Chapter Text
There were many words that could be used to describe Pathfinder Ryder, but ‘smooth’ was not one of them.
Since first coming to the Nexus, Tiran Kandros had caught her eye. She couldn’t say what exactly it was, but some quality kept her coming back, thinking of little excuses and errands to run around the ops center, or trips that would require returning from planetary missions again and again. Enough, however, was enough. Today she was going to stop just looking and actually going to do something.
“SAM, how’s my hair?” Tugging on a purple strand, she debated up or down before leaving it as it always was, a customary ponytail. Turians didn’t even have hair; would he notice or care if she did anything differently?
“It looks acceptable, Pathfinder, though I am no judge of external appearance.” Acceptable had to be good enough.
“Scarf or no scarf, SAM?”
“The Nexus is kept at a temperature comfortable for both humans and other Milky Way species. A scarf is not needed.” That wasn’t exactly what she had asked; scarf it was, with the leather jacket that she had brought from another galaxy, the one worn in perfectly, but with colors still dyed bright and bold. This was it. It was time to do this.
“Kandros.” She kept her tone level and even, trying to sound as normal as possible as she walked up to him. It was tempting to fuss with her hair again, or to try and straighten or jacket, or to wonder if she should have worn different pants. At least she would be thinking about anything other than the faint flutter in her stomach and the sudden pounding her heart seemed to be doing, like she was sixteen and with her first crush again.
“Pathfinder.” His greeting was perfunctory, but his tone was friendly; he was clearly occupied in looking at APEX team reports. Maybe another time? No. If Ryder turned back now, she knew she would never get the courage to do this a second time.
“Just Ryder, actually, Kandros. Just Ryder is fine.” That was a start, at least. It wasn’t quite her first name, but it wasn’t the title either, that single word that she struggled to fill at the best of times.
“Ryder,” Kandros acknowledged. Was she imagining it, or was there a slight smile on his face? It was hard to tell, but his mandibles definitely seemed to be curving slightly upward. “Any word on the Turian ark?”
It was exactly the question she didn’t want asked, mostly because there was no way to spin it into a pick-up line.
Time to power through this anyway. “There are rumors of debris on Havarl. We’re heading there next, but we had to stop and resupply. And I wanted to talk to you.” It sounded even worse spoken aloud than it had in her had.
“Isn’t that what we’re doing?” At least Kandros had the grace to look amused, rather than fed up with her.
“I thought maybe we could go to Vortex and talk there. I’d love to know more about you.” And there it was. It was easier to look somewhere over Kandros’ left shoulder than it was to look at his face, even though he had what Ryder considered an exceedingly pleasant face to look at, which was the whole reasons she was acting like an idiot in the first place.
Kandros looked her up and down, taking her in, and something in his expression seemed to change- maybe his whole posture relaxed, or his mandibles seemed to be smiling, or something. Either way, he shrugged. “Why not? I have some time.” Was it her imagination, or had there been speculation when he looked at her? Either way, they walked side by side to the tram, and then into the chaos and noise of Vortex.
Apparently, it was poetry night. Bad poetry night, if the human on stage was any indication. People in the audience were actually snapping after each line. “I’m going to need a lot to drink to live through this.” It didn’t exactly fit the mood Ryder wanted.
“Agreed. Wait until the Turians start. I recognize that one waiting offstage- he likes limericks.” Exasperated, Kandros joined her at the bar, where the pair studiously avoided the curious look of the bartenders, ordering separately and some distance down from each other.
One cocktail later for Ryder and one dextro-based beer later for Kandros, and conversation was flowing, though not as much as the alcohol, going progressively faster down their throats. It was enough to make the poetry bearable, at least, or quiet enough that they could pretend it wasn’t there.
“I joined the Andromeda Initiative to be my own person, free of familial expectations. Every turian has them, but not every turian has such a big shadow to fall behind.” Kandros slammed down the remains of his second beer, voice somewhat bitter, making a face at the drink. It wasn’t meant to be quaffed in that way, but the warm buzzing surrounding his body made it all worthwhile.
“Tell me about it. I didn’t have a choice joining the Initiative, and I didn’t have a choice in taking on dad’s role. Half the shit I do has people telling me what he would have done instead. I’m not him. I thought this would be a fresh start.” Sooner or later, Ryder knew she was going to descend into taking shots, but for now she was happy to take another sip, admiring that the bartenders had managed to already produce something new from limited biological samples taken on foreign planets. Aya in particular was a true treasure-trove of botanical delights, ones that mixed well with vodka and gin to produce something strong and sweet. “So, do you feel like you’re your own man now, Kandros?” At least she wasn’t slurring yet. She just felt… good. Maybe not as worried.
He pointed at her, a finger jab in her direction. “If you get to be Ryder, I get to be Tiran. Only fair.” When Ryder nodded, trying to mask her half-smile and failing, he continued on. “I’m Head of Security now. People look up to me for being myself. Feels good. Feels right. If I didn’t have to deal with Tann all day, it would feel even better.”
“I’ll drink to that.” Their cups clinked together as they both took another deep draught, music pulsing over them and a silence descending. It wasn’t awkward, but Ryder had been waiting too damn long to just keep the conversational casual.
“Kand -Tiran. Always liked a man in uniform.” This was definitely the right thing to say. Definitely.
“I don’t wear a uniform, Ryder.” He leaned forward, hand on the table, just as she did. Take it? Don’t take it? The dilemma was real and intense.
“Authority. A man with authority.” And now she sounded like she had daddy issues. At least SAM wasn’t piping in, for once mercifully silent.
“Ryder, are you flirting with me?”
“Should I not?” No, no, don’t ask him that Ryder. Now he’s going to say ‘no’ and you’ll have blown it. So smooth. So well done.
“You’re not bad looking, for a human. You have… uh… very nice hair.” It was the first time Kandros had ever sounded less than confident, stumbling over his words. It also wasn’t an answer to her question.
Grinning, Ryder grabbed his hand, and he didn’t pull away, looking down at them, and then intertwining his fingers with her own. “So, theoretically, if I did something bad here, would you have to arrest me?” Just prior to disembarking, Ryder and Liam had an old cop-vid movie marathon, followed by even older detective dramas that pre-dated even the discovery of the mass relays. Black and white flicks, cast only human, filled with trenchcoats and femme fatales that she could never see herself as.
“Theoretically, yes.” Oh, he was definitely smiling now. “I have an apartment near here. We could test my techniques.”
Biting the corner of her lip and then giving up any pretense of looking bashful, Ryder replied with a glint in her eye. “I always did want to learn more about that famous turian reach and flexibility.”