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It's astonishing, over and over again, the sharp disconnect between what the Pathfinder does and doesn't know. Every time there's some new piece of tech, some new bit of history to uncover, she's all over it, explaining everything so quickly that only Peebee and Suvi have any chance of keeping up. Theory and practice, it's all right there in her head, along with a whole host of other things Vetra would never have expected (including every episode title from all seven seasons of the turian fantasy drama Spirit Tracker ).
But then they land someplace like Kadara, or even just Eos, and she's like a wide-eyed kid who's never heard of the black market before. Way too earnest, way too gung-ho (goddammit Sid, Vetra thinks, when did I start using words like gung-ho), and an immediate turnoff for any contact with an ounce of sense. She's had to reassure more than one less-than-legal acquaintance that no, the chirpy human with the ridiculous purple hair does not know the inner workings of their deal, there is nothing secret that she can mistakenly spill. It's frustrating and laughable, and life would be so much easier with a boss who either told her to shape up or knew the first thing about shaping down.
Why, then, does she feel so jealous? The envy of someone with a real childhood isn't new, but it hits her with more force than usual as Ryder jumps off the lift before it's fully down, hitting the ground with a dull thump. She catches her balance and pulls her armor from her locker - new armor, her father’s N7 designation newly displayed on her chest, but still the same too-cheery blue-violet with neon-green accents. Neon green. Who even knew the fabricator could make armor pieces in neon green? A wave of - not exactly irritation, something else she isn't even sure she has a name for - pricks at Vetra's thoughts, and she tries to stomp it down as Ryder bustles around the cargo bay.
“Hey, Vetra!” Her voice is warm, the smile in it evident even when her face is turned away, and despite whatever's going on in her head Vetra finds herself smiling in return. Ryder pops in and out of the armory, stowing her armor and gear in the Nomad before climbing back up to head for the airlock. Vetra follows, and as they cross the glass walkway Ryder looks down with a shout. “Drack! We’ll leave without you!”
Vetra tries to suppress a laugh as the krogan comes trundling out of the galley underneath. “We have a comm system for that, you know.”
Ryder’s dimples are showing when she looks up. “He can't turn me off this way,” she jokes, and Drack grunts from below them.
“That was one time, kid. One time!” He hurries up to meet them, Ryder still laughing when they pile into the airlock. They're stopping in Kadara Port first, for Vetra to finish a few deals, and then off into the badlands for the Pathfinder to work her Remnant magic (she'd wiggle her fingers with that lopsided grin if Vetra ever voiced that thought, and she suddenly finds herself wishing to).
Get it together, Nyx, she thinks darkly as the airlock seals behind them. ‘Off-balance’ isn't exactly the word for what Ryder makes her feel, but she sure as hell doesn't have a better word at the moment. And off-balance is the worst thing for a smuggler to feel, especially working a place like Kadara. She sighs as they make their way through the port, skirting clumps of Outcasts and Collective, trying to curtail her thoughts before they run away from her. So preoccupied, it's a while before she notices that Ryder's lagging behind as they reach the meeting point, easily missable in a nondescript hoodie and jeans even with her bright hair - more common on Kadara than other places.
There isn't enough time to consider what's going on before her contact melts out of the shadows. He's a salarian, slippery, and something inside her shudders at still having to work with him, but his information’s always good. The deal’s over quickly, both parties satisfied, and the salarian disappears back into one of the port’s myriad alleyways as Vetra turns back to the others. They pick their way into the slums and then the badlands, emerging near where Kallo’s deployed the Nomad.
They're all gearing up, fixing armor and setting weapons into place, when Vetra finally turns to Ryder. “What was that about?” she asks, trying not to gesture with her assault rifle. Her understanding of human expressions has always been workable, but even now it’s steadily improving, and she thinks that what crosses Ryder's face is genuine confusion.
“What was what about?” she asks, wrinkling her nose as she tries to clip her pistol into its fiddly holster. Her face is so open, guileless, and Vetra feels another unusual, unnamable pang of not-irritation she tries to shake off.
“Usually you can't wait to be up in the middle of things,” she says, and finds she's unable to quite look Ryder in the eye. She busies herself with her shotgun instead. “You don't usually hang back from anything.”
The confused look doesn’t leave Ryder’s face, and there’s a pause before she answers, broken only by the sounds of gear clicking into place and the screeches of Kadaran wildlife. “You told me I was in the way, so I tried to be out of the way so you wouldn't make me leave.”
Vetra takes a moment to process that response, her hands still on her weapon. “But why would you want to stay anyways?” And as if anyone could tell the Pathfinder what to do. Not that she acts like she knows that.
The smooth brown skin of Ryder’s cheeks darkens - she's blushing, her expressive face easy to read as subvocals. “Well, I guess that's how I learn,” she says, and her voice tilts upwards at the end as if it's a question. She turns away and climbs into the driver’s seat, effectively cutting off the conversation, and Vetra circles around to get in the other side, mulling over her words.
She's quiet as they drive off, listening to Ryder banter with Drack in the back seat he takes up by himself. They bounce over the never-ending hills of the badlands, heading for the navpoint of one of the Remnant monoliths, and she forces her whirling thoughts out of her head to focus on the task at hand.
They head back for the Tempest when they're finished, as always, submitting to once-overs from Lexi and dispersing to their own devices for the night. Vetra tries to busy herself in the armory, checking and double-checking everyone's gear, but it's not long before she gives up the pretense and climbs the ladder to research and Ryder. Everyone learned early on that the best place to look for the Pathfinder was always the lab, probably sitting on the floor in the most obtrusive spot with a datapad balanced on one knee, completely lost in whatever scientific conjectures Suvi’s team on the Nexus has forwarded. Tonight is no different, and it takes Vetra tapping her foot against Ryder's twice before she realizes someone's there.
“Oh, sorry!” she says hastily, blinking a few times as if trying to refocus on the real world. “Was there something you needed?” Vetra waggles her head, somewhere between a nod and a shake.
“Kind of.” She reaches out a hand to help Ryder to her feet, and they both lean again the central console, the datapad set aside. Ryder's looking up at her expectantly, and there's a pause before Vetra can get her words out in the right order. “You hung back so you could learn about what I do?”
Ryder squints her eyes when she thinks, and Vetra can almost see the wheels turning as she tries to find a context for the question. “Well, yeah,” she says, once she's found it. “You said I was in the way, so I thought I'd stay out of the way and learn something while I did.”
“But why?” Vetra presses, unsure of why it matters so much. Ryder squints her eyes again, this time in uncertainty.
“Uh, because I like to learn new things?”
“But you don't have to!” The outburst is much stronger than she anticipated, and the reality of why she's upset hits her like a meteorite. “You're too much like my sister,” she finishes lamely, more quietly, and immediately slips into the cargo bay and then into the armory.
Aw, crap, she thinks, dropping into her desk chair. This has nothing to do with jealousy or irritation and everything to do with wanting to see more of Ryder’s lopsided smile, she realizes, nearly grinning despite herself. Exhaling slowly, she leans back in her chair and closes her eyes, trying for a brief moment to recapture the anger even as the tension leaves her body. Anger is something she can deal with, jealousy is something she can deal with - but this is different, and now she’s even more off-balance than before. And any resemblance to Sid has nothing at all to do with it. Crap.
(Back in research, Ryder blinks at the doors into the cargo bay and bites her lip, not noticing Peebee's approach until she speaks. “You definitely don't remind her of her sister.”
Ryder jumps at the unexpected voice, grimacing. “God, I hope not.”)