Mass Effect 1. Chapter 1

**The Turian**

_At least they were decent enough to give me leggings…_ He mused, gazing more through than at the unremarkable metal wall before him as he lost himself in thought. He sat with his back to a wall and one leg pulled up to his chest, his chin resting on his knee. All his armor and equipment had been stripped away when he was captured, except for the near-invisible implants in his actual body. Besides those, the only thing he possessed was an article of human clothing that he had discovered was meant to go on his legs. He'd had to tear two holes in the back of the legs for the spurs on his calves -once he'd determined which side _was_ the back and figured out that they'd just barely fit around the extensions on his hips- and it had taken him a good long while just trying to get them on without tearing them to pieces in the process. Honestly, he had considered just tossing the garment aside entirely. Any other turian soldier, left with only a piece of ill-fitting clothing, would have been next to useless in this situation.

Fortunately, he wasn't any other turian soldier. When he had been left behind by his group, the humans had been practically salivating at the chance to catch him. Since he had 'lost' his rifle in the same blast that had disoriented him, he had been forced to crouch in minimal cover with just his pistol until they overwhelmed him. Even then, they had taken their time trying to capture him unharmed, not firing anything but concussive rounds in his direction as they surrounded him. With the kind of care they had taken in capturing him, it was obvious that they didn't know enough about his species.

That first day they had poked and prodded him with needles and machines, pointing all sorts of various equipment in his direction and scrambling in excitement when the equipment so much as beeped. In their eyes, he must have been a very rare live captive of an alien race that they knew nothing about. His kind didn't surrender; he very seriously doubted they had many prisoners to study. He was probably worth ten times his weight in platinum to these humans, as ignorant as they were.

That ignorance had also led them to house him in an important research facility with surprisingly substandard security.

At least, he _hoped_ this was the research facility that had been behind the human fleets. Turian surveillance had discovered the station and determined it the only one of its kind that was near enough to attempt an infiltration mission. It would be very unfortunate if he had landed himself in some complex deep in human space. He had been captured on the human colony-planet of Shanxi for a reason: the proximity to the facility would make the humans more tempted to house him in a frontline base with good equipment than a secure base farther inside the human realm of control. He had quite a bit riding on the fact that their need for more information, _now_, would outweigh their need for caution. Besides, who would expect one turian captive to be that dangerous? If the kind of security on his door was anything to go by, they didn't really see him as that big of a threat.

The many times he had been taken out of and led back to his cell, he had observed his door's mechanics. It had a simple electronic lock on the outside that controlled the pistons inside; which would rotate the centerpiece and then slide the two halves of the door vertically apart when activated. Simple, but effective. It made him wonder if they had never captured a turian engineer or soldier who could work without an omnitool. The humans obviously knew of them -his broken one had been confiscated as soon as they had him- but no turian would ever let the superior technology of the omnitool fall into human hands. Every single soldier that had participated in the fighting at Shanxi had set their omnitool to self-destruct upon the death of its owner. This method of denying the soft-skinned enemy any technological advantage was obviously working, because the tech in these cells was very basic. He knew a few engineers that could have walked out of those doors in less than a minute, given a power cell and some wires. _Spirits_, a similar scenario had probably been part of their training.

He was biased, though. He counted himself as one of the most combat-proficient turians to recently come off of his homeworld of Palaven, and the turian military liked to let him work with people of similar skill. The engineers he was used to working with were probably some of the most technologically versed of his kind available, so he might have a few misconceptions as to the strength of the encryption on his door. Though, these 'cells' looked more like repurposed storage rooms that had gotten a few renovations to make them livable. They didn't seem like they were really meant to contain _turians_ at all, let alone the elite forces of the Empire.

As for himself, given a few materials and a while without cameras watching him he could probably get the door open, but he was sure that his captors would take notice of a few dead cameras in the process. That, and he lacked anything other than the stitches of cloth he had on his person for materials. There was an alternative measure he could take, of course, but he was hoping to be in a better position before the time came for him to reveal what he was capable of. If he made a wrong choice and acted without more information, he risked wasting all of the time, money, and trust that had gone towards getting him here.

The door he had just been contemplating made a few sounds, startling him out of his thoughts. He watched as the door slid apart, letting blinding light flood from the hallway into his dim cell. He shadowed his eyes with one hand, squinting as he tried to adjust and make out the figure standing in his doorway.

Seeing as how he had no electronic way of telling time, he relied on his internal clock, and had organized his day into sections based on when he was fed. After waking up, he would perform a short stretch and warm-up before performing several simple exercises, limited in their application but meeting his requirements for physical fitness. The exercises had to be _simple_ because he didn't want to give the cameras watching him more information than they were already gleaning, but still needed to keep himself conditioned. His body was a well-maintained weapon, a knife with a sharpened edge. He wasn't about to let that edge grow dull because some toothless pyjaks had locked him up. Usually a short while after his exercises, an armed guard would appear at the entrance to his cell with a few bars of synthesized food -that his body could actually digest- and a plastic cup of water. He would force himself to eat the decidedly tasteless protein bars and drink the metallic-tasting water, taking the edge off of the hunger his workout had kindled.

After his morning meal he spent some time reviewing the previous day's events, cataloging and compiling information in his mind. A while after that, his midday meal would arrive and he'd force _that_ down too. Then he'd settle in and wait for the humans to come retrieve him for testing. While tests had occurred sporadically throughout his waking hours -and once during his sleeping hours- after his midday meal he almost always had a visit from heavily armored guards with rifles at the ready. He was then escorted to wherever they had chosen to put him and forced to endure whatever test they had designed for him, whether it be blankly watching a vid screen show him pictures of an unfamiliar world or endure as they tried to discover his range of motion.

Eventually he would be led back to his cell, and for a third time that day be presented with the food bars and water, which he would again force himself to consume. The plastic cups he would leave stacked by the door, ready for removal the next morning. Then he would sleep, and the cycle would repeat itself. For five full revolutions had this occurred, with only a few surprise deviations from the routine.

This, apparently, was one such deviation. He had only just finished his morning exercises and taken a seat against the wall; it was very early. When he had undergone morning tests before, they had been a while after he had finished exercising, not directly after he was done with his cool-down stretches.

As his eyes finally adjusted to the blinding light from the hallway, the silhouettes in the doorway resolved themselves into three humans, per the usual. They normally came in trios to collect him, one scientist in their strange white coats and two guards with armor and weapons. Two soldiers would hardly be enough to stop him if he wanted to go free, of course, but the humans didn't need to know that. No, he was going to have to go along with their plans and submit himself to their tedious testing, _again_.

* * *

><p><strong>The Scientist<strong>

Dr. Andrews was already having a bad day.

She was muttering to herself as the stalked down the hall, following the pair of uniformed guards before her. Her escorts seemed to understand that she was unhappy, wisely keeping their comments to themselves as they led the way. Either that, or they were silently mocking her; she didn't really care to know which. Four years of applications and gathering recommendations had finally landed her the job she had dreamed of since childhood, but now that she had apparently gotten the position actually getting to _do_ that job was turning into an issue.

She had been informed a few days prior that her applications had been noticed, and she had a spot as a researcher in one of the best Alliance research facilities ever built if she wanted it. She had also been informed that she had one day to cut all ties, pack a small bag, and board a craft that would take her to the farthest edge of galactic human expansion if she accepted. She had managed it, of course, but the hurried uprooting of her entire life had left her both tired and nervous, without friends or contacts in a strange part of space.

For now, though, the problem that was causing her the most immediate stress was her superior. Dr. Ross had apparently let her sleep for four hours after arriving at the station, then sent a message to wake her up. She was bedraggled, she was tired, and she'd just thrown her hair into a short ponytail to hide the fact that it was unwashed. As much as she would have loved to look at least _presentable_ when she met the man who was to be her superior, his message had made it clear that she was to report to him in the 'computer lab' immediately upon being woken.

Thus a tired, grumpy, rumpled-looking Dr. Andrews made her way to the foreign species research department. The research facility she had been assigned to held many departments, each investigating a different, new aspect of the suddenly accessible galaxy. The Department of Minerals and Elements handled new resources found out in space or on planets, the Department of Astrology provided complex star-charts from different perspectives all over human-controlled space, and the Department of Alien Life studied the new races of flora and fauna found on new worlds as well as the sapient species they found themselves at war with. There may have been another department or two, but they were unimportant and took up little time and resources, to her knowledge. She had been assigned to the Department of Alien Life.

Taking a moment to catch her bearings, a sign informed her that she had arrived at her destination. Mutterings now silenced, she advanced through the door before her. As it slid open, she was treated to a sight she had most certainly _not_ expected to see at this time of day. Before her was a small army of scientists, technicians, and researchers all very much awake and working at a variety of computer terminals and stations at -what was to her- midnight. The guards that had accompanied her here took positions on either side of the door, Dr. Andrews sparing them a glance as she surveyed the room. She was unsure as to why she had to have an armed escort to go through an all-but-deserted hallway, but finding them waiting for her outside of her room had been a startling experience that she could have certainly done without.

Standing there, looking around at the multitude of working men and women, she realized she had absolutely no idea what her boss looked like. The message that had been delivered to her room had woken her up with its incessant beeping only to tell her to report to the department immediately, as soon as humanly possible. She might have felt daunted as she stood there in this foreign territory, if it hadn't been for the fact that she had been forced to wake up at this ungodly hour without even a hint of caffeine. As it was, she was just tired and irritated.

Scanning the working scientists and finding no obvious indication as to which was the one she was looking for, Dr. Andrews sighed and started forward. The nearest man was intently staring and typing away at a computer terminal, edges and corners of his screen covered with a variety of applications. Apparently, whatever he was working on required a great deal of multitasking. A tap on the man's back got his attention and a tired "Dr. Ross?" got her a blank look and a few blinks, then a jerk of the head.

"Terminal one-twenty," he said, eyeing her a second longer before returning to his work. It made her wonder if _everyone_ she met here was going to be so social, her own little private -and unwanted- guard detail having acted much like this scientist.

It was now apparent that each terminal had a number in bold on the side, numerical order arranging them in neat rows and columns. Once her muddled brain had figured out the pattern the computers were arranged in, she headed in the direction terminal one-twenty would be in while once more scanning faces. It was definitely a large room, and seemed rather busy despite the fact that half of the computers were vacant. The hum of conversation filled the air, scientists approaching one another and -apparently- sharing information even as others sat at various computers, working on whatever project had their attention.

She spotted Dr. Ross and his terminal at the same time, finally picking him out of the crowd of white lab coats and intent expressions as he sat at terminal one hundred and twenty. Medium-height, gray hair, expressionless face as he tapped away at his computer, distance of at least a few terminals between him and everyone else that was working. He didn't notice her approach, so focused was he on whatever he was working on.

"Doctor Ross, you asked to see me?" she asked after successfully stifling a yawn, attempting to fake energy as best she could. From the expression on the man's face as turned his head to look at her, it hadn't been a very good attempt.

"Yes, you're the new specialist. You start now; the Alliance military officials want more information and they want it 'yesterday', as they so charmingly put it," he didn't quite scowl, but he came close. "Get used to waking up and going to sleep earlier, your active shift will start at twelve o'clock sharp from here on out. You have been assigned terminal one thirty-two." After delivering this wonderful bit of information, he turned and picked up a datapad off the desk beside him and handed it to her. "Read all the information on that pad, know the basics within a half hour. When you are up to date, inform me and you'll start the mandatory tests." He promptly turned his back to her and started typing at his terminal once more, leaving a confused and tired Dr. Andrews blinking at his dismissal. She walked away after a brief pause.

Obviously her boss would not be the easiest person to work with, if _that_ was his way of greeting her to the facility. And what 'mandatory tests' would she be doing? She had applied for a job studying alien life with the Alliance military, requesting _any_ position rather than one in specific. While she understood that this meant she might not get exactly what she was looking for, she had _not_ signed up to be directed around without any clue as to what her actual job was, after being asked to work on four hours of sleep. It was… frustrating.

Well, perhaps the datapad she held could help with the situation. Activating it as she navigated her way to the terminal Dr. Ross had specified as hers, she was immediately assaulted by a multitude of different tabs, each covering a different subject. Quickly browsing through their names as she approached her station, she lowered the pad once she arrived. A desk, a computer terminal, and a chair greeted her, devoid of any signs of use. She sat in the chair as she opened the first tab, entitled 'Welcome'.

_Hello, and welcome to the Alliance Forefront Research Center! Built on the surface the asteroid X-583, the Alliance Forefront Research Center is currently the closest facility of its kind to the edge of human expansion, and the farthest from the home planet of Earth. Here, researchers are provided with the most recent, top-of-the-line equipment to answer new questions about the galaxy. Created by the…_

The introduction kept on in the same manner, Dr. Andrews just skimming the contents. Basic facts about the facility that didn't really matter at that moment, general descriptions of the work done in the different branches of the facility, a reminder that the work here could affect humanity as a whole; all expected and irrelevant in helping her figure out her _job_. She closed that tab and brought up another, this one carrying the title of her department.

_The Department of Alien Life devotes its time to the study of newfound organics in the galaxy. With many different branches, this Department researches everything from microscopic plant life to the sapient species that populate the galaxy. It is the largest Department, and thus has its own, separate wing that is almost the size of the original facility. Key features include:_

_Dorms_

_Offices_

_Labs_

_Storage Rooms_

_Communications Office_

_Security Details_

_The studies done by the Department of Alien Life were deemed vital by Alliance military personnel, and the Department receives the advantages of special funding and being a priority interest. Thanks to the Department of Alien Life, more has been learned about the dangers and behaviors of new organisms in the past several months than in several years of disorganized research._

Once again, generic information that she already half-knew. She hadn't spent but a couple of hours awake in this building, but that she'd be studying alien life in the Department of Alien Life was not surprising. Though, the fact that she was working in a branch of the facility that was a 'priority interest' with 'special funding' was news to her. What _really_ succeeded in catching her interest were the subcategories at the bottom of the information, detailing each aspect of studying alien life. On her datapad, the words 'Sapient Life' seemed somewhat larger and brighter than the rest. Opening the subcategory, she set to reading more slowly and methodically than she had before. The passage seemed to be personalized to her, seeing as how it addressed her by name.

_Doctor Lilian Andrews, you have been employed as a researcher in the Sapient Life subdivision of the Department of Alien Life. As a researcher, it is your job to both study data on discovered intelligent life and collect new data through your own research. With the First Contact War still going on, it is vital that the Alliance learn everything it can about its enemies, whether the information gained be psychological or physical. Currently incarcerated are three turians, monitored and guarded at all hours. You have been assigned to one of these three as an external specialist; all data you collect will be provided by the same specimen._

_While you are being given almost free reign with your collection of data, the Alliance military will often have specific mandatory tests for you to complete on your specimen. After completing these tasks, you are free to go back to your own work._

_Every three days you are expected to make an official report as to the progress of your research. Furthermore, do not be disinclined to share information with other researchers on the turian project or in department you are in. The computer lab is primarily a place for the exchange and comparison of information; do not hesitate to make use of it._

There it ended, leaving her staring at the pad as her tired mind tried to process what she had read. She had expected data tables and hours in a lab with microscopes, not… _this_. Everyone had seen the vids, the footage of turian soldiers marching in tandem through the smoking ruins of the human colony of Shanxi. Everyone had seen the destruction they had wrought on the surface. Now, she was being told that she was to study and _test _on the same aliens that had all but annihilated Shanxi in their siege of it, and her gut told her the studying wouldn't be done from a safe distance.

A safe distance being a couple hundred light years.

She knew she had an impressive resume, but _this_ seemed like something requiring more qualified personnel. Someone with field experience, someone with military training, someone other than _her_. Four years of silence met her applications, citations of no positions being available and research companies providing enough information had been issued time and time again. She had been persistent, determined that her work would be mainly for the _Alliance_ and that she would only work part-time for private companies. They had accepted her suddenly, without any forewarning, and asked her to drop everything and come instantly. And, when they finally got her, they told her she'd be working on something so _huge_ that it hurt her head slightly to think about it.

It would have been nice to know what she had been getting herself into _before_ she had moved all the way across human-controlled space.

She shook her head once, refusing to regret the decision to sign the ostensibly vague contract provided by the Alliance. She had spent precious hours dwelling on the subject already, just before beginning her goodbye calls and hurried messages. Even if everything was happening too quickly for her to really follow, she stood firm by the decisions that she had made when she wasn't half-asleep on her feet. Deal with what was happening now, now. Deal with misgivings and the future later, and preferably after a few cups of coffee and the acquisition of more information.

She set back to reading the other tabs glowing up at her from the datapad. The rest of the time she had been allotted was used pouring over the specifics of the tests she was to perform and the known facts of turian anatomy and psychology -which, unsurprisingly, numbered very few-. By the time she had done a quick review of everything, a quick glance at a wall-mounted digital clock told her that her half hour was up. Standing with a yawn once more and turning her back on her still-inactive computer terminal, she made her way towards Dr. Ross slightly more knowledgeable about her purpose here, but still feeling like she hadn't gotten near enough time to assess everything. As she approached, it became apparent that many of the staff were leaving the room, shutting off their terminals as they went. She spared them a curious look before focusing her attention on her superior.

"I've read up on the reports, sir," she said evenly. "You said I needed to perform a few mandatory tests?" She clamped down on an urge to yawn at the back of his head; she couldn't afford to make a bad impression this early on.

He swiveled to face her, expressionless. He nodded once, then waved a hand in the direction of the security still standing at the door. "Those men are here to help escort your test subject from holding cell four to lab two, where Doctor Berkeley will perform a physical examination. You are to bring in the specimen for examination every other day at twelve forty-five. After that, you have the use of lab number two until five o'clock to conduct the beginning of your research. Safety protocols and mandatory procedures are listed in the datapad," he said, looking at her a bit longer before turning away.

Either they gave her enough credit as an external specialist to let her work without supervision or they felt that each scientist would take up the full burden of their job as soon as they could. They had definitely not put the training wheels on for her, that was for sure.

As she approached the exit, both of the guards detached themselves from the wall and fell into step behind her. She managed -or hope she managed- to not show her discomfort as she slowed down her pace to let the door open to give them admittance to the hall, but neither of the armed men spoke. Once out into the corridor, she had to pause at the junction to look at the map included in her new datapad. The holding cells, it seemed, were units that branched off from the main department complex; she could see a clear path between here and there.

The short walk gave her mind time to wake up a little more. The lethargic feeling she had been dealing with since waking was less now and she could dwell on the information she had been provided. When the Alliance told her she could have her dream job if she boarded a shuttle almost instantly and without asking any questions, she had forced herself to say yes. The past few days had been a rush, a blur that had almost never slowed. Now that she had arrived, perhaps things would begin to slow down.

As she stood before the slowly sliding doors of holding cell four, though, she suddenly got the uneasy feeling that she was wrong, and that this was just the beginning.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong> Well, that's a weight off my shoulders. I've already begun work on Chapters 2 and 3 at the request of a few friends, but I'd love hearing what you all have to say. This was just a small idea born of my love of Mass Effect and drive to better myself as a writer and quickly became my first ever real look at a potential novel-length fic. Feedback is greatly appreciated!


	2. Chapter 2

**The Turian**

After several days of this, he knew the procedure. First, you stood up slowly, showing them your hands; then you very casually strolled towards them, careful not to move quickly enough to startle them; and last you held out your hands with wrists close to touching, so that one of the armored ones could clamp restraints on you. The whole time you had a gun trained on you, providing incentive to not cause a scene.

A bit of trial and error had helped him puzzle out their ways of working, but in the end it was simple. Humans were like wild animals: spook them and they could react violently, act calmly and they didn't know what to think about you.

As one of them once more placed their restraints upon him, he noticed a detail, a difference in the usual routine. He would not delusion himself that he could tell human faces apart, but the human female he had originally assumed was the one that had tested on him in the past wasn't the same. The thing humans had on top of their heads instead of a fringe -it resembled fur, but it was longer- was a shocking red on this female. And, now that he was looking for differences, the new female's skin was a lighter color and her stature was shorter. Even from several feet away, he had to look down and she had to look up for him to see the startling green of her eyes.

Suddenly, she blinked and took a half-step back, and he realized she had been studying him just as intently as he had her. This was the fourth human and third female he had ever been able to study in detail, seeing as how the armed escorts always wore helmets and armor when moving him from place to place. The male and other two females he had seen were all he had been able to go by until now; this new white-coat proved that there could be easily identifiable differences between humans of the same gender. The other two females had looked very similar to one another, very close skin tones and the same color fringe. He had seen the vids of the conquered human colony, of course -and thus received the option to study them-, but he had only given them a passing glance. He smiled ruefully as he realized he was learning bits and pieces about them even as they ran their scans and studies on him.

The new female made a very abrupt about-face, making a sound like a cough and walking away. One of the armed men prodded him in the back before he could make to follow, and he suppressed a growl as he sent a short look in the human's direction. He started off, both guards falling into step on either side of and slightly behind him as he kept a respectable distance between himself and the female.

She stepped briskly, but he quickly found that one of his strides made up for two of hers, making keeping up a non-issue. As she cut a corner and he followed, however, it became all too apparent where they were going. One of his mandibles twitched as she made for the familiar entrance to the hallway where he had suffered the most of their poking and prodding. What was worse, the female headed for a very specific door once she entered the hallway. He had visited this hall many times now, but every time he went through that specific door he had to deal with a physical examination. It was true that his own race's scientists had probably done the same and worse with the humans that they had captured, but that didn't mean he had to accept the fact that his physical condition was going to be inspected every other 'day'.

As the female opened the door and entered the room beyond, he was suffering an internal debate. He had a very fine line to tread here. Every moment he spent here was a moment that they gleaned more information from him, a day that they learned more about his kind. Turian intel said that there had to be others incarcerated as he was, so many of the things they learned from him were probably just confirming knowledge they already had. This meant that he wasn't _really_ giving them an advantage where they had had none before, but it still grated on his nerves that he was providing _any_ assistance for the enemy. If he could pull off what he had been sent to do it might all be worth it, but only if he did his job very well. Every moment he spent under some human lens was a moment he had to make sure he was working towards his goal, because if he didn't do his best then this mission would have only had a detrimental effect.

That, and the turian fleets would attack with or without his information. He had the potential to save lives and ensure an even easier victory, but only if he got what he needed within a certain amount of time. Therefor he had two reasons to get his job done quickly and efficiently, or else he could explain to his superiors how he had not only failed in his mission, but actually aided the humans with his ineptitude. Given the situation he had left behind him and the way most of his superiors probably now viewed him, he couldn't afford to make mistakes. He would bring the Hierarchy back not only what it needed, but what it hadn't even conceived he could retrieve. When he returned to turian society, he'd do it with a clear name and a steadfast reputation of following through on his orders.

_If I make it much longer without killing someone._ He amended, as one of the humans behind him stepped closer to shove the front of a gun into the armored plating of his back, in an attempt to make him stumble through the doorway. These humans had no idea who or what they were aggravating, but they apparently thought they knew enough to shove him and treat him with obvious disdain. That other female -not the one that did the examinations but that one that most often retrieved him from his cell- was the worst of the lot. Some of the guards were bad, but that woman's approach to testing on him went beyond objective in regards to causing him harm. Nothing like the first few years of military training, but she still managed to get under his plates.

He went through the door at his own pace, the guard's shove expected and unknowing of his strength. As he had thought, there was the female with the black fringe and there was the white table with waiting restraints. Without so much as fluttering a mandible, he made his way over to the table and climbed onto the smooth surface so that he was laying on his back.

He had decided ever since his first encounter with the room that compliance was the best answer; his guardians might grow more relaxed with a prisoner that always followed the rules. Still, it was definitely less than pleasant to watch one of his armed escorts clamp the metal bands on the table around his ankles, and less so to watch the gun trained on him as his hands were unbound from in front of him only to be restrained at his sides. The table hadn't been designed for turians and was almost too short for him -even with him slightly bending his knees to give room for the spurs on his calves-, but a little discomfort would hardly be the worst thing he had endured. At least, with the table as short as it was, he could let the top of his head rest off the edge and let his fringe be unimpeded. His fringe was a standard length, extending a short distance past the back of his head; it normally kept him from laying his head flat while he was on his back.

The new female -the one with the red human version of a fringe- had apparently been having a conversation with the black-fringed one. Both of the white clad humans turned to him, though, when the guards backed off to opposite sides of the room, the black-fringed one that he had met before talking as she approached him with her glowing pad. Unfortunately, everything she was saying was in the human language.

Though he had spent every waking moment of his time on the shuttle to Shanxi and days before that pouring over information about their adversaries, all he had tried to learn about their dialect seemed to be for not. He could only make out one word in a hundred of what the humans said in front of him. It was an irritating limitation that he could have done without, but at least it was an expected one. There was, however, another means for him to understand what they were saying.

_Humans are so… expressive._ He mused, watching the black-fringed woman as she came closer. Just pulling from his own brief experience, he knew that their faces could contort and wrinkle and simply _shift_ in so many different ways that they _had_ to have more than one expression per emotion. Like now, when the woman before him bared her teeth at him and squinted her eyes. He had come to believe that this was the human equivalent of a smile, drawing on his -limited!- knowledge of asari expressions. Smiling was meant to placate, right? Perhaps showing their blunt, ineffective teeth was somehow a means to pacify, to show that they weren't predators? He knew for certain that _he_ wasn't threatened by the neat rows of square, white blocks in their mouths.

As she busied herself looking him over -she even checked the restraints, whether to see if they were too tight or check their effectiveness he could not tell-, she continued to talk away, presumably to the other female. _She_ was hanging back, inspecting him as he lay in discomfort on the white table. For all of the expressions that humans had, he didn't know near enough of them to understand what her face should be telling him. As soon as she met his gaze, she looked away, making him realize he had been intently staring again. He would make note of that; everything new he learned about humans gave him more of an advantage.

A short tug on one of his spurs had his head looking back forward to stare at the human that had been examining him. She made note of that, taking advantage of his distractedness. He would have scowled at her if he hadn't been sure that she would mark _that _down too.

Then she launched into her usual routine. Whether it was on Palaven, at the Citadel, or apparently in a human lab, a doctor was a doctor. If he closed his eyes as she began poking him in various places, he could almost imagine himself in a clinic somewhere for his annual checkup. The gloved hands could have been an asari's as they tested the hardness of his plates, the other occupants he could sense in the room could have been squadmates waiting their own turn, and the _smell_ of a clinic never changed even if the scent of its owners did. It was easy, really, to imagine it as a simple checkup.

Minus the restraints, of course.

Eyes closed and mind wandering, he chose to ignore the soft whir and hum of machinery when he heard it. That would be the doctor activating the piece of tech that was hanging from the ceiling above him, as always. She'd scan him, make some noises that probably meant something, then tap away at her pad some more.

He would have killed for his VI translator right about now, but that had been out of the question. He had been told, in no uncertain terms, that everything but the most basic, invisible tech would be removed prior to the mission. That meant his implanted translator had been removed while he lay, sedated, on slightly more turian-friendly table, in a clinic not too unlike this one. He had gone through all of the trouble of getting the stupid translator wired into his own flesh a few years prior, just to learn that he wouldn't be allowed to keep it. As immeasurably useful as it would have been in this situation, the Hierarchy wasn't willing to risk anything but his life on this mission.

He opened his eyes as the hum of machinery died down. True to his beliefs, the doctor made some sounds -he didn't even think it was speech- and recorded something on her pad that had appeared on a computer screen hooked up to the scanner. They still had physical _screens_ on their computers, for that matter.

The black-fringed doctor tapped her pad a few times more, then showed her teeth -smiled?- at the red-fringed one. A conversation started, and he listened intently to what they were saying, even if he didn't understand it. He was here to get information after all, gathering some of that information from personal experience could hardly be wrong. Listening was definitely better than contemplating his discomfort, anyway.

The timbre of human voices was something that took getting used to. Theirs were very similar to most of the other sapient species', he knew, but human voices varied so much more than asari or salarian voices. The doctor's voice was always light and unbound, bright and optimistic even in its strangeness. The voices of the guards, by comparison, always seemed rough and low, more akin to his own kind's. The human male, the one in the white coat instead of armor, had possessed a voice that seemed to find the ground between the voice of the doctor and the voices of the guards, then deviate towards one or the other before returning to the mid-ground.

And the scientist that normally retrieved him… _her_ voice was cold steel, like the barrel of a gun as it settled against your browplate. That, at least, was a tone he was familiar with.

But, even with all of these different examples of the human voice, the new female had one that was yet still different. And then, as he took a moment to try and place it, he found he couldn't. Her short responses to the doctor didn't give him but a glimpse of her own unique voice, but what he did get he wasn't sure he understood.

Humans and their flat tones. No wonder they had so many physical expressions for what they were feeling, without subharmonics to show emotion! Without dual-tones to their voices to illustrate how they felt, their faces must have taken up the slack by making a variety of motions to match their feelings. It was similar to the asari and salarians now that he _really_ thought about it, but he didn't think he'd ever even considered the fact before.

Being bound hand and foot to an uncomfortable table had a way of making him notice things he normally overlooked.

That, and being stuck in a dark cell.

For hours on end.

By himself.

If there hadn't been so much to think about between the times when he was fed and brought out to be prodded, he'd have likely resorted to blowing something up to pass the time. Probably best that he was only going a _bit_ stir-crazy in the meanwhile, because he thought the humans might take notice if he decided to blow the door and go strolling through the halls.

This time, it was the approach of one of the guards that brought him out of his thought-trails. He held the normal cuffs for his hands, walking up and beginning to unlock his wrists. Behind and to the side of him, the other guard had his gun held loosely in his grip, watching from a safe distance. This was a step up, really; they had normally had their guns pointed at him when they took off his restraints in the past.

Then, he processed what this meant. A quick glance to the side as first one wrist then the other were freed showed the doctor going over data and not approaching him. It was… rare for an examination to be so short and relatively painless. The black-fringed woman even turned to give him one last baring of her teeth as she caught him inspecting her.

Today was a day of firsts, indeed.

Hands finally secured in front of him, he could turn his head back forward to watch as his ankles were finally unlocked from the table and he could give his legs some space. He shifted as he sat to let his legs hang off the table as he sat on the side of it, giving himself a moment to work out the discomfort. A sharp tilt of the head to each side got him a satisfying pair of cracks, and he stretched his legs out in front of him before slipping off the table to stand on the ground.

Both of the white-coats, the doctor and the scientist, were staring at him. He suddenly realized that they had probably never seen him pop his neck before.

Damn, and he had been doing such a good job at keeping information from them.

The doctor shook her head and said something, which made the red-fringed scientist turn to look at her. The doctor shook her head from side to side, sending the strange black fur-but-longer material of her fringe into a bit of disarray before she went back to her computers. The scientist turned to him, briefly meeting his gaze before averting her own and walking past him. She spoke to the guard who still had that gun resting in his grip, then followed him out the door when he marched off.

He was really starting to wish he had that damn VI translator again.

The guard still in the room jerked his head at the doorway, through which his partner was looking back at them. The guards worked in pairs for safety, so that he couldn't just overpower one and gain possession of a gun. It would have been a sound strategy if he hadn't been absolutely certain he could disable one and shoot the other in a just a few seconds. But, seeing as how he had no current reason to do so, he had to content himself with playing out the scenarios in his head as he outwardly acted the part of the complacent prisoner.

He was moving before the guard could jerk his head again, hearing and _feeling_ the human following as he made his way after the now-walking scientist and other guard. Knowing that his back was turned to an armed member of the human race had his mandibles twitching, as always; he'd never get used to it. His muscles were always tense when he had to go from room to room, the feeling of a phantom bullet striking his back something that he just couldn't get rid of. Years upon years of military training made him itch just being _near_ an armed enemy, let alone turning his back on one.

The walk was a short one, like they always were. Either it was a small facility, they didn't like escorting him almost as much as he disliked being escorted, or they were paranoid about showing him too much human architecture, because every lab, cell, and _room_ he had been in so far seemed to be close to his next destination. And what he _did_ see was remarkable only in that it was so incredibly bland. White, metallic halls connected white, metallic rooms, everything lit from above with those strips of bright lights. It was clinical and cold, sterile and uncaring.

The only place that _wasn't_ the color of spirits-forsaken snow was his cell, whose dark gray interior also happened to be more dimly lit than any other room as well. In there, his eyes weren't constantly squinting from the light reflecting off every single surface. In there, he could lay in his cot and not have to decide between standing uncomfortably or sitting on the cold, hard, metal floor. It was the closest room in resemblance to the inside of a turian ship out of every single one he'd seen in this place, and he couldn't tell if that had been on purpose or accidental.

He'd go with accidental, because thinking about how the humans would know how the inside of a turian ship looked was… unsettling.

The room they led him to was not very far away at all, just several doors down from the one he had just left. The hall was empty of anyone except him and his escort, like it always was. Aside from the rare white-coat that occasionally passed them by, he saw very few humans other than the same scientists. He occasionally had a change of guards, but they all had blacked-out visors on their helmets and acted with the same military attitude, so it wasn't anything new or exciting when he got a different set. Spirits, he hadn't even known his guards changed until one day it was a female in armor leading him out of his cell.

He forced his mind back on track, scowling internally as he left his private thoughts and put all of his concentration on _now_. He'd have plenty of time to think about such things when he got back to his cell. For now, he should be paying more attention to what was going on around him than what the lack of other humans might mean. If he missed a crucial tidbit of information because he was busy _daydreaming_…

With that in mind, he was being extra observant when he entered the new room. A place he'd been before, but that didn't mean that something hadn't changed. A quick sweep with his eyes told him the basics as he made his way to the chair in the center of the room.

Counter and cabinets lined two walls, white like everything else. Various jars and colored boxes sat on the counter, labeled in the human script and seemingly still untouched since his last time here. Computers, lined up and already glowing with life, took up the far third wall. A pair of chairs were placed in front of the computers, which seemed strange considering the odd number of terminals. A glove dispenser was set into the only otherwise bare wall, close to the door and quickly ignored by the scientist. In the middle of the room, his least-favorite chair was waiting for him. It was stiff-backed, short, and had wrist clamps integrated into the armrests; three of the worst qualities there could be in a chair all rolled into one spiteful package.

Well, it could have been worse. They could have taken out the chair and put in another ill-fitting table for him to be restrained to, which would have been considerably more uncomfortable.

The room may have been unchanged, but its occupants weren't. The scientist was looking around at everything, taking stock of the room and probably making the same observations he had just finished, himself. A small pad was taken out of her coat as he walked forward, one of her hands moving over its surface with a light touch. Her back was to him, white coat shielding her form from his gaze and red fringe hiding her head. For someone who was probably supposed to be studying him, she rarely seemed to look in his direction.

The chair was as uncomfortable as he remembered, hard surface unyielding to the sharper points of his anatomy. The wrist-clamps were more like forearm-clamps on him, cold steel wrapped about a portion of his long arms rather than just behind his hands. It had the same effect, unfortunately, seeing as how he couldn't pull his arms out of the things without contorting them at an impossible angle and possibly breaking his hands to get them through the cuffs; not something he was really keen on doing.

The seat offered him a lovely view of a wall covered by cabinets, completely uninteresting and already thoroughly checked for any bits of information. The door to the room was behind him and to his left, where the guard that had secured him in place was now standing. His partner likely stood in the hall, on the other side of the now closed door. To his immediate left were more cabinets, to his right were the computers, and the scientist.

If he really wanted, he could just stare at the cabinets in front of him and not give them any information with his reactions or curiosity.

If he really wanted, he could also contort his arms, break his hands, and be free of his restraints.

Both options had a similar amount of appeal at that moment.

Satisfied with neither, he settled on watching the scientist. Besides the fact that he would have had to crane his head back or too far to one side to observe the guard standing inside the room, they never seemed to do anything but hold their weapons and stand there, always watching. True, they showed a level of discipline he hadn't expected from the disorganized pyjaks, but that didn't exactly make them the best observation material. The scientist, however, didn't have a tinted visor to hide behind or a post to stand stiff and unmoving at.

She had moved from her pad to one of the computers, pulling one of the chairs out and sitting in it as she started a thorough inspection of the screen before her. The back of her head was still turned to him, as though she was refusing to acknowledge his presence.

It figured that as soon as he resolved to pay close attention, he was forgotten. Still alert for any kind of change in behavior, he quietly observed from his chair. Except for the soft clicks of the scientist tapping at the computer before her and the hum of life support systems, the room was silent. Not even once did she turn to look at him, instead almost pointedly ignoring him.

Time passed, and he was still left staring at the back of a white coat and red fringe. He followed her with his eyes the one time she stood up to inspect a few cabinets, then sat back down quietly. He had nothing to keep time with, but his internal clock was counting off the moments as he sat, strapped to the too-short human chair with its hard contours and restraints. The durable plates of his forearm began to chafe with protest at his numerous, involuntary tiny movements. As an infiltrator, he had learned the virtues of patience and perseverance while waiting in ambush; he had completed missions where haste would have meant death. But, despite the immense amount of patience he knew he _could_ exercise, the uncomfortable chair and its irritating restraints were trying him in ways he had yet to endure.

And she _still_ didn't look at him. She could stare at the computer screens before her, rummage through the materials on the counters and in the cabinets, and pull two gloves from the dispenser all without even glancing in his direction. If her behavior hadn't been so intriguing, it would certainly have been infuriating.

She had checked the little jar containing white fluff balls three times before she seemed to realize the fact herself. Suddenly snapping up tall and shoving her shoulders back, she strode with purpose towards the computers, grabbing her pad once she was able. She came towards him then, another one of those strange human expressions affixed to her face. Pad brandished before her in both hands like some form of weapon, she strode up to him and stopped within what would have been arm-reach, if said arms hadn't been pinned to the chair by metal bands. Those patches of fur above her eyes, _eyebrows_ he triumphantly recalled, were slanted downward towards her nose as she looked over the pad, then at him.

It took a little bit for her eyes to wander their way to his face, but once her gaze locked with his she seemed unable to move. Unblinking and unmoving, he took a moment to truly inspect her. Her skin was light and smooth, marred only by tiny, strange brown circles of different size and intensity. Her fringe, as opposed to the doctor and the _other_ woman, was both an unmistakable shade of red and pulled back into a kind of knot on the back of her head. It raised questions he had not thought to ask of himself, before. Did she not feel any pain from the position of her fringe? Were human fringes event _meant_ to be yanked back like that?

Studying green eyes locked onto him, giving him ample opportunity to observe them in turn. The human eye didn't seem that far removed from the turian eye, a white background behind the iris being the only thing he could see that was obviously different. This female's eyes were even green, an eye color prominent among turians born in his almost-but-not-quite-home city of Cipritine. Even so, there was something behind those green irises that seemed almost disturbingly familiar.

From there on, he didn't know what else to think. He didn't really have much else to go on, seeing as how she was only slightly different from the only other two unarmored members of her gender he had seen. Still with too many expressions he didn't know how to interpret, still short and filled out in strange ways…

Still so _squishy_.

Other than her behavior and the color of her fringe, there wasn't too terribly much to distinguish her from the others. Just a human female, weak and so fragile looking. There was nothing to separate her from her own kind but a few cosmetic differences. Even if he had spent more time studying their physiology and less their behavioral patterns, he probably wouldn't have seen anything remarkable about her.

So why did he have an inexplicable feeling that he was going to need to remember this female?

She broke eye contact first. Tearing her gaze from his own, she visibly shivered as she took a step back, then two. He cocked his head to one side, curious as to her reaction. Sharp eyes watched as she tried, unsuccessfully, to regain her composure. She didn't even make an attempt to inspect him again, instead turning to the computer terminals and fleeing from his side as though chased by rabid varren.

She didn't move again, sitting in her chair with her body slumped slightly forward. He was left to endure his chair as absent tapping and clicking sounds came from whatever the red-fringed woman was working on. Once more, time moved forward in agonizingly slow increments as he tried to mentally occupy himself. He was working on remembering the name of every general that had served since the Unification Wars for a third time before he was, finally, interrupted.

The scientist turned and said something loudly to the guard in the room, the sudden action startling him out of his list of dead generals. The guard seemed only too happy to come back into his field of view and remove the _chafing like slow-burning fire_ restraints, once the door was open and there were _two_ armed men nearby. He blinked for a moment at the sight of his forearms, seeing the slight marks on the cartilage of his plates where the metal bands had dug into him. They would heal, of course, but he was trying to decide if their presence was more due to human thoughtlessness, or cruelty.

He didn't wait for a shove, shaking himself out of his lines of thought and firmly reminding himself that there was a time and a place for that kind of contemplation. He would have plenty of time to himself in his cell; he could wait to ponder the morality of humans for a little while longer. Until he was locked up again without anything to do _but_ think, he should spend his time observing.

He caught the female's gaze again as he left, turning his head to catch the sight of her still twisted in her chair to watch them go. Her breath hitched as she immediately looked away, and he couldn't stop the curios flutter of his mandibles as he was escorted out of the room. She was a new piece to a puzzle that was still mostly missing, a piece that he didn't know where to place. Further inspection of her was cut short by the quiet hiss of the doors sliding shut between them and an impatient sound from the guard in the lead.

The white halls glared at him as he was marched past more closed doors and side corridors. While he could sometimes hear the faint sounds of voices as he walked past the doors, he encountered no new humans in the hallways, as always.

It wasn't that they weren't _there_; he had no doubts that this facility was crawling with the little pyjaks. There were too many places from which he heard multiple voices originating, too many rooms which obviously saw much use, and their collective scent was so strong in the hall that he found it annoying even several days into captivity. There were so many little things that told him this was a very inhabited place, too many details to ignore the truth that he was outnumbered by more than he wanted to think about. He could only assume that he never saw humans in the halls because they evacuated before him, which only led to further confusion and hours of trying to find out _why_ they went out of their way to avoid him.

And, as the doors of his cell closed behind him, locking him once more into the dim interior of his cell, his mandibles twitched up in a rueful smile. _Why_ was a dangerous question, which is probably why he liked it so much.

Then he frowned, looking down at his right forearm and absently rubbing the small chafe marks he found there with his other hand. They were nothing at all, really, but they could symbolize worse things to come. He didn't really _think_ that this new scientist would be the same heartless creature that the first had proven to be, but he wasn't willing to make any bets. She had kept him in that chair for what must have been an exceptionally long time, before losing all of her nerves at the same time when she looked at his face for too long. Whether or not that proved her weak, cruel, or both, it still meant he had spent more time sitting in that _spirits-forsaken_ chair then he necessarily needed to.

He had been trained to deal with physical as well as mental torture several years back, and he had a sneaking suspicion that there had been torture by boredom in the list of things he had proven capable of surviving. Knowing one can survive torture was one thing, actually undergoing it was another. He couldn't even decide if the act had been deliberate, which made dealing with it strangely more difficult.

He let out a huff of breath, putting away that line of thought for some other time. He had enough to do just compiling usable facts _without_ pondering human morality. If they had been turians, he knew that he would have been an honored prisoner of war, entitled to certain rights and respects. With humans being the ones that held him, though, he had no idea what standards they were held to. At the very least, he knew that they didn't mind giving him a large cell to pass the time in.

Taking a moment to reappraise his surroundings, he considered what his cell said about his captor's feelings towards the treatment of prisoners.

One cot and one latrine, in opposite corners of the same side of the room. The cot was flat and unyielding and the toilet was obviously not designed for turian anatomy, but they served their functions well enough. A moderate ceiling that wasn't too low and walls that were actually a fair distance apart meant he didn't have to deal with a cramped space. Everything was cold gray metal, of course, but he could warm a spot on the wall or floor if he pressed against it for long enough. The temperature of the room was definitely annoying, but his cell was no colder than the rest of the facility. A pair of soft lights were integrated into opposite walls, providing him with the dim lighting that made the room much more livable than if it had been as glaringly bright as the halls.

There _were_ the four cameras that had been badly concealed in various parts of the room, but he was willing to look past that.

When it came down to it, his current accommodations beat the turian standard if only because of the fact that there was so much room to move in. Turian holding cells weren't meant to contain prisoners for long periods of time; either you repented for your crimes or you were shipped out to do hard labor for the Hierarchy. This cell was pretty damn luxurious by comparison, now that he really thought about it.

He seemed to be doing that a lot lately, that whole 'thinking' thing.

Another huff, this one more or less directed at himself. _Thinking_ was all that kept him sane in the endless monotony of this facility. Thinking of how human tech worked, thinking of ways to understand their expressions, thinking of what he had come here to do and how long he had left to do it. Thinking of how to seem unthreatening and thinking of when to break free, thinking of how fragile humans looked without their armor and how easy it would be to snap the necks of the guards that liked to prod him.

Perhaps he did a little _too_ much thinking. With so much time to himself, he couldn't spend all of it exercising. Not only would working until he could no longer move give away information about his species' endurance, but he wasn't fed near enough to deal with that kind of physical activity. Between the energy he burned to keep his body temperature stable in the cold environment and the energy he burned keeping himself at his minimum fitness requirements, he had been dealing with a slight edge of hunger ever since he had arrived. And while the bars of synthesized protein he was given kept him alive, they hardly sated that hunger.

Turians actively serving in the field had an _appetite_, the conditioning they went through required more nutrients and energy than a current civilian. All turians had a natural affinity for strength, speed, and endurance, of course, but strike forces and special ops groups were undoubtedly at the pinnacle of fitness, and thus at the pinnacle of caloric intake. Add onto that the physical requirements of an infiltration job, the stress of the complete lack of company, and his own _special_ problem and you had a turian that knew how to _eat_.

Since he didn't have any tasteless bars to choke down and he was getting very tired of heavy thinking, his list of time-consuming activities seemed to be quickly disappearing. Really, only two options seemed to present themselves: running or sleeping.

Seeing as how he had already exerted himself with morning exercises before the humans had come to transport him, he didn't really feel like starting them all over again. The tiniest edge of hunger had set in his stomach and he didn't really feel like giving it cause to grow. A twenty-kilo run -in the cell it was more like jogging in tight circles- would give him that much more of an appetite to deal with before he was next fed. The cot that had substituted a nest was not the most comfortable place to fall asleep, but at least there was more malleability to it than the _floor_. Regaining some of his energy by resting would be nice and it was hard to stress and overthink while asleep.

He gave the small marks on his arms one last look, then marched over to the cot. He had long since figured out that laying on his stomach with his head tilted to the side was one of the only ways he could sleep, seeing as how the hard bed didn't give way under his calf spurs when he lay on his back or side. A pillow and perhaps some kind of covering would have been nice, but he could hardly expect them to show that level of thoughtfulness for a prisoner.

Making himself as comfortable as he could on the creaking mattress, he closed his eyes and tried to blank his mind. He was a soldier who had been able to sleep in the middle of a war-zone when it had been required, he was confident in his abilities to grab a bit of downtime. And with the soft lighting and quiet sounds of the life support systems, he actually managed it much sooner than he had thought.

* * *

><p>"<em>Tyrik! No fair!" Bright sunlight on young, predatory eyes. Larger and darker male ahead, clutching a bright, round object as he ran. A smile tossed over one shoulder, exhilarated fluttering of mandibles and a flash of white teeth. "Catch!"<em>

"_No, chase!" The male laughed, staying out of reach. He was fast and agile, eluding the smaller male chasing him without too much difficulty. "You can't get the ball!" The older male vaulted over a chair and the younger tore around it, hunting-speed. He could feel himself parting the humid air with his body as his ears filled with the sound of pounding blood and wind._

"_Tyrik!__" Once more, as close to exasperated as he knew how to be. All he got in return was a quick laugh, tossed over one shoulder as the darker turian kept his pace._

_Suddenly, Tyrik cut right, feet ripping up soil and grass as he cornered with a kind of accuracy the younger male knew he didn't have. Still, he had to try!_

_Feet slipping on the same turn quick turn in the wide field, finding no purchase on the smooth grass. Legs flying out from under him, shock of actually losing his footing. Hard landing, almost two meters from where he had tried to turn. Blue sky suddenly filling vision, pain not yet registered as shock begins to fade._

_Pain registers, pain-sounds as he reaches down to clutch at his foot._

"_**Brother!**__" Both hands reach down as he draws his leg up, holding his throbbing ankle as more pain-sounds escape him, both with his main voice and subharmonics. Blue of sky suddenly replaced by a youthful turian's face. "First-brother, are you okay?" Shake of his head, soft touch by dark hand on the back of his head, keeping his short fringe out of the ground. Softer touch on his leg, near where both of his own hands tightly grasp his ankle. Distressed subharmonics as Tyrik looks down at him. "I'll help you inside. Father will help." Comparing pain with promise of relief, brother's insistence wins. Short nod as he gingerly loosens his grip on his ankle._

_Supportive hands, lifting him up. Trying to put weight on bad ankle and trilling out a note of distress, himself. Suddenly almost completely held up by larger brother. One limping step, trying not to press down on his injured limb. The ball is completely and utterly forgotten as the pair slowly make their way towards the house._

_Pain faded to a dull throb, but still very unpleasant. Ability to put a tiny bit of weight on foot before they reach door._

_Raised voices, one of them father's._

"_I don't care for what _might_ be or what _could_ happen; I care that you insult my family!" Father's voice, anger-filled subtones actually halting the brothers in their tracks as the back door slides open. "Why do you make these accusations? For what purpose do you try and destroy what little family I have left?"_

"_I'm not insulting or accusing you of anything! I'm stating facts that you refuse to listen to. Open your eyes, Marcien!" A new male voice raised just as loud as father's, if less angry. Half-hearted attempt by brother at moving forward shows he is listening as well, though it is hard actually _not_ to hear the pair of adults. Pain is, momentarily, forgotten. "You know I'm right, but you're too busy snapping at every_one_ and every_thing_ to hear reason."_

"_Nothing__ you are saying is reasonable. I will not send Laelia's son to a group of barefaced assassins; I will not give up our child!"_

"_Spirits, Marcien, think for a second. Your mate was working on _eezo cores_ for weeks before she knew she had conceived. That your son has made it this long is a miracle, but you have to accept the facts. One of every three that survive are-"_

"_Don't. Say. That. Word." Stairs in the way, trying to limp his way up them with his brother and freezing at the sound of his father's voice. The other voice had paused at the intensity, then resumed speaking in a much less argumentative tone._

"_You think I want to tell you this? We've been friends since boot camp; I'm trying to get you to think rationally because I respect you."_

"_If you respected me, you wouldn't be-"_

"_I __would__, Marcien, and you know it even if you can't admit it."_

_Top of the stairs, the pain in his ankle felt distant now. The quiet turn the argument had taken somehow inspiring in him a kind of fear that the yelling had not. The door to his father's room gaped open, and Tyrik was silent._

"_Look at in a mirror, look at pictures of Laelia. Do either of you even resemble him?"_

_Two adult males, similar dark coloration and markings on their faces. His father looked… scary._

"_He's white as bone, Marcien. Not silver, not sandy, not gray. The in-utero eezo exposure, the coloration, _your_ unwillingness to describe anything else about him… If you weren't worried about it being true, you wouldn't be opposed to having him checked. You know the dangers of it manifesting without guidance. If I can't talk reason into you-"_

"_Father." His voice sounded weak, even to his own hearing. Both adults snapped their heads to the side to look at him, both took in the sight of his brother supporting him and the foot that he was carefully keeping off the floor, but neither approached._

_His father was the first to look away._


End file.
