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Black and White	By : CyberII Category: +M through R > Mass Effect Views: 8146 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Do not own Mass Effect or characters, writing for fun, but not profit.

Chapter List
- 1-Pt.1
- 2-Pt.2
- 3-Pt.3
- 4-Pt.4
- 5-Pt.5
- 6-Pt.6
- 7-Pt.7
- 8-Pt.8
- 9-Pt.9
- 10-Pt.10
- 11-Pt.11
- 12-Pt.12
- 13-Pt.13
- 6
- 7
- 8
"What the fuck you were thinking of?!"

Just wait till the storm calms down, Garrus smiled inwardly. He had no idea what was he thinking of going to her apartment, but he never regretted it. His men, no matter how much he trusted them, just didn't need a full picture of things going round his head now.

In fact, he didn't sort them out yet. So he just smiled – it should've looked quite sheepish, but he didn't care.

"First you tell us to stand back and go for that fucker Garm all alone and we all know what that sick bastard is capable of!"

Right, he remembered, his squad got into a fight with vorcha guarding one of Blood Pack drug storages, while he was sniping few levels higher on the catwalk. He caught a sight of Garm through the warehouse window, he seemed unaware of the fight at the doorstep. That opportunity to catch the Blood Pack leader off guard looked so tempting he threw his assault rifle down in the hands of the closest of his men to drop the unnecessary weight and increase mobility and climbed to the rickety bridge hanging between the buildings. He couldn't shoot inside anyway for no reinforcements the mercenaries could have in the building to hear him. He couldn't wait for this firefight to end either, Garm took no notice of their fast attack yet but he could do it any second, and the element of surprise would be lost along with the advantage. Garrus wanted to ensure the vorcha won't notice his maneuver, so he ordered to relinquish their position over comm for the squad to draw the enemy away.

And, of course, he had no time to explain his spark of inspiration.

"And then you just disappear, damn it! We were thinking the motherfucking Blood Pack got you! Spirits, all the fucked-up shit they could've done to you!..."

"Aw, just admit it you worried about me," he spoke mildly.

"Sure we did, you asshole! You weren't hurrying to let us know you're safe, were you? Those three fucking days – we didn't know what to do, damn it! If you only were unlucky enough for those fuckers to get you alive…"

He sighed, glanced lazily at the figures surrounding him. Rubbed his browplate, as the dull ache in his right temple returned.

"I was lucky enough to get away alive. Never disbelieve in me once again. Now, I've got a headache because of your yelling…"

His injuries healed quite well, he wasn't limping anymore, but he couldn't get her out of his head. That once-in-a-lifetime experience, a rare chance to encounter an ancient, superior, gorgeous being, an opportunity to stay that close to her for a few days. She let him get a small touch of her experience and wisdom, and it meant to him he was the luckiest son of a bitch in whole Galaxy.

And it wasn't just about him being awestruck – she was distant and superior, and an unexpected kindred spirit at the same time. It fascinated him even more, the fact that his deeds met her deepest interest and approval. Not too many people appreciated his way of getting things done, especially not the turians – it felt warm and nice to meet someone who did. It felt divine to hear the praise from someone like her. He never voiced it, but it gave him great strength and dedication to stick to the path he chose for himself. Shepard would be proud of him, he thought. Samara was proud of him, he knew it.

He missed her.

He couldn't wait to meet her again. Hear her heels clicking, her calm voice speaking, feel her disquieting unblinking stare on him – and wait for a glimpse of a most beautiful smile to flash in her eyes.

He closed his eyes and recalled her real smile he received once. Even though she wasn't a turian, he couldn't but admire her chiseled features, the noble simplicity of the way she moved, her regal bearing…

…His omni-tool beeped, signaling him he just received a new urgent message.

Garrus felt naked, blind and vulnerable without his armor and visor – but he had to go in without drawing suspicion. He passed the VIP area bouncer, still not comfortable with the idea of Aria knowing he's going to be here. She promised her thugs and club staff won't know, but could he rely on her word only? They had no direct confrontations, yet she still was the outlaw queen of Omega, she's been breaking the rules and taking back her own words since time immemorial.

On the other hand, from what he had learned recently, fucking with a Justicar should be a bad idea even for Aria. She was ruthless, despotic, but not stupid at all. Samara probably was his lucky ticket in and out of Aria's lair.

It felt strange, to be a pawn in the game between the three powerful asari, centuries older than him yet still needing him to play a crucial part. Pretty ambitious pawn he was, since the three of the wisest Council race needed a turian to wrap it up.

Act natural, he said to himself. You're just one of the crowd, you're here to have fun, get drunk and pick up some chicks. You're not acting paranoid, not scanning people for hidden weapons, not watching your back – at least not visibly.

He chose the farthest bar though, where a grumpy-looking human man was making an extremely busy impression by mirror-polishing the counter. No wonder, there weren't many people ordering. Suited him well.

Garrus pointed at the dextro side of bottles collection and ordered a drink. He couldn't help but peered around; his spot was rather convenient to keep most part of the area in sight.

The bartender pushed the glass to him; Garrus took it and noticed a small card with Omega logo under it. He slid it in his pocket automatically; his mind raced trying to figure out was it a sign of a trap set by Aria.

Everyone seemed indifferent.

His visor certainly would provide him more complex data, but he couldn't pick any changes in the postures and lazy glances of the bouncers; the bartenders were doing the same pouring routine, the dancers were twisting along with the rhythms.

He felt an urge to change his observation point and moved across the dancefloor to choose another one.

A sudden touch in the crowd – he spun around and froze before intent silvery-blue eyes…

First he thought she followed him. He wanted to ask, why Samara is here, why she changed her outfit to one of asari commando, and then he noticed the person standing in front of him isn't her.

She was still in her maiden years.

Darker lips.

Strange, predatory gleam of those huge eyes he had a chance to admire every day and become mesmerized by.

"I've never expected to meet you here. This place just turned entertaining."

She was Samara's exact copy, minus age and facial expressions.

He felt like he's lost.

"You're definitely an unexpected person in this place," the asari gave him a sharp smile. Her voice. Another different thing. "My name is Morinth. I've been watching you since you came here."

He shifted too nervously from foot to foot, she let out a short laughter, lowering her voice to a seductive murmur.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to give up on a chance to leave this club with… Archangel tonight. I'm not interested in selling you out."

Her hand slid up his arm, her eyes were on him and that mocking lopsided smile spoke of persistence. Relax, he told himself, she's positively not the one to give you away. She's the one with different strategy.

"I think our interests are similar somehow… How did you know?"

Morinth shrugged, stretching her back, giving him a sidelong glance.

"It's something in your posture, in perfect position you're choosing to observe people here. In your eyes, it distinguishes you from mercs around here. The details are subtle, but they sum up."

"You seem to have a knack for sniper positions," he grinned.

"If you join me, you could learn about many other things I find fascinating," the asari bared her teeth in a provocative leer, "I've got a wide range of interests, what about you?"

He hardly remembered how many hours they spent in the club. Morinth led him to a booth in a chillout zone where they were able to talk without shouting. She was so… amazing. They talked about music, cinema, sculpture – they shared many things in common, he already forgot when he had someone to talk about arts. For a second he thought he'd love to go to the Expel 10 concert with her. There was dark lure in her eyes when he was telling her about his fight with Garm, she laughed at the episode of his unfortunate experience with Red Sand. He grinned back; talking with her was so nice and easy.

He wished Samara could be so revealing. He wished she let him get closer.

He wondered was she like that in her maiden years she told him some stories about.

Spirits, Morinth was irresistible. And he hardly could find a reason to resist. Her chiseled features copied Samara's face – the face he had before his eyes when he went to sleep for the last week, the face he dreamed about. Samara's grace and beauty – and Morinth's passionate interest, in life, in death, in fun, in arts – in him. In his bold dreams he imagined Samara looking at him the same admiring way.

And now he met Morinth…

It didn't seem fair that he had to meet her under such circumstances. He could've done it earlier, Spirits, he could've gotten her to have a chance to enjoy it… Her voice, her eyes, her elegant body promised him unreal pleasures past belief, and he couldn't come up with an excuse for rejection.

He couldn't remember how they made it to her apartment. He just nodded, hypnotized by the black rims of her irises, when she proposed to go to her place, telling him she wanted him alone.

She wanted him, which was all that mattered.

In the cab her hand slid up his thigh, agonizing sensation, air between them thick with lust. She devoured him with those intent light eyes which had the same wicked sparks in them – only they flared unashamedly.

And now they were making out on her couch…

Her gentle hands traveled along his body, she probably helped herself with tiny biotic impulses – he never felt such stimulation in his whole life, she really got under his plates. Half of the buckles, holding her uniform, were undone; her textured skin shimmered in dim light. Her lips on his neck, his tongue on hers – two bodies rocking against each other in sensual frenzy. His mind gave up, he felt lightheaded, he was in love.

He wanted her.

He dreamt of holding this body in his arms, of her on top of him, gracious, experienced, distant – that made her gaze, when she focused it on him feel like there's only two of them in this whole Galaxy. He wanted to tear off the clothes, to feel her skin, to pin down that slender body, to let himself plunge into her and make love to her like there's no tomorrow. He had no idea what does melding feel like, but it must've been something exquisitely intimate, engulfing, overloading all senses.

As if reading his thoughts she backed off a bit and her eyes turned pitch black. Cool thin fingers gently brushed the overheated skin on his neck.

"Look into my eyes and tell you want me…"

He drowned into her eyes, whole world swirling into black hole. There was only her who existed for him. There was only him who existed for her.

"I want you… Samara."
- 6
- 7
- 8
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