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Abby Shepard watched away from the group as the others drank and joked and nursed their wounds. The relief was obvious on their faces, willing to over-look any differences for now. They had just survived a suicide mission to all suicide missions.
She sipped her own drink slowly, wincing with the bruises along her ribs, the tended gash on her arm. Samara moved to sit next to her. The brunette looked into her glass, suddenly wishing it was full again.
Maybe she was still a little sour about the… previous events that had transpired between them. She hadn’t thought about after the mission, having believed that there was a good chance that neither of them would have survived.
Abby set the drink between them, swinging her feet as she watched another round of drinks being served.
What was she supposed to say to her?
She licked her lips and rubbed them together, glancing to her from the corner of gray eyes. This wasn’t a comfortable silence, at least, not to her.
If there was a way to go back in time and not press the Justicar, to keep her feelings under wraps, she would do it, even if it meant doing the suicide mission once again.
“When we arrive at the Citadel,” Samara began, “I will take my leave.”
Abby quickly looked away, nodding.
Of course she was leaving. The oath between them was over as soon as they returned to normal space. The mission was a success. She was free to return to her duties, to that damned Code, away from her.
If she hadn’t said anything… if she hadn’t created this awkwardness between them, she wondered if she would have found an excuse to stay. If she hadn’t jumped it…
She glanced to her again and saw that she was staring into nothingness, her hand next to Abby’s empty glass. Shepard chewed on her lower lip, bandaged hand hovering over hers before…
Slowly returning it to her lap and clenching it into a tight fist, nails digging into her palm.
In the face of the Repears she was fearless, in the face of the Justicar, she was weak and unworthy.