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Vetra loved to watch Fatima sleep.
She lay on her back, breathing evenly, one arm draped across the pillow above her head. In her other hand, she held a datapad, which dangled precariously from her fingers over the edge of the mattress. The light from the screen cast a faint orange glow against skin, illuminating her features in the darkness of the room. She looked utterly serene, unburdened by the waking world.
Vetra spent enough time around humans to be able to read them well enough. The vast range of facial expressions that reflected their emotions were all familiar to her. It was all about body language and the inflection of one’s voice with turians, and while the same held true for humans, there was that added layer of facial configuration through which their feelings manifested. She came to recognize the way their faces contorted in anger, how they crumpled when in absolute despair, how their cheeks stretched widely with their smiles.
With Fatima, it was different—at least in the beginning. She was a tough nut to crack, as the humans put it, less expressive than most. She wasn’t forthcoming by nature, often quiet and serious, contemplative and withdrawn. In the field, she was the textbook example of professionalism. Her face betrayed nothing; even in the grimmest circumstances she maintained her composure more often than not.
Fatima would have made for an excellent turian, Vetra thought with a quiet chuckle.
Vetra could picture her default expression clearly in her mind: brow pinched, mouth set in a firm line, dark eyes asking questions and demanding answers all at once. Those who didn’t know her well would confuse that calm for anger or indifference. In actuality, Vetra discovered that anger was the rare exception to Fatima’s cool reserve. When Fatima was mad, there was no mistaking it.
Over time, Vetra learned the nuances of Fatima’s face. She knew the slight quirk of her lips when she smiled. She laughed at the way she wrinkled her nose when forced to talk to someone she disliked. She understood why her eyes shone and refused to meet another’s when she spoke of her family.
Those were the clues Fatima left, the trail that lead to the greater whole. In private, she was freer with her emotions. It was still a subtle change, but one that didn’t go unseen by Vetra. She laughed more, made more jokes, smiled in a way that reached her eyes. And when she slept, it was one the few times all of the tension receded from Fatima’s face, when the seemingly ever-present crease in her brow smoothed over with the promise of rest.
It was a side of her few were allowed to witness. Vetra felt like she had been entrusted with something rare and precious.
Vetra reached over and plucked the datapad threatening to slip from Fatima’s grasp. She skimmed over the text quickly, shaking her head when she read the title, before she set the device aside. Only Fatima would read the instruction manual for a new piece of lab equipment before bed.
“Vetra?”
Fatima’s voice was rough and groggy with sleep. She stared blearily up at Vetra, frowning in confusion. Strands of her hair that had come loose from her usual low ponytail dangled around the corners of her eyes. Vetra combed her fingers through them, smoothing them back into place. Her mandibles flicked into a brief smile.
“Go back to sleep,” she said softly.
“Was reading that,” Fatima grumbled, but she closed her eyes.
“It’s not going anywhere. You can finish tomorrow.”
Vetra leaned in and kissed the frown from Fatima’s brow. Fatima sighed contentedly and rolled so that she was laying on her stomach, her head turned and facing the opposite direction.
“Love you,” she murmured, voice muffled by her pillow.
“Love you,” Vetra replied.
Fatima probably wouldn’t remember their exchange come morning, but it warmed Vetra’s heart anyway that Fatima would say that she loved her, that the words were an automatic response even in the fog of sleep.
She was asleep again within minutes. Vetra watched the steady rise and fall of her back as her breath evened out. Lightly, she ran the back of her hand down the length of Fatima’s bare arm. She stirred in her sleep, but she didn’t wake.
Succumbing to the pull of slumber herself, Vetra shifted closer to Fatima beneath the covers, curling her arm around Fatima’s back. Though she couldn’t see her face anymore, Vetra closed her eyes and imagined it—the look of tranquility she had come to love so much, the ghost of a smile on her lips, Fatima’s gift to her in the quiet moments they shared.