thisavrou_log | (no subject)

The ammunition for mass relay guns were small enough and sent hurtling along at such high speeds that they pretty much almost always exited without much of a hitch.

It didn’t really make having a hole blown clean through one thigh any more fun though. Sure, it’s healing up nicely now, but sometimes he moves wrong, uses a muscle he shouldn’t have-

And then it’s straight to the nearest seat until the pain passes.

He’s on the couch at the moment, laying as flat on his back as he could, keeping the thigh elevated, head turned sideways against the cushion, forearm covering his eyes. Forcing his breathing to slow he counts down the seconds until the burning subsides.

In the background, Nihlus can hear Shepard moving around and he lets the sounds of it distract him. Tracks the pad of her feet across flooring, the sound of various objects being moved around. Mundane, but welcome.

It’s been getting awful crowded with three people together in a small condo, but there wasn’t much to do about it. Chioni was still an icy hell and Shepard’s flat had been turned into a pile of ashes. Between her and Saren though, things were going about as smoothly as an old Krogan’s back.

Still, it was nice being able to keep easier track of the both of them now, which somehow compensated for the stress.

Edited 2017-08-04 08:04 (UTC)

Water heated, she plucks the kettle off the stand, pouring hot water into the cup up to the line, before returning it, and re-lidding the cup. The outside of the packaging cheerily promoted its flavor, whatever it was, as being 'TASTEE STEW WITH EXTRA BITS!'

"Instant" hadn't exactly been Nihlus' idea of a "square meal", but the bottom line had quickly become "eat something". Still catching up on biotic calorie exhaustion had at least encouraged her to eat more than she had in a while.

Padding open to the fridge, she hovers a hand for a moment over a leftover bottle of beer — before picking out a bottle of some sort of humanoid-formulated hydration mix she didn't remember buying. Glancing over at the most likely purchasing culprit, she picks up her cup of instant food and spoon with her free hand, and makes her way over to the other side of the coffee table, perching on the edge of a giant bean bag.

"Still feeling it?" she asks quietly, placing the cup and drink on the table as gently as possible.

"Now n' again. I just tried picking up a a box wrong and it started complaining."

If he were human, he'd be in a puddle of his own cold sweat right about now. As is, his only outward physical symptom of his discomfort was a slight, strange grayness to the tan skin on his neck, the slight unevenness of his breathing.

Lifting his arm off of his face, Nihlus peers up at her, watching as Shepard laid out her meal.

There's no disapproval on this front: nutrition was nutrition when it came down to it and that soup certainly had the appropriate caloric intake for a recovering, biotic human soldier, considering the high fat and carb content. The fact that Shepard took initiative on her food at all these days was something he didn't particularly want to discourage to begin with, especially when he could barely stand long enough to dice one piece of carrot.

"How about you?" he asks, stretching his good leg out slightly with a slow exhale. "I can still put out for some room dividers if you're not comfortable with this set up. It won't be any trouble."

"Ah, boxes. Ancient Turian enemies."

Glancing at her omni-tool, she flips the lid off the cup, blowing on a spoonful before eating it. Wow. All those... bits. Turning her attention back to Nihlus as her talks, she pushes stew around with the spoon, chewing thoughtfully. She'd rejected the proposal initially, out of a combination of residual stubbornness, bravado and the scrapings of her exhausted pride.

That was before she'd woken up, mid-nightmare, only to see Saren's silhouette in the dark. That she'd had the sense to stop herself from launching off a series of biotic attacks was only due to the time granted by her not being able to put hand to pistol in the first place.

"Maybe something we can put away. A folding screen, or something." Shooting Saren for any reason at this point, asshole he may be, was only going to result in double the amount of snide shooting comments she was already putting up with.

Scooping up another spoonful, she pauses reflectively, giving Nihlus a long look. Or.

"Or we could give him the place, and move out together."

It's said lightly, dismissively, a joke wrapped around a serious suggestion, providing an out for either of them. Even her body language is kept light, casually eating around the larger "bits" — but there's no mistaking the way she watches him over the rim for reaction, reply.

The pause stretches out just a second too long.

"Heh. We could."

The idea of leaving Saren was- discomfiting though. More than Nihlus thought it would be. Worry flickers over his face and he's too distracted to properly cover it.

Saren had been getting better. The severity of his nightmares, the general state of his health, for all that it was almost entirely guess-work with the amount of Reaper tech woven into him.

And... more selfishly, it gave Nihlus some peace of mind, having him near. Knowing where the older man was, how his friend was doing.

Knowing that he'd be the first to realize if their luck finally ran out and Saren disappeared back into the ether.

Could he balance that with Shepard's health and needs now, though? After everything that had happened with the Mediators, the idea of leaving her alone for any length of time had become increasingly difficult to deal with. Her new nightmares, her new traumas, the fact that she could barely make herself eat most days-

It was scary.

Which should it be, then? Who should he prioritize? Leave and potentially let Saren spiral down again or stay and potentially worsen Shepard's ordeals?

"Should we?"

It's uncharacteristically quiet and unsure. This wasn't something he could juggle. This wasn't something he knew the right answer to.

No shutdown, not even a trailing 'no' with the patented, patient reason why. Letting a breath out through her nose slowly, she watches Nihlus think, chuckle, and then... worry. The lack of confidence, of a solid, certain answer, was almost a little unnerving in and of itself, a quiet vulnerability she hadn't often seen. That they were at a stage where he felt comfortable enough to show that side to her, even with everything they'd recently endured, was somewhat touching.

He was seriously considering it — or, at least, weighing the pros and cons.

She lets the silence settle between them, as she watches him, watching her. Maybe they could work with this. Maybe they could finally talk.

"I'm game if you are." A cast. "Would anything hold you back?" A hook.

"What if-"

A breath, a nervous laugh that trails off into nothing as he smooths his palm over his forehead.

"What if... something happens to him? While I'm not here?"

Again, goes unspoken, but it's written in his face, expression laid open now between Shepard's presence and the fading, dull pain in his leg.

"Like what?"

Letting her hands drop away from the table, she wraps them loosely around her knees, keeping herself back, patient.

"I'd say the worst has already been and gone. We're almost domestic."

Falling silent, she watches him, translating the small and subtle, now familiar, tics of a Turian. Nerves. Fear-- but of loss. Worry. To say this was a sensitive subject was... putting it a little lightly.

"Nihlus. What are you afraid of?"

"..."

He can feel the shape of it in the back of his throat but no matter how he tries, the words don't make it past his tongue, sticking like tendons between his teeth. It sinks back down into nothingness, a formless, shapeless weight somewhere under his sternum.

The tangle of emotions, the tangle of everything Saren, was a stupidly complicated knot under the best of circumstances, old and frayed and impossible to untie. Ten years of working together, ten years of friendship and adversity, ten years of loyalty. And in those ten years, Saren had never once opened up like he had here.

Somewhere inside Nihlus' mind, somewhere among the endless compartments, is an old, rusting box with a heavy chain and lock, key lost in the dust. He doesn't remember what's inside anymore, only that it was painful. Only that it was selfish.

Turning his palm up against the ceiling lights, he squints into the white as if there'd be answers for him for find there, but all it does is leave hazy after images against the pale ceiling.

"It's stupid, isn't it?" Nihlus mutters. "He's grown man and an asshole. He can take care of himself."

It's incredibly stupid. But just because Nihlus was saying it didn't mean he wanted it reflected back, thrust at him, confirmed. Her own feelings on Saren aside, Nihlus wasn't looking for agreement. He was trying to give himself a safe place to start — one that didn't hurt quite so much.

Shifting her weight on a cushion, she watched across the table, choosing her words carefully.

"I think it's pretty normal to be concerned when it's someone you care about."

There's 'concerned' and then there's-

Whatever the hell this was. The closer Nihlus looks at it, the more apprehensive he gets, the more disturbed. Like seeing something he shouldn't be seeing, a part of himself he thought he'd cut off and let die eons ago.

"Should we be talking about this?"

The light finally hurt too much and he covers his eyes, presses the heel of his palm into the bridge of his nose plates with a shaky breath that wasn't just because of his aching leg.

"I'm yours," he whispers. "That's not going to change."

Yes, we should. It's the first thought that rockets to mind, the knee-jerk reaction of a younger (but not much younger) Shepard, slouching in a corner, jealous, crabby, and hurt. But it's not what she says.

What she says, once she manages to swallow his words, believe them, once she's walked herself back from the sharp edges, is more in line with her softer approach.

"We don't have to talk about it. I can drop it, never bring it up again. I trust you."

There's a pause, a held breath, as she teeters on the next part. But...

"Might help you to sort things out if you talk about it, though. And we can stop whenever you want."

He can just about feel the rift open up between them in the span of silence after his words. Fuck. Fuck. He hadn't meant it that way.

How did you mean it then?

A panicked little coil of emotions tightens within his chest and he tries to stifle it to no avail. Even as Shepard speaks, reassures him otherwise, it does little to curb the anxious spike between his lungs.

I don't want this, I don't-

But he'd promised hadn't he? To be more open, to stop keeping secrets from her. And even if they never spoke of it again, he doesn't doubt that it will hang over their heads, a constant weight, a constant strain.

He just...

Didn't want to lose her. Lose this. Especially over something he should have been over with a long time ago. Wanted to be over with a long time ago.

Did you really think it was going to last?

The pessimism washes over him in a static wave and takes everything with it, leaving a strange, numbed calm. Nihlus takes in another, slower breath and lifts his hand away from his eyes, turning back to Shepard, expression unreadable in small span of silence that followed.

"I never thought." He stops and struggles for a moment, trying to find the words. "I never really thought I'd ever see him again."

"Yeah." That, she could understand — and absolutely believe. It had always been, potentially, within the realm of possibility; cessation of life was hardly a limitation to the people who unexpectedly arrived through the Ingress. And when Nihlus had come back, after the Monolith incident, she'd sat with him as he'd burned the last remnants of his connection to Saren.

It had been symbolic. A cementation of his intent to move on. But as she'd sat in her perch during Saren's arrival, sighting the two of them through the scope of her rifle, she'd wondered how much of his heart had been in it. It was easy enough to destroy the physical remains, if you already had the rest locked up, safe and secure, elsewhere in the recesses of your mind.

They'd talked about it, a little — on and off. But always danced lightly around the question of feelings. Saren was here, now, and Nihlus made it clear through his continued actions what he hoped (expected?) of her — to the best of her abilities. So she'd played nice. Managed to find a common ground, and work from there. It hadn't been particularly hard, per say — just lightly galling. She was, after all, relatively good at finding compromise.

The toughest part had always been watching Nihlus, his interactions. Cautious though they were, it seemed a mere formality for something just underneath, obfuscated skillfully, even from the owner.

Of knowing that, on some level, she was still losing out to his murderer.

"So now you want to hold on to him."

"He's not mine to hold on to."

It's tired and old and there's no bitterness left, just quiet acceptance. There'd been no space for it to begin with. Spectres belonged to the world: that was the sacrifice for the political power they wielded. There was very little room for selfishness, very little room to squeeze in mortal wants and needs when you shouldered the maintenance of peace for the Council.

It was one thing to have casual lovers that you hooked up with a couple times a year from port to port. Fleeting relations that meant nothing and wouldn't be missed if lost. That couldn't be turned against you.

But Saren...

"Everything that I am today, he helped me realize."

Nihlus' voice is quiet, admissions he's not ready to make and not sure he should be making, lining the edges of his voice with lead.

"He is... my oldest friend. My confidant and advisor, my mentor. He has saved me a thousand times over, in more ways than even he realizes. We've known each other for nearly a decade." Running his fingers over the seams of his mech arm, he swallows before continuing. "I won't deny that he is important to me."

A sharp edged voice comes back to him, black eyes under flickering lights, scarred face lit by orange circuitry. Nihlus squeezes his eyes shut against the memory but-

Because you think you owe him.

... Is that it, then?

Months straining everything he has with Shepard because he couldn't see beyond his own spirits-damned cowl. Months pushing everything aside, trying to make things up to Saren, despite the fact it was Saren who'd distanced himself first all those years ago. Trying to forgive despite the freshly reopened wounds- despite the fact that Saren had been the one to murder him.

Because he thinks he owes him.

Because he’s too terrified to let go.

Because... he didn’t want Saren to leave again.

"I don't." He pauses, voice dropping to a whisper, quiet fears slipping out into his subvocals despite his best attempts to muffle them. "I don't want want to lose him."

What was he doing? What was he trying to do? Why was this so hard? It felt like he was trying to hold onto the two opposing weights hanging over a void, afraid to lose everything. Slowly losing it all anyways.

Don’t leave me.

Mindful of his leg, Nihlus slowly shifts onto his chest before opening his eyes again, sighing a small shuddering sigh.

Please. Don’t leave me.

"I don't want to lose you either." Slowly, he reaches out towards her, palm up, hand open. "This is our relationship. I love you. Unless you say so, unless you agree to it, he's not getting me. He's been my friend for ten years. Not my boyfriend."

There's no hesitation when she reaches out to meet Nihlus' extended offer, wrapping her hand around his. "You're not losing me. I'm not going anywhere, and I believe you; you've never given me reason not to."

Giving a reassuring squeeze, she runs her thumb gently over his skin, unpacking how he'd phrased it. That, such as it was, was probably as close as she was getting to an open confession — and certainly more than she'd anticipated.

There was so much there, tightly wound, wrapped up, tangled in a cluster inseparable from the very core of who he was. Even if they were only nearby each other, connected in no particular way, Nihlus didn't want to lose Saren, because in a way, it meant losing a piece of himself — whichever piece that might be.

"Have you talked to him about how you feel? Since he's been here."

"Spirits, I'm not-" Nihlus laughs despite himself, an exhausted, humorless sound. "Do you really think Saren is even remotely interested in hearing about my- about any of this?"

There was a reason this was buried, after all.

It wasn't the hilariously awful amount of scandal it would've generated if he and Saren had ever been caught together. It wasn't the months they'd spend separated by missions on opposite ends of the galaxy. It wasn't even the quiet fear of one day hearing Saren had died on a mission (and if he's honest, Nihlus always ~~knew~~ thought that his old mentor would outlive him).

The barrier was Saren.

It was always Saren.

"I'd probably be dead long ago if Saren didn't care about my well-being somewhere underneath all that spite, but," he puffs a sigh, lightly stroking his thumb over Jane's knuckles. "I highly doubt he's interested in me romantically."

"Honestly? You'd know better than I would." There's a shrug, gaze suddenly elsewhere, unfocused. It's borderline dismissive, and a silly answer—but true, nonetheless. What did she know of Saren's... romantic anything? Almost nothing, and that's already too much, suggested something considerably less mature. But it was a part of Nihlus. She didn't have to like it, or understand it; just accept it, and trust him. Trust him, the way she hoped he'd always trust her.

Returning to Nihlus, she treats him to a hard, serious look. "That said, if he is interested? At this point, it'll be over my dead body. And from personal experience? I'm a hard kill."

Despite the expression, there's something soft in her voice, an affectionate chide, humor low and easy.

"If you have to fight over me," Nihlus says gently tugging her hand closer so that he could press a 'kiss' to the top of her knuckles, voice set primly to 'stern'. "I'd prefer any and all conflicts be settled through a game of Relay Defense. Hardcore setting, of course. I won't accept anything less."

The sternness is, of course, ruined entirely by the mischievous little glimmer in his eyes. It shines through in spite the dense layer of exhaustion set into his face.

But the levity is fleeting and the mirth disappears as fast as it comes. For few seconds, Nihlus just watches her and when he speaks again, it's barely above a whisper, tones laden with uncertainty.

"... Are we going to be alright?"

The brevity of the brief moment travels through to her, and she can't hold back a little smile at his courting, even through her own tired lines.

Twinning her fingers through his own, long digits, she gives his hand a tight, long squeeze. Then, to reinforce her silent point, she speaks, voice quiet, confident.

"We're going to be fine. As long as we have each other, we always will be."

He was too cynical to properly believe her, but he lets himself pretend, lets the certainty in her words settle over him in a warm glow. Maybe they were running on borrowed time, but the time they'd had together, the time they are having together is more than anything Nihlus would have ever dared to hope for.

"I love you."

If nothing else, he knows this as the truth.

It's not hard to see his own worries between the lines—easier, if he were human. Still, she can see him soften as he looks at her, and his own hopes are wrapped in his words, uttered like a wish. Her own reply comes easy, easier each time. A little deeper, anchored in each experience they've shared.

"And I love you, Nihlus Kryik—I know we'll keep making the most of it."

It's the surest she's been of something in a while.

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The Pink Elcor in the Room - Nihlus’ Condo - Closed to Shepard

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heading for a wrap?

we are getting so good at wraps!!