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Invaders—enterprising aliens, if he was being generous—had brought miserable customs to Heleus, his home, which he had fiercely defended since boyhood. First, the kett: monstrous conquerors who had taken thousands of angara and corrupted them to feed their war machine. Then the species of the Milky Way: turian, salarian, krogan, and human, who claimed to be explorers seeking to share the angara’s haven.
Evfra had them, the human Pathfinder in particular, to thank for his people’s liberation from the kett, and for that he was grateful, but it didn’t mean he had any interest in participating in their agonizing social traditions. In this case, a party held in honor of the Moshae, now the ambassador to the Nexus.
“It is a great honor—and responsibility—they have bestowed upon me,” Sjefa had said to him when she’d come to his post at Resistance headquarters on Aya to nag him. He still maintained his role as its head, though there was no longer anything to resist with the kett defeated.
Sjefa had continued, “This celebration is important to the start of our partnership, and as a prominent figure among our people, you are expected to attend.” At his pinched expression, she had sighed. “Evfra, you were a great ally to Ryder. It would be a slight to refuse this invitation.”
He’d set his hands, fingers wide, on the surface his desk. Its coolness had done nothing to soothe his frustration. “You’re right that I know Ryder,” he’d said, “and somehow I doubt she would be any more keen on ‘mingling’ than I am.”
Although, he’d paused to recognize, Ryder had won him not only with her capability, but with her attitude: amusing, if with an edge when she wanted to get her way. She was—how did the humans put it?—a people person; she could likely survive this party on sarcasm alone. Evfra couldn’t match that charisma, as passionate a leader of the Resistance as he’d been.
“Be that as it may,” Sjefa had scolded, “Ryder will do her duty, and so will you.”
Unable to refuse the Moshae anything, Evfra had agreed.
That had landed him in his current predicament: an attempt to fasten the clasps of the finery he’d been forced to acquire at a tailor in the marketplace. The robes were layered, though not oppressively heavy; white under a star-speckled dark blue, the two fabrics meeting in a row of silver inlaid clasps at his left hip. The ensemble exposed a considerable portion of his chest, which he’d tried to fight the tailor on (for something more modest), but in the end had capitulated to so he could escape the woman’s fussing and sharp pins.
He was on the verge of snarling at the clasps when a ping at the door to his personal quarters sounded. “Come!” he said, too sharply.
When Jaal entered, he took one look at Evfra and smiled, which only fueled Evfra’s temper. Jaal Ama Darav had come to the Resistance when Evfra was on the road to establishing himself in the leadership. While some members had harbored doubts about Evfra’s abilities during his rise, Jaal had backed him from the start. They’d fought together, bled together, and there was no one Evfra trusted more.
That meant, unfortunately, that Jaal was very familiar with Evfra’s shifts in tone. One terse word for him to come in, a cursory glance, and he knew exactly what he was about to face with his old friend. That made Evfra furious even as his pulse sped to see Jaal dressed in elegant robes similar to his, if styled in emeralds and purples rather than Evfra’s more conservative shades.
He was glorious, and Evfra was once again pierced through the middle with yearning. Yes, Jaal had become his closest friend and confidante, but so too had he settled himself in Evfra’s deepest affections. Evfra loved Jaal as a fellow warrior, and he loved Jaal as a man.
His battlefield courage, however, had failed him for years. He’d never been able to speak, to confess and lay himself at Jaal’s mercy: Do you love me too, my dearest friend? Evfra feared the answer, if it was not the one he ached for.
“You’re making a mess of that,” Jaal said as he stepped closer to Evfra, the door sliding shut behind him.
“You think I don’t know that?” Evfra snapped. “This nonsense is impossible.” Grunting in disgust, he let go of the clasps. They hung heavily as the front of his robes fell open to reveal the shorts he wore as his only undergarments. For a man who was used to a full-body compression suit under his armor, he might as well have been naked.
Jaal surveyed him and clicked his tongue in the disapproving way he’d picked up from Ryder. Jealousy made Evfra’s teeth ache. Jaal still spent a great deal of his time with the Pathfinder, and their camaraderie was obvious. He’d been the first bridge between their peoples, earning Ryder’s respect, and the angara owed him a great debt for that, but that didn’t make it easier for Evfra to see him laughing and smiling at her. She brought out Jaal’s lightness as Evfra’s severity could not, and that stung like a bullet graze.
“Let me do it,” Jaal said. He didn’t wait for permission, simply moving into Evfra’s space and taking charge. He handily arranged the top layer of the robes and fixed up the clasps. With a few efficient brushes and tugs, he had it lying more agreeably than Evfra had managed in ten minutes. “Is there a sleeve?” he asked.
Evfra had almost forgotten about it. He jerked his chin toward a nearby chair, where a gauzy length of fabric lay, beading along the bottom. Picking it up, Jaal took Evfra by the wrist and positioned his arm so that he could slide the sleeve up to the top of Evfra’s bicep. He cinched it there, making Evfra hiss. That earned him a chuckle from Jaal.
“Don’t be a grumpy child,” Jaal said. “I promised I’d back you up tonight, and I will. Try not to be sullen the whole time.”
Evfra was ready to shoot him a scowl for his mothering, but Jaal's fingertips brushed along the bare skin of his chest just above the dipping neckline of the robes. Any complaints Evfra had died on his tongue.
“This is nice,” Jaal said quietly. Then louder: “You’ve survived a hundred skirmishes, my friend. What’s one party?”
“I hate this kind of thing, Jaal,” Evfra said. “I’m a soldier, not a politician.”
“Then just stay next to me and let me do the talking while you eat good food and drink rich wine in silence.” One side of his mouth lifted, stretching the shallow scar on his cheek. “And you only have to dance once.”
Evfra choked. “Dance? You’re out of your mind if you think I’ll dance.”
Jaal touched his shoulder, squeezing the thick muscle there. “Easy, Evfra. I’m with you.”
How Evfra wished that meant more, but he shrugged Jaal’s hand away and said, “Let’s just get this over with.”
The Nexus was cold, the air dry and environs sterile. After years on Aya and lush Havarl, Evfra found the place’s sleekness distasteful. He wondered if all the Milky Way was so unpleasantly polished. If so, he didn’t want to go there; he’d stay in the places in Heleus he loved.
Some effort had been made to bring greenery into what had been deemed the ‘ballroom.’ Planters of vibrant flora were scattered around the space. They were the brightest points in it, lights in the ceiling shining down to illuminate them while the rest of the room was in penumbra. Evfra thought something must have been wrong with the Nexus’s power supply, but as it turned out, the gloom was intentional.
“Mood lighting,” Jaal said as he and Evfra stopped a few paces beyond the threshold and took in their surroundings. “That is what Liam called it.”
“What kind of mood?” said Evfra. “Depression?”
Jaal huffed. “Must you make the worst of this? Can you not at least attempt to have a good time?” He eyed Evfra sidelong. “Do you not always seek to win on the battlefield? Call this a different kind.”
Evfra gave an arch scoff. “Where is the Moshae?”
“Mingling,” Jaal replied, pointing at where Sjefa stood at the head of the room. She wore an intricately embroidered gown, its wide collar high around her neck, bodice conservatively fitted to her chest and arms, and skirts colorful. Their lengths were asymmetrical, baring the lower parts of her legs. It was the most embellished garb Evfra had seen her in. Her daily attire was practical and plain to allow her to work—like his own.
She had a pack of admirers around her, or her colleagues, now: The salarian called Tann, who directed the operations of the Initiative; Kesh, the krogan who managed station operations on the Nexus, from water reclamation to personnel; and the turian Kandros, security officer. He and his forces had been essential in the battle of Meridian, so Evfra found him easiest to talk to.
Other than Ryder, of course.
She wasn’t with the group. Evfra assumed she had stuck by her crew—her friends. His own circle was smaller, he would admit, and some of that he could lay at the feet of his personality and the rest at his foundational nature: He wasn’t fast to put his faith in people, and those he allowed close were carefully selected. Like Jaal.
“Should we go speak to her?” Evfra said. “And the others.”
“We might as well,” Jaal replied. “But we can get you a drink for fortification first.”
Evfra heard the teasing in his voice and glared, which his friend pointedly ignored, instead leading the way across the ballroom—barely pausing to take two glasses of bubbly purple liquid from a waiter and shoving one into Evfra’s hand—to the Moshae.
When she spotted them, she said, “Ah, here they are.”
“Had you been speaking of us already?” Jaal asked after he’d greeted Sjefa with a press of the outside of his arm to hers. “Our reputation precedes us. Isn’t that what is said in the Milky Way?”
Director Tann sniffed, a haughty air about him that Evfra detested. Ryder wasn’t particularly fond of him, either. He said, “That’s the saying, yes. You must be the Resistance leader. That reputation does indeed precede you.” From the strain in his tone, Evfra could guess Tann wasn’t any more impressed with Evfra than Evfra was with him. A great start to the evening.
Sjefa said, “The Resistance would not have protected us as long or as well without Evfra.” She added with a soft look to his right, “Or Jaal.”
“He’s made of stern stuff,” said Kesh, reaching out to land a bone-jarring clap to Jaal’s shoulder. Evfra felt the effort it took for him not to stagger. The krogan were alarmingly powerful.
“As is Evfra,” said Jaal. “We fought many battles together, but with the kett gone, he will be transitioning the Resistance to our home guard.”
Evfra had to struggle to keep from clenching his jaw hard enough to creak. He’d been laying that groundwork, but in so doing had begun to doubt his ability to manage a peacetime force. There was too much administration without the urgency of war. Not scanning daily casualty lists was a blessing, but the rest of the work was hollow and stale.
He had a short list of candidates to take over his post buried with a vague file name in his terminal, though he’d told no one of his worries, including Jaal. Confronted with it now, he was regretting his reticence.
“A standing military?” Kandros asked, edged. Whether it was interest or wariness, Evfra couldn’t be sure.
He replied, “A guard, not a formal military. That is not our people’s way.” Even if it seems to be mine. “Having some personnel with those skills is prudent, don’t you think?”
Kandros took a sip of his drink: something lighter than Evfra’s. “I agree completely. The Initiative doesn’t have a military either, but we do have security and people like the Pathfinders, who have combat training. Your home guard is an excellent move, Evfra. If you need any assistance preparing or outfitting them, I’m sure my people can lend a hand.”
“Now, let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” said Tann. “The Initiative’s resources are still limited—”
“Oh, don’t get your quad in a twist,” Kesh interrupted. “This whole to-do”—a gesture at the room around them—“is about cooperation. Don’t spoil the mood, Tann.”
Jaal hid amusement in his glass, and Evfra decided he liked the krogan just as much as the turian. Anyone who could curb a politician’s whining was worth his time.
Sjefa stepped in. “I’m sure we can discuss any collaborations between Initiative security forces and our home guard soon. Tonight, we are here to enjoy ourselves.” She looked quickly over Evfra’s clothes and, seemingly in approval, raised her glass toward him. He fumbled for a moment before realizing he was to mirror her. Another Milky Way custom, he supposed.
The Moshae was already navigating the minefield of this arrangement, and Evfra permitted himself a modicum of envy. It wasn’t his job to make nice with the Nexus species and yet he couldn’t deny things would be a great deal easier if he weren't so prickly. Envy was supplanted by annoyance; he wasn’t going to change just to suit aliens.
“Kesh,” Jaal said, “I hope you will honor me with a dance.”
The krogan snorted. “Oh, wouldn’t the galaxy just love to see that. Not a chance, friend, but I appreciate the offer.”
Jaal, retaining his formality (and charm, damn him), said, “I’m sorry to hear it, but perhaps then I can request one of the Moshae?”
“Of course, Jaal,” Sjefa said. Her dark gaze slid to Evfra. “And perhaps you will find some others to partner you before the night is out.”
Evfra’s throat closed up on the sip of his drink he’d taken, the bubbles tingling on his tongue. He looked to Jaal, whose affect was not 'playfully going along with a joke,' but rather a soft openness: eyes earnest, bright, and trained wholly on Evfra. It shook him, and words failed.
Jaal continued to regard him, and painfully, Evfra swallowed the drink down. As his blundering silence stretched, Jaal’s face shuttered and he turned back to the group with a question for Kandros about fortifications on Eos.
Evfra stood by and listened, his stomach roiling with confusion and building anguish. A dance was hardly a big request, but Evfra was growing more certain by the minute that Jaal had been making an offer of something beyond the length of a song played on strange human instruments. An offer Evfra hadn't accepted. Now, with the Moshae making small talk and Jaal seemingly unaffected beside him, he was terrified it had been his only chance.
The music began a half-hour later. Evfra watched Jaal lead a smiling Sjefa to the dance floor, where numerous other angaran or mixed-species couples were falling into step. Evfra lingered at the periphery, still holding his now-flat drink and feeling somewhat ill.
“Well, well, if it isn’t Evfra de Tershaav. Don’t you clean up nice?”
He turned to find Ryder sidling up to him, her human features arranged into what he’d come to understand as mischief: a crooked lift to her pink lips, a teasing wrinkle to her pert nose, and green eyes impish. Her short, bright red hair was swept back with some kind of product, transforming her casual appearance into tidy formality.
He had rarely seen her out of her Initiative uniform, but tonight she wore a dress of shimmering material: floor-length, white, and form-fitting. It left her shoulders bare. Evfra paused to study the roundness of them, their pale skin dusted with light spots. The markings weren’t unlike those some angara had, though that was the only thing their species shared.
“‘Clean up nice,’” he repeated. “Is that a human adage? You have so many, and only half of them make any sense. ‘Cart before the horse.’ ‘Raining cats and dogs.’ Your language is a daily trial.”
“Standard English certainly is," said Ryder, unoffended. "There are hundreds of other languages among humans. Maybe they’re a little more reasonable.” She waved a hand at his general person. “It means that you look good when you’re dressed nicely.”
“I see,” said Evfra. “I suppose I can say the same thing to you.”
She plucked at the skirt. “Yeah, it’s not so bad. Although I miss my armor.”
Evfra grunted his agreement.
“So, you look like you’ve got something on your mind,” she continued. “You’re supposed to put all your cares aside at a party. We won. You should celebrate.”
“I am,” he said tersely.
Ryder pulled a face. “You’re going to have to try harder than that if you want me to believe you.” She stepped up next to him, looking out over the dance floor. “Oh, there’s Jaal and the Moshae. He cleans up nice, too, don’t you think?”
Evfra said, “What does my opinion of his attire matter?”
That got him a long sigh and then five blunt-nailed fingers digging into his forearm. He would have attacked anyone other than Ryder for touching him without warning. She could see his barely leashed reaction, of course, but she didn’t relent. That was both her most irritating and most admirable quality.
“Evfra,” she said, “you are a great warrior and an even better leader, but you can be a real idiot.”
He reeled back, glowering. “There are few people in this galaxy who could say that to me and still be on their feet.”
Ryder wasn’t fazed. “I’m not usually the kind of person to stick my nose into other people’s business.” At Evfra’s bark of incredulous laughter, she amended, “Okay, fine, I am, but I don’t do it without a good reason. I’m going to say this once, so listen up. Jaal is my friend, and friends talk. They’re honest with each other. You’re one of his oldest friends and he trusts you implicitly, but you are not being honest. You have feelings for him.”
Evfra’s skin under her hand went cold. Something of his dismay must have shown in his face as well, since Ryder cocked her head to the side as she surveyed him.
“You’re afraid he doesn’t feel the same way," she said, quieter. His silence was answer enough, so she went on, “I can’t speak for him, but I said that friends talk. He and I do.” She squeezed his arm tighter and then released it. “Say something to him. Don’t you think you’ve waited long enough?”
As she moved back a pace, the music ended and the dancers separated to applaud. Jaal and the Moshae were conversing, a smile on Jaal’s face. It wrenched Evfra’s heart that it wasn’t him Jaal favored with that look. He glanced at Ryder for a last, desperate assurance.
“Go,” she said, urging him toward the dance floor. “It’s way past time.”
Drawing in a breath, Evfra left the safety of her company and the distance he’d kept between himself and Jaal for so many years. He cut across the dance floor, sending a few people scurrying out of his way, stopping only when he'd reached his beloved friend and his mentor. Jaal wore surprise openly, but Sjefa’s eyes shone with satisfaction. He had another ally in his romantic endeavors, it appeared.
“Evfra,” Jaal started, only to be cut off.
“Dance with me,” Evfra said, point-blank. He added as an afterthought, “Please.”
Jaal didn’t move directly, and neither did Evfra. His blood was rushing in his ears, as fervent as in battle but shot with far greater fear. It was the Moshae who took charge. As another song began, she drew Jaal’s hand and Evfra’s together. As their palms met, the uncertainty vanished. Jaal clasped Evfra’s fingers and Evfra drew him into a dancer’s embrace.
As unfamiliar as the pose was—he couldn't count the years since he'd last danced—Evfra melted easily into it with Jaal. His friend’s frame was strong and confident, just as everything else about him was—the reason Evfra had come to love him so deeply—but so too was it welcoming; Evfra could lean into him and be supported.
“So,” Jaal said as they fell into synchronous step, “I am not out of my mind.”
Evfra had been so entranced at being held that he was momentarily lost. “What do you mean?” he asked.
“What you said before we left Aya,” Jaal replied. “That I was out of my mind if I thought you would dance at this party. I must be sane, for here you are.” A short pause, and then: “In my arms. Evfra—”
“No,” Evfra said. “It should be me first.” He shook his head, regretful. “It should have been me a long time ago.” They moved past a salarian and human couple, handily avoiding a collision. In their own space again, Evfra began, “For many years you have been the man I rely on most. Someone else might say you are like a brother: wholly trusted and loyal. But you are not a brother to me, Jaal. You aren’t my blood, but you’re in it. When you’re at my side, I feel you in my heartbeat, in my deepest sinews. Lending you to Ryder was painful, and for a time I thought I’d lost you.”
Jaal interjected, “You didn’t. Ryder is my comrade. She—”
“I know,” said Evfra. “She made sure I did, and told me I’m in idiot.”
“Only Ryder,” Jaal said, warmly.
Evfra’s smile was watery. “And only you. For me, it has only ever been you.”
Jaal leaned in, pressing his brow to Evfra’s so that the air between them was shared. “I love you, Evfra. I can scarcely remember the time before I did.”
Elation, like high explosives, lit Evfra up from the inside out. Every nerve was sensitized. The places where Jaal touched him burned. “And I you, Jaal," he said. "My friend. My love.”
The music went on, but Jaal stopped them. If the other couples looked at them askance, or if they garnered any other attention, Evfra didn’t know—or care. Jaal left one hand firmly at his waist, bringing the other to his cheek. Evfra leaned into it, his whole universe narrowed to the pinprick place where he and Jaal stood, two bodies finally in the same gravity.
“I’m going to kiss you now,” Jaal said. “Will you accept it?”
The formality wasn’t jarring, but endearing; so very characteristic. Evfra, overcome with affection and wont to charge into battle when his passion was up, moved in first. The kiss was too hard to start—urgency born of years of longing, despite the unfamiliar territory—but Jaal was quick to guide Evfra to tenderness, until they were tasting one another in gentle exploration.
From somewhere nearby came a whoop of approbation: human female, surely Ryder. Another voice, hissed and accented: “Sh! Don’t ruin the moment.” Suki.
Jaal’s mouth moved under Evfra’s and he made a sound in his throat. Only when he pulled away slightly—Evfra fighting not to chase him for another kiss—did Evfra realize he was laughing lightly. Evfra’s confidence wavered, but Jaal, noticing it, stroked his face with the backs of his fingers.
“They know I’ve wanted this,” Jaal said. “They’re happy for me. Are you embarrassed?”
“No,” said Evfra. “I’m proud to call you my own, and to be yours.” He held Jaal tightly, amazed at the abject relief of having spoken his heart at last. “But I wouldn’t mind taking this somewhere else.”
“As much as I’d like to do that,” Jaal said, “we have to stay at least until the Moshae’s speech. We have a duty—”
Evfra pinched his side. “I don’t think she’ll mind.”
Jaal looked as if he might protest, but then smiled again, this time with a not inconsequential hint of suggestion. With love came desire, and Evfra shuddered with its potency.
“Come,” Evfra said, an echo of his curt command earlier, but now rumbled with intention. He tugged on Jaal’s hand, and they made their way off the dance floor.
Sjefa met them at the exit. Embracing them both, she said, “Stars and skies light your way together.”
Evfra, grateful for her blessing, went with Jaal to sail under those very stars to where they would be one at last.