Just a place to put various stories, drafts, maybe even a few essays when I feel like it. Will probably be updated sporadically. Image is not mine. Credit goes to Kidchan at http://kidchan.deviantart.com .
Pairing: KasumixSha'ira
Notes: First part of another series. Playing Remember Me was amazing. I really was impressed with the universe within the story.
Warnings: Suicide, Violence
--
Do you remember him?
...Who...
The rich districts always smelled a little sweeter, as if worlds away from the worst that only existed just outside of reach by long canal ways of murky water that left such a stench that could permeate the brick and the rags that people wore. No, it was something sweet, like fresh bread in its warm flakiness and the hint of butter in its scent. There was a couple chattering below her with gentle whispers, interrupted by a shriek of laughter that cut through the early afternoon air. They ignored the crowds that waded past them, each with their own business and agendas, all within their own worlds and memories-- all of which held ignorance in its own unique way. Sort of the nice thing about memory hunting. Their lives were so compartmentalized that she could simply erase her entire existence to them. All with the switch of the hunting glove.
Kasumi didn't linger there for very long. As soon as the sun's rays crept along the corner of the building, bathing the paint with a hint of orange, she began to move, steps light against the rooftop. There was still a long day ahead of her, the beginning of a long few weeks until she got what she wanted. It wasn't much, just relying on a subtlety necessary for someone that was familiar with memory tampering. Kiera seemed confident that it wouldn't be an issue for her, and had bid her farewell that morning with only a warning to keep her updated as the assignment went along.
The target wasn't too far from the main district, which was no doubt on purpose with the woman's occupation. She was known as a 'memory consultant' on the official records, but just a cursory homework check showed that whatever Sha'ira was doing with her clients, it was far more complicated than that. People were coming out of their appointments completely new and rejuvenated, and while the criticism of the nature of her meetings had been rampant, it hadn't seemed to really stop the amount of clients she saw day to day. There was a well-spring of secrets that she held privately from the world, and with the right manipulation, it would be there's.
She had offered initially to just steal the memories, but her employer always knew best about that sort of thing. "To destroy her now would be wasteful," Kiera had said with the same cryptic smile that she always wore when she was planning, "So long as her business continues to thrive, she's of use."
So, instead, she would be an ally. That was easy enough to manipulate and compel, something that Kasumi had done hundreds of times before. The creation and industrialization of sensen tech was a downright miracle when it came to being a thief, particularly in terms of how useful the hunting glove was. The day she received hers was perhaps the happiest day of her life. It was a nice, rich red that came about halfway up her fore-arm with black metal on its under-side. Simple, but effective and uniquely hers.
The large, slanted window, tinted with a hint of blue let her know that she had arrived to the right place. The building was small, humble compared to the looming structures that surrounded it. The white walls gave a regality to it with gothic columns, and beautiful archways that led to its entrance.
Even before jumping to the sill, she could see the woman at the other side, pacing the length of the window. There was a graceful way in how she did it too, the bright warm colors of her dress flowing around her lithe body with each turn of the hip. Her dark brown skin only seemed to brighten the reds and the yellows even more, and the smile on her face, though constrained, showed bright pearly teeth. Gray eyes glinted to the window just once, not nearly enough to spot Kasumi staring before focusing back on the conversation she was having. There was just a bit of business to her, with the long black hair tied back in a loose bun, swept out of the way. She could almost imagine the heels clacking against the floor as she walked, engrossed in her own words. If she got close enough to the glass, she could hear the muffled, low voice on the other side.
The beauty in Sha'ira wasn't new to herself, or the public, but the way she seemed to guard the window and speak was almost as if she already knew of Kasumi's arrival, as if it was instinct that had guided her. As her hand and fingers splayed against the heated glass, she could feel a sense of trepidation and anxiety growing inside her, thrumming and flowing in her veins with a dread she couldn't shake away. This too was familiar, though the strength in which it rested inside her was a new sensation. As easy as it was to manipulate and take from others, she always became familiar with how much it destroyed her thoughts and morals to do so. Kill a man, fine. Steal from him? Fine. But manipulate the very fabric in which this man became who he was? That made her hesitate.
As soon as Sha'ira turned her back, she readied the hunting glove, outstretching her hand with her palm pressed against the glass. "Nothing personal," she whispered to the warm, sweet air just as the red and white squares began to form around the her wrist and forearm, and the memory started. It was always an awkward adjustment at first, in that everything was just this blinding white, and it was like seeing the world get rebuilt around you, starting from the roots of the trees to the spiraling buildings, and finally the thrum of voices and people that surrounded her. She was always aware of her body-- or conscious-- being out of place through it all, like a visiting shadow in some faint painting she'd see in late escapades, or perhaps an all-seeing, apathetic God that was merely content to observe the world created by it than to interfere.
The sidewalk and cobble-stone street materialized first, long and winding where at the crest of a hill Kasumi could see Sha'ira strolling downward, arm in arm with someone else. She was younger then, the freckles a little more prominent on her face, but not so much that the stress that weighed on her gaze had gone. She would guess a five, eight years difference between the woman she saw here and the one today, with more energy in the steps she took. The woman next to her was older, and the resemblance was almost uncanny right away. The black hair was like a wave down her back, and the dress was more earthly next to her daughter's always vibrant colors. The people around them were just as loud and enthusiastic, forming a thick crowd that filled the air with their various noises and conversations like a thunder cloud. She tried to ignore their unintelligible voices as she followed the pair through the throngs.
"The place will be good for you, I think," she hears the older woman speak, cutting through the roar as if it had never existed in the first place. The world stopped at the mother's smile, even the cars that blew past on the streets seemed to stall just a little bit more. That was something to marvel about memories, its own subjectivity. This was a world the memory-holder created, with its own biases and stage directions that the rest mindlessly followed. It was beautiful in its own way. "The view is wonderful up there, and the district is constantly busy."
"Will you visit me?"
"Of course, dear. You need not ask." She reached forward and pressed a kiss to her daughter's temple, and Kasumi could almost feel the warmth in the affection that passed between them, shades of something that was larger years before. The mother held on for a moment more, hand brushing through Sha'ira's hair, and suddenly it was like a weight pressing against her shoulders. "I am so proud of you."
"You never really hid that from me."
"I mean it, Sha'ira." Her thumb brushed against the side of her temple, gentle and loving-- affections that seemed to fill the world with its simplicity. The mother stepped closer, kissed Sha'ira's cheek, and for a moment the world seemed to stop, as if slammed against a wall that it hadn't yet known how to surmount. Her mother smiled as she parted, heels clacking against cobblestone streets, and with one last clack, stepped out into the pathway of the oncoming truck.
The sound was entirely unique to itself, with its loud sickening crunch, and the cacophony of shouts and car alarms that followed only seemed to add to it. Through it all, Sha'ira had stared numbly at the mangled corpse next to her, her face an ashen white. It was all a haze of confusing images that became more and more distorted as the realization sunk inside the young woman-- and Kasumi could feel that within her. That acute, lurching feeling.
Her head twisted toward the crowds, all stopped in their silences, but the way she looked ahead, it was as if none of them were even there. A man stood among them, arm outstretched with a hunting glove. Short, black hair, and grief-stricken eyes staring at the scene ahead of them. He was pretty built, well-adorned with a jacket in red and white, boots, beard.
He looked familiar to her. Familiar! But as she stared and stared, she couldn't find a name, and as the minutes ticked by, even after the memory had well ended, all she felt was this deep emptiness settling inside of her, for his haunting expression and his deed. For how she could blindly search and nothing came up. It was out of frustration that she tore away from the memory, out of the woman's mind.
The bright sun had nearly blinded her, and at first, she only saw her reflection at the window, of the hood that covered her face, the black jacket that was kept tight against her body, white glove pressed against the window. Parted, chapped lips from the wind, boots clinging tightly against the edge she had, jeans tucked in to keep from catching. Then, she breathed, and there was Sha'ira, eyes wide and staring at her. Shock. Even a little bit of recognition. There was a brief pause as they watched each other through the window before Sha'ira had all but leapt to the window, her hands slamming against the glass.
The shaking of the window and the intensity of her stare, now amplified by the inches that separated it, got one of those boot soles to slip, and before she knew it, Kasumi was slipping from the window like a rookie. Her arms desperately clawed for something to hold onto as she tipped backward. There was the wind that nipped her nose and cheeks, the window suddenly opening, and then she felt the tight grip on her arm just before the thoughts of how she was about to die could reach her-- and just before she was at a point of no return.
"Hold on!" The dress billowed, and even at her angle, dangling with little to no structure to keep her there, she saw gravity yanking them both over the edge and how tremendously stupid would it be, if they both died from it? Sha'ira's hand clawed at the sill of the window, fingers digging into the metal as her torso down to her thighs bent low with no power in it. It was a precarious position between the two of them. She even felt sorta angry about it, in that there wasn't any reason that the woman would reach out like this. That was a line that shouldn't have been crossed, and hell, it would be a quick way to solve things, wouldn't it? Let the pesky memory hunter fall to her death, and if not, drag her incapacitated body back inside.
Before they could make a nice pile on the ground, a strong, tan arm wrapped around Sha'ira's abdomen and began the process of yanking them inside, none so subtly, and with each tug, she felt her arm getting pulled more and more out of its socket, leaving a tingling sensation behind. It hadn't taken long for Sha'ira to disappear back into the room, and it wasn't long afterward that she followed.
While the final jerk had been more of a throw, the cold tile floor that she was unceremoniously dropped on was a welcome delight from the open air, like a soft pillow waiting for her after a long day of horrible, meaningless work. Heavy footsteps began to approach her, mini rumbles underneath her cheek, and clean, military black boots came into her field of vision. The individual knelt down, showing a woman with bright, short red hair that fell into her blue eyes, freckles dotting her pale face. A muscle shirt and what she vaguely recognized as a guardian's leg armor adorned her, and the hand was so large compared to her own as the woman reached out and took that injured shoulder to force her up. Just on her knees, still in a position of subservience.
The half of the room that she was forced to stare at was spacious and perhaps a little welcoming at first glance. A nice, what seemed to be an expensive Persian carpet was set down on a living room floor slightly raised from where she sat by a step, with two white leather couches and a matching love seat, black coffee table in the middle. Overhead light. Nice green lamp. Though it was certainly comfortable looking, there was something inherently sterile about it.
Kasumi hadn't much time to think about it before Sha'ira stepped in front of her, only about half a foot away. Any fight that might've been inside her was stopped by the strong hand that remained on her shoulder. The shock was gone from Sha'ira's face, something more darkly and serious-- a stone compared to the pure emotion she had seen in the window. Now though, she looked a little rough, dress slightly out of place, hair slipping out of its tie from her little stunt, and chest rose and fell just a little more harshly. Subtle, but no less obvious to her. The silence was no less oppressive, and the longer it stayed, the more it twisted into something strange, unfamiliar. All of it remained on the woman in front of her, waiting for her to say something to command, but all Sha'ira did was stare at her with cold, dark eyes.
Then her hand snapped out, took hold of the end of Kasumi's hood and roughly jerked it down, showing the short scruffy black hair underneath and how startled she really was without the shadow to hide it. The recognition in the other's eyes came back as Sha'ira studied every inch of her exposed face, from her round edges, pale skin, to the faded scar across her temple. Sha'ira's fingers trailed upward, up the slope of her neck and stopped at her chin, turning her face side to side to look at her cheeks, slightly flushed from the crisp afternoon air to her small ears.
Finally, Sha'ira pulled away, and looked up at the guard, hand still tightly clasped on her. "You may leave, Commander," she said.
"Uh. You sure that's..."
"If I have trouble, I assure you will be the first I will call. For now, give us a moment. Please."
The fingers dug into her jacket for just one, squeezing, burning moment, before the guard pulled away, spun on her heel, and those heavy steps reverberated further away. 10... 20 steps and there was a creak of the door opening, it slamming thud a damning noise that condemned them to silence for several moments. Through it all, Sha'ira refused to look at her, only to stare at the door forlornly before a deep sigh rushed out of her.
"Sit with me." she said.
"I don't have much of a choice, do I?"
She looked at her, finally with a smile-- initially tight and unreadable before it melted into a grimace that somehow seemed a little sheepish with how its edges waned and subsided with time. Then she turned and began to walk up to that raised little living room and perched on the edge of one of those leather couches. There was an unexpected patience in how she did it with relaxed shoulders and crossed legs, bright orange fabric curving and flowing around them to accommodate.
Really. Her reputation had preceded her. Kasumi had kept the looks as casual as possible as she followed the other woman, slumping into the seat across from her, close to the arm to provide some type of structure and physical comfort if needed. A more genuine smile quirked at the corner of Sha'ira lips, as if a thought touched her in a funny way. Whatever the joke was, it was lost on her.
"I suppose I should have expected this."
"You're a powerful woman."
"Indeed," and she sighed again. "This was not the sort of attention I ever expected, nor wanted."
"It'd be a little boring if we could predict everything, wouldn't it?"
Sha'ira laughed, and it was the first sound to come out of her that wasn't so tight and controlled. It seemed more like they were two friends catching up then well... what did you call it. Nothing innocent at the very least, but whatever label the situation called for eluded her. "I suppose you would have stopped yourself from falling if that were the case," she spoke lightly, "Did you change anything?"
"No."
"Really." She sounded doubtful. "You are the first Memory Hunter to have a change of heart. What memory was it?"
Suddenly, Kasumi's throat closed up, and she recalled how the world had gotten just a little more chaotic when the older woman's heart stopped. How the love had been so quickly struck down. She didn't know what it was like to lose a loved one like that. Not one that she had already lost touch with in her choices and distance. This was different, and as the moments slipped by, her words seemed to drain more and more from her. Sha'ira saw it in her, she thought, the way she seemed to steel herself with a furrowed brow, eyes drawn to the hands that were laid lazily in her lap.
"You understand why I have to ask. I have to make sure that I still know the truth."
A breath of laughter escaped her. "What a concept. You think its out there somewhere with this economy?"
"Some truths never change, Ms. Goto."
Kasumi quieted, and felt her hand tighten against the arm of the sofa. The woman had recognized her, of course. "... Where have you seen me before?"
"Your name comes up quite a bit in the right circles. One of the last memory hunters to truly call themselves independent. You have quite the talent... and as some have claimed, none of the baggage." Though she parroted the words, Sha'ira didn't seem as sure of it, and there was something uncertain about how she looked away. "You do answer to someone though. I am sure of it if you are here."
Kiera. She didn't need to say the name to know where the other woman's thoughts were turning to. While her ambition had been discreet for the most part, any quest for power was bound to be noticed, especially by those that were crushed under her heel.
"She will not be happy about your actions. Her calls have been constant these past few weeks. Intending to wear me down."
"It was your mother. ... I was gonna alter the memory of your mother."
And there was something painful about how Sha'ira's expression softened, and molded into something more wistful, withdrawn. The changed was shadowed by her movements as she quietly stood and retreated to the other side of the room where a desk had been tucked in the corner. Though small and barely noticeable, her steps had slowed, a little more practiced with it. Kasumi didn't dare move from her spot. She could hear the old wood whine as she slid a drawer open, and how objects seemed to clang together with various metals and the fluttering of papers. After a moment, the noises stopped, and Sha'ira began her trek back, heels clicking and echoing in the open and silent space.
"My mother was my first and best supporter. Even when the idea of comforting people using the sensen had seemed... ludicrous, she had been there." Then, she returned to her seat, a near perfect recreation of how she sat before, now with a pad between her hands. An article it looked like. "I cared about her very much."
"I know. I felt it."
This seemed to ease her, a small smile spreading across her lips. There was a thank you that didn't quite reach vocalization before she asked, "Do you have family?"
"No. Just the slums."
"Had they...?"
"Couldn't tell you. As far as I know, they were never there."
The look Sha'ira gave her was unreadable, a mixture of different things that touched things that Kasumi couldn't recognize-- except for maybe hesitance. "As far as you know...? I suppose memory tampering is expected for anyone that attracts enough attention."
This was going in a direction she didn't want to be involved in, and already she could feel herself stiffen by the line of questioning. The holes in her life had been something she was accustomed to. Almost everyone had been, whether it was tampering or a willful choice to forget. It was easier, wasn't it? To keep it all out for a little while. She liked to think she held onto what was important, things that formed lessons that furthered her toward her goals, made her a little stronger, a little better. She was still alive, wasn't she? Still breathing when she woke up in the morning. It was good enough. "You're awfully friendly to someone you can't trust," she brushed it all aside, tried to change the subject.
It worked, at least as well as she had hoped. "Maybe not trust, but I at least know you are honest." Sha'ira smiled before handing her the pad. Memos were always very sterile. Lot of white involved, like old business sites that mattered little in the new world.
POLITICIAN'S WIFE STRUCK DOWN
Early Wednesday morning, Nasira Dantius, wife of well-known political speaker and supporter of Memorize Corporation Ilias Dantius, had been assassinated while out in a walk with her daughter, sources say. While initially suspected as an accident or apparent suicide, a lack of motive, questionable circumstances, and several eye-witness reports indicating a suspicious man present on the scene have caused investigators to rule the case a political homicide.
A suspect has already been named in the case, wanted for questioning of the murder and supposed Errorist Movement connections, Keiji Okuda. Beyond the photo given within the article, investigators have withheld comment, due to the sensitivity of the case. Any citizen that spots Okuda are asked to report it immediately.
Many have called it a tragedy with many of Mrs. Dantius' efforts going into charity efforts and restoring the city districts...
"The man in your memory..." The picture on the side was plain to see, and the resemblance was more than uncanny. The familiarity that filled her was bitter, as if the answer was so obvious that it incensed her that it was still lost, grasping at ideas and thoughts that were no longer there or never there in the first place.
"Mr. Okuda made little effort in hiding himself." The distance in her voice was purposeful. "The Errorists believed we were part of the... corrupted, but could be turned over somehow. Into assets, sources... It was truth that my mother and I spent much of our time trying to help the slum districts, but the Errorists... she could never agree with them."
"Why was that?"
She laughed humorlessly. "A problem with an extremist is you have to convince your followers that the methods were worth it. My mother thought their 'exposure' of the dangers of the sensen system was merely a reason to abuse it for their own goals." It grew awkward for a moment, though the reason why was something Kasumi couldn't touch on, not fully. Perhaps of how open the subject was. "You should not have to tear a person's identity to make them agree with you."
Perhaps not. She never liked using the memory remix much. When she was out stealing, it barely came to mind, beyond just a simple memory grab of a particular security layout, or if she was really clumsy, to erase all evidence that she had ever been there. It was a way to keep people from dying while she went about her business, but if someone wasn't careful or if they really wanted them to hurt, everything could be changed about the person-- irreparably so. Her victories always seemed a little hollow those days. "... Do you think he meant to kill her?"
"If she had lived, they may have gotten both of us to change our minds. As it stands, I will agree with their intentions. Their actions? Never."
"That's a thin line you've got."
"Necessarily so. Are the errorists really making the city better?"
She thought about it. The months spent between the old and slum districts, and nothing had really changed through it all. The poor were still getting poorer, and the rich hardly cared enough for more than a second glance. Nothing was changing, even if it felt like the city was on the cusp of something greater. Maybe the slum districts would never get to touch that same sort of greatness. "And you think you're doing the right thing? One person at a time?"
Sha'ira smiled. "If I cannot make the big change right away, I will start with the small steps. ... Your contact seems adamant in curbing that."
"If it helps any, I respect that. It's gain you notoriety at the very least."
She laughed, this time a little freer with its sound, and there was something almost soothing about its presence. "Perhaps you could benefit from it."
Kasumi shook her head. "You're being too honest for me to be a client, I think. I already know you're human."
"A friend then, if that is what you desire. So long as you keep your contact busy from her attempts."
She let the idea settle inside of her for a moment, to simmer and weight out with its benefits and flaws. Though the discussion was open at its surface, Kasumi could feel the secrets and the dodges that lingered underneath, and perhaps, a challenge was a little better than a remix and leaving it alone. There was a knowing glint in Sha'ira's eyes as the thief offered her hand to her, one that she took with delicacy. Already she felt the softness of the skin in her touch, and how even when shaking her hand, it was done with meticulousness and dignity. Indeed, her reputation had preceded her, more than preceded her. It left something to unravel.
"Spell"
Her voice was poison. It slithered inside of her and wrecked all resemblance of thought with its melodic syllables and the smile against the shell of her ear. She remembered it the first time Kasumi ever felt uncertain over something-- an assignment, a murder she thought. It wasn't any more important than the dozens of other that had melded together with time. The good outweighed the bad. Took the lessons that mattered and adapted; discarded the ones that were dangerous. Toed the line between self-preserving and self-destructive. People never said how thin that line could be; how hard it was to tell where someone was until they were well into the journey of destroying themselves bit by bit, piece by piece.
Her hands seemed to fit perfectly at her hips, and Kasumi spent hours that night with the picture haunting her mind, of how warm the touch was and how her nails dug in just a little at the skin that both beckoned and commanded. It felt so natural to her, how the air kissed her skin before her lips followed, and how she willingly let herself follow before she even realized the gun was in her hand, finger on the trigger, and a grin on her face.
"Show them how dangerous the shadows can really be."
It wasn't a gradual progress. It was possession. The power and control seeped into her bones, made her body thrum with the emotions as her heart pounded. She watched people die under her heel with laughter in her voice and took what she wanted with a single care or thought. The mistakes a came without a second glance, because they were all scratches compared to how it all felt. It became her own personal demon, something that lingered long after she tried to discard it for what it was--- a fantasy destroyed with the man she loved. Loved more than anyone else in the galaxy. It crept inside her as a phantom, and everything fell into place until she would see someone trembling before her. Suddenly the galaxy would stop making sense.
Kiera took that power away as both its provider and controller. With a twist of the finger, the softening of green eyes, and just the right smile, the poison was back in her veins. The thoughts stopped at her love, her warmth, and she craved it with a desire that perhaps was there, in the depths of memory that she was sometimes too scared to touch. Too scared of how she could relinquish the same sort of control that she felt addicted to.
"She will be the death of you."
And the words barely breached the fogginess of her mind. The gentleness that softened Sha'ira's edges didn't contain the same power. And oh, how the danger was part of the fun, part of the games that they both played with each other-- of control and lessons, and taking in the good with the bad. She didn't care, didn't care where life led her and where it ended. Kiera would reward her all the same, and would still be there waiting for her, barely hidden smirk on her lips and a cryptic glint in her eye.
And through it all, Kasumi stopped caring about what love meant.
--
"Defend"
"Are you sure about this?"
Her friend was barely able to stand on her two feet now, but it was hard to tell, looking at Kasumi. The alliance uniform was supposed to be foreign on her, but she wore it like a second skin. She perched by the door, feet firmly planted on the ground, heels together with hands behind her back. Though Tem could maybe count the times she actually had seen Kasumi without her hood that wasn't the bedroom or hospital on one hand with plenty of fingers to spare, her black hair was neatly trimmed, properly parted with the faded scar on her temple clear to see. The only thing that pointed to her thoughts was the pressing weight in her gaze as she mutely stared at the door.
The stress had been gathering there for weeks now, Shepard thought, starting from when she first woke up in the hospital bed. She had never seen such a change enrapture her friend so quickly and so forcefully as the realization of just what Tunri was. The anger had crept into both of them, but while Shepard was used to focusing it outward into killing and battles, and another victory that had awaited her, Kasumi had become a stone, always inward with long stretch of silences, only broken by biting and cold words that she spared to everyone but Temari herself. Some of it had to do with the recovery, she was sure of it. Shepard could get up and go within a... relatively short timespan, the thief's was a struggle filled with rehab and surgeries. The younger woman was always on a constant move before that too, either involving trouble or just the newest project. It wasn't hard to see how something like that could destroy security at its very concept, from the betrayal to the placement of the injury.
At the time, Temari had only been grateful that her best friend hadn't died. "You know I can take care of this, Kas. He won't be--"
"No." It was so quiet, but the sharpness in her voice stopped all thoughts on the matter for a moment. Her eyes stayed firmly trained on the elevator doors.
"What's the name again?"
"Nanami Maeda."
"And you think that's safe?" Another moment before the shoulders sagged, and she seemed a little sicker than before. It hadn't been long since she was released, Shepard thought. A week perhaps. But the uniform did look good, didn't it? She grabbed the smaller shoulder, felt the tremble in the muscles and the tension in her stance. "You know I... I still care about Tunri. We're both fighting this."
Kasumi's hand touched the cold metal of the elevator door, fingers slightly curling against it. "... He's my brother, Tem." Her face twisted then into something angry, ugly that snarled her features. "I won't let the Alliance take anyone else away from me."
Temari could only watch, the words swallowed by the tense silence between them. The next time her friend would speak would be with fire, as she tried to preserve what was left of the quarian.
Pairing: KasumixSarah
Notes: Lot of references to an OC pairing I've grown to adore between myself and a good dear friend of mine. For Matriarch-Aethyta. Apologies if Sarah isn't quite right.
--
"And this is all mine?"
"Stare long enough with your mouth open and I won't let you keep it."
Sarah snapped her head around to the thief and glared. "Bitch."
Her full lips curled into a devious smile before Izumi opened the door. "But you like me that way."
Pairing: Glimpse of Shakarian, Kasumi + Garrus
Notes: Set during ME 2. I can't remember anything about Eye for an Eye. Gift for my lovely dear Tunri. Apologies for any OOC. First time writing Garrus.
--
Garrus was what Kasumi would call a stupid cute. It wasn't so much that he didn't realize his own attractiveness (which was certainly possible, but that was another sort of cute), or that there was an ignorant mind that rested inside his bird skull-- which wasn't entirely true. Garrus was smart, the same way almost everyone on the Normandy was. They could kill with an efficiency and grace that could leave the sickest part of the galaxy in awe, and the normal part... a little less than enthused.
Notes: First essay thing posted after a conversation on BRPS. Kinda been on the mind for a while. Perhaps hypocritically, I didn't proof-read this. I need an editor in my life.
---
I attended my first creative writing class my sophomore year of high school, alongside several of my theatre classmates. It was a small class for where I attended-- only about 12 of us as far as I remember. My teacher was a tiny shrewd woman aptly named Ms. Coffin who was prone to the occasional snark fit. We all grew to love and hate her all the same throughout the year. One of the biggest points of contention was the matter of criticism.
First day of class, she sat us all down and told us that peer review would be a big part of the class. "Don't be too nice," Ms. Coffin told us, "All it'll do is hurt you, and you won't be getting any high grades that way." Not too surprisingly, she informed us in that same lecture that we shouldn't expect many As in this class either. We all accepted it at the time, but we were all just a bunch of high schoolers. Any sort of criticism had been at first with major snarls and arguments amongst ourselves--
And it was all completely worth it.
Pairing: Kasumi+Khalisah
Given by: Turnip
Warnings: Character death
Notes: Leviathan AU
---
Ms. Goto
5/12/2186 17:38:12
Hey. You out of work yet? Come meet me at the usual spot. Got a surprise for you~.
Surprise was an interesting word coming from someone like Ms. Goto. It hadn't always been a bad thing, but one thing it guaranteed was that it would be something she truly couldn't have guessed on until she got there. It ranged to just about anything: from the dirtiest secret a council member could be hiding to some wine she found in the wards that she simply felt like sharing. It was all part of the mystery, Khalisah guessed. The game wouldn't be nearly as fun if she could figure it out before arriving.
The spot wasn't anything special. A few blocks past her building was a small secluded spot overlooking the presidium lake. The bench that rested there was perfectly covered by an assortment of bushes and trees, just out of sight from the people that passed by. It was just out of earshot from the main path as well. For meetings off the record, it was perfect. For someone like Ms. Goto, it was even more perfect.
There wasn't anyone there when she arrived. They met there often enough where this wasn't a big deal. Sitting down on the bench, Khalisah waited. Patient enough, but only just enough. Right when she thought about going, there were silent footsteps and Ms. Goto appeared, catsuit and all with two cups of coffee in her hands. “Didn't keep you waiting, did I?” she asked, which was a dumb question.
“Ten minutes is a long time for coffee, Ms. Goto.”
Her friend chuckled, then slid in the seat next to her before offering one of the cups. “Just a small touch.” She was dodging around the topic. Not really unheard of, but it didn't come with secondary gifts. “You remember what you told me? About the whole deal with the crucible?”
That was a fun conversation, and had been a very easy way for Khalisah to lose her faith in what was happening. Though, really, it made sense that the Alliance would keep quiet about such a flimsy idea. A viable solution could be easily celebrated, boost hope, and with the right strategy, a needed boost to Alliance reputation. On the bright side, knowing such a plan was a good way to accept one's mortality. “Found a better reason to disagree with me?”
“I never said I disagreed with you.”
“You still defended it.”
“I got it, I got it,” Ms. Goto sighed dramatically, and with a pout, she handed one of the cups over. “Made just how you like it.”
“We did talk about the creepy stalking thing, didn't we? I thought I included a clause about not following my assistant around too.” She still took the cup, and was pleasantly surprised by the bitter taste. Black. Still wasn't her usual choice, but it was better than other cups she had accepted. Coffee was coffee. “As pleasant as your company is, I'd prefer if we didn't waste both of our times.”
There was a look Ms. Goto gave her, not unfamiliar. Her plain smile would spread just a little wider, enough to show canine teeth and her brown eyes, almost amber in the right light, glinted beneath the shadow of her hood. “Alliance was holding out on us, Sishah,” and then she was handing her a datapad. It only took a moment to scroll through, but it didn't make the most sense.
They were paying someone to look into urban legends, either to help with the crucible or to come up with a back-up plan. Dr. Bryson was in charge, and had found something while studying the leviathan of dis. Something that could change everything. “How did you find out about this?”
“I did think about our conversation, and well. I'm not stupid enough to think a military will be so cozy toward me forever. Tapping into an admiral's communications seemed like the best way to know when to jump ship.”
“Self-serving to the very end.”
“You like me that way.”
Khalisah shouldn't have smiled, but she did anyway. “So you plan to break in?”
“Thought you'd might like to join me this time too.” Khalisah shot her a dubious look and Ms. Goto laughed, always real big on the humor. Some day she thought someone would wipe the grin off her face. Half-worried for when it happened. “It was worth a shot.”
“If you're that desperate for a rival I'm sure you could find someone.”
“There's already motive with you though.” She gave a playful frown, and Khalisah could easily imagine her eyebrows furrowing in worry. “Westerlund News doesn't know how to use you properly anyway. Since I'm doing all the work, by the way, you wanna meet at my apartment?”
“You already know the answer to that.”
Ms. Goto nodded, finally took a sip of her coffee that more than likely had gotten cold by then, and began to walk away. They already knew what needed to be done. She paused mid-step though and spun on her heel, giving another one of her gracious smiles. “You know how I know its going to work?”
Khalisah raised a careful eyebrow.
“The Leviathan of Dis was a reaper corpse. I think he knows where that thing went afterward. And I think once we find it before he does, you'll put enough pressure on Alliance where we'll have a better solution.”
“You don't really hide the stress, do you?”
“Only because I know you can handle it.” Then the laughter was gone from her, and Ms. Goto gave her a cold stare. Whatever thoughts passed, she wasn't inclined to share as she left once more, disappearing in the passing crowds. Khalisah wasn't sure how long she would be content with her own thoughts, but she waited patiently.
Knowing Ms. Goto, she wouldn't need to wait long.
–
Khalisah liked to consider herself a decent friend when she bothered. She didn't have a whole lot of people that she dedicated her time to beyond a professional interest. There were just some things that she never wanted touched. The thing about her fiancé. Don't waste her time while she was working, and never, ever call at home-- especially when she was asleep.
In the short time she had known Ms. Goto, she made a personal habit out of breaking those rules on a regular basis. It was a really stupid talent, but she had a way of pleasantly pissing people off. A lot of people seemed a little charmed by her flippant behavior, maybe considering it more benign than it really was sometimes. Not that she wasn't doing it harmlessly often, but, once you knew Ms. Goto long enough, you could tell when she was being serious with her thoughts. Her voice would briefly waver from its usual steady melody into something harsh. The accent would drop in the first two syllables, and every now and then, when things were really bad, she would flinch.
It was because of that, even though she got the call at fucking three in the morning, Khalisah couldn't ignore the call. “You need to see this.”
The journey to her apartment had always been a short walk, but the phone call made everything hurried, rushed. She barely gave herself enough time to seem presentable before leaving. Almost right away, it was easy to realize why they were meeting so late in the night. While the wards was always, always on the move all hours of the day, the upper social class could afford to go to bed at a decent time-- so long as there wasn't anything exciting. The commons was completely deserted, and sort of an eerie feeling without the people around. No voices, so instead, she had to be content with the silence. She wasn't in there long enough for it to be oppressive, and she tried to ignore how loud her steps sounded.
Up the steps and the third left down the hallway was Ms. Goto's door. Khalisah hovered by the door for a few moments. She very rarely answered a knock-- not without knowing who was on the other side. More often than not, she was wasting 10 minutes for the thief to double-check, usually by whatever hidden security vid she had nearby. It was good that she rarely changed her password. 5-8-7-6-7-2-8-2, and the door slid open, as if welcoming an old friend. Maybe she should've been concerned at how easily she could remember it.
Ms. Goto's apartment wasn't nice. For someone she was convinced had some secret credit stash somewhere, the furniture was shabby, and almost every time she was there, it was messy. Not so messy that she couldn't get anywhere, but there were papers and pieces of electronic parts on any flat surface that wasn't the floor. The kitchen was really just barely one-- enough room to cook and maybe get coffee in the morning with a small living room, and a hallway in the back with three, decent sized bedrooms. One of them she knew was a workroom, and the closet next to it-- you didn't touch that closet. It wasn't absolutely awful, but Khalisah was thankful for the days when Mr. Ket was here as well. He made a point to keep things tidy.
When she stepped inside, the coffee table was cleared, replaced by a tube that matched the length of the table, and Ms. Goto sat in front of it, hunched over a terminal. The taps on the keyboard were just as quiet as anything else she did on a regular basis. Khalisah traced the back of the couch with her fingers before slipping into the seat beside the thief. She didn't look at her. With a huff, Khalisah glanced toward the tube and realized there was something inside.
“What the hell is that?”
Ms. Goto shrugged. “It had a crazy amount of safe walls on it, so figured it'd be important.”
“I feel like that wasn't for security purposes. Should that thing be glowing?” If it was a reaper device, it wasn't one she'd ever seen. For one thing, the orb was pure white, and reminded her of a glass marble in the way it shone under the apartment light.
“I don't know.” Great start. “The notes keep referencing a real leviathan though. They follow this thing's trail, and more of these orbs keep cropping up.” She quieted for a moment, clacking on the keys. “...They have other bases. I think that's where I'll hit next.”
Khalisah eyed her. “That isn't your terminal, is it?”
Ms. Goto laughed. “We do need to catch up. And hey, the personal life is fun. Wouldn't you know the workaholic has daughter issues?”
“This would be more interesting if you hadn't gotten me up so early.”
“Oh yeah, I guess normal people usually sleep around this time. My bad.” The way she said it wasn't convincing, her voice falling flat. It wouldn't surprise her if this was par the course for Ms. Goto. While she was talented in technology, she wasn't an engineer. Retrieval was her best talent. Retrieval and lying. “You did want me to contact you as soon as possible.”
“I never said that.”
“Yeah, but I know how you think.” A few clacks on the keyboard, and she looked over once again, sort of a puzzled scowl on her face. “Well. Checking on Dr. Bryson might not be too bad. Surveillance. I doubt the break in will be publicized or anything.”
“Isn't stalking your thing?”
“Yeah, but I'd hate for you to just twiddle your thumbs for a few days while I get this stuff sorted out.”
“Or I could go to work. Like normal people.” Kasumi laughed at her then. If she didn't know any better, it'd almost be mocking. It was rarely how she meant it though-- not to each other anyway. It was a lot funner to mock everyone else, but they did tease each other. Khalisah cared enough to call her out, and her friend did something similar. “You can get Tianna or someone anyway. Kinda the point of employees.”
“Need Tianna with me. Urch will be keeping you company though, so don't feel too bad.”
That wasn't what she wanted to hear, but Khalisah could accept it long enough to at least get some sleep before work in the morning. From there, maybe a quick search into Dr. Bryson's history wouldn't kill them, and perhaps a visit or two, assuming she could tolerate Vurk long enough for that one. Now that she thought about it, any of the other students wouldn't have been much better. “I hope for your sake Tianna will get half of your competence by the time she finally succeeds you.”
There was still something reassuring in her relaxed smile, eyes trained on the monitor. “Guess you'll have to wait a little longer for me to die then, won't you?”
And there was something about the way she said it, almost quiet and despondent, that created a distance Khalisah wasn't entirely sure how to cross. Maybe there wasn't any need to for them. After all, some boundaries didn't need to be touched.
–
She didn't like Urch, and it was completely his fault. One of the more frustrating qualities that Ms. Goto had was her near constant ability to be confident in herself. When it came to work and her own thoughts, Ms. Goto couldn't be so easily dissuaded, but at the very least, she had the skills to back up most of it. There were still days in which the knowledge her friend possessed surprised her, and over time, the pride would die down, or best case scenario, she would learn and grow more to back that last bit up.
Urch didn't have that, but the way he went through life made Khalisah think he hadn't cared. He was a novice, and perhaps to compensate for that fact, he projected himself in such a way that he seemed to try to own everything he touched. The theatrical flair did enough for his personality as it did with Kitt's lackluster Shakespeare productions (which is to say, not at all for anyone who didn't already have a strange fascination for the performing arts). Because of that compensation, the way he talked to her came off more condescending than the benign detachment Kasumi had set between herself and people.
People were remarkably simple once you spent enough time trying to play them. If she had to judge Urch based on quality it would be fear. Everything he did was based on someone getting underneath there that he didn't want. Showing any sort of weakness would be the worst, and while she could understand something like that, the way he did it was so incredibly stupid that it became obvious for anyone that talked to him for more than five minutes.
Truthfully though, she never liked going to Ms. Goto's apartment without her anyway. The trashiness played a factor, but it as sort of weird to see something so undeniably the thief's and not have her be at home. The temptation would always be there to dig around now that there was a lack of supervision, and just find out who the thief really was. Khalisah wasn't so naïve to think that there weren't any secrets between them, lies that Kasumi casually told to keep her occupied. It was the risk of knowing a reporter, wasn't it?
Perhaps it was a good thing that Urch was there, even though her arrival to the apartment was just as awkward one might expect. Like before, Khalisah hadn't bothered to knock, and though Urch looked a bit startled, he hadn't said anything. To her relief, the apartment was a bit cleaner than it had been a few days before, and she was tempted to see if Mr. Ket was in. At least a jumpy quarian held better company. However, she wasn't sure how much he knew about what was happening, whether Kasumi was keeping it between them or not.
The orb was out of the tube, sitting freely on the table though with two books on either side of it to keep it from moving. “Are you sure that isn't a really stupid idea?” she asked Urch as he ran his omni-tool along the orb.
Urch's mandibles twitched for a moment. “None of the scans picked up anything dangerous.”
“The fact that you thought scans would pick up something from an unknown object isn't really comforting.”
“Hey, Boss signed off on it.”
The way her face contorted nearly made Urch laugh. She could see him suddenly sucking breath in an abrupt his, stiffening. He had known better than to laugh at her. Khalisah wasn't a fighter by any stretch of the imagination, but she could strip anyone of their emotional barriers in seconds. It wouldn't be the first she'd do it to him. If he didn't watch his tongue, it won't be his last. “Was she drunk?” Khalisah sneered. She should know better than that.
“You're an ass, you know that?”
“I don't fucking care. Put that thing in the tube.” It didn't surprise Khalisah when Urch ignored her, pulling the omni-tool close to him to examine the results from the scan. As the silence began to lengthen, Khalisah became increasingly aware of how cold the apartment had gotten, chilling enough where she could see her breath form small puffs of smoke as she stood there watching. Cold enough where it crept up her spine, where she clutched her arms to try to compensate for the sudden drop in temperature. Kasumi was not a cold person by nature. It had something to do with her hometown, which now that she thought about it, had been about three different places. Maybe four. Either way, it could barely be called cold and certainly not at arctic levels. “Mr. Ket isn't trying to sterile the environment by freezing us to death, is he?”
“You like meddling don't you?”
Khalisah paused, glancing toward Urch with a strange look. Turians weren't the most perceptive aliens. Usually it took some time and training to fully understand just what was being shown on the face. There wasn't any subtlety in his expression. The beady black in Urch's eyes had spread over completely inside them into something soulless, staring at her with such intensity and malevolence that for a brief, panic-stricken moment she could believe in demons and monsters hiding in shadows. The mandibles drooped low and he leered at her with growling sharp teeth. “... Uh. Urch?”
“If you value your life, you will not interfere.”
And then the warm air rushed in, and before Khalisah could realize what was happening, the turian was back at his omni-tool as if the brief lapse in sanity hadn't happened between them. She hid the shaking in her hands before retreating to the restroom, trying to figure out what the fuck just happened and looking for excuses to head home and how to word an email properly to Kasumi without sounding like she had lost her mind. Maybe she had. Just for an alarming second.
The cold water from the sink was a welcome reprieve, focusing on how the water dribbled down her chin. Her racing thoughts soothed, back to calmness, back to control. When she looked at the mirror, nothing showed. Then there were soft footsteps and a gentle rap on the restroom door.
“Ms. Khalisah?” With a huff, she pressed her button on the door and had a nervous quarian greet her at the doorway. Mr. Ket flinched at suddenly facing each other before straightening up in a very tense posture. He never seemed sure of himself, every time they talked. At times she had to remind herself that this was still better than when they first met, after months and months of coaching falling on deaf ears. “Are... Are you alright?”
“Has Urch been acting strange lately?”
Mr. Ket paused. Thought about it. “No,” he mumbled, “But I don't talk to him as much as you and Kasumi do. But that--”
“Keep an eye on him.” For now though, the atmosphere at the apartment was too oppressive, too strong without Ms. Goto being there. She brushed past him without so much as a goodbye, and ignored how the cold began to creep in again as she slipped out of the door.
–
That would've been the end of it if there weren't the dreams. Khalisah never considered herself a vivid dreamer. When you didn't have any superstitions, the most that a dream could provide was something to mull over and laugh about in the morning at best. For the most part, she rarely remembered them, and they rarely affected her for more than a horrible five minutes. Never had they wrecked her like this, became so pervasive that she woke up each morning shaking-- bad enough where she caught her fianceé clutching her as if to keep her anchored to the bed.
She couldn't even say what they were about, because most of the time, they still didn't make much sense. Cold emptiness, the vague sense of being suffocated, lungs burning, burning for air. All she could think about were the feelings left behind from them. The days began to blur with each other, pieces that she couldn't bother to remember long enough to care, and the silence on Ms. Goto's end seemed to make everything worse. It wasn't like she left her to deal with Urch alone. That very night Khalisah had left her a particularly scathing voice mail about how her protege had just threatened to kill her for doing her job. Nothing. Not even acknowledgement that Ms. Goto was even alive or made it back safely from the other bases.
It shouldn't have been a problem. Khalisah had been doing her homework, and though the research effort was well-organized, the security at Dr. Bryson's office-- even after the break-in-- was minimal at best. They were panicked, constantly rushing in and out, and there was something unnerving about the fear in everyone's eyes. What had they stolen exactly?
There was a week of this awful limbo before she finally saw an email from Ms. Goto without any sort of title. The message was strange. And alarming. Very alarming.
Ms. Goto
28/12/2186 20:01:43
Cold. They light up like Christmas trees when the voices start talking to me.
ImsorryImsorryImsorryImsorry
And suddenly she wished Ms. Goto had just kept with the silence. It was all too easy to remember the black eyes and the shiftless ghastly look Urch had given her. The very first thing she did was forward the email to Shepard with a request for assistance, something that she would've despised to do at any other time. As much as they talked, she knew there were some things about Ms. Goto's life that only Shepard could reach, and if anyone could see a less fatal solution to this problem, it would be the thief's best friend.
She wasn't ready to think about the other possibilities. No matter what was happening, she wasn't about to get blood on her hands, even if it was from a friend that seemed to be losing touch with reality. And despite everything telling her it was a bad idea, her feet still carried her to the apartment building, and as she punched in the same code, she tried to guess how quickly the message would reach the Normandy in case something did happen, in case she couldn't pull her out of whatever spiral that seemed to be centered around the apartment.
Mr. Ket. Maybe Mr. Ket was still there. He wouldn't be much use in a fight, but if there was any need for medical assistance, he could take care of it. Taking the small comfort that it was, Khalisah slipped through the door and greeted the biting cold and silence with a scowl. “Ms. Goto?” she called out. Nothing. With careful steps, she crossed the threshold into the living room, then felt something heavy slam into the back of her skull. She caught the sight of black shoes once she collapsed to the floor, something wet and sticky slipping through her black hair. Oh god, she was bleeding wasn't she? It stung too, sharp and dizzying.
Her eyes flickered around the floor she could see, and noticed that the strange orbs seemed to have multiplied into a rather interesting pile since she last saw her, and there was something hunched over next to it. Purple. “... You,” she looked upward, caught the shadow of Kasumi's face and amber eyes glaring back at her. She ignored the sharp pain as she tried to climb to her feet, the cold metal of a handgun on her forehead stopping her halfway. “What the hell did you do?!”
To Ms. Goto's credit, she at least tried to seem surprised. “I did?” she repeated. “This was your doing. You've been coming into my apartment and planting those things. And I came and Tunri... I can't believe you did that, but...”
What. What. For a moment Khalisah couldn't even find the words through her confusion and nausea until she saw the safety come off the handgun. All too quickly the situation became very real for her. “Wait, Ms... Kasumi,” she tried to sooth, but this wasn't her strength. She was used to digging, not like this. Never like this. “I don't even know how to shoot a gun. How do you expect me to kill someone with military training?”
The look on Ms. Goto's eyes was of pity, as if she was about to put down a dog. No. No No this wasn't what she wanted. She wasn't going to die and she was certainly not going to be pitied before doing so. “You're not seeing it. Something about those orbs. You're not who you think you are.” As Khalisah saw the finger on the trigger, something pushed her forward and she latched onto the gun arm as tightly as she could, shoving it away from both of them and sending them tumbling to the ground.
“You've gone nuts! None of this is making any sense.” Ms. Goto had to listen to reason, somewhere in that brain of hers, but between the struggling that Khalisah was rapidly losing and trying to keep in mind where that gun mouth was pointing, there was too much going on to be effective with it. It only took a second for Kasumi to throw Khalisah off, sending her back onto the floor as she scrambled to get to her feet.
Khalisah barely had time to react before the pistol was fired. The heat that enveloped in her chest lasted for only a moment before the numb and cold seeped inside her. Blurry images. The air she sucked in wasn't doing anything good. “You... You idiot,” she hissed once she finally recognized Kasumi hovering above her.
The arm was shaking now, but it was still aimed at her, and she could see Kasumi's expression tighten. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.” And with that, she pulled the trigger one last time.
–
When the message had come in, Temari hadn't been entirely sure what to do with it. While Al-Jilani seemed urgent in the email about her stopping by, nothing in the forwarded text seemed to suggest problems. In fact, it was blank. There wasn't anything there. Was she this freaked out over a mis-sent message? While Shepard had respected the odd sort of friendship the two struck up, she wasn't about to play mediator for them.
“Traynor,” Shepard called quietly. “Have you been able to reach Tunri at all?”
“No messages seem to be going through.”
It wasn't like him to ignore any requests coming from the ship either. She had respected his wishes in wanting to stop by the apartment to see how Kasumi was doing. If anything, she had wanted to join him at the time, but work obligations were calling her much too quickly. She couldn't even spare five minutes to speak to her close friend. It was an unfortunate fact of war, something that she hadn't thought about too hard when she had to decline the invitation to join the quarian. With Al-Jilani's email though, perhaps she should've pushed for the free time.
Temari stepped away from CIC, just as she heard the call of a visitor on deck. Maybe the reporter had decided to meet her here instead of at the apartment itself. But then she heard yelling coming from the front of the ship, and as Shepard picked up her pace, she was shocked to see Kasumi round the corner. Right away, she could see something was wrong. The thief's shoulders were hunched up and there was blood all over her. Her steps came faster and heavier once she spotted the commander, and Temari almost missed the omni-blade that was coming out of her left wrist.
She was close enough to touch, and Shepard wasted no time at the realization of what was happening. With an iron grip on her wrist, Temari threw her forward and grabbed onto the back of the thief's hood before roughly slamming her into the railing of the galaxy map. She felt something crack underneath her fingers, but tried to ignore it. Tried to think. The guards were quickly swarming over to help contain the situation. “Detain her in the infirmary. Chakwas will want to look her over,” she ordered one of them and allowed her fingers to be pried off Kasumi's suddenly limp body.
There wouldn't be any answers for a while. Not for the corpses, or the datapads she found scattered around the apartment of rantings that had no direction or ending. Just of a Dr. Bryson, and the much more permanent memory of her best friend sobbing on the infirmary bed, eyes trained unseeingly on a spot between them-- the galaxy crashing around her.
Notes: Shorter than the previous chapter. I can't say I'm entirely satisfied with it, but I'll go over it later.
Chapter List
----
“If we keep going at this rate, I'm afraid you might go home in a body bag.”
It was sort of pathetic. Sha'ira had the sad sort of smile that you only reserved when watching cute puppies do really stupid things, like run into walls or completely fail at the concept of stairs. It was fitting with the way she hobbled along the edges of the camp, struggling with the damage that had been done to her leg. They had enough sense to find crutches for her somewhere in the STG shuttle, but she really, really hated not having her hands free. It was a loss of function in a place where she had dedicated her entire life toward, and Kasumi never enjoyed the feeling of uselessness. The days of trying to impress the batarians, just enough where she wouldn't have to be hurt, probably influenced some of that. They couldn't tolerate long periods of nothing. It was a waste of resources and time, and if you wasted either, it meant death.
Walking was a stiff, slow process. Sha'ira remained ever patient, still with that same look on her. The rain had lessened, but it had done its damaged to the ground, caking their shoes with mud left on the streets. The camp was almost disturbingly quiet. The loss of two of their people would've made a rough impact on the camp, especially ones that were as iconic as the widow. Sha'ira, at least, seemed to be feeling the effects. It hadn't taken long for the tension to return just looking at their temporary home, which seemed too empty now. She was still wearing that dress too. Now that Kasumi wasn't preoccupied with the concept of dying, she could really see the damage done to it-- torn at the edge of her dress with mud and blood stained around her sleeves. The blood. She wondered if that was her own or the widow's.
“Were you scared?” Kasumi felt tempted to ask as they hobbled toward the east this time, away from any sniper. The STG gathering wasn't too far by, close but noticeably segregated. Only the few that weren't self-conscious crossed that line to come visit, usually Sal. Maybe there was a history there he hadn't mentioned.
Sha'ira hovered close to her, only about a foot or so with her hands hovering by her within a few inches-- just in case Kasumi toppled over. There was an audible gulp before she answered. “Of course. I am not...” She trailed off for a moment, and her face twisted into something unreadable. “... not used to the prospect of everyone dying around me.”
It was easy to forget, in the midst of it all, that most people weren't used to seeing the dead. Weren't used to being in a gunfight. Weren't used to the idea of friends dying and herself dying. Wanting it was a different matter, but preparing for it? Kasumi was always prepared to lose a friend again. That was how she could survive losing the Normandy, Shepard. No one expected a thing like that to live past the war anyway. Still... hurt. But expected. “You did well, you know,” she offered as a comfort.
There was a slight smile that pulled on Sha'ira's lips, breaking the unreadable facade with something fragile. “Perhaps. Sura is still grieving, and you--”
“You aren't me.” Would never want another her anyway. Keiji was the closest to it she'd ever want without it being creepy. People like her weren't people she could trust on a daily basis. They were looking for an opening. Always, always looking for one. “Though there's something I wanted to ask you about.”
“Using myself as cover, correct?”
Kasumi nodded warily.
“Tell me, Kasumi, if you were in the killer's position and are desperately looking for a way out from a group of civilians and highly trained operatives,” Sha'ira explained, “Who would you take as leverage?”
“Rather than simply fleeing?” At her nod, Kasumi paused, gave herself time to think about it. There were plenty of people that were interesting, but not a whole lot of them with a big price. “Major, if I was good enough, and could get him alone. If not, then...” And it hit her. That was shaky as all hell, but brilliant. No one would dare conceive such a thing as a combatant, but with someone who had different priorities-- the priorities of a consort, it was instinct. “That's not a lot to bet your life on, Sha'ira.”
“Do you have another reason for why you are among the living right now?” And there was a small bout of laughter that escaped, inappropriate if it had come from anyone else with anyone else. “The hip and the thigh were the only two places the sniper could risk without hurting me as well. … Maybe there was the expectation that you would simply bleed out.” Her fingers curled by the end of it, and she dropped her hands almost in defeat.
Kasumi picked up where she left off. “The galaxy would be in a lot of trouble if you decided on a few crimes.”
“I suppose I could start a syndicate if I wanted to.” She was trying. The conversation would go over better without the constant reminder between them. “I don't think I could live the sort of life you do.”
The thought settled inside of her in an uncomfortable, restless feeling. “I'm not sure I'd want a friend that could anymore,” it was a very quiet admission, one that slipped out before she could realize what she was saying. “They're usually gone before me.”
Sha'ira stayed quiet for a long time after that, letting the rain be the only sound between them. If Kasumi looked hard enough, she thought she could see sympathy in Sha'ira's taut frown. A lot of people could understand that sentiment now. Maybe more were looking for a reason for why they were alive than she thought. Now that the words came out, the thoughts and feelings behind it stuck to her. She hadn't known a single civilian in years now. Not in any sort of healthy or productive way. Losing people was starting to get tiring. It leeched her, stuck to her in a way that seemed so prevalent, permanent.
And then Sha'ira's lips were moving, though it took a moment for anything to register. “You have been dealing with that for a while, haven't you?” When Kasumi nodded, she stepped closer, placing a soft hand on her back. The barest hint of a smile formed on her face. “Perhaps I shouldn't be that surprised,” she admitted quietly, “You might not have been shot if you made your own safety a priority.”
“Someone who isn't ready for death shouldn't have the risk forced on them.”
Sha'ira laughed. “You make it sound like its a choice,” she teased, “Are you ready for death, Kasumi?”
“As much as a thief can be.” Maybe not the best response, but there was something disarming about the conversation. Kasumi had watched Sha'ira enough to know that it almost seemed to be an aura that was exuded from her. She didn't need to say a lot to get someone comfortable. For the longest time, it scared her more than it did comfort her, especially when she was only a spectator. If it was anyone else, it probably would still terrify her. “Can't say I'm wishing for it though. You just don't go into my career expecting a long life expectancy.”
“Yet people do.”
“They like their own brand of absurdity, I guess.”
“It's a natural reaction, I believe,” she countered very softly, “People do not wish to believe they are going to die early without something pressuring those thoughts. Do you fear death?”
Kasumi thought about it, kept it from settling as a pit inside of her. “Not as much as I should.” Every person feared it, at least in some form. The uncertainty of it all once it was finally over. She didn't know what awaited her. Among the possibilities that people told her, very few were good. It tended to range between an eternity in some sort of hell, or reincarnating into a slug or a servant. At least the later was something that she was familiar with already. Hell was a vague, empty concept, that didn't really mean much to those that didn't believe in it. However the idea that oblivion, nothing, awaited her wasn't so comforting either.
“Why's that?”
“Easy to forget that you still need to stay alive.”
“Do you want to die?”
Sha'ira's expression hadn't changed, even with a question like that. There was a tightness in her expression that shrouded any meaning that could be discerned by her words. “Everyone thinks about it sometimes. Doesn't mean I want it to happen.”
“If you still have the desire to live, it is worth something, isn't it?”
“How's uh... Sura? That's her name, right?” Kasumi stopped just short from hissing out the curse that was close to tumbling out of her lips. Real smooth. It wasn't a difficult subject, not-- completely, but the conversation could only stretch for so long before the answers died and the questions began. Questions she wasn't really ready to ask. Maybe using a recent widow as a subject change wasn't the most appropriate action though.
Sha'ira didn't miss a beat. “She is about as well as one can be in the situation,” she surmised, her tone never dipping. There wasn't a reason to add any sympathy around her. “She will be among the first STG will escort out of here. Ensure funeral arrangements. … I had thought about accompanying her.”
“Makes sense.” No matter how disappointing the short departure was.
“You could join us. She could benefit from talking with you.” The implication there was a little too much, and for the briefest of moments, Kasumi could feel herself curling up, drawing away. She wasn't a counselor. Admired people for their ability to do it, and she hadn't lacked empathy, but her patience with people wore thin if she had to be directly involved. Some moved too fast, others at a near crawl. Sha'ira seemed to sidestep neatly around the tensity with her next words. “Many of our group volunteered to assist with the search. Apparently, your penchant for firearms is not an uncommon trait.”
“So we're totally out of the picture with this thing?”
“Getting shot puts a stop to a lot of things if I am not mistaken.”
“You've a point there.” The emptiness that filled her with the concession only seemed to make it all worse though. She was used to running. She wasn't used to letting someone get away with marking her. Not since earning the reputation that she had. It wasn't that she stayed hidden that made Kasumi good, but it was the fact that the few that did know, feared the very idea of crossing that line. They had little, and what they did have they didn't dare share with anyone if it didn't benefit her in some way. To actually reach the sniper while in this state would make a very clear message. But...
“Were you considering remaining here?”
Kasumi smiled. “You're going to spoil me with all the worry you keep sending my way, you know.”
The words earned a small grin from Sha'ira, one that she tried to tuck away quickly with keeping an eye on the path, away from the camp and back toward the graffiti wall. From there, she seemed to hesitate from crossing the perimeter, back into the concrete landscape they had spent so much time in the past few weeks. A strange arrangement of emotions flickered across her face, settling with something almost defeated as she stepped away, turning back around. “Perhaps when this is all over, we can look around more. For now, I am sure Major Kirrahe and Samara would like to hear that you're awake.”
“Then packing up?”
“You cannot stay here, Kasumi.”
It was tempting to fight it. A liability was still a liability though, even when it was a label for her. “Well, I would hate to miss out on this vacation home. I can rock a bikini pretty well, with or without the bullet holes.” The way Sha'ira laughed was freeing, strong and exhilarating against the steady patter of rain. Then Kasumi joined her back toward the camp, listening to the muffled tings of her crutches hitting the mud. And an extra step, a heavy thump despite the soft ground. Her ears perked up, but she remained silent. Perhaps she heard wrong. She took another, and then three more, each time with an extra step after a millisecond pause. Dropping the crutches to the ground, Kasumi ignored how she teetered forward as she pulled the pistol out of her jacket pocket. As they clattered and splashed against mud and puddles, she whirled around and met the dark, pitch black eyes of a batarian with an assault rifled trained at Sha'ira's temple, who had turned in time with Kasumi's strange behavior.
Already it struck her with how familiar he was with his pale yellow skin and calloused, scarred hands-- wore even more ugly and frail with age. The armor was different too, now bathed in an olive green with a newer shine to it, though the mud and a few dints on the shoulder pads had lessened the effect some. The smile was still distinct, a sideways twisted grin that was ghastly and a cruel reminder of what should've been a long-forgotten memory. Her grip loosened.
“Been a while, Pyjak.” He took another step closer, and Kasumi found herself again, tightened her gun arm.
“Dharshan.” She tried to keep her voice flat, but this was just weird. So weird. He should be dead. Kiera had ensured that no one would be alive to come back. No phantoms, no ghosts. Her eyes flickered away from his face, down to the assault rifle. It wasn't in the best shape, like someone had been using it for target practice with a more powerful rifle. Vindicator. Slightly modded for silence and accuracy. Would've been better with a maddock. “If you wanted to die so badly, you could've just done that with the rest of your group.”
“You did enjoy murdering my family and friends.”
“You were slavers. My sympathy for you died at the enslaving part.” She could still see the hint of a smile, and still felt the sensation of power brewing inside of him. He stepped closer without any hesitance, the same sort of fiery confidence that brought him through the years of being her retainer. Master. Controller. It was almost funny that she ran into someone else with the same power almost immediately afterward. There was still the instincts that clamored out of her, the feelings of submit, head down-- submit, submit.
“That's it then?” And with every passing second, he was growing more confident. “You could end it now. What's one more innocent body, hm? I'm sure you could explain the consort's corpse easy enough.”
“You risk exposing yourself to the others by shooting me.” Sha'ira's voice remained calm, even. Some part of her had to be worried, but nothing showed through the stone expression she gave both of them. If she had more time to think about it, she would've found it creepy in some form-- like a wooden doll. Either way, it was far too controlled for someone that wasn't used to having a gun pointed at them.
“Doesn't matter if he's dead,” Kasumi answered for him. It only took a moment after to drop her pistol. Not today. She knew that, whatever happened in the next few hours, wasn't going to be good for her, but it was still time to be had. Time without shedding another person's blood. There wasn't any satisfaction in a choice like that. It's still a master taking from her, still getting the last laugh in the end. She was tired of giving, but this wasn't so different, was it?
She could feel Sha'ira's eyes boring holes into her as she knelt down, doing her best to ignore the sharp pain shooting from her leg and hips. The knee wasn't bending like it should have, and for a brief moment, Kasumi could almost hear the bones shift, rubbing against each other. The most uncomfortable sensation numbed her leg, like she had been sitting on it for too long. Her hands hovered just a few centimeters from the crutches, now caked in mud and dirt just as Dharshan stepped closer, glowering over her with a familiar leer. “I don't need you, Pyjak,” he sneered before he slammed his foot on the damaged knee. She nearly bit through her tongue to stop herself from crying out. “Try to remember that.”
She had to stop herself from shooting up to strangle the man. The pain kept radiating from the leg, and Sha'ira was on her, grabbing her arms-- trying to get her to her feet. There was something simmering behind her gaze, barely constrained rage that she had buried once she managed to get Kasumi to her feet. Then she reached for the crutches, ignored how that pretty dress was going to be so ruined after all of the blood and dirt soaked into it, and kept her eyes firmly on Kasumi's once they were passed. There was a plea there, certainly of confusion, something much darker that disappeared before she could really fully understand its presence. Then she turned warily to the batarian, keeping a wall between them. “Not much trying to break a soul twice, is there?”
“I'm not one to waste opportunities.” The he cloaked, though his presence was felt almost immediately afterward. The cold metal against the skin of the back of Kasumi's skull was almost too familiar. She wondered how likely it would be for the rifle to jam. Despite its shape, she wasn't sure Dharshan was stupid enough to hold them with a faulty gun. “We'll be taking the shuttle back,” he told them, his voice now quiet, near inaudible under the rain. “A wrong move from either of you and the other's dead. Move.” A slight nudge from the rifle and Kasumi began the slow, painful trek back to the shuttle.
–
The terse, empty silence had followed them into the shuttle, where Dharshan had forced them onto floor, hands cuffed behind their backs. The feeling of the heavy weight constricting her wrists was like a welcome home. She could still remember her first time like this, when she was first dragged in their ships like cargo, screaming and crying over the pain and the screaming that had rang in her ears. Everyone had just been so scared, still begging for an Alliance that would never come on time to save them. That had been in her mind too until the cuffs came on her, and all she had left to think about was the hot pain in the back of her head. The thing about those devices were that they would hurt for weeks as the skin tried to heal around the metal plate that was stuck there. Then afterward it was just an awful itch that seemed to reach inside the mind and left a permanent sensation that tickled, a reminder of what the batarians would always be to them. Even after so long, she would still wake up in the morning fingers digging her into the skin at the old surgical scar.
And there were still lingering voices, small little jolts that shouldn't have been there but were. Kasumi remembered waking up every night those first few weeks because she heard the whispers of an order. In her worst nights now, she still did. It was easy to forget who she was, but so many years were spent getting rid of the bitter taste in her mouth, and the stench of sweat and blood that permeated her skin. She replaced it with others, people that got in the way, people that didn't know better. Some deserved, some not.
She wondered if those spirits would be laughing at her now if they saw her. The silence between them now was strangely comfortable despite what was happening, both of them kneeling on the metal floor. Well, trying. Dharshan had given up on trying to get her in the position with her injuries, and she was forced to sprawl out, back against the wall. He had then retreated into the cockpit, leaving the pair alone. She could feel Sha'ira watching her with that same mixture of confusion and pity, and she had no idea what to tell her. How was she supposed to expect her past to pop in and say hello at the worst possible time?
“I'm sorry,” Kasumi still found herself saying. Still felt some sort of guilt settle inside of her.
“I am grateful actually,” Sha'ira sighed, and she could see her shoulders sag from the corner of her eye. “If I have to be in a situation like this, it is better not to be alone.” Then she quieted for a small moment, pursing her lips. The rumble of the engine shook the floor, and in the distance she thought she could hear someone yelling through the walls. No shots. They must've known they were inside. “... What do you think will happen to us?”
She turned away from the wall and looked at Sha'ira fully. Her face was painfully blank. “No idea. If he still has his connections, maybe being sold? Killed?” No. Probably killed for at least one of them. It was one thing to drag one person across the galaxy, but being outnumbered was always a problem. He ran the risk of collaboration among captives. She tested the strength of the cuffs. Electronic lock most likely.
“It is not in your nature to go quietly, is it?”
“Never.”
Sha'ira chuckled. “Oh good. I trust a thief would have something at her disposal to take care of these shackles?”
“I wouldn't be the best if I didn't. Just be a distraction for a little bit.”
The smile that she gave her was brilliant, absent of any stress that should be there. She trusted Kasumi to get them out, and it was weird to feel that sort of responsibility on her shoulders. For a brief moment, she remembered how often she looked at Shepard the same way, though perhaps not at the same intensity. This was the confidence of success, and all she wanted was to return that confidence, but it never felt real or concrete until she was moving. Sometimes all the planning in the world couldn't account for what was actually happening. It wasn't just trusting her mind to plan, but to act before she could be ready to concretely think about a problem. “Will your injuries get in the way?” Sha'ira asked after the silence.
“I've fought with worse.”
She didn't seem particularly happy with the information. “I suppose that would explain the scars.”
“Adrenaline's one hell of an anesthetic.” No laughter. Not surprising. There wasn't anything particularly funny about what was happening, or the conversation. What were the chances of Major and them following? It would take some fucking talent on their part, but she couldn't doubt STG too badly. Still, it wasn't much of a back-up plan. “You haven't seen my back either. But he did most of that.”
Sha'ira glanced away for a moment, brow furrowed. “Forgive me,” she mumbled. “I wouldn't have pushed as much if I had realized the significance of the scar.”
“You're lying, but it's alright.” She smiled though it came out tight-- thin and tired. Sha'ira returned it with something odd, a mixture of different emotions that she couldn't really identify. There was concern there, and a softness in the edges of her eyes from a place she couldn't see. The shuttle rumbled to a stop before Kasumi could ask about it and the cockpit door was thrown open. Dharshan's steps clacked heavily against the floor as he concentrated on a datapad in his large left hand. With a huff, he tossed it on the bench behind him and stopped by Kasumi's feet. Now that there wasn't an assault rifle pointed at her face, she could really see the age on him, the little nicks and folds that formed his face. His build was more heavy-set now, a little out of shape.
“How long has it been?” she asked, drawing her good leg up close to her body. It only took a moment for her to bring the omni-tool up, keeping the program discreet and out of sight.
The batarian hummed for a moment and seemed to be examining the two carefully. “Decade. At least.”
“You didn't just come back to make my life a living hell, did you?”
He laughed before turning to Sha'ira, grabbing onto her arm and forcing her off her feet. It took her a moment to get adjusted to the sudden force, stumbling forward with a few missteps. He hadn't cared, using the stumble to throw her against the wall, and Kasumi couldn't help wincing at the hard thud she made against it. It took a moment for Sha'ira to turn, and though the glare was readily apparent, she kept her face tight and stubborn. “You know, I had heard about a Goto a few years back,” Dharshan began, ignoring the tensity of the atmosphere as he brought up his omni-tool. “A shadow that smuggled slaves out, murdered colleagues. Then there were the stealing stories. You made quite a name for yourself, Pyjak.”
“Had a lot more free time on my hands.”
“It's not your name though.”
And very suddenly, Kasumi grew quiet.
There was a flash from the omni-tool as he took careful pictures of Sha'ira. “I suppose the name you had before wouldn't be so appealing for an idiot. I did do a little research after what happened, you know, and I had to wait for you to get away from that art collector. You weren't anyone special. You still aren't. You were born a slave and you'll die as one.”
She noticed Sha'ira's fingers curl against the hard wall. “That is not why you killed members of our group.”
“I fought for this damn planet,” he said. “But does anyone remember mine? The people we lost because no one cared? My culture was destroyed overnight, and it barely made headlines because of Earth. You see groups swarming to this planet to help, but no one dare touches batarian space. We have nowhere to go, Consort.” And he stepped closer to her, towered over her with a growl.
Sha'ira barely missed a beat. “You are disillusioned,” she soothed, voice quiet and even. “I can get what you want. I know how to change minds. Just le—”
He grabbed her neck and squeezed until those scarred knuckles turned white. All at once, Sha'ira's voice died in her throat, escaping only through a throaty gasp not unlike a particularly large salmon left flopping on the floor in a slow, excruciating death. “Stop!” Kasumi called out to them desperately, praying for the stupid program to finish. This was getting too far too quickly.
Dharshan ignored Kasumi and pressed Sha'ira against the wall, four black eyes narrowed dangerously. “No amount of money and connections will fix that hypocrisy,” he sneered. “The only reason why you won't be dying tonight is the credits people are asking for you.” Then, he let her go. Sha'ira collapsed to the ground with a gasp, back hitting against the wall. “A nice whore like you will get me a pretty chit, maybe even buy a cruiser with you.”
Kasumi could feel the snarl forming on her face. “You're so short-sighted. Why else do you think your men died?”
The effect on him was immediate and expected as Dharshan whirled around, lips curled like an enraged wolf defending its territory. “You've even less room to talk, vermin.” He bent low, met her in the eye as his darkened in hatred. “I will make you beg for the life you had before. Tear every limb off your body as you watch your friends die just as you watched mine. You'll live long enough to see your slut going to her new master, and then you'll die like the varren you always were.”
Just as he reached for her, the handcuffs clicked, and she jabbed the side of his neck with her newly freed hand. A strangled gasp escaped and he flailed about, scratching her face with one swipe. It wasn't enough. Kasumi threw her weight against with as much power as she could muster and brought them both tumbling to the floor. She could feel the punches thrown at her as he landed on his back, felt the blows hit her shoulders and arms. None of it mattered to her, and they barely registered in the haze of the hot flash of anger that bled into her veins. So much blood on her hands.
Adding vengeance to it never scared her. A man that deserved to die didn't deserve any thought put into it. Didn't deserve the mention to it beyond a corpse in the headlines. And it was so, so easy to think of the varrens and the mornings spent clawing at the back of her skull, trying to erase the reminder, reminder that they were always a part of her life that she could never fully get rid of. She got rid of the bitter taste in her mouth, but it bubbled in the back of her throat, waiting to claw out when called, and oh how she remembered how everything she tasted and smelled was just ashes and more ashes, the dying embers burning her nostrils and dulling her taste buds. Death was so easy to understand, death was so easy to give.
The whrrl of her own omni-blade was barely heard through the thumping that was drowning out her ears, but it was such an amazing feeling, slamming it into his body over and over. It wasn't just the sounds of it crunching into skin and bones, but the feeling of it sinking inside him, tearing into his organs and causing his body to tense and jolt underneath her. She watched as his face twisted from shock to the immense pain of his body rupturing. Whatever final words he could say was lost in the gurgle of blood that spilled from his lips and dribbled to the cold metal ground. But she didn't stop until she saw the glaze in his eyes, saw them staring into nothing-- no thoughts, no emotions, just an empty open-eye stare. She made the blade twisted inside his heart, and the pleasure, adrenaline that filled her was near intoxicating.
Then Sha'ira was pulling her up, and the apprehensive, fearful look she gave her washed all of it out, and there was something so crushing about it-- to see someone she respected so much look at her that way. A numbness crept inside her, down to her fingertips as she was dragged out of the shuttle. She couldn't even think long enough to ask why until the shuttle door was opened, and she saw her jacket. Red covered her wrists, hands, and the odor was suffocating enough that she could almost test the metal in the blood.
They made it a few steps before her legs simply gave out, slipping on the mud and this god forsaken rain. There wasn't even any pain involved. Her body had simply given up for the moment. Sha'ira stopped beside her, hands still on her shoulders in some weird attempt to steady her perhaps. “I'm sorry I...” All the justifications that wanted to spill out of her jumbled together in a tangled mess. There was a comforting squeeze, but everything seemed so wrong. Her fingers dug into the dirt and rock, and she realized how empty and cold it all felt once the momentum was gone. All was left was frustration and the rain that soaked her. “I had more memories of him than my own dad. My sister...” And all she could think about was how her sister could have been there, how she shouldn't have been. “They took everything, and that... that man was going to...”
The words kept dying in her throat, but they stayed in her mind, clashing with one another in broken sentences and sounds and old whispers she thought she stopped hearing years ago. She heard Sha'ira plop down beside her, but she remained silent, as if waiting for her to continue. She couldn't look. Couldn't see if that fear was still there on her. She wondered if the distance was on purpose, or maybe it was just imaginary. Maybe there was always that distance she never knew how to cross.
“I'm sorry,” she repeated, though her voice was barely there. It shouldn't have been this thick and this hard to swallow. “Your sisters and I. We're not so different. Probably not anyway. The pull's there and...” It was all too easy to remember the brief surge of euphoria cutting into another man. Too easy. “... It gets better every time. I think that's.”
“What is your name?”
Kasumi laughed. It sounded so forced. “Nanami Kurosawa.”
The smile Sha'ira gave her was so gentle. She couldn't see the fear anymore. “Seven seas, isn't it? How fitting.” Then there were soft, warm hands on her cheeks, fingers brushing away the dirt and grime. Sha'ira's breath tickled her skin, and there was the scent of lavender. For the longest time, she just held her like that, staring. Kasumi hadn't realized how much her arms were trembling, how deeply the cold was affecting her, but it was like a switch went off and all she wanted was to covet the touch given to her.
And the look. It was a depth and intensity she hadn't felt in a long time. The silence around them became so clear, crisp. Gradually, a peace seemed to settle. Sha'ira leaned forward, bumping her forehead against hers, and it was hard to move, not to expect something to happen with her so close. She could hear the hitch in Sha'ira's breath before her lips curled into an even wider, brilliant smile. “It's over,” she said before tilting her head up and pressing a kiss against Kasumi's temple. “Thank you.”
Kasumi had never felt more relief than in that single moment.
–
The corpse was uncomfortable to look at. It was easy to look into something like that with a sense of detachment, a habit she had picked up a long time ago during her career. The murders didn't have as big of an impact, didn't keep her up at night, but it was had not to look at something like that and think about how personal it had been. That newer armor was now covered in a fresh scarlet shine, and though it was done in a rage, Kasumi could almost marvel at how precise her strikes had been, fitting perfectly between the plates. It was far too clean for a man like him.
Still, she slipped her coat off and and neatly covered Dharshan's face as some sign of respect, no matter how empty the gesture felt. Right now, everything just seemed so tiring. That was the thing about killing though. Once all the initial victories passed, there was very little to show for it. Very little left to feel or experience. Her career stealing always left a lot more satisfaction. There was a prize to be had, something that she could look at and admire, tell stories about with its history and how she acquired it. At most, she could expect credits with a good kill, but really that never meant much to her.
Some of it, or a lot of it really, had to do with the fact that she had enough to live comfortably for the rest of her life if she really wanted. Each piece that Kasumi sold easily earned her millions of credits, especially for some of her more obscure works, and the Mona Lisa sale alone had been enough for her retirement fund. But even before that start, traditional greed didn't really have the greatest of appeal.
There were a lot of things that she never understood about normalcy. Maybe that was why no one particularly enjoyed her company when she had tried it. Kasumi pushed those thoughts aside as she started up the shuttle, giving a brief grimace when Sha'ira joined her. “Still have a lot on your mind?” she asked once she seemed comfortable in her seat.
“Just wondering how you knew about the seven seas thing,” Kasumi lied. The conversation was still swirling in her mind, and how Sha'ira touched her. There was something there that she was curious about, but she wasn't sure how to bring up. If she wanted to bring it up. If they were going to the villa, she had plenty of time to figure it out. The thought didn't scare her as much as she expected.
Sha'ira laughed, and if she hadn't know better, Kasumi would've thought she saw a flush there. “It came from an article... a few years ago now, I suppose,” she began just as the engine came to life, “A name of a young woman that reunited with surviving relatives after disappearing for... eight? Nine years?” She quieted and she could see those blue eyes briefly narrow in thought. Her memory was already rather impressive just to pull something like that out. She didn't want to ruin the fun for her. “It stuck with me, mostly with how unforthcoming the young woman was. No one knew where she had been, or how she managed to survive.” Kasumi tried to bite back a smile. “Either way, the name stood out to me. Had a very nice melody to it.” It only took a moment afterward that it struck Sha'ira. “That was you.”
“I nearly killed my aunt for that, by the way,” she said with a small grin, trying hard not to laugh. “She always did enjoy gossiping with the neighbors.”
“So when you forgot who you were...?”
“I went looking for them.” It wasn't nearly as pathetic thinking about it now then it was actually looking. The memories weren't as harsh in her mind, didn't weigh her down as heavily. She still remembered how warmly her aunt greeted her, open arms and a crushing hug. Her grandmother was a bit more subtle about it of course, but the way she always stayed so collective was admirable in itself. Though she could only do it for so long, the presence of a family meant something. Maybe that was why the transition to something like the Normandy was so easy for her. It almost had the same feeling to it, being a part of a larger whole. In the end, she still was. Most of them were gone, but not all of them. There was a way to hold onto that, wasn't there?
“I... I am impressed, I confess,” Sha'ira mused with almost an awed smile, “That you could be with them without any rivals noticing. Especially with the media attention you attracted.”
“They did.”
She had never seen the color drain out of someone's face so quickly. Sha'ira turned away, back toward the window and the concrete buildings. The grey was starting to blend together, but there was a brief flash of red not far from where they flew, a pillar of smoke rising from its point. A soft bed was calling her, but Kasumi supposed that the tent floor would be just as good. She glanced over at the consort, saw the deeply troubled look on her, and reached over, grabbing Sha'ira's hand tightly and giving a gentle squeeze. “Maybe we shouldn't lose each other then?”
Sha'ira's eyes softened and trailed down to their joined hands. “... I'd like that.”
She hadn't been sure what she was looking at first. It was a good day, though not much different than the other days before. Most came out better than they were walking in, and for Sha'ira, that always was good enough. It made her time meaningful, kept her going every day-- most of the time. Everyone questioned what they were doing at least once in their life. She firmly believed that.
It was quiet when she came home, the sort of serene silence that calmed the edges of her nerves and slowed her thoughts. There was a certain routine, usually making a cup of tea, going over the last few notes for tomorrow, feeding the birds, and then reading until Kasumi returned home. From there, they'd share dinner if it was early enough, and if not, usually a bath and bed. It was simple, easy to anticipate, but Kasumi wasn't someone you could fit in a box and be done with it. Part of the unpredictability was why she loved her.
This was... strange though. At the foot of their bed rested a giant fortress of pillows with blankets strewn across the roof like a canopy ceiling. A blue knitted quilt she recognized from her childhood served as the entrance, pale bare toes poking out through the flaps. A low hum escaped through the opening, slow, melodic, and relaxed. Even in her confusion, it was hard not to smile at the energy she showed.
Moving the quilt away, she poked her head inside and found Kasumi on her back with a sheet lazily draped over her and pillow cushioned on her head, staring at the low ceiling. A pillow rested beside her, as several more sheets served as the floor, forming a nice pallet. She thought she spotted a wine bottle with two glasses in the corner. “Off today?”
She waved a hand lazily in front of her. “I wanted to think.”
“By building this?”
Kasumi propped herself on her elbows before patting the spot beside her. Sha'ira only worried for a brief moment that if she indulged this, they would end up on the floor more often, but she crawled inside anyway. She didn't relax as quickly though, sitting on her knees as she watched Kasumi below her. “You ever make pillow forts as a kid?”
“Perhaps a few, but my sisters were always a bit better at that sort of thing.” House, or something like it, was usually her activity of choice growing up. While pillow forts were nice for the experience, Sha'ira had a hard time seeing it beyond having to clean it up after a while, and how she'd much prefer the comfort of her bed. It didn't surprise her that Kasumi had the spirit for it. “Did...” Perhaps it wasn't best to ask that. There was time for that sort of thing, sure, but how much committed to memory...?
Her puzzlement must've shown, because Kasumi began to laugh as her fingers idly trailed up her wrist. “It was my favorite thing to do. My dad was really good at it. Sometimes when he didn't have work, we'd spend all day just building and playing in forts. Got a lot of the other kids involved.”
She felt a warm touch on the bare skin underneath her dress sleeve and smiled before kneeling down and kissing Kasumi's forehead. The way she lit up at the small shows of affection was almost remarkable, but something sad all the same. She shouldn't be used to nothing, and she wouldn't be after enough time. Part of it was being a thief, probably. Touch would seem weird, if people couldn't trust what would happen if you touched back. It wasn't all, but... time. Time was a good friend.
Her thoughts were cut short at a small tug, and they shared a smile before Sha'ira laid down next to her. “When I forgot who I was,” Kasumi began before pulling the sheet over her partner as well, “I stayed with an aunt. It worked out for a while, but I kinda... got a little stir crazy once. Made the biggest pillow fort I could, just to get the energy out.”
“Getting tired of the home life?”
She chuckled, a nice rumbling sound that muffled as she buried her face in the pillow, hiding a smile. “Never,” she answered softly, and then the rumble started again as Kasumi pulled Sha'ira on top of her. “Never,” she repeated before wrapping her arms loosely around Sha'ira.
“Are you alright?” She was still getting comfortable in her new resting place, pressing her cheek against the other's collarbone. And they simply stayed like that for a long time, enjoying the comfortable silence between them. Maybe it hadn't mattered that the conversation wasn't finished. There was something comfortable about this too, spending her time just focusing on Kasumi's steady breathing and the odd patter of her heartbeat. All of the stresses of the day seemed to wash out, if only for a little while.
It wasn't long before the lapse of silence was putting her to sleep, but before her eyes could close, she caught the way Kasumi looked at her. “I'm fine now.”
Imagine person A of your OTP in the hospital, severely sick or injured, and a doctor telling person B that person A might not make it through the night. Person B stays at person A’s side the whole night, holding their hand and begging them not to leave.
There was something people didn't understand about her. Silence was a companion for her. It stayed around her like a phantom, because it needed to. The words would tumble out of her mouth in a near constant stream of incoherence and anger and every messed up thing inside her that she liked to keep bottled up all nice and neat. It wasn't out of any affection that she let it happen. The sheer hatred that stirred inside of her for it wasn't anymore apparent than when they put Sha'ira in the operating room.
No sound broke through the curtain of silence. All that came out of her were desperate pants as she watched white hallways and doctors that brushed by her, thumping thumping against the tile floor. The smell of antiseptics that burned her nostrils was about the furthest from home it could be. Not the mix of lavender, oils, ginger. Not the birds chirping, white smile, gentle touches. Not laughter, gentle chidings over morning coffee. Silence. Always hated silence.
Someone was tugging her on the arm, forcing her off the floor. She hadn't even realized she was on it. “What are you doing here?” Then Shepard was staring at her with wide, dark eyes-- forced her to face each other. She wasn't sure if standing there was making anything better. Her stomach churned into something ugly that forced its way into her throat, only shoved back down with a thick swallow. Shepard's eyes darted around her, looking her over. “The hell happened to you, Kas? Are you alright?!”
Kasumi numbly looked at her hands, arms, and noticed with startling clarity how much red they were caked in, long streaks along her forearms and wrists. Oh god it was so bad. She choked, chest freezing in alarm as her arms began to shake under Shepard's grip. The sounds that would've come out were inhuman, but they died just short as she struggled with something to say. The only way she knew any message was coming out was how increasingly alarmed her friend looked by the second.
“She...” finally something, but it came out so weak, muffled from a sob that was trying to escape, “... She shouldn't have been there.” Then her knees buckled. It was her fault. She could handle anything. Handled everything. But she couldn't deal with it being her fault. Not like this. Things were supposed to be different this time. No, no, no it was different. There was still a chance, and Shepard was following her down, grabbing onto her shoulders.
Why didn't it hurt any less then?
–
Somewhere in the wait, Shepard managed to get her in a seat, though it was stiff and cold. She wanted to go back home, but it wasn't that right now. Though the commander stayed, she wasn't doing that thing where she knew what to say at the right time. She just sat beside Kasumi, offering a physical presence that somewhere down the line would probably be appreciated, but it seemed so odd right now. Maybe because she didn't know what was happening, but the words couldn't come out.
The silence had seemed to stretch forever between them, and somewhere down the line, everything except fear became numb to her. Then the doctor was coming in and recognized her shivering body, knees drawn up in the chair. There was pity in her eyes that seemed to grow more and more as she drew closer. Then she was grabbing Kasumi's arm and pulling her aside. The words barely dented the fogginess of her mind. Surgery went fine, but a lot of blood loss. Touch and go. More surgeries in the morning. Possible complications. More possible complications. Then they were standing at her door and '… make it through the night,' slipped out.
“... I'm sorry?” Kasumi mumbled.
“Miss... Kurosawa, was it?” the doctor began carefully. “She's been hurt. Bad. I had to call C-sec.” She didn't care about that. “We're doing what we can, but its going to be touch and go for a while.” Then she opened the door. “I can't guarantee her living through the night. I'm sorry.” Then the doctor seemed to busy herself, trekking back further down the hallway.
There were chords and bandages, and she could barely see a steady rise and fall in the way Sha'ira breathed in front of her. If she deluded herself, it wasn't so different from catching her asleep on the couch after a particularly long day. She'd always slip one hand over Kasumi's, nestle just a little closer. Then in a minute, she would be out with light, gentle puffs tickling her skin. This wasn't home though, and even in front of her, it only seemed farther away.
“...What am I going to do if you don't come back with me?” Nothing answered. It was a terrible joke anyway. She slipped her hand under the sheet, and found Sha'ira's. It wasn't as warm as it should've been, and it only seemed to be chased away the further she pressed on each individual finger. It was too limp. Nothing felt right, and the quiet was just so deafening. And vaguely, she recognized the bandages around her torso and abdomen. Sha'ira was shaking so badly when she saw her, and the gurgles that escaped were so wrong, so so wrong. And still she wanted it back. It was better than this. At least then there was a life.
It didn't take much for the silence to be filled though, once she felt it all rise out of her-- when she became all too aware of how much she needed her.
Notes: Haha man I've been working on this for forever. There are two more parts after this one, then finally editing before posting to AO3. Think I'll stick this in the ME tag and see what happens, what the hell had a good life.
Parts: 1, 2,3
--
The rain had picked up by morning. It splattered against the side of her tent in a steady pattern as it swallowed any sort of light that could reach the inside. As Kasumi stared numbly at the roof, she could almost believe it was still night. Her body creaked in protest when she sat up, and the still present fogginess in her brain made it seem like it was only a few, short hours that she had gone to sleep. Maybe if she lingered there long enough, she could fade right back into unconsciousness. Part of it might’ve been that headbutt from yesterday though.
Her fingers grazed across the bandage on her right temple, then once again with more pressure. While there were little jolts of pain, it was nothing compared to the dull thumps. Sighing in relief, she swung her legs to the side of the bed and narrowly avoided kicking Sha’ira in the face. She froze with feet still hanging in the air, unsure of what she was looking at.
Sha’ira looked pretty comfortable at least, laying on her side—facing Kasumi’s cot. Her left arm was stretched out toward the cot, fingers curled into a light fist. The way her breaths came, slow and heavy, and the way her face seemed relieved of any tension told Kasumi that it would be a while before she’d wake up naturally.
It’d been a while since she had seen without taut lines around their smile, and a pervasive weight in their expression. Sleep, in its best form, ripped out all of the pain and worries inescapable during the day. It was a chance for a fresh start, or at least the illusion of it first waking up. Luckily that seemed to be the case for Sha’ira, even a vague smile touching her face. Just with a closer inspection, Kasumi could see the traces of freckles dotting along her brow and around her cheekbone, unnoticeable with the daily grind. It was a surprising youthful feature for someone that held this image of complete maturity.
It was hard not to smile at it, at least until she picked up the faint beeping of the QEC under her pillow. Kasumi jerked for it a bit too hastily, and once it was in her hands, she made a show to at least quietly step out of her tent, just in case Sha’ira woke up with the sudden movements. It probably wouldn’t go over well if she was actually caught watching the consort sleep.
She took a moment to enjoy the cool water on her skin, and how the smell seemed to bury the stench of smoke for a while before answering the call. Tianna greeted her on the screen, and by the tight smile, Kasumi knew it wasn’t anything good.
She took a good look around, made sure they were alone, before muttering, “What’s wrong?”
Tianna rubbed the back of her neck uncomfortably before laughing it off, trying to brush it away. It only made Kasumi feel worse. “Hey, I was just calling to check in. Don’t need to take it so seriously. Things are kinda boring around here, you know?”
“Where’s Urch?”
A silence followed. Tianna could lie, usually, but maybe there was something about how they worked together that caused the obvious falters. Though none of them called it by name other than Urch himself, she was their boss, and there weren’t any traditional firings for her. It was either work, or well… “He’s a bit busy today. What happened to your face?”
Hmm. Maybe it was in worse shape than she thought. A krogan head-plate did tend to cover more area than a normal headbutt would. It was still a shift to something off-topic, though why was beyond Kasumi. Tianna was the one who called. “It’s nothing,” she brushed it aside, “Why are you calling?”
“Urch’s doing a really good job handling things by the way. The neighbors just treat us like another part of the scenery, or you know, some of them invited us to a party the other day…”
“Tianna.” She tried to lessen the hiss a little, just enough for the warning to be clear.
“ ‘Course, that’s when Kiera showed up.”
Kasumi’s hands gripped the edges of the QEC, tightening the squeeze until her knuckles were white and straining with the fight against the metal. “Does she know?” It came out as a harsh whisper, and suddenly the morning seemed much colder.
“Urch has been keeping her busy…”
A sigh escaped from her. There was still time. Perhaps taking care of the woman would’ve been the more important option, but there was a limited window on the trip, and Kiera was… well…
“But, Kas, we can’t really put her off forever. It’s your choice, but I’m not sure what we’re supposed to do about it. It’s not really the same without you over here.” She could almost appreciate the sincerity in Tianna’s voice, and the fact that she was respecting the distance moreso. “Keeps asking questions.”
“Leave if you have to.”
Tianna seemed startled by the order, mouth left slightly agape with wide eyes. She always had a very honest look. It wouldn’t work very well on the job. She could use the hood more than any of her other students. “What?” she yelped. “Where would we go?”
It should’ve been an easy answer, one that Kasumi didn’t need to give. She kept very little cherished possessions on her as she traveled. The art from the prodigy and her times with Keiji, greybox, and a few books—all of which that she could pack up within an hour. Sometimes she wouldn’t even have that much time. You couldn’t carry anything that you weren’t prepared to lose at a moment’s notice. That was why a vault was necessary. “It won’t be far from here,” she said.
“And the neighbors?”
“Not your problem.”
Tianna hesitated, glancing away from the screen to a spot out of view. Maybe she grew attached to them. It made for a good cover, but when it was genuine, that led to problems. There was something else underneath the surface though, the way she chewed on her bottom lip, rubbing her forehead absently. “You know we can’t hide forever.”
“I’ll be back before it’s too much.”
“What are you doing there anyway? You’re not a charity worker.”
She couldn’t answer that, and the pitying look Tianna have her when she met Kasumi’s gaze again made it all worse. Despite how hard she could be on Tianna, she was always the smartest when it came to people. She could discern a person’s motivations with the fewest amount of words. And the way Tianna looked at her—Kasumi was no different. “What did Kiera do to you?”
“You met her,” she answered vaguely.
“Sometimes I really don’t think you need enemies when I do. There’s something about how she—“ and then Tianna choked. The screen shut off, and the rain suddenly stopped.
When Kasumi looked up, she could see the shade of a dark burgundy umbrella as the water pattered onto the tarp, drizzling lazily down to the edge before hitting asphalt. “Sounds like you’re having a busy morning,” Sha’ira said behind her, and when Kasumi looked back, a soft smile curled onto her lips. It only took a moment of silence before the smile faded and her eyes darkened. “… Are you alright?”
“Yeah,” she sighed, and it came out just as weary as she felt. It was better to keep her mind off of it for right now. Just looking at Sha’ira told her some time had passed since she answered the call. Sha’ira stood in front of her fully dressed, balancing a brown grocery bag between two fingers in her free hand. Beyond her Kasumi could see the camp slowly coming to life, albeit in a slow crawl with the worsening weather. She ignored it for now as Sha’ira handed her the umbrella handle, accepting the tiny answer for what it was.
She then began to rummage through the bag, her bottom lip curling with a slight peek of a dark blue tongue skimming along the edge of the lip in a clear sign of concentration. “I thought you might be cold standing out in the rain in only a tanktop and shorts,” she mumbled, some of the words muffled by the crinkling of the bag. “So I brought your jacket.” And with just a little more effort, she pulled it out of the bag, holding it out for her with a small grimace. “There’s also the matter of your arm…” Her eyes only briefly flickered to her right bicep, and Kasumi understood.
“Oh.” Plainly styled in an obvious homage to the Normandy logo, SR2 was tattooed across her arm. With awkward jerks and maybe slightly flushed cheeks (though Kasumi would never admit), she traded the umbrella for her jacket, nearly knocking the QEC out of her grip in the process. It did seem to warm her skin on contact, and she slipped the hood over her face, just in case Sha’ira wanted more freedom to move with the umbrella.
She didn’t move though, and instead was stifling a small laugh. The amusement in her eyes gave her away. “I imagine you’ve had enough of creating rumors for one trip.”
Finally Kasumi cracked a small smile. “Caught onto that huh?”
“Sal hardly needs any encouraging,” Sha’ira lightly admonished. “I admit, I just thought it was his personality until his stories started getting more ridiculous—and some of the others started to join in.” She didn’t seem too bothered by it though as she set the grocery bag down and reached for Kasumi, gingerly peeling the bandage away to check the healing gash underneath. A sigh of relief escaped from her, one Kasumi wasn’t sure she was supposed to hear. Smoothing the bandage back down, Sha’ira scowled. “You sleep very restlessly. I wasn’t sure if you were hurting or not.”
Wait a sec. “You watched me sleep?”
Sha’ira chuckled, and the smirk that formed on her face seemed almost familiar. It wouldn’t have been so out of place on her own. “I think we are even, aren’t we?” she teased before fishing inside the bag once more, handing her a brush that no doubt came from her tent. “You spent quite a bit of time studying me this morning, Kasumi.”
She grimaced. “You were awake?”
“For some of it. Perhaps next time you should not look so rushed leaving.”
Any response seemed far, far out of Kasumi’s reach as she mutely took the hairbrush, pushing her hood down in the process. However, a Mohawk could only buy so much time since it required very little management and not a whole lot of hair. Sha’ira seemed almost fascinated by the process, even after tossing the brush back into the bag and she began to finger comb through the black strands. “Did you go through my things?” she asked as a way to change the subject.
“I don’t make a habit of invading others’ privacy. You had it lying on the floor.” It was a silly question, but Sha’ira had the chance. Though she wasn’t sure if there was anything in her stuff that the consort wouldn’t already know about. The catsuit would come as no surprise, and she already saw the greybox. Maybe the pistol. No definitely the pistol. She wasn’t sure how many actually brought firearms with them.
She slipped the hood back over her face, and thought she caught a brief flash of disappointment on Sha’ira’s. It was gone before she could really tell though, which was a little odd. Not that it was quickly hidden, but that it was present in the first place. “You alright?”
What she didn’t expect was for Sha’ira to laugh, briefly looking away in a rare show of humility. “I apologize,” she said, “Hair has always been a little interesting to me, and well… I do not often to see that style on women.”
Of all the things she expected her to say, Kasumi’s hair was pretty low on the list. She found herself laughing before pushing the hood back once again. “You want to touch it?” she asked on impulse. There wouldn’t be any harm in it.
Sha’ira hesitated for only a brief moment before she stepped closer, leaving only a few inches of space between them. “If you’re sure about this.”
“Its just hair.”
She threw a dubious look in Kasumi’s direction, and then slid the umbrella into her free hand before finally reaching up and carefully brushing her fingers through the dark short hair. A small smile forced its way on her face, and she remained very careful, almost afraid to mess up what only took a few seconds to comb through before. It wasn’t a bad feeling, soothing the more she focused on the small, circular motions Sha’ira made into her scalp.
“Sometimes I share baths with my clients,” Sha’ira began to speak, though the soft tone her voice took made it difficult to hear over the rain, “It’s a shame though. I have not had the chance to wash someone’s hair yet.”
“Couldn’t just ask?”
She smiled. “It’s not about me.” She brushed Kasumi’s hair back, stopping at the base of her skull. She felt the fingers trace the long, bumpy scar across, leaving a tingling sensation with the touch. It was more calming than it should’ve been. “… That is an interesting scar right there.”
Kasumi eyed her. “You’ve been looking at it a lot lately.”
“Um. Am I interrupting anything?” With the new voice, Kasumi looked over Sha’ira’s shoulder and spotted the turian wife watching them with probably the most uncomfortable expression she had ever seen on a turian’s face before, and she realized, just for a moment, that the position that Sha’ira and her were in was the kind that started even more speculation.
Sha’ira pulled away from Kasumi with the same sort of grace the thief had seen her greet every client, taking back the umbrella as she turned around to greet the turian. “My apologies, Gena,” she said with a slight bow. “Is there something you need help with?”
Kasumi just very quietly pulled the hood back over her face and hoped to god the wife didn’t seem as gossipy as she first appeared to be. If there was one thing she had been thankful for, her name hadn’t slipped in the parts that the turian wife could hear. The awkwardness seemed to have faded quickly from the turian’s face though, and Kasumi noticed her hands trembling.
“Katul’s missing.” There was an audible gulp from the wife, mandibles flaring.
“Are you sure of this?” Sha’ira asked. They couldn’t rush into things, Kasumi was sure of it. They didn’t need to freak the camp out more than they already were with STG arriving soon, and the turian widow had his own schedule sorta. He was usually the first to be up, and the last to sleep at night. He could’ve simply wandered off and forgotten about the whole interrogation thing.
“No one’s seen him since last night. The shuttle’s gone too.” Shit. He would’ve at least gone to bed last night. As deserted as the place looked, he wouldn’t have been stupid enough to leave alone with a possible murderer in the ruins.
“Does Major and them know about it?” Kasumi cut in. They needed to find him, if anything just to make sure he hadn’t gotten himself killed. Why did he even take the shuttle in the first place? Other than resources and the rescue of the STG group the other day, the machine had rarely been touched during the trip. Wherever he needed to go, it was definitely in a hurry.
“No, but they’re here. We’ve been trying to look for him in the meantime.”
The previous playfulness had left Sha’ira’s face, replaced by concern and a stern frown. “Bring Major Kirrahe and the Justicar here, please. We will need to organize a search party.” The turian wife nodded before sprinting back toward camp, and Kasumi finally spotted the small group toward the other end, Samara’s dark red armor sticking out amongst the grey. “… We really should not be this spread out if this killer has any skill,” Sha’ira surmised.
“When did we become the leaders of this group?”
Sha’ira only shrugged in response, letting the silence hang between them for a moment. The turian wife reached the group, and through some frantic gestures, the Major and Samara stood up. Their postures remained rigid, unhappy. The fact that there might be another murder in their own group wouldn’t put off any suspicions. “… Do you think he’s dead?” Sha’ira asked, breaking through her thoughts.
“I think we would’ve seen him this morning otherwise.” There wasn’t any reason to keep him alive. Hostages were dangerous if you weren’t desperate, and the STG member would’ve been more valuable for negotiations. “But finding out won’t hurt.”
“More evidence at least.” Still, the stress didn’t leave Sha’ira’s face, weighing in on as a long, drawn look. Kasumi reminded herself that she wasn’t speaking with someone that was used to running into a death every now and then, much less multiple murders. When it wasn’t encountered often, it did have an effect on people. However her friend seemed to handle it better than Kasumi would’ve expected. Though the grief was still present, the ones she wore when giving orders did little to show the thoughts going through the consort’s mind. “Perhaps we can exonerate our own group while we’re at it.”
By then, Major and Samara had gotten close enough to hear it, and the salarian didn’t seem entirely impressed with the words. He didn’t respond to it right away, greeting both of them with a tired smile and a handshake for Sha’ira. “I am sorry for starting so early, but maybe that’s a good thing,” he said, “Though a missing group member here places the killer close.”
‘If not here outright,’ Kasumi finished inwardly. It still wasn’t out of the question, though it meant the killer had to walk back, since the shuttle was still missing. “Can’t say for sure until we find Katul,” she said in attempt to seem more serious about the situation. “Is your shuttle working, Major?”
He nodded. “Visibility’s low right now with the rain… and it’s a lot of ground to cover if the turian used the shuttle.”
“We could have the group split into pairs and spread out,” Sha’ira suggested, “Maybe work with some of your own if we assume that your group is innocent.” Kasumi tried not to laugh, though most of it was out of surprise. Her friend had been thinking about it much harder than she first appeared to be.
Samara didn’t seem impressed. “I didn’t let STG go unnoticed,” she answered plainly. “None of them were present when Sergeant Inoste was murdered, and everyone was accounted for last night. If Mr. Saio is dead, and the two are connected, it’s not from our group.”
Sha’ira only smiled. “Of course. Do remember though that, as far as Ms. Maeda and I know, none of our team even knew of yours until your pilot was already dead.”
There was a small awkward silence that left Kasumi with an uncomfortable feeling settling inside of her, like she ingested a rock. There was motive for the salarian’s murder, a very obvious one. STG would have some very nice tech lying around worth grabbing, but to then target their group? It didn’t make a whole lot of sense. Unless… “If we don’t find, er, Katul,” Kasumi began carefully, “… or the shuttle for that matter. I think we can assume he’s killed your guy and took off when no one was looking.”
“That would make the most sense,” Major said, and his eyes shifted, not focusing on one thing in particular. If her other encounters with STG had been any indication, he was already thinking of ways to take care of that problem. “We won’t know for sure until we start looking.”
“If I may suggest,” Samara spoke up with a small pensive look that barely broke the intimidating aura she seemed to constantly exude, “I would like to remain at the camp. Some of the others may be less inclined to search, and I can provide protection. … There’s also investigating the camp.”
Oh no the justicar was not going to go into Kasumi’s stuff. “Samara—“
The icy eyes sent her way clammed Kasumi up immediately. “Neither you or Sha’ira are under suspicion, Ms. Maeda. I have no reason to search your tents, unless you give me a reason to do so.” And the way it was said seemed to suggest a warning, in that she really shouldn’t give her a reason.
Like before, Sha’ira slipped in between them quickly and quietly. “We should find out whose willing to search, then plan out our pairings from there,” she said quickly before grabbing Kasumi’s arm. “If you could, Major, would you talk with everyone at the camp? I am afraid Ms. Maeda and I were running a little late this morning, so we still have a few things to tend to. We’ll return in a few minutes.” She then began to lead the two of them back to Kasumi’s tend.
A slight glance over her shoulder and Kasumi could make out the raised brow on Major— perhaps over the not-so subtle tension between herself and Samara and the fact that Sha’ira was leading them to one tent. Once they were out of earshot, Sha’ira tightened the grip on her arm. “I do realize now how being a notorious thief could cause problems working with a justicar,” she said, “but I’m worried she might actually kill you before this is over, Kasumi. You two had worked together before.”
Kasumi awkwardly pulled away from her to unzip her tent flap. She really needed pants if they were going to spend the day searching for this guy. And probably that pistol. She left the tent flap slightly open as she slipped inside, tossing the QEC onto the cot before looking for a pair. Sha’ira politely waited outside. “You don’t get into that stuff working for Shepard,” Kasumi answered her from inside, just as she found a pair that she didn’t care too much about: black, a bit baggy. “She had her obligations, and I had mine.”
“This isn’t much different, is it?” Sha’ira asked, her face peering inside through the small flap. When Kasumi slipped the shorts off, she looked away. It seemed odd, if only for a moment, that Sha’ira would show that sort of courtesy.
“It’s different,” Kasumi corrected, just as she had the pants around her hips. It didn’t take long to find the pistol in her duffle bag, and she hid it in an inner-jacket pocket, safe out of sight. “I told her why I was here, but she doesn’t have a reason to believe me, or that I won’t change my mind somewhere down the road. At least before, I had a contract and the guarantee Shepard could kill me in five seconds to assure her.”
Sha’ira didn’t respond until she was out of the tent, though a tentative look remained on her face the entire time. Once Kasumi was out in the open hair, and greeting the steady rain once more, Sha’ira finally spoke. “… She considers you a threat.”
Kasumi shrugged. “I am a threat.”
--
The rain didn’t seem likely to let up any time soon. Major had stared at the darkening clouds disdainfully before climbing into the STG shuttle with a vaguely familiar soldier, maybe the one with him the other day. Kasumi hadn’t really paid enough attention to make sure. They had waited until the shuttle had made it safely in the air, and she had heard the slight crackle of communications working between the two groups. Sha’ira had chosen to search with her, which was no surprise after doing so yesterday. No one complained about it.
They split into three pairs in her group, and three groups of three for the STG. Sha’ira and Kasumi had the western side of the camp perimeter, back toward the crushed building and graffiti wall. Much to her own dismay, the fog that lingered on the ground made it difficult to see those bright colors in the distance, absent of any sort of light that could keep it visible. It could take all day to find the shuttle, if they were going to find it at all. It wasn’t impossible to think that the turian widow skipped town as soon as he heard STG was going to investigate. He didn’t seem like the type to want credits for all of the two times Kasumi spoke to him.
He was always very quiet, somber, and well… didn’t seem much like a fighter, frankly. While STG was known for their spy network, they were still one of the most trained soldiers in the galaxy, and it would take some serious luck to kill one of them if you didn’t know what you were doing. While he had a certain amount of authority that people respected, it wasn’t out of any physical prowess. He was just an older guy that tended to know better.
As Sha’ira kept pace with her, Kasumi could see the harsh lines on her face, concentrating hard on the task at hand, or just perhaps, whatever thought that had took hold of her. Truthfully, Kasumi didn’t really enjoy focusing on too much of the bad, though it always stayed in the back of her mind in some form. If there wasn’t anything to get out of it, there wasn’t much sense letting it consume you.
… Maybe a little hypocritical on her part, but something she recognized when she was feeling her best. Once the silence became too much, Kasumi smiled at Sha’ira and lightly bumped her shoulder. “Didn’t scare you, did I?”
Sha’ira laughed. That was a good sign, though most of it seemed breathless, surprised. The quiet was easy to get accustomed to, something Kasumi had grown familiar with over the years. She could spend weeks without saying a word on some assignments, and it always felt a little weird when she had to talk afterward. It always sounded hoarse, unrecognizable to her ears. “I apologize,” Sha’ira said and the gravity had returned in her voice and eyes, “I am trying to figure out the situation. If Katul is dead, then it might be best we leave, rather than work this out on our own.”
Kasumi nodded. “… Though we can’t all pile into the STG shuttle.”
“Assuming ours is not in proper working order.”
“Unless the killer plans on using it themself, I don’t think there’s a reason why they shouldn’t sabotage it.” Maybe that wasn’t the best subject to talk about at the moment. “Though we won’t really know anything until we find Katul.” Until then, it was just speculation. There was a point there, however. It wasn’t fair to force the others into a harmful situation.
“Hopefully he hadn’t traveled far. We can see the more hidden spots on ground, but we cannot cover a long distance like this.” A sigh escaped from her before she offered Kasumi a small grimace. “There isn’t any sense in not trying at least.”
She made a noise in agreement before letting the silence fall between them once more. It was hard not to have reservations about anything at this point. More than ever, Kasumi thanked whatever gods were listening that she brought the pistol with her. She could handle herself easy enough, even a few others if necessary. However, there wasn’t a way she could cover their group, and she wasn’t sure if STG expected combat or not.
For now though, all they could do was keep walking. Kasumi let the sound of their feet crunching against the asphalt be the only thing breaking the silence before finally she spoke. “Tell me about yourself, Sha’ira.”
Smiling, some of the tension finally left Sha’ira’s face. “What would you like to know?”
“Family maybe?” It was a safe subject, at least for others. While the question usually came back, Kasumi thought Sha’ira had an idea, or something close to it. Her curiosity over the scar this morning at least pointed to it, though the moment was rather… strange by itself. She wasn’t sure where it would’ve gone without the turian wife’s interruption. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to know yet.
Sha’ira gave a low hum. “Well, you know who my sister is.” Who killed her too, but Kasumi thought it was best that she kept that part to herself. “I had a turian for my other parent. He was a very strict man, military. I think it came as a surprise to the rest of the family when he married my mother.”
“And your mom?”
There was a fondness that softened her eyes and smile. The honest look surprised Kasumi a little. Though Sha’ira was never a straightforward liar, such affection was unfamiliar. “She’s a dancer, if you could believe it,” she said, “She’s supported me through a lot, certainly starting out as a consort. … Perhaps not the best at discipline though.”
“Sounds like you two are close.”
Sha’ira looked at the asphalt for a moment, but she couldn’t hide the way her face lit up. “… I think you would like her. She’s gentle, but…”
“Kinda like you?”
She thought about it before nodding. “I must admit, family events are a bit quieter now without Nassana and Dahlia. I am afraid my mother had grown used to playing mediator.”
A sibling rivalry then. With how wildly different her siblings seemed, it wasn’t all that surprising. The trip to get Thane was one of the more memorable experiences while on the Normandy, though Nassana wasn’t all that different from the norm on Illium. It was when she lost her subtlety that it became an issue. That was the thing with Illium. The planet was ugly, so ugly, but there was a need to keep it hidden with bright lights and fake smiles. The whole system involved was disgusting. “I’m sorry for what happened to them.”
“I am too.” Her voice sounded solemn, but even as the smile waned, there was something slightly off by her expression. There wasn’t a reason not to believe her though—not one she saw anyway. “We don’t have much else after everything that’s happened. That is the thing about war though. It can be very indiscriminate.”
“Galaxy lost a lot of good people.”
Then, Sha’ira laughed. “You do not need to pretend the sympathy, Kasumi,” she chastised, “I know who my sisters were.” She wouldn’t disagree with the sentiments. Very few cared about Nassana’s death, and from what she knew of Dahlia’s, it wasn’t much different. It was her sisters though, which was why Kasumi found herself a bit skeptical over it.
“Not a whole lot of love lost, huh?”
“A bit harshly put, but yes, I suppose that is true.” Maybe she came off a bit too blunt with that. She would’ve apologized for it if Sha’ira hadn’t continued the thought from there. “Please. Do not misunderstand me. I adored my sisters, but that did not change who they were and what they had done. Once I knew, I had to put those personal feelings aside.”
The silence that followed was cold, abrupt. Of course, she was right about it with every implication. Kasumi could never place herself on the same level as Nassana or Dahlia, perhaps, but there was a kindred spirit that they all shared. That natural criminal element that they felt tempted by. She had to wonder if eventually, that same sort of decision would be made. Why not now though? What made them so different from her?
"Still, it was difficult making that transition," Sha'ira sighed, "I spent much of my time after their deaths tending to my mother. In a way, it was almost fateful that I had retired around then." It didn't stop it from being a crime. Kasumi firmly believed that any leave from what she loved should only be by choice. "Sometimes the ones we love provide the most pain."
"If you're not careful, it does."
"Personal experience?"
"Something like that."
Sha'ira studied her with something of a heavy gaze, and the quiet that settled in was awkward, stiff. It didn't take long to know there was something she wanted to say. What happened yesterday could've been causing the hesitance, with how quickly she pushed the question away about the greybox. Sha'ira was always stratgetic socially. It was an art form to her, something that Kasumi didn't think she could ever win against. Perhaps match, but never win. "Could I ask you a personal question?"
"You know, one of these days I'm going to pay you back with these questions," she tried to joke, but it fell flat.
"That was not a no."
"What is it?"
"First of all, I want to apologize." That wasn't a good start. Kasumi could guess what it was easy enough. "I did hear some of your conversation this morning-- by accident, I assure you."
Of course, of course. As private as the conversation was, she hadn't hidden what she was doing. At least from appearances, it wouldn't have been readily obvious that she was talking to her student and employee about stealing and avoiding certain people. Well maybe avoiding certain people, but everyone was avoiding everyone else. There wasn't any crime in it. "Tianna's a good person," she mused, hoping the subject avoidance would work, "Real talented. I've got others, but... well. We really only have one successor."
Sha'ira laughed. "... That's sweet, but it doesn't take very much to figure out who she is when I know your work, Kasumi." Then the smile faded, and she saw concern in her eyes, not unlike when Samara talked to her. "Kiera though. Who is she?"
And it was like every word that crossed her mind failed before it could ever reach her lips. Kiera had always been a... presence that seemed impossible to be rid of. She had just turned 16 (or so she thought, it was winter, so probably?) when she realized her neural implant had no longer worked. They had moved onto their third home, a small wooded planet located near the Perseus Veil. The materials were rich, and the work had always been awful, but it seemed particularly awful those few weeks, possibly because it was the last of her memories there.
They were looking to leave soon, despite the materials. Through a thick tangle of woods to their north was another batarian mercenary camp. While they often met during the evenings with festive moods, the fight for limited resources easily pointed to them overstaying their welcome. There was one prize that they couldn't resist though. Located to their west in a steep incline was another camp, more of a mix. From the little recon that they had already done told them it was an asari that led it, and while their items were a little more... classy than what the batarians normally went for, it was undoubtedly rich.
The routine was simple. Kasumi would slip in first, see how the security was, and what looked good: typically weapons, materials, anything that would make for a quick sell. If she was caught, it would just be a matter of appealing to their hearts, cast herself as a lonely orphan looking for a new home, and as soon as she had the chance, duck out. Sometimes, that came with a price, but the batarians didn't care about that. They usually got a few licks themselves afterward.
While the camp was spread out, it was still heavily fortified and almost deceptively simple. She still snuck under the talon of a distracted turian guard. From there, she made for the closest building, some sort of underground bunker alongside the perimeter of the camp. No one had seemed to notice her.
There had been nothing impressive about it at first, just as dark and oppressive as any of the buildings she had snuck into hundreds of times before. She had kept along the edges of the crates into the large workroom that covered most of the building. Even now, Kasumi wasn't entirely sure what they had been doing down there, but once she had realized it wasn't something she could carry or bring back alone, she had moved on.
It was in those days that Kasumi had always been grateful that she was small for her age. No one had bothered to look down as she slipped into a small room along the eastern edge of the workplace, inconspicuous among the piles of supplies that surrounded it. Inside though, inside would change everything.
It was a short, thin strip of a hallway that led to another door, possibly an office, but on either side, the walls were lined with pictures. Paintings, a word that hadn't crossed her mind in years. She was left memorized by the scenes in front of her, of things so foreign that touched her in a way she still couldn't really understand. It was the realization that there was something far bigger than her own world-- billions of lives that were never touched by the things that happened there.
She must've spent hours studying those paintings, or it felt like it at least. All she remembered was the door sliding open, and that same asari sidling up beside her, staring at the gruesome war scene that was depicted in the painting in front of them. Kasumi could recognize it as human just from the people inside, and that it was old from their primitive weapons of lances and swords. There was grey on almost all of the canvas: for the earth, the sky, the dull whites of the human's eyes. But in between all of that were streaks of red in clothing, the blood that caked the ground.
"It's beautiful," she found herself saying.
The asari's lips curled into a small, subtle smile, barely there on her deep purple skin. She had been elegant then, Kiera, though she always was. The dress she wore was a bright scarlet that just barely grazed her ankles with long sleeves and gloves. Though the smile was there, her green eyes were cold. Once Kasumi realized that leer was there, she could feel a chill seep into her very bones, and the tension in the air was much like a knife being held against her throat.
"I like to bring my favorites with me," Kiera continued on though her eyes remained completely on Kasumi, and she could feel the crackle of energy between them. "None of it is for sale. I suggest crawling back to your masters and letting them know how neatly I can crack their heads open if they try."
And for once, Kasumi hesitated. Her eyes had lingered to the paintings, drawn to them in a way she couldn't vocalize. The biotics that were rapidly beginning to form around the asari had sped up the process though, and she had fled back to the batarians, back over the hill as fast as she could without giving out on her own weight.
Darshan had been waiting for her, and she could see how his fists curled into tight balls. She hadn't said anything when the first hit slammed against her cheek and she collapsed onto the dead winter grass. "What the hell have you been doing?" he roared before driving his foot into her ribcage. She barely felt it after so much. "Is anything going through that thick head of yours? Huh?!"
There was a meek, "Sorry" that escaped her before Darshan lifted her by the collar of her shirt. She looked long enough to see black coal for eyes before looking down, staring at the top of his boots. "There wasn't anything there."
"Then what kept you?"
Silence on her end, and they never did like silence. The beating that followed hadn't mattered. She hadn't remembered any orders coming in, like harsh whispers seeping in from the back of her mind, cutting through thoughts with sharpening accuracy. There had only been silence, and it was the greatest blessing she had ever gotten. For once, she had finally felt like she was her own, and the desire to escape hadn't been far behind.
And it had always been about opportunity for her. A few more weeks meant nothing after six years, where she already knew how to play her part. The motions came to her as second nature, enough that the batarians never noticed something was slightly off about it all. The silence was strange after the little whispers that drifted in and out of her mind for so long. It was like an empty loneliness without the dull buzz, and for much of those few weeks, she had slept very little. Everything had just seemed so still, and she remembered how the night that she finally could sleep, Kasumi had realized she wasn't scared of her own thoughts anymore, and how silence wasn't really so quiet after all.
Sometimes she would hear whispers of the guards outside. Around then, it was usually about the batarian camp nearby. It was amazing how greedy people could get, even faced with the most improbably of odds. The focus had shifted from the art collector to their own allies, comparison of men, how quietly they could do it and get out. There wasn't any honor among thieves, but the stupidity could really use it.
And really, it shouldn't have been so easy. The afternoon they had visited the other batarian camp for the last time was a breezy one that cooled the sweat and dirt caked against her sunburnt skin. Kasumi had stayed behind their group like she was supposed to, kept her eyes to the ground. There had been talks about striking a business deal with them, move into the camp, and work their way from there. They wouldn't get that far.
She had made her move once she spotted the first guard from the other camp. The soldier's grip was too loose probably, for her to be able to snatch it away so easily. Squeezing the trigger once, the shot had ripped into their batarian ally's back, and then Kasumi was gone. She had heard someone scream for her as shots whizzed past her cheeks and shoulders. It hadn't mattered. The woods were easy enough to navigate, the winding trees and grassy hills providing cover as she fled.
“Intruder!”
Then there was a turian, a familiar one, and she had never felt happier to have a gun pointed at her face. She had collapsed on her knees in front of that poor turian, who had given her the most dumbfounded face she had ever seen on anyone, much less a species that resembled a mutated raptor. He enough sense to keep the gun off of her as he tried to awkwardly pull her back on her feet with one hand. That poor turian guard. Kept yelling for someone to come over. By the time Kiera had arrived, he had looked to be at his wit's end. Kasumi hadn't been helping anything, just staying on the ground like that. Relief did that to a person.
Kiera had seemed less impressed when she saw everything, but there was curiosity. She was always really good at recognizing when Kiera was curious. “If it isn't our little shadow,” she had muttered with narrowed eyes and had quickly pushed the turian guard aside. “I believe my warning was clear enough before.”
Kasumi had spluttered excuses. “I escaped! I need help, please!” and variations of those words just kept slipping out. It was one of the few things she could genuinely think about then. Her plan had hinged on mercy, and the desperation had made her mind jumbled, thoughts scattered. “I can.. I can help you. I...”
With a fierce tug of her shirt, Kiera had forced her on her feet, though as soon as she let go, Kasumi had tumbled forward on jelly legs. “You're not going to be much help if you can't even stand on your own,” she scolded. “How did you get out? Where is your group now?”
Her answer came from a thunder of yells coming from the woods, and the slobbering barks of varren. She had never seen mercenaries move so quickly, guns ready, fingers on the triggers. The thunder had grown louder and louder by the minute, though Kiera had only just smiled at first, passing a knowing glance in Kasumi's direction. “You brought them here,” she observed out loud, “Were you hoping that I'd massacre them?”
She had stayed silent, Kasumi thought. She couldn't remember an answer to the question, just the awareness of the anger and contempt swelling inside of her. A parasite that had been growing since the start that she never acknowledged.
“A little monster is in our midst.” She didn't have a chance to respond. Kiera had turned to the turian soldier, gesturing almost lazily to the woods. “Leave none of them left. We don't have time for vendettas.”
The afternoon was consumed with gunfire as the stench of smoke and blood left a permanent imprint in her mind. She hadn't cared.
“Kasumi?” Sha'ira's voice made her realize how quiet it had been, and how the silence might seem awkward. A quick, cautious glimpse at her face told Kasumi she was already regretting the question. Why did she even care? The boundaries in their friendship seemed blurry to her, and the more either of them pushed, the more unclear they got to her.
Yet, it seemed like the question still needed an answer. Friends weren't a common thing in her life, and Sha'ira had been good company during the trip so far, but a teacher seemed too kind. A former lover was too personal for what her and Kiera were, and almost too distant at the same time. It was too easy to doubt her own answers over the matter, so she simply decided on a word that Kiera used for them before. “She's my investor,” she said with a shrug.
“Sounds like you're avoiding her.”
Kasumi laughed half-heartedly. “Investors expect a return. She thinks I haven't given enough.”
“Have you?”
She turned to Sha'ira, much faster than she meant to with a sharp look. The words couldn't come to her soon enough. “I don't think it's healthy to place a value on human lives. At least not my own.”
There was something weird about the way she looked at her, and Kasumi decided then that confusion and surprise wasn't a good mix for anyone. Then there was barking in the air behind them and the rumble of paws hitting the asphalt at full speed. She didn't look before pulling the pistol out, and only a second to spot the varren as she twisted her torso around before firing. Like the krogan and the planet in which many of them lived in, varren could be hard as hell to kill, but with the right shot in the right place, they went down like everything else. It made it about 10 feet in front of them before the bullet struck its head and almost immediately, it collapsed to the ground. Quick, relatively painless. It was always easiest that way.
“Someone's pet?” The question came out too hopeful from Sha'ira's mouth.
“Survived a long time if it was.”
“... Maybe we should take a look around.”
It was probably nothing. Hopefully nothing. There had to be a few pets roaming around with the war, but everything seemed so lifeless. And for a brief, crushing moment Kasumi realized that they were spending more time investigating a murder than anything charitable. How were they going to fix anything if they couldn't even function past a few weeks without someone being dead? The quiet that followed only seemed to add pressure into the thoughts. Nothing broke the steady fall of rain around them. No wind, no birds. There were living things somewhere, but it was as if the stench of smoke that stained the asphalt drove them out. She hated this place.
The crackle of communication in her ear was too sharp. “Is... Is anyone near the grafitti wall?” Batarian-- sounded nervous.
Briefly glancing toward Sha'ira, Kasumi slipped a hand into her hood, pressing two fingers against her ear-piece. “Did you find him?”
“Two blocks down, then head left.”
Then nothing on the other hand. It was someone else then, possibly another group. That or it was an idiot in their own that was too busy trying to cover their tracks than think about how they were calling attention to themselves. An amateur would have a hard time killing STG though, not without visible injuries. Third-party then, most definitely. Why though?
Sha'ira's brow furrowed in thought as they began their trek to the location. She wasn't sure if the consort had similar conclusions, or if they were worth sharing in the first place. She wasn't sure how experienced Sha'ira was at that sort of thing.
“This is getting serious.” Nevermind. “... Not all of us can fight. Is that why we are being targeted?”
“... Why did they attack STG first then? They didn't even know we were here. Plenty of time to slaughter us.”
“Preventing us from finding something?”
“I don't know.” It made the most amount of sense, but people didn't always work the way you thought they did. Most of the time, it didn't matter for her work. They were trying to kill her for simple reasons: prevent her from knowing something or she was at a place she really shouldn't be. It made the psychology very easy to understand. But then there were betrayals, and sometimes it still was impossible to comprehend. These days it was easier not to trust at all.
It hadn't taken long to spot the shuttle once they made the turn, centered around four slightly crumbled buildings. Not so damaged that you couldn't slip inside, but enough that it would make you think twice about it. Even from a distance, it was easy to see the shuttle wasn't going anywhere any time soon. It was leaning havily on one side, and pieces of the body were missing, broken wires poking out.
Katul's corpse was leaning against the more intact side, a large hole in the side of his head more than likely being the killing shot. The decaying odor coming from him was only strengthed by the wetness around the body. Kasumi didn't hesitate in stepping closer, kneeling down to get a closer look at the body. There weren't any other signs of a scuffle. Snuck up on him? His back wouldn't be against the shuttle then. Not unless the killer had a tactical cloak. It still would've been a risk. It didn't make your sounds. It didn't mask any sort of footprints. Sniper shot?
Sha'ira had noticeably paled since entering the scene, flinching slightly when she joined her by the corpse. “... It's cleaner than the soldier's death.”
Was it? “You're right. We need to get you guys out of here.”
“Are you staying?”
“I suppose I could do one last good deed before getting back to work,” Kasumi joked with a shrug. Sha'ira gave her a smile, but there was something stiff about it. It was kinda flattering that she was worried, even though hunting a killer down was far more in her comfort zone than anything they'd been doing before. Maybe that was something she'd keep to herself though.
It was quiet for only a moment before Sha'ira snuck up beside her with a more relaxed smile, gave her hand a good squeeze. “Don't do anything the justicar can kill you for.”
Kasumi was only briefly surprised before she began to laugh. “You have a mean streak in you, you know that?”
Sha'ira chuckled, and seemed to brighten despite the grim atmosphere. “I have a very good teacher. I do not think I have met anyone that is perfectly willing to snark an STG member.”
“Are you saying I'm a bad influence?” Kasumi teased.
And there was something in the way Sha'ira smiled at her, no longer so teasing. “On the contrary,” she began very seriously, “I have a good feeling about you being part of my life.”
Sha'ira was starting to get really good at rendering her speechless. What was someone supposed to say to something like that? It was flattering, for sure, but she couldn't recall ever having a friend say something like that to her... or anyone really. For her and Keiji, it was just the sort of thing they accepted without ever really talking about it. He just walked into her life one day and walked out of it the same manner. A lot of people did that. It would be nice to have something different. “What are you looking for out of this, Sha'ira?”
She didn't respond, but she didn't have time to respond to either. Her ears picked up the sound of heavy footsteps hitting squishy asphalt, outright sprinting toward them. The turian wife's head bobbed through the fog before Kasumi felt panicked enough to pull the gun out again, and she looked a lot more afraid than she should be.
“Is that my-- Is that Katul?!” the turian wife called to them.
The, “Yeah,” just barely got out of her mouth by the time the turian wife was by their side. She seemed rooted to the spot with her mouth and mandibles flapping open like some prehistoric fish. Then her talons tentatively reached out, stopping halfway from touching the other turian's skull.
Words spilled out of her in choked, incomprehensible mumbles before she pressed those talons on both sides of her head. “No. Oh no no no,” the word just kept coming out like a broken ticking clock, going forward but something in the gears shifting it right back over and over. They let her keep going for several moments, lost on what was happening exactly, before Sha'ira reached a hand for her shoulder.
“... Gena...? Are you al--”
Then something hit. There wasn't any sound that came from the turian wife's mouth as her back released a small splatter of blood and bone bits before she dropped to the ground, dead. Oh shit. “Sniper. Sniper!” Kasumi yelped and grabbed onto Sha'ira desperately, pushing them toward cover as Sha'ira stared at the now two corpses dumbly. Kasumi got as far as shoving her behind the shuttle when she heard the high-pitch ring of a raptor shot, and a sharp, burning pain spread out from her right hip. Her foot snagged on the dirt from the shock and she tumbled to the ground with a crunch.
“Kasumi!” And Sha'ira's hands seemed to claw out for her with slow, deliberate strokes. She could see the same sort of pathetic fear she'd had before in Sha'ira's eyes, stiff shoulders and muscles in her arms. Bright blood drops stained her cheeks, and for one, delirious moment she thought wiping some of those bits off could make the moment a little better for her. Except she was exposing herself to the gunman.
“W-wait. Stay back!” She tried to push Sha'ira away, but oh that just made everything hurt worse: moving. She didn't want to die like this. Not on a world that she didn't even care about all that much. The fact that Sha'ira was still grabbing onto her, trying to drag her (which just made that hot pain even more poignant and awful) seemed to make it all worse. She should be running. Why wasn't she running? The buildings were perfect cover. She should be.
Another round reverberated, and this time Kasumi did cry out. Something wet trickled down her leg, just above her knee. Just flexing the muscle created needle pricks of pain in her thigh. “I'm gonna kill this bastard,” she managed to hiss. Were they toying with her? No. Something else. The other deaths were so quick. Whatever was happening, they were going to get it-- just as soon as she had a nice chat with a doctor. Just don't let that be a major artery.
Kasumi barely registered Sha'ira crawling next to her, getting that really nice dress all caked with dirt and mud. It was a nice red, fitted nicely with all the blood around them now. Then Sha'ira grabbed her shoulders, forced Kasumi on her back then seemed to try to cover as much of her body as Sha'ira could. Was she looking to get shot?
“Get out of--” Kasumi tried to splutter out, but she pressed a finger to her lips halfway through.
“Please,” and it was so hard to hear her, “trust me.” Nothing followed. The rain continued to fall, and the patter quickened. The fog seemed to grow thicker around them. The metallic scent mixed with dew that reminded her of luscious green fields, and how even her masters had stopped to bask in the good weather. There wasn't any shots for a very long time, which didn't make sense. Raptor sniper rifles had five rounds before the thermal clip needed to be changed. Or was it three?
There was a glow in the fog, dimly blue and quickly growing brighter as it got closer and closer to them, and then she saw a glitter of gold. Samara leapt out of the shroud like a demon. Before another shot could be fired, a biotic sphere formed around them, bouncing the shot off easily. Samara stood in front of them as a statue, cold eyes firmly on the building in front of them.
“You're getting too comfortable, Ms. Maeda.”
Kasumi laughed, only getting cut off at the fresh jolt of pain in her right side. “Bad thieves give people the opportunity to shoot them.”
There was a smile there. Just a little bit. “Can you walk?”
“Maybe with a bit of help.” Sha'ira took the cue immediately, and looped an arm around her shoulders. With a few false starts, they got to their feet, though excruciating throbs erupted over her side with the slightest movement. The fact that Sha'ira quieted so quickly hadn't gone unnoticed by her. The fragility in her gait as they retreated told her enough.
Samara kept the sphere tight around them until they could slip behind a crumpled building, back on the main street that led back to the camp. With a flick of her wrists, it fell, and she waved to the grey sky sprinting back to the clearing. The silence that followed, however brief, was the most painful one she experienced in a while. Sha'ira had a death grip on her and her lips had curled into a tight frown. Both of them were trying to supress shivers. With every second nothing happened, the hand on her arm seemed to tighten and tighten. Kasumi tried to focus on her breathing, in out, in out. Definitely not the bleeding.
The shuttle, once it did touch down, was a god send. The side door creaked open, and Major was on them in a flash, grabbing her other arm and hoisting her on his much higher shoulders. The way her body seemed to stretch to compensate was uncomfortable, only making it more difficult to walk to the door.
“Put her on the bench.” And on the cold metal she went with her eyes fixed on the ceiling. Sha'ira unlatched from her, and she heard the clack of boots to the front of the shuttle. Though she couldn't make out what the consort was saying, it was harsh, angry. Weird. Then Sal's head bobbed into her view.
“Hey, Ms. Maeda!” he greeted cheerily before his fingertips pressed hard into her hip. Kasumi threw her head back and bit back a scream. “Yeah, that's some serious stuff you got there. Good news is you've got two nice holes on both so we don't need to go digging around there or anything.” Then he shuffled away for a moment, but unlike Sha'ira, he was right back. “Okay, so this is gonna hurt a lot for a sec, but you'll feel really good afterward, trust me.”
With the lightest brush, Sal scrunched up her shirt, and then swiftly jammed something in her abdomen. The last thing she remembered thinking was how good punching Sal in the face was going to feel later.
–
Darkness greeted her when she woke up. Not complete. She could see small pricks of light through the fabric of the blindfold, though something was clouding everything mentally. Her thoughts came to her in slow, circular patterns. Something about meeting Kiera for drinks and then not feeling her toes and suddenly forgetting how to walk. She could feel them now, though the ground was another story. Wrenching her arms forward, she could only make a few centimeters before something seemed to stop her. Didn't wrattle like chains. Something more modern, practical. She couldn't swing her feet either. Well, this was peculiar.
Then the rhythmic waltz of heels that drew close, close enough where she could almost taste the jasmine perfume she stole not too long ago. Kasumi smiled. “If you wanted to play, Kiera, you could've asked.”
There was a light chuckle as Kiera cupped her cheeks, shushing her. “Later, perhaps,” she soothed, “For now... a bit of practice.”
“Can't really practice like this.”
“You'll understand,” she ignored her, “how little you really know of pain. The fact that you think you do is dangerous, and I won't be losing my prize so easily.”
The words couldn't connect in her mind properly. It was another game, like so many they had done before. There was always a little bit of hurt with the pleasure, and as Kiera's fingers brushed her hair back, then traced her temple, down her cheek, stopping at her jawline, it didn't seem all that different. Then her hands stopped just under her jaw, and clasped tightly around her neck, and how her lungs burned. It was only a second later that she felt the tappings in the back of her mind, and it seemed more like claws scratching at the base of her skull. Then all she knew was pain. The sort that rattled deep inside before it consumed like an inferno straight out of hell. You forgot everything else. It no longer mattered. There wasn't a human. There wasn't life.
“Forgive me.”
By the time she really awoke, her blood boiled. Her hands stretched out in front of her in tight fists that she tried to hold onto. Her breath came out in quick, thick puffs and the rage shook her. Murder. It seemed like the most cleansing idea then, how quickly and easily it was to take another life. She remembered as a younger thief, she made a habit of getting into more than she needed to, just to get the little exta thrill out. None of it mattered in the terminus systems. No one missed them. No one would care if she snuffed out an art collector when Kasumi got back. It'd be easy. So very easy.
“Kasumi?”
And then the thoughts stopped. Suddenly she became too aware of where she was, still on the cold metal bench. Sha'ira was making it easier though. The back of her head rested comfortably in her lap, and she could feel soft fingertips combing through her hair in small, gentle circles. Washing out the anger with a sigh, Kasumi let her hands fall limp beside her. “Guess I am a restless sleeper,” she joked meekly.
Sha'ira didn't laugh. “What were you reaching for?”
Nothing. She was trying to strangle someone. “I don't know.”
Neither of them spoke for a long time afterward. Sha'ira continued to be preoccupied with her hair, and it was easy, so easy to fall back to sleep like that. If only it was somewhere warmer, somewhere with a little more color to it.
“If I could be frank,” Sha'ira began tentatively, “I think you would do well knowing different people.” Hm. Maybe she sleeptalked a little too.
She laughed though, took it in stride. “A little bit of selfishness might help a bit at this point.” Then, she finally looked at Sha'ira, got a nice look at her bright blue eyes and clean cheeks, even spotted the faint outlines of pink stripes right at the corners of her jaw. “You might want to think about it sometime, you know. Have someone treat you.”
And she saw those bright blue eyes widen before she laughed. “You know, I think I will take your advice, finally,” Sha'ira admitted, “STG is forcing us to move soon anyhow.”
“A beach sounds pretty good.”
Then Sha'ira hesitated and her strokes stopped. “... I do have a villa that's beachfront.”
Kasumi sat up, and noted with some relief that there wasn't any pain in it. “Is that an invitation?”
She shrugged, though kept a close eye on her. Even with a light conversation, the concern was still very clear on her face. “... If you wish to,” and there was so much uncertainty in the statement.
Kasumi smiled and reached out, grabbed her hand loosely. Just in case Sha'ira wanted to pull away. “If you want me to visit.” That was the difference between them, she supposed. The big one anyway. They lived their passions for different reasons, and maybe, that was hurting them both a little. She could learn. Maybe her friend could too.
Sha'ira returned her smile, didn't pull away. “You make any deal sound appealing that way.”
“How about a walk then?” Sha'ira laughed, but she was still pulling Kasumi to her feet. They both found comfort in the way she stood more firmly, and Kasumi couldn't help smiling just a little wider at the last tension that finally faded from Sha'ira's face.
Summary: Nagisa and Gou, and a late spring afternoon.
Warnings: None.
Notes: Just a fun little drabble of er, questionable quality. Who would've thought it would be hard to write for an anime that's only had one episode, amirite?
--
Nagisa wasn't really like the others. Over the years, the others had refined themselves into a calm, collective nature, saving their energy for once they were finally in the water. That wasn’t the case with Nagisa. He waltzed between Haruka and Makoto with large grins and flailing limbs, and his squeaky voice easily filled the school hallways like an over-caffeinated hamster.
Truthfully, once you got him into the water, he wasn’t bad. Better than average even by Kou’s standards, but when you compared it to Haruka’s finer strokes of effortless refinement, Nagisa came off as rather jerky, awkward as he tried to match his senpai’s strokes. It was sad, and she had almost given up on them competing against Rin’s team.
That was, until she saw Nagisa’s breast-stroke. Suddenly he’d grow quiet and there was something tranquil about the way he’d glide across the water. While she definitely couldn’t say Haruka was worse (arguably, no one could, since he never did any other style), Nagisa showed a proficiency in the style that the others didn’t possess. Unlike the others though, he seemed to spend more time practicing the styles he seemed to struggle with most.
Kou caught him one late spring afternoon in the pool, flailing through what looked to be a 50m freestyle practice run. She tentatively approached the edge just as his hand touched the white concrete. His head bobbed above the water as he greeted her with a large grin and a wave.
“Your freestyle sucks,” she said.
The smile was wiped from Nagisa’s face, replaced with a pout as he splashed her. “Geez Gou-chan!” he called out to her, “You don’t have to be so mean about it.”
“I don’t get it. How come you all get so hung up over Nanase-kun? Just do what you’re good at it.”
Nagisa seemed about to argue before he smiled, watching her with an odd gleam in his eyes. “Have you swum much before?”
“… It was always Rin’s thing,” she said sheepishly.
His smile only widened as he hung his torso over the edge of the pool, propped up by his elbows and his leisurely kicking feet below the surface. “But you watched us enough to get it, right?”
Kou nodded once.
“Because you wanted to be like Rin-chan?”
She thought about it for a moment, kneeling down to his level with a small, contemplative frown. There were a lot of days spent at the pool when she was younger as their parents recognized more and more of her older brother’s skill. “He always made it seem so easy.”
Nagisa laughed. She’d almost think it was triumphant if it wasn’t so damn cheerful. “Now imagine that feeling if you actually swam like we do~” he hummed. “There’s just something different about Haru-chan. If I could just get a little bit of that…”
Kou scowled. “But you don’t need to be like Nanase-kun. Have you actually seen yourself swim?”
The best way she could describe his face then was coy as he leaned closer to her with a smirk, stopping just a short breath away from her—noses almost touching. “Is Gou-chan finally complimenting me?”
There was enough time for her cheeks to briefly redden before Nagisa grabbed onto her sleeve, yanking her over the edge of the water. With an unceremonious splash, she hit the water headfirst. Kou struggled to reach the surface with the pulling weight of her now soaked clothes, but once she did, all she could hear was Nagisa’s squeaky laughter.
“You’re dead, Nagi-kun! You hear me?!” The laughter didn’t stop at all, and once she began to charge after him, Kou had to make an effort to hide the smile that was forming on her face.
Notes: This kinda got away from me, but the plot's moving forward. Ahhh, yes. Will be working on other stuff on the writing blog as well to add some variety.
Parts: 1, 2
--
There were about eight of them, not including Sha’ira and herself. It didn’t seem like such a big number until that morning, where they all smushed together around the campfire for breakfast, which wasn’t really anything to be excited about. Through some magic feat that no one wanted to talk about, token mercenary, Nora she thought her name was, managed to kill a poor bird that just happened to be wandering through the campsite --- or several birds. While a small collection of pigeons was nothing to get excited about, it was comparatively better than the military rations and whatever personal affects that were hoarded inside of their tents.
The light rain that had started that morning drove a few back to the comfort of their mini-homes once they received their daily bird, but most greeted the calm drizzle with relief or complete indifference at the worst. Kasumi always did like the rain for what it was. It would cool her just enough, and in the worst days, she welcomed the feeling of droplets drizzling down the back of her neck. It’d loosen her shoulders up just a little more, help her breathe a little easier. The world seemed to hush by its mere presence, every sound drowned out. Those that found it disturbing never really understood the value of silence in the first place.
Which was why Sal continued talking probably. He didn’t need much provocation, especially once the elcor and volus retreated into the volus’ tent. There was something really remarkable about seeing something three times the volus size squeeze into its abode with little trouble. It wasn’t any surprise that they clung together for being one of the most business-oriented and potentially boring members of the galactic community. That little detail wasn’t lost on Sal either, it seemed.
“I mean, we all have to relieve tension in some form,” he waved his fork around in a grand flourish, outright ignoring his quickly sogging bird, something that pigeon Hannibal seemed offended by if her protruding bottom lip was any indication. Then again, drell were always a little weird about the lip thing. “It’s a nice love story, isn’t it? Connecting with your soulmate after a near-galactic extinction? You could sell a story like that.”
Married couple seemed to at least be considering the proposition, or at least the turian was. Her mandibles flared, the fire’s amber hues lighting up her brown face in a surreal glow. From across the campfire, she looked a tad disturbed. “... How would that even work? It’s not like Yan can get out of the suit and elcors are kinda,” then she paused, “Oh, wait, I guess he could—“
Wife gingerly touched her arm with that signature asari leer, eyes briefly glowing in clear warning, or, perhaps, that was a trick of the light. It was gone faster than she could really say. “Wasn’t there something in our contract that suggested we keep things professional?”
Sal pouted. “Yeah, but then he hired the consort. That really blows the whole professional thing out of the water, doesn’t it?”
What probably made it the worst for Kasumi was that it actually grew quiet for a brief moment, as if people were actually enjoying the cooked pigeon other than Nora, and it really wouldn’t have been said if Sha’ira was there. She had stayed in the tent that morning, occupied by contacting family, she thought. “Kinda sad that you jump to sex on the intimacy bit, Sal,” Kasumi remarked.
It may have been a bad move, especially with the salarian sitting right beside her. He turned, jabbed a finger playfully at her side before his lips twisted to a knowing smirk. “You’re one to talk,” he teased, “I saw her slipping out of your tent the other day. What was that about?”
“A nice conversation.”
“And look, now you’re suddenly sharing meals with us. I hear you guys can be in remarkably good spirits the morning after. Matches with your sudden friendliness.”
Kasumi bit back the urge to wince. She thought her initial withdrawn behavior may have raised a few eyebrows, but she didn’t really expect it to cause something like this. Though it was naïve to think her conversations with Sha’ira went unnoticed. It didn’t help that at least half of the campfire circle stared at her in expectation, while the other seemed to be immensely uncomfortable by the turn.
The turian widow seemed to take mercy on her though, and broke away from his one-sided staring contest with the married couple to offer his reprieve. “It isn’t your business what the consort does, Sal. Let it be.”
“Oh, c’mon Katul, I’m not knocking her for it. She’s great for morale. You visited her any?”
The way his face twisted at the question was almost funny. “No!”
“Not even for a ‘nice conversation’?”
There was a hand on his shoulder then, and Kasumi found herself smiling once she recognized Sha’ira’s presence. The group grew very quiet very quickly as the consort greeted them all with a smile. “I am sure that was going somewhere pleasant; however, perhaps we should discuss more important matters?”
There was a brief moment of awkward hesitation before Nora passed her a pigeon, and Sal scooted away from her, just enough for the consort to sit down. She stared at her meal with furrowed brow and a brief subtle scowl. She wasn’t a fan of the meal either. She glanced toward Kasumi, giving her a smile before setting the plate between them. “I do not wish to alarm anyone,” Sha’ira began carefully, “But the salarian major contacted me this morning. It seems they located their missing pilot. Murdered.”
The shift in the silence was subtle, but all the more powerful in everyone’s expressions. In her time working, Kasumi found there were a few, rare occasions where only the most trained people could really fake a reaction to. Death was among the top of that very small list. It was there that Sal’s and Katul’s military training showed, in that they kept a pretty straight face, despite the small shift in the former’s demeanor, his shoulders and back straightening to something a bit more military. The married couple had that sort of distant, sympathetic looks, where they weren’t entirely sure what to do with the information other than send get-well cards perhaps.
Nora was probably the most practiced, which wasn’t really that surprising after her little bird massacre. She mustered a decent enough concerned expression through chunks of cooked bird flesh between her teeth. “What happened?”
Sha’ira seemed a bit reluctant, as if hoping to gaze their reactions a bit more. “They think it was for the shuttle’s supplies. Even some of wiring has gone missing. … The pilot didn’t die quickly.”
Kasumi could make a few guesses why Mr. Authority was telling them, and none of them were particularly optimistic. While there could be other groups in the area, this was one that they knew, and it would be stupid just to ignore their presence. They had veterans in their group. People that could take on STG though? Other than herself, she wasn’t sure. “When are they coming by?” she asked. It wouldn’t do much good dancing around the subject.
“Tomorrow morning at the earliest. They want to see a roster as well. Make sure everyone is accounted for.” Oh that sounded fun. She was thankful that she already had an alibi for the probable time frame. An interrogation with Samara probably wouldn't be a very good experience, or with any justicar really. Luckily her experiences with the warriors were few and far between. They were ruthless investigators, and Kasumi made a perfect target with her previous criminal history and somewhat shady circumstances, which would be quick to be pointed out during questioning. If Mr. Authority had any sense, he would work with her instead.
“Would they seriously think we had a part in that?” Sal asked.
Nora shrugged. “They know we’re here. Doesn’t make much sense to run around when your murderer can be in this group.” That didn’t really comfort anyone, but then again, it really wasn’t meant to. It was just an unfortunate truth, no matter how innocent (or not) they were. They didn’t keep an eye on their members as much as others perhaps, leaving them to their own devices during the day once they had their agenda down.
“… I’m not sure this is a good idea,” turian wife mumbled, “Maybe we should contact the Alliance?”
“Not a human affair,” Sha’ira said. Not yet anyway. Kasumi was still there, and if it was anything more than a need for survival, then it was probably some kind of grudge. Outside of money (and there were better ways to get money), that tended to be the main motives. People were surprisingly simple when it came to murder, so long as they weren’t part of the crazy bunch.
If anyone was a murderer in her group (excluding herself, of course), Kasumi would probably guess the krogan, the batarian, or Nora. Possibly all three. The batarian was probably the most out of place in the group. The extensive history between batarians and humans earned Sakul a few odd stares, and he was much like herself: quiet and withdrawn from everyone else. He never met her in the eye when she did run into him. If it had been any other race, she’d account it to shyness, but there weren’t a whole lot of average citizen batarians left, not since the destruction of the Hegemony. She’d catch his pale yellow skin wandering the edges of the camp, or disappearing through the destroyed concrete jungle for the day, sometimes with Kolm.
Kolm was an interesting guy too, even if he was outright suspicious. He reminded her of the krogan warlord Shepard invited to that party some odd months back, Wrex. Both were scarred all to hell, and looked just a tad bored to be there. Unlike the batarian though, he was at least a little friendly, and at least tolerated Sal hanging all over him, which may be a sign of a poorly hidden krogan fetish on the salarian’s part. She wasn’t sure that adding him to the gossip game wouldn’t just encourage Sal more though, and to add Kolm into the mix was just asking for trouble. Then the less said about Nora, the better. She seemed happy enough to just continue about her day like nothing happened at the moment.
Well, Kasumi probably didn’t look much better in the silence. It was easy to be desensitized to death when it seemed unreachable, some distant event that had nothing to do with you. Most of the group was worried because they hadn’t been ruled out as potential murderers, and STG was very good about digging up old secrets, and then of course, there was the nearby justicar. It would make for an interesting few days, she thought.
“… What about the council?” the turian wife suggested, however with plenty of hesitation that already showed how ridiculous the idea was.
“The council’s not going to do anything,” and it came off more like a sneer than Kasumi intended. “Unless they have a really good PR team, nothing they can say right now is going to do any good, especially with what’s happened these past few years. If the STG can handle it, they’ll leave it alone.”
She frowned. “They’re not that heartless.”
“And people aren’t forgetful. Why do you think no one’s heard from them since the war?”
Another silence followed, just as awkward and reluctant as the last. It was a truth that they all should’ve accepted by now. It wasn’t even a matter of waiting for everything to blow over. They would be found before any sort of wound would heal from it all. They were stalling so they could work out a plan, limit as little damage as possible. Too many questions to answer right now.
“… What do we do then?” Sal finally broke the silence, his eyes flickering among the other people as if desperately looking for something to focus on. No one else would meet him with their own.
“We keep going,” Sha’ira said, “We’ll pair the capable fighters with regular civilians, so no one’s left defenseless.” Then a leer formed on her face, or something close to it—enough to get the message across without seeming outright virulent. “If we can keep the rumors out, I would like Ms. Maeda to accompany me today. And please, try not to incite the Justicar.”
She offered Kasumi her hand. On impulse, she took it, allowing for a loose grasp as she stood and followed the former consort onto the streets. No one said a word.
--
“You ever thought about stopping?”
She almost didn’t hear the question right away, content with the silence that had fallen between them after leaving the camp. It was different than the one that they left behind, though Kasumi was sure most of that had to do with how both of them didn’t need to worry about any future interrogations. Though Sha’ira always seemed to carry this natural calm air to her. It was almost disturbing. “Most people ask me how I began and why first,” she answered, keeping just a few steps ahead of the consort.
“I am curious about that, but I want to see if you will tell me the truth first.”
Kasumi laughed. It was different with someone that knew how to play the game. There were a few in her work, but none of them really tried for all that long. They were either dead, or too busy trying to kill her to worry about it. “Really, Sha’ira, I’m offended. To think a notorious criminal would ever lie to you.”
She smiled. “You’re avoiding the question, Ms. Goto.”
“I did stop. Once.” Kasumi paused, trying to find the right words to say about it. It was something better left not thought about, but the words had already slipped from her before she could think about it. “We all have those moments where we… forget ourselves. I think you’re familiar with that?”
Sha’ira hesitated. “… Some, yes.”
“Well, I had one of those moments, and I…” She found herself smiling a little at the absurdity. “Tried to see what it was like to be normal for a while.”
“How was that?”
“I’m not really known for how good I mix my drinks.”
She wasn’t expecting the laugh from Sha’ira, but it wasn’t an unpleasant reaction. “A bartender seems fitting for you, actually,” she said, “Didn’t cut out for it?”
Kasumi shrugged, slowing down for Sha’ira. “I just got bored.”
She caught up beside her, the smile waning into more of a scrutinizing look. Admittedly, Kasumi wasn’t sure what she was judging. “I am a little surprised you’re willing to be honest with me.” There was a certain gratefulness in her voice that she couldn’t understand, relief.
Maybe Sha’ira was expecting her to lie. She didn’t have the best track record with friends, even if things had gotten better after being on the Normandy for a while. It usually didn’t go over well if you lied a whole lot on a ship you were spending six months on. “It wouldn’t really be fair,” she hummed, “and I don’t really get anything out of lying to you.”
“Blackmail?”
“Too messy. And what kind of person would I be if I took advantage of someone trying to help with this shit?”
“Someone without standards, I suppose.” Sha’ira didn’t hide the relief in her voice, and though the smile hadn’t returned, she seemed much more relaxed. She could’ve been worried about her motives, like Samara had been. Most didn’t really hear thief and think ‘trustworthy person.’ “You are different from others though.”
“What did it feel like when you stopped? Got off the Citadel?” She wasn’t sure if that was meant to be a compliment, but Kasumi didn’t really want to know. It was easier just to take it as it was.
“…It was very empty. Unfulfilling.” Her mouth twitched at the corner. She was starting to loosen up.
“Galaxy’s not really the same without your passion, is it?”
It took a minute for Sha’ira to respond. “… Not really, no.” The quiet settled between them, but despite the subject, there wasn’t any tension in it. The rain had cooled things down, a slight breeze helping it along. It was a shame most of the green was wiped out during the war, though urban development took care of most of it already. She missed watching the leaves rustle around, clinging desperately to the branches. It was a nice reprieve whenever the batarians had them out in the sun, if only for a few seconds. All the grey was really getting tiring. Maybe she could plant a few trees while she was down there. Mr. Elliot would be happy to spare a few more credits with enough emails.
The road sloped down shortly into their walk into a steep hill. A walker lay dead across the pathway at the bottom, nearly crushing both buildings on either side. The building on the left looked impossible to get into, the head of the reaper bringing the entire roof crumbling to the ground. The right didn’t seem too bad though. The support of the building was tedious at best with the legs unfurled into the walls, but for a quick search, it would survive. She could see a good-sized hole in the wall facing them, just large enough for them to slip through one at a time.
What really drew to her to it was the large collection of graffiti was displayed along the sides of the building, of different yellows, oranges, reds. Bright, eye-catching colors, almost searing even on top of the hill in which Kasumi spotted it. ‘This isn’t the end!’ was sprayed at the top in glittering gold. The other messages were smaller, impossible to see directly, but the colors! That had to have been a godsend those months ago.
She grinned at Sha’ira, whose eyes remained fixated on the spot. “Wanna go look? Don’t think the big guy will bother us.”
Sha’ira smiled wide before wrapping her arm loosely around Kasumi’s own. “Lead the way.”
The touch was a little strange. Kasumi wasn’t really considered touchy by normal standards. It wasn’t that she hated it, but most people didn’t react well to her reaching out—worried that she would take something with her. Just from what she had seen with her guests, Sha’ira was always very affectionate, but the fact that she didn’t hesitate before physically reaching out to her was remarkable. Stupid maybe, but amazing with the implicit trust involved. For that, Kasumi didn’t pull away, even kept her hands to herself as she led them to the wall in a casual stroll.
She began to recognize numbers—dates in a haphazard with some of the more recent ones scrawled on the corners and some going vertical along the sides. The barest hint of noxious fumes burned into her nostrils with the brick dust and smoke. Once they were there, she could see the names with the dates, written in so many different handwritings and languages. The first name was just a few weeks after the attack on Earth, an Alliance lieutenant. The last at the corner seemed much more personal, turian she thought. It was dated a week after the war ended. Survivors.
Kasumi pulled away from Sha’ira and placed her hand on the cool, smooth surface of the wall. She began to read the ones she could understand, coming out to mere whispers once they escaped her mouth. There was a smile behind her, she could feel it, and the smile began to grow on her too the further she got down the list. It was so risky, so so risky, but it was beautiful. She could take the entire wall with enough effort, but no, no it needed to stay, needed to keep existing. It was proof that it was worth it. That it had always been worth it. Worth all the heartache and yelling at people until they believed, and losing so many people. Losing the Normandy.
Then there was another name, two-third’s down the list in bright, stark red letters. Nobuo Kurosawa – 21st June, 2186. Maybe it was a coincidence. She still knelt down and traced the name with gloved fingers, welcoming the eerie silence that seemed to resonate with it. Sha’ira’s feet crunched as she grew closer, always just a little louder in her walk than Kasumi was. She stopped just a foot behind her and there were curious eyes boring into Kasumi’s back.
“Is it important?” Sha’ira asked.
Kasumi turned her gaze to the former consort with her hands on her knees, head slightly cocked. She shook her head before standing up, brushing herself off. “Will you take a picture with it? I want the rest of the camp to see it.”
“Absolutely.” Sha’ira backed away and retreated to the left side of the wall, covering the small opening. She stood straight, hands behind her back in a very relaxed state, loosely intertwined with one another. There was something proud in the way she held her chin high, softened by the gentle smile on her face—no teeth showing. She was dressed simply for the trip in the white coat, red sleeves, and black pants and boots. In any other circumstances, it would seem strange to see someone of such high standing wearing a common outfit, but Kasumi loved it for that reason. It wasn’t about flaunting money right now. It got the message through well: everyone stood at the same level during the war. They stood at the same level with recovery too.
Kasumi lit her omni-tool, took a few shots to make sure she’d get the best for the occasion. By the time the last picture was taken, Sha’ira was grinning from ear-to-ear. “And you were worried about being in the right place,” she said, “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
Looking at the wall, Kasumi could feel a small bit of pride in it. This was proof that the galaxy would survive with the right people, the right circumstances. “I’d love to take it home with me,” she sighed. “Picture’s next-best thing though.”
Sha’ira laughed. “That explains why you know so much about art.”
She shrugged, trying to hide the enjoyment that came from the fact. “You know the Reapers destroyed the cultures before us? All that art and history we lost. We shouldn’t have to lose more because society can’t take care of it right now.”
“How romantic.”
“Not as much as your work, I’d imagine.”
“Yet we are both alone.”
The silence that followed was one of the most uncomfortable ones Kasumi experienced in a while. She let the statement hang between them as she began walking back to the camp in a quicker pace than getting there. She was trying to lead the conversation somewhere, and Kasumi really didn’t want to see the end of it. Unfortunately, it was still a long walk back to the camp, and Sha’ira wouldn’t let the quiet continue forever.
She stepped in time with her, offered a timid grimace. “I apologize. I stepped out of bounds with that.”
“It’s the truth,” and it sounded so bitter coming out of her mouth. “People married to their work usually don’t do very well with their love lives.” But she had it. Right fucking there in front of her, and she let it slip from her fingers.
Then Sha’ira was watching her. A brief glance in her direction almost made her hate it, the way her eyes softened. It wasn’t pity, but she was starting to despise knowing when there was something on the other’s mind. “Would it be too much to ask you a personal question?”
They were already well into the territory that Kasumi almost never touched. It was easier not to think about it than deal with the eating away. It didn’t stop it, but she could pretend for a little bit that it wasn’t happening. It had to have been a touchy subject for her too though, or at least the way Sha’ira seemed to be the last time. The tight, uncertain smile. “What is it?” Maybe she only seemed that way to make her feel that way.
“When we spoke the other day, you had an item with you,” she began, and for once, Kasumi could hear the lack of certainty in her voice, “… I recognized what it was.”
“No.”
Sha’ira didn’t speak after that, though there was something painful in the way she kept looking at her. It wasn’t anything about pity; she had the decency to hide that, but the understanding that replaced it was nauseating. Something clicked inside the former consort’s mind, some great solution to the labyrinth. It was something for Kasumi to keep though, that distance, and very quickly, she wondered if maybe that was gone. Maybe it was never really there in the first place.
It was easy to lie when no one cared. They took anything at face value, and didn’t try to dig deeper to see all the holes in the stories and pictures. She could convince anyone that she was over something that she hadn’t been over in a year because of something she got a few days before. She could convince someone that she liked another man. She could convince someone that she was a simple engineer helping a cause. Just so long as the person didn’t ask too many questions.
Affluence could be a liar’s greatest ally, but genuine interest—that was an issue. There was always something appealing about a mystery—someone that didn’t give a lot of information out, but part of the fun would be ruined with too many questions asked. The genuinely interested didn’t care about that.
Kasumi already made the mistake the first time. She wasn’t going to again. The way back was uncomfortable and awkward. She appreciated that Sha’ira didn’t push the subject, but the worried look told her it wasn’t really over. Not yet. The krogan that awaited them at the edge of the camp at least provided some sort of distraction. Kolm’s old nostrils flared briefly as he began clamoring over, a godsend for the last weird 10 minutes.
“Goto, I need to talk to you,” he rumbled, which was a little strange. Now that she thought about it, they hadn’t really talked before this point.
She glanced over to Sha’ira, brows raised in what seemed to be an even more concerned look. Kasumi gave her a shrug before approaching the krogan warlord with a friendly smile. “Sure, what’s—“
In a swift headbutt, the old, scarred ridge of Kolm’s head connected with her own, knocking her to the ground. She slammed onto her back and found her vision swimming. Sha’ira knelt down beside her with a lost look on her face, and she could dimly hear someone calling for her before blacking out.
--
There was a softly spoken melody, low and rumbling. People often misunderstood the beauty in the batarian language. They didn’t hear the songs and prayers around campfires and the bored guards. It was a blessing, because, more often than not, it meant mercy. Her earliest blessing was after nearly fainting in the mine. A slaver with black boots held her face and forced the water down her throat, while he mumbled something so quickly and so quietly that there were some nights where Kasumi wondered if she had imagined it.
Her brain seemed to be pounding into her skull, and she returned the prayer with a groan, her eyes flickering open to the sight of the roof of her own tent. Touching her forehead gingerly, she felt the bandage across her left temple and tried to hide the sigh of relief knowing that the asshole didn’t kill her with the headbutt. Then, she finally turned her head toward Sakul, knelt by her side with a deep scowl as the prayer continued.
“What would your friends say if they saw you praying this hard for a former slave?” Kasumi asked with a smile.
The batarian jumped, but he didn’t stop until the last word was done, and she recognized that one. Khar’lant. The god of the people. Of life, of duty, of salvation. He managed to look her in the eye, but the way he sucked in his bottom lip showed he was still so very nervous. “It’s protection.”
“A lesser creature than you?”
“Everyone deserves protection. Each one of us connects together as a web—“
“For the good of the galaxy and the will of the Khar’lant. I know how it works. It’s more like a house though, when you think about it.” The batarian didn’t seem too happy with her words, and really, it was a good reason. If anyone was going to use that on her though, she had the right to call it out. “Your leaders get the spoils but don’t really do much. The rest of you batarians are the nice little touches. Then you have the servants, they’re a bit like a roof. You touch them up real nice, but you don’t think about it until there’s a hole and what’s a shelter if it doesn’t keep you dry?”
“And you?”
Kasumi laughed. He was being a good sport about it. “… You don’t have a house without the slave.”
The smile that formed on his face was mostly sad, like you were watching something so pathetic that you almost had to laugh at it. Sort of like a bad comedy where everything goes wrong. The main character tries so much, but the narrative called for injustice. “You listened.”
“It’s easier to survive if you do.” He nodded his head, and dimly, Kasumi realized this was one of most strangely positive conversations she ever had with a batarian. “You still think your god would protect me? Escaping from my missha?”
“I don’t believe—“
“That’s what I’ve been taught. Why are you here if you knew who I was?”
He grew very silent after that. For a batarian, he was a nervous kind of guy. He flinched, rubbed the back of his neck a little. “I’m sorry,” Sakul finally rumbled out though it was so low that Kasumi barely caught it.
Maybe it wasn’t appropriate to start laughing at him, but she did anyway. Apologies were so stupid sometimes. People were liars, and the words could be so flimsy, especially in compassion. It meant nothing, a polite gesture after the sob stories. “Unless you kidnap kids, then you don’t need to say that, Sakul. I’ve probably done more shit than you have at this point.”
“… Right.” Sakul stood, though the poor man seemed a little lost on what to do. He swayed awkwardly beside her for a moment before mumbling about speaking to Kolm and fled through the tent flap, leaving Kasumi to contend with the silence. She sighed in relief before laying her head against the cot.
The silence continued for all of ten seconds before the tent flapped open again, and she could recognize Sha’ira’s black boots without lifting her head up. “Were you waiting?”
“Only for a few minutes.”
“How much did you hear?”
“Hear what?”
Kasumi didn’t answer right away, uncertain about the response. She wasn’t convinced that it was an innocent answer. Maybe it was still a good sign though. Sha’ira recognized it as a difficult topic (well, anyone would), and was willing to keep quiet about it. “Don’t make a habit of eavesdropping?” she asked, just as Sha’ira lifted her chin, examining the bandage closely.
“Clients do not tend to appreciate those sort of surprises,” she said, stripping the bandage away carefully. “They will tell me things when they are ready, and I will wait. Are you having any memory loss? Dizziness?”
“My head just hurts.” Sha’ira seemed placated by this before reaching into a bag beside her and placing another bandage on her temple. Kasumi was starting to get used to the little displays of affection with Sha’ira just being the person she was. The client thing clung to her though as a weird, unsettling feeling, as if something was out of place, but it was something so small that she couldn’t figure out what it was. “But I’m not paying you. So I can’t be a client.”
Sha’ira hummed in thought, still with her fingers on Kasumi’s chin. “… I suppose you are right about that.”
“So what does that make us? Friends?”
Letting go of her chin, Sha’ira laughed and turned to her bag once more. “Do you wish to be friends with me, Ms. Goto?”
She didn’t know how to answer that. Most usually just put the label on her after a certain amount of time, and she would accept it, sometimes happily—other times not so much. Shepard was a good example… had been a good example. Sha’ira wasn’t a bad choice. Wasn’t a combatant, and her insight was interesting. She was kind. “Do you want to be?” Kasumi returned the question. “There is the whole wanted criminal thing…”
“I had thought about that.” Sha’ira turned away and pulled a folded mat out from her back, stretching it out next to her cot with a small smile. “Naïve as it might sound, I don’t think you are as bad as you make yourself out to be.”
“… What are you doing?”
There was something alarmingly pleasant about the way she continued to set a little pallet next to her bed like it wasn’t even slightly weird that it was happening. “Sal thought to ensure that you would not develop any sudden symptoms over night,” she explained, easily brushing it off, “Krogan are not typically known for their subtlety.”
“What the hell was that about anyway?”
“Apparently, your anti-council sentiments sparked a rumor that you were part of the terra firma party. Kolm didn’t take it very well.”
What the hell. Kasumi huffed, making a mental note to talk to Kolm and Sal in the morning. Rumors were fine until they attracted pissed off krogan to her. Really, that should’ve been common sense. “Rumor mills can really mess you up, huh?” she said with a small frown.
Sha’ira’s expression was much deeper than that, and Kasumi could spot the forming scowl on her face before she focused on the strings of her bag. “I don’t blame them for their curiosity, but…” she trailed off for a moment before sitting down on the mat, tucking her knees underneath her. “Those that don’t play society’s rules tend to attract the more vile gossip.”
A quiet settled between them. While it was more relaxed than the last one, Kasumi could tell there were still a lot left to be said. “It’s not really fair, is it?” It grabbed Sha’ira’s attention at least, who glanced back at her with a raised brow. “You of all people should be able to get anyone you wanted. Who doesn’t want the consort as a lover?”
There was a brief smile that appeared on her lips, but there wasn’t anything happy about it. “There is no shortage of suitors, you are right about that,” Sha’ira said, “but the number drops quickly once they realize I’m as much of a person as I am a consort.”
Kasumi snorted. “Love’s terrible like that.”
Sha’ira seemed to consider the thought for a moment before lying down next to her, shaking her head. “Love is amazing. The best feeling you can give to someone is to make them feel loved. When you lie about it. That is when it becomes reprehensible.”
Rolling onto her side, Kasumi peered curiously down at Sha’ira. The former consort perked up a smile. “You really know how to romanticize things.”
“Well, it is love we are talking about.” Then she watched her for a moment, really watched her. It wasn’t as weird as Kasumi thought it would be, but it wasn’t the first time. One of these days, she’d ask about what Sha’ira thought. Not tonight. “I wanted to apologize for earlier. As your friend, I should have given you time to introduce such a sensitive topic on your own.”
Kasumi tried to force a smile. “… You know what it is, even before you asked, didn’t you?”
“It’s been some time since I’ve seen one, but yes. It’s a remarkable item.”
“Dangerous.” She said it before she could bring the thought to mind. It wasn’t something she wanted to talk about. Not ever. Not since retrieving it, or using it against the indoctrinated hanar. It was easier to pretend things were more okay that way. When people didn’t care.
“What’s it like?”
She struggled to answer right away. “You get to relive every good moment, whenever you want. Sometimes, it’s good enough that you can almost feel it. Your brain… it kinda fills in the blanks.” She didn’t look Sha’ira in the eye. It hurt, it always hurt. “You stay in long, and it feels real enough. There might be something back in your mind that tells you it’s not, but it doesn’t matter. Not until you’re out, and by then…” The world became a very cold place. She always left wanting more of him, needing more of him. But it was something. The memories were so close to it. All of those fallouts, all of those sleepless nights almost seemed worth it.
A shudder escaped before Kasumi could catch it, and Sha’ira’s hand grasped her own, squeezing it tightly. She didn’t say anything for a long moment, merely keeping the tight hold on the hand. “One should never have to suffer alone, Ms. Goto, and what you’ve lost… it is never simple, is it?” she muttered before placing a small kiss on her knuckles. “… The grey-box will ruin you, Kasumi.”
She returned the squeeze, letting the tears slip past, just for a little bit-- never too long. “I know.”
Imagine your OTP cuddling in eachother’s arms, in a hospital, person A minutes away from death. Both of them smiling and enjoying the last minutes of being together.
Her chest rose and fell in a practiced, slow rhythm, as if each breath was precious. Now it was though in a weird sort of surreal moment that Sha’ira knew was coming, eventually, but it always seemed like a distant, far away thing. In truth, it was always going to be that far distant thing though. In the nights she dreamed loss it was always waking up in the morning and finding out third-hand that she was alone again. It was always very sudden, acute, and distant. Distant was always the key word.
Maybe that’s what made it so real. “Laying here… all these machines. You.” Kasumi looked at her, and there was something so weak, far away in the gaze. It seemed so out of place, even on her pallor skin and sickened body. It was such a slow illness, the first few months spent in ignorance as she tried to hide it all away from her. She still didn’t know if Kasumi knew how serious it was back then, how petty and stupid it was until she found her throwing up blood in the bathroom—finally breaking, breaking down.
In tears, and in body. Sha’ira thought she understood the fear in her heart then, but until the doctor looked her in the eye, shook her head, it was over. And all Sha’ira could do was wonder how to save the time that was left, how to keep Kasumi comfortable and happy in a less than active style that she was used to. It wasn’t easy, but now… it didn’t seem enough.
“It’s quiet here too. I hate the silence,” she croaked, and there was a shudder. Sha’ira grabbed her hand, cradled it so tightly with a prayer that didn’t quite reach her lips. Not yet. Don’t take her yet. “Everything has been about that for me. I don’t want to die with a whimper. … I don’t want to die.”
“Let’s make noise then,” Sha’ira whispered, squeezed her hand tightly before kissing her knuckles. It was only a moment after that before she began talking. Stories spilled from her mouth, from old childhood fairytales to the bath they had together just a week ago. Kasumi smiled and for a second, it wasn’t over, it wasn’t about to be over in a few minutes. Her face lit up in almost a childlike delight as she began to talk on her own. The memories that flowed between them seemed like hours, and she looked happier than she had ever seen her in months.
Eventually, Kasumi quieted down though, and the tears came from her without much warning. It was a freer expression than most any she’d seen from her lover. “I… I love you so much,” and she tried to return the squeezes and she could barely feel the strength in it. “You’ve been so… so strong for me. Thank you. You changed my life. S… Saved me.”
Sha’ira bent over, left a kiss to her lips—tried to hide how much she was shaking. “I love you” left her over and over between prayers, placed her cheek against her collarbone. Her chest rose and fell more slowly, shallower. Kasumi pulled her hand away, and settled it on the top of her head. She gave her a smile, tired but reassuring, before the room grew quiet and everything stopped.
She didn’t break when the doctors took her body away.
She didn’t break at the stares C-sec gave her when she walked out of the hospital. Not at the messages left behind by close friends, or the assistant that waited for her at home for meetings the next day.
Silence greeted her at home, and never before did it seem so oppressive, unwelcoming. She broke before the weight of it all could press into her. It wasn’t enough. It never was enough.
Imagine your OTP going grocery shopping, and they run into one of their mutual friends who doesn’t yet know they are together, and they end up standing in the middle of the aisle and explaining to them that they are together now. Person A is a bit nervous about it, but person B is not.
Sha’ira shot her an amused smile before continuing to stroll down the aisle. “I thought you’ve grocery shopped before.”
Kasumi tried to ignore the laughter in the other’s voice as she matched Sha’ira’s pace, bumping her hip with a mock-frown. “Of course I have. I can’t just go out every time I’m hungry.” A chuckle escaped from Sha’ira’s lips, and Kasumi broke the façade, giving her a cheeky smile. “You’re rich enough to hire someone for this, you know.”
“I do have someone take care of the shopping for work,” she said, stopping mid-aisle to look into a small variety of teas. “But I prefer taking care of the personal touches. Clients seem to appreciate it more if I happen to have some of their favorites during meetings.”
Kasumi hummed in thought. It was a lot of work, but that didn’t really surprise her. If there was anything she learned about Sha’ira was that she made a tremendous effort for others, to make sure they’re comfortable. It was an easy was to get people to open up. Let their guard down, and things would slip out without them thinking about it. She would make a good conman if Sha’ira had the heart for it, but the fact that she didn’t made them better almost. She wasn’t worried about Sha’ira turning around and stabbing her in the back at some point, but they had enough similarities where she at least understood.
They turned at the end of the aisle, and could’ve sworn she saw a spot of red hair move past her. Kasumi whirled her head around, catching Commander Shepard in full Alliance casual wandering into the tea aisle. She must’ve looked as uncomfortable as she felt, because Sha’ira stopped with a raised brow.
And then Shepard turned around. “Consort?” Oh no. Kasumi kept a straight face and then tried to seem as small as possible as Shepard walked closer to them with a slight smile.
Sha’ira glanced back to her before returning Shepard’s smile with one of her own, though slightly taut around the edges. “Commander Shepard, what a surprise,” she said, “I haven’t seen you since the charity event.” Back at the clone mess. That had to have been at least a year and a half ago now.
It was fresh enough that Shepard grew nervous, rubbing the back of her neck with a small laugh. “I heard that got a little messy after I left.”
“Yes. The owner of the casino had been found murdered. Then it was broken into a few days after that. They almost closed.” That was Kasumi’s fault. Their security was in a bit of chaos after the owner’s death. Other than the small talk with Shepard, it went without a hitch.
“And what would people do without their varren racing,” she deadpanned.
“Indeed.”
A silence followed that was just about as awkward as any grocery store meeting. Sha’ira seemed ready to leave before Shepard looked past her, looked at Kasumi. She squinted, and Kasumi could see slight recognition in her eyes. “Whose your friend?”
To Sha’ira’s credit, she didn’t even stiffen. “Ah yes. This is a friend of mine,” she said, “Nanami Kurosawa.”
Shepard gave a bigger smile before offering her hand to Kasumi, and for a brief moment, she thought maybe they could get away with this. They could keep shopping like nothing happened. “Good to meet you.”
Then Kasumi smiled, and she watched how that slight inkling turned into complete recognition. Shit. So much for getting out of this. “… I’ll be back, Sha’ira,” she said; defeated before Shepard wrapped an arm around her shoulder and dragged her further into the grocery store, scowl clear on her face.
They were just out of earshot when Shepard took a quick look around to see who was paying attention, then finally muttered, “Kas, what the hell.”
“I swear this looks worse than it actually is.”
“Is she a mark?”
“No!” Kasumi jerked away from her grasp, and hoped to god she didn’t look too embarrassed. She wasn’t some school-kid. “Geez, Shep, I’m not that heartless.”
Shepard didn’t look convinced in the slightest. “Really. What’s going on? This is your thing, I get it, but…” She looked over Kasumi for a moment, her nose scrunched up. “… It’s kinda weird to see you out of the catsuit. Not really what I expected.”
“I get that a lot.”
“Huh.” Shepard quieted for a moment, looking back to where they left Sha’ira. She was probably handling the sudden desertion pretty well, maybe worried about what Shepard could be saying about it, and who would hear. “You don’t really show yourself like that at jobs, do you?”
“No.”
“And she knows your real name?”
There was a pause, and Kasumi had to force a smile down. Maybe at another time they could talk about that. “I’m not lying, Shep.”
“No, I get that,” and then Shepard seemed to smile in that irritatingly, knowing way. “We’re good friends, right? But I had to come find you without the catsuit. So what does that make her?”
Kasumi flinched. “I think I should get going. We can’t spend all day here obviously.”
She caught the “Uh-huh” just as she began ducking away, looking forward to erasing the memory from her existence for the evening. It didn’t take long to find her partner looking at various flour mixes, some of which she couldn’t really put a name too. Kasumi saddled up beside her with a small sigh. Already the air seemed to be a little easier. “You weren’t any help with that, you know.”
Sha’ira stifled a smile as she picked up a bag, glancing over the ingredients. “Thought you would have told her. Though I am flattered you’ve maintained the secrecy even with her.”
Kasumi laughed, strained and uncomfortable. “Don’t expect invitations to the Normandy any time soon.”
Sha’ira shrugged in response before bumping her hip, quick enough in the action that it was doubtful anyone would notice. “You never know,” she hummed before beckoning Kasumi to follow.
