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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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The next day, the pair would never admit it, but any outsider observing the two would swear they smiled more. They didn't touch or brush each other in some ridiculous, romantic display of discretion, but their banter flowed freer and the laughter was a touch more joyous. They smiled at each other for no reason, and teased each other over nothing and everything.
Aside from that, they didn't linger over the events of yesterday, save for the Turian occasionally grabbing her wrist and hauling up her arm to show her something new to do with her omni-tool. She still couldn't understand most of the characters scrolling across the interface, but after a while she learned she didn't really have to. Yet.
They came to the opening in the cavern wall, pretty much opposite of where they started across the great underwater lake. They had both hoped it'd be more of an old lava tunnel and less a crack in the wall, but they were both wrong.
Stone made smooth and slick by a millenia of trickling water inclined upward at a forty-five degree angle, making the trek a little ... doubtful. Still, the walls were close enough to push against, and as long as they didn't get too wide, their progress would eventually lead them to wherever the tunnel surfaced.
And if it got smaller ... well. They would deal with that then.
Without so much as a warning, the Turian yanked the gear from Hannah's shoulder and began to recombine it with his, ignoring her protests as he slung the pack over and across his back. He belted it around his waist before handing her the canteen.
She glared at him as she slipped it across her chest. "Oh. Thank you," she drawled. "So this is all you think I'm capable of being responsible f-"
He loosed a long string of gravelly syllables, then swatted her on the rear.
With a yelp and a wide-eyed gape, she stared at him for a good couple seconds before his laughter had her spluttering. Her cheeks flushed, she struggled to look indignant as she strode over and peered up into the darkness. "Such a gentleman-" she began to mumble, before she felt the deliberate, three-fingered caress across the roundest curve of her left buttock.
She went still and looked at him over her shoulder again. He was watching her, mandibles flaring out slow in a small, sly smile. He ran his palm up and over her hip, too, before withdrawing his touch and gesturing her forward, smile becoming a grin. He gestured to the tunnel, then pushed her forward.
You first.
She gave him an irritated, playful look. "Right, because I'm in a great place to clamber up wet, slippery rock right now."
It was a treacherous climb that they managed in silence, which was fine for her as it took a great deal of concentration to find each hand and foot hold she managed to grope for. Glances back showed her that his claws and feet were better suited for this kind of work, which was why he needed to be behind her. He demonstrated this several times when she slipped and fell backward, only to get yanked to his chest with one arm while the other dug claws into the stone wall to keep her from hurtling back down to the cavern below.
He always made a great show of carefully helping her find her footing again, insisting on cupping the bottom of her rear and brace his strong hand against the back of her thigh. Dirty looks thrown at him only made him laugh, and once, he even gave her a fond squeeze.
This only gave her things to think about as she went back to climbing, and not in the direction she worried she would. Only because she didn't think she could focus if her mind kept straying to ... yeah.
Learning what she had about his way of life and culture through the images he'd shown her, she understood that for him his attraction to her wasn't all that hard to accept for either of them. The opposite was not true, however; Hannah was definitely struggling to understand her attraction to him.
Hannah was a good soldier, but she didn't fly starships and dream of being captain for any idealistic notion that humanity would light the way for the rest of the unexplored galaxy. All the stories and songs and media works of the old days painted a picture of human enlightenment spreading through the heart of the galaxy, like missionaries of peace across the stars. While most of them (humans) knew better, there were still the fanatics that considered humans to be the probable pinnacle of organic and spiritual evolution, and were more than ready to think of any other sentient race as beneath them.
This war was going to be a blow to the pride of those kinds of people, but Hannah would not be one of them.
Hannah wanted her own ship and her own crew, but not just because she was a good soldier; she was a good soldier only because she needed to be.
She believed the experiences of exploration could change a person, and in this case, change an entire culture for the better. They'd spent too long thinking they were all alone out here, with their single sun and single moon and the audience of the empty stars. To learn otherwise and to have the chance to leap forward to new horizons...
No. Hannah was an explorer at heart, and she was ready to take her daughter with her to every unknown star system and planet and watch her grow with each new sky. Serving her time with the military and do her duty to the best of her ability, Hannah would honor her promise to uphold humanity's best intentions but she wouldn't let it compromise what she wanted of her own life, and her daughter's:
Freedom.
Not such a simple desire.
Because her intentions were so flexible, and her discovery of new things and places and people simply for the chance to discover them, it shouldn't have surprised her that the Turian didn't ... look repulsive to her. He had a mind and a soul and a beautiful set of eyes, and the lean, long-limbed body of an Olympic sprinter. The fact that he wasn't her species just made him that much more fascinating, and his obvious appreciation of her appearance made him that much more appealing.
But she still couldn't stop wondering if this all made her a traitor. They were in the middle of a war. People were dying over a stupid misunderstanding, a mistake both parties were responsible for. Friends were blowing up, most likely for both of them.
And here they were, how many miles away, surviving day to day and laughing and flirting and doing the pointless mating ritual of touch and smile.
This was the ongoing thought process Hannah dealt with on their slow climb through the dark, lit only by their omni-tools as the lichen found the atmosphere too warm the further up they went. It was a backdrop to the careful grope along the stone, the rhythm of their breathing and the constant drip of water.
They climbed for hours.
Observation had pointed to an impressive stamina for the Turian, if not Turians in general, and Hannah struggled to keep up the pretense that she could keep going. Sweat was beginning to pool between her breasts and slicken her skin, making her clothes stick to her uncomfortably. Drops of saline and condensation forced her to shake the moisture out of her eyes, hands too busy bracing herself to wipe them from her face.
Finally, arms tensed and muscles tight, trembling from head to toe, she paused, panting.
"I'm sorry," she said with a soft groan, flexing her spine with a careful undulation of hip and ribcage akin to a dancer's graceful motion.
Her groan was echoed by a male voice, a little deeper and a lot more feral, and she froze in place.
There was the sound of claws clenching into stone, the scrape of moving against the rock as the Turian braced his feet against the walls of the shuite. Hannah felt a hand brush her waist, then snake around to encourage her to step back.
Guided by him, her heels rested on the top of his two-toed boots, her hands slipping from the stone as he pulled her back into him. He was as solid as the rock around them, comfortably wedged in place, firm body easy to rest on as she lay against him. Without pausing to let her settle, he ran his hand up her hip and in along her waist, slowly traveling upward to brush her ribcage on its curve towards her arm. Her trembling doubled, coupled by something other than exhaustion; anxiety, both pleasant and strange and nerve-wracking; desire too, and a little bit of fear.
She looked at him with her back nestled into his lean abdomen, the stark white lines of his face glowing a warm yellow in the light of his interface. Eyes, bright, knowing, curious, and pleased, gazed back at her. He tilted his head, exhibiting his curiosity, and, carefully moving so she could see what he was doing, ran his fingers through the long, silken fall of her hair.
Such a simple action, but so very intimate; she shivered.
His responding growl was laced with all kinds of approval, but as before, he didn't press his advantage. Instead, he stayed as he was, braced against the tunnel and unmoving, letting her lay against him and catch her second wind. He was calm, almost relaxed, and though Hannah was resting to some degree, her mind was a whirling chaos of white.
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The Translation in Blood