometimes it did, but she kept herself busy enough to try and chase it out of her mind. "I mean, I'm not a complete child. I've used stims once or twice. I just have bounced around so much in the last five years that developing personal relationships to that level has been out of the question." Tit for tat, she said to herself, and took a deep breath. "You?"
"Twice."
"You spend a lot of time with me, so...no one that...stuck?" It was such an awkward word to use.
"No. Liked one well enough - she was a med assistant over on the Baleer. But the reaction was too severe. When it's that bad, it takes a certain level of commitment, and, well," he shrugged. "We weren't quite up to it, I guess."
"You or her?"
"A little bit of both, I think. Makes you really think how much you want it, you know?"
She nodded, and then was struck by that urge to tease again. "Do I want to know the stim count?" she let a chuckle creep into her voice.
"Probably not," he said with a chuckle of his own. "Have I mentioned that on the flotilla a military man is prime as orange paste sometimes?"
She let the idea roll over her. "Ooh, I love the orange."
He laughed. "See what I mean? Being in command of my own unit was like being orange paste with some of the pink in there for good measure."
"You're making me hungry!" she complained good-naturedly, clutching at her stomach dramatically.
“What time is it, anyway?”
She checked her omni. “Wow. It’s well into our sleep cycle,” she said, and he pulled up his omni to see exactly how far.
He rose from his seat at her little table. “I should leave. Let you sleep. You have an early meeting tomorrow.”
“Sometimes I wonder why I pay a PA when you memorize my schedule anyway,” she said wryly.
“Everyone has to feel useful,” he said, meaning the poor little girl who was the PA to the youngest Admiral in the Fleet.
“You are plenty useful, Kal,” she said, and then put her hand over her mouthpiece. “Oh, you were talking about…”
He nodded. “I was, but thanks anyway. Glad to hear it.” He moved towards her door, and let it hiss open, standing in the archway so it didn’t automatically close. “Rest well, Tali.”
She nodded, twisted in her seat at the table. “You as well, Kal. Pleasant dreams.”
“Yes ma’am,” he acknowledged, and disappeared, the door hissing shut behind him.
She hummed when she braided her hair before bed, and couldn’t quite figure out why.
# # # # # #
The next day, she left an orange paste packet with a smiley face drawn on it (Shepard was fond of drawing smiley faces on heavy weapon ammo - it had become quite the joke) on top of a report she left for him while she was at her meeting. That afternoon there was a serving of pink paste in her drawer. She saved it and the following day, wrapped it with an orange paste packet and wrote “for emergency use only” on the foil.
Two days later, there was a small innocuous grey pouch holding two stims injections tucked under her datapad. The screen on her datapad read “take precaution - restricted use”.
She was so glad no one could see her blush. She hid the stims in her suit, and let out a nervous chuckle. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to laugh or if she was…vaguely insulted. His escalation of the joke from some double-entendre food sharing to a stims pack was…well, the implications simply flew around in her brain, multiplying at an exponential rate.
On one hand, maybe he was just playing. On the other, maybe he thought she should get out more - certainly the sort of folks who had their suits programmed for these sorts of things didn’t use stim packs. (And she’d downloaded a program. Once or twice. But she always deleted it as though someone could just look at her and know she was “that sort” of girl.)
If she had a third hand, that hand would be weighing the other option - that it was a not-so-subtle suggestion. The first was the most likely, the third was the most desired, and the second didn’t really seem like him at all. Logic dictated that he was playing, but she had no way to compete on that level. She certainly wasn’t going to get more risqué than some extra rations, so she let it drop, and when they worked in silence that night, she tried to keep it from being awkward.
He didn’t mention any of the running joke at all, and it made her a little bit sad.
# # # # # #
Too much, too fast, he cursed himself. This was no quickie in duct maintenance. This was Tali. Maybe he’d misinterpreted. Maybe she was letting him save face. It wasn’t like it wasn’t a bad idea anyway - what with being her attaché, a position that was supposed to be relatively objective to a certain point, and her apparent reluctance to get involved in any sort of relationship.
He hated not having the upper hand - it wasn’t something he was used to, and it unsettled him. He was about to apologize as the door to her cabin opened, having let it infect his mind for three whole days, when something hit his faceplate and bounced off, landing on the floor. Bending over to inspect the object, he saw it was the same brand of stims he left on her desk. Could have even been the same package.
“Thought you might need them,” she said, and the joke fell awkwardly flat. “I don’t have that kind of free time.”
“Tali, I’m sorry, I was…”
“Just joking?”
He tilted his head at her. He knew females. She was angry. It was in the tense pose of her muscles even while she sat back in her chair with one leg crossed over her knee. It was in the way she bobbed her foot as she jabbed the datapad.
“Are we Admiral and attaché right now, or are we Tali and Kal?”
She turned her head sharply. “What?”
“I want to know before I say this. Are we Admiral and…”
“I heard what you said.”
He paused, waiting for her to continue. “Well?”
“Tali and Kal,” she replied quietly, the datapad now sagged loosely in her fingers.
He stepped further into the room. “I know you’re not very…what I mean to say is,” he held up the packet. “This is me asking.”
She stared for a moment. “Asking what?” If possible, her voice had gotten softer.
He walked closer to her, and knelt down so that they were almost at eye level. She had to look down at him a little bit, and he found it endearing. He laid his hand on her knee and she twitched, and he set the packet on the table and slid it towards her.
“Asking to change Tali and Kal.”
She looked at him, then at the packet, then back at him, then down at his hand resting on her knee, which was trembling a little in her effort not to bob her foot and kick him in the faceplate. Then back to him, then to the stims. She reached out a finger and touched the package briefly before drawing her finger back. She twisted her hands in her lap a moment before leaning forward and standing, moving to pace in a small circle away from the table, leaving Kal crouched down, and looking up at her silently.
“I don’t…” she began, and then resumed her circular movement. She paused again and turned to him, fidgeting. “I want to know if it can work, Kal, I really do, but what about the Board?”
“Do you really care that much about what they think? Besides, Tali’Zorah is a bit of an unpredictable element in the fleet.”
“Not just my job…yours.”
“Your position as an Admiral, most of the Admirals, are pretty much amilitary unless we are in a declared state of war.” She paused in her pacing, and he rose as he spoke, and then stepped towards her. “I looked it up.”
She was almost completely still as he closed the distance between them, and reached his hand up to her helmet, curving it around her faceplate. He could almost imagine what she might look like, beyond the angles reflected back at him.
“I lied,” she blurted.
His reply was carefully amused. “How so?”
“When I said once or twice, I meant I’d read about them once or twice. Or a few times. Heard stories. Never actually…used them myself,” she didn’t even look up at him, and he couldn’t help but find her utterly adorable. “Not that no one ever offered, I just never…”
“Had time?”
She looked up. “Yes. Time. Never could…you know, take time away from…”
“Your work.”
“Yes.” Now she was fidgeting in earnest, and she stepped away from him to sit down again. She slid her hands under her thighs to keep from twisting them in her lap. He turned to face her.
“Would you like to?”
“Take time? Yes!”
“Try them?”
She looked back at the package. She’d studied the diagram. It showed several appropriate seals where the injection could enter her suit and spread like a particularly invasive medigel, covering her in a thin sheen of nanogel that was compatible with her suit. It lost effectiveness fairly quickly, lasting only a couple of hours, and could be washed away easily with the sonic shower in her pod. It was meant to replicate and transmit even the lightest of touches into electrical impulses that mimicked bare-skin contact. The package guaranteed a satisfactory experience, and came with two injections, “to enjoy with a partner!”
She couldn’t even speak, so she looked back at him, and nodded. He reached for the package on the table, and then stood, taking her hand and getting her to stand with him. He took them around the other side of the table where the long cushioned bench, presumably for a mealtime gathering, ran parallel. It was not wide enough for them to lay on, side by side (well now he felt good and disgusting - she deserved better than this - but he couldn’t quite think of how to make that happen, so this had to do), so he just sat her down, and had her face him. She tucked one foot under her body, and he mirrored her pose.
“How much have you…been touched?”
She shrugged. “No more than usual.”
He gave an awkward chuckle. “Now I feel like I’m taking advantage.”
“That would imply that it wasn’t completely consensual,” she responded quietly. He touched her faceplate first, tracing the edges of it just under her hood. He wondered what color her hair was - blue-black like his, or maybe lavender or an odd color like a peachy-pink he’d seen in a vid once. Then his hand moved down her shoulder, her muscles stiffening, her hands laid in her lap, and he could tell she was struggling not to twist them.
“Relax,” he instructed quietly, and she took a deep breath.
He added his other hand, and just ran them lightly from shoulder to wrist, smooth stroking motions, tilting his head this way and that. He felt her muscles loosen, felt her begin to relax.
“You’re beautiful, you know that?”
“Would it sound silly to say you are too?”
He let out a nasal rumble of amusement, one hand stroking the inside of a wrist. “I prefer handsome, dashing, that sort of thing.”
“Then yes, you are those things,” she replied shakily.
Then he moved to her legs, from her bent knees up her thighs, and he heard her breath catch. He wasn’t going to use the stims tonight. She was doing so well - it had clearly been some time since anyone had touched her like this, but he didn’t suspect he was the first. She just had to talk herself into letting it happen.
“Can I…?”
He nodded. “Please.”
She shifted closer to him, and touched each side of his helmet, and his hands came to rest on her waist; her perfect curved waist. She explored his neck, his shoulders, and there was something delirious and wonderful in her light exploration. There was none of the feverish quest for sensation, completion. Just…curiosity.
She went from shoulders to his elbows before then leaning her touch a little into his knees, his thighs. Keelah, he didn’t even need the stims! She was arousing him just by mimicking his purposeful, repetitive strokes over her suit. He tried to inhale as quietly as possible, but it was a bit shaky, and he didn’t think he pulled it off just right.
It was only a few minutes of having his hands on her, but then he stroked upwards, past her breasts (perfectly sized for her little body - those would get plenty of attention later) and cradled her helmet in his hands. She did the same, and they leaned towards each other, faceplate to faceplate, helmet to helmet.
“What is this, Kal? What does it mean?”
“It means things are different. And I couldn’t be happier with the change in status quo, ma’am.”
She felt justified in lightly jerking her helmet against his, her hands now resting on his waist. She gave him a squeeze and he flinched. “Stop ma’aming me. That’s an order.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, humor in his voice.
This time when she squeezed at him, he squeezed back, and she fell backwards, he on top of her, and the fear dissolved.
Continue to Part Two