Chapter Text
Aya is beautiful, and every twist and turn in the local fauna, every divot in the buildings, every curve in the road seemed to have something of interest for her to study. She’s certain it’s the researcher in her- she knows how strange it must be to see an alien gape wide-eyed and open-mouthed over a structure Jaal had informed her was simply their average library (curling spires with plants that grew over them, bearing fruit), but she can’t help it. She’ll endure Vetra’s ribbing on her obvious infatuation with the planet if she must, but she didn’t want to board until she was sure she could be away from their gentle warm sun and the crisp breeze.
“You can see why we enjoy the planet so much.” Jaal speaks up from beside her and, when she turns, she notices that his gaze has remained on her for the majority of the mission. His face is open, mouth slightly parted and his head tilted to the side. It’s miraculous how similar their emotional expression was to human’s, and she’s pretty thankful for it. She’d worked alongside the other Citadel races (and an elcor who had been a slow but fantastic conversationalist) in the search for more Prothean ruins- she’d been able to pick up a few tells here and there amongst salarians and asari, even a few from a few peacekeeping turians.
But none were as expressive as the angara. It was equally heartening and terrifying to come across a race of people with little to no concept of personal space or emotion concealment.
Even now, there’s a blue tint crawling up Jaal’s neck, transparent on the thinner skin on his cheeks. She hadn’t been able to pick out when he was blushing (having no reference for what color his blood was, she’d fallen back on just expecting whatever), but now that she could, it was becoming obvious that he spent at least half of the time he was around her flushed and rambling.
The other half was spent on Aya and in combat, where he exuded an intrinsic type of confidence; he didn’t become someone else, persay, but he seemed to no longer fear missteps in communication. He was in his element, and she wished she could give him that peace of mind all the time.
But, baby steps. Rome wasn’t built in a day. All of those other sayings about patience being rewarding.
“Jaal, really...” She opens her mouth to say something about the scenery, about the people, anything, but all that comes out is a content sigh, her eyes briefly closing. He seems to understand, a smile gracing his face. He’s the type of person made for happiness- a smile suiting him better than anything else. Maryam changes gears. “Thank you for letting me come out here in my old gear- I love the Pathfinder suit, but it doesn’t have all the scanning capabilities I’d like.”
“You’re taking the time to learn about our culture and our planet to be a better ally to the angara.” He says it like it explains everything, and he’s still smiling. “And with such a respectful method, how could I deny you?”
She reaches out instinctively to grasp his hands, to hold them and try to convey how much this really meant to her- that he was truly more than just her angaran emissary. But she refrains, instead reaching her hand down to push at his elbow to bring his arm forward. He nods, aware of her attempt at cultural sensitivity, and knocks the back of their arms together softly. “Really, though, Jaal- I mean it.” She’s looking into his eyes again, and she’s not sure when she’d looked away. While neither the cloud cover nor their shade moves, his pupils dilate past their previous slits. “This is the opportunity of a lifetime- I’m so glad I met you, and that you decided to come aboard.”
Jaal gives the little chuckle that usually means he’s has some sort of joke he won’t explain. “Truly, Ryder, the pleasure is all mine.”
They both turn back to survey the landscape again, listening to the dull rush of water, just a little ways away. She leans against the railing guarding the edge of the cliff’s face, feeling the distant spray of the water below. In the background, she can hear the low, warped sounds of angara chatting, too far for the translator to pick up words. If she focused, she could probably pick it out, but she’d been the topic of conversation as of late amongst the angara, and, really, it was far better to simply let them chat.
While she wants to simply enjoy herself, Maryam knows it can’t last. She straightens her back, wincing slightly when it pops. Beside her, Jaal’s eyes widen in horror, his voice carrying the same seriousness as if they were on the field, “Pathfinder, are you alright?” And he comes close enough for her to smell the perfume he’d had to ask for permission to bring on board. He reaches out, hesitant, his hands seeming to not know where to go. “Did you... break something? Are you injured?”
Somewhat alarmed, Maryam pulls back, blinking and rapidfire trying to figure out- “Oh, my back.” She blinks and, for once, is glad she has a background in biology. Peacekeeping for the ruins aside, she’d really enjoyed the research and being able to identify what actions were universal and what were decidedly human things. “No, I’m not hurt. Um, when I move too fast or lock my joints, there’s a bubble of, well, air in between the joints that is released, and makes that sound.” It was an incredibly condensed version of the explanation she’d given an overly interested turian, but it explained enough.
Jaal blinks, and his hovering stance relaxes- under the ridges of his head, barely visible in the broad daylight, she sees his bioluminescence shine brighter. “I am... relieved. Admittedly, humans seem to have more methods of accidental injury, which is worrisome. Your skin is very... thin, and you don’t seem to be very...” The sentence dies off, and he gives a sideways tilt of his head, back and forth, indecisive. “I’m not intending to offend. I don’t want it to come off that way.”
“No offense taken.” Maryam says, genuinely. “I know we look a lot softer than the other races, but I assure you it doesn’t care over into the battlefield. And, for as thin as our skin looks, it’s rather incredible how fast it can repair itself, as well as how its density helps for-” She stops herself, looking up at him with a drawn sigh. “I don’t want to bore you with the biology lesson, like last time. I don’t mean to show off.”
He regards her, blinking slowly. “Perhaps I misspoke, then.” A small frown forms at the edges of his lips, and he hunches slightly, meeting her eyes directly. “At the time, I thought you were touting your education- showing yourself as smarter, attempting to prove me inferior due to my interrupted formal learning.” His eyes dart away, and when he tucks his head this time, it seems to be out of shame. “Was the study part of your profession, before becoming the Pathfinder?”
Was she so transparent? “Yes, actually. I was the biology expert for a Prothean excavation effort. I had a bit of fighting experience under my belt, too, so I doubled as a peacekeeper on the colony.” The twist of nostalgia in her chest genuinely hurts. “Never a boring day, I can tell you that.”
From the look on his face, Jaal obviously wants to press on what a ‘Prothean’ is, but refrains for whatever reason. “I apologize, then- it’s something you are passionate about, not something you’re trying to... ah... ‘rub in my nose’?” He tests out, looking at her for approval.
“‘Rub my nose in’ or ‘rub in my face’, but you used it properly either way.” She nods, and he gives her a small smile.
“Thank you.” He continues. “I don’t mind listening about your biology- it’s rather fascinating, and you’re obviously informed on the subject. It’s easier than reading the distributed pamphlets. If I have any questions, I’ll be sure to come to you.” And there’s something in his eye- she’s seen him regarding her clear as day with respect, but there’s something more to it. A greater respect? The look is soft around the edges, friendly, his tone teasing at the end.
“I’ll answer to the best of my ability, then.” She says, matching his tone, smiling when he chuckles and turns back to the scenery. Deciding to get it over with, she cracks her knuckles in quick succession, seeing Jaal and a few passing angara shoot her brief, worried looks. “I’ll be heading back to the Tempest soon to analyze this data- feel free to call one of us whenever you’re ready to board again.” She taps the edges of her knuckles to his shoulder in an angaran move, followed by a serious nod, which he returns.
When she weaves through the Aya marketplace, she’s glad that she attracts less stares than she had the first time she’d walked through- Maryam wasn’t sure whether to chalk it up to them being desensitized to her presence or them pointedly ignoring her. The chatter isn’t about her, for the moment, but she hears the high voice of a child pronouncing human ‘huh-men’ and, when she turns, she finds a small angaran child gazing at her from a fair distance away. Trying for pleasant, she smiles, nodding in their direction.
She sticks to the edge of the street, by the railing, to make way for any others trying to pass through- she wasn’t due back by any time, and if anyone else had any pressing matters in the marketplace, far be it for her to keep them from it. She’s almost to where the railing ends when she hears the rapidfire sounds of feet hitting the ground in her general direction and, surprised, she turns to see the source.
The same child is running towards her, calling out ‘heh-man’ then ‘huh-man’, waving their hand palm facing outwards towards her (a gesture that’d caused more than a few diplomatic issues, since both Maryam and Liam often waved in this manner, and it was seen as highly disrespectful to present one’s palm to an angaran in acknowledgment). Maryam’s fairly certain they can’t lower their speed from how fast they were going and, considering their path, they were going to crash right into her. She squares her feet and, keeping her hands flat to her sides, prepares to be tackled by an angaran child.
They keep going, unyielding, but their trajectory was slightly off- instead of colliding with solid, strong Maryam Ryder, they are sent careening over the edge of the rail.
“Shit!” She says immediately, and, fourteen different thoughts at once (how did I not catch them followed by still have time), she jumps down after them, arms reaching out, hands grasping. She catches them by the back of a belt looped around their chest (takes a brief moment to thank Allah that she was larger and heavier and had fallen faster), pulling them into her. They’re letting out a scream, a loud, screeching sound that’s painful because it’s the sound of a child faced with certain death, hands grasping for a firm hold. With her free hand, she reaches to activate her jetpack- coming up empty. Shit shit shit- not in her Pathfinder gear- in her researcher gear, which meant-
She turns around, still clutching the child to her chest, and hits the release on the belt and, tensing herself and supporting the child’s neck, a rappelling line went out, anchoring itself high on the ledge of the sheer cliff. They stop falling abruptly, the give in the line making them drop slightly further before being snatched upwards, and she grits her teeth through it, feeling her stomach bottom out. They both pivot sharply towards the cliff, and she takes the full brunt of several sharp rocks to the frame of her body, the force of it sending them back out again. The next time she’s about to collide, she twists so the line has more give, and the hit isn’t so painful.
Now no longer faced with plummeting to her demise, she takes a deep breath and takes into consideration literally everything else happening around her. The shaking child on her chest- she wasn’t well-versed on the angaran concept of age, but the body build was similar to a six year old human, and they were shuddering and screeching and staring at her with shaken, terrified eyes with pupils dilated into slits. She takes another deep breath. There’s the faint sound of more angara rapidly approaching the rail, several alarmed calls of, “Pathfinder!”
“Hey,” She says, softly, feeling slightly more put together. They’re wriggling slightly, which would make pulling the line in more difficult and, while the entire maneuver had only taken a few seconds of unadulterated instinct, it had felt like years and wasn’t something she was willing to try again if they started to drop again. “Hey, mumu, everything’s alright, I have you- we’re safe.”
The wordless screeches die down, but the wriggling doesn’t stop- she feels a teardrop hit her face, and finds them crying, mouth moving soundlessly. “Are we gonna fall, Pathfinder?” They say, seemingly parroting what the adults above them are calling her, and it just makes her sad.
“No, we aren’t. I’m the Pathfinder, so that means I always know how to find a way out of messes-” She pauses. “What’s your name, mumu?”
The child blinks at her for a bit, seemingly somewhat relieved that there was an adult (no matter how foreign and alien) in charge, whose profession was keeping them safe. “Baako. Baako ada Oye. Is it...” They fumble, but she’s at least glad that Baako’s tears are drying, and they seem to be more secure in her one-armed embrace. “Is it rude to ask a human their name?”
“You have so many questions, Baako.” She says, in a teasing way, in the tone she’d used on her neighbor’s kids when she told them they were so smart. “It isn’t- my name is Maryam. Maryam Ryder.” She takes another deep breath, and they watch as their position on her torso rises and falls in accordance, either in shock or dazzled. “So, Baako- I’m gonna get us back up there, but I’m gonna need your help.”
They look at her with wide, trusting eyes, nodding very very quickly- it disturbs the line somewhat, and she mouths a soundless curse that she’s glad wouldn’t translate. “Understood.”
“I’m gonna need you to hold onto my neck, and keep very still, okay? The line-” She points at the line with her free hand to emphasize it. “The line is going to pull us up very fast and, once I tug it, I’ll grab onto you, but I’ll need you to hold onto me for that one second I won’t be.”
“Where is your ‘neck’?” They say, genuinely confused, and seemingly looking around her shoulders (which made her stomach drop again- it was a long way down). She pats at her neck a few times as a gesture, and their eyes brighten with new understanding. “Oh! Your neck is very thin, Pathfinder Ryder. Where are your nutrient deposits?” As she had, they take their small, somewhat sticky hands and touch their neck flaps.
“I don’t have any- but my neck is very supportive-” Too big a word, might not filter for the translator for a child. “My neck can hold your weight, so make sure to hold on tight.” Somewhat hesitantly, they lean down, wrapping their arms around her neck. Against the base of her neck, underneath her ponytail, she feels their fingers link together. At the very least, they hadn’t nigh choked her out as she’d briefly feared- she wouldn't have blamed them for clutching onto her tighter. “Okay- are you ready?”
Their bioluminescence flares, followed by a small, “Yes.”
Maryam tucks her her head over their’s and, calling out at the angaran heads peeked over to make sure she hadn’t dropped, “Move away from the edge!” Once she couldn’t see any of them, she just hoped they’d gotten a far enough space to keep from colliding with her inevitable canon ball, and hit the trigger on her rappelling belt again. It goes taught for a moment, taking in the slack she’d created, then starts rapidly taking in the line in increments, pulling the both of them up quickly enough to leave her ears ringing every time. Her heart is pounding in her ears and, frankly, the only comfort was that she knew it could hold two turians’ weight, so it should be able to take their combined weight.
On the last stretch, the ledge almost in her view, her grip tightens on Baako, and the extra pull of the line sends them a few feet in the air, parallel to the cliff. She throws her body weight to the right and, in an ungraceful crash to the ground (cradling Baako’s body tight to her chest and pulling her knees up to keep him from the same scrapes), rolls onto the edge of the Aya marketplace until she finally loses momentum. Once she comes down from the absolutely terrifying adrenaline high, tunnel vision in full effect, she feels them crying again, the bravado from earlier worn off in the face of their safety.
With no little amount of strength after getting tossed around like a ragdoll, Maryam pulls the both of them to a standing position and, after bracing herself, picks them up to hold them securely. It’s all instinct, something deep and maternal in her, but she shushes them, bouncing them slightly in her arms and humming. Eventually their sharp cries calm down until there’s silence and the material on her shoulder is still soaked, but not getting any wetter. “You okay?” She’s met with silence and, holding her breath, she pulls back slightly to peer at their face- finding their eyes closed, their shoulders relaxed. She doesn’t blame them for tuckering themselves out, and she continues bouncing them, humming, unsure if it’s for their comfort or her’s.
It seems like the entire angaran population of Aya is staring at her, wide eyed and mouths open. No one seems willing to speak first so, teeth rattling so hard that her voice shakes, “So, which one of you is-” She has to take a breath and close her eyes, trying to get her center of gravity back in order. “Which one of you is Baako’s parent?”
A female angara steps forward and, yes, she can immediately see the resemblance- they have the same flare to their crest, are the same light green color. “Mojisore ada Oye, Pathfinder. His true mother. He is my firstborn son.” Mojisore shares the same stunned look as the rest of the angara. “I... If he is bothering you, I can take him back...?” Her voice is hesitant and, while her hands are outward and grasping, the fingers are curled in like she’s prepared to pull them back.
Maryam angles her head again to check Baako’s face- he’d nuzzled into her neck, and was drooling slightly, making it hard to extract him from her. “It’s no problem, really.” Which seems to make Mojisore more nervous, so she tacks on, “It’s no problem to hold him, I mean- I don’t think he got injured in the fall or the ascension, but you should check over him, if only to be sure.” With that, she gently slides a hand under his chin, supporting his head and not disturbing him from sleep while she turned around, and passed him over to his true mother. It was a little difficult to maneuver him because there was no empty shoulder space to rest his head on her, but Mojisore acclimates and guides his head under her chin and resting on her nutrient deposits.
“Thank you so much, Pathfinder.” She says, softer, and there’s a small, hesitant smile on her face. “He has always loved the stars and, he’d just recently found out that you had seemingly come from them- I had thought he would simply run over to you, bombard you with questions. If I had known he would’ve been in any danger...” Her voice trails off, and she turns to face Baako, nuzzling his head. “Oh, may your luck build, Pathfinder.”
She’s not quite sure how to respond to that. “Thank you very much, Mojisore ada Oye.” Now, coming down from the adrenaline high, she feels the pulse of blood on the sides of her face, the faint swelling. There’s medical jargon that S.A.M. throws at her in the back of her mind, but she can’t focus enough to pick apart entire sentences- ‘contusions’, ‘concussion’, and ‘class two hemorrhage’ are all that comes through. She nods at her one more time and starts to duck back towards the Tempest, feeling the shredded bits of the side of her suit, a fairly large cut on her shoulder.
She’s stopped by two warm hands on her shoulder- the touch is glancing, but it’s enough to nearly knock her down. “Ryder, you’re injured.” Jaal’s voice is loud, alarmed, and there’s a murmur through the crowd. “Here, I can hold your weight while we get to the infirmary.” He loops an arm around her waist, fitting his fingers underneath her right rib- upon inhaling again, she realizes her left one might have a fracture in it.
“Pathfinder, your blood is red?” A voice she recognizes as Jaal’s brother Baranjj rings out, loud and alarmed. “I thought it was residue from the cliffs!” And, all at once, there are more angara closer to her, in a blur of blue, purple, and green. Someone wipes at her shoulder with a cloth, another picks a leaf from her hair- Baranjj’s lighter blue is at her side, supporting the rest of her weight. He moves to wrap an arm around her back and hold onto her left side, but Maryam lets out a hiss of pain when his fingers flex, and he pulls back like he’d been burned. “Ah, human, I’m sorry- I didn’t realize-”
“They aren’t offended, Baranjj- she was wounded on that side, that’s why she slumps in that direction.” Jaal explains, quickly. “It would be best if I get her quickly to the Tempest- thank you all for your concern, genuinely. The Pathfinder will be back tomorrow to discuss further relations.” Which is a worrisome sentence that makes her wonder what relations she’d need to discuss, but in the next moment he’s lifted her up, supporting her at the knees, his arm around her back. She lets out an involuntary and very pathetic groan, pulling in on herself and leaving Jaal scrambling for a better hold on her.
“Sorry, sorry.” The action had winded her, and she takes the moment to try and regulate her breathing again. One she settles, much like when she’d been holding onto Baako, Jaal starts walking at a brisk but light pace. “You... You don’t have to worry so much, I just need to get stitched up. ‘S not that bad.”
“You’re bleeding profusely from your head- which is something I was under the impression you need to survive.” He quips back, but his voice is heavily laced with worry. He pauses for a moment and, without hesitating, pulls his rofjinn off, and proceeds to wrap it tightly around the top of her head. It’s warm and familiar, and reminds her of when she was younger, wanting to wear a hijab like her aunties and bothering them until they finally gave her a spare. “To staunch the bleeding.” He explains, but there’s hesitation- not knowing if that’s how her body works, most likely.
“I meant it, it’s fine- head wounds bleed a lot.” But her words slur a little. “You shouldn’t... Your rofjinn is important, I don’t want to stain it-”
“It is important to me, but it is still cloth- it can be washed. Keeping it clean isn’t worth ignoring your wounds.” She can hear the faint roar of the Tempest’s engines in the distance, but she fights to keep her eyes open despite the wash of comfort that falls over her. She’s staring up at him, looking at the hard set of his brow, the watery look in his eyes- genuine worry, fear. Maryam opens her mouth to remark on this, but a hard current passes through her, and she startles, tensing in his arms. He’s immediately apologetic, hushing at her. “My apologies, my apologies- it was instinct- angara heal each other with our currents, I should have controlled it better but I didn’t realize-”
“‘S fine. Didn’t hurt me.” She appeases him, reaching up with one aching, protesting arms to pat at his face- he lets out a strange, soft rumble, regarding her with more worry. “You did fine- thank you for carrying me.”
“Maryam,” Which is the first time he’s used her name like this, so soft and fragile and scared. His pace increases, jostling her cuts and making her flinch- he stares down at her, alarmed, holding her tighter to try to compensate. “You’re cool to the touch, and you seem to be losing pigment- what can I... What can I do? We’re almost to the ship, dearest Maryam, if you can hold on just a little longer.”
“When we get there,” She starts, then loses her train of thought. She shakes her head, her ponytail brushing against his arms. “When we get to the Tempest, just tell Lexi I need some fluids. ‘S not enough blood to need a transfusion.” Pause. “I don’t think. Since I’m still, able to stay awake.”
“Understood.” Then, as she feels the sudden press of released cool air from the ship as the bay was opened, hears the alarmed voices of several of the crew, the last dregs of her adrenal response fade away, and she drops her dead weight into Jaal’s arms, knowing that everything was out of her hands.
-
When Maryam wakes up, she hears the faint sound of Sahuna’s voice which, being slightly disoriented, was very alarming. With little to no grace, she jerks into an upright position, feeling the protest in her right arm- stitches up and down it. “Maryam!” Jaal’s voice calls out, loud and surprised. Quieter, he directs his voice to the call he’d taken with his mother, “Mother, I’ll call you back later. Stay strong and clear.”
He stands from the chair he was situated in at the foot of the room, and his smile is wide and relieved. “Woah there, Jaal,” She lets some casual tone into her voice, different from her usual stringent persona. After the day she’d had, she deserved it. “Far be it for me to interrupt you talking with your mother- did you tell Sahuna I said ‘hello’?”
He seems to fret somewhat, then. “You were unconscious, I don’t see how you’d be able to say much of anything.” She shrugs, and he deflates somewhat. “Ah. Another idiom.” There’s a long pause where he seems to think on it and, then, his gentle smile returns. “It meant that you wanted my mother to know you’re thinking of her, yes?”
“Yes.” She smiles back- he was getting so good and working over translation errors, it was heartening to see. “How is the family doing? Aya is beautiful, but Havarl is where they are- it’s nice.” Jaal’s smile gets larger, face flushing and the divots on the back of his head giving off a bright light.
The heart monitor she’d been attached to gives one long stream of accelerated heartlines, before fizzling out. She looks at it in shock, before pulling two fingers to her neck to check, just in case. “That... That would be why they sat me at the foot of the bed, I think.” Jaal says, not looking particularly shamed. “Now that you’re awake and well, however, I doubt there is reason to continue the monitoring. They explained the process to me while you were unconscious- the human body is certainly a tenacious thing.” He leans over to point at the bag of fluids, tracing the line to where it ran into her arm. “To be brought from so much blood loss with only a mixture of water and salt! It seemed so unlikely, I was-” Now he looks somewhat sheepish. “I was speaking with my mothers as to what they thought would be the proper course of action for blood loss- I had staunched the blood, but I wasn’t sure how to provide more to you.”
Maryam takes a moment to let all of that sink in. “That’s really kind of you, Jaal- I really appreciate the concern, and what lengths you went to make sure I would recover.” She smiles and reaches out with the hand without the IV in it, cradling his face. “Make sure to tell your mother’s I am grateful for their concern as well, but I’m fine. A little bruised, and I’ll have a few more scars, but nothing too detrimental.”
“Nonetheless, it was still worthy of concern.” Jaal starts, then stops, seeming to change the topic. “Aya is currently in shock right now- what you’ve done was an incredibly political move, and one that sways the opinion of the angara in your favor. While the child may have raced after you, and their falling of their own consequence, to have thrown yourself over the rail as well to save them...!” There’s pride in his voice and Maryam is glad she’s no longer connected to the heart monitor, because her heart rate spikes at recognizing adoration in his eyes. “It was heroic, selfless- the ada Oye family is discussing whether or not to propose you a position in the family as a Mother to Baako. They’re all-” He corrects himself. “We’re all in shock- for you to endanger your life without thought, to be put in such a state of harm, for the sake of a child that you have nothing to gain from? It’s... inspirational. Heartening.”
“He was just a kid.” Maryam says, reeling somewhat at the bombardment of all of that information at once. “Anyone would’ve done the same- I don’t see how it warrants honor or favor. It’s just... It was just the right thing to do.”
Jaal’s eyes sparkle and, just as she hears the rush of feet of a nurse coming to check on the state of the equipment (S.A.M. had probably reported that she was still among the living), he takes her hand and leans close. “Maryam Ryder, to protect our young as your young, is no small act. As far as Aya is concerned, you are an angara by honor.” His face becomes impossibly more vulnerable. “And, as word may spread to Havarl through my family, you are a hero.”
“A hero, huh?” She says, wondering if this was some long, drawn-out dream. If Jaal’s adoring, dilated eyes were all a dream. “I don’t need the title- it was just the right thing to do.”
Then Dr. Lexi P’Terro shows up, scanning the room and taking in the scene before her, Jaal’s bright bioelectricity in the air. “Well,” She says, somewhat amused. “I can see why the monitors went dead, at least.”