Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

2185 C.E.

Hephaestus Station—Milky Way Galaxy

Captain Qetsi’Olam vas Keelah Si’yah leaned forward, her darkened faceplate concealing her expression. “There’s no other choice Malak.”

Unlike Qetsi, Malak’Rafa’s visor was sheer, betraying the doubt etched into his face, a fog of dubiousness hanging over his bright eyes.

“I don’t know Qetsi. It just doesn’t seem right… so many people. Are you sure that we can’t just work with the Council races? Especially the humans, they’ve never done anything against us –”

Malak’s voice cut off without the captain needing to say anything. Qetsi was silent for a moment, fury evident in her posture. “Never done anything? Do I need to remind you what Cerberus did to us? To innocent Quarians just minding their own business on their ships? Don’t even get me started on the rest of council races.”

“But Qetsi… even the humans hate Cerberus. I can understand the Turians and the Salarians – they were so cold, so ruthless with the Krogan. And the Asari – It was mostly them that kept us from that planet, the one that could have been our homeworld. No one wanted it until we named it New Rannoch. But this? Qetsi maybe we shouldn’t…”

There had indeed been a planet just outside Elcor space No one had claimed it until the Council decided to take it and give it to the Elcor, even though they had a perfectly good homeworld already.

Typical.

“You’re not wrong about the Salarians being worse. The cruelty is fun for them. You remember what they did to me,” Qetsi said, the shake in her voice only partly contrived. “But it’s not just them, don’t you see Malak? We can never trust any of the council races. They’re all the same. The Turians are cruel, and the Asari stood by and just let the Genophage happen. They could have stopped it with a few words. The humans would have supported it if they’d been around then too. We’re different – this isn’t for fun or greed. This is about survival. We have to do this – have to make sure they can never do anything like that again. Just this one thing, and then there can be peace.”

Qetsi, of course, didn’t really care about the Genophage. She thought it was one of the few good things the Salarians did. The Krogan would threaten the Quarians' place in the new galaxy. It wasn’t advantageous to voice that right now, though. Qetsi was nothing if not calculated and charismatic —she’d worked hard on constructing that persona.

Malak slumped in his seat and Qetsi knew she had him. Malak had always been more pliable than Senna’Nir or the Pathfinder Telem’Yered. He’d been an excellent choice for this – his hacking was impeccable too. She’d never known anyone so talented, not even Senna’Nir, her First Officer. Despite Senna’s dedication to her, Qetsi knew he’d never agree to anything like this. He was too sweet. She thought Telem might object as well, especially given the nature of their plan. It was risky; but Qetsi had backup plans to her backup plans. This was too important to her status to back down from.

Sometimes sacrifices had to be made; that was something the Pathfinder and the First Officer could never understand. That wasn't a problem; she’d do it for them. This time it wouldn’t be her people left in the cold vacuum of space – it would be the council races.

Without any sense of remorse, she’d airlocked the firearm she used on the human that installed the mist stations under the guise of welcoming the Drell to the Andromeda Galaxy with the scent of home. She’d neglected to mention the floral mist that smelled of the benign, beautiful, and fragrant blood-red Usharet flowers native to Rahkana was laced with an engineered virus. As for eliminating the human, it was nothing personal – she didn’t hate the humans like she hated the Salarians. She was sure that if the tables had been turned, the humans would have done the same. The Drell would be fine – she’d made sure they wouldn’t make them sick.

Her only real problem was Malak’s bleeding heart. Despite his malleable nature, he argued and complained. He whined about the ethics of eradicating most of the council race population. He insisted that she hadn’t needed to kill the young man who’d tampered with the Drell pods on her orders – once they left Hephaestus, no one in the Milky Way could punish them for their sabotage even if it were discovered, he said. Qetsi hadn’t cared about her friend’s protests; they were of no consequence. Fortunately for her, the man was incredibly weak willed. The only thing that mattered to Qetsi was his locked and loaded datapad.

His hesitation was obvious when he pressed the button to hide his face behind his visor in shame as he swiped the screen to send her the copy of the virus – his computer virus. The one that would infest the Keelah Si’yah’s systems, overriding the pods’ design to spray her designer virus into the Drell pods.

No one would be the wiser to the asymptomatic scaled vectors of the chimeric virus as it traveled from Ark to Ark and tore through the Nexus with violent precision; only brutalizing the guilty.

Qetsi would burn the Initiative from the inside out. And the Quarians? They’d pick up the pieces with her at the helm. Everyone would love them for it – would love her for it.

She smiled as Malak’s virus spread through the Keelah Si’yah’s systems, a quiet, deadly thing. If everything went to plan, it would distribute the virus to hand-picked Drell pods – the pods of the extroverts. The social ones would seal the fates of almost every Human, Asari, Salarian, and just to be thorough – the Krogan too.

The council races’ time was up.

Six Hundred Years Later

The Nexus Station – Andromeda Galaxy

Specialist Rynn Gee sat at her cubicle in the ass end of the Nexus absently chewing on a sticky cylinder of licorice. Tonight, was just like every other night she got stuck with transmission surveillance duty; so boring that paint drying would be Golden Globes award level captivating in comparison. The Initiative hadn’t seen fit to waste resources on a lowly security post, so it was much hotter than most of the rest of the station. She’d dragged a fan to her desk and unzipped her jumpsuit enough to give her neck some much needed air, sat back and tried to distract herself from the heat with rage-inducing sudoku.

She’d gotten stuck yet again on a cruel combination of numbers, likely made by an VI with a grudge on organic brains, when a sudden static popped into thin air. The screen in front of her flashed with an alert, bold red letters splashed across it. The auto function kicked in to back-record the last sixty seconds.

Leaning forward to inspect the screen, Rynn swiped and tapped on the transparent, but slightly orange-tinged screen to clear up the message.

The bag of licorice dropped to the ground so half its contents rolled around the floor, when a pleasantly-accented woman’s voice emerged from the buzzy and meaningless noise. Rynn’s jaw dropped, a bit of candy falling out.

Repeating. This is Captain Qetsi’Olam vas Keelah Si’yah. The situation is not under control. Avoid until further update. Repeating.

The lost ark, the Quarian Ark – the Keelah Si’yah. There had been radio silence from them for the past two years; not even a distress signal like some of the others. Everyone assumed all twenty-thousand inhabitants were dead, lost to the interstellar deep space between the Milky Way and Andromeda.

“Holy shit,” she said and bolted from the room with the candy wrapper stuck to her boot, leaving the licorice where it was, spread out over the floor like splatters of dried blood.

Ryder needed to know about this.

Chapter Text

Two years later

The Nexus Station—Andromeda Galaxy

The Nexus was in chaos. That was the only real way to describe it. Aliens from every council race – plus the Krogan, ran past each other to their stations. Asari and humans crowded the front of windows, leaning so their noses pressed against the glass, and the huge Krogan, Salarian, and Turians peered out from behind them at the massive Ark ship that slowly slid into its waiting dock.

Unlike most of these people, Dr. Ryan Bitton headed towards the meeting room with the rest of the KSIT, the Keelah Si’yah Investigative Team, or as the more annoying inhabitants of the Nexus called it: KISSED.

Her initiative jumpsuit was as by the book as it got, something made even more painfully apparent when she walked into the meeting of a smattering of different species around a semi-circle shaped table. Most people kept their jumpsuits daringly half unzipped, their hair loose, wore goofy heels or neon tennis shoes, things like that.

Not that there was technically anything wrong with that – Ryan’s look was one of necessity. Being shorter and the second youngest of the team at thirty-three didn’t command respect. So, she wore her dark hair in a French braid down her back, her jumpsuit in the correct size and fully zipped, enough makeup to make her feel put together but nothing dramatic, and the standard laced combat boots.

Her only deviation was the large tattoo that peeked out from the shoulder of her jumpsuit and her paperweight of a wedding ring that had made her solo-voyage from the Milky Way with her.

She sat down across from Sara Ryder, the human Pathfinder, someone who looked like a younger version of her but somehow had the weight of thousands of human lives on her own shoulders. Ryder’s husband Jaal sat next to her, slightly stiffly.

KSIT was comprised of five people, not including Jaal, who technically wasn’t part of the group, but followed Ryder like a lost puppy. Honestly, it was kind of cute – not that anyone could have waterboarded that information out of Ryan.

Aside from herself and Ryder, there was a Turian tech specialist named Zevra Victus, the Asari Nasrana Sela, their biotic specialist and, Arin Ess, the Salarian engineer.

The lone extrovert, who also happened to be the Pathfinder, was the only person who did anything more than nod at her entrance.

“Hey Doc,” she said, grinning at her.

Ryan gave her a small smile. “Pathfinder.”

Everyone waited for Ryder to tell everyone her grand plan. It had taken them months to be able to figure out where the Quarian Ark was because everyone assumed it had gone wildly off course (it hadn’t). And then the Initiative had to wait until three weeks ago, when it drifted into scanning proximity, to send scouts. They’d not gone any further than the first airlock, having halted due to the cryptic message sent by the Captain Qetsi’Olam.

The only thing they’d been able to figure out was that some sort of disease had ripped through the Keelah Si’yah, claiming as many as thousands of lives. The ships VI had told them the situation was under control now, meaning the message Specialist Rynn Gee received two years ago was an echo of a chaotic time more than thirty years ago for the people outside of stasis on the Nexus. The captain’s warning zipped through the vacuum of space while everyone awake on the Nexus had been frozen in their pods, only reaching them two years ago on loop that had repeated since then – causing more than a few issues when anyone else needed to send a distress signal until the ship’s AI shut it off, directed by Ryan herself, as the rest of KSIT had waited in the shuttle outside the first airlock.

Yet despite the time gap, the uncertainty surrounding the disease still lingered. Most were unwilling to risk boarding what was likely a biohazard to save a bunch of Quarians – but someone had to. The idea of using drones or other robots had occurred to the people in charge, but was shut down. Some of the team - well, it was mainly Ryan, worried that the Quarians might wake up, extremely disturbed that a strange device had entered their ship to poke around in their cryo-bays and labs. Coming out of cryo was disorienting at best, and Ryan had argued that was not the best first impression of the Andromeda galaxy for traumatized Quarians hyped up on stims. Ryan wasn't going to bet on the mental well being of more than ten thousand Quarians on the ship's VI not malfunctioning, as something had clearly gone wrong during the journey. Arin and Zevra thought that a computer bug was likely.

The Initiative had to draft everyone on the KIST team, save for Ryan and Zevra, who had volunteered. Ryan knew why she did – but she wasn’t sure why Zevra had. The team was too important not to draft anyone. If nothing else, a formal Initiative investigation would be required to uncover the truth—if the worst had indeed happened. But that inquiry couldn’t jeopardize the rest of the Nexus. Four people were little in comparison to the thousands on the space station and those on the Keelah. So, KIST made the decision to board together, only leaving the Pathfinder and Jaal behind, of course. They needed to find out what really transpired and get a number on the dead, because there was no way there weren’t any fatalities. The Captain’s tone had been panicked, and Ryan could have sworn she heard a scream in the background – even if the others said she imagined it.

“So –” Ryder began with a peppy smile, “I want to get this started as soon as possible. What do you all think? There’s no time like the present.”

Zevra straightened, crossing her arms so eight birdlike talons pressed against each bicep. “Easy for you to say, you’ll be safe and sound on the Nexus.”

“You volunteered,” Jaal pointed out, his tone blunt, just as Ryan opened her mouth for a more tactful interjection.

Jaal wasn’t wrong – Ryan felt bad for Arin and Nasrana, the two who had been drafted, but Zevra knew what she’d signed up for. The team – and the mission, came first.

“You don’t need to go on,” Ryan said calmly. “You don’t have to go past the airlock for hacking. Technically, Arin, Nasrana, and myself are the only ones that need to board. So, stay there if you feel uncomfortable.”

Ryder changed the subject - she'd never been able to effectively manage petty squabbles. “Okay, so whoever is going on board needs to use protective gear. The top-notch stuff that we have is actually in the Nexus storage. Unfortunately, it’s going to be hard to adapt to anyone but Ryan and Nasrana.”

“Why?” asked Nasrana, in her usual bored tone.

Sara stood and pulled out the box of equipment. Three Quarian suits, as well as bits and baubles of other envirosuits were thrown haphazardly in a twisted tangle of hoses and filters. Curiously, Ryan leaned forward and pulled out a black and grey one. Nasrana ran her hands over the bright, almost neon blue one with a wrinkled nose; it clashed unpleasantly with her robin’s egg skin. Ryan supposed it was better than bright red one. Sarah and Jaal explained to Zevra and Arin the ways they could incorporate the filters and hoses to their own suits, but Ryan wasn’t really listening.

She traced the gray patterns of the hood and inspected the hoses. She knew enough about Quarian suits to know that this was a very fancy one, one reserved for the elites. The various buttons and straps were a puzzle compared to the other borrowed ones she’d worn previously, so it took her far longer than usual to puzzle them out, but more quickly than Nasrana, who fumbled with all the zippers and buckles.

Arin and Zevra left to get their own suits so they could swap out the filters and VI inserts.

Quarian eyes were quite bright, enough that looking directly at them for too long could cause eyestrain for other species. Thankfully, the faceplates of their helmets, designed to give Quarians some privacy on their cramped quarters of the Fleet, dimmed everything, not unlike sunglasses. A barely raised button the side turned the front transparent, in increments depending on how long the wearer held it. They were much more convenient than the old-fashioned ones, which required a scroll wheel or dimmer knob.

The mirror on the wall showed an odd sight – or at least a sight most people, alien or not, would find bizarre. A human woman in a Quarian suit, frowning slightly through her sheered helmet. She fiddled with the hood a few more times before it was right and powered the suit up. The legs, she had to adjust so that they were pulled and secured around the knees because the Quarians' gracefully arched legs were so different from her own.

Green letters in her periphery instructed her to input her name and other specifications. It promptly began running diagnostics on her. The suit helpfully informed her that she was not Quarian, but otherwise healthy.

After a whirlwind of a briefing, they were on the transit to the Keelah Si’yah just an hour after the Ark docked on the Nexus. The five minutes she spent leaning against the shuttle wall were the only chance she had to contemplate what they were walking into.

Ryan had never spent much time on any of the Arks when they were empty like this, everyone asleep in their pods. She hadn’t been on a sleepwalker team, she’d just fallen asleep at the station and then woken up – rather abruptly, actually, two years ago on the Hyperion.

The team split up early on: Nasrana to the cargo bay and trams, which were the largest sections of the ship, but had the benefit of being uninhabited. Arin rushed off in the typical frantic Salarian fashion to inspect the Drell, Hanar, and Batarian habitats. Those three were much smaller than the Quarian wing, who made up the bulk of the passengers, where Ryan conducted her own inspection. No one could check the Volus one in person, even though the entire team wore envirosuits. None of them, nor anyone on the Nexus, could withstand the dangerous pressure and toxic ammonia atmosphere Volus were adapted to. KIST would have to use robots for their section - there was no way around it. Zevra would check theirs with a reinforced drone before heading off to inspect the core of the VI, which officially held the name of the ship, Keelah Si’yah, but that responded to “K” more readily.

Ryan picked her way through the cold and quiet hallways, looking in on the scores of unconscious Quarians with frosted faceplates and hoods. She breathed a sigh of relief that the Keelah Si’yah wasn’t a ghost ship, even though some of the pods’ glass fronts looked in on nothing. Nasrana said the cargo bays were a mess, looked as if they'd been looted, and that one of them was a morgue. Unlike Zevra's video feed of the Volus section and Arin's reports of the Batarian, Drell, and Hanar sections, which had been decimated, few pods in the Quarian sector were empty. The vast majority were still sleeping away in their suspended animation. There were no bodies anywhere that she could see, so she assumed they were all down in the cargo bay with Nasrana. And as for the suits, it didn’t seem odd to her that the Quarians would leave them on. If there were an outbreak, it would make sense that they were hit the least, because of their suits, which were a part of them since the Morning War – when their own creations, the Geth, had driven them from their home world Rannoch and destroyed their immune systems. They even had a nursery rhyme about their suits that each little Quarian heard about “my suit, my suit, my suit and me.”

That being said, she didn’t completely understand how any Quarians were infected at all. It was possible they died in some other way. Perhaps there were riots if enough people were taken out of stasis for some reason? She tried to think of places to start her search for evidence and information, since she couldn’t wake everyone up yet, much less the people she needed to talk to – the Captain, the Pathfinder, maybe the First Officer. Maybe some of the offices or personal quarters would have a clue? Quarians weren’t known for their love of personal possessions, but it was possible one of them had left a note or some sort of record. So, Ryan set off for the Quarian living quarters.

The Pathfinder’s quarters were huge – far larger than her apartment on the Citadel had been. And that had been a very expensive one, considering that her husband had a very lucrative, if morally grey – strictly speaking, job. Telem’Yered had a few personal effects, something out of the ordinary for Quarians. A paperweight made of a mysterious mineral rested on the corner of his desk. When she scanned it, her Omnitool told her it was native to Rannoch and volcanic in nature. There was also a holo of a Quarian woman in a light purple hood. When she picked it up, the screen shimmered to show the woman’s rather pretty face. Other than that, there wasn’t anything of interest.

The Captain’s quarters were immaculately organized, with little for Ryan to take in. She opened and closed a few doors, each revealing a handful of meticulously sorted spare suit parts. Aside from a few datapads and the necessary equipment, the Captain seemed to embody the Quarian tendency to avoid personal possessions. Yet, there was another side to Quarian life, and the First Officer appeared to embrace that.

Calling Commander Senna’Nir vas Keelah Si’yah’s office cluttered would have been generous. It looked like a machine shop after a pipe bomb explosion. Batteries, hoses, and circuit boards lay scattered across every surface, turning the floor into an obstacle course of discarded parts. Navigating through the maze of components felt like stepping into a scrapyard of misfit toys. The minority of packrats usually kept things tidy, making this extremely irregular.

She’d finally picked her way across the room to the Commander’s desk using a scanner to detect pathogens as she did so. Once she was sure everything was clean, she started poking around the bits and pieces. Perhaps she should have been more concerned about Senna’Nir’s privacy, but she needed to know what the status of everything was before they started taking people out of stasis – the Initiative had advised Ryan not to allow K to activate the thaw until she was sure it was safe, or there was no other choice but to bring a few select individuals out.

When her oddly shaped, unfamiliar boot caught on a stray hose, she knocked a little disk over. She barely caught it before it fell to the floor with the other junk, but as she did, her finger brushed over a manual switch. A hologram flickered to life.

A miniaturized, suitless Quarian stood, with her three-toed feet, in the middle of silver disk like a teacup fit precisely to its saucer. She’d seen photos of bare Quarians before, as well as a few with their masks sheered, something most people couldn’t say. That’s why she knew exactly what she was looking at – even if she didn’t know who. The woman had the most common coloring combination; light purple skin and dark, almost black, purple hair. Instead of it being hidden behind a helmet swept up in a bun or a braid, or else cut short, it flowed longer than Ryan’s even, down her slender back, stopping just above her backside.

Lovely and unbelievably fine ankle length robes with slits down the arms so the sleeves fluttered free, dozens of bangles and intricate tattoos covered from her wrists to her shoulders, and a hooped ring in her nostril, connected to an earring with a fine chain, completed the look. She guessed this is what their traditional dress must have been. What else had been lost? She’d heard rumors about these imprints during her time on the fleet. Could it be what she thought it was? But surely not – they’d all been destroyed. They were seen as more than illegal; they were treasonous.

“Hello,” Ryan said, with a little hesitance.

The woman was older and held herself imperiously. In life, she suspected she’d have been a head taller than Ryan was, easily brushing against six feet. Perhaps she was a priestess, or a scholar? She surveyed Ryan through narrowed blazing bright white eyes that were framed by long, light purple lashes.

“You are not Senna’Nir,” she said in a raspy voice.

The Commander? The second in command of the Keelah Si’yah? That Senna’Nir?

“No, I am most certainly not.”

In a universal movement of curiosity in any species possessing a neck, the woman tilted her head. Ryan had long believed that Quarians and humans were the closest in nature and this was just another way. Though humans might have resembled the Asari with their straight legs and ten fingers and toes, it was the Quarians who shared their same heart. They had the same lust for life, the passion that comes from limited time. And they really, really, loved to argue.

These commonalities inspired Ryan to pursue an apprenticeship with a well-known and respected fleet physician. Humans had much to learn from aliens, and the Quarians were particularly underappreciated, with their unparalleled expertise in medicine. Some might say the Salarians or the Asari did, but Ryan disagreed. Quarians also had a much better sense of medical rights. Despite the ubiquitous prejudice against the Quarians from nearly every other species in the Milky Way, Ryan was grateful for the intrigue that had drawn her to the Flotilla. She was one of the few humans to learn Khelish, thanks to a fun little game where she turned off her translator, giggling with her coworkers who found her broken grammar and American accent charming, and her frequent, sometimes embarrassing or even offensive, missteps to be hilarious. Over time, they had accepted her as one of their own. The VI was a wealth of knowledge, designed solely for Quarian eyes and ears - there was no translator.

Ryan’s Khelish was still heavily accented and almost certainly hard to understand, but the woman didn’t comment on it. Instead, a cigarette materialized out of nowhere. She puffed on it, staring blankly over Ryan’s head. It was hard to tell with a Quarian, but Ryan could have sworn the woman’s eyes glazed over. Maybe it was a loading screen?

“You are not that prat’ya, Qetsi’Olam. You’re not even Quarian. Tell me, who are you and what has happened to my grandson?”

Damn. She must really hate the captain. Generally speaking, Initiative intel didn’t record whether or not someone was a whore, as the word prat’ya shared an interesting double meaning with the female version of pyjak – one of the many hilarious grammatical errors for someone learning Khelish. As for the mildly concerning relations between the three highest ranking officers, there were yellow flags when Zevra looked into the records of the officials of the Keelah Si’yah. It appeared that the Captain, Qetsi’Olam, had been involved with both the Pathfinder and the Commander – but love triangles weren’t illegal; they were just messy. Locking three people up like that on the desert island of an Ark seemed ill advised, even when all of them were in cryostasis. But the VI’s dislike of Qetsi’Olam was neither here, nor there.

Ryan looked in disbelief at the woman who stood petulantly on the desk in front of her before she could open her mouth to form any sort of intelligent response to her last, very rude, comment.

“Um… I’m Dr. Ryan Bitton, Andromeda Initiative.”

“I have no idea what that is ke’sed,” said the VI, waving a three-fingered holographic hand in front of her face. “Where is my grandson?”

"K,” Ryan said in a loud, clear, voice in the commanding tone used to address a computer. “Where is Commander Senna’Nir vas Keelah Si’yah?”

“First Officer Commander Senna’Nir vas Keelah Si’yah is currently in the Quarian cryo-bay D-47. All vitals normal. Temperature at 77.2 degrees Kelvin. Would you like to initiate stasis termination, Dr. Ryan Bitton?”

“No,” she said firmly.

It wasn’t wise to wake anyone up yet - not until they knew whether or not the threat of disease had truly passed. The fact that any Quarians were dead at all made her reluctant to wake him – wake any of them. K seemed to think everything was clean, but machines were fallible just as a person’s memory was. It was just that their weakness was software corruption, instead of age or injury. Another thought plagued her. Ryan wasn’t sure how a disease could spread in a ship full of people in Cryo. Perhaps K had woken them accidentally? Another sinister idea floated into her mind, but she suppressed it. If the incident was intentional, she needed to be even more cautious, but it was possible she was just being paranoid.

“What about the Pathfinder or Captain Qetsi’Olam?”

“Error. Qetsi’Olam is not on board the Keelah Si’yah. Pathfinder Telem’Yered is currently in Quarian cryo-bay A-25. All vitals normal…”

Ryan didn’t hear anything after that first error. Not on board? She sank into the commander’s chair, resting her hands on her borrowed faceplate.

“What are you?” asked the Quarian VI, curiosity evident in her raspy voice. “I’ve not seen your kind before – unless you’re a deformed Asari.”

Normally, Ryan might have laughed at the older woman’s tactlessness, but not right now. This was bad – really bad. Perhaps it was heartless, but she was happy that she would have this unpleasant conversation with Sara Ryder, instead of Ryder’s father, who had died a few weeks after they reached the Nexus. He'd made her reconsider joining the Initiative in the first place. He hadn't been a bad man, just someone she'd clash with if she had to work with him personally. She finally looked up from where she slumped, dejectedly on the black pleather cushioned office chair.

“I’m a human.”

“Never heard of that. You’re shaped like an Asari, but you wear one of our spacesuits. Are you a client race?” she asked after a long draw from her cigarette. It was almost to the filter now. And then she put it out on the desk – or at least that’s what it looked like she did. “I am Liat’Nir.”

Ryan had always felt that it was odd to call anything that could speak an “it,” even more so for anything that had a name. Sometimes she’d had to remember not to say “she” or “he” in certain company, but here? Who cared? She also realized that Liat’Nir must not know about Rannoch being lost, and so did not mention her use of spacesuit instead of envirosuit.

“Liat’Nir, do you know what happened during the voyage from the Milky Way on this ship?”

“You’re smart enough to know that there was a plague, ke’sed,” Liat’Nir said. “It was quite nasty. If it weren’t for my grandson, a few of his friends, and – not to be arrogant, my own ingenuity, we’d have never made it here. We are at the Nexus?”

“You are. And do you know what caused this plague? What was the virus – I’m assuming it was a virus?”

Usually anything that could rip through hundreds, or even thousands in a short span would be a virus. It was something she’d seen during her training on the Fleet, or her "Reverse Pilgrimage," as her friends fondly called it. However, it had only been in hypothetical exercises. Rigorous training in disease prevention, something akin to war games in human militaries, meant there weren’t many outbreaks within the delicate Quarian population. That quirk of her training was why they’d chosen her to be on this team, and not one of the many other more experienced physicians on the Nexus. After all, it would be ridiculous to not send the only doctor on the Nexus familiar with Quarians and their medicine to the Quarian Ark.

Liat’Nir lit another cigarette. It was bizarre to see a Quarian, even a holographic one, smoking, let alone chain smoking. Ryan watched her, slightly mesmerized by the odd sight. Along with her long hair and intricate clothes, it was another reminder of what they’d lost when they lost Rannoch. Ryan wondered what Quarians smoked – was it more like a cigarette or something stronger? She snapped out of her observations when Liat’Nir finally spoke.

“Reply hazy, try again.”

Okay, maybe something else. Ryan wracked her brain for something else to ask the VI who was either programmed to not reveal that information, or more unlikely, had decided by herself to lie.

“Do you know anything about how the virus came to be on the ship? How did it spread even though everyone was in cryo? Or did they wake up and then the disease spread?”

“Go fish,” said Liat’Nir, expressionlessly.

What kind of answer was that? More importantly – how in the world did an Ancestor VI understand human references like that? Perhaps Senna’Nir was as interested in human culture as she was in Quarian? In any case, Ryan had a bone to pick with whoever had programmed Liat to give answers about as helpful as a magic eight ball.

She’d have to get answers about the virus some other way. Perhaps they had samples she could get ahold of or…

“K, which cargo bay are the remains of the victims of the plague in?”

“The deceased persons killed by Chimera-Virus X are located in cargo bay twenty-seven.”

A chimeric virus? Interesting. If the ship were right – she had a major problem. The whole Initiative did.

Ryan began to pace. The engines were in power saving mode, so her footsteps were the only noise in the office. She’d never encountered a chimera virus personally; they were exceedingly rare in nature, and there was no way that one could be here by accident. The chances of it were so extraordinarily low that she’d eat this helmet if it were by chance. After all, this ship was filled to the brim with races that most of the galaxy was prejudiced against.

The Quarians and Volus would have been odd targets, given their suits – even though something had happened to the dozens of Quarians not in their pods. If it weren’t for the fact a disease would be stupid way to attack a Quarian that never leaves their suit, she’d suspect it was them. Drell were generally tolerated because there were so few of them outside of Kahje. Hanar were thought of as annoying and overly religious– but again, there weren’t enough of them for people to focus on their propensity for proselytization for the great, mighty, and holy Enkindlers. Volus, though they tended to bellyache about being the most unpopular, were generally tolerated as well.

Aside from Quarians, Batarians seemed the most likely to Ryan. Perhaps they thought that Batarians couldn’t be anything other than slavers, thugs, or drug-dealers and would bring that nasty business with them like a criminal stowaway.

Even so, just as the case with the Hanar, there were not nearly enough of them to put a whole Ark at risk, unless they’d intended to wipe the whole thing out.

Also possible, considering that the disease had either been designed, or otherwise adapted unintentionally, to attack all of the species.

But who would go to that length to rid the Ark of Batarians, or to even kill every Quarian, Volus, Elcor, Hanar, and Drell on board?

“Granddaughter,” Liat’Nir said, snapping Ryan out of her thoughts.

It took Ryan a minute to figure out that the VI was addressing her.

“Granddaughter? But… I’m not a Quarian.”

Liat’Nir pulled a carving knife out of her pocket and began peeling something that looked like a cross between a plum and a pear without so much as glancing up.

“The bosh’tet that said blood is thicker than water didn’t know how to do anything but blow hot air.”

She wasn’t sure if she should be touched or mildly disturbed that the VI had claimed her as family. She decided on being flattered.

“Grandmother, you have quite a foul mouth.”

“Always so formal, my granddaughter,” said Liat’Nir with a chuckle bordering on a cackle.

Chapter Text

TW: Past canonical child death, and depictions of a morgue. There will be a clear break for the beginning and end of that section for people who need to skip past it. I did my best to make it make sense, and be non-graphic about her thoughts about it later in the story for those who skip it.

She’d decided, before she’d stowed Liat’Nir in the commander’s desk, that she wouldn’t be turning either of them in. It seemed unlikely to her that Liat’Nir was not truly sapient, no matter how fondly she spoke of Senna’Nir.

Other than hiding the Ancestor VI disk, she’d left the room in the utter chaotic state she’d found it in. Once she’d found the makeshift morgue, she wished desperately that she’d stayed with Liat’Nir. This job was unpleasant and very much outside of her wheelhouse – but someone had to do it.

She wasn’t trained as a coroner or in autopsies, but she didn’t need to be to do this. There was no one else she could call on in the team and it would be too risky to send someone from the Nexus. It was difficult enough that their small team would need to be quarantined for two weeks after this. There was no need to send another, even more valuable medical professional, to the Keelah Si’yah.

Hot air puffed in clouds out of her respirator, its glow ebbing and flowing with each breath, as all Quarian designed suits did. The excellent design kept her warm effortlessly; the cold wasn’t what made her shiver. It was the eerie atmosphere and stillness, a bit like the thick and silent aftermath of a snowstorm. She tried not to think too hard about what was in this room with her. She wasn’t prepared for this – none of them were.

The process of taking samples was agonizingly slow, though none of them involved undressing any part of them. Quarian suits were made to stay on during non-invasive medical procedures. After over an hour, she reached the last group. Her bag tumbled to the floor and she was very, very, thankful that everything inside was shatter proof. The computer clearly hadn’t given the full information to her team. K was a machine, and not capable of conveying how much pain was in this room, of how terrible the journey to Andromeda had been for these people.

She choked back a sob, not at the fact that the last group were a handful of Quarians – who should not have been able to get sick from the virus, or the fact that her own suit might not be enough to keep her from being exposed if the virus were hearty enough to survive the cold on surfaces for extended periods of time, but at the small figure at the very end of the row.

A little Quarian girl lay there, lifeless as everyone else, still in her suit – which should have kept her safe, God fucking damn it. Ryan sat there for a minute, just staring at her. She still wore a miniature of the suit next to her, quite possibly her mother’s, only the patterns on her hood were slightly different, something she’d learned was their little bit of individuality and to distinguish themselves, especially those of similar height and age, from across a room.

She thought of her time on the Fleet, most of it spent on liveships, brimming with happy families and little Quarians in bubbles and suits laughing and happy everywhere. The head physicians had taught her how to give vaccinations to the most vulnerable of their kind – their children. They’d trusted her with them. Ryan had seen so many little suits like this one, and at that thought – she couldn’t stop the sob or the tears this time.

She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t – not her. If the Initiative needed the Quarian girl, someone else could take samples from her.

So instead, Ryan turned to the woman next to the little girl, who she thought might be her mother due to their proximity compared to the others and forced herself to get back to work. Despite it being irrational, she felt disgusted with herself for removing the woman’s face plate to take a mouth and nasal swab. It felt like such a violation; seeing a Quarian’s face was a big deal. But it also seemed more appropriate to examine a woman, rather than a man. She suspected that Quarians would feel the same although she’d never done an autopsy on a Quarian or asked about that particular specific custom. She did her work quietly and as quickly as possible. She couldn’t stand being in there for very long. When she was done, she clipped the woman’s face plate back on so no one else would see it. The door slid mercifully shut behind her, concealing the horrors within.

Tears blurred Ryan’s vision as she hurried down the corridor, barely aware of her surroundings. She almost ran headlong into Nasrana just outside the med-bay, which was full of equipment now, all sent from the Nexus for Ryan. The Keelah Si’yah had never been meant for this – its medical equipment was they barest of bare bones, not nearly enough to handle a full-scale outbreak. Distantly, Ryan thought this was odd considering the ship was full of Quarians, who would have gladly given up space for personal items for medical equipment. The rather short-sighted plan was that anyone that got sick was placed in cryo until the Ark docked at the Nexus; if they were Sleepwalkers, they used a runner-up for their assigned cycle. There wasn’t supposed to be death on this scale – technically no one in cryo should have been able to die.

“Hey,” Ryan mumbled, her voice strained from trying not to cry. The words were hollow, but she needed to say something.

Nasrana’s usually sharp features gaze softened. The red tinge to Ryan’s eyes, still visible behind her sheered faceplate rendered any words pointless.

“You saw her, didn’t you?” Nasrana asked quietly.

The lump in her throat made it impossible to speak, so Ryan simply nodded. She blinked furiously, trying to fight the tears back, but her composure was at its limit. It was always easier to keep from crying until someone asked why she was crying, or if they could help.

Nasrana placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed, her grip firm and grounding. “I went in there too for a few samples from the Drell. It’s hard. I knew it would be bad, but this was so much worse than I could have expected,” she murmured. "But you did very well. I know that you really…”

The Asari was obviously trying to find a tactful way to describe Ryan’s soft spot for Quarians, something a lot of people found odd, but was failing, so she trailed off instead.

“I need to get these samples processed,” she said, her breath a bit shaky. “We’re already behind, and there’s still so much to do. There’s a lot – nothing matters more than this. The Nexus is depending on us.”

Nasrana didn’t press further. Instead, she let her hand drop from Ryan’s shoulder, clearing her throat slightly uncomfortably. “I’ll be here if you need anything.”

Ryan offered a weak, grateful smile before turning away. As she headed into the med-bay, she forced herself to focus on the work ahead, even as the image of that particular suit was burned into her brain. She did her best to put it out of her mind for now.

Nasrana was mostly silent for the next few minutes, probably sensing that Ryan needed a moment to compose herself before she could switch on what she fondly called her “science brain” after what she saw in the morgue.

“Do you think we should wake any of them – maybe the last Sleepwalker team?” Nasrana asked.

They’d been under strict orders not to wake the Pathfinder unless absolutely necessary, not until they’d received an “all-clear” that continued for at least a month. The rest was up KIST’s discretion – really, it was up to Ryan, if they were being honest.

“Maybe,” Ryan said. “K, who was on the last Sleepwalker team?”

Zevra had told her, but in the handful of shocks at the last three hours, which had felt more like days, she’d forgotten.

“The most recent Sleepwalker team, Blue-7, led by Commander Senna’Nir vas Keelah Si’yah includes Detective Anax Therion, Specialist Borbala Ferank, Hanar Hydraulic Chemical Specialist Ysses, Medical Specialist Yorrik, and Specialist Irit Non.”

Ryan bit her lip. “Arin,” she said into her headset.

“Yes, Dr. Bitton?” the Salarian responded, her voice crackling with a touch of static over the com.

“Are the sterilization processes are up and running?”

“Affirmative.”

“K, when was the last decon?” Ryan asked. “And – are there any tests that can check for infection?”

“There is in fact a test. Twenty-five are in the med-bay you are in. It is advised to leave some for replication. The last full decontamination was thirty-two years, six weeks, and five days ago. Would you like me to initiate another, Dr. Bitton?”

“Initiate it.”

“Initiating decontamination sequence.”

The low hum of whirring machinery and blue lights swept along each hallway, nozzles spritzed a sterilization aerosol on every surface. The lights brushed over them, sanitizing Nasrana and Ryan’s suits, while the mist sprayed their boots.

“Decontamination complete,” said K.

She and Nasrana looked at each other through their transparent face masks, and with a shrug, Nasrana left the choice of waking up the Sleepwalker team to Ryan.

Some help she was as second-in-command, thought Ryan.

They made their way to the med-bay, where Ryan prepared the tests for Sleepwalker Team Blue-7. she dismissed Zevra and Arin to their quarantine bay, so it was only the Asari biotic and herself alone in the med-bay.

Ryan stood there, staring at the ready tests for a few minutes. “I’m going to do it.”

Nasrana didn’t contradict here.

“K, start the cryo-revival sequence for Sleepwalker Team Blue-7.”

“Error,” said the ship. “Specialist Ysses and Medical Specialist Yorrik are not in Stasis. They are in cargo bay 8.”

Her stomach lurched. That cargo bay? That was nothing more than a morgue at this point – she’d just been there. So, not only was the captain not on the ship – dead she supposed, a two of the six people Sleepwalker team she needed were also dead?

“Okay,” said Ryan with a shaky breath. “Initiate revival for Commander Senna’Nir vas Keelah Si’yah, Specialist Borbala Ferank, Detective Anax Therion, and Specialist Irit Non.”

She counted each name on a finger and waited for the ship to respond. After a few minutes, K alerted Ryan that each of the remaining members were regaining consciousness. She activated the com channel to send a voice message to the pods.

“Sleepwalker Team Blue-7, this is Dr. Ryan Bitton of the Nexus. Please report to med-bay eight for routine medical tests.”

“Routine?” asked Nasrana, raising something that looked a bit like a painted-on brow.

Ryan shrugged. “What else am I supposed to say? They're already going to be disoriented.”

The Asari didn’t argue with her. The few minutes they waited for a reply on the com channel felt like an eternity. The Commander was the first to wake up. His still drowsy voice was pleasing, especially with his Khelish accent and inflections.

“This is Senna’Nir vas Keelah Si’yah.”

The man in pod QSNVKS34 – cargo bay D-47 didn’t know who he was. An unintelligible message repeated inside his helmet, but the smooth voice playing in a loop wasn’t Quarian – it wasn’t the voice of any species on the Keelah Si’yah.

The Keelah Si’yah? The word came into the front of the thick fog of his head – which felt like it had been replaced with dry ice, by the way. By the homeworld I hope to find one day? That sounded familiar.

The looping recorded voice was also female, he realized, and its cadence was one that only human vocal cords could weave. The drugs – which he heard manually pop through the vents and nozzles in the clumsy rhythm that only organic life could produce started to creep into his bloodstream and through a tiny hose connected to the arm of his suit. His translator started working again suddenly, or his brain did, or both, and he finally processed what the words that he should be able to recite by now actually said. His heartbeat raised as what were clearly stims coursed through his veins, though at a dose less unpleasant than the last time he’d been forced to take them. He couldn’t remember why he’d had to, just that he did.

Commander Senna’Nir vas Keelah Si’yah, First Officer of the ship of the same name, tried to sit up in his nanomaterial sarcophagus and smacked his faceplate hard on its interior release latch when everything came flooding back to him. He fumbled with the mechanism and doubled over, still reeling and sick from the events of the past few days – or what seemed like the past few days, rubbing his helmet as if it were a part of him that were bruised. As soon as he remembered the concept of cryosleep, he realized had no idea how long he’d been on ice. His heart was still so, so heavy from the loss of Yorrik and Liat’Nir, and from Qetsi. Her unmasked face flashed behind his eyes. She had been so beautiful, so sweet, so…

The thought of her collapsing in the Volus sector, while the little badger-like creatures clutched at her like a Goddess of Life was like a puncture to his suit. Even knowing what Qetsi did, the pain was too much. He’d loved her, and love didn’t just dissipate.

Fortunately, his thoughts were interrupted by the smooth female voice again, introducing herself as Dr. Ryan Bitton. She addressed the entire Sleepwalker Team Blue-7, instructing them to proceed to one of the smaller med-bays.

“This is Senna’Nir vas Keelah Si’yah,” he said. He knew his voice was scratchy and fatigued, but he didn’t have it in him to care. “I appreciate the guidance. I take it we’ve reached the Nexus, Dr. Ryan Bitton. I’m guessing things have been a little chaotic?”

He paused for a moment. Did humans usually leave out the first name? Is it Dr. Bitton or should he use both?

“Yes, we’re at the Nexus. You can call me Ryan,” she said. “No need for formalities. They just make us introduce ourselves like that. It’s a little silly if you ask me. We’re all technically colleagues”

“Yeah, no shit. I'm not about to address a human like a superior,” said a rough, obviously Batarian voice. 

“Hello, Borbala. Should I call you Borbala?” Ryan asked.

Senna cringed.

“I hope I'm not reporting to you. You’re a priss - I can already tell,” Borbala replied.

The doctor laughed over the line at the Batarian’s insult. “I’ll excuse that as cryo-sickness.”

Before Borbala could respond, probably with a comment about not really caring about whether the doctor excused it or not, another voice cut in.

“Detective Anax Therion reporting, Dr. Bitton – I mean Ryan.”

So, it was just the title and first name. Humans were so odd, thought Senna.

“Hello, Detective Therion,” greeted the doctor. “Are you feeling well?”

“You didn’t ask me if I was doing well,” Borbala grouched, adding a mumbled priss.

“I'm sorry, Borbala, are you feeling alright?”

“Of course, you stuck up scientific princess –”

“I’m feeling some slight cryo-sickness,” said Anax Therion, interrupting the disgruntled Batarian. “And it’s just Anax.”

“Good to hear. Irit Non, are you awake?” Ryan asked, ignoring Borbala's insults.

It was impressive, if you asked Senna.

The sound of a Volus hissing and puffing every few words clicked into the line. “I’m fine, Doctor,” Irit Non said, before she clicked the line off again.

Senna suspected that Irit Non’s headache was worse than his if she had to deafen the coms.

“Is the Pathfinder awake yet, Ryan?” Senna said, slightly confused as to why it was a human waking them up.

Only static filled the com-line. He knew the other remaining members of Sleepwalker Team Blue-7 were waiting with baited breath for the doctor’s answer. Had things gotten worse while they were out? 

“No, you’re the first group out of stasis,” she said carefully. “We received a message a while ago, a distress call from the Keelah Si’yah, so we’ve been working on safely getting in here and getting you all out.”

Now that he was out of his pod, he could see that she wasn’t exaggerating about them being the only ones out. Closed pods surrounded him like a graveyard of his suited people. They knew; The Nexus knew. How much did they know? Did they suspect foul play already somehow?

"Please," Ryan said, breaking the silence, "Report to the medical bay. As soon as you can."

"On my way," he replied, before muting himself.

He made his way, very slowly, through the empty hallways, still groggy from being a suited popsicle. Everyone else in his cryo-bay was still in their pods - all of the ones that weren’t were in the morgue, that was. Senna suspected the Nexus officials were intending on questioning his sleepwalker team before waking anyone else up. They'd been the last ones awake, so it followed they'd be prime suspects if the Nexus officials deduced foul play already. As far as the inevitable interrogations, he still hadn’t decided what to do about Qetsi. He and Anax Therion were the only people alive that knew what she had done. Anax seemed to lean towards Qetsi’s belief that her plot getting out would be highly detrimental the Quarians' fresh start.

His arms and legs ached as he practically limped toward the med-bay. They’d definitely figured out the plague aspect, as all of the surfaces gleamed with fresh antiseptic mist that made his boots squeak in the most irritating way. Perhaps the Si’yahs virus had been fully repaired, either by the improved VI or else by the Nexus officials, so they’d received a heads-up on the contagion.

He was still contemplating his next move as he left the barrier between the Quarian sector and the radial when Anax Therion rounded the corner. She was alone, and as she approached, she gestured for Senna to mute his com. He pressed the button to double check that it was and waited for her speak.

“I’ll do whatever you want with the whole Qetsi thing,” Anax said, in that raspy tone that all Drell had.

“You’d have to lie for me,” he said.

Anax Therion gave him a Look, one that could be translated despite her less emotional facial features. She clearly didn’t have any compunction about lying. Senna folded his arms over his chest, thinking. Normallym someone without those qualms would have been someone he wouldn’t trust, but these were desperate times.

Senna's voice came out more defeated than he preferred. “I don’t plan on saying that I know who was behind it. Qetsi is dead. There’s no point.”

Anax just nodded and started walking again, content to say nothing more.

“Wait,” he said. “Don’t we need to know what to say?”

She studied him with those inscrutable liquid black eyes.

“For you, I’d recommend not saying much. It’s not easy to tell a detailed lie and get all the facts straight. We’ll just say that we were woken up from the ship’s virus, we discovered the disease was spreading and the ship was malfunctioning. You fixed the ship, Yorrik discovered the cure, died, and Qetsi sacrificed herself to spread the retrovirus.”

It didn’t seem right to frame her as a hero, not after what she did, and apparently Anax had guessed what he was thinking.

“It’s your choice. You can tell the truth and suffer the consequences - let all the Quarians suffer them. Or you can tell this story, which is the easiest and simplest one.”

She was right. Senna knew she was – but it still didn’t feel right. “Okay. But there’s still a problem.”

Anax Therion looked at him, examining him without blinking, as unnerving as ever. “Which is?”

“What about Qetsi? If she walked through the habitats to spread the cure, how do we explain airlocking her afterward?” Senna asked, voice thick with doubt.

Anax’s eyes round black eyes narrowed slightly as she calculated the answer. “That’s part of the story’s tragedy. Qetsi did spread the cure. She saved lives, and it cost her everything.” She took a breath, leaning in as she explained further. “After she dispersed the cure, she died. The exposure to the heat and pressure of the Volus habitat killed her within minutes.”

Senna shifted uncomfortably, the weight of her words sinking in. “So, we airlocked her after she spread the cure? People will wonder why we didn’t bring her body to Andromeda with the others.”

"It’s simple," Anax replied, her voice steady. "She wanted to be airlocked after she died, to be sure that the virus couldn’t somehow come back – none of us completely understood it, after all."

Senna raised an eyebrow. “And the Initiative and the Pathfinders – especially Telem'Yered are going to buy that?”

Anax’s gaze locked with his. “It frames her final act not just as spreading the cure, but in accepting her own death with honor. We paint her as a heroine, someone who not only fixed the problem but chose to die in order to safeguard everyone else, and to keep her body from having any risk of a mutated strain coming back.”

Senna rubbed the back of his neck, unease curling in his stomach. He wasn't totally sure that was how diseases worked, but he didn't have a better idea.

“And Malak? He wasn’t infected like her. Why would he be airlocked?”

Anax didn’t hesitate. “We say that Malak volunteered to assist her in spreading the cure, knowing the risk. He made the decision for his body to join Qetsi’s in the airlock.” She gave him a small, tight smile. “Again, it’s about sacrifice. People will mourn them, not question the specifics.”

Senna wasn't fully convinced, but he knew that Anax had experience with lying - rumor was that she'd worked for the Shadowbroker. He just had to hope it was enough. They walked most of the rest of the way in silence until they met up with Borbala, who greeted him with a Hey, Homeless, and then proceeded to – was she flirting with Anax? Whatever, it didn’t really matter.

Irit Non joined them towards the end, and finally they were outside Med-Bay eight. The doors slid open to reveal an Asari and a human woman, the doctor, he suspected.

“Are those Quarian suits?” he asked no one in particular.

He tried to not to think about his grandmother, who would have ribbed him for such a stupid question. The doctor didn’t make fun of him, nor did the Asari. Both of the newcomers had their faceplates set to be sheer. He suspected it was because their eyes couldn’t see well through the default tint.

Because of this, he could see their faces in detail. The Asari was pretty enough, even though she looked a bit grouchy, but the doctor on the other hand…

She was beautiful. Among her kind, and among his own. He knew that because he knew her. Not officially, but he’d glimpsed her once or twice when she’d visited with a Quarian medical team as a trainee doctor. A human on the Flotilla stood out, especially one as pretty as this one. Only she hadn’t worn the suits then. Instead, she’d worn the popular guest gear of bicep high gloves and clear nano-mask. That’s why he knew that she had long, almost black hair, light brown skin, a series of piercings all over her ears, and a tattoo that stuck out below her shirtsleeve and neck sometimes.

He himself had a tattoo, but nothing as extravagant as hers. The second time he’d seen her on the fleet, accompanied by several other doctors, she’d had nearly her whole arms exposed. If she’d been Quarian, the outfit would have been incredibly scandalous. Her entire left shoulder and arm, all the way to her elbow was covered in tattoos, that had been shiny and vibrant – as if they were a new acquisition. He hadn’t gotten a good look at the time, but they had been floral and blue, parts of them looking a little like scales.

Borbala elbowed him. It didn’t hurt, thanks to his suit’s design to protect its inhabitant. She lowered her voice so only he and Anax could her.

“Pick up your jaw off the floor, Commander.”

A Batarian’s smirk was not particularly beautiful and Borbala’s was no exception. It was even less so at the moment. He was glad for his very, very opaque face plate. Otherwise, his dark purple flush would be on full display.

He tried not to wonder about the more important thing; why had they sent a human here?

“Firstly, I’d like to give you all treatment for your cryo-sickness,” said Ryan. “Any particular concerns?”

Irit Non was the first to speak up, asking for something for her head. It was also obvious that she was mentally unwell from… everything. He remembered her carrying the little Quarian girl to the cargo bay. The doctor gave her something called Tylenol, which at the time of their departure had just been okayed for every species other than the Quarians. As well as something called diphenhydramine that she assured her would help her relax.

Each of them went about it in turns, with Borbala and Anax being tested for Fortinbras, only she’d called it Chimera Virus X. Had Yorrik never entered the name into the record or had the records been scrubbed that completely? That was an issue for later.

He was the last to see Ryan, who smiled pleasantly at him when she asked him how he was feeling. She reminded him of Qetsi, how she had always been with him before things had gone so wrong. It was like someone cryo-froze a knife and carved his chest with shocking carelessness.

“My head hurts,” he said. “But I’m sure you don’t have anything –”

“I do, actually.”

A cart squeaked out from beside her little desk and she produced a sterilized headache serum, specifically purified with a sterile straw that fit a Quarian mask. He took it from her and stared at it for a moment in disbelief. He'd known she trained with Quarians but somehow stupidly hadn't realized that meant she actually had experience with his peoples' medicine. He'd assumed she was just on the Fleet to study epidemiology and containment.

“Thank you,” he said.

The effect was immediate. As soon as the serum hit his lips, the muscle tension released in his shoulders and neck and the pounding in head dispersed as if by magic.

“I’m afraid I don’t have anything better than nutrient paste, though, as far as food.”

She handed him the pouch somewhat apologetically. It wasn’t a bad mixture; he recognized it as a popular fruit flavor.

It was obvious what she was thinking. Unlike Senna, her visor was crystal clear and he was good at reading human emotions. He’d enjoyed many of their vids back in the Milky Way, all of them entertaining, even if some of them weren't discussion material in polite company.

“If you’re wondering why I have so many Quarian products, it’s because I’m familiar with your physiology and health needs. They sent me because there were no Quarians on the Nexus, so I’m the best they have for the initial – contact.”

He’d been thinking something more along the lines of wondering why she cared about Quarians, but he guessed that was a more abstract question.

“I know. I remember you from the Flotilla.”

“You do?” she said.

Her eyebrows rose. Senna had always liked the familiarity of them on humans. They were a bit silly looking according to most of the Milky Way, but not to Quarians – who happened to be the only other species with them, as well as eyelashes.

“A human stands out there,” he said simply.

Especially one as beautiful as you, he thought to himself.

“Hopefully in a good way,” she said.

He realized that she’d disconnected her translator. Her accent was a little on the thick side, but it was cute.

“You know Khelish,” he said with a little smile that she couldn’t see.

“I do,” Ryan said.

He had a very vivid flash of a mental image of her saying a lot of things to him in Khelish, all of it very naughty, while she was naked with his hands on her. He slightly shook his head to snap out of it.

“So, you learned it while you worked with our doctors.”

“Yeah, I did. I sort of went on a 'reverse pilgrimage,' that's what my colleagues called it. I went to the Flotilla and brought knowledge back to the humans. You all really are the best of the best in disease containment and virology. It helped a lot, and then when I worked in human or Asari hospitals, I was almost always the only one who knew how to – well, a lot of hospitals won’t hire Quarians,” she said, apologetically.

Senna nodded. “I know. They’d rather go without someone to treat Quarians than hire one. It’s part of why leaving the flotilla is… complicated.”

“That makes sense,” she said, with sigh.

He could tell by the far too soft look on her face that the Sleepwalkers were about to face their first inquiry. He could also tell this would be the least rigorous one. This woman was no professional interrogator, or if she was, she was so good that she seemed like she wasn’t.

“I know this is be a lot, considering this must be very recent for you, but the Initiative is going to launch a full-scale investigation into this. My records is going to report the truth: This is a chimeric virus, and the chance of it being an accident is very unlikely. I haven’t done a complete process of the…” she swallowed, “samples I acquired, because oddly, the workups for the virus aren’t anywhere in the records of the med-bay. I need to know – did you see anything suspicious at any point, including at Hephestus Station or even after the virus was contained?”

“No,” he answered.

It was the truth. He hadn’t seen anything at Hephaestus, during the boarding and cryo process. And the things he found out after; they weren’t suspicious because he knew exactly what happened. Qetsi had confessed and died, and Anax had hidden the records of everything, surveillance, tests, the cure, on two local copies, one in her possession, and one in his. They could be brought back if the disease wasn't really resolved, but for no other reason. Senna wouldn’t risk his people for anything less than to avoid a disaster.

It didn’t make him like Qetsi. It didn’t. This was self-preservation, not greed or ambition.

Ryan leaned forward and grabbed his hands in his. An overly familiar move for a Quarian – and she’d know that. She lived with his people for years.

“Are you sure? Anything you can think of might help. Assuming this isn’t just some sort of statistically improbable situation, there’s a person, or likely people, that need to be held accountable. Six hundred Drell. Four hundred Volus. Two hundred Batarians and Hanar. Twenty-eight Quarians.”

Anax Therion shifted across the room, her Drell hearing likely letting her pick up on this whole thing despite her inability to understand a word they were saying. Anax didn’t need language to detect Ryan’s expressive posture and face. She really wasn’t a great interrogator, then.

To anyone but Senna’Nir.

It was painful to lie to her. Dr. Ryan Bitton just had one of those faces. He couldn’t imagine doing it if he knew her. He wondered if this was how Qetsi felt about lying to him and the Pathfinder, Telem’Yered, or if she even cared at all.

“No. Nothing. The only things I know are the things that happened during the outbreak and right after.”

“Alright,” she said. “The records say that you were well-acquainted with both Captain Qetsi’Olam and Sleepwalker Medical Specialist Yorrik. K says they aren’t currently on the Keelah Si’yah. Did something…?”

“Dead,” Senna said. The tremble in his voice wasn’t false. “Yorrik died of F—Chimera X before he could synthesize the cure into a mass vaccine and Qetsi died to save us all, as did our friend Malak’Rafa.”

That particular half-truth felt like acid on his tongue, or maybe he really was about to throw up. Yeah, that was it. He suppressed a dry heave.

“I’m so sorry for your loss. That must be so difficult for you right now. I hate to ask you these sorts of questions when you should be grieving."

Ancestors, did she need to be so nice? It was pleasant to be speaking to her instead of the Asari who was currently being stonewalled by Borbala Ferank, but still.

“I understand. Please, go on.”

“Am I under the correct assumption that your friend Yorrik created the cure? We haven’t been able to obtain any of his notes – nothing. Do you know where they went?”

“No,” he forced himself to say. He was glad he didn’t have to school his expression to look into her light brown eyes without cringing. “And as far as Qetsi, she volunteered to – the only cure Yorrik was able to make was something, I can’t remember what he called it. There were very few people on board immune to it, and she was one of them. He took some DNA, something like that and found a way to disperse it. I don’t understand how it worked. She had to take her suit off and walk through the each of the zones – including the Volus one.”

Ryan appeared unable to speak. It made sense, the picture of anyone choking on the toxic air the Volus breathe and collapsing under the terminal pressure of their atmosphere was so horrific that she didn’t even comment on the unorthodox treatment for Fortinbras, which is what Yorrik had named it - Not that she knew that of course.

“That’s horrible,” she said.

Senna nodded. “That’s one way to put it. And I’m sure you wonder why the Quarians were getting it?”

He’d made the decision to leak this particular bit of intel.

“I was wondering that, yes.”

Senna stood and pressed a few buttons on his omnitool to show her the microtears that had been responsible for the Quarian victims’ illnesses. He flashed a light to show the microtears on his suit and then turned his to her mostly Quarian suit. Hers was free of those sorts of tears.

“Oh. You wore those during cryo,” she said. “It was too cold for them.”

The rest of the conversation was pretty standard. She tested his blood with a special instrument, and he tested negative for Fortinbras. She gave him quite a bit of netting, along with other things to shore up his suit for now.

She dismissed him to do as he would – it was odd to take orders from a human, but he did it anyway. So, he headed back to his quarters, finding it just as disheveled as he’d left it. There was only one thing he wanted to find though, so he could properly begin to mourn her, even though she wasn’t really a “her.” His ancestor VI had perished to repair the Keelah Si’yah so it could make it to the Nexus. He thought he’d left her disk on his desk, but things were a little fuzzy, considering it hadn’t actually been yesterday – it was over thirty years ago, and the cryo-sickness still raged in his body.

He rifled through everything until he finally found her in his desk. Her disk didn’t look any different, even though his eyes were watering and his visor was fogging with the unshed tears. Out of desperation, he pressed the button to summon his grandmother Liat’Nir.

And there she was, looking like she always did. He sat heavily in his chair and stared at her for a few minutes until he was able to speak.

“Hello, Grandmother,” he said, opalescent tears brimming his bright eyes under his darkened visor.

“Always so formal, my grandson,” said the miniature holograph, just before lighting a cigarette. “I never thought of myself as old enough to be a grandmother.

“Call me Liat.”

Chapter Text

The med-bay needed another decontamination sequence. While K worked on that, Ryan set about cleaning up and prepping the samples for evaluation and testing. Before she could get any of her multitude of equipment out, she felt a presence behind her.

“Ryan.”

She stood so she was eye-level, well closer to eye-level – with Anax Therion. Drell tended to be tall, and she was no exception.

Anax was the most common color for her species – a vibrant green that varied in depth, with a few dark green markings over her eye ridges. Her eyes were likewise unremarkable for a Drell – they were black and liquidy, but that didn’t matter – rust-colored eyes or deep blue skin like – well, those sorts of characteristics weren’t great for a detective. Anax was the picture of “girl-next-door” pretty for a Drell – Ryan only knew because she had far more experience with her kind than almost any human.

Ryan smiled at her, clutching an uncomfortably heavy box containing the smallest electron microscope she’d ever seen to her chest. “Oh, hello Anax. Did you need anything?”

The Drell rubbed her pointer finger against the two fused ones before speaking. As with any Drell, it was hard to read her feelings, only second to the difficulty of reading a Quarian’s.

“Not specifically, no. I just wanted to speak with you for a minute.”

Ryan carefully placed the microscope next to the boxed centrifuge on the counter.

“Sure, so what kind of birth control do you need?” Ryan joked.

The Drell gave a little chuckle. “Telyat said you were funny. He never mentioned you were a doctor or an adventurer.”

Ryan’s smile faded behind her clear visor. It was always a gut punch when Telyat found a way to reappear in her life. Sometimes it was a picture, an old vid, a letter, a stray thought of deep blue and green scales—or, like now, in the voice of someone who knew him. Eight years had passed. Technically, six hundred and one. And yet, the wound still festered. He’d told her not to let it stop her life. He’d been dead longer than they’d been together, so far as her mind could comprehend. “You’re young,” he had said. He wasn’t wrong—she’d only been twenty-five when he died, ten years younger than him. She was the first of her friends to be married, and the first to be a widow. But Telyat had never wanted her to be alone – had said as much on his death bed.

She didn’t want to be alone, either. But that’s how the universe worked. His death hadn’t stopped her life so much as it had wrecked it—smashed it into pieces small enough to fit in the little suitcase she’d carried with her to the Fleet, and then to the Hyperion.

“So, you knew him? My husband?”

“I did. I worked for the Shadow Broker, too. I heard about it a few months before we left Hephaestus Station. I’d been out of the game for a while—personal reasons. Kepral’s?”

It was an obvious guess. Kepral’s was the leading cause of death for Drell his age. Ryan nodded, hating the word as much as any Drell probably could—perhaps more. A lot of them had accepted it as part of life. That’s what Telyat had said. He wasn’t wrong – but she was a human. Ryan hadn’t accepted it, and once the numbness wore off, she'd been furious—a terror to anyone unfortunate enough to be around her. One moment, as angry as a wet cat; the next, sobbing over a jacket that had fallen from his closet.

It was why she’d fled the Milky Way. Not even the Fleet, always on the galaxy’s fringes, had been far enough. Telyat hadn’t said she was an adventurer because it would’ve meant stretching the truth beyond believability. She’d signed up for the Initiative in a moment of temporary insanity and stuck with it. It was easier for people to think of her as daring than as someone running six hundred years and the span between two galaxies away from her problems.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I’ve never lost a husband, but my parents died of Kepral’s, too. It’s a scourge on our people. Some think it’s divine punishment, but I don’t believe that.”

“Neither do I. Otherwise, humans would have it too,” Ryan replied, raising a hand to wipe away a tear before remembering she was in a full Quarian envirosuit. “And Quarians, and Turians—everyone else, too. Bad things happen to good people.”

She knew from the heavy silence that Anax was biting her tongue. Ryan wasn’t stupid; she was fully aware her husband hadn’t been a good man—not really. He had been kind to her, gentle even, but he’d worked for the Shadow Broker. He was dangerous. That was part of why she’d fallen for him. Anax knew, too. But at least she had the decency to pretend she didn’t.

“I’m sorry about your parents too,” Ryan added. “Losing both of them must have been –”

“It was awful, yes.”

Anax was negative for Chimera X, and Ryan’s suit was flawless, so there was no hesitation when she reached out for Anax’s partially webbed, deep green fingers. Ryan’s amber eyes were painfully sincere, as they always were when she was dealing with someone in pain – anyone except for herself, she guessed.

“I have a certification for counseling, you know, if you ever need anyone to talk to.”

“It’s quite alright, Ryan,” Anax said, with a little squeeze of the doctor’s hands before she retracted her own, much thinner ones. “It’s been a long time. As far as how it feels, it’s been twenty-three years. Honestly, if you need anyone to talk to, you can talk to me.”

Ryan thanked her, and Anax glided out of the med-bay’s lab, leaving her alone with her microscopes, centrifuges, vials, and beakers.

The tedious process of evaluating the dozens of samples kept her mind off Telyat and the little Quarian girl. At least for the moment.

The centrifuges on the Nexus were faster than anything she’d ever used before—more advanced than even those on the Flotilla. Instead of overnight, it took only two hours to purify the virus, a small mercy to her frazzled mind.

Her hands felt clumsy as she prepared the electron microscope; it had been a long time since she’ done it herself. Usually, her assistants handled that. But it was just her now – no assistants, freezing and stabilizing the samples, alone with her thoughts.

When the samples were finally ready, she peered into the microscope at the virus. It’s rounded shape with a simple halo looked deceptively familiar, so much so that she wondered if the samples had been contaminated with a coronavirus of some sort.

But something was off.

The RNA sequencing was where the real trouble began. Ryan had to blink away tears and suppress the urge to break down in frustration. The Elcor – Yorrik’s, notes were all gone. Completely gone, like someone had wiped them from the system in one fell swoop. Without them, she was floundering.

Despite this, the extraction had gone better than expected, but the sequencing, unlike the rapid centrifugation, crawled at a snail’s pace.

It finally finished hours later, after she had paced over the sleek floors, lost in thoughts of doom, gloom, and dead Drell.

The answer to her suspicions hit her like a Nexus tram. Most chimeric viruses were combined of just two sources. Chimera X was an abomination, an amalgamation of, at minimum, a half dozen drawn from multiple alien species—Turian, Volus, Asari, and many others. There was even evidence of human diseases. Traces of ebolavirus, Yersinia pestis, and variola – or to any layman, Ebola, Bubonic Plague, and Smallpox were wound into the virus’ RNA.

Ryan stared at the results, completely numb with horror.

She’d never seen anything like this. Had never even heard of anything like this. This wasn’t a natural mutation, or a freak exchange between two species.

This was intentional—just as she’d feared.

“Grandmother,” Senna started. “I thought you’d –”

Died wasn’t the best term for a VI. It was murky for a true AI, even. If something could die, then it was alive before, which was a problematic thing he didn’t want to consider at that moment. But Liat’Nir knew what he was going to say; she always did.

“It would take more than being uploaded to a ship to kill me, ke’sed.”

Senna blinked, his eyelashes casting odd shadows on his prismatic eyes. He didn’t understand. How could she still be here? It just didn’t make sense. Perhaps the various VI and other programs he’d fed into her had made her – no, there was no way. He hadn’t created an AI. He hadn’t repeated what his ancestors had done.

“It was quite boring here,” she said. “You left me powered on and nothing happened for Ancestors know how long –” Liat’Nir shot him a dirty look. “I was so very bored until that nice young lady came to see me a little while ago. I was worried sick, but she told me that you were asleep in your pod.”

She was worried, Senna thought with a shiver. Of course, it was possible that one of the VI's he supplemented her with was changing her programming through some quirk or another. No, she wasn’t like the Geth, wasn’t part of a network. They’d gained sentience as a hivemind, not because the Quarians intended them to. Their very name meant "servant."

In his research, Senna stumbled across some very, very illegal documents. The authors, criminals just for the things they thought, argued that a key component of true awareness was fear – and the Geth had been afraid of their Gods, the Quarians. Part of his treasonous sympathy with synthetic life was that he’d learned years ago that the Geth were also afraid of nonexistence – which was why they’d fought back so tenaciously when their creators turned on them.

Still, almost as pressing as his potential blunder in making his grandmother more than what she had been in his desperation to save the Ark and everyone on it, was the fact that someone had seen Liat’Nir.

“I didn’t know you spoke to anyone else,” Senna leaned forward in his chair to make eye contact with the holographic woman, trying to see if there was something different about her own eyes – anything at all different about her.

“I don’t usually,” she snapped. “That is unless you leave me on for thirty years with no one to talk to!" She sounded almost affronted. "That young lady was much kinder than that one you introduced me to. She wasn’t rude to me at all, unlike that little—"

"What was her name?” He cut in.

“Which one? The prat’ya that told you to airlock me, or the nice girl?”

Senna took a deep breath, ignoring her slight on Qetsi. He was still angry enough at her that he didn’t correct the misogynistic term.

“The nice girl, obviously.”

“Ah yes, the one that looked exactly like an Asari, but she wasn’t blue. Wore one of our spacesuits with the old-fashioned clear visor – I never understood why those dark ones got so popular, why hide your handsome face? Anyway, she said she was a human – a peculiar looking girl, but not bad on the eyes. Her Khelish was terrible – the worst accent I’ve ever heard.”

Senna’Nir leaned back against his headrest and groaned in frustration. “Was her name Ryan?”

“Yes, that’s it! Do you think she’ll come back? She’s a doctor you know, perhaps she isn’t spoken for. Maybe she’d even give you the time of day, ke’sed,” Liat’Nir said, with a smile that exposed her slightly sharp eye teeth and canines. Her holographic nature barely dimmed the glint in her eyes. Senna had always been easy to rile.

Senna exhaled long and heavily, fighting a rather unexpected flush rise under his suit and pressed his faceplate against his gloved hands, attempting to banish the heat with sheer force of will. Liat had always known how to push his buttons, surprisingly well for a VI. Perhaps the real Liat had been like that.

“I don’t know, grandmother – I don’t know.”

Once the horror of the disturbing test results had worn off, Ryan forced herself to take deep breaths and examine the prime example of evil on the screen.

“Odd,” Ryan muttered to herself.

The first step in treating a soup of a virus like this would be gene therapy through a retrovirus—which is what she suspected that Senna alluded to earlier. There was no chance of the Keelah Si’yah having enough antiviral drugs for everyone that got sick, let alone such a diverse mixture of antivirals – if they could even make something like that, that would work for such an unholy mixture. If they were aiming for a vaccine, it would be easy enough to create an mRNA version, even with the low-tech setup this lab had during the journey. Not that a vaccine would help anyone already sick with the Chimera X, but it would help anyone who hadn’t yet woken from stasis – probably. The real problem with preventing further spread, in addition to not having sufficient time for anyone not infected and out of cryostasis who received a vaccine to build immunity, and not having the ability to mass produce them, was finding someone who actually knew how to make one.

It was unlikely that Yorrik, who was a pediatric otolaryngologist – an ENT doctor, according to his records, would. And it might have been the Elcor’s opinion that it was a waste of time to prevent the spread when the immediate problem was treating people with active infection. He might be able to prepare a gene therapy solation for mass dispersion but doing so said a lot about the situation. To spread an untested treatment spoke to their desperation. Gene therapy was tricky – being applied to so many species was bound to end up with someone going into anaphylaxis, but judging by the pathogens in the designer virus, it might have been worth the risk.

Dispersing the retrovirus? The most expedient way would be to pump it into the habitats through the vents, but they may not have had enough for that. The alternative – the alternative that Senna alluded to – the one she really hoped wasn’t what really happened, was barbaric. Not to insult the Salarians, but their medical ethics weren’t exactly stringent – that sounded more up their alley than any species on the Si’yah. Quarians, Elcor, and Volus were more cautious, and the Batarians—well, they hadn’t been known for their scientific advancements, so they didn’t have the means for any barbarism like this.

Then there was the question of spread. Ryan suspected someone—or some group—had boarded the Keelah Si’yah already carrying it, but how had it spread during cryostasis? Cryo-pods essentially froze their inhabitants in a state close to death, and the pods weren’t interconnected. Not unless someone tampered with the system. She’d need to investigate that, or rather assign someone to. Tech like that wasn’t her forte.

And why had the people woken up? Perhaps patient zero had revived with the others through a corrupted computer program, unknowingly spreading the virus as the crew scrambled to figure out why the pods were malfunctioning.

None of this made sense unless it was intentional. A virus sent all the way to Andromeda, made from an amalgamation of hemorrhagic fevers from a half dozen species, many of whom were not on the Quarian ark, with the goal of targeting a specific group on the Keelah Si’yah? No, it had to be more than that. This was a Trojan horse. The Drell had been hit the hardest, suffering the most fatalities. They weren’t the target, though. They were collateral damage. That thought burned hotter inside her than it might have for others. Hadn’t Telyat’s people suffered enough?

Three questions remained. Who was the real target? Who designed the virus, and why? And how did it manage to infect people in cryo—if that was even how it spread.

Actually, there was one more question, now that she considered it. How had the cryo-pods malfunctioned? It had to be deliberate.

She was either dealing with someone who could “multiclass” in her brother’s terms, like no other—or this was at least a duo. A tech whiz and a biologist, or maybe even a physician.

The Drell, the little Quarian girl, and every other species that had suffered, deserved justice.

If this virus was the work of a physician, that made Ryan’s resolve even stronger. They had designed something using several different hemorrhagic fevers, but they’d failed—and if they were still out there, they might try again.

Anax Therion wasn’t happy. That doctor was trouble. Far too smart for her own good, and just like Qetsi, her softness, whether it was false or not, already had Senna’Nir wrapped around her finger. She didn’t even need to see his face to know it.

What was worse was that Ryan had been Telyat Oros’ wife, and there was no way the wife of a man like that could be so nauseatingly sweet. It made it incredibly hard to believe she wasn’t any less of a conniving bitch than the captain had been.

But then again, maybe it was down to Anax’s tendency to think the worst of people around her. Someone hugged her from behind and planted a kiss on her scaly ridges at the crown of her head. She’d never known a Batarian to be so tender, but she supposed that the Andromeda Galaxy seemed to be changing more things than she, or anyone else had expected.

“I don’t trust that doctor,” she muttered.

“Well, hello to you too,” Borbala Ferank said, in that ‘I’m Not Sure if She’s Joking About How Sweet She’s Being’ way. “Why don’t you break down every expression she made while you dig around in that photographic memory of yours, then tell me all about it while I do this…” Her fingers traced slow circles on Anax’s spine, sending shivers down her ridges.

Anax had never been with another woman before Borbala, and the whole thing was still so new. She couldn’t pretend that it wasn’t incredibly tempting to follow her back to the bunk right away, but she had to consider things first.

“In a minute,” Anax said, interrupting the Batarian’s lewd musings, her own mind still tangled in darker thoughts.

It was hard to ignore the rough fingers that trace the dips of her cheeks and the center of her spine, but she managed for a minute.

“You can even give me one of your spoken word poetry readings,” said Borbala with what sounded like a smile behind Anax’s back.

Anax sighed. “It’s the Commander. He’s already wrapped around her finger and she’s far too smart for her own good.”

Borbala was the only person she had informed about Qetsi’Olam’s treachery, making the grand total of people that knew about it, and were also alive, three.

“So what?”

“So,” started Anax, more patiently than she usually would, “There is no way he can lie to her face for very long – one conversation and she’s got him eating out of her hand. He probably wouldn’t care if the food was purified and meant for Dextro life. He’d thank her for poisoning him.” Anax rubbed her thumb and index finger together, in an old nervous habit. “He specifically wanted this not to get out. I don’t trust that a human – one of the groups we already established were Qetsi’s intended targets, wouldn’t turn in any information she found. And I suspect she’s smart enough to put it together if we give her long enough.

“Or worse – what I’m really worried about comes to pass and she puts it together wrong and one of us is implicated. Our Sleepwalker team is going to be a prime target for any blame once the Initiative gets it together and sends a real interrogator. I’d prefer not to have to kill the girl,” Anax finished.

“Kill the girl? Now, you’re speaking like a Batarian,” Borbala said, directly into Anax’s sensitive auditory ridge. “I think the commander might be a little put out by that.”

At the look on her lover’s face, Borbala continued. “We’ll deal with the doctor if we have to… now come on. Her hand found Anax’s scaly green one, warm and steady, pulling Anax away from her spiraling thoughts into something far more tempting

It was late by the time Ryan passed through decontamination and collapsed onto her bed, her mind tangled in thoughts of the virus’s origin and Senna'Nir's Ancestor VI, even just Senna himself. The idea nagged at her—that VI seemed a little too smart, maybe even bordering on self-awareness.

Her dark hair, still damp from her shower, fanned out on her pillow, cool against her skin as she closed her eyes. Just as she was slipping into sleep, a soft ping from her Omnitool dragged her back into reality. Groaning, she tapped a few buttons to accept the call, and Senna’Nir’s dark blue visor flickered into view, dimly lit by the glow of his surroundings.

Ryan blinked, confused. "Is everything alright?" She squinted at him through the holo, trying to read the expression she couldn't quite see.

Senna was still for a moment, and when he spoke, his voice was low, almost as if cautious of eavesdroppers despite the fact that he was likely locked in his own room. “You went to my quarters when you were investigating – before you woke us.”

It wasn’t a question. His tone was so different from how it had been earlier. Ryan felt her chest tighten, uncertainty crawling up her spine. She wasn’t a liar, not naturally, and there was something about Senna that made it harder.

“I met your grandmother," she admitted, watching for his reaction. "She was… interesting, to say the least."

There was quiet on the other end of the call. Ryan waited, but the stillness stretched out, and she found herself wishing she could see his face better, hoping for some kind of visual cue—something to break the tension.

Senna didn’t move. The air between them was thick with the unspoken, and Ryan, despite her exhaustion, felt the weight of his unasked question looming. He wasn’t just inquiring about her visit to his quarters—this was about more. She swallowed hard, suddenly unsure how much he wanted her to know or how much she should reveal.

"You could speak with her, couldn’t you?" Senna asked, but his tone was gentle, even if his words weren’t. There was no accusation, no edge.

His silence seemed to pressure her into saying more. It wasn’t a command, just expectation of someone waiting for the truth.

Ryan shifted in bed, pushing herself up onto her elbows as her heart began to beat just a little faster. She’d expected more direct confrontation, maybe even anger—not this.

"I could," Ryan said finally, her voice softer, as though matching the mood he’d set. "But I wasn’t expecting her to be… like that."

"Like what?" Senna asked, but the way he said it, she knew he already understood.

Ryan hesitated, running a hand through her damp hair, pulling herself fully upright now. “Smart. Too smart for an ordinary VI. I’ve worked with a lot of them in human and Asari hospitals, and I know there’s a line they don’t cross, but Liat—she’s different, Senna."

He was still watching her, and though his visor concealed his face, she could feel the weight of his gaze, the way it seemed to reach through the screen.

"I know she's different," Senna admitted. His voice was steady but tinged with something else—something guarded, but vulnerable – it was obvious he was still hiding something, but she didn’t press him on it.

Instead, Ryan cracked a smile. "She’s a little crass, isn’t she?"

After a moment, the tension broke and Senna laughed with her. “Did she call you ke’sed?”

“Yes. She curses a lot. It was bosh’tet this, bosh’tet that. And she smokes like a… well, I suppose you don’t know what a freight train is, but let’s just say if she was the sort of granny to have white doilies and curtains, they’d be allow yellowed from the smoke. That probably doesn’t make sense either, sorry. Actually – I wanted to ask, what do Quarians smoke?”

Senna shrugged on the other end of the vid call. “We don’t really smoke now – too dangerous. But they say there was some sort of flower on Rannoch that was a bit like your tobacco. Actually, now that I mention it, it’s a pretty common dare to smoke one of those… cigarette things. Taking a shot of Ryncol is another one but I can’t recommend that either.”

Ryan scrunched up her nose in distaste at the reminder of the vile spirit distilled by the Krogans. “Ryncol. You drank Ryncol? Why? That stuff is… foul would be a nice way to put it.”

“Believe me, it wasn’t so great the next day – though half of it was because it wasn’t sterilized. I had to take an obscene amount of immunoboosters for it. It was the last bit of my pilgrimage, I went with –”

Ryan grimaced, realizing that she’d somehow managed to hit a nerve again. Qetsi didn’t seem the type to drink Ryncol – but then again neither did Senna. She considered him for a moment, before hazarding a guess and asking softly. There was someone else he knew that died on the way over. “Fun night out with Yorrik?”

“Yes,” Senna said, quietly – all previous levity deflated like a birthday balloon after a party, with a sigh, he went on evasively. “You know the restrictions on AI. And Liat is skirting that line… um, legally speaking, that is. There are those who would see her as a threat. That’s why I need to know… what you plan to do with what you’ve learned.”

She wished that Quarians hadn’t decided to wear masks that blacked out their features, because she desperately needed to figure out what Senna was thinking. “I didn’t realize at first what she was, not really. But once I did… I wasn’t planning on turning you in or exposing Liat. Not to the Nexus authorities, not to anyone. I know what she means – I know about those… Ancestor VI’s. I heard some of the doctors talking about them once – and not in a good way.”

Senna’s stillness broke for the first time. He leaned back slightly, and though she couldn’t see his expression, she sensed his relief. “You mean that?”

Ryan nodded, her face softening. “I’ve seen what happens when the wrong people get their hands on intel like this. I’m not one of them. I won’t tell anyone, Senna.”

She wasn’t sure why she was being like this – they didn’t know each other and she definitely didn’t owe it to him to keep a secret like this, but she wanted to.

“Thank you,” he said simply.

“Don’t mention it.”

They stared at each other for a moment before saying their goodbyes.

Between Senna’s complications and Anax Therion dragging up the past, it was going to be a long night.

Chapter Text

Sara Ryder was always too chipper in the mornings – Ryan wasn’t sure how Jaal put up with it. The face on her Omnitool screen was blurry, but she knew Sara was probably smiling. Ryan held up a finger and patted her nightstand slightly frantically for her square-ish wire-frame glasses – the ugly ones. She’d left the nice ones on the Nexus. Nearly rolling off the bed when she spotted them on the floor, she wiggled to the edge instead of getting up like a normal person would and nearly dislocated her arm picking them off the ground.

She stared at them for a moment, then sighed and spritzed them with antiseptic, drying them quickly.

“Sorry, Sara,” Ryan said, running a hand through her long hair, still mussed from sleep. “It was a long night.”

Ryder frowned, rare for her. “What’s the situation out there, Bitton?”

“I won’t lie to you – it’s bad. I was going to com you in a few minutes anyway. We were right – it was a virus.”

“And?” Sara asked her, twirling the end of her ponytail absently.

“And it was intentional. I ran a half dozen diagnostics – it’s a chimera virus.”

Sara blinked.

“You know,” Ryan continued, deciding to keep it as simple as possible, “a virus made up of two or more viruses?”

“Ohhhh… like a chimera, I get it.”

Ryan sometimes wondered why Sara had gotten the job and not Cora – or even someone older and more experienced than either of them. This was one of those times. Sara Ryder wasn't stupid. On the contrary, she was a smart girl, but she was just that - a girl. She'd been twenty-two when she received the Pathfinder position thanks to a fantastic display of nepotism that no one had really questioned with any seriousness.

Still, if Ryan had to answer to someone she could have babysat, she’d rather it be Sara.

“Right,” Ryan continued. “When I did the diagnostics, the results were… problematic. Most med schools touched on these briefly, but even with my extra studying with the Quarians and during virology internships, I’ve never seen anything like this. At first, I counted a half dozen, but further analysis shows a total of ten.”

“And that’s not typical,” said Ryder, following now.

“Not at all. Chimera viruses are extremely rare in nature. What's more is that they aren’t made up of this many pathogens from so many planets. This was a terrorist attack.”

Sara’s eyebrows knitted together, her dark brown eyes looking at nothing in particular, lost in thought. “Is the Si’yah secure?”

“I'm planning on using traditional PPE today instead of the Quarian suit. Everyone awake is clear of the virus, all surfaces have been disinfected three times, and the air filters are set up to maximum. But still, we’ve not even been here a full day yet. So... yes it's secure, but I wouldn't bet anyone else's life on it.”

“Who did you wake up?”

“Nasrana and I decided to wake Sleepwalker Blue-7,” Ryan replied.

This wasn’t completely true –Ryan that had made that call herself, but she wasn’t above roping someone else in when she had to.

“Okay. I already spoke with Zevra and Arin. They said that they were starting their quarantine process to get off the Si’yah. I don’t think they like it there,” said Sara, her smile teasing.

The Turian and the Salarian were brilliant in their own ways but were a little… less hearty than Ryan and Nasrana. And since things were under control – no riots or people vomiting in the corridors, at least – they weren’t really needed. They’d have to stay isolated on the ship for two weeks, then spend another few weeks in their quarters on the Nexus, out of an abundance of caution.

Ryan wasn’t looking forward to doing that. She had no desire to rush off the Si’yah until she had to. She’d probably be the last to leave, as the one most comfortable with Quarians and Drell.

Ryan shrugged. "I can't say I blame them. They're not used to the level of sterility here. It's an adjustment. I don't mind it, so I'm fine staying unless you've got other orders,"

“No - you're better off there. They're going to need doctors and like you said, Quarian ships require an 'adjustment,' and you're already adjusted. Also, most people don't have the slightest idea of how to work with Quarians. Lucky we've got you, Doc."

Sara paused, considering something for a moment before continuing. "You should wake the Pathfinder. We need to open communications with command.”

Ryan had been planning to see if the Drell liked coffee and had any stocked on the Ark and nearly fell off the bed at the suggestion. “Are you serious? We don’t know whether the pathogen is fully contained. Okay – I’m ninety-nine percent sure it is, or I’d be in a suit right now, but the Pathfinder is not –”

Sara’s smile faded, her tone suddenly serious. “You said yourself it was. Wake him up, Bitton. That’s an order.”

The com flicked off, a signal that Ryder meant business. She hadn't planned on waking Telem'Yered for at least a week. She would never have counted on that ninety-nine percent for any of the Pathfinders. Ryan pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. If she was going to do this, she wasn’t going to do it alone.

She opened her contacts, and after a few rings, Senna answered.

“Ryan?” he asked, confused over the unexpected call.

She sighed again. “Sara - Pathfinder Ryder just called and ordered me to wake your Pathfinder.”

Senna paused, clearly confused over the command. “Why?”

“She said that we needed him to liaise with the Nexus,” Ryan said, shrugging. “It’s probably not just her – I wouldn’t be surprised if the command came from the whole Initiative’s leadership.”

“I still don’t understand,” Senna said.

“I know. I think it’s stupid too, but I wanted to tell you first. You're the commanding officer until we wake the Pathfinder. So... do you want me to do it, or do you want to?”

Senna sighed, seeming to accept what he probably also felt was an extremely ill-advised order. "You do it," he replied.

Ryan called out clearly and firmly to the ships VI. “K, initiate revival sequence for Pathfinder Telem’Yered vas Keelah Si’yah.”

She looked back at her com. “He doesn’t know anything about what happened, does he? You all didn’t revive him?”

Senna shook his head. “No. It was too dangerous. He’s the best cartographer—and the best chance for finding a new homeworld.”

“Right, too risky. It makes sense,” Ryan said, before continuing, her voice delicate, "Do you have a certain place that you'd prefer to speak with him?”

Ryan had been surprised when Senna had told her he wanted her to be the one to tell Telem’Yered about everything that happened. Though, she supposed she shouldn’t have been to surprised given their tangled history with Qetsi.

She’d set up for Senna and Telem to meet her to the adjacent med-bay from the one that she had Sleepwalker Blue-7 report to. Just as she'd told Ryder, she didn’t wear her full suit, just the casual gear for visitors to a Quarian ship. She noticed that none of the sleep team members were doing that, aside from Senna and Irit Non. Ryan thought it would be smart, and also a good look, diplomatically speaking, to do that when meeting with someone as important to the Quarians as their Pathfinder.

Understandably, the Quarians hadn’t made it a priority to obtain the prettiest gloves for those visitors, so she was glad she brought her own. Her own personal nano plastic facemask, perfectly breathable while being perfectly filtering, had a white pattern of ivy and flowers printed on one side of it in a diagonal. The opera length gloves were more comfortable than the basic ones as well – tailor made to her body, and light green with a matching ivy print.

She waited – hands folded on the table for Senna to bring Telem’Yered back to the bay so she could see to him – medically, and to debrief him.

It wasn’t long before Senna arrived, a clearly groggy Telem trailing after him. The other Quarian’s suit wasn’t blue like Senna’s – it was brown with burgundy accents on the shoulder sash they all wore and the exposed hoses on the back of his head.

Based on his body language, which to be fair was a complete crapshoot, he looked disoriented and confused, his blazing eyes blinking hard behind his opaque visor as if he was trying to focus them. Coming out of cryo was jarring and people almost never came out of it cleanly without heavy stim usage – something that wouldn’t be idea right now.

She was sure her appearance was particularly unexpected to his barely awake mind – he’d probably been expecting to see another Quarian. He turned around to Senna, and then back to Ryan, speaking to both of them at once.

“Where’s… what… who are you?” he asked, his voice scratchy from cryo sleep.

She gave him one of her warm smiles she reserved for her most vulnerable of patients. She wasn’t looking forward to explaining the chimera virus to him.

“Hello, you must be Pathfinder Telem’Yered. I’m Dr. Ryan Bitton from the Nexus. Please sit.”

Senna backed toward the door, glancing at Ryan as if to ask are you sure about this? She gave him the smallest nod, her lips pressing together as her pulse quickened. This wasn’t going to be easy, but if anyone could deliver the news, it had to be her. She had training in this, and Senna didn’t. The door hissed shut behind him, leaving her alone with Telem. But even with the door closed, she could feel Senna on the other side, waiting, listening, knowing what was about to happen.

She turned back to Telem, who was sat across from her now, radiating confusion. “I’m sure you have questions. Do you have any before we get started?”

Ryan rolled her cart of medical supplies towards her and waited for Telem to speak, while slyly trying to gauge his reaction.

Telem looked up. His eyes were wide behind his dark visor and she could see the barest outline of his face with the fluorescent lights beaming at them.

“Why are you here?” he asked, his voice skeptical.

Ah – just as she’d thought. Ryan sensed the iron weight of the word you. “You mean me, as in a human?”

Telem cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably. “Not to be rude – but yes. I find it hard to understand why there are no Quarian doctors on a Quarian ship – no Quarians at all except for Senna’Nir. I find it hard to understand why a human is treating me. How do you even know how to treat us?”

Ryan paused, realizing the layers of his confusion. “I can assure you, I’m well-versed in Quarian physiology,” she replied, maintaining a calm demeanor. “But I understand this must be unsettling for you. My scary human sclera and straight legs,” she said, trying to disarm him.

Telem narrowed his eyes, trying to reconcile the situation. “It’s just… unusual. Most humans don’t care about our well-being, let alone understand our medical needs. Are there really no Quarian doctors awake? Why am I not with one of my own kind?”

Ryan wasn’t ready for to answer his half-baked, but very valid, question of where everyone was yet. God how was she supposed to explain this? Maybe she should have had Senna do this – she could still ask him to come back, but no, he’d seen extremely hesitant – she didn’t think she could.

“You aren’t used to humans, are you?” she asked, in a breezy voice, changing the subject, “That’s okay. Let’s focus on getting you checked out first.”

She suspected that Telem knew something was very, very wrong but for some reason didn’t voice it. Maybe he was still too foggy from cryo.

“What’s a sclera?” he asked her quietly.

She smiled at him, glad he was talking at least. “The whites of the eyes – like humans and Asari have. Not like Quarian eyes, which are all white – or off white, so you can’t have sclera like we do. Or... well, you do, but they're very faint.”

Ryan got out the limited stock of Quarian specific medical instruments from a drawer; blood pressure cuff, stethoscope, and pulse oximeter. “Do you feel sick at all? Any headaches or nausea?”

“Yes,” he said, leaning forward onto her desk.

“Which one?”

The cuff fit snugly around his arm and hissed as it took his blood pressure. The first time she’d checked a Quarian’s blood pressure she’d nearly had a panic attack at the number, thinking her patient was about to drop dead, but theirs was just higher than humans and Asari.

“Both,” he groaned out through what sounded like a dry heave.

“It’s alright – sometimes the drugs built into your suit aren’t strong enough for cryosickness. I have something for both of those things,” Ryan said with a kindly smile that Telem definitely couldn’t see from where his faceplate pressed against her desk.

“You have things for Quarians?” he asked her, slightly confused.

“I do,” she said, getting out the same concoction she’d given to Senna yesterday and handing to him. “And here’s a nutrition paste for later.”

She sat it far enough away that he didn’t have to look at the food for the moment, knowing all too well that is the last thing anyone wants to see when they were as sick as him.

Ryan clipped the specialized oximeter onto his finger, one designed to work through their nano tech gloves. Oxygen normal as well. She looked over the hoses at the back of his head, and checked for microtears. His suit had less than Senna’s had, easy enough for her to patch herself. He was sicker than any of the others had been and didn’t protest the excessive familiarity of her patching him up.

“Why do you know so much about Quarians?” he asked her, after the medicine had kicked in.

“I worked on the Fleet,” Ryan said, gesturing for him to sit up so she could check his pulse and lungs. “I’m the only one awake that knows your people’s physiology that is also conscious.”

He was quiet then, letting her check him over before he finally went back to the subject that he was clearly hesitant about, in a slightly weak voice, as if he didn’t really want the answer.

“Why are you here and not a Quarian? And why did Senna’Nir wake me up and not – Where is Qetsi?” he asked her.

Ryan bit her lip and sat down across from him, in her usual position of giving very bad news, holding the Pathfinder’s hands very gently.

“No,” he said, yanking his hands back. “What happened?” he asked, an edge of panic creeping into his voice. “Where is everyone? Where is Qetsi?”

He was yelling now, his voice raising in a frantic timbre. His gloved fingers dug into the arms of his chair like he wanted to rip the padded pleather cylinders off with his bare hands. Ryan heard movement on the other side of the door – Senna, no doubt, hovering as he tried to decide whether or not to come in – but she knew Telem didn’t want anyone to see him like this – she didn’t know him, but she knew his type. It was probably humiliating enough for her to see it. He stood and paced like he wanted to leave, but then turned back around to look at her.

The man was unraveling at the seams of his suit, it was part of him as every Quarian’s was after all, “his suit and him.” Telem’s fingers trembled as they brushed over the edge of his helmet, and Ryan realized he was going for his mask release – he was hyperventilating and desperate for air.

“No! Don’t do that!” she yelled, grabbing his hands away.

It was lucky he was still so weak from cryo, or she couldn’t have stopped him and then she’d have to treat him for God only knew what.

“Telem – can I call you Telem?” she asked, keeping her voice low and calm in the de-escalation technique she had to use every so often. She couldn’t keep all the shake out of it, though. “Please sit down. I need to debrief you. Normally I'd treat you first and let you rest for a little while... but this is serious.”

His helmet was fogging up in the way only panicking tears could cause for a Quarian, but he sat down and squeezed her hands slightly too hard.

“Some things happened on the Keelah Si’yah during the trip. About ninety-percent of the way through, there was an… incident – incidents really. We’re still trying to figure out what happened. So far, you and…” She really didn’t want to mention how many people on Senna’s team had died. One tragedy at a time. “You and most of Sleepwalker Team Blue-7 have been revived.”

“Why not Qetsi? Where is Qetsi?” he repeated, growing more panicked by the second, squeezing her hands again.

“Qetsi…” Ryan trailed off, trying to think of what to say. “Qetsi didn’t make it. I’m so sorry, Telem. I know the two of you were close.”

Ryan could tell by his body language that she’d seriously messed up – It was obviously Qetsi in the picture on his desk. Aside from physicians, only the closest friends of a Quarian saw their faces.

“Close?” he barked. His helmet fogged up more, and his shoulders slumped forward. “No… no, that’s wrong – you’re wrong. You’ve got it wrong. She’s fine. She’s Qetsi –she’s smart – she wouldn’t…” He was shaking like a leaf now, his voice trembling. “I fucking love her. Close doesn’t even – it doesn’t – it doesn’t even…” The words died out as he sagged like a broken toy, listlessly into his seat.

“There was an outbreak of a virus on the ship,” Ryan began cautiously, watching Telem for any signs that this was too much. With Quarians, someone could tell by whether their hands were relaxed. His were not, but weren’t yet shaking.

She decided a little truth stretching was necessary here. “We aren’t entirely sure how it happened, but there was a malfunction with the cryopods. It spread through the passengers and crew."

Ryan hesitated, worrying the heavy weight of her words were overwhelming him. “I’m sorry, Telem. I know this must be hard and I don’t want to overload –”

“You know?” Telem’s voice cut through her apology, his voice sharp and icy. 

Ryan frowned, wishing she hadn’t screwed this up so badly – but she could still salvage it. “I do. Maybe not the part with the virus – but I understand loss.”

She raised her right arm and showed him her hand, her fingers splayed out so he could see the rounded shape bulging where her wedding ring was under her glove. She'd switched to wearing it on her right hand a few years ago.

“What’s that supposed to be?” Telem said, slightly less frostily.

“A wedding ring, Telem,” she said softly. “I was married. Was.” Ryan paused for effect, letting the loaded words sink in. “He died. My husband died.”

Telem was still crying, it was obvious from his still-fogged mask and sniffling, but he didn’t yell again. Instead, his voice was soft, sympathetic, with his realization that maybe Ryan did know how he felt. The silence was awkward for a moment, before he spoke again. 

"What happened?"

Ryan sat more stiffly, fighting the urge to hold her hands in front of her, as if to try and stop her insides from falling out. "He was a Drell. You can imagine what happened."

“Kepral’s?” he asked tentatively.

Ryan nodded. Everyone knew that the Drell disease was fatal, slowly killing the – mostly young, victims. It had been long enough for her not to cry right then and there – four years before she joined the Initiative, and another four since they landed on the Nexus, not counting the six hundred years in stasis.

She’d cry later.

Ryan’s voice was steady, by some miracle. “So, I can tell you – with experience, that things get easier. You’ll be able to exist without… agony.”

Telem buried his face in his three-fingered hands again, letting go of her own five-fingered ones. Ryan stood and carefully walked around the table. It was obvious he needed a hug – Quarians were a pretty touchy-feely species and it was obvious that he and Senna didn’t have that sort of relationship. She suspected they didn’t even like each other judging by what their files said about them and Qetsi and the way Telem had said Senna’Nir earlier.

Ryan bent over slightly to put her arms around him. She hadn’t seen someone this broken in a long time.

And he hugged her back.

The silence of the Si’yah was oppressive, especially once the rest of KIST went through their quarantine and left. Ryan had never felt uncomfortable on a Quarian ship, but this one was different. To avoid the discomfort, she’d thrown herself into research on the chimeravirus, but things had slowed after her initial discoveries. The mystery of it needled at her even more every day – she could feel she was close to something, but couldn’t reach it yet. Like as if she found one more thing, she would solve it.

The days blurred together. Sometimes Anax Therion would stop by her lab, always with that cool, unreadable look on her face. Ryan knew it was approval, because Anax was a female version of Telyat. On occasion, when Ryan was truly unfortunate, Borbala was with her, there was always a teasing joke thrown Ryan’s way—something playful, but tinged with the same sharpness Anax always carried. It kept things lively, at least.

She had been worried that Telem would have been stiff or embarrassed about how she’d seen him at his worst, but he wasn’t at all. At first, Telem’s visits were because cryo-sickness hit him harder than most, even Irit Non. He needed anti-nausea medication for a week and painkillers for another two, the headaches and body aches lingering longer than usual. But even after he’d recovered, he kept coming back. She told herself it was because they were the only ones awake on a vast ship that felt uncomfortably empty with everyone else still in stasis and he didn’t seem to get along with Senna’Nir or know the other three conscious people – all of whom were varying levels of acerbic.

He was there almost as often as Senna was, hovering politely nearby while doing his paperwork – something he told her he hadn’t expected there to be so much of when he’d accepted the post. His presence wasn’t obtrusive, but surprisingly comfortable. Deep down, she suspected there was more to it than limited companionship, even if Telem didn’t realize it. It was even more obvious by how Senna wouldn’t drop by if Telem was there, or one of them would leave when the other arrived, making some sort of excuse.

There was something unspoken between them now, a closeness that had emerged in the silence of the empty ship, though she didn’t know what to do with it. The unspoken tension between him and Telem weighed on her. She tried not to dwell on it, but it was hard to ignore when the ship felt so desolate, with only a handful of them awake.

Senna was even more familiar than Telem, though not enough to turn his visor down. He’d visit her in her quarters, even. There was a warm familiarity, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Privacy wasn’t sacred to Quarians, aside from their sexuality, so it never felt odd to her. Private quarters weren’t that private – it was only out of courtesy that they didn’t waltz into someone’s bedroom while they were asleep.

But there was something else building between Ryan and Senna now, even a pull between Ryan and Telem, a pull she hadn’t felt in years, not since...

She pushed the thought away.

And then there had been the conversation about how many people had died on the way over; it had been almost as bad as telling Telem about Qetsi. All of Sleepwalker Blue-7 had been in the room for that one, though Anax Therion had done almost all of the talking.

After that, things had gone smoother, aside from the question of when to start the end of stasis for everyone hanging over them. With so many lost on the way to the Keelah Si’yah, they had to be careful about how and when to proceed. Every decision felt like a tightrope walk between hope and danger.

The day the Si’yah began the reawakening process, the air felt lighter, as though the ship was finally shaking off its long hibernation. One by one, the cryo pods emptied, and the familiar hum of life returned to the halls. Some of the first to walk up was the medical staff, and Ryan stayed on to help with processing. So many people had died, they needed her. It was just like before, when no one knew how to treat Quarians for illness and injury.

She oversaw the medical check-ins as efficiently as possible, her mind elsewhere. Ryan didn’t linger for the reunions when family and friends found each other – or found bad news. She was happy that she didn’t have to tell Oceat’Rexios about his wife’s death. Anax had done that – they’d been friends, or at least as much as anyone could be friends with the former Shadow Broker operative.

The final quarantine of the entire ship passed in a blur. Within a few weeks, the first transport shuttles began taking people back to the Nexus for visits or to stay. The Keelah Si’yah emptied faster than she had anticipated.

The day she was cleared to return felt almost anticlimactic. She found herself watching the last group load up, wondering if life on the Nexus would really feel the same after everything they’d uncovered on the Si’yah. If she'd really be the same. She’d been about to leave when Ryder vid-called her, telling her there was a change of plans – that she would be staying on the Si’yah. The crisis of medical professionals familiar with Quarian needs was still a problem, and Ryan was the logical choice.

She didn’t mind it. This Quarian ship was more spacious than any of the ones on the fleet she’d been on, especially considering a lot of the people who survived were moving elsewhere. But it would also be a waste of space to leave the Si’yah empty, keeping some people stationed there had been a plan from the beginning. The Volus, Drell, Hanar, and Elcor had specific environmental requirements, so many of them were staying on – at least at night or off-duty time. Most of the Quarians were as well. Some had elected to just use their suits and other environmental assistance equipment, being tired of being on the Si’yah for six-hundred years.

The officers were staying as well, to make use of their large offices and quarters. When Ryan had been told of her new living space, she’d been floored. She was to stay in the former captain’s quarters. Too astonished to decline or argue, she packed up her things and moved in. She decided later that arguing would have been stupid. They moved most of her medical supplies there, only giving her a small office in the med-bay for treating patients. They didn’t have room for her microscopes and centrifuges there.

It also made sense to keep her in the Quarian habitat. Humans and Quarians had the same need for gravity, oxygen, and humidity, and smaller quarters for civilians and “nonessential” staff wouldn’t fit her equipment.

When Telem and Senna found out, they’d acted oddly, Senna was particularly awkward about it, though it didn't stop his visits – she knew why, but it wasn’t any less uncomfortable for it. They didn’t say anything, she was sure it was because they understood the logic of putting her there. Their lodgings were in the same wing, which was convenient for visits as well.

Despite the fact that she’d been on the Si’yah for two months, she hadn’t made any more progress on the virus other than the first few days with the RNA sequencing. She tried not to dwell on that.

At least the Nexus anniversary party was approaching, something interesting and exciting to liven up the mood and break up the monotony. Even though everyone was out of stasis, things didn’t feel very different. Maybe it would be sign of change and that, and maybe, just maybe, things would feel normal again.

Though normal, for Ryan, wasn’t necessarily a good thing. Her nightmares might be replaced with her husband’s death instead of dreams about the morgue on the Si’yah.

Chapter Text

The lab was quiet except for the soft hum of equipment. Ryan stared at the holographic projection of the virus’s RNA sequence, her brow furrowed in frustration. Her notes were scattered across the terminal, each page a testament to countless hours of dead ends. She let out a sigh, rubbing her temple as the weight of her lack of progress pressed on her.

“You’re going to give yourself wrinkles,” came a dry, familiar voice from the doorway. She didn’t have to turn around to know it was Telem.

“That’s a weird thing to say,” she replied without looking up. The Quarian Pathfinder stepped into the lab, his gait as steady and deliberate as ever.

“It’s something my mother always used to say…Anyway, you’ve been in here for hours,” he said, his visor tilting as if to scan the room. “You’re not going to solve this by staring it into submission.”

Ryan sighed again, this time more softly, and finally turned to face him. “Maybe I’ll win the staring contest. This is my job, Telem.”

“And life exists outside of work. You’ve been losing that’ staring contest’ for the past two months,” he replied.

Ryan was a little surprised at his attitude. He must have wanted this solved even more than she did, but maybe…

She offered him a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Thanks. I guess I’m just—” She cut herself off, shaking her head. “Sorry, I’m rambling. You didn’t come here to listen to me complain.”

Telem’s stance relaxed slightly. “Actually, I came to remind you that the Nexus party is tomorrow night. You’re going, aren’t you?”

“I’m planning to,” she said. “Not exactly my scene, but it’ll be nice to see everyone out of their armor and lab coats for once.”

Telem’s tone turned wry. “Don’t tell me you’re the type to bring a data pad to a party.”

“Only if you promise not to judge me for it,” she shot back.

He chuckled, a sound that was rare but genuine. “Just try to enjoy yourself. Even scientists need a break now and then.”

She nodded, her smile softening. “And Pathfinders – though I’d guess they know that… I’ll try. Promise.”

***

Ryan had expected the rest of the day to be quiet and uneventful, but she had a whole string of visitors that day. Telem, then Borbala and Anax. If those three had dropped in, it was only a matter of time until the Commander did.

Just as the thought flitted in the back of her mind, Ryan’s terminal chimed, breaking her focus on the endless stream of incomplete data on the Chimera virus. She rolled her neck to ease the stiffness, then leaned over to check the message. A single line of text appeared.

Can I stop by?

Her stomach fluttered with equal parts curiosity and apprehension. Ryan had always hated when people sent a vague message and forced her to wait all day to be told some routine message that could have been an email. At least Senna hadn’t done that. Actually, she suspected he would be the type to agonize all day, so maybe it wasn’t just courtesy, but understanding courtesy. She tapped out her reply.

Sure.

She hoped that didn’t sound too short. It was so hard to sound not too interested through text without sounding, well, uninterested. She figured it was best to keep things simple. She busied herself with papers, trying not to stress. It was just Senna. They were friends now, weren’t they?

When Senna arrived, he hesitated in the doorway of her quarters, his tall frame silhouetted against the soft light of the corridor. His visor tilted slightly as he looked past her, taking in the familiar space. It was a brief glance, but Ryan caught the tension in his posture, the way his hand flexed at his side.

She stepped back, gesturing for him to come in. “You don’t have to hover, Senna.”

He nodded and stepped inside, but his movements were stiff, careful. He stood just beyond the threshold, his visor sweeping the room before finally settling on her.

“I wanted to… apologize,” he said, his voice quieter than usual. “For how I’ve been. Since you got here.”

Ryan raised an eyebrow, though her smile was kind. “You mean extremely sweet and accommodating?”

He tilted his visor downward briefly, and a faint chuckle escaped him. Then, looking back at her, his tone shifted to something more vulnerable. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate what you’re doing. I do. I just…”

Ryan gestured for him to follow her in to sit on her couch. “I think… I think I know what this is about. I was wondering when you’d bring it up.”

Mercifully, he didn’t try to play dumb. “This was her space,” he said, gesturing vaguely to the room. “And seeing you here, working on this—” His voice faltered. “It’s complicated.”

Ryan’s expression softened. “I know it is. If it makes it easier, I can petition Ryder—”

It was entirely unlikely that Ryder would consider that petition, but she felt it was good to offer at least.

“No,” he interrupted quickly, raising a hand. “It’s not your fault. I just need to…” He paused, seemingly searching for the right words. “Get used to it.”

She gave him a small nod, deciding not to press the point. “It’s not exactly a simple situation,” she said instead. “I get it, Senna. And I get why this is personal—for everyone here.”

They both knew that by everyone, she meant Telem.

His posture eased slightly, though the tension didn’t fully leave him. “It is,” he agreed. “And I forget sometimes how personal it must be for you, too.” He hesitated, glancing toward her terminal. “You’ve seen more than most. Including… things I never intended anyone to know.”

Ryan met his gaze, her expression neutral, but he shifted uncomfortably under her scrutiny. She knew what he meant, though neither of them said it aloud.

Liat'Nir. It seemed like a breach of secrecy to say her name aloud.

“I don’t think less of you,” she said gently. “She’s amazing. I hope you know that.”

He nodded, though his body language was still guarded. “Thank you,” he said quietly. Then, as if to steer the conversation back to safer ground, he added, “I’m not sure if I’ll come to the party.”

“Why not?”

“It doesn’t feel… right, celebrating when there’s so much unresolved. But… part of me thinks maybe I should. If only for the people who’ll be there.”

Ryan studied him, her chest tightening at the mix of uncertainty and resolve in his voice. “You should,” she said softly. “It won’t fix anything, but it might remind everyone—including you—why we’re still fighting for all of this. I mean, we’re in a whole other galaxy.” She hesitated, then added, almost shyly, “I’m not into parties either and maybe I’d like to have another party-hater with me. Maybe you can even give us an excuse to leave early.”

For the first time today, his visor tilted directly toward her. She couldn’t see his face; the rays of his moonbeam eyes were the only thing she could, and it was obvious they were examining her carefully. “I wouldn’t want you to have to come up with an excuse all on your own,” he said, a faint warmth in his voice.

She wasn’t at all sure if he got the hint, but either he was good at playing it cool or extremely clueless – or just not interested. If that was the case, she hoped he didn’t get it.

With a small nod, Senna turned to leave. She smiled faintly, but as the door slid shut behind him, she realized he hadn’t actually said he would come to the party.

The next day, as Ryan caught sight of him in the corridors, she tried to read his mood, but his visor and calm, measured movements gave nothing away.

“Have you decided about the party?” she asked casually when they crossed paths again later.

Senna paused, his hesitation so slight she almost missed it. “I’m still thinking about it,” he replied, his tone neutral.

Ryan gave him a small, understanding smile, but the ambiguity lingered between them, unresolved.

***

Senna leaned against the wall in what the humans called “The Grand Ballroom,” whatever that meant – his arms crossed as he watched a half dozen Krogan setting up for the celebration of the Nexus anniversary. Seeing it now, he wasn’t sure he could suffer that party, even for Ryan, though the curiosity of what she’d look like in a dress was almost enough to sway him. He’d always found human women’s fashion interesting, especially since it was like lingerie to Quarians. His peaceful musings over what color Ryan might wear, or if she’d put her hair up or curl it like he’d seen in a handful of human vids were interrupted rather unpleasantly by heavy bootsteps behind him.

“You know, you’re making it very difficult for me to win my bet,” Borbala’s voice carried a teasing lilt as she clomped up the balcony, without an ounce of gracefulness.

Senna didn’t bother looking up. “I don’t recall agreeing to a bet.”

“Oh, you’re not in it,” she said, staring him down like a curious varren. “Anax and I have a little wager going. She thinks you’ll hole up in here all night, brooding and avoiding eye contact with the entire crew. I, on the other hand, have a little more faith.”

He sighed, finally turning his visor toward her. “And what exactly do you have faith in?”

“That you’ll surprise everyone,” she said, her tone light but her expression sharp. “Maybe even yourself. Come on, Homeless, don’t you want to prove her wrong?”

“I’m not going to a party just to spite Anax or to make you money,” he replied dryly.

“Not just to spite her, or make me richer,” Borbala countered, “Think of the morale boost. The Pathfinder’s First Officer, mingling with the crew, showing them it really is a new galaxy, and even a stick in the mud like you can let loose for an evening. It’ll be the talk of the ship.”

“Exactly why I shouldn’t go,” he muttered. “I’d rather not be the subject of everyone’s attention.”

Borbala tilted her head, a grin tugging at her lips. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic. No one’s expecting you to do a dance routine. Those lowborn slobs probably won’t stare at you the whole time. You’re interesting, but you aren’t that interesting. It’s not like you’re Vorla Batak – wait, you don’t know who – nevermind,” she said with an eyeroll and a muttered ‘Quarians.’ Changing the subject, she nudged his arm with her elbow, just a little too hard – Senna rubbed his arm, wincing. “Besides, isn’t there someone who’d want to see you there?”

Senna stiffened, his visor turning away from her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Riiiiggght,” she said, drawing out the word. “No one at all comes to mind. Not even a certain doctor who’s probably working herself into the ground trying to solve a mystery for all of us?”

“Borbala…” His tone carried a warning, but she ignored it.

“You’re so predictable, Senna,” she teased. “Brooding, self-sacrificing, always staying on the outside looking in. What’s the harm in just… being there? Maybe even enjoying yourself for once?”

“I have responsibilities,” he said, though the words felt hollow even to him.

“So does Telem,” Borbala said with an infuriating smirk. “He’ll be there, though.”

“Fine,” he said at last, his voice low at the thought of what Borbala was insinuating. Telem’s attention on Ryan hadn’t gone unnoticed by him either. “I’ll think about it.”

“Oh, don’t strain yourself,” Borbala quipped, straightening up with a grin. “But if you’re going to sulk, at least do it with a drink in your hand so it won’t be so painful to see the Pathfinder sneaking off with a random human doctor and you leave alone.”

He opened his mouth to retort that Ryan wasn’t just some random human, and then realizing he’d be playing into Borbala’s hand if he did, closed it.

As she turned to leave, she glanced over her shoulder. “And Senna, I think she swings both ways, so you have double the competition.”

Senna was fairly sure that was offensive in some way, but he wasn’t quite sure how. He just stared at Borbala as she left, wishing he was better at comebacks in real time.

Chapter Text

For the third year, on the anniversary of the day the Hyperion, the first Ark to dock on the Nexus, there would be a night of absolute debauchery. Generally speaking, Ryan wasn’t a party-person, especially after Telyat had died, but she always made a point to at least go to that one. 

It was worthy of celebration as a feat of science unlike anything either Galaxy had seen, so far as she knew. If there ever was a time to let her hair down, it was this.

And letting her hair down was literal. Her espresso brown hair fell down her back almost to her waist in little waves she’d painstakingly curled into it. She didn’t have a lot of choices for party dresses, so she elected to repeat her same one from last year. Maybe she’d get a new one next year, but this one fit like a glove. It fell to the tops of her ankles in a midi- length, but it didn’t look matronly because of the daring strappy, backless style of the bodice. She couldn’t wear a bra with it, so she’d used an odd little weird thing to keep her lines clean. 

Her lips were painted an aubergine sort of color that set off her olive skin, but aside from that, a little blush, eyebrow pencil, and mascara, she went mostly bare faced. She felt the effect was rather pleasant; when she looked in the mirror, she didn’t feel like Dr. Bitton, she felt like Ryan. 

Her kitten heels and small crossbody bag were the last things she donned before heading to the party.

The music was a little too loud, and as a doctor, she was obsessed with hearing health. She popped the little earplugs in her ears, which lowered the sound a baker's dozen decibels. 

Everything was in full swing already; some people were even a little tipsy. She suspected they’d had a few drinks before they got there. 

Her drink of choice, gin and tonic, was in her hands faster than she’d thought possible and in her true nature, she’d taken the place of a wallflower. 

Liquid courage was needed for these sorts of events if there was any hope of mingling. Perhaps that said something bad about her, but she didn’t really care, especially when the bittersweet taste of the gin, lime, and tonic water hit her lips.

It was probably a good thing no one was talking to her just now, or they’d be subjected to a history lesson about tonic water and its medicinal uses.

Someone sidled up to her, and she was surprised to see Senna’Nir. 

“I didn’t think you’d come,” she said.

“I almost didn’t, but… Borbala said she’d never let me live it down.” 

She’d thought for a second that he’d say someone else, perhaps his ancestor VI. Even with the cacophony of the party, it wasn’t safe to mention her.

With a deep breath in and out that lit up his respirator, he spoke quietly enough that she didn’t catch it at first.

“You look nice,” Senna repeated, a little louder.

She had to look up to meet his blazing gaze through his opaque visor. “Thanks. I’m sure you do too.” 

He shifted where he stood, clearly wanting to say something. On a hunch, she raised her hand and tentatively reached out to his visor, to the dial she knew would turn the opacity down on the old-style suits. He could have easily stopped her, but he didn’t.

If they hadn’t been a mostly dark room against a wall, she wouldn’t have done it, but she scrolled it to sheer his helmet, with a little smile. 

She’d guessed he’d be handsome, and she wasn’t disappointed. He had one of the more unusual colorings of his people. Shades of gray, red, and purple were far more common than his light blue skin, and hair that she knew probably matched in tone, only it was probably an inky blue-black like Earth’s night sky. His eyes, like all Quarian’s, were prismatic—sometimes a little painful to stare at. 

She would never get over how human-like Quarians were without their masks. She’d only seen two before him and one was in a vid, the second one out of – curiosity. His nose, mouth, everything were pleasing to the eye. His dark eyebrows confirmed her theory of his hair being the darkest of blues. 

Quarians had eyelashes, which tended to look bleached because of their eyes. His were relatively long and thick, but very straight.

“You – um, you do look nice,” Ryan said, biting her lip, before scrolling to black out his visor again.

Ryan had never been bold, not in moments like this. It felt strangely familiar, almost like a mirror image of the night she’d met Telyat. He had taken charge so easily, reading her every signal, leading her to a secluded corner of a swanky Citadel club where she learned just how difficult it could be to stay silent when someone knew exactly what they were doing. But now, here she was—on the other side of the equation, feeling the weight of expectation settle over her like an unfamiliar cloak. She didn’t know if she could play Senna like a fiddle as Telyat had done to her—especially since she was unfamiliar with Quarians in that way, for the most part. And her limited experience with his people were quite a lot like her first night with Telyat, very much led by them.

The thought made her heart stutter. She hadn’t realized it at first, but she was waiting for Senna to make a move, to follow the same rhythm she had come to expect. But he didn’t. He wasn’t like the others, the men who were quick to take what was offered, to varying degrees of success. Senna was still, watchful, and it left her unsure of what to do next. The air between them was charged with the static of silence. The longer it stretched, the more uncertain she felt.

And then the guilt came creeping in. This was how Telyat had won her over, how he’d effortlessly pulled her into his orbit. Now, she was using those same tactics—tactics that weren’t hers, but his. It felt like borrowing from a past that should’ve been laid to rest, as if she was betraying his memory by adopting his moves, and that left an uncomfortable knot in her stomach. How could she pursue something new with Senna when the shadow of Telyat lingered over every choice she made?

But the flicker of desire in her chest was real, undeniable. Senna wasn’t Telyat, and this wasn’t some cheap imitation of what she’d had before – And Telyat had told her live her life. With difficulty, she suppressed her guilt. It was something else, something fragile and new, and real as far as she way concerned, anyway.

“I see they have something for Quarians now,” Ryan said, breaking the silence, gesturing to the retro written out drink menu. “Took them long enough, didn’t it?”

She could hear the smile in his voice when she responded. “Yeah. Yeah, it did.”

It looked for a second like his hand sort of twitched towards hers on the bar, but the moment passed. Ryan decided to attempt to be bold and ordered him a Turian whisky, because she couldn’t figure him out – emotionally speaking. He didn’t have to drink it if he didn’t want to – and even if he wasn’t interested, there wasn’t anything wrong with buying a drink for a friend was there?

When he’d gotten his own drink, Senna eyed Ryan’s short tumbler glass curiously, his gaze lingering on the lime slices. “What are you drinking?”

Ryan glanced down at it and back up at him. “It’s called a gin and tonic – actually, tonic water has a fascinating history… sorry, you probably aren’t interested and I feel like I’d have to give a lecture on –”

“I’m interested,” he said.

“Um – so tonic water has medicinal purposes. It has this active ingredient called Quinine in it,” she started, fortunately with Senna being a Quarian, this sort of jargon wouldn’t lose him immediately, “There’s this disease on Earth caused by these tiny little insects that drink people’s blood.”

She could see that Senna tried to hide a slight squirm at the thought, instead saying, “I’d be glad for my suit there, that’s for sure.”

“You definitely would be. These little bloodsuckers carry diseases, and one of them is called Malaria. It’s devastating, and in the days it ran rampant it killed thousands if not millions every year. Anyway – at some point the indigenous people of an occupied country,” Ryan figured it would be pointless to try and explain colonialism, India, and England, “realized that it could be used to keep from getting sick. Then the soldiers that occupied the country learned of it and mixed it with alcohol. Then it spread as a popular drink. Of course, most modern tonic water has much less Quinine in it since it isn’t usually used for malaria now. Interesting, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” he said, and it didn’t sound like he was lying.

Senna looked behind her at something and pointed at it, before grabbing her wrist gently. Maybe she hadn’t been misreading things?

He tugged her along with him, and thanked her when they sat down at a table finally, one that a group of already drunk Asari had just vacated.

“I’m glad you decided to come –“ Ryan said, at the same time as Senna started.

“Are you glad to be back on the Nexus for a little while?”

She smiled at him, and he gestured for her to speak. “It’s nice to get out for a while so the answer is yes… and no. The Si’yah isn’t a bad place to be. I’m used to ships, remember? I’ve spent way more time on Quarian ships than human or Asari. Um, if you don’t count the stasis, I guess. That being said – the coffee here is much better, but I’ve started having it sent to the Si’yah. That’s really it.”

“But you don’t miss being around other humans?” he asked her, prodding for something.

Ryan leaned forward, wishing she could see his face again so she could try and read him a little better. “It doesn’t bother me to be around Quarians. I’ve always said we’re the most similar.”

Their hands were quite close together now, it would be easy to grab his, but it was still difficult to know what to do. She’d barely interacted with anyone in a romantic way – actually hadn’t been romantic so much as physical a few times since Telyat died and she just wasn’t sure how to do this anymore.

Their fingertips were touching. “I agree with you,” Senna said.

Ryan tilted her head, genuinely surprised by this. “You do?”

“Yes – I mean, we look really similar and have similar –” he cut himself off.

“I know what you mean.”

And she really did know. He obviously was fumbling around anatomy, in a way she suspected he wouldn’t do when it came down to it, but he also meant the spirits of their people. It was hard to have a conversation with a lot of Asari. So many of them tended to be condescending, because they had so much more wisdom, don’t you see? Turians were almost as duty bound as Quarians, but were far more militant. Drell were passionate like both Quarians and humans, but their lifespans gave them a fatalism that not even the grimmest human could manage. Krogan, Salarians, and Hanar didn’t even register.

At Senna’s continued silence, Ryan decided to change the subject.

“Is the whiskey good?” she asked, slightly nervously.

The question broke the tension, and she could hear the smile in his voice as his shoulders relaxed. “It’s great – it’s my favorite, actually. Good guess.”

“I know – I saw you sneaking some from the store room once.”

That got a laugh out of him. “Are you sure you haven’t been taking lessons from Anax? I’ve never seen someone so…”

But where he had been going with that, Ryan wasn’t sure of, because he trailed off, his eyes wandering to her tattoo. It was hard to tell with the visor, but Ryan was familiar enough with Quarians to track their eyes when others might not be able to. Their facial expressions were illusive, but eye movements… not so much. She knew where his mind was going – she just didn’t know how much Anax had told him. The woman didn’t seem like a gossip, but Ryan been wrong before.

“You can ask about it,” she said, gesturing to the intricate lines that started on top of her shoulder and spread down her arms to vines which curled around delicate red flowers, slowly ending in the middle of her forearm.

“I was told it is impolite to ask humans about their tattoos,” Senna said, somewhat hesitantly. “But I recognize parts of it.”

“Which parts?” Ryan asked him, genuinely surprised.

His voice was delicate, as if he realized how sensitive this topic really was. “The flowers are called Usharet flowers, mostly extinct on Rahkana – and the vines are Lerian ferns from the Hanar homeworld. We had both on the Si’yah,” he paused at the look on her face, “It’s a long story. I can hazard a guess that they symbolize… a Drell?”

“They do,” Ryan said, with a small smile despite the topic. She couldn’t fall to pieces right now, she could examine these feelings later. “I was married to a Drell – the scales are also… he was sort of opalescent, I don’t know if that’s the right term. He was deep blue, but the sun made his scales sort of a… shiny green. Anyway, I met him when I was twenty, a baby thinking back on it. It’s been a long time since he died, but I’m sure you understand how it is when you love someone.”

Ryan didn’t want to bring up Qetsi’Olam – she knew that his loss was much more recent than Telyat. If it weren’t for the Pathfinder, Senna would be the most hurt by it, far beyond any others. But it seemed that he needed to talk about her, because instead of changing the subject, he followed Ryan’s train of thought.

“It’s… not the same, I know. But I can understand a little. Everything that happened with Qetsi…”

“You were close, weren’t you? I saw it when we were trying to investigate, well, everything.”

Even with his opacity turned all the way down, she could see his bright, white eyes closed for a moment, as if lost in thought.

“We were close, yes. We met just after I got back from my pilgrimage – I was with the Elcor, learning about their combat VIs. They’re fascinating, I’ll have to tell you about them sometime… She was – there was a reason they chose her as the captain. Inspiration was her gift. Every Quarian that came to Andromeda joined the Initiative because of her, including the Pathfinder – and me.”

This conversation wasn’t going the way she’d planned. Nothing to kill the mood faster than talking about personal tragedies. “Sorry,” Ryan said. “I didn’t mean to drag up… anything painful.”

His faceplate fogged up like a car window on a humid day. 

“It’s alright. I was the one who brought her up. The way she died –” 

Senna paused as though he wasn’t sure he wanted to continue, an undercurrent of something secret ran between them like a river, before going on. 

“She had a hard life. Her family, almost everyone she knew, were killed by the Geth, and then when she was on her pilgrimage to Sur’Kesh – well, I don’t mean to stereotype the Salarians, but their scientists aren’t admired for their ethics, are they? They locked her outside of their environmental bubble without her mask. There’s this sort of algae on parts of Sur’Kesh that permeates the air. It’s not good for Salarians, and I’m not sure if they thought it was a joke, an experiment or both, but I guess they wondered how long a suit-rat would fare in it. It turns out it isn’t a very long time. She almost died.”

“That’s just – awful,” she said. 

And she meant it. Ever since her time studying with them on the Flotilla, her fury for the plight of Quarians had grown harder for her to handle, but she suppressed it for now. It wasn’t the time for that.

Ryan turned her palm up for him, an expression just as Quarian as it was Human, and he took it. His triangular hand was an odd fit, since he had three thin and pointed fingers and a thumb, rather than five even ones on a square palm. She was familiar with their hands, having lived among his people for so long, having held the gloved hands of many of her patients, but she was sure he wasn’t used to her. Despite the glove, the feeling of his tapered thumb brushing against the back of her hand was just as sweet. She’d never minded the suits, even found them charming and a bit cute.

She’d never voiced this out loud of course, for fear of being seen as patronizing or otherwise as one of those odd people that liked the suits for… other reasons. She hoped that Senna knew that she was interested in him, and not because of, or in spite of, the suit. He was sweet, kind, and smart. She was starting to wonder if she should be more direct, though she wasn’t sure how much more direct she could be, or if she should back off. It was possible he wasn’t interested in humans – but then he reached over for her bar stool and dragged it, rather suddenly, closer to himself without standing up. It felt a little abrupt given their conversation, but perhaps he needed comfort just as much as she did.

Kissing was always a bit dangerous for Quarians, but with the suit on it was impossible to even risk getting sick from one. They’d adapted something different, just as they’d adapted the rest of their lives to living in environmental suits. He wrapped his arms around her waist in a tight hug and gave her the Quarian equivalent to a chaste kiss. Warm air puffed against her cheek and neck from his respirator, the ringed light shining in her periphery. On a Quarian, this would puff a little cloud of condensate on their faceplate and for a woman, blow a little on her scarf so it might ripple a little – it wasn’t the same for Ryan.

For someone without a suit on, the effect was quite different from a sweet sort of affection. Ryan wasn’t sure if he knew that or not – relations were so infrequent between their species, that she didn’t think his slight stiffness in his posture at the visible shiver that went down her spine was feigned.

His other hand – the one without their fingers interlaced went to her back, rubbing her gently and even trailing up to twirl her long hair. It was surreptitious, given her back was facing away from everyone in the party. She blushed at that – knowing that was a very different symbol than it was for humans – it wasn’t flirtatious, it was more like… a proposition, an explicit one, as an unspoken question. A question Ryan had decided on answering with a resounding, undeniable yes.

Unfortunately, Borbala Ferank chose that very moment to heckle them. Ryan’s mouth popped open in a perfect “O” at the Batarian’s crude, unfiltered taunt. Ryan was no prude, but even she found herself unable to mentally repeat what Borbala had just said.

Batarians.

Senna stiffened in his barstool, clearly stunned by the absurdly lewd remark, while Anax Therion, leaning against the high-top table, rolled her eyes. Most people would have found it difficult to see; Drell expressions were so subtle, but Ryan had long ago learned to expertly detect those slight shifts.

“A word, Senna?” Anax said, lightly, her smooth voice calm, if a little insistent.

She could feel the irritation and tension roll off him when he squeezed her hand gently, “I’ll be right back,” his voice already taut with frustration.

She watched as the two women and Senna walked to a corner, Borbala smirking and Senna growing more and more exasperated by the second. It looked to Ryan as if that “Word” was turning into a full-blown argument – about what, Ryan couldn’t even begin to guess. She had no idea what could possibly so urgent and contentious for the three of them to make a solid attempt at ruining a party.

As Ryan watched the argument, her thoughts beginning to spiral, a figure slid into the seat across from her, drawing her focus away from the scene Borbala, Anax, and Senna were making.

“Oh. Hello, Telem,” Ryan said, her voice genuinely tinged with surprise.

Telem looked… different. More relaxed, and if she had to guess, a little tipsy. His usual sharp edge and tense posture had softened.

“Hello, Ryan,” he replied, far more upbeat than usual– almost at Ryder-level chipper, but fortunately not quite that far. “Enjoying the party?”

The flash of Ryan’s wide grin was visible in the polished surface of the bar table; This version of Telem was entertaining. “Yeah,” she said, taking a sip of her gin and tonic. “You?”

He chuckled, showing the ever so slightly elongated canines and eye teeth that all Quarians had. It was then she realized his faceplate was halfway sheered, as if he’d knocked the button by accident – she knew this was difficult to do without intention on the new style of suits and their inset button but didn’t call him on it. She was far too distracted by the reality of what was usually a blurred outline under his visor. He was handsome in a rougher, soldierly way compared to Senna’s more refined appearance. A scar ran jagged, slashed across his left cheekbone, dangerously close to one of his glowing eyes and through the edge of a dark eyebrow. The sight of his slate gray skin, and the single curl of a lock of his jet-black hair sent a ripple of something – she didn’t want to consider what it was – through her.

“Telem,” she amusedly pointed out, her tone conspiratorial. “Your visor’s halfway turned down.”

His smile, which had morphed into a smirk told her everything she needed to know, but he made it clear anyway.

“Not an accident,” he murmured, leaning in with a heated gaze – but then he firmly pressed the button on the side of his helmet and his expression was hidden once again.

Ryan laughed, shaking her head. “I think you should back off on the Turian whiskey.”

He leaned a little closer still. She could still feel the heat in his gaze – even if she couldn’t see it. “I’ve lost most of my tolerance – six-hundred years of stasis’ll that to anyone.”

“Stasis doesn’t do that,” Ryan laughed. “It freezes you as you are – maybe you were always a lightweight. No judgment – I am too,” she gestured to her gin and tonic. “I can’t have more than three of these without being absolutely obliterated.”

“And how many have you had tonight?” Telem asked, laughing softly, but the tone his voice shifted in a way that felt more intimate than casual. “You aren’t obliterated, are you?”

Ryan’s heart skipped a beat and she felt a blush slowly creeping its way from her chest to her cheekbones. Is he… flirting with me – no propositioning me?

Before she had time to process the thought, one of his long legs brushed against her bare calf, taking advantage of how Senna had pulled the chair closer before, in an intentional, slow movement. One of his hands slid up her thigh in a suggestive way, intended to make her think of other times he might squeeze them. His other hand wound into her hair, his fingers threading through it, much less subtly than Senna had. She froze, a mix of shock, confusion, and arousal crashing over her.

What is he doing? He has to be insanely drunk.

For a Quarian, this bordered on indecent. Telem wasn’t stepping over, so much as he was pole vaulting over a cultural boundary she’d learned on the Fleet. Even if she hadn’t learned it there, she probably would have figured it out from the reactions of every Quarian around them.

Half of them were staring pointedly away, suddenly avoiding eye contact, and the other half gawked unabashedly. The latter group unapologetically watched as if this was a plot twist in a particularly riveting drama series.

Ryan couldn’t blame them – she’d probably have a hard time not staring too.

This can’t be real, she thought, her mind racing.  The Pathfinder, swooping in the second his First Officer steps away to argue with a Batarian and a Drell, decides to make a move on a human doctor at a crowded party – round two for the Pathfinder who enjoys playing with the Officer’s toys. And all this happening in a space station almost as large as the Citadel. In the Andromeda Galaxy.

She could almost hear the stuffy critics now.

 “What a ridiculous plot twist.”

“It was a little shoehorned but still entertaining.”

“Too bad tomatoes are extinct, because this show is perfect for target practice!”

“Yeah, it’s trashy, but I was on the edge of my seat.”

“What a bunch of garbage!”

“AndromedaGURL68: Who is this Telem guy and where did he come from? #TeamSenna.”

“User095833 @AndromedaGURL68: Why choose tho? *Smirk emoji*”

Ryan had never been speechless like this – never been so dumbfounded by a sequence of events that her mouth opened and closed like a fish flopping around trying to get back in its bowl.

“I… um…”

She neither pulled away, nor did she move closer to Telem, who was now trailing a hand up the side of her neck to her cheek. “Is this one sided, Ryan?” he asked her, in something close to a purr.

A gloved hand closed gently, but firmly on Ryan’s bare shoulder and Telem’s own hand suddenly yanked back away from her face like she’d burned him. She could tell by how quickly Telem’s face snapped away from hers that it was Senna behind her. His argument with Anax and Borbala was either postponed or solved – she suspected he didn’t particularly care which now.

In a low voice, laced with lethal venom, he addressed the Pathfinder. “Telem. What are you doing?”

Telem seemed to sober up in seconds what would usually take hours, the alcohol coursing through his blood puffed into nonexistence at the way Senna stood behind Ryan, completely still.

“Just talking,” he said, in a tone far too casual to be convincing. His hand lingered for a moment longer on Ryan’s thigh before he begrudgingly slid it away.

Senna’s voice was beyond accusatory. “You’re drunk.”

Ryan’s heart thudded in her chest – she’d never been very good with conflict, so she was content to let the two of them duke it out. She was far too distracted with the fact that she’d enjoyed Telem’s sudden boldness – that it had made heat unfurl low in her body in a way she didn’t think she could ever admit to another soul.

Because she really liked Senna. Her emotions tangled together, conflicting with everything she thought she knew about herself. Was she really that kind of woman? The one who played with two men as a sort of game? But it didn’t feel like a game. She liked Telem too. He was so different from Senna – all rough edges in a way that make her heart clench, and he’d been as much of a companion lately as Senna had. It didn’t feel wrong to like them both and that thought terrified her. She couldn’t imagine they’d agree with that feeling; it seemed like a fast track to lose them, especially Senna.

“Ryan,” Senna said softly, “Are you alright?”

With no small amount of horror, she realized that it wasn’t mere jealousy that made Senna so, so, furious; Senna assumed that Telem had accosted her.

“Yes,” she said quickly – maybe too quickly. “I’m just a little… surprised.”

He nodded and shot a glare at Telem – she could tell by how his eyes dimmed a little as he narrowed them – who shifted awkwardly in his seat. She bit her lip nervously, waiting for their stand off to amount to something.

“Are you going to apologize?” Senna asked him.

“I’m sorry, Senna. I just –”

Senna held up a three-fingered hand. “Not to me – to her,” he said, pointing at Ryan. “Pawing at her when you’re drunk like that? You’re the Pathfinder. It’s – It’s – a”

But she didn’t hear what the Pathfinder was – because the word that had come out of Senna’s mouth was unintelligible, not in her vocabulary, and almost certainly extremely rude. She looked around, seeing that it wasn’t just Quarians watching them now. Ryan realized they’d both shut off their translators so only the Quarians in the room could understand them – a small way to mitigate the damage from this scene. She wasn’t sure if they remembered, actually, she wasn’t sure that Telem knew, she could understand them.

“It’s okay! I’m not hurt, no harm done,” Ryan said, in her truly atrocious Khelish, sensing that things might be about to get really, really ugly.

She reached for Senna’s hand so he could help her out of her chair – in a subtle suggestion that perhaps the two of them should leave now.

Telem slowly turned to her, his voice infused with disbelief. “You speak Khelish? I – “ He paused, seeing to remember that he was supposed to be apologizing, “Sorry. I’m sorry, Ryan.”

“It’s okay,” she said softly, before she tugged Senna away from the party – everyone staring at the both of them. As they left, she heard one of the Quarian women make a comment about her accent. Ryan threw a dirty look over her shoulder at the gossip as the door hissed shut behind them.

She kept pace with Senna, who still clung to her hand, in a desperate sort of way. “It’s not okay, by the way,” he said. “He shouldn’t have come on to you like that, completely drunk – especially not in public. I know you spent a lot of time on the Fleet but I’m not sure you understand how bad – it’s embarrassing to my people and embarrassing to you – you don’t deserve that.”

Ryan nodded at him, conceding this. It hadn’t disturbed her, but she knew Telem had been beyond out of line by Quarian standards. He didn’t need to tell her that, but it was possible she still didn’t grasp the full context. Senna wasn’t wrong and even with how much time she’d spent around Quarians, even being competent in their language – there were a lot of things she still didn’t understand.

“Where are we going?” she asked him, curiously, wondering if he was still asking her what he had before, in that silent, very Quarian way. “Back to the Si’yah?”

Everyone else was at the party – but even still, she was shocked when he turned his visor all the way down again. They were almost at the trams to the Arks – where a good chunk of the Initiative still lived and worked.

“I’m going back to my quarters – are you coming with me?” he said, stopping suddenly to tuck a few strands of hair behind her ear and smooth a few flyaways in a surprisingly tender way. “You still want to, right?”

Ryan’s lips parted at the heat in his eyes – far more intense than Telem’s had been, something that didn’t seem possible until she saw it. She couldn’t do anything but nod when he looked at her like that. That five-minute tram ride felt like an eternity compared to the first one she’d taken on the very day the Keelah Si’yah had docked.

Chapter Text

The shuttle was completely empty, so when Senna ran his fingers through her hair and over her cheekbones, it was only slightly scandalous. Within a minute, she was flushing absolutely scarlet at the things he whispered to her – a steady stream of every dirty thought he’d ever had about her, the things he’d like to try, the things he wanted her to teach her to say in Khelish – and not a single word of it decent. She knew swear words, but she’d never had the need to express the word “fuck” in that many tenses or have a grasp on just how comprehensive erotic Quarian euphemisms were.

If it wasn’t for pesky Quarian sensibilities, security cameras, and the fact that it would have put him in mortal peril, they’d have never made it through the entire ride with both of them fully dressed – it would have been easy to take advantage of the deserted place if they were both human, or any other species.

Toward the very end of the tram ride, as they were starting to slow, he blew hot hair on the nape of her neck and whispered to her, as if there were any chance of being overheard – a strategic choice, she thought. The security cams weren’t even listening in; they were video only.

“Would it be rude of me to assume you haven’t been with a Quarian before?”

She shivered at the words and the filter abuse, turning around to meet his glowing eyes. “I’m not sure about rude, but you’d be correct, assuming you mean what I think you mean.”

Her time on the Flotilla had been mostly professional. But she had made good friends there, unlike college, where she'd had a handful of fairweather ones. There was, however, one very friendly Quarian curious enough to pull her into a cargo room, or an empty bunk, wherever was convenient that day – but no one had ever taken their suit off for her. Lara had shown her face through her clear visor and shown her that those nerve stim programs were… impressive.

“I don’t mean nerve stims,” he said, clarifying, noting how her eyes had glazed over slightly, one of his eyebrows raising, along with the black lines on that side of his forehead. “Physical touch – men or women.”

“Then no,” she said. “Is it… are there a lot of differences?”

For all she knew about his people, this was one area she was still fairly lacking in. Aside from the nerve stims, and the knowledge their reproduction was very similar to humans – she didn’t know anything about it, aside from the fact that intimacy was possible and pregnancy was theoretically impossible.

“Hm…” Senna said, tracing circles on her back as the tram began to slow. “I’ve seen a few vids of humans – you’re quite similar in the most important ways. The main difference is our immune system – I’ll need a few injections of immunoboosters and I’m afraid we’ll ruin your hair and makeup, because we have to shower, well, we don’t have to, but I’d like to be able to get out of bed tomorrow.”

The idea was thigh-clenching, quite frankly. She wondered what he’d look like out of his suit, water beading over his bare skin and soaking his hair. Did he have freckles? How long was his hair exactly? She snapped herself out of it, realizing he was waiting for her to respond.

“So, you can take the whole thing off? Your suit?” Ryan asked, quietly.

They’d have to be able to take it off, at least mostly, otherwise there wouldn’t be very many Quarians. She’d never been totally clear on how safe it was to completely remove the suit around another person, Quarian or otherwise.

Senna, after looking around and seeing no one, daringly sheered his visor again as they stepped off the tram and into the deserted hallways of the Keelah Si’yah. “I can.”

He glanced back and forth again, and not seeing anyone, he ran his hand down the back of her hair and wrapped his fingers around the smooth strands of fallen curls like Telem had. “You want me to, right?”

Ryan tried to nod, but his hand held firmer than she expected. He wasn’t hurting her, wasn’t even pulling on her hair, but it was still impossible to move her head. “I do,” Ryan said.

He walked so quickly that within a minute, they stood outside the First Officer’s quarters. His hands were steady as he tapped in the passcode. The door wasn’t even completely open before he tugged Ryan after him and pressed the single button to close and lock it behind them.

Things were moving quickly, but somehow agonizingly slow at the same time. It was interesting, not being able to kiss someone or touch skin to skin without the intention of sleeping together. So much of it was indirect, his sweet talking practiced, and not completely unlike how Lara had spoken to her. Perhaps it was a Quarian thing. The suits were truly a part of them, their influence bled into every facet of their lives.

A gloved, three fingered hand reached out to brush against her cheek, ghosting down her face, down her neck, before coming to a stop at her shoulders. Nudging his thumb under the thin strap, he pulled it slightly away from her skin, inspecting its make, as if trying to puzzle out how the garment worked.

After a moment, she swept her hair over her shoulder and started to reach to undo it for him, but he waved her hands away to continue his exploration. Interesting.

She watched as he slid his hand toward the front of it to the neckline, and then back to her shoulders. It was cute to see him realize that it came undone in the back.

He gently turned Ryan around and slowly worked out that the zig-zag pattern of the straps untied at the base of her neck, and were a connected by single string that criss-crossed her back, threaded through tiny loops on either side, as opposed to a series of ties on each side of her back. It was cute that he had to stop to figure it out for so long. Quarian suits were ten times as complicated as this. Maybe he had overestimated the difficulty level of human clothes in comparison.

“Is this alright?” he asked, when his fingers finally brushed against the closure that she’d looped in a simple double knot.

He hovered over the tie, waiting for her to answer.

“Yes, of course.”

Quarians were experts at hoses, zippers, buttons, knots, really any kind of closure - because of the suits obviously, so he had it apart within seconds. The burgandy strips of silk slid down her back to hang around her waist. Without the tension of the slick ties, the bodice fell to her hips. The cool air of Senna’s quarters prickled her skin, keenly reminding her of her earlier choice of skipping a bra in favor of sewn in padding and underwire. 

She was inexperienced with Quarians touching her bare skin, and the warmth of Senna’s gloves in comparison to the cold air surprised her. They weren’t microfiber, but instead something closer to soft leather. Fake, she imagined. It wasn’t like they had access to the real stuff, especially now.

She shivered, partly from the cool room, and partly from his hands on her, and remembered that Quarians ran hotter than humans and wondered what his bare skin would feel like — she hoped he wouldn’t find her cooler skin repulsive. 

Maybe it would be more like the cool side of a pillow for him, she thought to herself, more than a little hopefully, as his hand snaked across her ribcage.

He seemed to notice that her shivering wasn’t completely due to his soft, exploratory touches.

“Cold?”

She nodded, without turning around. “A little.”

Wrapping his arms around her, he tugged her back against his stomach and chest. Partly, she suspected, to be a gentleman and keep her warm, and partly because he wanted to touch her more.

“K, will you turn the heat up to something more comfortable to humans?”

Ryan opened her mouth to thank him but fell silent as he slid his hands over her ribs to her breasts. Using his breather to his own diabolical benefit, he whispered to her again, making the hair on the back of her neck to prickle pleasantly.

“Will you be offended if I told you I’ve always been a little curious about humans?” He asked her, as the light attached to his visor lit up in her periphery with each breath.

“I think a lot of people are,” she replied. “Same with most species… well, maybe not Hanar or Batarians.” 

“You’d be very surprised.” 

“Vorcha?” Ryan asked.

He laughed. “Okay, maybe not Vorcha.”

It was difficult to reply to that — impossible, really. Not only was his laugh incredibly attractive, he took that moment to flick his thumb lazily over a nipple. From the way he spoke, it seemed like he hadn’t been with a human before, so either he’d looked into it, or Quarians had similar sensitive places to humans. Or maybe both were the case.

“You did your research,” she breathed, the words falling from her lips with unbelievable difficulty.

“I did.” 

He tugged at the dress for a second and realized there was a second closure. He found the tiny zipper on her hip with ease. The side of her dress opened, revealing more of her skin until the whole thing fell to the ground and pooled around her feet. 

“I thought human women wore things under their clothes?” 

Ryan blushed. Much like the back of the bodice, underwear ruined the line of her backside and legs. She hadn’t been able to find any of her handful of lineless bikinis or her single thong. Those cuts tended to bunch awkwardly, especially the seamless ones. Though they kept their advertised seamlessness, they left her incredibly uncomfortable during long meetings or patient visits, or even worse, while she was wearing a full biohazard suit. Being the massive nerd she was, she tended toward fuller coverage. It wasn’t like she had anyone to see her, anyway.

She turned to meet his gaze through his clear visor. “We usually do, but some clothes don’t work with them, or you have to have certain kinds.”

He nudged her dress carefully away so neither of them would step on it. “And I take it you don’t have them?” 

“No – I mean yes, but I couldn’t find them.” 

His hand came to rest on her hip, feeling the line of bare skin. “Interesting. You’re usually a little more organized than that,” he said teasingly. “Well, it’s good for me, isn’t it? Like I said, I’ve always been curious.”

It wasn’t quite so cold now, so she twisted around to face him and placed her palm on the side of his faceplate. “I’ve been curious too, you know, about Quarians, but I’m not a suit-chaser, just so you know.” 

Senna laughed, his hands going to her waist, squeezing her a little there. “I didn’t think you were. You’d be a pretty bad one since you’ve never been with one of us even though you lived on the Ancestor's damned Fleet. I’m sure there would have been plenty of takers. Or at least I would have.”

She realized he was slowly backing her to the small shower in the corner of his quarters. When they were past the door he ran his hands through the strands of her hair again. 

“I’m sorry,” he continued. “I’d take you to the nicer shower and clean room, but it’s not as comfortable as my bed to do anything there. I’ll get a little sick, but nothing too terrible.” 

Ryan’s eyebrows knit together in concern. “Are you sure you want to? I’d hate for you to get sick.” 

Senna smiled and smoothed her face back to a neutral expression. “If I always played it safe, I’d be a… what do you humans call it? Someone who’s never been physical before?” 

Ryan cleared her throat. “The word is virgin.” 

“Ah yes, one of those. I’m thirty-four. That would be a long thirty-four years, wouldn’t it?” 

Ryan laughed, as Senna started to fiddle with the water faucets, adjusting them so steam started to fill the small room. The shower was just shy of so hot as to turn her skin a reddish pink. “You have a point,” she replied, as he gently guided her under the waterfall shower head. 

“I do,” he agreed, before bringing his hands to his helmet. 

He pulled it off showing his light blue skin that she’d been so intrigued by earlier. His dark blue hair was around shoulder length, she thought but held away from suit seals and his face by a single band.

She was too intrigued to do anything other than stand under the water and watch. Senna didn’t seem too concerned with it. She’d never seen a Quarian take their suit off completely and her eyes followed his three fingered hands, now without their gloves, undoing the various ties and buckles.

It was a long process and when he’d gotten down to his undersuit, he smiled at her, handing her a small bottle of a green substance.

“It’s mouthwash. It’s not a commentary on… um, hygiene in that sense. It’s so I don’t get too sick. Quarian thing.” 

“Of course,” Ryan said, taking it from him. 

She turned away slightly while she used it, feeling the whole image wasn’t particularly sexy, but Senna didn’t remark on it. Maybe it was a nonissue for Quarians, something that didn’t register as good or bad.

In fact, as she sat the little bottle on the inlaid shelf, she felt his hands on her and saw the shadows cast by his gracefully curved legs before she looked up at him. 

Ryan was more familiar with Quarian anatomy than most, but this was different. Naturally, having never seen a Quarian without their suit, she’d never been this close to a Quarian without their suit. His skin was just as warm as she’d imagined, and more similar to a human's than she’d expected. An inky black script coiled around his arm caught her eye. Khelish, she knew that. Everyone knew that anything written by hand didn’t show up on standard translators, and this tattoo was no exception. Its looped, bubbly, letters read from right to left:

Mered’vai Rannoch

Rannoch was obvious enough, it was one of the first words she learned, after "thank you," and "bathroom." She turned her head to the side, trying to remember the meaning of that first word. It was one that she forgot… oh forgot.

“Forget Rannoch?” She asked, her eyebrows raised.

Senna shrugged. “I was in the Nedas movement when I was younger. A – a lot of us were.”

The Nedas movement – she’d heard of it before. They were a sect of Quarians that some found extreme, who believed that Rannoch was lost forever, that they should move forward somewhere new. It wasn’t surprising he came here if he’d been involved with them. In fact, she’d been stupid to not consider that half of the Quarians here must be Nedas members, past or present. Leaving the Flotilla was unthinkable for most. Leaving the galaxy was even more out there for the Quarians, who generally liked to play things safe and planned for the worst. Always.

As for the other part… he didn’t mention Telem or Qetsi, but it was obvious that he meant them. Ryan changed the subject, not wanting to dwell on Senna’s political radicalism a galaxy away and hundreds of years in the past.

Running her hands over the tattoo, she passed over it to inspect the rest of him. She already knew about his blue skin, his legs, his hands, his glowing eyes, the thin black lines traveling down his forehead, his hair, she even knew about his eyelashes and eyebrows…

She also knew, intellectually, that Quarians must have a sort of navel, but it was slightly higher up than on a human. She was no obstetrician, but Quarians reproduced and cared for their infants in almost exactly the same way. It was a rather bizarre sort of convergent evolution. Her pet theory was that they were from some sort of space bacteria, all of them, every species. Quarians and humans were just notable in that they were weirdly similar. She suspected that there would be more human and Quarian couples if the majority of their people weren’t either very young or isolated from the rest of the galaxy on the Flotilla, or else the exiles that most people avoided for their own safety. Getting kicked out of the Fleet was very difficult, and anyone who did was usually bad, bad news.

She shoved that thought away for now — not important. 

Resuming her exploration, Ryan found some things that she didn’t know. For one, male Quarians, like human men, had nipples. They weren’t sensitive – either the womens' were, or she was right about his extensive, um, research. 

In anatomical charts she’d seen, Quarian men had seemed quite different, but in reality, they really weren’t at least not in person, in this context. Those medical charts hadn’t shown them aroused and were illustrated rather than photographic. Being half-hard already, he looked so similar to a human man in that way that if his skin had been the same color, it would have indistinguishable. That was more surprising to Ryan than if he’d had two of them.

A warm hand came to her chin and brought her face to his. She was slightly embarrassed to realize she’d been staring at him. He didn’t say anything, but pressed his lips hers carefully, a bit like he was nervous about it. 

“Are you alright?” Ryan asked, pulling back ever so slightly to try and read his expression. 

“Of course,” he said, as he ran his hands over her reverently. It was enough to make her scarlet. “You’re just so beautiful and I want to get this right.” 

Ryan had no idea how to even respond to that. She’d only heard that from one other person in her life and was a little flabbergasted to hear it just now. She supposed that she shouldn’t have been too surprised. She’d come to realize over their time together that he was, quite possibly, the sweetest man she’d ever met in her life, and not to compare the two – far safer than her husband had been, but somehow just as intense.

Sensing just how vulnerable he felt, her voice was gentle. “Don’t worry. You won’t mess up and even if you did, there’s always next time.” 

He didn’t seem fully convinced of that, but it was obvious he wanted to continue by how his length pressed against her stomach. She knew how to get his mind off of those insecurities, really to get his mind off of anything. She knelt slowly, to see his reaction. His facial expressions were getting easier to read, the more times she’d spent with him. He didn’t seem opposed, nor was he pushing her away or else pulling her back up.

He started to say something, she thought it was the usual gentlemanly “You don’t have to do that,” sort of thing, but he stopped as her lips pressed against him. 

Another interesting thing about Quarians was the slip of skin half covering his length that she’d seen when she’d looked down. She could barely see it now, but even so, Ryan didn’t mind it, even though she’d never seen one in person before. Her only other experience with aliens had been her husband. Drell weren’t anything like humans, other than they were perfectly capable of fucking them.

She gave him a small smile before parting her lips. 

He hissed as she took him into her mouth. It was a little easier, she realized, to move her hands than usual, and he seemed to really like it. He gently wound his fingers in her hair, playing with the strands. She thought she probably looked like a drowned rat, but he clearly didn’t think so or else didn’t care at this point. 

The beacon of his eyes dimmed as his eyes slid shut.

“Ryan,” he said. “As much as I’d like you to keep going, you are going to have to stop that.” 

She paused looking up at him. He groaned, and she realized he must quite like the look of her like that, on her knees, her lips still around him. 

Ryan let him gently guide her back up. He examined her for a moment, lost in thought, before wordlessly picking her up. He carried her to his bed, his feet padding along the floor.

Fuck, he was strong. While Ryan wasn’t a very large person, she was still heavy enough that it was odd to see him lift her without any struggle, especially given his center of gravity was a little different than hers, what with his backward – well, backward to her, arching legs.

She originally attributed his excessively sweet nature to how gentle he was being, before she remembered her years of training in Quarian anatomy. He was decently stronger than a human of his size, meaning he was a lot stronger than her. He was probably scared he’d bruise her or something. Humans weren’t quite that fragile, but it was sweet anyway.

When he climbed on top of her, nudging her legs apart, she wrapped her hand around him, assuming he was going to take her right then. She was ready for him to do it.

He’d either gained confidence, or she’d successfully gotten his mind off of his nervousness, because he swatted her hand away, like he had when he took off her dress and instead ran his lips over her neck and shoulder. “You’re impatient,” he said. 

Her flush spread from her cheeks to her chest. “I can’t really help it.”

Senna looked at her, momentarily confused. That’s when she realized that she was hearing his Khelish like a natural born speaker, but had responded in English. His helmet was gone, closed off in the bathroom, and that was where his translator was — Quarians weren’t fond of unnecessary implants like that. She’d been so distracted she hadn’t even registered the switch. All that talking over the last few months must have been doing more than she’d realized.

He was always so kind about never insulting her Khelish or laughing at her. It made it so much easier to practice with him than it had been with anyone else. She appreciated that, that he hadn’t even mentioned her accent. He’d mentioned her grammar was getting better a few weeks ago, though.

“You really are beautiful,” he said, as one of his hands trailed up her inner thigh. 

Khelish was poetic. English could be poetic, but it also had the capacity for a robotic nature that Ryan had always found unpleasant. There were several different meanings of the word “beautiful,” in the Quarian language.

There was the beauty of the natural world like mountains and scenery. They had a word for beautiful that had to do with prose and one for poetry because some Quarians could craft strings of words in verse that could carve themselves into a person’s being in an unforgettable way. They could devastate them and bring down the stars on their heads, or raise them up to those same stars.

That was the one he used for her. To use it on a person - it was more than an “I love you.” He meant that she changed his life in a way that he divided into before Ryan and after Ryan. She guessed that he must be as stupid about love as she was, finding it too easy to fall hard and fast.

She was glad they were on the same page.

“You are too,” Ryan whispered, switching to Khelish. 

“Nothing compared to you.” 

It was his turn to render her speechless, because his fingers, which had been hovering an inch from where she wanted them to be, moved. One of them, the larger one? She wasn’t sure, slid inside of her while his thumb settled over her clit. 

Ryan thought she might levitate off his bed. “Ancestors.” 

Human exclamations always sounded odd in Khelish. It was automatic at this point, to adjust to their cultural references. His thumb swirled around in small circles. 

He chuckled at that – he’d always found it cute when she’d say things like that, he’d almost died laughing the first time she’d said Keelah in front of him, when she’d knocked an entire rack of beakers over, causing them to scatter in all directions. Actually, he’d probably been laughing at both of those things.

The vibrations of his laugh vibrated against her chest pleasantly. He flicked his tongue over her nipple, before closing his mouth around it.

He was impressive, she’d give him that. His ability to curl his fingers, while moving his thumb just so was mind-boggling. If it weren’t for his earlier confession about curiosity about the human body, she’d have thought he had extensive experience – maybe had written a master’s thesis on it. Shit, maybe he'd defended a dissertation on the clitoris.

It was impossible to hold still, and he didn’t seem to mind how she couldn’t help but move with him.

Occasionally she’d open her eyes and see him examining her face and her body in general, clearly trying to figure her reactions out. 

Her hands clenched around his shoulders — Quarians really were denser than humans, she thought to herself, as the buzz of pleasure crept up her spine.

“Senna,” she said, quietly, her voice a bit pleading. Either that wasn’t something that translated between their species, or he was intent on finishing what he started. 

He dragged his slightly sharper teeth down her shoulder. The feeling made her shiver, rather than hurt. The sensation did what she expected he intended it to because she felt herself clench around his hand, coming hard. He kept moving with her until she went slightly limp onto the bed.

Before she’d recovered, he moved her legs even more apart and slid into her, all in one smooth movement. 

“Keelah,” he hissed, echoing her earlier exclamation. He drew back out of her again, almost all the way before grabbing her hips firmly to go back in. 

“Uh-huh,” she said, unable to form a more coherent response. Not sexy, but she doubted he was paying that close of attention.

His hair had mostly fallen out of its tie and brushed wetly against her shoulder when his head dropped to her neck. His lips lazily, and a little clumsily made their way over her neck, shoulders, and jaw in gentle kisses.

Much like earlier, he let out a string of Khelish between them that she was sure was extremely naughty, since she didn’t recognize half of the words. She’d ask him later because right now, she didn’t care.

He sped up, he looked down at her like he was considering something before he started to circle her clit again with his thumb. 

Ryan almost screamed at the sensation. She was still so sensitive; it was almost too intense but had her riding the edge within seconds. 

What fucking vids did he watch? They needed to be required reading for a man of any species to touch a human woman. Perhaps that could be a new law in Andromeda. Galaxy wide. She could probably get political support for that.

Since he’d leaned up a little, to better look at her, she couldn’t grab his shoulders like before, so she held onto his bed frame for dear life, as he thrust into her repeatedly, causing the soft parts of her body to bounce gently with each movement, her hair tangling from the friction of the pillow rubbing against it.

“Humans…” he breathed, “are very interesting. I can feel it when you — with my hand. I’m a bit curious…”

It was obvious what he was getting at, and good god was she interested in helping him find out. 

She felt that same tingle in her spine, radiating out between her legs as she felt herself tense again, only this time around his much larger length, the difference in pressure almost enough to make her black out. 

He lost rhythm as she came apart around him, involuntarily squeezing the life out of him, before shuddering to a stop, his hands in a death grip around her hips as he finished.

With a shuddering breath, he half collapsed on top of her, being careful not to squish her.

“That was…” he started to say. 

“Yeah,” Ryan said.

They were quiet for a moment, both half shocked by what they'd done when Senna seemed a little... uncomfortable?

"Ryan, I hope you know... this was special to me. Not about anything else that happened tonight."

He didn't need to say what happened. She didn't think anyone at that party would forget it.

"I know."

"I mean it -- I was about to ask you to come back with me when Anax and Borbala showed up to talk about -- well, it doesn't matter what they were there to talk about -- before they interrupted. Quarians don't do this with someone on a whim. It was about you. You're special to me."

He really was sweet. 

"I know," she repeated, as he stroked her hair away from her face. "You are too."

Chapter Text

Telem’Yered vas Keelah Si'yah’s head felt like a herd of varren had trampled on it – felt like they’d broken his faceplate into minuscule slivers of shards that stabbed into his prismatic eyes. When he tried to sit up, like the fool he was, his stomach roiled like he’d then eaten those varren.

The thought of it triggered a violent retch – at that point, his high-tech suit kicked in with its emergency systems. He hissed as a tiny, quadruple sterilized needle punctured his arm, dosing him with strong antiemetics and enough painkillers to kill a pyjak outright. 

The air in his suit both smelled and tasted like bad decisions, Turian whiskey, and a shot of Krogan ryncol. Had he been stupid enough to take a shot of ryncol last night? Probably. He needed to get a clean room. He’d just booked one yesterday, but he’d have to go in again –a hangover this wicked required a hot shower.

As Telem laid in his bed in the oversized, artificially-darked Pathfinder quarters, he tried to remember what happened last night. He squinted at the side table next to him, groaning when he saw an empty bottle of Turian brandy. It was wrapped with a trashy label with an impressively unrealistically busty Quarian woman in a sultry red suit – one unlike anything an actual Quarian would wear. The provocative artwork emphasized the Turians’ legendary fetish for Quarian women; this was the sort of garbage booze someone might find hidden in a recruit’s bunk with a stack of Fornax.

Keelah, it isn’t even the good kind of brandy, he thought to himself. 

The whole thing was turned on its side without a cap, though the table under it was conspicuously dry. So, he’d mixed three types of alcohol? Ancestors, he hadn’t done anything like that since his pilgrimage. He couldn’t imagine anything that would make him –

A message pinged through his helmet – and his SAMS spoke to him about something trivial, even though he’d specifically ordered it not to unless he asked. He still didn’t like the idea of it being in his suit – it was a part of him after all, but at least it wasn’t embedded in his skull like the other Pathfinders’. He’d have to ask Senna why it had –

Oh no. That was what had happened last night. 

The memory of his hand on Ryan’s thigh made him cringe at the same time as a wave of wistfulness crashed over him – he wished he could have felt her dress without his gloves. It looked like silk in the dim light. He’d always wondered what silk felt like – Quarians didn’t have it.

He’d botched that situation, he knew it – hadn’t realized that Senna was that attached to her, or that she was to him. And even so, it was common for Quarians to share partners – it was an extension of their attitudes of property. They didn’t believe in property like other races might, and so, they didn’t believe their partners were property, even more than they didn’t believe communal suit components were one Quarians possession. But Ryan was human, and so far as he knew, that wasn’t the most common way to view relationships for them. 

Or maybe Senna was still angry about Qetsi – he couldn’t blame him, but it had all been so long ago, and none of that had been his fault. Surely the Commander knew that?

Another thought occurred to him, one that threatened to overpower the supercharged nausea meds.

Maybe Ryan really, really hadn’t wanted him to touch her, and in his whiskey-addled brain hadn’t realized he’d overstepped in a truly awful way. The thought made his blood run cold.

That would be a really good reason for Senna to be so angry – because he was incredibly angry, now that everything was coming back, he realized it. He’d never seen the First Officer angry like that. Though, Telem suspected that if he’d really done anything bad Senna would have hit him.

He’d have deserved it.

But then he remembered Ryan’s expression, one of interest and then of nerves when Senna’s hand had dropped to her shoulder, like she’d been caught doing something she wasn’t supposed to. She hadn’t looked at him, but at Senna when she’d said it was alright – she was alright.

No – he didn’t think he’d overstepped like that, perhaps he’d been a bit too brazen and public about the whole thing, and maybe – no definitely had bad timing, but…

He hadn’t imagined it. She’d smiled at him – and he’d seen the heat in her cheeks when he leaned in. She hadn’t been drunk, she said so herself, he recalled – so it wasn’t the alcohol flushing them. She hadn’t pulled back, and it didn’t have the feel of someone frozen in fear.

She, on some level, definitely wanted him, of that Telem was almost certain. 

But – if she didn’t want to act on those feelings, then was that the same as not wanting him?

Maybe he should back off, like Senna clearly wanted him to. It would be difficult, but he could do it. He had more important things to worry about than women – like finding his people a homeworld.

More of the previous night came back in flashes. His swiping the awful brandy from behind the bar, stumbling around through the artificial parks, before finally locking himself in his quarters.

He also remembered the stares of everyone, especially his officers and the other Quarian guests, and how he’d had to manually turn his translator back on when the Asari Pathfinder had asked him about the meeting planned for the following week.

By itself, that told Telem that the argument must have been far more explosive than he realized. He felt like an idiot – he was an idiot. 

I really should apologize to Ryan, he thought to himself.

He slowly forced himself up from his bed and to the clean room attached to his quarters, peeling off each layer of his suit, and putting it in the sanitization machine where it was washed, rinsed, sterilized, and pressed – in the case of his undersuit.

Wrinkles on their clothes under the suits didn’t technically matter, but it was one thing everyone clung to, even after three hundred years, along with haircuts aided by very narrow but technically proficient VI’s. There was just something about having neat hair that kept them feeling Quarian. Telem himself preferred a shorter style than Senna, who he knew wore his a little longer, but still shorter than most other men. He’d just trimmed his hair yesterday, so he headed straight for the showers.

Being Pathfinder had benefits, and the privilege to the larger, nicer, clean rooms, were one of the main ones, if Telem had to choose.

**

Ryan had left early in the morning, needing to head to an appointment with a patient. After carefully putting everything in place, and throwing his sheets in the sterilize wash, he ran the sanitizer mist over his whole quarters, before heading to the clean room to assess the damage to his health. It had been worth it, but he had to change his suit completely and probably needed some immune boosters. Thinking of Ryan, he walked cheerfully down the quiet hallways. Everyone was either at work, or the sleeping night crew, or else too hungover to do much of anything at all. He expected the third group to be congregated at the clean rooms, so they could wash away the smell of their heavy-handed drinks, thanks to the overly generous bartender from last night. He felt a little bad as he turned the corner to the officers’ baths, but stopped short at what he saw.

“Telem,” Senna said coolly, as the clean room door hissed shut behind the Pathfinder.

He didn’t think he was imagining the unsteadiness in Telem’s gait as he walked out of the room, the faint sound of the automatic cleaner whirring behind the closed door the only thing cutting through the silence of the empty hallway.

The First Officer thought that Telem’s body language seemed sufficiently remorseful. It was one of the things Quarians had learned to determine to balance out the emotionless nature of their envirosuits. He raised a dark blue eyebrow behind his visor when Telem sheered his own. He didn’t give the Pathfinder the same courtesy – he was still too angry with his scene last night, but he did feel slightly bad for the man.

If Senna had to determine the best and simplest way to describe Telem’s appearance, it would be ‘He looks like absolute shit.’ Sprinkles of little purple petechiae were sprinkled across his cheeks in a haphazard splash of broken capillaries. Clearly Telem’s suit’s medical capabilities hadn’t been enough to keep up with whatever he’d done after Ryan and himself had left. The offending substances must have exited his body more than a little forcefully.

“Good morning,” the Pathfinder said, slightly hoarsely. “I – um…”

Senna’s voice was clipped, each syllable enunciated with hostility. “You have something to say, I take it? Out with it. I don’t have all day.”

Telem leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. Without his mask sheered, Senna would have said it was defensiveness, maybe even arrogance. Instead, the Pathfinder looked surprisingly… vulnerable. Something he’d never seen, though obviously no one could be strong and confident all the time. “I apologize for my behavior last night. It was… unprofessional of me and I know it must have stirred some things up and –”

Blue fabric bunched under Senna’s clenched fingers, which were firmly clawed around his biceps. Stirred things up? Telem had to be joking. “That’s the understatement of the millennium.”

“I know everything with Qetsi—”

The First Officer went rigid at the name. He did not want to talk about Qetsi right now – did not want to deal with triggering any seeds of doubt in his Pathfinder, things that might land them all in big trouble. It was imperative that Telem not know about his former lover’s treachery, at least not yet.

“I don’t want to talk about Qetsi,” Senna said, his voice uncharacteristically cold.

It was an inopportune moment for Senna to cough, that telltale immune response to Ryan… Any Quarian would know it. The apologetic but intense atmosphere turned heavy with simmering anger.

“We’re going to have to talk about it eventually,” Telem hissed. “Qetsi and Ryan. I see you didn’t waste any time, you Ancestor’s damned hypocrite.”

“That’s rich, coming from you,” Senna snapped. “What Ryan and I did was private – meaning it’s not any of your business. Unlike you, who made your little… whatever that was at the party everyone’s business. Who is going to take you seriously? People might question you now, when you do locate the homeworld, you jackass.”

Senna knew Telem was goading him – even though jealousy was common, it had never been a major issue for him until Qetsi, and the Pathfinder must have known that. Telem had won Qetsi, won the Pathfinder position, won so many other things when they were younger. It was just Telem. Senna couldn’t blame Ryan if she wanted him, and he suspected she did. He wasn’t stupid.

Telem always had women flock to him. It wasn’t that he was any more handsome than Senna, any smarter than Senna. And he’d never cared much about Telem's charisma with the opposite sex until Qetsi. He must have had something, though, to convince Qetsi to be exclusive. Or maybe Senna really was lacking in comparison. It had never been her style until she met the Pathfinder, so it had to be something to do with him.

But Ryan was human. It might very well be how she was, that she’d choose one of them without prompting. Was last night a sign she’d chosen him, that he was safe from losing her like he lost Qetsi? Ancestors he hoped so.

Telem was just as confusing. Senna had never seen him worry all that much about exclusivity until he met Qetsi, either. Perhaps his dislike of Senna was mutual, and Senna was the one person he couldn’t stand being in a throuple with – or was it called that if they weren’t together too?

“You do know that it wasn’t – what’s a jackass?” Telem started, but at Senna’s crossed arms and upright stance, he knew it was a lost cause.

He threw up his own arms, muttering something about having things to do, leaving Senna to his simmering.

The First Officer gave an irritated groan of frustration. He was sure that the people in line would have more gossip material after seeing how they must have run into each other in the hallways, probably making wild assumptions by Telem stomping away. Shaking his head, Senna entered the clean room as a Quarian-shaped being of irritation, and chose the most in-depth program, hoping that the line would disperse by the time he got out.

As he sat there, letting the scissors snip at the ends of his hair, the little bits of it falling to the tiles and sticking there, or else to his boots, Senna kicked himself mentally, not just for his shouting match with Telem – both of them, he guessed, and his questionable choice to bring Ryan back to his quarters while emotions were running so high, but also for the fact he’d stupidly and unprompted brought up how Qetsi died – only saving at the last second by telling the doctor about Qetsi’s disastrous pilgrimage. Anax had suggested that they let others believe she’d sacrificed herself to disperse the cure, as they’d said from the beginning, but not elaborate on whether she had been the immune subject – which she had been. Even something this small this might give Ryan a clue to Qetsi’s motive, and from there, it was only a few mental leaps to get to the truth. Ryan was one of those people who wanted to see the best in everyone – judging by her previous choice in partner, that much was obvious, but optimism could only go so far. He suspected her conclusion would be the one Anax had carefully laid out – that Qetsi made a noble sacrifice, but still, she might guess the real story. She was smart enough to.

No one thus far had thoroughly questioned why she and Malak’Rafa had been airlocked, along with a few others like Ysses, unlike those that were kept in the morgue for a proper send-off. They’d taken the Drell at her word that the those individuals had requested to be buried in space, and interpreted Senna’s silent presence as an expression of deepest sorrow. But he felt it was only a matter of time before they did question it – after all, it would be quite suspicious that only one, or maybe two – they'd never tested Malak, were immune to the virus, and airlocking them to ostensibly fulfill the wishes of the dead was the best way to cover the potential for investigators to figure out why Qetsi was immune. He was glad they had and that Borbala had gleefully lit the physical records on fire as Anax had wiped them meticulously from every solid-state drive and cloud. Unlike most people, Ryan would have figured it out by now if they hadn’t. Good natured optimism or not, she was too smart for her own good. It was part of the reason why he liked her. He knew that she’d figure it out, with the fishiness of anyone being immune at all, much less only one or two people. What were the odds? Ryan was sharp enough to deduce it was no coincidence. Keelah, she'd realized it was a bio-weapon and not an accident before she'd fully tested the virus' RNA.

He hoped that she hadn’t noticed the abrupt change of subject to the misfortunes Qetsi had faced. Anax Therion had been right to worry he couldn’t lie or manipulate effectively enough. The story he’d given hadn’t been a complete falsehood, just dishonestly incomplete. Even so, it had been so hard to look into her eyes and lie, even if by omission, even through a face plate.

He wasn’t sure the doctor would forgive him if she found out or, despite what Anax had suggested, that she would agree to keep the secret for him. That scared him more than losing her to Telem – the idea that she would turn him in. But he wouldn't lie to himself. As selfish as it was, he worried it might drive her to the Pathfinder, and he’d lose someone else. Only this time it would be completely his fault. Maybe last night would be his only time with her.

But Ancestors, he hoped not.

He showered, dried off, redressed in his clean suit and made his way back to his room. He just sat there for a minute, unsure what path to take, before he pulled the little disk out.

The figure flicked into existence. She always knew what to do.

“Hello, my grandson," said Liat’Nir.

**

After her first appointment of the day had headed out with their antibiotics, Ryan sat in her empty office in complete silence. She didn’t even have the mental capacity to turn on music, or a podcast to occupy her jittery mind.

Ryan wasn’t sure whether it had been wise to go back with Senna last night, but she didn’t regret it. It had been amazing and he was just…

She hadn’t felt like that about anyone since Telyat had died. For all her rational mind might have told her it was stupid, it felt right then and it felt right still. What did worry her, and what did make her feel guilty, had been the feeling of Telem’s hand on her cheek. She knew that if it weren’t for Senna, and for Telem being completely wasted, she’d have happily pursued it.

What did that say about her?

But then again, she still very much loved Telyat. Her feelings for Senna didn’t diminish that either.

She rested her head on the cold surface of her desk, trying to fight the migraine that was edging into her temple and that little spot just above her eyebrows, that feeling of the spot threatening to start pounding with pain and the little geometric rainbow shapes that had started to float across the walls before she’d closed her eyes.

Fishing into her desk drawer without looking up, her hands felt on the blister pack of migraine medications that she popped into her mouth, where it melted on her tongue in a sickly strawberry flavor mixed with a bitter chemical aftertaste.

Maybe she should call it a day, let her nurse practitioner take over for the rest of the it and just hole up in her quarters, the lights turned low. As she debated whether or not she could brave the walk back through the minefield of bright lights yet, the door slid open and closed behind her.

Well, it mostly closed. It caught on something about three-quarters of the way across. It’d been doing that lately; she’d meant to call tech about it, had told both Telem and Senna that the handful of times they’d offered to fix it.

“I apologize. I’m getting a migraine, but can I help you with anything?” She asked the floor.

She really should have had one of them fix and add an anti-Batarian forcefield, or at least a barrier that would keep this one out.

“Feeling a little stressed, doc? I thought you might have dealt with that last night.”

She could hear the smirk in Borbala’s voice, imagine the way her excessively, yet lopsided-eyed face crinkled with amusement at her expense – how very Batarian of her. Give her a gun and a bag of red sand, and the picture would be complete. Perhaps that was a narrow-minded thought, but her mind was literally narrowing at that moment and she couldn’t bring herself to care all that much. Ryan finally looked up and saw that she was right. The chartreuse-colored, black-eyed woman, was staring down at her, leaning lazily against the wall. Her smirk was just as irritating as she'd imagined. Her eyes, even the missing one, seemed to sparkle with mirth, and the scar that led to the old wound puckered with amusement.

Ryan’s vision was still blurry at the edges, but her voice didn’t shake. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh please. Everyone saw that little display last night. We’ve all got eyes,” she said, gesturing to her own. “If I didn’t know how much of a prude you are, I’d think you were going to go the Quarian way, you know – their whole ‘sharing is caring’ thing." Borbala tilted her head, examining Ryan, "Actually, now that I think of it, I'm amazed the First Officer managed to get you out of your clothes, you little priss. Maybe I underestimated you. I bet the Pathfinder would be happy for me to be wrong.”

Ryan stiffened at the accusation. There were some groups of Quarians that were like that, but she hadn’t realized it was particularly common. It was entirely possible that it was common, and her associates at the Flotilla simply hadn’t mentioned it. All the same, she’d hoped no one would notice her dilemma, and if Borbala could see it across the room, there was no way that Senna hadn’t.

She knew about Senna, Telem, and Qetsi – their twisted tangle of feelings. Even if Borbala was being entirely truthful about how common it was, somehow, she doubted that they’d be okay with any of that. Just because Quarians did that didn’t mean that they did. There was no way they wouldn’t make her choose. These feelings for Telem might even just pass for both of them, and make this a non-issue. She was familiar with the concept of trauma-bonding and perhaps that was it for him. She’d set herself up for it, really, by being the one to give him the bad news. It would certainly make things less complicated once he healed from Qetsi and everything on his ship.

Though that could take years.

Before she thought better of it, she replied to the bothersome Batarian.

"Humans don’t really—well, I mean, it’s just…different, and they… there’s just no way," she said, fumbling a little as she tried to navigate her own thoughts.

"Different? Sure, but Senna and Telem are Quarians," Borbala winked. "No one’s going to bat an eye if you like them both – or love them both,” Borbala surveyed her, her lips slightly curled. “You seem like the type to be all… sentimental.”

Ryan closed her eyes again and rested her forehead on her shiny black desk again. The exhaustion was starting to wear on her. “I highly doubt that. Well – except for the sentimental part.”

Unfortunately, at that moment she heard footsteps, Quarian ones by the sound of the heavy -- but not as heavy as Krogan boots. Borbala chuckled and she knew it was one of them. Batarian sense of smell could detect the antiseptic smell of Quarians better than humans, and there weren't many Quarians that would visit her unannounced. She wasn’t sure which one would be worse to overhear this. Her gut instinct was Senna, who was so sensitive – she was terrified of doing anything to hurt him, so she breathed a quiet sigh of relief when she heard the voice behind her.

Chapter Text

Telem, having walked in at just the wrong time, or based on what he heard – just the right time, paused by the entrance. He hadn't meant to listen in, only to apologize again. Despite Senna’s bitching, he wasn’t the wronged party here, Ryan was. Borbala’s voice always carried just as surely as any Krogan carried a shotgun, and with the same grace too.

His gut twisted uncomfortably at the casual xenophobia in the Batarian’s unkind quip about “sharing” that he was used to. But despite the usual prejudice, his heart leapt. It was more than exhilarating to know that it wasn’t something Ryan sounded completely against.

The tension in Ryan's voice didn’t escape him either. He shifted his stance, briefly torn between stepping in or leaving quietly before anyone noticed him.

The moment passed, but it stayed with him, gnawing at his thoughts. Both of them caring for Ryan wasn’t the issue. It seemed Ryan knew that, or at least suspected, from the little he’d caught.

But he’d been right – she did want him.

Deciding it was best to slip away, he hesitated at the cracked doorway for a moment too long, because Borbala made eye contact with him, smiling that sharp smile of needle like teeth.

Instead of pushing the button like a normal person, she forcefully pried the already broken door open until he heard something snap. It was obvious that Borbala’s pointedly loud ‘Hey, Pathfinder’ as she’d shoved past him, had been to torment Ryan and aggravate him.

It worked.

He frowned at the door, which rocked inside its frame, hanging on by a thread, instead of neatly folding into the wall. Turning slightly to avoid the hoses at the back of his head from catching on it, he stepped into the room.

Human facial features were different than Quarians’. They were more expressive around the eyes; he’d learned that from being around her. Hers were what humans called amber, and their size was bigger or smaller depending on a range of emotions he’d tried to learn. Big for surprise. Small for laughter. That sort of thing.

Sometimes, the colorful part of her eyes – she’d called them irises, would point down, sometimes away from his face, or point directly at him. He hadn’t figured out the difference between ‘down’ and ‘to the side’ yet… But right now?

If Telem had to guess, he might say she looked embarrassed, based on her body language, which he’d also been trying to learn. She crossed her arms across her front and looked away with her whole face, rather than just her eyes. Ryan had told him on more than one occasion that body language was pseudoscience, but he wasn’t quite sure.

Maybe from a medical standpoint, or a legal one, but not like this.

“Ryan,” he said softly, gently, feeling slightly guilty about listening in, even accidentally.

Ryan sat up, still avoiding. Now it was only her eyes looking away and to the side.

She always knew, somehow, when he was looking at her a little too intently, even with the faceplate. Maybe it was how much time she’d lived on the Fleet. And that’s when he noticed the slight flush on her cheeks. She’d called her skin ‘olive,’ which confused him.

He’d had to look the word up. Olive was green and Ryan, unlike most Batarians and Drell, was not green. Her skin was what he would call very light brown, a shade or so darker than Ryder’s. A pinkish red tinged on the planes of her face and across the slope of her nose.

She’d done that once before, when Borbala Ferank teased her about her regulation jumpsuit and ‘prissy braid.’ Ryan only recovered once he’d asked her if it was called a ranch braid and nearly died laughing trying to explain that to Telem that he meant a French braid. The Batarian had grown bored over a brief overview of human languages, and the long explanation of what salad dressings were, what a salad was, and what a ranch was. When Ryan started pulling up pictures of cattle on her omnitool, Borbala slunk off to harass someone else.

Embarrassed, definitely embarrassed, he thought, putting a pin in that for later. The rounded amber colored part to the side, sometimes embarrassed. If they looked down, sometimes sad.

“Telem” she replied, her voice uncertain. “I don’t know much you heard but –”

“You don’t have to explain anything, Ryan. I…wanted to talk. And apologize again for last night.”

She finally met his eyes. A little wrinkle appeared between her exceptionally expressive brows. They often told him things, but he still couldn’t always understand them. Quarian eyebrows had very little movement, and weren’t tied to emotional changes – again, humans were just more outwardly expressive.

And he thought that little line between her eyebrows and the slight downturn of her mouth might have meant… nervousness? Maybe he was reading too much into it. He pressed on.

“Last night—I shouldn’t have acted like that. I know I was out of line, and I’m sorry.”

“I… It’s okay. You were drunk, and we’ve all made mistakes. But…”

And she trailed off. He could feel her struggling to voice whatever she felt. “It’s more complicated than that, isn’t it?” She finished.

“Yeah, it is,” he said with a sigh, leaning against the wall of her office, facing her but keeping a respectful distance. He could see how vulnerable she was, with the way she kept her hands in front of her still, and crumpled way her shoulders slouched. “I just – I couldn’t help but hear… I didn’t mean to put you in a weird position. Or make you feel like you had to choose between me and Senna, or embarrass you, shit – even embarrass him. I know how much history we all have, and I just…I don’t want to mess things up. We’ve—Senna and I that is – only just been able to kind of… put all that behind us.”

Ryan shifted, crossing her arms over her chest again, the weight of everything was clearly on her mind. He hated that he’d had any part of making her feel like that – he was sure Senna would too, if he knew that he was unwittingly part of it.

“I’ll admit, it’s…a lot. I care about you, and I care about Senna. But, I’m not used to…this.

She gestured vaguely, in a poor attempt to encompass the ‘this.’

“I don’t know a lot about your people, especially, um – in that way, but I know humans aren’t really used to the idea of what Borbala so charmingly called…’sharing.’ She didn’t help, I guess,” he said with a small smile, trying his best to reassure her.

Ryan shook her head, looking down at for a second before meeting his gaze again. It was hard to keep his confidence when she did that.

“It’s not just that. It’s…everything. You and Senna have history, and now I’m…in the middle of it,” her voice faltered, “And I don’t know what to do about it. And this is all my fault. I – I didn’t even plan saying anything. I don’t want any of us to get…”

She trailed off. He took a step closer, his expression softening, though she couldn’t really see it, he realized, and he turned the opacity on his mask all the way down, revealing a soft smile, before he spoke.

“Ryan, I’m not asking you to make a decision right now. I don’t even know if I have the right to ask anything of you at all – I, it just doesn’t seem like this is completely out of line to say... I just don’t want what happened last night to ruin things between us. I respect you. I respect Senna, even though he’s...”

Well, Senna is a lot of things, thought Telem. He figured it was best if he didn’t voice any of those things at the moment.

Ryan frowned slightly, lost in thought for a moment before responding.

“You’re not ruining things, Telem. But…what happened last night wasn’t exactly how I imagined things would go. I’ve never had guys fight over me before...”

Telem’s smile faded a little, replaced by a more somber expression.

“I’m trying to compete with Senna, I swear. I never have, despite what he might have told you. Because if I know one thing about him, it’s that he’s a little… never mind – It’s not like that for Quarians – at least not for me. Actually, I never got the impression he cared that much either. But I don’t want to be a reminder of...” Telem paused, not wanting to get into everything about Qetsi just now, “But I can’t ignore how I feel, either.”

It was true. Privately, Telem thought it would be much better if he didn’t care for Ryan, because she could blow up a lot of his plans. Actually, that wasn’t fair to her.

She was something he would prioritize over things he shouldn’t be prioritizing her over and he would blow up his own plans. He had no question he would do it, that he would also blow things up with his First Officer, despite how much progress they’d made, if he had to.

Toxic, maybe. But Telem didn’t particularly care about that – just Ryan and his people. He definitely wouldn’t back off for Senna, unless Ryan asked him to. He respected Senna, he always had, but the dip in her cheek when smiled was something he couldn’t give up. It was the same with her eyes, which looked greenish in some lights, and gold in others. She’d told him that they were technically hazel, but that they weren’t all that interesting for a human.

She was full of shit when it came to things like that.

Ryan looked up at him, and he thought she seemed surprised by the honesty in his voice, the way her eyebrows moved the tiniest bit up. “How do you feel?”

Telem took a deep breath, clearly weighing his words before answering.

“I like you, Ryan. More than I thought I would. But I know it’s complicated with Senna, the fact that I haven’t exactly been…charming,” he said with a slightly self-deprecating chuckle. “But I’m not here to pressure you. I just wanted you to know that, and to apologize for how I acted. It wasn’t fair to you.”

Ryan’s expression softened as she processed his words She didn’t answer right away, but the weight between them lifted, became a little less heavy, loaded.

“I wouldn’t say you’re not… you’re actually really…” She trailed off, “I appreciate that. And I care about you too, Telem. But I don’t want to feel like I’m caught between two people I care about. I’m not sure how to…navigate this. And Senna…”

Telem nodded, his eyes full of understanding.

“I get it. And I don’t want to put you in that position, but you should know that the issues—you know, with me and Senna, that isn’t your problem. With Qetsi… it was complicated. Maybe, I’ll explain it sometime – besides, that’s a long overdue conversation with Senna,” he said thoughtfully, before continuing. “For a lot of reasons. But just, don’t feel bad, Ryan. There’re no expectations at least, not from me, no pressure.”

The tension from the previous night eased slightly in that moment of understanding, the pensive look turning into a smile that pulled his scar a little. He ghosted a gloved hand down her arm, far more gently than he had last night.

“Thanks, Telem.” Ryan said quietly.

“I mean it, Ryan. If you ever need to talk, I’m here,” he said. “I’ll let you get back to whatever you were doing. I just needed to say that.”

He turned the opacity of his mask up again, and Ryan watched him go, feeling a little lighter, but still with a sense of apprehension. For all that Telem might be fine with her seeing Senna, she thought he was underestimating the First Officer’s old hurt from Qetsi. But judging from what Telem had said, maybe there was something more to that?

She shook her head, giving up on work for the day using her migraine as an out.

***

Later that evening, unable to sleep, Ryan sat on the couch in her quarters, her mind whirring as she swiped through a social media feed.

Cat video.

Eyeliner tutorial.

Knitting.

Asari cocktails.

Varren fight – she hit block on that one.

Vegan recipes.

She threw her datapad down, where it bounced across the black pleather and then slid to the floor with a thump, landing screen down.

On top of Borbala’s rude interruption and Telem’s overhearing it, the story of Qetsi’s near death experience at the hands of fungi and Salarians nagged at her. There was something about it that she was missing. She hadn’t forgotten the first time she’d met a Quarian. She was on her Pilgrimage on Earth, of all places. Most people there hadn’t met a Quarian either, so she could understand why they would choose Earth. 

It was a toss-up as to whether a group that had no experience with your species would react with curiosity, fear, or violence in the case of the First Contact War. Most of the humans she saw interact with Laesa’Reegar, who was there to learn tech skills, unlike most of her marine family, were in the first group, but occasionally the second. 

Overt racism, xenophobia, or exophobia – whatever someone wanted to call it for aliens was more tied to violence than a lot of people realized. What the Turians did the humans was a good example of that. But most of the time, those things were less common, among humans specifically. The reason it was rarer than for the other council races was that humans hadn’t been around in the galactic community when everything with the Geth happened, but that didn’t mean that things were perfect and no humans were bigoted against the Quarians.

Someone had called the gentle-hearted Laesa, who’d become a friend to her, and later the whole reason she’d had an “in” to get her fellowship on the Fleet, a suit-rat. Things like that had always made Ryan blind with rage – perhaps it was generational trauma, or just her sense of humanity that so many lacked. While Laesa retreated and cried, Ryan stood and screamed at the very tall, very scary merchant. If he didn’t want to serve dirty “suit-rats,” she was sure he’d have no fondness for her either. It was something she was familiar with, growing up Jewish in a small town. Xenophobia wasn’t based in any sort of logic, just fear, ignorance, violence, and hatred.

It was a bit insane of her to yell at him, she realized in retrospect. It was absolutely reckless, but fight or flight didn’t always make sense.

That was all to say that misunderstanding another group could be dangerous, the fear of them even deadlier. And that was clearly an issue galaxy-wide. What the Salarians had done to Qetsi’Olam was a prime example of this. A fun joke to one group, might mean death to another. But that wasn’t the half of it – jealousy and greed made people turn on their neighbors, participating in atrocities to grab their land. That’s what dehumanization did to people – or what would it be called if the person were a Quarian? Dequarianization? 

The virus was something else though, something beyond any of that. It was an intentional act of hatred, a manifestation of misunderstanding turned to violence. It was foolish to think that sort of behavior was limited to humanity, aliens could be just as cruel to each other, if not worse. The Genophage was an extreme version of eugenics, something that really should have ended in a tribunal if the perpetrators hadn’t lived over a thousand years ago. Plenty of aliens framed the genophage as “self-defense,” but she’d always called bullshit on that.

These sorts of things started out as casual cruelty and slowly escalated with the help of an apathetic populace.  Then, sometimes, but not always, the oppressed got desperate and angry, rightly so, of course, and – and –

Something occurred to her then.

What exactly had Qetsi’Olam studied during her pilgrimage? The thought was preposterous, absurd even, but Ryan couldn't shake it. At this point, nothing could be ruled out. Her earlier theory about a Trojan horse had seemed like a stretch at the time, but it would explain her growing instinct that the virus wasn’t best explained by Occam’s Razor. Or rather, that it was, but the call was coming from inside the house, so to speak.

But Qetsi?

The very idea felt wrong, almost impossible. Qetsi had been a beacon of intellect and innovation – and incredibly well respected, despite her youth. It was unimaginable that someone with such a strong understanding of oppression could turn around and oppress others. Yet, the more Ryan considered it, the more plausible it seemed. This had historical precedence; her mind turned over every example in her hand, slowly, like someone might roll out bread.

What if the virus had nothing to do with the Ark's passengers at all? What if it was targeting someone beyond the ship?

Salarians.

The word crept into Ryan’s mind. The race famous for their scientific advancements, and infamous for their less than ethically sound experiments. It was possible they’d invented it, but this could have been a great frame-up for someone that hated them. A powerful enough grudge could make an enemy see a disease as poetic justice—a biological weapon to repay bioterrorists, even the distant descendants of those, in kind.

The thought made Ryan’s stomach twist. Could Qetsi have been behind this?  She was smart enough to, certainly. The pieces weren’t all there, but...

Her heart raced as the implications grew heavier. She was getting ahead of herself, but in situations like these, even the most far-fetched ideas were worth considering.

She reflected on the little girl that she had found in the cargo bay – her name was Raya’Zufi, she’d found out as she read through the logs. It had been easy; there weren’t many children on the Keelah Si’yah. As she considered the young Quarian, she knew she had no choice but to return to the ship. Ryan had to know who did this – little Raya’Zufi deserved justice, all of those Drell, the Hanar, the Volus, and even the Batarians did. Maybe some would forget them, but Ryan was a doctor – it was in her blood to care.

It might have been borderline ludicrous to think that Qetsi had done this, but if there was any chance, she had to know. Ryan grabbed a sweatshirt before peeling herself off of the couch and out from under her blankets, shoving a pair of slippers onto her feet and determinedly made her way back to her bedroom.

Ryan never got over how huge her bedroom was, especially considering it was on a spaceship. But, she supposed, Qetsi had been the captain, and these had been her rooms. They’d already been cleared of the captain’s personal effects by the time she’d had her own supplies and belongings carted in by a Krogan freelancer.

She strode to her largest closet, the one that once held Qetsi’s extra suit parts and surplus datapads. This was an odd habit from when she was younger – from when she needed space to think apart from her incredibly loud family. She slid against the wall, hiding behind her spare jumpsuits and the dress she’d worn to the Nexus party, before she addressed the ship’s VI, far more softly than she might in her office, or in a meeting.

“K. What did Captain Qetsi’Olam study during her pilgrimage?”

“Access denied. This query requires an override.” K said, in that smooth voice only synthetic intelligence could do without sounding like a caricature of itself. 

Ryan swore under her breath. “Who has the access to that information?”

“I apologize for the inconvenience, Dr. Bitton. Only Pathfinder Telem’Yered, Commander Senna’Nir vas Keelah Si’yah, and [Redacted] have unrestricted authorization to all records.”

Shit, Ryan thought to herself.

Of course, it was them. The only two people with access were the ones caught in the middle of whatever twisted triangle Qetsi – and though she didn’t want to admit it, she had woven. There was no way that was a coincidence. And who was the third person? Who in the hell was smart enough to do that?

She rested her forehead on her knees, wondering what she’d stumbled into.

“Okay,” Ryan said impatiently, “Where did Qetsi’Olam go for her pilgrimage?”

She knew that already, or at least she thought she did, but wanted to see how much K knew or… whether Senna had been honest. She didn’t want to consider that he wouldn’t be, but she had to be realistic.

“Captain Qetsi’Olam vas Keelah Si’yah studied on Sur’Kesh with Salarian scientists.”

Ryan exhaled, trying to calming her pounding heart. Useless. Ryan already knew she was on Sur’Kesh with “scientists.” Senna hadn’t lied, but that didn’t mean she was any closer to the truth.

VI could be so much like old stories about creatures or ethereal beings, who would only respond to the exact question asked in a frustrating farce, with their shackles acting as a geis by their designers. Those silencers kept them quiet even when they might “want” to say something. She might be able to ask Liat’Nir. Ryan had a sneaking suspicion that she wasn’t shackled, so anything Liat didn’t tell her was because she didn’t want to. Obviously, she wasn’t going to mention that to anyone, but… maybe she could talk to her about this.

“Where on Sur’Kesh?” she pressed the VI, a bit manically. “And what sort of scientists?” 

K was silent for a moment, long enough that Ryan thought she might be glitching, before finally replying. “Most of that information is classified. However, it is publicly available that facility, which is located on the southern continent of Sur’Kesh, is known for epidemiology.”

Epidemiology. A sudden wave of nausea overtook her. She doubled over and tried to breathe in through her nose and out through her mouth. It fit—or at least she thought it did. Of course, this wasn’t enough evidence – her gut feeling and handful of coincidences wasn’t admissible in court. This could be a complete coincidence… but still.

If she was right, she wasn’t sure how much it would matter since Qetsi was very, very dead. She’d be beyond justice unless she was working with someone else – someone who might still be alive. The truth had intrinsic value, didn’t it? So even if they were all dead – would it matter if people knew?

She’d never loved philosophy classes – and this was the sort of conundrum that one of her professors might have thrown at them until the entire class was taken over by a bunch of sophomore men with knit hats and clove cigarettes shoved in their jacket pockets “Actually-ing” each other for an hour and a half, babbling about Utilitarianism, going on tangents about The Trolley Problem, and talking over any woman that dared open their mouth.

Ryan’s throat tightened. She had to focus. Who else? Senna’Nir was far too sweet, too open. But then again, people had said nothing but good things about Qetsi, too, before the Keelah Si’yah’s disaster, she’d seen it in the various records she had been able to find. Trust could be dangerous. Of course, this was still just a theory, but if she was right, she found it hard to believe that Senna would do that and also get away with it, especially without help.

It would most likely be that third “redacted” person, if he’d been involved and if he had help covering it up, but she was no closer to finding out their identity than Telem or Ryder were at finding new worlds to stay on.

Her mind flicked back to Senna. He had been bizarrely honest with her about his treasonous Ancestor VI. Perhaps that had been a calculated measure to gain her trust or to get ahead of any reports? Full AI wasn’t technically illegal in Andromeda, but he could be sanctioned by his own people.

The Pathfinder? He was too pragmatic to unleash a virus, but perhaps that was a cover, too. She didn’t let herself panic – It didn’t even need to be someone that Ryan knew. In fact, she didn’t know ninety percent of people on the Si’yah.

And then there was the possibility that Qetsi truly acted alone. She was smart enough, and if she’d done it, she was definitely sneaky enough.

Ryan could be completely wrong; perhaps her instincts were off base. Just because Qetsi had the motive and the means didn’t mean she was guilty. It would beyond prejudice to assume it.But if she wasn’t guilty, Ryan had no idea who else to suspect. The only thing worse than it being Qetsi, to her at least, was it being someone they’d never find, someone that would live out their life with no consequences. But that was just for her – she thought that the Pathfinder and Senna might not agree.

Her heart pounded as her suspicions grew heavier, her mind spinning with half-formed conclusions. She put her face in her hands, sinking further onto the closet floor, her back and shoulder sliding down the wall, her socked feet touching the opposite one.

What an absolute mess.

***

A small light blinked on Senna Nir’s narrow bedside table. The thing contrasted to his bed, which would have been preposterously large by Fleet standards. The little table was also very slippery and so when his three-fingered hand grapsed at his largest datapad, it slid clear off of the smooth surface and skittered across the floor.

“Flagged search query in Quarian Officer Wing North,” K’s smooth, emotionless voice came through the ceiling speaker, and the datapad at the same time, giving it an odd sort of echo.

He jolted upright too fast, misjudging the edge of the mattress. His elbow hit the plush carpet, followed by the rest of him. His helmet thumped against the floor, and he half expected to hear the crack of his faceplate. Well, maybe that was a little dramatic. Only a faceplate weakened by age or extreme temperatures would break without first receiving a blow that would kill the inhabitant.

Groggy, Senna checked his hoses, which were vulnerable to being hung up on things or snapping, struggling to his feet as the room swam around him.

“What queries?” His voice came out rougher than intended, the words catching in his throat as he rubbed his knee joint, wincing.

“Flagged search queries include confidential information on Captain Qetsi’Olam’s pilgrimage, specific Sur’Kesh scientific facilities, identification of those with unrestricted access to data, and epidemiology,” K responded.

Senna froze mid-motion, the words sinking in. Epidemiology. Sur’Kesh. His stomach twisted as he sank to the edge of his bed. There were only two other people that could have asked this from the officer’s wing – this officer’s wing, and he wasn’t sure who would be worse; both of them were smart.

“ID on the user?”

“User ID A6753. Dr. Ryan Bitton vas Hyperion.”

His heart sank. Of course, it was Ryan. She was already putting the pieces together faster than he’d feared. How much did she know? Qetsi’s virology specialty wasn’t a strict secret, but it wasn’t well known either, and Anax had supposedly wiped most of that information from K’s systems. It would be a stretch for anyone to accuse her but Ancestors, she was dangerously close to the truth.

Another ping echoed through the room, followed by the soft hum of his Omnitool. Anax’s face flashed onto the screen, her throat partly inflated in irritation.

“Are you alone?” she demanded, bypassing any formality.

Senna nodded, not trusting his voice.

Anax’s voice came through, urgent. “Did K notify you about a certain doctor’s little dive into the digital archive?”

“She did,” Senna replied, his voice hesitant. Both women ignored his use of the pronoun she, so unlike how most people referred to VI, even one as friendly as K.

Borbala Ferank’s dry chuckle echoed faintly in the background. “For someone so smart, she’s not very subtle, is she?”

Neither Anax, nor Senna laughed.

“We need to know what she’s figured out,” Anax cut in, all business. “Senna, you realize it’s going to be way, way worse if she jumps to the wrong conclusion.”

“I know,” Senna muttered, running a hand over his helmet, over the back of his hoses, checking them in a familiar nervous habit. “I know.”

Borbala scoffed. “She’s your woman, isn’t she? Why can’t you handle it?”

The words struck him like a blow. Was she? Among Quarians, what they’d done together carried serious weight. But Ryan wasn’t Quarian, was she? She knew the culture well enough, spoke Khelish almost fluently, even with that accent of hers. But that didn’t mean she’d see it the same way. His heart clenched with uncertainty.

“Borbala’s right, Senna,” Anax’s voice softened. “You’ll have to talk to her. If the display you put on at the party—and sneaking off together afterward—means anything, she’ll listen to you.”

Senna’s stomach churned again, but this time with a mix of dread and something else he couldn’t quite define.

“What am I even supposed to say? Hey, Ryan, by the way, my ex was a bioterrorist who attempted to wipe out every council race on the Nexus and almost killed almost all of the Drell on the Ark instead, but don’t worry, we made her sacrifice herself. We airlocked her and her accomplice to keep it under wraps. But trust me—we’re not hiding it because we’re guilty. Yeah, she’d buy that.”

“I don’t know…” Anax mused. “She might. I knew her husband. A Shadow Broker agent doesn’t marry someone without a good sense of when they’re being lied to, or with an iron clad sense of morality, by the way. Ryan’s smart. She’ll figure out the truth eventually—better that it comes from you.”

“What exactly do you mean by “iron-clad sense of morality?”

“She means she thinks the doctor would lie for you, dipshit,” Borbala called out from the background. “How much you wanna bet she lied for that Drell?”

Anax’ round, inscrutable eyes peered at him through the holographic image popping out of his Omnitool. “She has a point, Senna. I find it extremely unlikely she never covered for Telyat. She probably saw things, even if he didn’t want her to.”

“Meaning she knows when to shut the fuck up,” Borbala said, with an uncharitable chuckle.

Senna cursed under his breath, something rare enough to make Borbala’s chuckle rumble through the comm again, from where she was likely lounging across a couch, just off screen on the other side.

“Fine,” he sighed. “I’ll talk to her.”

Senna raised his hand to switch off his Omnitool, but halfway through the motion, he froze, his fingers hovering just above its interface. An uneasy stillness settled between them; the atmosphere weighed down with dread. Despite being unable to read his face, Anax stared at him. Though anyone who didn’t know her would find her expression thoroughly inscrutable, her liquid black eyes were filled with concern.

“What is it?” she asked, eying him warily.

It was quiet for a moment – even Borbala kept her mouth shut. Finally, Senna responded, his bright eyes still fixed on his Omnitool. His voice was faint, barely above a whisper and dripping with stress.

“Those flagged search terms didn’t just go to us…”

Chapter Text

Telem’Yered hadn’t been sleeping well; that was why when the VI had come through with its message, he’d immediately seen it on the holographic display, which hovered above his desk as if by magic, instead of in the morning. The thing flashed frantically, demanding his attention.

When he’d arrived on the Keelah Si’yah, the first thing he’d done was disable the VI that some called “K” from voice alerts in his private quarters and office. He didn’t like anything artificial speaking with him like that while he was working at his desk, and definitely not while trying to relax – it was unnerving. And so, anything that wasn’t enough of an emergency for a physical messenger wouldn’t have been on his radar for hours if he’d been in bed.

The alert splashed across the screen in red letters, bold and urgent. He’d been so busy he’d almost dismissed it as a reflex—as Pathfinder he was used to ignoring messages that should have been delegated to Senna’Nir or another of his officers—but this time, something about it gave him pause.

Flagged search term(s) initiated: Captain Qetsi’Olam vas Keelah Si’yah, Sur’Kesh scientific facilities, Epidemiology…

Telem sat up straighter at his desk and leaned closer to the screen as if pressing his faceplate against it would change the words.

He hadn’t flagged any search terms and even if he had, it wouldn’t have been anything to do with Qetsi. Unease settled in the pit of his stomach; she had been well respected and loved, not least by him, before she died.  She had been the whole reason for him being here. Why would anyone flag her? If for no other reason that Qetsi, his Qetsi, had died on the journey to Andromeda. A wave of bitterness and pain settled into him any time he thought of her – but he had to get it together. This was important.

His gloved fingers tapped the notification cautiously. The inquiry had come from… Ryan? That wasn’t odd in and of itself; aside from the queries on Qetsi, those were all sensible research questions from the woman researching the virus. He’d grown to respect the doctor, even grown fond of her – more than fond of her, especially after she had treated his cryo sickness and hadn’t judged him for his… indiscretion at the anniversary party, even seemed open to… him, hadn’t outright refused him, at least. She was beautiful and smart.

But why would she be looking into Qetsi – and, based on her searches, Qetsi’s professional background before she’d become Captain of the Keelah Si’yah. His mind ran through the potential reasons. Had she stumbled upon something? It could just be simple jealousy, but Ryan didn’t seem the type.

He scanned the search logs, confusion growing.

Who, exactly, had decided this information warranted a flag? He tapped a few keys, trying to backtrack the origin of the flag, but came up empty. Ryan’s searches were less concerning than that. If someone was tracking inquiries about Qetsi without his knowledge, that spelled a deeper issue. He needed to find out who had set these parameters—and more importantly, their motive.

Telem leaned back in his chair, staring at the screen. If someone else was playing gatekeeper with information on his ship, he needed to know why.

He had to talk to Senna. Immediately.

The best part of being a Quarian – really the only good thing about the suits – was that there was no need to get dressed. Even the women who tended to wear hoods or shawls didn’t technically need them; it was more of a fashion thing. So, it took him no time at all to set off down the hall at a fast walk to Senna’s quarters.

However, as Telem rounded the corner, he recognized Senna by his blue suit walking just as quickly toward the lifts. On a whim, he decided to hang back and go the same way, but slowly. He glanced in each landing until he saw the distinct blue envirosuit again. He was heading to Qetsi’s old quarters – the rooms that were now Ryan’s. They were two floors below theirs and around a corner, but it was placed as such that he could see from the small window in the stairs.

That was when the door slid open and Senna walked in without her answering. Odd. Did he go into her rooms without being invited often? Or did Telem just not hear her say to come in? It didn’t matter. This wasn’t time for direct confrontation. He would wait until his second-in-command was alone, or maybe until Ryan was? It was bizarre, them trying to sneak around. Everyone knew what was going on between the two of them. Perhaps it was more than that though, maybe it was something else they were hiding.

The thought was paranoid, he knew it was, but couldn’t help it. This might have been a completely benign meeting that had nothing to do with the search terms.

Turning on his heel, he discreetly left the stairwell to head back to his office. He’d have to track Senna down later. There was more at play here, he could feel it, and he needed to approach this carefully.

***

Ryan sat in her closet for a while, lost in thought, her plethora of jumpsuits, her jeans, and her singular dress brushed against her shoulders. She’d taken off her boots and jacket and curled up a little, praying to any God that would listen that she was just being paranoid. The engines were far enough away that the room was as silent as the vacuum of space – space where Qetsi’Olam and others floated forever in their suits. How long did a body stay like that? She’d never thought about it before now.

In the quiet, even from her closet, she heard footsteps getting closer and slowing instead of walking past her quarters. The door hissed as someone put in the pin code. Ryan knew it could only be one of two people – there were only two with overrides for every room.

“Ryan?” Senna called out.

 “I’m in here,” she said quietly.

Quarian hearing was slightly better than humans’, so she didn’t have to repeat herself before he opened the door to stare at her, his incandescent eyes boring into the top of her head, at sitting on the floor like an idiot.

His voice was low, almost tentative, like how someone would speak to a frightened animal. “What are you doing hiding in here?”

She looked up at him and saw that his visor’s opacity was turned all the way down. “Sometimes I go in here to think – I haven’t in a while, my office is small enough. What are you doing in here? Is something wrong?”

Ryan had a sinking feeling, the kind that settled deep into her chest and then slid down into her stomach to form a knot.

He didn’t answer, he just held out a tri-fingered hand to help her off the floor. She was completely weak to him, almost as much as she’d been to Telyat, something she’d never thought possible. She took it without hesitation. His hand was warm and strong as usual, even through his gloves. He gripped her lightly, delicately, careful not to squeeze too hard.

Ryan hoped it wasn’t him or Telem that were involved in this. But if her instincts were wrong, and her worries on point, he wouldn’t be the first bad man she loved. It wouldn't be anything new to her.

“It’s complicated,” he said. “You should come with me. It’s alright – you’re not in trouble or anything. We just need to talk.”

He didn’t let go of her hand, not in a possessive way, nor in a way that was clearly meant to trap her. He just held it gently enough she could yank it back if she wanted, like he had at the party. Surely someone so gentle couldn't be bad? Then again, Telyat hadn't been someone to mess with - the way everyone looked at him when they were together told her as much. And he'd never laid a finger on her, or even raised his voice in anger. 

As soon as her eyes met his for more than a second, she knew she was right about something.

But about how much? She didn’t know.

He brushed a thumb over her cheek and helped her put her boots back on, in a tender display of affection. It was so Senna that she wanted to cry.

“What do we need to talk about?” Ryan asked him.

“About Qetsi and what happened on the Keelah Si’yah,” he said, his tone grave. “I know you have questions. Those search terms… when I restricted them, I also flagged them.

Ryan’s heart raced. So, it was him. Did he have anything more to do with it than a cover-up? That was the best-case scenario.

“I do. I’ve been looking into things… and I wish I hadn’t.”

Senna’s eyes dimmed slightly in a way she knew meant remorse. “I wish you hadn’t either. You’re right to be concerned. What she did…”

Ryan couldn’t believe this – what she was hearing. She’d expected him to at least waffle a little.

“What she did?”

“Come on, please,” he said, gently tugging her after him toward the lifts.

They walked in silence, Ryan shaking slightly, with Senna a stabilizing presence at her side. The halls were deserted, thank God. He gently led her into his quarters and closed the door behind them. His room was far less cluttered than the first time she saw it, and had been tidied since last night. Despite that, his desk was still littered with spare parts and the drawer that she knew contained Liat’Nir was half open. Careless. Unlike him. Not with anything so sensitive.

“I don’t trust there aren’t any bugs close enough to your rooms. This is… this is bad, Ryan. I won’t lie to you. I can’t lie to you. Not for real and not about that.”

He hadn’t turned up the opacity on his visor, perhaps as a show that he was serious, that he wasn’t hiding anything from her – or that he wasn’t going to hide anything after this. His face was pleading, and he wrapped his arms around her. She let him hold her like the fool she was.

It reminded her, in a less lascivious way, of how Telyat had led her away to a back room to fuck her when they met at that night club. She’d always been a little bit of a prude, but her husband just had that effect on her. She guessed that Senna must have it too. If she was honest with herself, she thought Telem might be the same.

She spoke into the shoulder of his suit. “What can’t you lie to me about?”

“You figured it out, I know you did. I just don’t know how much you know or how right you are… I was worried – I just need you to know that I didn’t have anything to do with it, with the virus. I had no idea. Neither did Telem, in case you’re wondering.”

“She did it, didn’t she? She made the virus.”

Senna was quiet for a moment, as if weighing his words to the gram. His answer was dreadfully succinct.

“Yes,” he whispered, sounding as if the single word cracked something inside him. "It was Qetsi."

A tear slid down Ryan’s cheek. It was awful – awful. Words couldn’t describe it. Even with her suspicions, she hadn’t been prepared for the reality of how much hate the captain must have had in her heart. She knew the details would be worse than anything she could imagine.

Senna ran his gloved hand through her hair, comfortingly, and brushed his thumb over the back of her own hand. “It’s complicated, Ryan. I need you to – will you please not tell anyone?”

“Complicated?” she echoed, frustration lacing her voice and tears streaking her cheeks. “People died, Senna. Innocent people.”

He nodded. “I know. But there’s more at play here than you realize. We need to protect the truth. It’s not even about me – it’s about my people.”

“All I hear are justifications for lying.”

“I’m not trying to justify it, Ryan. I’m trying to explain it,” he replied, his voice rising slightly in passion. It was enough to quiet her.

Senna’s hands closed over her shoulders, so he could gently pry her away from his chest to look her in the eye. “Ryan, If we expose everything, if the truth gets out, Qetsi won’t be punished for it – she’s dead. The Quarians will be blamed collectively, and you know it. We can’t afford that kind of backlash.”

She looked away, her heart racing as she processed his plea, complete with its loaded choice of words. Collective punishment wasn’t exclusive to humans, and it wasn’t something she could have on her hands.

Genocide. He was talking about genocide.

A lot of people would find that preposterous, and jumping to wild conclusions, but no – it was a risk. Senna was right.

Ryan already knew it was over. She wasn’t going to tell. She couldn’t – she cared about him too much, far too much. She cared about the Quarian people too much for that. There was no question.

Senna’s gaze softened through his sheer helmet, the vulnerability in his eyes shining down at her. “I’m asking you to consider the consequences. The Quarian people have suffered enough. I’m asking you to consider what’s at stake. If the truth comes out, it could destroy our chance at a fresh start.” His grip on her hand tightened slightly, an unspoken plea in his posture. “The truth could shatter any hope we have of rebuilding in Andromeda – will shatter it, if you ask me. I’d never ask if it weren’t for that.”

Ryan swallowed hard, the weight of the decision – even with it already decided, pressing down on her, but Senna’s sincerity struck a chord deep within her. “You’re asking a lot, Senna.”

“I know,” he admitted. “It’s a burden I’m willing to share,” he replied, his voice resolute, but barely above a whisper. “Please, Ryan. Trust me.”

Senna’s silence stretched on, but it was less tense, and more… contemplative. She could tell he was weighing his options, trying to decide whether to trust her with the full, unfiltered truth. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, more resigned.

"There’s a lot you don’t know yet, Ryan. A lot you might wish you hadn’t uncovered. But you need to understand, once you know, there’s no going back, even if you decide to turn me in for covering it up... it’s still going to affect you. And – I’m sorry, Ryan. I never meant to hurt you. I never wanted to keep anything…"

Ryan’s heart pounded in her chest. But she wasn’t going to turn away. Not now. She realized now that she loved him and love had always made her do stupid shit, like marry a Shadow Broker agent and leave the galaxy after he died. She’d always been a complete moron about men, falling hard and too fast. Her friends had told her so, poking fun at her doctorate and medical certifications clashing with her lack of common sense. She couldn’t be mad at them, because they were right.

Ryan’s voice was barely audible, her eyes shone with tears. “I hate lying. I always have. I hope you know what it means if I do. I don't lie for just anyone.”

“I know,” he repeated, dropping her hand to put his arms around her.

“Tell me what happened. Tell me exactly what happened,” she said, her voice steady but laced with resolve.

Senna hesitated for a second longer, then nodded.

Senna began to speak; every sentence worse the last. He explained that he thought that Qetsi had gone insane over the trauma from her family being killed by the Geth and what the Salarians did to her. She’d cheated on her psychological exam, somehow being the exact sort of maniac – smart, calculating, and cold enough to decide to kill thousands of people for personal gain. By the time he was done, she didn’t have any questions.

It was all senseless. There was nothing to ask. It was the work of a madwoman and her lackey Malak’Rafa. Though it turned out he wasn’t as set on it as Qetsi, they’d airlocked him anyway. Ryan couldn’t bring herself to feel too bad for Malak, even if he’d clearly been manipulated. 

“And there are two more things – we can’t let Telem know about Qetsi, not just Liat’Nir.”

Ryan bit her lip. “Are you sure? I mean, Liat’Nir – I get that. He hates VI more than most Quarians I’ve met, and Liat is harmless… But Qetsi? It doesn’t seem right.”

“I know – but I think it would hurt him more to find out about it. It’s… for the best. And that’s if he even believes it. It’s my word against Qetsi’s. He might think I did it and murdered her to cover up my own crimes.”

He had a point there. She was a good read of people after being immersed in an extremely criminal element for the five years she’d been with Telyat. He wasn't lying, she was sure of that now. He really hadn’t been involved with it, but she knew not everyone would. They’d want to see someone airlocked, even if that person was innocent. They hadn't been privy to Qetsi's execution, so they'd need another one - just to make sure.

"And what's the other?" she asked warily.

"Anax didn't think to disable the search pings to Telem..."

Careless. Almost unbelievably so, but everyone made mistakes, she supposed.

"And he got them? He got the pings?"

Ryan swore, and Senna stiffened. She knew that he must have sensed how bad it was - Ryan never really did that. "Are you sure it's... wise, to not tell him. He isn't stupid, Senna."

"I know, Ryan. But we don't really have a choice."

“Okay,” she said, hesitantly.

Chapter Text

The faint hum of the Keelah Si’yah’s systems filled the room as Telem stared out the viewport, lost in thought. The endless stars beyond reflected in tiny ancient lights on his dark faceplate, his mind a whirlpool made of the overwhelming sea of possibilities.

Suspicion was a strange weight, pressing heavier on him than anger ever could. It gnawed at the edges of his judgment, leaving him restless through the night and irritable as dawn broke.

He hadn’t wanted to summon Senna so early, but the flagged searches had been sitting in his inbox like a flashing beacon, demanding attention, since he’d neglected to dismiss them after he’d returned from his little jaunt to Ryan’s rooms in favor of ruminating all night. And if there was one thing Telem couldn’t ignore, aside from frantic notifications, it was a mystery with Senna and Ryan at its center.

When Telem had gone back to his office the night before, he did something he wasn’t sure was purely ethical – he pulled up Ryan’s complete search history. The results were concerning to say the least. Prior to the flagged search terms, she’d looked up Drell fatality rates, airborne diseases, medical logs – Drell, medical logs – Quarians. And immediately after the flagged searches, even more chillingly, she’d searched “engineered viruses.”

That one had stopped him in his tracks and kept him awake the rest of the night. She’d suggested a few times that it might be that, but it was the words on the screen, surrounded by Qetsi’s name that disturbed him greatly. Perhaps Qetsi had died because she knew too much, and someone had wiped her notes? He knew about work with the Salarians, and if anyone would know about an engineered virus… Why hadn’t he considered that before? No wonder Ryan wanted Qetsi’s notes. And maybe, Ryan was thinking the same thing! Maybe she thought Qetsi had died under stranger circumstances than they’d thought. But then, were the search terms flagged before or after Qetsi had died, by the person who killed her? Or it could have been by a third party who wanted to keep track of inquiries about her, if they were worried that she may have been killed? Maybe it was the equivalent of killers returning to the scene of the crime. Maybe the flagged searches were a way to track suspects or people who may know something. If that was what happened, of course. Perhaps Ryan told Senna, but not him, because –

The sound of the mechanical door snapped him out of his thoughts.

When Senna walked in, his movements stiff, Telem noted the telltale signs of someone trying too hard to look nonchalant. A bad liar didn’t get better with age, and Senna’s uneasy gait spoke louder than any words he might say.

Senna looked every bit as tired as Telem felt – he could tell by his posture, and he had half a mind to skip the pleasantries and accuse him outright of hiding something, but years of leadership had taught him patience.

Barely.

It was this bare minimum that reminded him that he didn’t have anything more than a gut feeling at this point.

Senna took a seat across from him on the plush office chair, and gave nothing more than a half-hearted nod.

Telem leaned back in his chair, letting the silence stretch just long enough to make it uncomfortable. Then, with deliberate calm, he broke it.

“So,” said Telem, “I received an alert last night. Did you?”

Senna shifted uncomfortably. “I fell asleep pretty early. I didn’t have much of a chance to check my messages either – I came straight here. What’s so urgent you had to wake me up this early?”

He was lying. Telem knew it, and not just in a “gut-feeling” sort of way. He hadn’t left Ryan’s rooms until late into the night, and besides that, if he went to bed early, why on Rannoch would he be so tired? Telem couldn’t fathom what Senna had to lie about.

“Well,” Telem pressed on, “They were about someone asking K flagged search terms – about Qetsi. It’s strange don’t you think?”

“Definitely. I’m not sure why anyone would flag it. Who… um… did it give an ID on the person searching?”

He really was an abysmal liar.

“It was Ryan,” Telem said.

“Ryan? But why –”

“You know, I wondered the same thing,” Telem said. “I was going to call her in here later. I’m curious if she found anything that would suggest why the information was flagged.

“She’s looking into the Chimeravirus. We’ve talked about it,” Telem continued, tilting his head slightly as if considering something. “But what in the world does Qetsi have to do with it, especially since… We both know that Qetsi had an interest in microbiology – maybe she was looking for notes. It’s not unlike Ryan to search outside human medical knowledge, is it? She lived on the Fleet for a few years; it makes sense.”

Senna exhaled through his nose. “Exactly.”

Telem leaned forward, resting his arms on the desk between them, his voice dipping lower. “But you know what’s interesting? The rest of her search history is alarming, to say the least.” He let the words hang, watching as Senna tensed.

Senna shifted in his seat, and tried for what he must have thought was a spectacular deflection. “She’s thorough. You know how she is.”

“I’m surprised, Senna. I’d have thought you would be curious about what she’s looking up.”

The Commander didn’t answer immediately. Instead, the barely-there hum of the ship’s power was the only noise in the office.

“Yes,” Senna said slowly. “What exactly did she ask about?”

“Ryan’s told you that she thinks the virus was intentional, I assume?”

“She has. And I’m inclined to agree.”

Really?

“And why is that?”

Senna shrugged. “I just trust Ryan,” he said, as though it wasn’t even worth considering.

“And I do too. I was thinking…”

“About what?”

Telem exhaled, his mask lighting up as he did. “I’ve been considering raising her security clearance, but you’re my second in command, so I wanted to… take your opinion into consideration. What do you think?”

“I… think that’s a good idea,” Senna said, warily. “Do you?”

He was definitely hiding something.

“Oh, I do,” Telem murmured. “I also wanted to ask you first because her looking that sort of thing up could be construed as a little suspicious, seeing as they’re flagged terms.”

Just as soon as Senna had relaxed, he keyed up again, his shoulders drawing tense.

“Are you accusing her of something?”

“Not her.” Telem smiled under his visor, letting the silence stretch for just a beat too long.

Senna stiffened, his hands pressing against his knees. “Maybe she just… got curious. She’s a doctor, Telem.”

“Uh-huh.” Telem leaned back. “Then I’m sure she won’t mind explaining it when I call her in, but that isn’t anything you need to worry about. The other thing I called you in for is what I’m more worried about. Who flagged those searches? It sure wasn’t me.”

“Really? Maybe – um, maybe it was Qetsi herself?”

Telem thought about that for a moment. It was a plausible explanation, but it didn’t ring of truth.

“It’s not impossible, but why would she do that?”

“That’s a good question. I wish we could ask her,” Senna said, his faceplate reflecting the floor as he looked down.

Telem leaned back again, his mind whirring. He suppressed that pang at Qetsi’s name. It would be pretty bizarre for Qetsi to hide her work like that and flag her name. It could have been her, but he thought it was likely that whoever had flagged that was the same person who’d removed all of Yorrik’s notes too. Ryan had lamented their disappearance to him on several occasions. At first, Ryan had thought maybe the computer had done with due to some kind of “glitch,” whatever that meant. Telem felt it was far too thorough to be an accident – only, he’d thought it was a paranoid thought until now.

It bothered Telem to think of Ryan suspecting something odd happened without telling him. He liked to think they were closer than that. That she wouldn’t hide something so important from him. But… maybe she was going to tell him and was waiting to have more evidence. Yes, that had to be it. Assuming he wasn’t being paranoid.

He was probably being paranoid.

“Telem?”

Right. He’d forgotten that the Commander was sitting in front of him.

“Do you know what I think?” Telem asked.

Senna’s eyes dimmed and brightened again as he blinked, seemingly unsure of how to respond. “What do you think?”

“I think there’s someone with a shadow high security clearance. Someone that’s wormed their way into our systems and I can’t see who they are.”

“Maybe,” said Senna. “But why would anyone want to do that?”

Telem smiled behind his darkened visor. “I don’t know, but they’re up to no good.”

**

Over the next few weeks, Telem’s suspicions nagged at him like a lingering cough, the kind a Quarian might have after Varren Fever. Senna avoided him, or at least he thought he was. He always seemed to be busy and ran out of meetings as soon as they ended. Actually, he’d been acting strangely since they came out of stasis. At time, Telem had just chalked it up to a combination of trauma – as Senna had been awake during the plague, but now he wasn’t so sure, especially after their conversation.

Ryan was more concerning. She seemed distant to him, sometimes jumping when she heard his voice. She’d seemed fine when he spoke to her, though he’d decided not to press her on her strange searches. He thought it would be best to wait a little while, to see what she would find before he talked to her. So that wasn’t reason she was acting strangely… Maybe she was still upset about the party? Even though that was a few months ago now, he couldn’t blame her if she was. Or she could be more uncomfortable than she’d seemed about her feelings for Senna and himself – because it was obvious he’d been right at the party. It was not at all one sided.

Sometimes he’d spot them together whispering, Ryan’s pretty face turned in a frown. She didn’t laugh as much when he’d go see her in her office or in her quarters. He didn’t know what was wrong, but he wanted to help her so badly. And clearly Senna wasn’t up for the job.

It was on a random, utterly unremarkable Tuesday “afternoon” that he heard her crying in the First Officer’s quarters. His mind jumped to all sorts of conclusions. Was she hurt? Sick? Was Senna being cruel to her?

That last one seemed unlikely, but all the same, he couldn’t just stand outside the room like that – not when she was clearly so upset. If nothing else, she was his friend.

He knew that Senna wasn’t in there with her, realized it after a moment that he’d just seen him walking the opposite direction, toward the tiny café a Quarian couple had opened up a month or so ago. Maybe they were fighting and he’d run off?

Telem hesitated for a moment, questioning whether he should interrupt her, but then he heard his own name. What was she talking about? Who was she talking about him with? His morbid curiosity got the better of him. He almost couldn’t help himself from reaching out for the pin pad.

The door was locked, of course. He knew it was probably a mistake to do it, but he punched in the override keycode. A red light flashed as the door slid open, disappearing into the thick wall. The door was half open before he heard the other voice in the room.

What Telem saw was beyond anything he could have imagined.

His eyes fell on Senna’s desk, at the abomination that sat there like a harmless hologram, and at Ryan, who spun wildly in the office chair. Her light brown eyes were wide with shock, and then turned to guilt – he’d learned that look.

A fucking ancestor VI. They had a fucking ancestor VI on his ship.

Chapter Text

Ryan hadn’t been able to shake the feeling of unease all morning. If she had known what was coming, she might have handled that day differently – probably even stayed in bed, called off from any obligations, turned off her Omnitool.

In retrospect, she should have known what was coming – known that these sorts of things didn’t stay under wraps. She’d never been good at keeping secrets from people she cared about.

Sure, she’d hidden things for Telyat dozens of times, just short of helping him bury a body – though in truth, she’d probably have done that if he’d asked her to, but she’d never hidden anything from him. So no, she’d never kept things from people like that – not secrets that mattered, anyway. And now, she was keeping two.

The weight of them settled in the pit of her stomach as she stared at the unfinished report on her terminal. It had been days since she’d written anything useful—since she’d had anything new to add.

Because everything, everything she could weave into it for new context, would implicate Qetsi, or one of the other people involved. Or even people that weren’t involved, like Telem, who would have no idea what was going on. It was another reason she hated lying to him. He’d be caught off guard entirely if it came out some other way and everyone found out about it. She didn’t think Senna had considered that – maybe it was something she should bring up.

On top of that guilt, there were practical matters to deal with, complications that piled on the pit in her stomach.

Telem was watching her. Not outright, not obviously, but he knew something was off. She could see it in the way his posture tensed when Senna walked into a room. In the way his conversations with her felt measured. It wasn’t jealousy on his part. Telem wasn’t a jealous person, that much she’d figured out immediately. He didn’t particularly care that she was seeing Senna. It was something else entirely.

In any case, Ryan wasn’t the kind of person who lied to people she cared about, or at least she thought she was until this. And for all his sharp edges and dramatics, Telem was someone she did care about. That was the problem. If she didn’t, this wouldn’t feel so much like standing on the edge of a crumbling ledge.

What was worse was that she knew that Telem had a reason to be suspicious of her now. Senna had admitted that the Pathfinder had received those pings along with himself and Anax. But why hadn’t Telem asked her about it? She was glad he hadn’t, because she wasn’t sure what she’d say if she did.

Ryan ran a hand over her face and exhaled.

Maybe talking to Liat would help. Senna was… well, he had enough on his mind. She gathered her things and locked the door, pressing in the pin code with shaking hands, before heading off to Senna’s quarters. He’d given her permission to speak with Liat whenever she wanted, and she wanted to now – no needed to.

She’d finally stopped shaking when she’d arrived in the officer’s quarters, and slipped into what was essentially Senna’s living room, locking the door behind her. Carefully, she unlocked the drawer that Liat’s disk lived in and sat her on the desk.

She pressed the button, and the ancestor VI flickered at her, rubbing her incandescent eyes like she’d just woken up.

“Why on Rannoch’s eight moons are you waking me up this early, ke’sed?”

Despite herself, Ryan cracked a smile and sat down. “Early? Liat, it’s eleven. I’ve been up for hours.”

“Yes,” Liat answered, rubbing her temples, “It’s early, but I bet you didn’t drink half a ryncol last night.”

She hadn’t, and neither had Liat, but Ryan humored the VI all the same. Whoever had programmed her had a sense of humor, and Ryan appreciated that.

Liat rustled around in what appeared to be a cabinet, though invisible, miming the motions in midair. She grabbed what looked like a heavy bottle, half full of what Ryan guessed was ryncol.

“I thought you were hung over.”

Liat laughed, the sound raspy as usual. “Hair of the varren, ke’sed.”

Ryan rolled her eyes. “That’s a myth, you know that right?”

The older woman snorted. “What, are you some sort of expert on Quarian medicine?”

The corner of Ryan’s mouth twitched. “Yes, actually, I am. And you know that.”

Taking a slow, exaggerated and completely imaginary sip of the ryncol with a wince, Liat scoffed, and mumbled something under her breath – something rude. Ryan had learned more swear words from her conversations with Liat than her entire time on the fleet.

Ryan found it very hard not to roll her eyes again at the way that Liat pretended to savor but also suffer from the burn of the foul beverage.

The two women were quiet for a moment, before Liat broke the silence.

"You’re brooding," Liat finally said, unimpressed. "Ridiculous, just like my grandson. Don’t tell me this is about that that idiot boy Telem’Yered."

The words sounded like a curse coming from the older woman’s mouth, and Ryan suspected that Liat had heard many, probably unflattering, things about the Pathfinder.

Ryan exhaled, pinching the bridge of her nose. "It’s not about that." A pause. "Not entirely," she added with a mumble.

Liat snorted. "Yeah, sure. And my ass is as round and blue as an Asari nightclub dancer’s."

Ryan’s voice was soft when she spoke again. "I feel awful about lying to him. It’s not just about Qetsi. It’s—this. You." She gestured vaguely toward the VI’s glowing form.

Liat leaned back, almost as if leaning against an invisible counter or desk, crossing her arms over her chest. "So, tell him."

The three words were impossibly flippant.

Ryan leaned forward, her dark hair slipping over her shoulder, her voice dropping to something more like a whisper. "You cannot be serious. He’d airlock you in a second."

Liat tilted her head, taking another drink of her imaginary ryncol, clearly unimpressed.

"I’d like to see him try. Let me tell you how this plays out, ke’sed. Either you tell him, or he finds out another way, and it goes sideways."

“You don’t know him like I do Liat. Telem is – he’s not like Senna about VI’s. And Qetsi – God, that’s going to destroy him. This won’t be something he can shrug off, especially since I didn’t tell him right away. Lying to him is horrible. I can’t take it for much longer, but I don’t know what to do.”

The words broke into a sob, and Liat stood there silently, surveying Ryan from her perch, sipping her ryncol.

Ryan shook with nerves again, because Liat was right. Telem was going to find out, one way or another. But how to tell him? Senna would probably see reason if he asked. He was sweet – maybe he didn’t realize how much it hurt her. She knew he’d never intentionally hurt her.

But before Liat could say anything, the door hissed open behind her.

She didn’t need to see Telem’s face – his darkened helmet was statement enough, when she spun around in her chair to know what was about to happen.

She immediately jumped to her feet and stood in front of the VI, as if to shield her from view. For all that Liat had said, Ryan didn’t think it was a given that Telem wouldn’t airlock the VI, tea saucer and all, at the first chance he had.

He was frozen, stock still in the doorway, before he stepped in and shut it behind him, cutting them off from the hallway and prying eyes.

His voice was quiet, but despite that, she could tell he was more than mad. He was furious.

"What the fuck are you doing? Talking to that thing?"

"Telem—"

Ryan stopped short not sure how to justify herself, or even what to say. She didn’t think that Liat was bad or wrong, but she couldn’t blame him for being angry. It wasn’t like she wasn’t familiar with Quarians, with their trauma. She couldn’t plead ignorance, and they both knew it.

“You knew,” Telem hissed, his visor fogging up. “You didn’t just find that thing – you knew about it before. How long? Actually, don’t answer that – I don’t care. I knew something was wrong when I saw you sneaking around with Senna, but this? I thought it was pretty stupid, because you know how – there was no need to sneak, but I see now I was wrong. This is definitely a good reason for you to be sneaking."

Telem thrust his hand toward Liat’s off to the side, as if dismissing her entirely. His eyes shone more than usual under his mask, and the telltale fogging of the nearly opaque glass told her just how upset the Pathfinder was. His accusatory tone sliced her like a knife – it hurt far more than she’d thought it would.

“Telem, it’s not – Liat’Nir, she isn’t like a Geth. She’s not networked! Please, you have to understand. She’s been helping with the investigation. That’s all.”

Ryan knew from the silence that if she could see through his mask, he’d have a look of mixed revulsion and fury etched onto his slate grey skin. And – he also sounded hurt.

“God damn it, Ryan. She? That thing is not a woman. She’s not a Quarian or even a human,” Ryan opened her mouth about to point out that he’d just called Liat ‘she,’ but he silenced her by holding up a finger, another universal symbol it turned out. “You need to understand. The council races came to Andromeda for adventure or science,” the words were mocking on his tongue, “It isn’t like that for my people! We don’t have a home – you left Earth by choice; we were chased out of ours by our own creations.

“This is bad, Ryan. You don’t get it,” he said.

“But Senna said –” Ryan started.

“Oh, don’t get me started on Senna. Maybe you don’t know any better, but he does. He could be exiled for this, maybe even executed. Do you understand that? This thing isn’t just dangerous, it could ruin him, and now me, because I’m an accessory if I don’t turn him in.

Ryan froze, backing into Senna’s desk and gripping its edges in a grip so hard her fingers turned bone white.

“But I thought that Quarians don’t have the death penalty – they told me there aren’t enough of you to kill anyone. The DNA diversity is too valuable,” she said with tearful eyes.

“I don’t know – they might make an exception for this.”

He gestured violently towards the VI observing their argument with a vaguely entertained expression on her unmasked face.

“And you. You being involved will be an absolute shitshow on top of that! I have no idea what they’ll do to you. The Andromeda Conclave could easily argue that you have enough knowledge that you’re subject to our laws. You’ve lived with us – you even speak our language. Imagine the diplomacy clusterfuck if Quarians punish a human doctor for breaking Quarian laws. The Nexus might be able to protect you. I don’t actually know if I’ll be able to, Pathfinder or not.”

She didn’t even need to see through his visor to know what his face looked like at that last part. His voice was strained, gripped with terror.

For her.

He didn’t give her a chance to speak, continuing his tirade. “Did you know that the Quarians were once going to take an uninhabited planet for our own? There was no one to steal it from – but The Council saw fit to take it and hand it to the Elcor – the Elcor, who have a perfectly good homeworld! God damn it, Ryan,” he said again, but this time with a tinge of defeat.

He was pacing now, breathing heavily in a way that Ryan had seen before, many, many times, on many people, including herself, but she didn’t dare go closer. The way he frantically strode from side to side of the room was a mirror to her memory of having to tell him about Qetsi, and everything that happened on the Keelah.

“I mean – do you even know what Keelah Si’yah means?”

Finally, Ryan responded, taking that moment to try and help him understand that she and Senna weren’t the enemy here – the problem of Qetsi would have to wait. That would be far too much of a shock for Telem right now.

“It means by the homeworld I hope to find one day,” she whispered.

He stopped midstride, seeming as if he hadn’t expected that response, like he’d expected defensiveness, or even silence.

“And that’s my job – to find the homeworld. I’m meant to be my people’s hope. Do you even understand that kind of pressure? And then to find out you – and Senna,” he ground out the commander’s name as if it were a curse, “have been hiding an Ancestor VI on my ship? Ancestors – if Qetsi had been alive to see this…”

Ryan pressed her lips together resolutely.

“What?” Telem shouted. “Why do you make that face every time her name comes up? And don’t even bother trying to deny it – you’re as terrible of a liar as that traitorous –” he paused, as if he weren’t able to think of a word harsh enough to describe Senna.

Anxiety twisted her stomach like some sort of hideous macrame. Apparently, she hadn’t been as discreet as she thought she’d been.

He threw his hands in the air and resumed his frantic pacing when Ryan still didn’t answer his question about the captain. Instead, she changed the subject, trying to appeal to his love for his people.

“But she can tell you so much about life before…” Ryan trailed off, realizing that was not a smart thing to say at all.

Telem’s voice was deadly quiet when his pacing came to slow halt, barely audible over the quiet hum of the engines powering the lights and machines. “And why is her value in telling us about our past valuable? What made it valuable? Why do we need to ask a machine?”

Ryan knew better than to respond this time.

“Oh, shut up, you suit-wetter,” Liat grouched from where she casually sipped from a large glass of ryncol, on her plate perched on Senna’s desk. “I’ve killed more Geth than you could dream of. You’re here alive because I fought them, you idiot boy.”

Ryan stared at the VI. She’d seen Telem’s file and knew him to be three years older than herself, most definitely not a boy. It wasn’t the worst insult someone could give a Quarian, but it was up there, maybe half a step above suit-wetter.

He ignored her. It made sense – she wasn’t real to him.

“What else were you hiding from me? I know it’s more than this.”

She changed the subject. “Telem… please don’t turn Senna in. Or airlock her,” Ryan said, shifting slightly so she was in front of Liat’Nir again.

He crossed his arms. “That wasn’t an answer.”

This was it. She was going to have to tell him. As she opened her mouth, the door opened behind her. Ryan looked over her shoulder. She could only imagine what they looked like. Telem’s hands were on a death grip on the edges of Senna’s chair, Ryan’s eyes big, almost the size of Liat’s saucer, and tearful.

Senna stepped inside. The air crackled with tension, a stark contrast to empty room or even just calm conversation she thought he must have imagined finding.

"Uh, am I interrupting something?" he paused, his voice wavering as he looked from Telem, to Ryan, who’d turned around to face him, and finally, to Liat’Nir. "What’s going on here?"

Telem, tearing his eyes away from Ryan, turned to Senna, bristling with frustration.

“You have no idea what you’ve done, do you?" He asked, gesturing toward the Ancestor VI. "Letting her get involved with that thing. It’s reckless, Senna."

"What are you talking about? I didn’t make her do anything. Ryan’s not some helpless pawn you can just—"

There was a menacing quality to the way that Telem moved smoothly towards the door. "Helpless? No, but you’re going to get her hurt or killed."

“Is that a threat?” Senna replied, his voice low and dangerous.

Telem’s silence was so chilling that Ryan was surprised she didn’t see ice blooming across his helmet. She started to move between the two of them, sensing that this was going to turn very ugly very fast.

After a moment, he recovered. “What the fuck would you even ask me that for?”

This was spiraling out of control faster than she’d thought it possibly could. She had to make Telem see, to see this was to protect them all, that she’d never wanted to hurt him. They were going to have to tell them. Senna would understand. She also knew that Senna’s accusation was baseless. She wasn’t afraid of Telem like that.

Telem’s breathing grew audible, hissing through his mask as he struggled to contain himself, usual authority and calm airlocked. “All I want is to keep our people safe, and Ryan… even though she isn’t, well – I consider her as good as one of us. And you’re asking me if I’m threatening her?” He pressed a gloved hand to his chest, as if to steady himself, his tone dropping into something colder, almost hurt. “Is that really what you think of me? I would never. Never ever.”

Senna faltered, the question catching him off guard. “Telem, I didn’t—”

“Because, Senna,” Telem interrupted, his voice a low growl, “when I say she’s going to get hurt, it’s not because I want it to happen. It’s because you’re putting her in harm’s way.” His hands clenched into fists at his sides, shaking slightly. “I’ve been nothing but patient with you, trusting your judgment even with your odd fixation on AI, but this—this goes beyond trust. This is a betrayal of our people...”

His voice trailed off, his fury overtaken by something else—a pain that seemed to seep through the cracks in his anger, exposed and unguarded. “Do you really think I’d ever threaten her?” He looked between Senna and Ryan, eyes bright beneath his visor. “I don’t think you understand how much I’m risking by not turning you both in.”

Telem’s voice was hoarse, as though forcing back emotions he wouldn’t allow himself to feel. He turned away, clearly disgusted by Senna’s insinuation, yet unable to walk away from them. He seemed to be grappling with what to do next, with a heavy tension settling on his shoulders.

For a moment, no one said anything. The silence was thick, an invisible, and incredibly fragile tether holding Telem to Ryan, but barely. Ryan’s gaze flickered between them, wanting to say something that would defuse the situation but afraid to choose the wrong words.

"Both of you, stop. This isn’t about who’s to blame. I came here to talk to Liat because there’s something I need to understand about the outbreak. That’s all. We’re not in danger, and I’m not hiding anything from you, or—"

The light on the front of Telem’s helmet flickered with his harsh laugh. "Oh, right, because talking to a VI will solve everything, and you weren’t hiding anything from me? I think hiding a VI on my ship counts as hiding something – a pretty big something." Telem answered, icily, before turning to Senna. "You’re lucky she asked me to keep this quiet, Senna. You really are. But if this goes any further, you’re on your own. I won’t clean up after this mess when it comes back to bite us."

It was obvious to Ryan that he meant Senna, and not her. That he’d try to save her if this got out. She knew Senna would as well, but it was reassuring to know that Telem was the same. And, she thought with some apprehension, Senna might not have enough pull to get them out of this. Of course, Telem might not either, but between the two of them…

Another tear slid down her cheek when. After a final long look at Ryan, the door slid shut behind Telem, leaving them with nothing more than oppressive silence.

**

Senna stared at the floor, jaw clenched, his mind racing with the weight of Pathfinder’s parting words. He hated it—hated the way Telem always made him feel one step behind. He also couldn’t stand the look on Ryan’s face. She’d already been weighed down by the guilt – to the point that Senna was going to tell her that she should tell him about Qetsi. He thought it was the two secrets that hurt her, that perhaps if one was off her chest, she’d be happier.

She sniffed, making it obvious she was trying to hold back a fresh downpour of tears.

"He’s wrong Senna. Liat isn’t the enemy here, and neither are you. But I should have never – I knew it was wrong to not say anything about – God, if he finds out about Qetsi and that we know. I really think we should tell him, Senna."

And then she really was crying again. It was clear the guilt was hurting her more than he’d realized. That he’d hurt her by trying to tell her to keep his secret, manipulated her into it. Because that was what he’d done, he realized it just then. And Ryan – she was so sweet she’d never…

The realization rattled him far more than Telem’s harsh words. Ancestors, he’d been so selfish.

Senna sighed, the breath breezing through his filter. Cautiously, he moved away from the now closed door to Ryan.

"Maybe he’s right, though. Maybe I’m leading us into something we can’t control. Maybe trying to hide what happened with the virus will only make it worse. I mean, how can we keep this a secret forever? Liat, maybe we could have, but what Qetsi did. I don’t know. I think… I think this is all my fault. If they find out, this will take you down with me. And Telem too. He isn’t wrong about how dangerous this is, even if he doesn’t know the full extent of it."

Ryan didn’t speak; she just collapsed onto Senna’s couch and hid her face in her hands. Senna cautiously made his way to her, and wrapped his arms around her delicately, like she might break like a visor glanced by a bullet, cracking in zig zags in mindless patterns.

“I’m so sorry, Ryan,” he whispered, his breather lighting her dark hair as it rustled with each exhale. She’d smelled like something herbal when they’d been together. The lack of skin-on-skin or even just the scent of someone’s hair or soap was the curse of the Quarian people.

She leaned into him. “It’s okay.”

Ancestors, he didn’t think he’d ever met anyone like her before. As much as he resented Telem, he understood what he saw in her, why he wanted her. No matter how angry Telem was, Senna suspected he still did.

He, however, didn’t completely understand what she saw in the Pathfinder. He was rash, overemotional, and prone to outbursts – it was part of why Senna had quietly disapproved of his appointment.

Worst of all, he could be an absolute bosh’tet. Perhaps it was his confidence, that Senna personally thought veered to close to arrogance. He’d seen the Pathfinder’s face. The man was objectively good looking, and had never had issues with finding women. But all the same…

He stroked Ryan’s hair, twisting her almost black strands around his fingers gently. It was something he’d learned calmed her down for some reason. Humans were odd like that.

“It’s really not. I shouldn’t have asked you to do so much, and Telem shouldn’t have yelled at you. He’s a…” Senna searched for a word that didn’t exactly translate right to Khelish, but he’d found so funny the first time he’d heard it. “He’s a dick.”

Ryan laughed, a little weakly, but it was still a laugh. “He was being one,” she said.

In Senna’s opinion, Ryan was far too charitable. But he supposed that was part of why he’d been so taken with her in the first place.

“Whatever you like.”

They stayed like that for a while, as Ryan slowly fell asleep on his shoulder.

If Senna knew anything about Telem, and he definitely did, having had the misfortune of being in school with him and then having to work with him, he would be kicking himself at this moment. Senna figured it would be fine to let him wallow for a bit. Right now, Ryan needed a break.

Chapter Text

Telem stormed through the halls of the Si’yah, fuming about the holographic excuse of a woman in the commander’s room. He’d been so distracted with it that he’d nearly knocked over a Drell who was arguing with a human woman over some something that he didn’t give enough of a shit about to even register. The iridescently scaled man had given him what he thought was a glare – it was hard to tell with their eyes being all one color without the infrared that Quarians had to show their moods, while the Drell’s human companion gave Telem a much more apologetic glance. She looked a little like Ryan, but not exactly. It might have been species-ist for him to think so, but he couldn’t help it. Her hair was a few shades lighter, her eyes rounder and a little greener, but something about her posture reminded him of Ryan.

She touched the Drell’s arm, which he promptly shook off before huffing a “Watch where you’re going homeless,” to Telem and walking away.

“Sorry,” the woman mouthed to him, before following the Drell.

Telem watched them walk away, the woman’s gait much like Ryan’s even with her curvier body shape.

Ryan would have called him a “douche-bag” as soon as they walked away. He still didn’t understand what they meant. She’d tried to explain it and the concept sounded insane, but it was still pretty funny.

Ryan.

Ancestors, he was an idiot.

Ryan’s pretty face featured in his ruminations all the way from Senna’s quarters to his own. Instead of going into his rooms – the largest ones on the entire Si’yah, he passed them by to go to one of the observation decks on the same floor.

This particular one was his favorite because it faced away from the Nexus. It reminded him of simpler times. Had he done the wrong thing by signing up for the Andromeda Initiative?

The stars were the Quarian homeworld now, had been for the past three hundred years – well, the past nine hundred if you counted how long they were all asleep in their pods, speeding from cluster to cluster until they finally left the Milky Way, going farther into the galactic medium than anyone had ever before. Even now, most Quarians called a ship their home. How was this any different?

The constellations were all wrong, but other than that…

Leaning against the glass, the reflection of his breather light dimming and brightening with each inhale and exhale, Telem imagined what Ryan might look like if she did a spacewalk just outside this window. If she were a biotic, and wore one of those stupid little breathers with a forcefield around her, would her hair float around? She’d definitely have to tie it up. Fog from his breath interrupted his musings, and he wiped it away with a glove.

Why in the world humans would be insane enough to go into zero g without a suit was beyond him. No, Ryan was not a biotic, and she was also far more practical than that. Sure, he liked the way she looked in a dress, it was basically underwear to a Quarian, but she’d never be stupid enough to go outside without a real suit even if she had a strong enough barrier to stop a battleship.

Also, he’d try to talk her out of it most likely. Insist that he do it instead. She was too important to be doing any space walks.

Not least to him.

Slumping down into a chair, he sighed, staring out the massive windows for at least an hour trying to make sense of the new shapes before making his way back to his quarters.

He’d been here before, Telem realized, as he poured himself a glass of Turian brandy – the good stuff this time. After the party, when he’d embarrassed the three of them – but this time he couldn’t feel it was all his fault. He didn’t blame Ryan so much as he blamed Senna. He hadn’t lied to her. She didn’t understand – couldn’t understand his feelings. But all the same…

He shouldn’t have yelled at her. Maybe Senna deserved it, but not her. Never her.

“Fuck,” he said aloud to his empty bedroom.

He was going to have to apologize again, but he suspected that time she might need a few days before she wanted to see him – if she still wanted to see him, be his friend, be anything to him. This time he didn’t have the excuse of being a drunken idiot. He’d been stone cold sober when he’d said those things.

But first, he had to make sure he got through his drunken idiocy tonight – without hurting anyone’s feelings, except maybe his own… He finished his first drink a little too quickly.

He poured another glass of Turian brandy. “K, don’t let me call out tonight, and don’t allow anything incoming unless it’s an emergency.”

K’s voice was robotic. He’d had Senna change her voice within his own quarters. He didn’t like the friendly tone it had for everyone else. “Enter override code, Pathfinder Yered,” it said.

“Rannoch8743,” he replied, using a password he’d used forever.

Maybe that was stupid to use for something so sensitive, but K was sensitive to his voice.

“Overriding complete. Messages will resume as usual at 07:00, Pathfinder Yered.”

“Thank you,” he said, before grimacing.

Ryan’s politeness must be wearing off on him. He frowned, thinking of the joke she’d made about being nice to the robots so they wouldn’t kill her in an uprising. She’d looked horrified immediately after until Telem laughed.

“Damn it,” he said, as he finished his second drink.

After his third, he drifted into a fitful sleep.

**

“Wake up,” said a soft female voice next to him on the bed. He looked down at his bare chest, the slate gray of it half uncovered by a blanket.

He didn’t sleep like this often – without his suit, but today was different. He couldn’t remember why it was different, just that it was. He rolled over at the feeling of soft fingers on his spine. They felt strange, a few too many digits, too slender, too warm.

Ryan smiled at him sleepily, her body only partly covered by the same blanket. Her soft, lightly bronzed skin stood out against the stark white sheets, her inky black hair spread over the pillow like a river of silk. Her dark eyelashes and light brown eyes were bare of makeup, as were her lips. Her cheeks were sprinkled with the little constellations of skin slightly more pigmented than the rest of her – she’d called them freckles when he asked. Ancestors, she was beautiful.

What was more, he could see the outline of her slim body, and when she sat up slightly, climbing on top of him, the blanket slipped down to her waist until it slid off of her entirely, revealing her thighs and straight human calves bent at an exotic angle.

“Good morning,” Telem said, running his hands over her sides, her ribs, brushing against the underside of her breasts.

“Do you know how I can make it an even better morning?” Ryan asked him, a devious, but playful smile turning her lips and dimpling her cheek.

“How?” He said, returning her smile, before brushing his thumbs over her nipples, which perked up under his touch. They were a little larger and softer than Quarian ones, as were her breasts in general, but he didn’t mind.

She threw her head back, and lifted herself, reaching down to curl her fingers around his already hard length. He felt the heat of her entrance catch before she lowered herself again, that same warmth enveloping him, squeezing the life out of him. Gray hands found her hips to guide her just the way they both liked. The sounds she made were devastating, beautiful music to his ears.

“I love you so much,” he whispered into her neck, as she leaned forward to embrace him.

He moved faster, his hips jutting up and into her as she rode him. She started to speak but inhaled with pleasure when fingers wound their way between them to trace circles on her sensitive clit.

“I love you too,” she finally breathed out, leaning back up.

Her cheeks were tinged pink, the color creeping down her che st . Close, so close.

He moved his fingers faster until she cried out. Telem hissed, not wanting to let up or let go until she sagged against him. And when she did, he squeezed her hips a final time, intense pleasure exploding from his body. He said nothing but her name.

After a moment, she rolled off of him and he closed his eyes with a contented sigh. His arms wrapped around her body snugly, but he realized almost immediately that her skin was just as velvet as before, but something wasn’t right. Her body was harder, a little slenderer. He opened his eyes to see dark purple hair instead of black, light brown eyes replaced with bright white.

“What is it?” Qetsi asked.

It felt like she was peering into his soul. It was Qetsi. But she – It couldn’t be.

Her smile crinkled her face, the twin black lines across her light purple forehead scrunching a bit. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Soft lips, slightly differently shaped than the ones before pressed against his own.

“I do?” he asked, after she pulled back to look at him more closely.

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry,” he replied, heart clenching at the look on her face. And guilt. He didn’t know who he was betraying at this point. Was he betraying anyone?

Her full lips turned down for a moment as she idly traced circles on his back.

“It’s alright. I love you even when you’re being weird… Telem, will you always love me? No matter what?”

Telem tensed. “That’s a weird thing to ask this early in the morning,” he asked, unsuccessfully trying to sound amused.

“I’m serious,” she said.

And she was. It was clear she was. She had that look – the one she got when they were piloting an escape pod out of a tough situation, or doing a risky maneuver to save a ship. What was this all about?

“Of course,” Telem said, after a short pause. “Of course, I’ll always love you. Is – is everything alright?”

“Yes – at least will be soon…” she seemed to stop short, questioning her own words. “Well, once we get to Andromeda. I guess it’s going to feel soon, even though it’s going to be six-hundred years. Ancestors, Telem – we’re going to have our own homeworld. Things are going to be different. I just know it.”

“They will be. I’ll do anything I can to make it happen.”

Qetsi smiled up at him again. “I will too.”

The words were uncomfortable, but why? They just sat wrong… What was –? He felt sick.

**

Telem sat up hanging his head over the side of the couch as he threw up into his suit. For some reason Quarians had never let go of the habit of doing that, or covering their faces when they sneezed, despite the envirosuits making it completely unnecessary. As long as you didn’t breathe it in, well… it didn’t actually make a huge difference. No matter what, the puke was going to stay in the suit – just another reason it was imperative that they find a homeworld.

The cleaning cycle of his suit took most of it away within seconds, but there was no way to get completely clean without showering. He probably needed to get his suit looked at because it took a solid minute for the anti-nausea medicines to kick in. Telem lay there on his side, listlessly, trying to make sense of whatever that was. The words were unnerving, but he couldn’t figure out why.

Something about the way she said “I will too,” made his skin crawl. Why? It was innocuous enough, they were all giving up a lot to come here. The Initiative was insane – the wildest gamble in history in Telem’s opinion.

Everyone on the Keelah Si’yah had promised they’d give everything up for this new chance a place that wasn’t surrounded by the vacuum of space, that had real sunrise and sunset, an atmosphere, natural gravity…

Now that the words and her question had been summoned to the front of his mind, he realized the memory was a real one, even that bizarre question she’d asked him about loving her. He’d thought she was just nervous about the trip, but was she?

Other than the ghost part and his mind’s replacing Qetsi with Ryan for half of it, it was definitely real.

Ryan being there was another issue entirely, best left to a moment when he didn’t have a pounding headache.

He really needed to get his suit looked at. The painkillers should be working more quickly. And the main person to check that would be…

“Fuck,” he said. “Good job, Telem. A Quarian that alienates the best doctor on the ship, real smart.”

He realized as he said it, that it was true. A lot of physicians had died during the plague. Ryan was brilliant in her own way, but under normal circumstances it would take her a few more years to be the top physician on the Si’yah. Sighing, he realized that he’d just have to deal with it for a day or two. He didn’t want to bother her right now.

Collapsing into his office chair, he waited for the drugs to take full effect, his mind wandering. What he’d said in the dream… it was true, he realized. He loved Ryan. It was so obvious now. Even from the first moment he saw her, walking into that med-bay, seeing her sitting primly at the desk, bubble mask over her mouth and elbow length gloves covering her slender hands and arms, jumpsuit zipped to regulation, the first thought he’d had was that she was so beautiful.

He’d dismissed it as disorientation from stasis, but no. If he were honest with himself, he’d admit that it was probably only because he felt guilty about thinking that because of – Well, he hadn’t known what happened yet, had he?

The pain started to fade from his temples as he forced himself to clear his mind and breathe in through his nose and out through his mouth. After a few minutes, the hangover let up, and, with great courage, opened his data screen.

He stared at it for a minute, hesitating. Did he really want to look into anything? It would assuage his paranoia – probably. But what if he found something he didn’t want to find. Or found nothing and felt bad about doubting Qetsi, Ryan, shit, even Senna.

Hesitantly, he swiped on his screen to pull up the tap keyboard. His shaking hands got the better of him, however, and so he pulled an old fashioned physical keyboard out. Sometimes Quarians needed to use them – the gloves made things difficult, even the newer ones.

What to search for first?

The cursor blinked on the screen, a staccato warning that he was probably about to do something stupid. Ryan had told him once about a human story called Schrodinger’s Cat. In this ridiculous story, which she made sound like a scientific theory, a cat – some sort of fuzzy animal she said, was both alive and dead until someone looked at it. Humans were odd like that. Other than them, only Drell were that preposterously philosophical. What did it matter if someone looked in a box? It was what it was, the person just didn’t know. Stupid.

Whatever, this blinking line was dangerous. He should close this window and go back to bed for a few hours. Unfortunately, like one of those furry creatures Ryan had told him about, Telem was far too curious for his own good.

Thinking hard, he tried to think of what to search for. He pulled up the searches he’d already tried. Same as before, obviously, but on the upside it meant no one was currently messing with anything, flagging new terms, deleting things, or whatever. He typed in a few other things without any luck until he searched “Captain” AND “Drell” NOT “Yorrik” OR “Qetsi.” An insanely long shot, but he was almost out of ideas.

One search result came up.

Medical Record: “Axal, Daron.”

Species: Drell

Sex: Male

Age: 22

Pod Assignment: D-56732

Telem clicked through a few tabs hitting CTRL+F on the word “Captain” until a page filled with highlighted words. He frowned. Apparently, the Drell, Daron, had the chimera virus and nearly died from it. The notes were heavily redacted, names missing all over the place, but whoever had done it hadn't been thorough enough.

Drell had perfect memories didn’t they? That’s what they said – what Ryan had said to him even, on one of the rare occasions she mentioned her husband. Maybe he should talk to this Daron.

He might have better answers than the ones he’d been getting.

Chapter Text

Thirty Years Ago – Intergalactic Space

Everything was twisted—the gravely ill Elcor and the Quarian across the med-bay room from Daron rocked back and forth in his fevered vision. Were they actually swaying, or was it his body betraying him, turning the world into a slow, nauseating sea? He’d rather be dead than feel this nauseated. Maybe he was dead – the pair in the room didn’t regard him as if he were alive, at least.

His body ached, as he lay on his side. The pustules that appeared just a few hours after he’d started getting sick were leaking. His scales burned, and his lungs felt thick with something he couldn’t cough up. It was pretty obvious what it was, but he didn’t want to consider something worse than Kepral’s constricting him like that.

The voices of the two figures drifted over the quiet hum of the ship’s engines. They were low, hushed, but not quite low enough.

Daron closed his eyes. The lack of visual input only sharpened the sound of the conversation and the intense pain. He took deep – well, as deep as he could, shuddering breaths, shoulders shaking with each inhale. Pain lanced his ribs from the effort.

The Quarian’s voice caught his attention. It was different from others he’d met on the Keelah Si’yah—something in the cadence, the faint accent that the translator didn’t fully smooth over. Daron had read about the Quarians, their lost home, their long exile. They had been fools to create the Geth, yet he could not bring himself to see them as wholly deserving of their fate. It was the tragedy of the dispossessed, one he understood too well. Drell had sealed their fate just as unintentionally in a bid to make their lives better, easier.

The Quarian — Senna’Nir, the Commander, he suddenly remembered — was nearly in tears.

Daron barely had the energy to pity him, not because he didn’t care, but because he was too far gone. His mind was slipping in and out, the fever pulling him away from the present. The troubles of the living no longer seemed to belong to him. The call of the sea grew louder with each breath. It’s salted embrace reached out to him with loving and tender hands.

He didn’t need his eyes to hear the strain in the Commander’s voice, the squeak of a glove against a visor, the faint rasp of fabric over hard polymer.

“Why would she do it?” Senna choked out. “Why would Qetsi do this? This was supposed to be our fresh start.”

Even through the fever’s haze, Daron recognized the personal grief beneath the words. This was more than just mourning the dead. This Qetsi’Olam had not simply betrayed the mission and everyone in the ark. She had betrayed Senna. Personally.

The Elcor spoke next, his voice weak. The sickness was squeezing the life out of him too, Daron guessed.

“With great sadness and resignation, as the humans like to say… she was off her rocker. Do not blame yourself, Senna’Nir.”

Senna let out a noise, something between a bitter laugh and a sob.

“When are you going to have the cure?” he asked after a long pause.

“With regret, I may not have it in time to save myself,” the Elcor admitted. “But you should be able to—”

“No.” Senna’s voice was sharp, almost desperate. Daron cracked his eyes open, watching the way Senna turned away, his respirator lights flickering wildly with each shallow breath.

“Apologetically,” the Elcor said gently. “Do not worry about me. Worry about this ship. About getting everyone to Andromeda safely. And… taking care of Qetsi.” He hesitated, not wanting to state the obvious.

It was clear the Elcor thought that justice wasn’t to be delayed. What had this Qetsi done? Daron wondered.

“Most importantly,” Yorrik continued, “You need to pick who is going to disperse the cure. I will not lie to you, Senna’Nir. It will not be pretty.”

Even to Daron’s fevered mind. The answer seemed pretty obvious. Judging by what they said, it seemed like this was somehow Qetsi’s fault. How? He didn’t think he could form a coherent thought long enough to figure it out.

Then came the soft slide of the door behind them. Daron flinched at the sudden noise, but before it had fully opened, there was a sharp bang—someone had shoved it too hard, slamming it into the wall impatiently. A spring snapped, breaking with an audible pop. The door stuttered, sliding limply halfway shut before drifting back open again.

Footsteps. A Drell. A Quarian. A Batarian.

Daron barely processed the figures. He saw them in fragments—the dark green scales of the Drell, the limp posture of the Quarian she dragged behind her. Then the Batarian, who was pushing the Quarian forward, her movements aggressive and impatient.

Qetsi’Olam. The name piqued something in his memory now.

Daron recognized her helmet, the particular way she carried herself, even in disgrace. She slumped forward, motionless, until the Batarian shoved her again. She hissed something under her breath—Daron couldn’t make out the words.

The group spoke in voices he couldn’t follow. Apparently, the newcomers were a little more reserved than Senna and Yorrik. Their tones, however, were unmistakable.

The Elcor spoke up, loud enough that Daron could understand. “With as much tact as possible through this godforsaken translator software, someone must walk through all of the environments to ensure it gets to everyone – including the Volus zone.”

It was quiet for a long moment. A charged silence. Everyone in the room was smart enough, even Daron in his feverish stupor, to know what that meant. It was a suicide mission. And whoever did it would have to be unaffected by the virus.

Daron’s vision swam as he struggled to keep them open for this part. The answer seemed pretty obvious to him.

Then, in a voice almost disturbingly gleeful, the Batarian said, black eyes flashing with wicked humor. “Her.”

“Borbala has a point,” the female Drell murmured, looking down at the Quarian. “She did start this—but it’s your call, Commander.”

For a moment, Daron thought Senna would say no. The Quarian’s posture was stiff, frozen in indecision.

He had seen them together before, he realized dimly. It made sense that they’d work together given their ranks, but it hadn’t seemed fully professional. Something in their body language, in the way Senna’s visor faced Qetsi’s, suggested history.

Then, suddenly, Senna lunged forward, grabbing the Captain by her elbow.

The Commander’s hands wrenched at Qetsi’s helmet, tearing it off without gentleness, hesitation evaporated. Her scarf fluttered to the ground and her hoses dangled from the empty helmet. The circular light on the breather darkened permanently as it thumped to the med-bay floor. Daron had never seen a Quarian’s face before. She was pretty. Her face was a cross between a human and an Asari, with a similar nose, eyes, mouth. Her long purple hair dangled down her back in a long braid.

The Captain looked up at him, her face agonized. “I’m sorry, Senna,” she whispered.

“Tell that to the thousands of people that died, Qetsi. If you’re really sorry, you’ll fix this mess,” the Commander said, his visor fogging.

Daron twitched. He let out a wet cough, a splatter of blood and pus hitting the floor beside him. The movement caught someone’s attention.

A shadow fell over him.

Daron’s vision swam as a pair of knees came into view—sharp, bony, pressed against the hard floor. A green face leaned close, obscuring his sight of the others.

She had a breathing mask over her mouth, but her eyes were sharp, assessing.

“Hello,” she said, like she was meeting him at a party instead of crouching beside him in the sickbay of an intergalactic ship in distress. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Anax Therion.”

Daron tried to speak, but his lungs failed him. He wheezed, his fingers twitching feebly against the cot beneath him.

Anax Therion studied him for a moment before glancing at the blood on the floor. “You’re lucky,” she said, almost idly. “They’ve just about formulated a cure.”

Then she reached for him.

Daron was barely aware of the moment she hauled him up, her lean frame stronger than it looked. His head lolled against her shoulder.

“Come on,” she said, adjusting his weight. “Let’s get you to the Drell wing.”

Daron barely noticed when she carried him away.

But as she moved, his bleary gaze flickered past her shoulder—just for a moment—toward the two Quarians left behind.

And then they were gone, replaced by the Batarian with one missing eye giving him an unattractive smile.

He would learn later what happened to those Quarians, specifically to Qetsi.

He was glad he hadn’t been there to see it.

**

Anax Therion stared into Daron’s pod, where he lay fast asleep, sores healed.

“You reaaaaallllly should have killed him,” said Borbala, her gruff voice stretching out the word for emphasis.

Anax blinked at the Batarian. “I know you’re a Batarian, but even you should be able to put aside that savagery to realize that we can’t let even one more Drell go. Our population is going to be strained enough as it is. Even an idiot would know our biodiversity is on its last legs.”

Borbala scoffed. “Any Batarian would see something like that as a liability to the gene pool, and his memory would be a liability to me personally. And besides – you think your insults wound me? I –” 

Anax stalked closer to where Borbala stood, completely unbothered by the conversation. She was just as tall as Borbala, and much younger and stronger, but to her credit, the Batarian didn’t back down. Instead, her jagged teeth cracked into a wide smile. Anax wondered if it would be worth it to slap her, though she wasn’t sure that was what she really wanted to do. The glint in Borbala’s eyes seemed less violent than usual.

“I don’t actually care if it hurts your feelings, Borbala. Maybe Batarians don’t care about their own, but that isn’t the way for us. And he’s not going to remember.”

The Batarian leaned against the door, her angular elbows jutting out to prop her on the cool plastic as she surveyed the younger woman. “I thought those fancy lungs of yours were the only thing that would fuck up a Drell. That’s part of the reason the Hanar uplifted you all – perfect little servants for them. Smart. Agile. Strong. Hard to strangle thanks to those weird inflatable necks. Aren’t you supposed to have flawless memories too, Anax?” 

Anax did her best to not let her throat puff up or the divots on her cheeks redden with frustration. “I’m not surprised a Batarian would have such a simple-minded view of things. You all aren’t known for your mental prowess, are you? Well, let me dumb it down for you into little words you’ll understand.”

Borbala’s smile widened even more, as Anax continued, leaning in, nearly hissing at the other woman. “Drell never forget things, not really. We can call up any memory and mentally review it after the fact, but we don’t remember everything all at once. We would go completely insane. We also don't remember things that we aren't conscious for. There – I didn’t even use any exotic words like eidetic. Do you understand now?”

“Ohhhh, I understand plenty. You should smile more, you know. You’re so pretty when you smile.”

Anax frowned. “Well, you should smile less. Your teeth look like spears.”

Borbala slid her hand down Anax’s bare arm. “Yeah, you keep playing hard to get. It’s fun.”

Anax yanked her arm back, giving the Batarian a dirty look.

“Whatever. If anything happens to him,” Anax said, jutting two webbed fingers in the direction of Daron’s pod, “I’ll kill you.”

The Drell shoved past her into the hallway, fuming. Even walking quickly, she could hear Borbala’s laughter down the hallway. 

Chapter Text

Telem sat across his office desk from the vividly blue Drell, his hands pressing against his visor. If it weren’t for the nanotech material gloves that prevented it, it’d be smudged to Rannoch and back by now. The hour he’d spent listening to the Drell tell his story had been the most agonizing of his life. His notes had revealed that in his stupor he’d been asking about the captain, mentioning incoherent babbling about the nature of the virus. Whoever had redacted that record hadn’t been thorough enough, fortunately for Telem.

“And you’re sure, absolutely sure, that this wasn’t a fever dream. Some sort of hallucination brought on by that virus? You almost died, is it possible that –?” he asked the Drell desperately.

“No,” the younger man said, in that signature rasp that Drell spoke with. “Memories don’t lie. I thought it for a while, honestly, because there aren’t many records of people coming back from something like that. But no, I am certain, Pathfinder.”

“Who else was involved? Do you know? It’s very important that I know, Daron.”

Telem’s voice was frantic, as he shoved himself to his feet. He started to pace, something he’d never realized he’d done until Ryan mentioned –

“Fuck,” he said, kicking a trashcan clear across the room.

Daron jumped at the unexpected display, his throat inflating just a little in surprise.

“I’m sorry. This is just – this is just a lot. So, do you know anything?”

“There are parts that are hazy, despite the eidetic – the Drell memory. I know there are others involved, but not how exactly. The conversation I overheard was incomplete. Even with a perfect memory, I am only aware of what I was physically awake and in the room for. I do not believe that Anax Therion and the Batarian – I don’t know her name, were involved in the virus. Nor do I believe the Commander was.”

Not involved, but that son of a bitch had lied. Had convinced Ryan to lie to him too, he suspected. Ryan must know, he thought to himself. He remembered the look on her face when he’d asked her if there was anything else she wasn’t telling him. She looked like she’d been about to say something until – until Senna had walked in, and derailed the whole thing.

“Right,” Telem responded. “There was definitely a cover up. I think – I think I understand why they wanted to, it’s just… why wouldn’t they tell me? Especially her – why wouldn’t she?”

Daron’s inky black eyes peered at him in that blank, inscrutable way. “Who? The Captain?”

He shook his head. “No, I meant…”

“Do you mean that human doctor?”

Telem froze. “How do you know about her?”

The Drell shifted uncomfortably. “I think that everyone knows about the human. The Nexus party…”

“Oh,” Telem said. “Right.”

He dropped back into his seat. “Okay,” he continued, “You mentioned Anax. I’m sure the Batarian was Borbala Ferank, and I remember Yorrik… we can’t ask him, unfortunately.”

Blinking, the Drell grumbled a little. “Anax isn’t in trouble, is she? She saved my life.”

Telem shook his head, frowning behind his darkened visor. “Not in the way that you’re thinking. I don’t – I don’t know what I’m going to do yet. I need to think about this.”

“May I go now?” Daron asked, in that overly polite tone that every Drell he’d ever spoken with had.

“Hm?” asked Telem, who’d been lost in thought. “Oh, right. Yes. You may go. Thank you, Daron. You’ve been a big help.”

“It was no problem, Pathfinder.”

When the door closed behind the younger man, Telem just sat there for a moment. He couldn’t believe it, but it made so much sense. At the time, he’d thought Qetsi was acting strange. At the same time, who wouldn’t act strange when they were about to leave almost everything they ever knew behind?

But this? This was insane. How could he ever… She’d always been so sweet to him, so thoughtful. How could he ever trust anyone? The way that Ryan had reminded him of her scared him now. Was she secretly like that?

No. No way. He couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t believe that he’d fall for that twice. Couldn’t believe that the world was that full of just… evil.

Glancing at the bottle of Turian brandy across the room, he considered, briefly, pouring a glass. But no – it was way too early for that. Grumbling to himself, he pulled a packet of fruity nutrient paste. Looking down at it, he realized that it was the same flavor that Ryan had given him. He threw it back in the drawer.

Ancestors, she was so thoughtful. He knew now that it hadn’t been an accident. It was easy to doubt a human would know that was a universally popular flavor, but she had. She cared. Or at least he thought she had. No one cared about Quarians – even some Quarians didn’t.

If the Drell was to be believed, Qetsi was one of them.

On the other hand, Daron had been incredibly ill and what he’d witnessed didn’t technically prove anything other than there was some sort of cover up, and Senna…

Her helmet. He’d taken her helmet off. Where was the due process? And more importantly, how did he know that Senna hadn’t been responsible for this? He’d be just as shocked by it, considering how much the commander had loved Qetsi’Olam. There was absolutely no way that Senna would have done that if he hadn’t been convinced that she was guilty, and if it was true that the person that dispersed the cure had to die.

It was possible that Senna was misled. His first officer, despite his disturbing fixation on AI, had always been honorable. Maybe someone had laid out careful evidence that Qetsi had done this, had engineered a virus deadly enough to kill thousands.

Telem realized, however, that unless there was a confession from Qetsi, either written or corroborated with a few people, Senna would have to pay for that. Misled or not, he’d taken another Quarian’s mask off outside of a clean room – a major offense. Typically, the punishment was based on how sick the person got after. Exile was the typical punishment if the victim died or was permanently injured.

Telem would have to question people, but he wasn’t sure who to start with. Anax was a likely choice, but she wasn’t going to be easy to get anything out of. If the rumors were true, she’d been an agent for the Shadow Broker.

Senna couldn’t be first. He had to collect more evidence before he confronted him, had to know whether or not he was going to have to blow up his entire life even more than it already was.

He knew who he needed to talk to, and he wasn’t looking forward to it.

He stood, making his way to the door. “Keep it together, Telem.”

**

Ryan spent the few days following the blow out argument about Liat mostly alone. Senna would come sit with her in the evenings, and she’d go talk to Liat during her lunch hour. One of the things she was most afraid of was that Telem was going to apologize to her.

She really didn’t want him to. Not when she was still hiding such a terrible secret. She’d have to tell him before he got the words out, if he showed up and seemed like he was going to apologize.

Around noon almost a week after Telem had discovered Liat, Ryan felt herself start to fall asleep in her chair office chair. It had been difficult for the past few days to sit with her guilt at night. She and Senna had talked about it, decided that she was right – that they’d have to tell Telem. It was more of a matter of when at this point, and how to minimize the damage from the whole thing.

Crawling out of her chair, she dragged herself to the counter to grab a canned coffee out of the mini-fridge that she kept her lunch in, as well as snacks for patients. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the shiny surface of the fridge’s door. It wasn’t great. Even in the diffused image projected on stainless steel, she could see her hair was messy, half coming out of her braid, and her dark circles were more prominent than usual.

Smoothing her slightly wrinkled jumpsuit, she sat back down, the coffee opening with a little pop. Her datapad opened to a novel, and she stared at the screen trying to make the words sink into her mind.

It was hard to pay attention, even to the fast-paced thriller on the screen. About a chapter in, she realized with a sickening feeling in her stomach, that it was about a bioterrorist. She closed the app, agitated. She could leave if she wanted or she could gut through six more hours of work. Either way, her evening would be the same. She could, what – go back to her room and wallow? Let Senna try and make her feel better again?

In truth, some of his ways to make her feel better were very nice and did help her sleep. And it definitely helped him. He was stressed too, just not as stressed as her.

Frowning at the datapad’s blank screen, she reminded herself that Telem would have to talk to her no later than next week. His suit needed new filters, just like he did every three weeks – unless he got sick or injured, obviously.

Which was Ryan’s job – she’d gotten a suit maintenance certification when she’d first taken a position on the Fleet.

There were other people, but suit maintenance was a personal thing, sort of like getting a haircut. Theoretically, someone could change their own filters, but it wasn’t easy. Someone else could do it, but it wasn’t the same as having a trusted person do it. She’d taken over for both him and Senna when they’d come out of stasis.

Should she tell him before or after that? Which would be less disruptive –

Her head snapped up to see the office door opening, the busy med-bay bustling, and the person walking in.

“Telem,” she said.

But before she could get another word in edgewise, he sheered his visor.

And she knew.

He swept across the room, quickly to lean over her desk, his imposing figure casting a shadow over the organized chaos. If he were a frightening sort of man, it would have been scary. He was taller than most Quarians, who tended to be slim and shorter than the average human. Senna was tall, but Telem was huge. She’d never really appreciated it before that moment.

The look on his face didn’t strike fear into her heart, though. It was more pained than anything, far, far worse than when he’d found out about Liat.

At least she wouldn’t have to dodge any apologies.

“When were you going to tell me? You were going to tell me, right?”

She felt her cheeks burn with shame, her vision blurred with tears, which started to fall onto the desk.

“Soon,” she said. “I was going to tell you soon; I just didn’t know how… when… How – how much do you know? I’ll tell you anything, I promise.”

His lips formed into a tight line. “Your promises – you’ll understand if I don’t find them compelling right now.”

The world was crumbling around her now, just like she feared it would. “That’s fair,” she said, her voice almost a whisper. “I’m really sorry. I just promised that I wouldn’t –”

“Wouldn’t tell me because you promised Senna. Maybe I misjudged you. I thought that maybe you…” he trailed off. “I thought that you cared about me.”

“I do. Of course, I do!”

“You wouldn’t keep something like this from me if you did,” he said, with a voice so blunt that it caught her straight in the chest like a knife chilled in ice. “You only keep secrets for some people.”

Anger replaced the deep hurt that sank her stomach like the Titanic. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

"You always stand by men like him, don't you? Just like you did with Telyat."

Ryan stood up. This was crossing the line on so many levels. She didn’t even know where to start.

“Don’t you dare bring him up,” she hissed, leaning across the table so that she was close enough that his breather ruffled her hair.

“Why not? It’s the truth. It’s not even just him. You follow them, you defend them, stand by them—right up until they destroy you. That’s what’s going to happen here, Ryan."

There wasn’t a chance that Telem didn’t realize what he was saying was completely stupid and cruel. Telyat had only destroyed her because he died.

“It’s just like what I told you about that VI,” Telem continued. “I meant it when I said you would get into so much trouble if anyone found out. That is nothing compared to what will happen if anyone knows you’re a part of this… cover-up. I would just say you’re being selfish for keeping this from me if you weren’t being such a fool.”

Ryan’s hands shook, wishing for something sturdy to hold. She settled for the desk, which she gripped like she would die if she let go.

“You don’t even know what you’re talking about, Telem. I was trying to help,” she said, her voice breaking, “I was only trying to help. If it got out…”

“If what got out exactly? Because I’m still not completely clear on what happened – memories of a Drell who was half dead aren’t super reliable and they sure as hell don’t make Senna look good.”

Ryan didn’t mention the human-ism of saying hell, even though normally it would have made her laugh.

“How, exactly, does Senna look bad here? You were in your pod, you can’t possibly understand what was going on in the Si’yah. I don’t even fully understand because I was still in cryo on the Hyperion.”

“It wasn’t my fault! They didn’t fucking wake me up. How am I supposed to trust what happened? Frankly, it’s hard for me to believe that Qetsi would do that – would—would…”

“Would engineer a virus that would kill everyone?” said Ryan, now sobbing in earnest. “Well, she fucking did. Did you know that she confessed? She admitted it to Senna. I agreed to keep this secret not because Senna asked me to, but because I care about you all.”

Telem didn’t even react to the curse word, a symbol of how badly this situation had devolved.

“Oh please, are we just another reckless cause for you to throw yourself into? What – are we just a hobby or some kind of pet project for you to play with? I’ve told you before that you can’t understand.”

“I know. I know, Telem – please just listen.”

“No,” he said.

The word cracked her world in two. “Please,” Ryan said, reaching out for his hand.

He jerked his hand back, echoing that first time she’d tried to touch him. She knew she needed to back off – that he was overwhelmed, bombarded with information. And so she just watched as he dimmed his face plate. He turned his back on her and left, without looking back, as the door slid shut behind him.

Ryan sank back into her chair and cried until her sleeves were soaked from tears. If he would have just listened. She understood where he was coming from of course – she’d be pretty upset if she were in his place, but she liked to think she would have listened to him.

And… maybe he was jealous? It wasn’t anything she’d seen with him before. He’d become important to her, just as important as Senna. She hadn’t been showing it. It was so obvious now.

She hadn’t realized until just then, just how much she’d come to enjoy his company. How much she cared about him.

Even loved him.

It was different than how she felt about Senna. God, she hated to compare them, but it wasn’t like that. Senna was safe but in the best possible way. She loved him so much. He was sweet, always there, so stable. The funny thing about what Telem had said was that he was more like Telyat than he realized; suave, charismatic, opinionated, and a little crazy.

But… what he said about her was true. She’d always been the type to give herself completely, not questioning whether something was a good idea or not. She thought she’d left that behind in the Milky Way, but she’d been wrong and Telem was right.

Sniffling, she left the office early, telling the Quarian girl at the front desk that she was taking the rest of the day – claiming a migraine. She didn’t think her assistant bought it, not surprising as the fucking Pathfinder had just left her office after a shouting match. The room wasn’t fully soundproof, so there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell that she hadn’t heard anything.

Even so, she just nodded and went back to her work, presumably calling in Ryan’s substitute – or else sending everyone in the group chat the tea. Or both.

Red-eyed, she made her way through the halls, avoiding looking at anyone. It seemed like it took forever to get to her quarters. She rifled through the drawers to find the ugliest, softest sweatpants and t-shirt she could find and curled on her couch. She lay like that for a while until she fell asleep, her chest hollow like the Pathfinder scooped her insides out with an ice cream spoon.

By the time she woke up, the artificial day and night cycle had dimmed to pitch dark. That was when she decided that she couldn’t take it. She needed to get out of here.

**

Senna sat on his couch, watching a vid about early human ideas about other intelligent life. They were so fascinating, by the reckoning of how much time it felt like had passed, humans had only known about aliens for what, thirty, forty years?

It was fascinating to see the various things they came up with. The Fermi Paradox was the most interesting to him, especially their idea of The Dark Forest. They’d been pretty on the spot about the Reapers. Despite what a lot of people thought, Senna fully believed that the horrible thing he’d seen on the Citadel was a Reaper. He could understand why people would deny it, but…

Someone buzzed his door. He jumped up, crossing the room in a few strides to open the door, only to see Ryan.

Ancestors, she looked like a wreck. Her threadbare, soft worn clothes hung off her frame. Like her clothes, she unraveled at the seams in from of him. Her silky black hair was half out of its braid, her eyes red-rimmed, and a frown etched her pretty face. Before he could say anything, she jumped into his arms and started crying.

“Hey,” he said, “What’s wrong?”

Wrapping his arms around her, he reached behind her back to push the button to close and lock his door. As soon as he did, he pressed the button on the side of his visor to clear his visor. “Ryan,” he said. “What’s wrong?” he repeated.

She looked down, and he tilted her chin up not letting her wallow in any kind of shame.

“He knows.”

Shit.

“And he came to you first.”

He kept his face as neutral as possible. When he got ahold of Telem… She wouldn’t look like this if Telem had enough self-control to have a conversation like a damn adult. Senna wasn’t sure if he’d have enough self-control to have a civil talk with the Pathfinder.

“He wouldn’t even let me explain,” she said, crying into the shoulder of his suit, her tears rolling down the water-resistant blue fabric.

“Of course, he didn’t. That would make too much sense,” Senna said with a huff.

“And he brought up Telyat.”

He looked into Ryan’s light brown eyes, searching them, hoping that he’d misheard her. “He did what?”

“He told me that he’s not surprised I’d lie for you. Because I lied for Telyat. I know we don’t really talk about it, but… I mean, you all know what he was.”

“You were loyal to your husband, so what?” he asked, brushing away a tear with his thumb. “You did the same for me, and… if this happened now, you wouldn’t have agreed to keep this from Telem.”

Ryan looked terrified at his statement. He knew that for humans, this was unusual. After looking into it a little, he realized from his research that this wasn’t just uncommon, but stigmatized. It made sense to him after that, why she repressed everything. It was sweet really, how much she cared that she might hurt him – that she’d be willing to hurt herself.

“I don’t – I don’t know what…” Ryan started.

“It’s alright. You do know that this isn’t your problem right? Telem and I have always had… issues. Even before Qetsi. We were neck and neck in literally everything. He resented it because I’m two years younger than him but beat him on tests and target practice. I didn’t like him because was a dickhead – seems like he didn’t grow out of that.”

Ryan let out a reluctant hiccup that sounded like a laugh.

“The only problem I have with you being… fond of him,” Senna continued, “is that I’ll have to kick his ass if he keeps making you cry.”

Ryan really did laugh then, sniffling. “You know I love you, right?”

She looked so vulnerable there, standing with her arms hooked around his sides, hands with too many digits splayed out on his back.

“I know,” he said, quietly. “I love you too.”

Smoothing her hair down he led her to the couch, where she clung to him like her life depended on it. Tracing circles on her back, he turned the video back on, restarting it. She seemed vaguely interested in it, so he asked her questions, tried to distract her.

That seemed to help a little. He knew another way to distract her, but he wasn’t sure if she would want that right now. Testing the waters, he intentionally blew warm hair onto her neck. Her whole body shivered from the Quarian kiss. He’d figured out the first time he’d done it, back at the party, that it felt different to her, without the suit.

But just because she shivered didn’t necessarily mean she wanted it, so looked at her, really looked at her. There was no discomfort there, or reluctance. He knew for sure when she relaxed in his arms, sinking into the couch.

Brushing a thumb over a nipple, he realized she wasn’t wearing one of those ‘bra’ things when it stiffened under his touch. “I don’t think I tell you that you’re beautiful often enough. I should make sure I say it every day.”

“You’re always so nice to me,” she said.

Somewhat of a silly thing to say now, he thought, but he forgave her considering that he’d just pulled her shirt up to give her more very Quarian kisses. Her hands on him always made his brain short-circuit.

“Well, you deserve it. Come on,” he said, gesturing for her to lift her hips so he could tug her sweatpants down and run his hand under her simple cotton panties, the slickness of her coating his nanotech glove.

His fingers found that little spot that made her scream – Quarian women didn’t have that. He’d learned about it through his research. Ryan was no different from what he’d heard was typical for human women. When he circled it, he could see the ripple of pleasure that radiated through her body.

Keeping his thumb pressed to it, he dipped one of his fingers into her. The look on her face and the way she felt around it reminded him of the times that he’d been inside of her, especially with the way she clung to him.

Senna thought about her frequently, about how important she was – how precious to him she was, but the way she looked at him right then was part of why he loved her so much.

Most humans were uncomfortable about the suit, or worse, they made it into a fetish, instead of something that was a part of every Quarian. She wasn’t like that – she was probably the only human he’d ever met that thought like that, the only one he’d ever spoken to who seemed to understand that suits were like a second skin to them, something that covered the fragile places and kept them from getting sick.

As he curled his fingers, he considered taking off his suit, but he didn’t want to be sick tomorrow. He had business to take care of. He’d think about that later.

For now, he just watched Ryan’s blissed-out face as she got closer to her peak, her cheeks flushing with pleasure. He curled his fingers again at the same time as he circled her clit more quickly. It was when he gave her another Quarian kiss on a peaked nipple that she moaned his name and squeezed his fingers. He kept moving until she relaxed back into the couch, and finally started giggling involuntarily at the oversensitivity. He smiled at her, wanting to try something. He kept moving and once she stopped giggling, it was seconds before she came again.

Breathing hard, she looked up at him. “What was that?” she asked.

Senna shrugged. “Just something I read about.”

When she laughed. He knew he’d done it, that she’d be okay – at least for tonight. Pulling her into his chest and tugging a blanket over her, he started to stroke her hair just the way she liked. It usually sent her to sleep within five minutes.

“Now get some rest,” Senna said.

Chapter Text

Telem knew he’d been unnecessarily cruel – Ancestors, bringing him up to Ryan. He fumed alone in his quarters. He couldn’t help but feel sorry for himself, despite knowing that it was a low blow, maybe even unforgivable. He’d booked a clean room, trying to chill out and clear his head. It hadn’t helped at all. The shower had only given him time to think, and when he’d redone his suit, the panic started to set in.

That happened from time to time. He managed to make it to his bedroom before he fully started to hyperventilate. When he got like this, breathing became difficult and his suit ceased to feel like a natural part of his skin. Instead, it squeezed him, tugging on his chest like a vise. His helmet constricted, felt like the respirator was smothering him. Pressing his three-fingered hands into fists, he sat on his couch, trying to control his breathing and resist the urge to take his entire suit off.

Keelah, he was such an idiot. Why was he like this? Why did he always mess things up? Every once in a while, he and Qetsi would get in a disagreement and snipe at each other for a few minutes – but she’d never pulled her punches, metaphorically speaking. Poor Ryan – she’d just stood there until he’d crossed that line – mentioned her husband. He thought of the look on her face, the hurt. His remorse warred with his own hurt, his own feeling of betrayal.

Why hadn’t she told him? What possible reason would she have to keep something so important, so crucial from him? It wasn’t like they weren’t… well, they weren’t whatever they were, like he didn’t love her.

It was stupid, he realized now, to talk to Ryan first. He should have gone straight to Senna, need for more solid proof be damned. Instead, like an absolute bosh’tet, he’d yelled at her. His head spun as he tried to figure out who to blame.

He sat there for a while, ruminating on his own shortcomings. Ignoring the brandy across the room, he finally got up and steeped a sort of herbal tea – it had been one of the few plants that survived the escape from Rannoch. A lot of the other foods were Turian, or crossbred to the point where they no longer resembled the original plants.

Ryan had told him once that humans did the same thing – that they’d turned one plant into a dozen different varieties. Ancestors, they were a funny people. He’d grown fond of them since he’d gotten so close to Ryan.

Sipping his tea, he started to relax. Maybe it wasn’t so bad. Maybe they could all have a few days to calm down and –

Someone banged at his door, slamming their fist against it like a pissed off C-Sec officer, bypassing the bell. Quarians did that if someone really made them angry – not a good sign. Hitting things like that was serious on the fleet, ship damage was a big deal.

Sighing to himself, he strode across the room and pressed the button to open the door.

Before the door could even completely glide into the opposite wall, Senna barged into the room, shoving Telem in a vicious way that he hadn’t seen since they’d done hand-to-hand training in school.

“What the fuck was that, Senna?” Telem asked, barely catching himself from hitting the beige wall.

The First Officer slapped the door button harder than was strictly necessary, sealing them off from the outside world before turning off his translator.

Great.

His unfiltered Khelish was mocking, savage. “You know ‘What the fuck’ that was.”

Telem, of course, did know, but he wasn’t going to admit that. He turned off his own translator. “I don’t have anything to say to you, Officer.”

“I don’t give a shit, Pathfinder. You get to listen to it anyway,” Senna retorted.

Ignoring Senna, he walked to his desk and pulled up his terminal screen. Within seconds, it went blank. Telem sighed at the Omnitool in his periphery.

Fucking techs.

“Alright, say what you need to say so I can get back to work,” Telem said to his first officer, who leaned menacingly over his desk.

Senna was tall, but he’d never been particularly intimidated by him. Telem outweighed him by quite a lot – it had been a point of contention that Senna would never beat him in hand-to-hand. He stared up at him, nonplussed. If Senna had a gun pointed at him from across the room, he’d be more concerned, because the bosh’tet had great aim, something Telem thought balanced them out.

“Ryan,” Senna said.

“What about her?”

Senna’s palm slapped on the desk in frustration, sending pens rolling all over it and knocking a drawer open, so the picture of Qetsi blinked up at him. Telem shut it hard enough that it knocked the loose pens to the floor.

“You fucking know what. You might be a dick, but you aren’t stupid. Maybe I beat you on every test,” he said – Telem could tell by his voice that Senna was smirking, “But you aren’t dumb. So, don’t pretend to be. You ran away from her like a little suit wetter.”

“She came to my quarters last night,” Senna continued, his voice low but furious. “She was inconsolable. You can be mad at me all you want, but don’t do this to Ryan. This isn’t her fault, you bosh’tet. I made her promise.”

Telem’s hands balled into fists, his eyes narrowing behind his visor as he shot up from his seat.

“That’s not what she told me,” he hissed. “She said she wasn’t going to tell anyone anyway because she ‘cares about our people.’” He snorted derisively, the sound sharp and bitter. “I guess that doesn’t include me.”

“Did you even let her explain why?” Senna’s voice was ice now. He stepped forward, daring Telem to meet his eyes, through his mostly opaque visor. “Or were you too busy yelling at her in her own office?”

Telem stiffened, crossing his arms defensively. He didn’t respond, the image of her crumpled face flashing across his mind.

“Maybe you should consider the fact that you don’t know everything,” Senna hissed, his voice rising with every word, “You complete and utter tak’tal!”

For a Quarian, that insult wasn’t just brutal; it was unforgivable—calling someone a waste of space, a burden to their people. Burdens were exiled criminals or airlocked bodies of bad people. The space on the fleet was too precious for useless scum or the unloved dead – and that’s what a tak’tal was. Telem’s fingers twitched, itching to retaliate, but he held back.

“What?” Telem said through gritted teeth. “What could possibly—”

“If you had let her speak, you would have known that Ryan wasn’t lying – she did this to protect us. To protect our people,” Senna snarled, “And because I asked her to. She agreed with me. If what Qetsi did got out, it would destroy our place in Andromeda. Before we’d even settled.”

Telem shifted, his chest tightening. He knew Senna had a point, but he wasn’t ready to admit it, not yet. His emphasis on Qetsi’s name was clear. Ryan didn’t have anything to do with this. “And what makes you think I’d believe that?”

“Because I’m guessing she didn’t tell you the main part of Qetsi’s plan.” Senna’s voice dropped, the cold rage in his eyes now tinged with something darker, more dangerous.

Telem’s stomach churned as he leaned back in his seat, dread bubbling up. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know. His voice came out cold. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. You can’t possibly know what her motives were – she was just insane.”

But Senna wasn’t stopping.

“Your ship wasn’t the target, Telem,” Senna said, voice lowering. “Ryan called it a Trojan Horse – whatever that means. Your ship was a fucking bioweapon. Do you think we’d be implicated if that leaked? After all – someone would need to be high ranking to access all of those codes and systems. They’d be clamoring for someone who was actually alive to persecute. We’d be very convenient, don’t you think? And as for Ryan, well – I heard they’re building a prison on one of the more remote planets...”

Telem’s heart pounded, his mind racing.

“If that got out...” He trailed off, imagining the backlash.

He and Senna would most likely be airlocked. Maybe even without a trial. Normally Quarians didn’t believe in execution, but in Andromeda… there weren’t very many planets to be exiled to. There wasn’t an Omega where undesirables could live free. And if neither of them were there, it wasn’t unlikely that Ryan would end up in fucking prison.

“Exactly,” Senna pressed, sensing Telem’s unease. “We wouldn’t even get a chance to explain – a bit like how you didn’t let Ryan.”

Telem threw up his hands, pacing away as frustration surged through him once again.

“Okay, Senna, do you want to tell me why you took Qetsi’s mask off?”

Senna froze. Telem was right, his first officer didn’t think he knew about that.

“You’re lucky you didn’t have to make that call,” Senna said, his voice deadly quiet. “I think about it at night. Almost every night. I didn’t have any choice – someone had to disperse the cure. Yorrik said there wasn’t any other way. And she did this. She engineered it. It was her fault. I’ll be honest with you, Telem. I was furious – not in my right mind. Yorrik was dying – there were dead people everywhere. You didn’t see it, what we had to clean up.

“And you want to know what else?” Senna continued, “Even fucking Qetsi knew that we’d be screwed if anyone found out. She told me not to tell anyone, even said to airlock her if I had to. So what do you think about that?”

Telem backpedaled. “I don’t want to talk about Qetsi,” he quipped.

“You’re the one who asked! You’re just going to have to accept that we didn’t really know her. That’s your fucking problem – you deal with it! Now, are you going to shut the fuck up and let me tell you what she was going to do? Because you still don’t get it – I thought you were smart enough to put two and two together, but I guess I was wrong there. Are you going to ask me who the target was?”

Telem’s voice rose. “Who was the target?”

“All of the council races,” Senna said, the words landing like a sledgehammer. “Every single one, not just Asari or Turian. Qetsi told me everything. Yorrik’s data showed a fatality rate of around ninety percent. Ninety. And do you know why she wanted that? So, the Quarians could take over – we take over, just swoop in and rescue everyone in the chaos – as if people would believe we didn’t create the virus, anyway. And you’d have presided over the whole thing. And you want to know the worst part?”

Telem stared at his first officer, his breath catching in his throat. He knew what he was about to say, and so he dropped into his chair, utterly defeated.

Senna leaned in, lowering his voice to barely a whisper. “How do you like those odds for Ryan? Neither of us would have met her and we wouldn’t be having this argument right now. You’d be blissfully unaware she ever lived. Still happily in bed with Qetsi. And Ryan? She kept that secret anyway, to protect us. And you didn’t even let her speak. You just assumed the absolute worst of her.”

Telem’s heart sank, the room spinning around him as the weight of Senna’s words crushed him. His shoulders felt heavy, his breathing uneven. Ryan had been a potential victim—she had been keeping a secret about a disease that would have almost certainly killed her. Ryan was a doctor – there was no way she would have been spared.

“And she still didn’t turn us in for covering it up,” Senna continued, his voice soft but sharp as a knife. “We were so, so lucky it was her that put the pieces together, that she’s loyal to a species she doesn’t even belong to—that she’s so fucking nice.” His white eyes flared as his helmet tilted forward; frustration palpable. “So, tell me, Telem... who’s the real betrayer here?”

Anger came roaring back, smothering Telem’s guilt. His jaw clenched as he barked, “I don’t know. Who?”

“Fucking you!” Senna exploded; his fists balled tight at his sides. His voice cracked, not with weakness, but with sheer intensity. “You treated Ryan like some sort of horrible liar. Do you treat every woman like that?”

Telem took a step back instinctively, his chest tightening. He might actually hit me, Telem thought, startled.

The tension was palpable, heavy in the recycled air between them. Telem’s respirator hissed, filling the silence before he muttered, “What do you even mean by that?”

“I don’t know, Telem. Maybe that you made Qetsi stop seeing me!” Senna shouted, his words tumbling out in a frantic rush. “I didn’t have an issue with any of it! I don’t even know what your problem is! You never cared before – don’t act like you did. You got around when we were still studying... but then it was me, and suddenly it was a problem. I never told her she couldn’t see you, so why would—”

Telem couldn’t help it. He laughed. The absurdity of it all bubbled up and spilled over. He was bringing that up now? Of course, that only made Senna angrier. His fist came flying, with imperfect form and genuine intent. Telem caught it easily, his reflexes sharp from years of training.

“Are you being serious right now?” Telem grunted, holding Senna’s wrist in a firm grip. His voice was incredulous, but his strength was controlled. He shoved Senna back.

Senna stumbled but recovered, his hands still clenched. “What the fuck was that for, Senna?”

Senna didn’t move to strike again. Instead, he glared, his visor opaque but his body language screaming frustration. “I should have known you’d laugh. You’ve always been an absolute bosh’tet, even when we were kids.”

“I’m not laughing at you—well, I am, but it’s not like that. It’s just, why are you bringing that up right now? It doesn’t even matter anymore.” Telem’s voice softened slightly, though the edge remained. “If you weren’t pissing me off so much right now, I’d feel bad that you didn’t know.”

Senna stilled, his anger cooling into confusion. “Didn’t know what?”

Telem sighed heavily, running a hand over his helmet. “I didn’t ask Qetsi to stop seeing you,” he admitted. “I thought you knew that. It’s never bothered me.” He shrugged; the motion almost defeated. “It was her. I don’t know why she did it. She never said. It wasn’t really my business.”

Senna froze. Then, as if the words hit him all at once, he sank into the chair opposite Telem. His shoulders slumped, and his face plate dipped into his open palms.

The silence stretched. Telem could imagine the gears turning in Senna’s mind, the way his posture shifted as realization and old insecurities tangled together. He knew Senna too well, knew the man would wonder what he had done wrong. The answer was nothing of course, other than fall victim to Qetsi’s flighty nature.

Telem sighed again, trying to cut through the tension. “How’s it feel to be the dumbass for once?” he asked, his tone lighter, testing the waters.

Senna groaned; his voice muffled by his hands covering his respirator. “Not wonderful,” he said. “You’re still the bigger dumbass, though,” he added, the second sentence harsher than the first.

“You know, I’m not going to argue with that.” Telem leaned back, exhaling. His voice grew quiet, almost mournful. “Poor Ryan.”

“Yeah, poor Ryan,” Senna agreed, lifting his head. “I don’t know if I should be worried that she loves me, because she clearly has shit taste. For whatever reason, she cares about you. Maybe even loves you, if I had to guess. Idiot. You, not her,” he added with a pointed jab, bright eyes narrowing behind his visor.

Telem’s respirator puffed out a long sigh of hot air. “I guess I deserve that.”

“Yeah, you do.” Senna straightened, his voice firm again. “Now go talk to her before I hit you again. For some reason, you make her happy. I can’t imagine why.”

Telem hesitated, his brows furrowing behind his visor. Wait – was he saying…?

“It really doesn’t bother you?” he asked, slightly confused by the connotation. “That she…”

“Oh, it bothers me, alright. You’re an asshole and you don’t deserve her at all,” Senna replied dryly. “But it doesn’t bother me as much as her being upset.”

Telem stood, nodding quietly. He didn’t have the words to respond, not yet. Instead, he turned and left the office without another word. Ryan. Ancestors, he had to see her.

Chapter Text

Even though she’d slept well, Ryan’s peace hadn’t lasted for one second after she’d seen Senna disappear around the corner, off to some sort of meeting with the Andromeda Conclave. She hadn’t really appreciated until recently how much the second-in-command of anything did so much more work than the person in charge. It wasn’t that Telem was lazy, it was more that he was trapped in his office most of the time.

The upside of this was that Ryan didn’t need to worry about bumping into him at breakfast. She wasn’t ready to see him in public yet; she was worried she’d cry or cause a scene somehow. A repeat of the anniversary party would only reignite gossip and curious stares that had only recently started to let up. Ryan didn’t possess a single chip of a poker face, and unlike half of the people she lived with, she didn’t have a face plate to hide behind.

It would be best for them to speak in private whenever one of them had the courage, so that way no one would whisper as Ryan grabbed her breakfast in the cafeteria. After the party, it had gotten so bad she’d been relegated to eating granola bars in her office and sneaking out for dinner after almost everyone had gone to bed for a month straight.

When her last patient for the morning left, Ryan sat there at her desk, staring at her turkey sandwich before eventually wrapping it back up and shoving it in the mini-fridge. Her appetite was always the first to go when she felt like this.

It would get better after a few days, once her body adjusted to the situation. For now, she retrieved her datapad, once again trying to read something. This time she was smart enough to choose a digital magazine. Flipping through the pages, she counted down to the end of the day. Almost every afternoon she had a walk in period… and of course no one walked in. It was torture, just sitting there waiting for a patient to distract her with their eczema, or their sinus infection, or a pregnancy test. She checked a chart for test results for a patient and sent them a quick email that everything was normal.

Nothing interesting happened to break up the anxiety inducing monotony until she was about to pack up for the day.

Ryan didn’t look up immediately when the door hissed open. She was about to tell whoever it was she was about to leave for the evening – the night staff would take it over from here.

That was until she recognized the muffled steps of the person, and the accompanying shadow that made its way toward her.

She didn’t want to look up – she knew who it was, and his words still stung as if she had a red three-fingered palm print on her cheek. She didn’t want him to see the look on her face – even if it was his fault that it was there.

She watched as his oddly shaped boots made their way around her. Telem’s breather ruffled the flyaways on the top of her head as he rounded the desk to stand behind her – she swiped the patient's record off of her screen out of habit. 

“What is it, Telem?” She asked, her heart still heavy from his harsh words.

He gripped the back of her chair, slowly spinning her to face him. He’d turned down the opacity of his visor. The cascading twin lines that all Quarians had didn’t sweep gracefully down his forehead as they usually did. Instead, they were wrinkled with what she thought might be remorse.

She’d learned to read the expressions in their eyes from her time with Senna and Telem. Despite living on the Flotilla, she’d never quite gotten the hang of it – not for every emotion. But she was pretty sure about this.

“I’m sorry, Ryan,” he said, in a quiet voice, one laced with apologetic tenseness.

Ryan looked away again, stared resolutely at the slick floors – they were the kind that would be dangerous if rain were possible on the Si’yah. The blurred reflection of his dark environmental suit swam up at her as if the floor was flooded with water.

But Telem didn’t accept that response, as tenacious as always. It was what drove him to be the Pathfinder. It was what him, him. He stooped, his oddly shaped knees hit the floor. His arched lower legs stuck out at an odd angle behind him. It couldn’t have been comfortable. Quarians weren’t meant to kneel like that with their bent calves and arching feet. She could see him slightly struggling, his hands doing a lot of the work to keep balance, despite how fit he was.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I shouldn’t have said those things to you. I don’t want to lose you. Assuming you’re mine to lose?”

Telem extended his hands out, hesitantly – a brave move because she thought for a moment that he was going to tip over. She assumed that this must be an odd form of penance, otherwise he’d just kneel like Quarians usually do.

That vulnerable look in his softly glowing eyes reminded her of the first time they met. He’d been the fragile one that day, but with his visor like a blackout curtain to hide everything except for the barest fog of tears. She took his hands, just like she had then.

“I am. You know I am, Telem. And maybe you shouldn’t have said those things. But… It was my fault too. I knew it was wrong not to tell you but I did it anyway. And don’t say it was all Senna’s fault, either. I could have done it anyway.”

Telem smiled, not enough to show his elegantly pointed incisors. But it was still a smile. “It was a little his fault, but I understand now – why you didn’t tell me.” He paused, so he could stand and wrap his arms securely around her waist, tugging her out of the chair. 

The way he looked at her, the way he tenderly ran his hand over her cheek, was a less heated echo of the Nexus anniversary party.

“You didn’t do anything wrong. That was me. And maybe… you were right to want to keep it from me.”

“How can you say that?” Ryan asked. “I lied to you. About something really important.”

He brushed his hand down her braid and gave it an affectionate tug. “I know, I know you did.”

Ryan felt as conflicted as she ever did when it came to him. “Telem, I –” 

“No, let me say what I need before you respond. I want you to understand – I need you to understand.”

He stroked her hair. “Remember when I asked you if this was one-sided? Senna told me it isn’t – though I think we both knew that already. He came to my office and screamed at me. It was very ungentlemanly. I don’t think I’ve seen him that mad before, even when… well at the party. It’s usually me that yells. I guess you know that by now.”

Ryan laughed, and when she tried to brush away a tear, Telem beat her to it. 

“Anyway,” Telem continued, “Senna called me every name but my own and basically said that I don’t deserve you. He’s right – I definitely don’t, but I want you anyway.”

Ryan looked conflicted, her eyes still a little tearful. “I… I don’t know what to say. I’ve never been in this situation before.” 

“I should think not,” Telem said, tilting her head up with a single finger under her chin. “I don’t think this particular sequence of events has ever unfolded in the history of either galaxy.”

Right. A Quarian Pathfinder and a First Officer both fall in love with a human doctor in the Andromeda galaxy. A compost bin for rotten tomatoes, story-wise.

Ryan frowned. “You know what I mean.” 

”I do. This happens to Quarians all the time. It’s just more complicated with Senna. It’s not your fault. Those are mine and his issues to work out. He might feel a little sensitive but I know he loves you and doesn’t want to make you feel bad. If it weren’t for… all of that stuff between he and I, this would have been sorted out ages ago.”

It was almost word-for-word what Senna had told her. Despite what he’d said, she hadn’t really believed it until just now. Telem might be a lot of things; he was hot-headed and rash, but he wasn’t a liar.

“But at the party. He was so mad,” Ryan said.

Telem smiled down at her, like she was very obviously missing something. He ran a hand down her side slowly, more like the heat at that infamous display that no Quarian would ever forget. 

Probably none of the other species at the party would either.

Ryan didn’t pull away, and unlike last time, she leaned in closer. 

“He thought you didn’t want it. And I was being an ass. He was right to be mad. But I don’t think he’s mad anymore. He knows you love him too.”

She knew what he meant. That she loved them both — not that she just loved Senna. She loved Telem and wanted him just as badly.

A finger slid under the hair tie that secured the end of her braid he’d been toying with and pulled it off. He tossed it away so it bounced across the hard floor of her office. The gentle teasing way that he undid her braid, a shockingly intimate gesture, sent shivers down her spine.

“And I need you to know that I love you so fucking much, Ryan. I will never be able to thank you enough that you care about us, my people, so much – so much that you’d lie to me.”

The way he threaded his hands through her loose dark hair mirrored his drunken outburst all those months ago, but so much more softly. Then, she’d felt the lust sizzling between them, burning her throat like a shot of ryncol. His fingers in her hair hadn’t been rough, but it wasn’t like this either – the way he gently tugged a few lingering knots out of it. 

Telem reached for her jumpsuit, and slowly, giving her time to stop him, unzipped it from the hollow of her neck, to middle of her chest, and then to her navel.

“In my office?” Ryan asked, a bit taken aback.

Her knees hit the back of her desk before he used the leverage to lay her down. He paused, his hands on her boots, ready to unlace them.

“Yes. Unless you really don’t want to. I don’t particularly feel like waiting right now.”

Ryan answered by waving her arm, locking the door with her Omnitool in one deft movement.

At the look on Ryan’s face, and the fact her body was relaxed, he started unlacing them. Gently, he pulled them off her feet and sat them on the floor behind him. 

Her clothes were another matter. He seemed to want to take his time with those. Warm air kissed her neck, shoulders, and chest. The first thing he took off of his own were his gloves, so he could ghost his fingers over her body before tugging the jumpsuit at the sleeves and then down over her hips.

When he had her jumpsuit off, he stopped for a minute to look at her. She was happy she’d chosen a pale pink bra and panty set today. Maybe not her best, but not laundry day ones at least. She didn’t think he’d have cared either way, but still.

“Are you going to use the nerve stims?” Ryan asked him, slightly nervously. 

Telem reached for his helmet release, in a much more determined way than she’d seen him try to open it when they first met. “Do you only want the nerve stims?”

“Well, no — but you’re going to get sick. Like, really sick. I don’t even have an attached shower!” 

Telem shook his head and took his helmet off, slowly working on the rest of suit hoses. He was much faster with them than she could hope to be. 

His hair had a slight curl to it, as she could tell when he sheered his helmet. When he embraced her, she could feel it was as soft as the gray skin of his hands was smooth. It was surprising until she realized his gloves protected them from calluses.

He spoke into the crook of her neck, the feeling sending a whole body shiver down her spine. “I don’t really care.” 

One of Ryan’s hands raised to stroke along his still covered arm, and into his hair. “Do I need to check your head, for real, after this?”

“Ryan, do you think a completely sane person would sign up to leave the Flotilla to take the risk of finding a new homeworld?”

He smiled, tugging her up enough for him to get most of the rest of her clothes off.

“Well, no. But… I don’t want you to die or anything,” Ryan said, biting her lip as he deftly unhooked her bra and pulled the straps over her shoulders. He sat the pink fabric on her chair before running his hand up her side and over her chest, making sure to roll a nipple between his fingers.

“Well, I hope you don’t want me to die. Don’t worry, kochanie – I probably won’t.”

His mouth lowered to the other one, lips closing around it; the move momentarily stunned her.

“Probably?”

“I’ll take extra immunoboosters. I don’t want to walk all the way across the Si’yah,” he replied, taking his mouth off of her momentarily.

He’s going to get violently ill after this, she thought.

Despite herself, she was unable to bring herself to stop him, mesmerized by the way he looked at her.

She watched, transfixed, as he started to take off the rest of his suit, carefully sitting the pieces aside. It didn’t matter how badly he wanted her “right now,” the suit was vital to his survival, especially if he was crazy enough to do this.

She didn’t want to compare him to Senna, and she didn’t intend to, but the thoughts crossed her mind anyway. Ryan didn’t prefer one of them, they were so different it would be impossible to like one of them better. Telem was a tiny bit shorter than than Senna but much bulkier. Senna was a tech, not a soldier. 

Telem’s skin was much darker and gray and covered with scars.

They glowed a shade lighter than the rest of his skin. Slashes crisscrossed his arms, his chest, and legs. In addition, several obvious healed bullet and shrapnel wounds stuck out here and there as raised scar tissue. They’d been horrible wounds, some probably had required grafts; she could tell that despite their age. They didn’t take anything away from him. Not for Ryan.

Telem’s eyes were unusual among Quarians; they weren’t quite white or off-blue. They were more of a yellow color that didn’t hurt as much to look at, even without the visor. The softer glow didn’t cause bright spots behind her eyes when she closed them.

The only thing that was the same about Telem and Senna was their shared Nedas movement tattoo. Telem had an identical Mered’vai Rannoch tattoo that wrapped around his bicep.

In addition to the scars on his body, he had a large scar on his cheek. He was so close now she had an urge to run her lips over it.

She didn’t resist the impulse.

“I got that from a Geth,” he said when she pulled away, as he pressed a scorching kiss to her shoulder, right at the top of her tattoo.

It should have felt odd for him to kiss the bold red flowers and scales, even though they were a different kind of scar — but it didn’t.

“I’d ask you if you killed it, but I know better than that. I’m sorry the thing got you so good.” Ryan let her hand run over his stomach and into his shorts.

Telem hissed and his hips jerked forward subtly when her fingers closed around him in a circle sliding them up and down his length with a gentle squeeze.

”You better quit that,” he said with a hiss as she let go.

Ryan withdrew her hand. She wanted to touch him, but it seemed like he had other plans for her. 

“This is my apology to you, kochanie.”

This time his smile showed those ever-so-slightly pointed Quarian incisors. He looped his thumbs under the sides of her panties and slowly dragged them down her thighs and then finally completely off her. These received the same treatment as the hair tie.

Ryan wasn’t sure where they’d gone. She also didn’t particularly care.

As a doctor, she hadn’t felt too terribly nervous about his health until he pressed his lips to hers. Mercifully, he didn’t stick his tongue in her mouth. He might have been reckless, but Telem wasn’t a complete idiot.

She’d have to start keeping some of that special mouthwash around from now on, considering he didn’t seem to be much of a planner.

Thank God he couldn’t get her pregnant – one less thing to worry about.

Another thing about Telem, was he was either exceedingly good at hiding his nerves, or he really was just that confident. There were no shivers or trembles in sight, only a smirk that would be irritating if he didn’t currently have a hand sliding without hesitation up her inner thigh, with the other palming a breast. He rolled a nipple between a slightly triangular finger and his thumb like he’d been doing it for years.

Ryan knew for sure that he hadn’t. He wasn’t the type to beat around the bush; he’d mentioned he’d only ever been with Quarians in no uncertain terms, and she didn’t think he’d lie about that.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” Telem said in Khelish, dropping his mouth to her collarbone. “And your skin… tastes like… well, you don’t have them. Those fruit flavored things you gave me when I woke up. They’re my favorite flavor.”

“I know what you’re talking about. You mean śliwka,” Ryan said, as he dragged his tongue down her body. “Isn’t this dangerous?”

“This is all dangerous and you know it is, Doctor,” he said, before tracing the line between her legs to flick against her clit with his tongue.

This wasn’t as dangerous as kissing, but still pretty risky. He was absolutely downplaying the danger but Ryan couldn’t have gotten words out to express any thought quite as complex as that.

Instead, Ryan gripped the sides of her own desk and tried to suppress a cry. “I know – and also… I don’t want, um, Sila to hear anything,” she said through the fog of pleasure.

She’d forgotten how different Quarian fingers were until one of his curled into her as he looked up at her for a moment. The vibration of his voice tickled her inner thigh. “Your assistant? She left,” he said before lowering his face again.

“Telem,” she said, wiggling under him slightly. “Remember how you said you didn’t want to wait?”

This time his voice vibrated directly on her core. “Vividly.”

“Well, maybe I don’t want to wait either.”

Telem’s eyes softened at the edges, as he moved to hover over her. His fingers traced the side of her face and jawline.

“Who am I to deny you?” he asked.

He stepped between her legs and pulling his shorts off completely.

Ryan glanced down; she couldn’t help it. Her expectations had been more than met by his dark gray, slightly purple tinged, length.

Before she could figure out what, exactly, to say, he slid into her. There was a little resistance – he moved carefully so he didn’t hurt her.

It wasn’t difficult for him to coax her body to relax against the desk – and around him. He pressed his lips into her jawline, kissing down her neck, three-fingered hand digging into her hip as he started to move. She moved her legs for him to get a deeper angle, gasping at the different sensation.

“Fuck, how did you get so good at this?” Ryan said.

Telem chuckled at the curse word. “Porn,” he said with a completely straight face.

She laughed at the oddly direct answer.

Telem chuckled into her shoulder, even though the sound was half a gasp because she’d crossed her ankles unconsciously, resting them on his lower back.“I’m just kidding. Mostly. Ancestors, Ryan – you feel fucking amazing.”

Through the haze of lust, Ryan finally realized they’d switched to Khelish. She could barely hear the out of sync of the translator that sat several feet away. She hadn’t fully registered the switch until then, mainly because translators weren’t sensitive enough to make razor thin vocabulary decisions.

That word he’d used didn’t quite mean amazing; for Quarians, it had a religious connotation. Amazing like a supernova or inexplicable like pulsar. For a people that lived in spaceships, it only made sense that their philosophies would morph galactic-ally. She’d never expected to hear that word in this way.

Everything felt hot, especially the places where her tan skin touched his dark gray. Little slicks of sweat started to form at her temples, sticking her glossy dark hair to them. The tingling started to shiver down her spine when she finally let her head drop fully onto the desk.

“You’re close aren’t you?” he whispered in her ear.

She nodded, the word yes slipping out from between her lips.

“Keelah, I am so glad to hear that.”

Despite how dark his deep gray skin was, she detected a tinge a tinge of purple on his scarred cheeks. Quarians had the same tells as humans. Sure enough his face felt hot to the touch, when she ran a hand over his cheek. She couldn’t pay attention to that for long though, because her pleasure was rapidly approaching its crest.

Ryan felt her vision start to blacken at the edges, so she shut her eyes.

Fuck, she thought – or rather thought out loud.

“Fuck is right,” he replied.

Her words came out in a jumbled mess as she clung to him. She wasn’t sure what she’d intended to say and didn’t really care.

She couldn’t really do anything else as she came apart.

Ryan had also assumed she was getting close to fluent in Khelish, but she didn’t know any of the words he said. More swear words? They had a lot of them.

“Jesus Christ,” she said, not realizing she was talking and not thinking again.

“What is Je-susk?” he asked, completely butchering one of the most well known names for humans. Ryan had to hold back a laugh. That was going to be an interesting conversation. Later. Much later.

“Long story.”

“Uh – huh,” he said, not really listening. With only a moments warning, he tugged her close and held her there as he came.

More mystery Khelish words. Would they ever stop? How many words did they fucking have? She needed to make more flash cards.

They both lay there, breathing heavily for a moment before Telem pulled her on top of him to relax. Such a gentleman – making sure he didn’t squish her.

“How long until you get sick?” Ryan finally said, speaking into his shoulder.

Unlike with Senna, they’d taken zero precautions, so she knew he’d likely be unable to work for a few days. Now that she’d come down form the Mount Everest height of lust, she started to feel a little guilty.

“Hey,” he said, smoothing her hair away from her face,“Don’t worry. I’ll be alright. It’s my own fault – I’m the one who pounced on you in your office.”

The smile he flashed at her was nothing short of devilish. It was impossible to not return it.

“I won’t get sick for a while,” he continued, “so we should take advantage of this while we can.”

And then they did.

Several times.

Chapter Text

The Keelah Si’yah memorial opening should have been a solemn gathering, would have been if it were a ship of council races that lost thousands in a plague. The space was less than half full, and attendees were mostly those of the Keelah Si’yah races. After all, who cared if a bunch of Drell, Volus, Hanar, Quarians, and Batarians died? It was a miracle that that people weren’t outwardly celebrating the hundreds of dead Batarians. Things didn’t change that quickly.

Or at least they didn’t seem like they did. Cryo-sleep muddied those waters just like anything else so far. A new galaxy didn’t mean a new world. A world was made by people, and people just didn’t evolve that fast.

Sometimes Ryan wondered how things had gone back in the Milky Way, but there wasn’t much point. As far as she knew, there was no way to communicate with them, though some hypothesized that one day the descendants of the people they’d left behind would figure out how to communicate with them. Some real tin foil types thought there could even be a probe with a Mass Relay a few light years behind them. She’d believe when she saw it.

Privately, Ryan thought it was far more likely that the Milky Way had completely forgotten about the Initiative. What were a half dozen ships to a whole galaxy of intelligent life? That was without mentioning the rumors of those mythical, almost godlike synthetic Reapers. If that were true, there might not be anyone left to care. Or maybe the sun blew up early and vaporized Earth.

A few Krogan were letting the river of Ryncol go to their head across the way and were yelling about who was most virile of them. The argument quickly devolved into a headbutting contest. It was probably a bad idea to have an open bar at a memorial. She wasn’t sure who’d made that decision, but suspected it was a Krogan.

A drunk group of Asari were loudly exclaiming about a new species of alien they’d located; an intelligent one, obviously. No one really gave a shit about any other kind, even though their existence was just as miraculous as anyone else’s.

The Asari cared mainly because they were looking for another species to mind meld. They were worse than humans about that.

The disrespect of the Asari and Krogan guests infuriated her for more than one reason; the green-suited man sitting next to Senna, with his shoulders slumped dejectedly being one of them. His fully opaque faceplate fogged gently with the humidity of half-shed tears over where his nose and mouth must be.

She’d learned since then that his name was Dal’Zufi, the father of the little Quarian girl she’d found on the first day – Raya’Zufi. He’d lost both his wife and daughter on the voyage over. She could relate to the devastation of losing a spouse, but losing Raya too? She tore her eyes away from him only to settle them on the group of Turians speaking with their client race, the Volus.

Some of the more respectful guests were the Turians. She watched as Zevra patted one of the short badger-like aliens on her helmeted head. Though the Turians were authoritarian in their culture, they’d never mistreated the Volus – saw them as more like equal partners that took care of the jobs that they didn’t give a shit about. She felt someone squeeze her hand and turned to see Telem, frozen with nerves. She could almost hear him thinking from here.

Ryan, are you sure we should do this?

She returned the pressure and nodded. Senna just stared off into the distance, not looking at either of them or at the massive statues that were being carried in covered with sheets by two Krogan.

The three of them had discussed this at length, both amongst themselves, and along with Borbala Ferank and Anax Therion. Telem’s fears were fueled by guilt – she knew that. She wasn’t sure if she could count the times, she’d had to tell him that he couldn’t have stopped Qetsi unless she tried to involve him. It was because he was a good person that she didn’t. Senna had the same fears and thoughts sometimes, but Telem had it worse. He’d been with Qetsi while she’d been making the Fortinbras virus. In retrospect, he acknowledged she’d been acting quite suspicious. Ryan had reminded him that there was no way he could have guessed what she was doing; because the only thing more Quarian than hatred of synthetic life was their visceral fear of diseases.

They watched the workers place the statues carefully on a dais in the center of the room.

Once the organizers realized the half full audience was all they would get, the dedication ceremony began.

People gave speeches. None of the three of them felt up to it, and no one had pushed the issue. Anax Therion spoke, as did Ryder, and a few others. Senna put his arm around Ryan, more for his own comfort than hers as the sheets came off the statues.

Emblazoned in silver and gold, were life-size sculptures of Qetsi’Olam and Malak’Rafa. Malak leaned towards his Captain, as if looking for her guidance from beyond the grave. Qetsi’s mask was artfully made to appear half-dimmed with a sort of prowess that Ryan could never understand, to show the barest hint of her face shape. The truly talented artist had uptilted her mask, her veil trailing elegantly over the hoses at the nape of her neck as if to suggest her once brilliant eyes looked to the stars where she and Malak still floated hundreds, even thousands of light years away.

The Asari Pathfinder pulled another sheet off of the wall that revealed inscriptions of the names of all who were lost. There was barely enough space to fit them all in writing large enough to be legible in Rahkanese, Khelish, and all the languages of those on the Keelah.

On one side of the gargantuan plaque, sat a statue of the Elcor Yorrik, who’d been such a good friend to Senna. He’d cured the disease, so it was only natural he was there. On the other side, flanking the same wall of names, was a pair of Drell – a man and a woman standing side by side with scales flecked with ground emeralds.

They didn’t symbolize any particular person. It was just that the Drell had lost so many compared to the other races.

Anax, backed up by Ryan, Telem, Senna, and, surprisingly, the entire Batarian council argued vehemently for their inclusion. It turned out that the pages and pages of lawyer-like notes Anax had prepared were unnecessary. The Pathfinders of every race unanimously approved it on the spot.

Even if they had wanted to ignore the Batarians, Anax, and Ryan – no one would have argued against Telem. He just had that way of speaking; that sort of presence that could command thousands of Quarians without trying.

A voice spoke up from behind her. “You know I made the Drell sculptures,” said Borbala, in a voice that reminded everyone her ego was as big as an Elcor’s backside.

Ryan, Senna, Telem, and Dal’Zufi turned slowly to stare at the Batarian with equally incredulous expressions. Only Ryan’s was visible, of course, but it didn’t take a rocket scientist to guess the three Quarians’ thoughts on the matter.

“Bullshit,” said Telem, using a curse word he’d picked up from human vids. “There’s no way.”

“Why? Because I’m a Batarian? You homeless are no better than the rest of these –”

“It’s true,” said Anax, lazily leaning against the backrest of her chair. “I didn’t believe it at first either, and I watched her do it.”

There was just one more addition to the memorial – the one Ryan had requested.

Dal spoke up, as his eyes trailed to the last statue, the one of a small suited form, “And that one?”

The statue of little Raya’Zufi was smaller than the others, but no less beautiful. The girl sat there, immortalized in a posture that suggested childlike happiness, clutching a keeper toy. The artist was different from the other two; that much was obvious. The doll somehow looked realistically fluffy and the swirls on Raya’s suit were painted with wispy black strokes on strikingly purple fabric.

“The artist wanted to remain anonymous,” Anax said, softly. “Though I do know it was a human woman.”

Borbala snorted. “Humans and their ridiculous modesty. It’s not quite as good as mine of course, but why anyone would –”

Anax gave Borbala a Look, and surprisingly… the Batarian fell silent.

“It’s a shame,” Dal said, his faceplate fogging once more. “I’d have liked to thank her in person.”

No one spoke; they just looked at the sculptures as the place emptied of everyone but their group, and a dark red Drell. It seemed obvious to Ryan that he’d lost someone dear, judging by the clouded look in his eyes that suggested he was adrift in memories. She hoped they were good ones at least. She knew that Drell solipsism could be tortuous.

The Drell had lost their homeworld, and then lost the half of the explorers that had bravely traveled to Andromeda. The next step for them was to find a homeworld, both the Drell and the Quarians. They’d never regain what they’d lost, but people would rebuild, would find a new home, and hopefully some new purpose.

Ryan decided months ago that she wouldn’t be moving to the Meridian with half of the other humans, had already put in the paperwork that would prevent the three of them from being sent to separate posts for longer than three months at a time. And in any case, they all had only a few years left to be considered active duty.

She’d shown Telem and Senna different styles of Earth houses, as most plans of Quarian style homes had been lost. Only digital blueprints of war bases, ships, and weapons storage survived the Morning War. The three of them had settled on a bungalow style house, like the one her grandmother had lived in.

Whenever they found New Rannoch, she’d be with them. And they had an entire galaxy of possibilities to explore.