Picking Up the Pieces

A/N: Here it is, finally. I hope you like it as much as you did the first chapter.



2



Fruit arrived with swiftness only a lot of money could buy here on Omega. A pale salarian stood by the door with a tray of food floating next to him and bowed respectfully when Shepard tipped him generously. She pulled the tray in the room and opened the lid. Her eyes widened at the treats she discovered – a large crystal bowl full of different fruits from all over the galaxy, including good old Earth cherries. Her mouth watered and she surreptitiously stole one then felt guilty because she had noticed how thin her guest was.



Her eyes moved to the other lid-covered dish and she removed that lid as well, the delicious scent of freshly cooked steak tingling in her nostrils. It was real meat, not one grown in a vat. Oh, Joker would have a fit when she told him.



With a pleased smile she guided the tray to the dining room in her apartment and carefully set the fruit bowl and the steak on the table, then went to search for 37.



He was where she last left him – huddled against the wall of the living room. He appeared to be deep in thought as he sat there, not reacting to her presence until she was practically looming over him, then suddenly, startled, he flinched and looked up, dark eyes wide and fearful.



It was heart-wrenching to look at what once must’ve been a proud and dignified man reduced to this and she quietly vowed that she would help him find peace again. She had seen so many horrors perpetrated by slavers and yet she still hadn’t grown numb to it. Perhaps it was so because it was personal. Mindoir had taught her harsh lessons about slavers.



She gave him a soothing smile.



“Dinner’s ready.”



Taking a step back to give him space she waited for him to unfold himself from his position on the floor and he followed her after a small hesitation, his eyes still firmly trained on the ground.



When she led him to the table, however, he saw the treats she had for him and froze on the spot, gaze hungrily focused on the fruits, only to move slowly to her after a few long – and longing - moments. His jaw worked for a moment but no sound came out until he swallowed past his anxiety.



“For me, Mistress?”



She really needed to tell him as soon as possible not to call her that.



Shepard nodded and gestured towards the table.



“What are you waiting for? Tuck in.”



He appeared to make a decision because he moved with surprising grace and speed and slid into the chair, pulling the fruits towards him and staring down at them as if they were a rare treasure. She didn’t even want to begin to imagine what they must’ve fed him with for all these years as she noticed the way his fingers trembled before taking a small, dark cherry from the bowl and popping it into his mouth. His expression melted in sheer delight only moments later when the sweet juice exploded on his tongue.



With a smile, Shepard slid in her own chair and prepared to eat as well.



“You like it, I take it?”



He looked up, the ribbed flesh across his cheeks and throat rippling with what could only be embarrassment.



“Yes, Mistress. I cannot even begin to thank you.” He paused, looking down again in shame. “Surely I don’t deserve…”



“Hush now. We won’t speak again about the earlier accident, okay?”



He nodded.



They ate in silence for a while, and if 37 was uncomfortable to eat at the same table as his owner, he didn’t show it. Once again, Shepard felt hopeful that he could make a full recovery, despite the horrors he must’ve gone through.



Finally, after she was feeling pleasantly full, she wiped her mouth with a napkin and looked up to him to find that he had finished most of the fruits in the bowl and was now trying to open a pomegranate using only his small but sharp nails – and much to her surprise, she noticed for the first time that his ring and middle finger were fused together. Still, the pomegranate skin was thick and tough and it took a few attempts until he succeeded and discovered the tiny crimson arils inside. He blinked at them in surprise, obviously not having expected for it to look like that.



“Do you need help with that?” she asked quietly, secretly amused at his confused expression as he pondered on how to peel the arils from each other without the staining everything around him with the fruit’s juice.



“I… I have never seen such a fruit before, Mistress.” He stated quietly.



She offered him one of the tiny spoons lying on the hovering tray.



“This might help.”



As he carefully began digging into the fruit, she asked him:



“You said that you’ve heard my name before?”



He nodded.



“Yes. It seems… familiar.”



Could she trust him? Tell him the whole truth? Surely after being at the slaver’s “tender” mercies for all this time would’ve left him craving justice, or revenge, at least?



She decided to go with a slightly modified version.



“I have some business with your former masters. Business that requires me to give them a false name.”



He did look up then, his wide eyes oddly pensieve, the corners of his lips quirking up minutely.



“I noticed. The slaver mentioned a different name when he was pulling my contract.” He pointed out.



It was her turn to blink in surprise. They had been pretty far away from the man, how had he heard? Were his senses that sharp? Then again, he had been a professional assassin, from what the Batarian told her, it must’ve been part of his training.





“Either way… after my work with them is finished, I will release you.” She informed him neutrally and waited for a reaction. 37 carefully put the spoon in back on the plate he was using and regarded her with an odd expression on his face.



“Release me, Mistress?”



She nodded.



“I don’t keep slaves. I bought you so I could get in the Batarian’s good graces.” She explained.



“I think I remember where I’ve heard your name.” he said after a while, looking down at the fruit. The dark red juice had spilled over the pristine porcelain of his plate. “You’re…a Spectre?”



She nodded slowly. He had put it together after only a few minutes of conversation – an impressive feat for a person in his position. He must’ve been formidable before his capture. She was beginning to suspect he was formidable even now.



“Then you’re here to bring down the Slavers?” he sounded hopeful. She nodded again. “What about the other slaves?” he asked. “Will they be freed as well?”



“I’ll do everything in my power to set them all free. The Alliance has programs for people like that. So does the Council itself. They will be in good hands.”



He kept staring at the red juice, then absently swirled a finger through it.



“Free.” The Drell murmured. “Even if they’re free, nothing will go back to the way it was before they were taken.”



His words were pronounced so softly that she had to strain her ears to hear him – her companion clearly wasn’t talking to her.



“We can contact your family, if you wish, once this business is over.” She offered, hoping that’ll cheer him up but her words seemed to have an adverse effect.



“Family? No. Nononono.” He muttered. “Stay away from them!”



She blinked at the sudden and violent reaction.



“Alright, alright, we won’t.”



“Stay away!” he exclaimed again, but he wasn’t looking at her. “Stay away!”



Shepard remained silent for a few moments, but he appeared more and more agitated. Then suddenly, he began to speak with a deep, resonant voice, different than his usual tones – cold, predatory.



“She’s here, in the house, I know she is.” He said, dark eyes wide open, wide even for a drell. “Hiding somewhere. But I’ll find her, and then we’ll have some fun!” The alien was shaking with each word, trapped in what appeared to be a strange sort of flashback Shepard did not understand. He looked terrified and it seemed to contrast completely with the amused, vicious tone of his voice. “Where areee you, lizard girl?” he singsonged. “Come out, come out, where ever you are…”



The obsidian eyes filled with tears that threatened to spill over his iridescent cheeks and Shepard knew she had to do something to make him snap out of this, whatever it was. She got up from her chair and rushed to his side, then grabbed his shoulders and tried to shake him awake, but he seemingly ignored her.



“I can hear her!” The drell exclaimed triumphantly. “Come on, boys, down the hall!”



He was shaking like a leaf in her hands and no matter how hard she tried, how she called his name, there was no reaction.



“Ah, there you are, princess.” He said, cold amusement lacing his words. “Let’s play.”



Finally, seeing that she had no other choice, Shepard gritted her teeth together and swung her hand, slapping him open-handed across the face. His head snapped to the side and he almost fell off the chair from the force of the blow, but quieted down immediately. She immediately felt guilty, surreptitiously rubbing her spittle-covered hand against her dress, but the radical measure seemed to have worked – the drell was looking around, appearing upset and confused, but his eyes were clear again.



“37?” she asked tentatively. Slowly he looked up.



“Mistress?”



“Are you alright?” Shepard asked him and winced when she noticed the blood on his lip. She didn’t realize she’d hit him that hard. He blinked up at her, then a violent shiver went through his entire body.



“I apologize, Mistress.” Was all that he offered.



“What was that?”



The alien looked at his leather-covered knees and quieted down even further, apparently having no intention to respond. ‘He’s trained so well he refuses to answer simple questions.’ Shepard thought sarcastically and felt guilty all over again. If he didn’t want to talk about the things that bothered him, that was fine. Despite the contract that said that this man was essentially her property, just like her guns and toy ship models and pet hamster, she could never view him as such.



“Very well.” She withdrew from him. “Come, I’ll show you where you’ll sleep.”



The apartment was large enough to actually have a second bedroom and Shepard had decided even before leaving for the slaver’s office to put it to good use – there was no way she was letting the Drell to sleep on the couch, or worse, the floor.



He followed her obediently like Urz had back on Tuchakna, if appearing a lot less enthusiastic than the varren.



“Here.” She led him in and allowed him to take in his surroundings – it was a large room, not as large as the main bedroom, but just as luxuriously furnished and having access to its own bathroom and toilet that possessed a large tub.



“This is…for me?” he asked dubiously.



“Yes. You’ll sleep here for the duration of your visit.”



Slowly he turned to look at her, his expression still wary and distrustful. He appeared to want to say something but barely held himself in check.



“What?” she finally said.



“Is this some sort of a game, Mistress?” he finally responded.



Shepard pinched the bridge of her nose. She should’ve known that this would be difficult.



“No game.” She grabbed his wrist and tried to ignore how thin and brittle it felt under her fingers and led him into the room, then pushed him to sit on the bed. Considering how the evening had started, his total lack of resistance was both worrying and a relief at the same time. “I did say that I am here to stop the slave trade, didn’t I?” she tried again. The man gave her a mirthless smile.



“If that is truly so… then you’ll forgive me my lack of trust. I have been given no reasons to trust anyone for the past several years.”



It was understandable, even if it made her job more difficult. Her headache was worsening.



“Let’s say that I believe you.” He began. “What will my obligations be, as your property, during your mission, Mistress?”



“I would prefer if we dispense with that “Mistress” thing, at least when we’re in private.” She muttered, her hands still covering her face.



There was a long, uncomfortable silence. When he spoke again, his voice was barely a whisper, as if he was ashamed of what he had to say:



“I would prefer to keep using it… if you don’t mind. Makes me more comfortable. It’s familiar ground.”



“I understand.” She conceded. “As for your obligations… I need information – anything you have learned during the time of your captivity, anything useful that could help me unravel their plans and their organization.” Shepard explained when she finally looked back at him, only to discover he was observing her thoughtfully. The pain he had experienced earlier seemed to have receded, his shoulders and back were ramrod straight, and even if his head wasn’t held high, there was no sign of weakness as well. She suspected that she was catching a glimpse of the man 37 had been before his capture.



“I will tell you everything you wish to know, Mistress.” He said solemnly.



“And when we’re in public… you will have to act as my slave.” She continued, expecting a flinch or a frown, but he just nodded, as if her request was the most natural thing in the world.



“I will, Mistress.”



“Good.” She got up from the bed and walked towards the door. “In the morning I’d like my physician to take a look at you, if you don’t mind.”



He didn’t appear very happy about it, but nodded.



“I understand that you don’t trust me, Mistress.” He began, but she smiled wryly.



“I sense the feeling’s mutual.”



Surprisingly, he answered her smile.



“May I suggest that you lock my door from the outside, then?”



“If you were the skilled assassin before your capture as the Batarian said you were, I doubt a locked hotel door would be able to stop you from walking out and smothering me with a pillow while I sleep.” She pointed out.



“True.”



“No reason to restrain you, in that case. I’ll just have to make the first step and trust you…not to kill me.”



With that she turned away and walked out of the room, leaving the door wide open after her.