Garrus was getting restless. Frustrated, even. He had gone through another long, completely useless transcript from a staff meeting of Saren’s Virmire science team. They had salvaged only scraps of the vast amounts of data stored in the building-sized servers in the base: as much as they could take on their omni-tools and what Tali managed to upload directly to the Normandy. Mostly it was rubbish, but someone had to go through it and make sure there weren’t any gems of usable intel among the piles of files regarding various mundane details of running such a massive operation.
In which Garrus makes a disturbing and embarrassing discovery while sifting through data recovered from Saren’s base on Virmire.
Teardrop is actually anything but new. It’s one of my oldest Saren/Nihlus stories, written shortly after The Candidate and initially posted on Mass Effect Kink Meme in reply to some long forgotten prompt. It’s also one of my not-so-many Saren/Nihlus stories that feature an explicit sex scene between them. Heed the content warning.
I gave it a well-deserved revamp now, with changes both to overall tone (to make it a little less emo) and specific character actions (to clarify the nature of the power exchange). While I wouldn’t call it an outright rewrite (probably less than 1/4 of all the words has changed), this is a new and, hopefully, improved version. Enjoy!
My friend Gladius created this phenomenal illustration for the Virmire chapters of Ghost in the Machine. The joy of seeing an offscreen moment such as this, that would otherwise exist only as a vague idea in my imagination, would be hard to overstate. Perhaps more importantly, this is hugely motivating and invigorating as a token of interest. I am honored and deeply grateful.
Saren paces along the edge of the fountain. The air is cooler here and people tend to keep a distance because the wind occasionally sprays the walkway. He has chosen a public place for the meeting on purpose, to decrease the likelihood of drama. But it’s not helping with the anxiety. He starts clicking the strings staccato from the coda of Alienation with the gloved fingers of his right hand. The left is supposed to fall in line and do the percussion beats. But it doesn’t. Not on its own. He must think about it. What good is it if he must think about it? He crosses his hands behind his back, left gripping the right by the wrist, and does the strings only. Pitiful.