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The Translation in Blood	By : Mayamahal Category: +M through R > Mass Effect Views: 19003 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Bioware or ANYTHING in the Mass Effect universe, including the characters therein. I make no money on this story.

Chapter List
- 14
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Gaining access to an Alliance ship for a councilor took no kind of effort, but getting past the captain's personel was a completely different matter.
Turian-Human relations had improved greatly in the last decade, but there was still mistrust in letting a stranger aboard a ship when your captain was indisposed.
He was getting huffed at by a human that looked like he was part Krogan, with massive shoulders and a stance that would any soldier think twice about picking a fight with this one. Still, Sparatus still had a good foot on him, and looking down at this guy was clearing making hi uncomfortable.
So he pulled a card he rarely ever used.
He held his hands behind his back and puffed out his chest, seeming to consider this grunt's refusal with the respect it wasn't due. Then, he gave a shrug, and said in a low, mocking tone,
"Very well. You can inform the captain, then, that Councilor Sparatus wasn't allowed on board per her request."
That got a couple head's turning. The pilot all but shoved the marine aside, snapped a salute to the Turian, and said, "Not necessary sir. Elevator up to the second level, hall to your right, straight through. Can't miss it." When the grunt opened his mouth to protest, the pilot elbowed him as hard as she could.
Sparatus nodded his thanks and turned to make his way to Hannah's quarters. As he left, he heard:
"-splains why the Cap never paired off, doesn't it?"
"What the hell are you talking about, space-monkey?"
There was a new voice he caught just before he entered the lift.
"Seriously? He might Turian, but I recognize hot when I see it. Wow."
"You're joking. That captain would keel-haul your asses for even insin-"
"Right. But you don't know what kind of porn she surfs through on her off-hours."
"-and you do-"
ooo
There was a privacy lock on the captain's door. Sparatus tapped a request twice but got nothing. Finally, he hailed her tool to tool. Didn't bother to hide who he was.
"... you've got to be kidding me," was her muffled, filtered reply.
"Open the door, Hannah."
"No."
"Open the door or I won't tell you that your crew has access to your intranet history."
Silence.
The locked glowed green, and he wasted no time seeking entry.
The cabin was dark and smelled of stale air. The human scent of grief permeated the place; you didn't have to be an Asari to know a parent had succumbed to the loss of her only child.
She was tucked in the back of the room between her bed and the side-table, a bottle in hand, her hair in dissarray around her head. It was still long, still dark and beautiful.
She was still beautiful.
He'd snapped a shot of her back on Shanxi when she wasn't aware, a snap of her looking up at the starry heavens stretched out above him. Her neck was arched and beautiful, exposed in offering to the fate of the Universe in such an innocent expression of trust that he couldn't help himself. Her hair had been pulled back in a tail, her cheeks flushed from the exertion of the their climb, shoulders relaxed, eyes alight with beauty and joy. What came next had just been a bonus. He had a piece of her forever.
Her eyes were tired from lack of sleep, her mouth drawn down in an expression of sadness that he felt even in his own bones. She wore that sleeveless, form-fitting shirt most Alliance soldiers favored under the uniform, her feet bare and her legs covered in hacked cargos. Her eyes, her bright eyes... they were dull with unhappiness, and the draining of tears.
He moved to her, locking the door behind him and reaching for him.
She moved with the same speed he remembered, but not towards him. She was on her feet, hands out, snarling at him sharply to stay where he was. That, he did not expect.
She paced back and forth, agitated, a pinned predator at a loss for what to do, no exits, no way out. She was talking, her words sharp and angry.
"-nothing, no word, just a note that she's heading out to the Terminus systems on Councilor command, to search out the threat of the Geth, but not for the Reapers-"
Oh.
"-everything she did, she did right, risked everything. And then you-" And here, she moved to him, jabbed a finger into the middle of his chest. "-you and your cohorts tell her in vague terms that she's cracked or mistaken, that the threat isn't there and that she's over-reacting?" Her eyes are bright again, but with a fire he hasn't seen since he threw her out of that tree during the First Contact War.
"What was she even doing at Alchera, you stupid bird? The threat is not the Geth, god-dammit, or did you miss the giant metal squid trying to eat your floating fortress less than a few months ago? Was that just a figment of our imagination? A fluke? A risk you're willing to take so that you can sleep at night-!"
Her hands were clenching into fists. This was not how this meeting was supposed to go. This wasn't how he wanted to see her in person again for the first time in over 25 years. He reached for her again, unthinking, and she stepped back and away from him.
"What? Did you think that a few days of fucking when we were young and a few decades of correspondence would just absolve you of your mistakes?" Her body bristled with anger, grief, confusion... "Did you think that this 'relationship'," and here she did a thing with her fingers he'd seen in vids, when humans were being rude and trying to call a thing a name when it was the opposite by putting quotes around it- "-would continue after so long without so much as a visit, or a call, or the decency to admit it ever happened?"
Sparatus felt his fringe bristle and spread; now he was angry.
"This isn't something new, Hannah. You knew when this started that we couldn't be together. That hasn't stopped me from caring-"
"Bullshit."
He froze.
"Excuse me?" he said, all warmth gone from his voice, subvocals dead.
That got to her, but she shook it off and carried on.
"You see a person when you care. You aren't ashamed of them. You throw caution to the winds. You take risks." She looked up at him, and jarred or not, her eyes were bottomless with sorrow. "You believe their daughters. You don't send the only other thing they love out into the black on a fool's errand for the sake of some twisted notion of denial."
You don't let them die.
His spine went stiff. He stared down at her and considered her words, tried to accept that they came from a woman who lost so much. He tried.
But it all hurt too much.
"I came here because I was worried about you." His voice felt soft and small, even in his own ears. "Your daughter has gone missing and there's no evidence as to where she is. I came here to make sure you were alright. To offer comfort. And to ..." And here he hestitated. Dare he?
Should he tell her that he felt the same pride for Commander Shepard that her mother did? That he'd watched her since before she graduated high school, had her followed on every 'date' and protected every time she left the safety of her fleet?
That he'd felt his heart soar with pride when, without help, she surpassed everyone's expectations, was recruited into the N7 program and saved hundreds of lives during the Skyllian Blitz?
That he agonized over her Spectre commendation, worried it'd put her in too much danger but sure she could handle herself. That she would grow in the light of her courage with a tenacity that put Turian generals to admire her and shame themselves, a talented biotic that astounded so many, kept close by few.
That he felt his own heart falter in his chest when he received word the Normandy had gone down, the ship he'd sought to give her, that had failed to protect her. That he'd closed his office for days to fight back the urge to keen with grief every time her name came up in the media. That it took almost a week for him to find the mask he'd used for years to keep up his unbiased pretense.
That it was a lie, all of it, that he was biased and he was worried it would be found out, that he was Shepard biased beyond all repair.
That he felt like he'd lost a daughter he'd never been able to hold.
Some of this must have come through in his face, and Hannah had always been so good at reading him. Her expression of rage and grief had begun to fade away, recognition and regret settling in instead. But he was tired of it, too anxious with a trip he feared would give it all away, cost him his career and every choice he'd made on the line. He put the mask back on.
"And to offer my condolences, Captain Shepard. The Commander was a loss to ... to us all." His subvocals flared, and he cursed himself for a prepubescent fool. He turned on his heel before he broke down and gave it all away. "I am sorry to have bothered you in your grief, I'll leave you be."
I'll leave you be.
His palm hit the door lock and he was down the hall before he heard her say his name.
He just kept walking.
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The Translation in Blood