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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
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Their trek was surprisingly easy. The bank along the lake was worn smooth by time and water, less damp than Hannah thought it would be well lit by the ever present glow of bio-luminescence. He took the lead and she followed, watching her feet as her eyes weren't nearly as adept at seeing in the dark as his were. She snacked on fish as they moved, their easy pace requiring little rest. The pools of more critters and vegetation to eat sprang up here and there, and they made a point to stop at one when they were too tired to go further; it was hard to distinguish night and day, though the Turian probably could with his interface.
They'd eat and then talk, she with her mouth and he with drawings on the walls. Then he'd toss her a thermal blanket and pull out another for himself, they'd sprawl on the springy moss, gaze up at the cavern and fall asleep.
They traveled for two days around the lake. Hannah remarked that his computer was broken, it had to be a lot bigger around than he'd originally thought.
Companionable silence marked much of their journey, and she didn't feel discouraged by it; they both had a lot on their minds, no doubt.
She, for example, kept puzzling over how easy it was to work with him. It was the kind of team work you found in well-trained platoons or squadrons, when you'd had habit and command and training drilled into you every day from dawn to dusk and dusk to dawn, with no one to watch your six but the brothers and sisters at your side. There was no one outside of the corps. That was it. End of story. Period.
He -the Turian- gave orders with gestures as often as she did with words, and even now, a few days in to their survival, they barely needed to direct each other anymore.
Still, no matter how comfortable they were together, there was still one thing nagging at the back of her head.
They'd just finish their end-of-day meal, he was cleaning out his cooking unit before packing it away. She waited until the device was carefully stowed, watching the line of his shoulders for the tell-tale slump of relaxation she'd begun to keep an eye out for. It happened usually right before he started to draw.
He had just picked a new glowing canvas when Hannah launched herself at him.
With her face right behind his cowl, the Turian couldn't turn or see her expression as he snarled in surprise. He was quick, though, long ass arms reaching up and around to claw into her shoulders and yank her over. Her yelp as he scratched her skin made him aware that she wasn't really trying to hurt him, demonstrating this by withdrawing his talons but keeping a good grip on her when he slammed her to the ground.
He was quick, but she was quicker.
And more flexible.
With a twist of hip and a kick that made his eyes go wide, she dislodged herself and flipped back to her feet, running right at the wall he'd been staring at moments ago and taking one, two, three steps up and along it to get back behind him and dive for his legs.
It was mostly a vanity move, but it had somewhat of the intended affect; he gaped at her for a half second too long.
She kicked in the back of his knee, following him as he went down to trap his neck between her thighs ... only to find herself unable to do that with that damned cowl of his.
"Fuck!" she swore, just before he gripped her arms, rolled over, and slammed her back into the ground.
She swore again, wriggling underneath, trying not to laugh.
His face lowered to about a centimeter from hers, and suddenly it wasn't funny anymore.
He was breathing hard, mandibles pulled in tight but front teeth bared. And he was heavy. Damned heavy. And scary.
But even though she was afraid, she scrunched her face up at him and gave him a panting smile. "Trying to make up for being so easy for you to catch the first time," she explained breathlessly, like it was the most normal thing in the world. "Nothing personal, wasn't trying to ... seriously damage." She yiped pathetically when his hard arm ground into her knees, still banged up from the fall through the earth. "Shit- OKAY UNCLE-! Fuck-" she gasped.
He slid off of her with a snarl, pulling her with him as she hobbled to stand. "Figures it be a non-combative injury that has me cave in... God, I need to work on my hand-to-hand if it was this easy even with catching you off-guard..."
She's mostly mumbling to herself as she plops on a sturdy rock, yanking up her pants to examine the damage like she hadn't before. Her knees are scraped and bruised, but unbroken. Still, it made walking a bitch that she'd managed to stay quiet about ... until now.
A packet of something is tossed into her lap. Hannah recognizes it as the medicinal gel he used on the inside of her arm. Come to think of it ...
She looks at her arm, noticed it completely healed. Hardly a scar, and zero signs of festering. While, I'll be damned.
She considers the packet and looks up at him, watches him roll his shoulder and mutter under his breath. She winces and shakes her head, offering it up to him. "No. I'm not depleting our stores because I was stupid or you saved my life. No, keep it for something serious. Like food poisoning." She tosses it back to his feet, then strips down to her underwear and wades into the cold water.
It's a relief so profound she sighs, ice cold water on angry flesh. It felt so good-
She's tackled from behind into the shallows, a naked Turian dunking her mercilessly underwater before lunging out of reach and slinking beneath the surface.
Hannah comes up spluttering, cursing, and laughing. "Okay, I deserved that-" she chokes, whirling around to look for her assailant. The water is absurdly calm, and she's puzzled that she can't see him; the water here only comes up to her thighs, and her legs are much shorter than his-
Ah, there, a shadow moving, still in the shallows, underwater and quick. He was crawling along the bottom, too heavy to swim but strong enough to move with an eery, serpentine grace. He's fast, she can't see him again-
And then her leg is pulled out from under her.
If anyone was in that cave, anywhere for the miles it spans, they'd hear an echo much like:
"GOD-*splutter* -DAMMIT-!" accompanied with a series of angry splashing.
- 5
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- 7
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The Translation in Blood