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“You’ve – you’ve got way too much sal in it.” Saren teetered on the edge ofthe small stove in the ship’s kitchenette, staring suspiciously at the pan Nihlus was gently turning.
“It’s not too much," Nihlus muttered, rolling his eyes as Saren’s fingers closed on his shoulder.
“No. I can see it.” Saren’s mandibles twitched as he held out an unsteady hand toward the pan. “Just gonna remove a bit of it—”
Saren suddenly lurched forward, and Nihlus dropped the pan onto the stove, hastily grabbing Saren’s hand just before he jammed them into the fire.
“…What?” Saren looked suspiciously earnest. “What is it with you colony types, you always want everything doused in sal, like that’s the only thing you want to taste.”
“Yeah well, I’m cooking, and there’s barely any sal on it.” Nihlus grabbed his wrist and brought it to his mouth, rubbing his mouthplates along Saren’s hands. “You keep working on getting the comms up. Otherwise Tevos will be on our ass the second we break atmosphere.”
He didn’t miss the way Saren’s already enlarged pupils dilated further as he pressed a kiss into Saren’s palm, nor did he miss the hungry look Saren gave him that had absolutely nothing to do with dinner. But the look was gone in an instant, as Saren simply reached past him to take a long swig from his bottle and then disappeared back into the helm of the ship.
He sighed and retrieved the pan. He had forgotten it was the anniversary, and he hadn’t expected Saren to get quite so…drunk, following their successful – and quick – mission. Once he remembered the date, Saren’s willingness to drink with him was perhaps not as surprising as it had seemed at the time.
He had let Saren keep drinking in the hopes that a bit of alcohol would make Saren relax. Saren was always on edge during the anniversary of his brother’s death and for once, Nihlus hoped that maybe – just maybe – Saren could move on just a bit if he was distracted, and the night could end with Saren riding his ass in a good way instead of just screaming at him.
There was a loud noise from inside their ship that sounded suspiciously like a high voltage current, and then a thump that sounded just heavy enough to be Saren.
Nihlus sighed as he shifted the temperature of the pan. He hadn’t anticipated Saren turning into a walking, bumbling disaster after a few more drinks than normal, but if he had, well, he’d carried Nihlus through enough bad patches that Nihlus could return the favor.
He found Saren sitting on the floor, half of what he thought was the ship’s comm system ripped out of the pilot’s panel and evidently still connected to the main frame, judging by the sparks.
Saren seemed enraptured by it, using tiny biotic pulls to move wires to and fro as static blared out intermittently from the tinny, still attached speakers.
“Saren?”
“Working on repairing the comms.” Saren had his mandibles pulled tight to his jaw in concentration, which might have been a bit adorable if it wasn’t a lot dangerous.
He carefully sat next to Saren, leaning his head onto Saren’s shoulder as Saren shorted another connection in a loud burst of noise.
“Pizda.” Saren’s curse made Nihlus’ translator break – some sort of Palaveni dialect he didn’t recognize and even Haliat didn’t bother to keep up with. Nihlus gently took Saren’s hand, absorbing the biotic field in a pleasing burst of prickling static.
“I’ve got it, Nihlus.” Saren frowned. “Just a little more.”
“I know.” Nihlus pulled Saren toward him. “Just changed my mind. Don’t think we should worry about contacting Tevos yet.”
“Oh?” Saren leaned into him, the smell of Palaveni liquor overwhelming on his breath. “Why not?”
“We officially have twenty-four hours left on this mission before we’re due to report, and I don’t want to spend them listening to that old Caerulea yap that we only reported in 18 hours early instead of 36.”
“And what would you rather listen to, Nihlus?”
“You.” He closed the last bit of distance between them and pressed his forehead against Saren’s. Saren pressed back, one of his arms brushing Nihlus’ fringe for a moment. Then, he turned away, abruptly using a biotic throw to push the comm back into the ship, where it made a large spark and then a very dull clang that Nihlus tried his best not to think about.
“Not in the mood for talking.”
“Indulge me.” Nihlus leaned in further and curled his tongue to the sweet spot right under Saren’s chin. Saren purred even as his hands yanked Nihlus back. “I like hearing your voice.”
“I’m not talking about it, Nihlus.” Saren gave him a sort of milky huff. “Not nearly drunk enough for that.”
“The night is young.” Nihlus shrugged. “And we have lots of alcohol, plenty of hot food, and dozens of other topics to talk about.”
“Mmm,” Saren replied, sub-tones carefully neutral. It seemed that even getting drunk hadn’t been enough to pull all of his walls down.
“Think the food’s done.” Nihlus gently tapped Saren’s leg with his talons, and he didn’t miss the way Saren all but leaned into the touch.
“You mean your sal is done.” Saren unsteadily lurched forward, and Nihlus got up quickly to help catch him.
“Oh, stop being such a big baby.” He grabbed Saren’s hip with his hand, partially to steer him and partially simply to be close to him. “You’ve never had a problem with my cooking before.”
“The fact I failed to comment does not mean that the problem did not exist.” Saren shook his head as they entered the kitchen.
“Well, just try this batch. I think it’ll change your mind.”
Saren scooped a bit of meat onto his liguila, his mandibles pulled tight to his chin.
“C'mon, Saren, it’s good for you.”
Saren scoffed and poked at his food, as if he still expected it to come back to life.
Nihlus watched him carefully.
Saren made no attempt to bring it to his mouth.
“It’s good. Try some already.”
Saren narrowed his eyes and popped a small piece of meat into his mouth, then immediately spat it back out.
“Oh, come on!”
“Nihlus, I have eaten a lot of your shitty cooking, but that was the worst thing that I have ever – that I have ever eaten.” Saren took a long sip of whiskey, before unsteadily getting up and moving back toward the stove.
“Hey, it’s not that bad.” Nihlus stood, following Saren, but only a distance, merely keeping up the argument for the sake of appearances. Saren would be more furious if he suspected Nihlus thought he needed protection.
Unexpectedly, Saren lurched forward, grabbed their pan and, in one surprisingly neat flick, emptied it into the garbage.
“Hey!” Nihlus grabbed his hand, and Saren looked at him, eyes bleary but no less attentive. “What was that for?”
“It was garbage, Nihlus,” Saren sniffed, then put the pan in the sink and turned on the water. “And I treated it like garbage.”
“I was going to eat some of that!”
Saren looked at him with the deepest, most sincere sympathy that Nihlus had ever seen on that beautiful, yet incredibly frustrating face.
“It wasn’t that bad, Saren.”
“It was beyond bad. It should have been executed for war crimes, Nihlus.”
“Saren!”
Saren finished washing the pan and slammed it back on the stove.
“You know that was our last bit of meat, right?”
“Yes,” he said, opening another bottle of whiskey as Nihlus winced. Saren didn’t even bother to look for a glass, instead simply tilting his head back and pouring the amber liquid down his gizzard. “Regrettably.”
“Hope you enjoy being hungry, you miserable bastard.”
Saren unsteadily slid a hand down his cheek; it was not quite a caress, but not quite a slap either. He muttered something utterly unknowable before turning his attention to the stove.
“What did you say?” he said, bracing for another insult to his culinary talents.
“Said I’m going to cook for you,” Saren muttered, mandibles flaring into a triumphant smile as he finally got the stove relit. “Show you real food.”
“Saren, did you forget? You just pitched our last bit of meat. There’s nothing left to cook.”
“'I’ll make you pulmentum,” Saren said, already searching through the cabinets for ingredients.
“Pulmentum.” Nihlus deadpanned. “Saren, they don’t even feed that to prisoners.”
“You just… just don’t know how to cook it right.” Saren shot him a dirty look as he raided the his cabinets. “Where is the silphium? Honestly, Nihlus, what sort of proper turian ship doesn’t keep silphium?”
“Ah, I got some last time we were in port.” He shoved past Saren and handed him a canister, kept high on the top shelf. He’d only bought it for Saren – no one would eat silphium, not if they weren’t given it from birth in some kind of cruel homeworld joke – but he’d never tell the bastard that.
Saren yanked it out of his hands with relish and slammed it down on the narrow counter of their pan. “Where’s the Spicae?”
His tone suggested it was not a question of whether he’d had it. Nihlus sighed and reached deep into the cabinet, pulling out the package of the stuff. He’d never liked the plain grain, and braced himself for a disappointing supper.
At least Saren’s single-minded purpose – always focused on his duty, even during downtime – was… charming, in the odd way most things about Saren were charming.
Saren’s intense concentration as he poured oil into the pan – oil that Saren had precisely measured, 2 ligula, no more, no less – was simultaneously irritating and endearing. Saren had rarely cooked in their time together – if dinner was Saren’s responsibility, it was either easily prepared ration-like meals, or it was actual rations. The sight of him doing it now was enough to dull his ire and make him tempt fate, sliding his arms around Saren’s waist and pressing a kiss into Saren’s plates.
“Nihlus,” Saren growled, a warning he ignored as he took advantage of his height and nuzzled the top of Saren’s head, even as his eyes watered from the heavy amount of silvium Saren had thrown into the oil.
“You are impossible.” Nihlus chuckled, releasing him with a final squeeze. “Utterly impossible.”
Saren said nothing, glaring at him for a moment before returning to his task, making small cakes of grain with a bit of water and flickering them into the oil.
“You’ve been holding out on me, Saren,” Nihlus said, stealthily swallowing a bit of whisky as he watched Saren cook. “If I’d known you could cook, I’d have asked to split mess duty a few years ago.”
He’d meant it as a joke, but Saren’s mandibles pulled up abruptly, tight to the jaw, as he plucked the liquor from Nihlus’ fingers and tossed back another long drink.
“My brother taught me,” he said quietly.
“Oh,” Nihlus said. He watched Saren delicately flipping over the little cakes – turning golden brown now – and debated what to say.
There were no two words Nihlus was more afraid of than my brother. Saren had never –ever – gotten over Desolas’ death, and even the slightest mention of him could provoke a sudden and terrible fury in Saren on the best of days. And bringing it up on today – of all days – was especially dangerous.
“That’s uhm, that was nice of him,” He fumbled as he grabbed the bottle, tossing down another gasp of alcohol for courage.
He knew as soon as Saren turned to glare at him that it was, unsurprisingly, the wrong thing to say.
“It was necessary,” Saren said, voice clipped.
“Oh,” he said, his own sub-vocals carefully neutral. He took another swig for courage, then wrapped his arms around Saren as he tried another approach. “Tell me?”
Saren said nothing for a moment but paused, staying still in his arms.
“If, ah, if you want,” Nihus said. Saren resumed his task, building a small mountain of little grain cakes on top of his plate.
“Not much to say. Simple food, high calorie, low cost. He wanted to… wanted to make sure that I’d always have enough.”
“Enough?” Nihlus raised a brow plate. “Hard to think the brother of a famous general would go hungry.”
“…He wasn’t always a general,” Saren said, sub-tones still neutral. “And when I was young our stipend… wasn’t always enough.”
“Saren, you were a biotic.” Nihlus scoffed. “Surely the Hierarchy gave you extra….”
Saren’s mandibles pulled tight to his jaw and he looked away, and suddenly Nihlus understood why last year’s anniversary had ending in a screaming match when Nihlus had thrown away an old, leaking bag of the horrible stuff.
It hadn’t been enough.
“They didn’t know about your…”
“No.” Nihlus winced. There were stories about what Hierarchy officials would do to those who hid biotics, and most of them…. Well, they made the brutal legends of the Hastatim on Taetrus sound downright kind. Biotics in the Hierarchy were tagged as soon as it was possible for them to be identified, then placed into the Cabals as soon as they were old enough. He’d always assumed it had been the same for Saren.
“So you never went to… the Cabals.”
“No. Des… thought it best, not to tell them. To… keep it a secret.”
“So you…” Nihlus frowned, trying to imagine the sheer willpower it must have taken; never a slip up, never even a whisper that Saren wasn’t all he seemed, throughout countless deployments and missions. “All those years.”
It was a long time to keep a secret. He wanted to say I’m sorry but knew Saren would only take that as pity, and if there was one thing the man hated, it was that.
Saren looked at him for a moment, expression unreadable, before turning back to his task, shutting off the stove. “ I…agreed, I did not want to be apart from him. Maybe it would have… been better, but…”
“He wouldn’t have wanted that.” Nihlus nuzzled Saren’s head. “And I think, maybe, at the end, he was glad…”
Saren froze, and Nihlus knew it was the wrong thing to bring up and hastily backpedaled. “…to have you, as his brother.”
Saren relaxed a bit, starting to divide the golden cakes between them.
“… I wish I could have met him.”
Saren nodded. “I… as well.”
“He probably wouldn’t like… this.” Nihlus chuckled. “I mean, me and you.”
Saren snorted. “He would only be amused you have been willing to put up with me for so long.”
Nihlus doubted that was true – Saren’s Palaven-centric leanings came from somewhere, after all. But he said nothing, let Saren be happy.
Saren muttered something, but it was inaudible.
“What was that?”
“I often wonder as well. Why you stay.”
Nihlus swallowed, and Saren turned away.
“Because I want to,” he said simply, leaving it at that.
They were silent a few moments as Saren finished preparing dinner and sat down.
“Sometimes…” Saren paused, handing him a plate before sitting back down with his own plate. “After a campaign, I’d make these for him. Even after… he was promoted.”
“Oh,” Nihlus said, as he picked one up. It did not look particularly appetizing, but he knew he’d pretend it was even if he hated it.
“It was a taste of home, he said.” Saren watched him carefully as he picked up the first bite and held it to his mouth. “Something we could… share.”
“I see.” Nihlus bit into it and managed to hold in a cringe as the strange metallic spice hit his tongue. The dry, crusty grains of the cake didn’t do it any favors either. He swallowed and quickly reached for another.
Saren watched him carefully. “Well?”
“Thank you for sharing this, with me.” He reached across the table, squeezed Saren’s hands. “This is… great.”
“We will… make them again, then,” Saren said, quietly digging into his own cakes and eating them with relish. “See? Real food is so much better than your sal infested colonial shit.”
“You know, for ‘real food’, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you eat these before, Saren,” he said, carefully swallowing another cake.
“I haven’t had them since…” Saren frowned, mandibles flaring in distress, and Nihlus rose to cut him off, handing him the bottle of whiskey.
“Hey, you know what? Let’s drink a toast.” Nihlus tapped the bottle. “To your brother.”
“To Desolas,” Saren said, and took a swig before handing the bottle back to him.
“To Desolas,” he agreed, taking a long drink, until the liquor burned in his gullet. “May his spirit guide our actions.”
“Miss him,” Saren mumbled.
“I know.” He grabbed Saren’s hand and kissed it, eyes focused on that silver face. “I know. If you ever want to… talk about him, we could… I mean I don’t mind, if you uh…”
Saren cast him a long and withering look. Enough now.
“Right, right.” Nihlus squeezed his hand again. “Still, offer stands.”
“Noted,” Saren said, a bit too coolly to be affectionate, and stood, abruptly done with his dinner. “Should get back to work on the comms.”
“Yeah.” He wanted to pull Saren to him, to nuzzle his cheek, but knew in the mood he was in, such actions would do more harm than good. It wasn’t like Saren could do much more damage to the comms system as it was. “Tell old Caerulea hello for me if you somehow manage to get her on the line.”
“I will,” Saren said, and left.
Nihlus allowed himself one small, brief smile in victory as he put away the plates and tidied up around the kitchen. All in all, he’d learned something new about Saren and had managed to avoid a screaming match.
It wasn’t quite the development he’d hoped for, but it was a start.
He’d check in on Saren later, and maybe, just maybe, this might be the year he’d move on yet.