Boom!

"Ha!"

What was it about explosions that just turned him on?

Of course, the vorcha arm that landed across his knee was a bit of a mood-killer. But the satisfaction of a job well-done was always a good thing and hard to shake off. Standing up from behind the barrier, Gavorn inspected the carnage. Eight, nine... Damn. There was ten last he'd looked. He'd missed one little bugger.

Reloading the rifle, he pulled the faceplate of his helmet back down. After a second, a series of holographic scopes and heat seeking programs appeared in the dark. And the theme for Blasto: Revenge from Kahje II twittered in his ear.

It was important to him to get in the mood for the hunt.

"Da-da-nah-naaaah, da-da-da-daaah," he sang along (poorly), the sound going unheard outside of his own helmet, as he silently stalked through the hallway.

If there had been a wind, it would have whistled, and not at all cheerily. Empty lanes and doorways were as rare as blue sky on Omega; it simply didn't happen. But here it was, and for a man who had lived on the station nearly all his life, it was unsettling. The plague had torn and ripped its way through the slums and, while supposedly cured, people were either choosing not to move back in... or they were dead. And even Omega residents were wary of being into the homes of the dead. Well, living there, anyway; they'd had no scruples about being in the apartments as long as they'd been able to carry away the valuables within.

From somewhere nearby, something metallic clattered to the floor.

Gavorn's whole body swung around to face it, gun pointed to the sound. A round metallic container lid wobbled on the ground before finally coming to a halt, killing the sound so the silence could settle back down. Gavorn kept his eye on it a few moments longer before turning away. Gravity, maybe.

"Aaah!"

Or maybe he was a complete moron.

Turning back around, he dashed toward the source of the scream. Smooth, high-pitched and fairly silly? Sounded human. And sure enough, as he turned a corner, a human was pushed up into a crevice in the wall, wielding a broken pipe as his chosen weapon against the snarling vorcha who had cornered him.

"Get back!" cried the alien and gave it a weak swing.

In reply, the vorcha hissed and spat. Fairly polite, given the range of vorcha responses. But at the sound of Gavorn's approaching footsteps, it turned around and glared. Then it recognized him.

"Youuuu!" And it leapt.

Gavorn swung the rifle, using its long muzzle for a baton to hit the creature in the face. The vorcha seemed to barely feel it, shrugging off the hit only to lurch forward again, sinking its teeth into his wrist. Gavorn grunted and pushed. Turian and vorcha crashed into the wall together, the latter pressed hard against the wall. Now, if he could just keep the thing pinned as he reached down with his hand and got the knife hanging from his hip-

Blood splattered as the business end of a jagged pipe was smacked down on top of the vorcha's crown. A definite and very wet crunch sounded in the corridor and, with one last hiss of defiance, the vorcha's grip went limp and it slumped down onto the floor. Though he could hardly see through the red blood messed across his helmet, it wasn't hard to see the blow had done its job.

"I think it's pretty dead," murmured the human. But just in case, he was still holding the pipe at ready.

"Not sure he can get much deader." Pulling off the helmet, Gavorn inspected the mess. Ew. It wasn't until a searing pain erupted in his arm that he remembered he'd been bitten; blue blood trailed down his fingers and dotted the floor.

"Oh, shit, you're hurt." And with an empathy rather unheard of for Omega residents, the human stepped forward and cradled the wrist in his hands. "He got you pretty good."

Gavorn stared down at the gaping gash. "Just a flesh wound."

The human's head snapped up, staring at him in shock for a moment before he burst into laughter. Gavorn pulled back a bit; how did he always find the crazy ones? His surprise must have been visible, as the human quickly pulled himself back together.

"Sorry. Sorry. It's- It's a human joke. Old movie thing." He tossed the pipe beside the vorcha. Gavorn would admit he was impressed; usually humans were in dire need of a change in pants after being attacked by vorcha. This one seemed more interested in the rip in his shirt. "Come on. Let's head back to my place."

Gavorn balked. "What?"

The human looked back from over his shoulder, unfazed. "I have some medi-gel. If we don't fix it quickly, you'll be bleeding all over the place."

Oh.

He had a good point, though; vorcha had insanely good noses... and they most definitely knew his. Better safe than sorry. Shaking his head at himself, Gavorn followed after, rifle slung over his back so he could cradle the shredded wrist as he followed the human. A bit of color on the alien's olive-colored skin caught his eye; he knew humans also tattooed themselves, but not for the same reasons as turians. Most were humorous, dedicated to lovers or children (the former was usually something regretted, from what he'd heard) or some random scribble borne of a bad range of self-control and drinking problems. This one was fairly respectable though, he'd admit, and even seemed turian in design with its harsh angles and smooth edges, curving smoothly up the bicep and into the sleeve of his shirt. It was an impressive design.

The human glanced back to him as they walked. Well, not so much back to him as to the gun he carried. "That doesn't look like your usual sidearm. Most people around here carry around knives, or pistols, it seems."

Gavorn arched an eyebrow. "You say that like you just noticed that."

Chuckling, the stranger shrugged, stepping over some trash and taking a corner. "I moved here about a week ago. I'm here to help my brother with his clinic here in the slums."

Ah-ha. So he was a greenhorn. That explained how he could have so easily been surprised by a vorcha. "Clinic?" Oh, yeah. "I thought Solus ran that one. The salarian."

"He had to go help someone on some big mission off Omega or something after the plague was cured; Daniel got the clinic. But he's really under-staffed and, well, I needed a job."

"Risky place to come to just for a job..."

"Someone's gotta do it, right?" Approaching a door, the human opened it up. The apartment within was small but fairly bare. As Gavorn stood around uselessly in the doorway, doing his best not to bleed all over the floor, the human rummaged around in the kitchen cabinets until he produced a vial of medi-gel and bandages. He waved a hand to a chair at a small table and, once Gavorn was seated, carefully took the turian's arm in hand to delicately administer the medicine.

"Huh. You really must be a doctor. I barely feel that," thought Gavorn aloud.

"Do a lot of people run around impersonating doctors around here?" chuckled the human.

"No, but I wouldn't be surprised. Honest folk don't last long on this station. If they could find a way to make money out of it, they'd probably try it."

"Well, they're welcome to impersonate me, if they'll take my med school debts with it too!" The human laughed again. He had a rather wide smile, Gavorn noted. Little wrinkles crinkled around the edges of his mouth, evidence of a man who laughed often. His grin was so wide it even pushed his eyes shut. Weird how human's faces seemed to work. He'd read somewhere about how it only took so many muscles to smile but nearly double that just to frown. Nearly all humans he'd met preferred the latter, despite the extra effort. "There. Don't strain it too much, and the worst you'll have is a light scar." The human glanced back up and appeared thoughtful. "You know, I never got your name."

"Captain Gavorn."

Face brightening in recognition, the doctor said, "Oh? I've heard your ads!"

Gavorn couldn't help the swell of pride that puffed out his chest and made his mandibles flare. "I do a good job, yeah."

"Can't argue with that!" The human offered his hand in his species' offer of greeting. "I'm Evan, Evan Abrams. Nice to meet you, Captain."

Gavorn looked down to the hand before taking it. Evan had a light grip, better suited to delicate work than the heavy-handed work that Gavorn did. Another telling sign of his foreign origin; his fingers were too smooth for Omega. They were quite soft, though. "Thanks for the medi-gel," he said. "You should be safe for now. I'd suggest investing in a weapon, though."

"I'll take that into consideration." The human smiled again; it seemed to be a condition. For the first time, Gavorn noted his eyes were green. It wasn't a common color for turians. It looked rather good on him. For a human. "Thank you, again."

Nodding, the captain got back up to his feet. "Right. Call me if you have anymore vorcha problems."

"I'll be here."

Walking out, Gavorn headed back to Aria to report. Even after the door closed, though, he could swear he felt the weight of green eyes following him.

Gavorn groaned and rolled over in his bed, roused from his slumber. Insert Name Here. That would be him; he'd never gotten around to installing his ID with the new voicemail system. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he tapped the button to make the messages play as he resisted the urge to cover his eyes with a pillow and pretend it wasn't time to get up yet.

A reminder that his rent was due. An offer for hire from the Eclipse, the third this month. Spam, spam, spam, a distant relative offering- wait, no, spam.

But then a familiar voice came onto the line.

"Hey, Gavorn, it's Abrams. The guy who's sorry ass you saved? Just in case you forgot. I'm calling because I think I need some help, professional-like. The vorcha are back and have been stalking around the place. They're getting pretty daring; one even tried to get into my flat. I could really use a hand, if you've got time!

Thanks, from Evan."

It only took ten minutes for the captain to suit up, grab his gun and be out the door.

The vorcha must have retreated after Evan had left his message; no thermal readings showed on Gavorn's sights besides the other alien figures inside the nearby apartments. When a search of the block turned up nothing, he sent out a message to Evan as a reply to his message. And waited. Five minutes. Ten. Fifteen. But no reply.

He had mentioned the vorcha pawing at his apartment. Since their surge in the slums, they had been getting pretty daring, even attempting to break into the Afterlife. Could they have tried... Aw fuck, yeah they would have, wouldn't they.

Turning back around, he dashed for the doctor's apartment.

The door was open, and the lights were off; the only illumination was the deep red light that pervaded all of Omega, casting shadows across the home. The smell of antiseptic and medi-gel hung in the air, stinking up the air filters of his helmet. At least it wasn't the smell of blood, though. But the lack of bodies was just as disturbing. Where could they have-

The lights flickered on.

"Hey."

Gavorn swung around, rifle facing out. Only a long career of holding that same gun held his trigger finger at bay. "Spirits, Abrams, I nearly shot you!"

"Sorry," said the doctor, stepping out of the darkness of the corner. Gavorn noticed he was dressed down; the torn plainclothes were gone, replaced by a loose Earth-style suit of blues and greens. It looked expensive. And something was different about his hair; most human styles all looked the same to Gavorn, but the way it was slicked back almost looked like a turian or asari fringe. It... wasn't shabby. He did not look like a man who was in dire need of protection against vorcha.

"Where're the vermin?" asked the turian, eyes narrowing in suspicion, though he lowered the gun.

A red color crossed across Evan's face; a "blush," Gavorn guessed. Or a fever, he wasn't sure. "Well, actually, that's something I should tell you about..."

What? But as he cast his eyes over the room, little clues sung out to him. The suit. The dampened light. And... yes, yes that was a bottle on the table between them, the 'dextro-safety ensured' label loud and clear.

...Oh.

Gavorn's eyes turned back to Evan's. The look shared between them said everything, so neither of them would have to. It was the captain who broke the silence with a small laugh, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Well. I'm glad to hear the little rats are gone. But..." He held up his wrist. It still bore the bandage that Evan had applied. "If you don't mind looking at it."

"So..." Evan approached the bed. Spirits, his eyes shone out in the dark crimson light pouring in from the window. Taking the turian's wrist in hand, he pulled off the bandage and gently looked over the healed bite. His grip was still delicate, gentle, warm. There was a new smell about him, something tinged with spices under the heavy scent of cleanliness. It was an alien scent in this messhole of a station. It was nice. "I've heard a rumor. Not sure if it's true but, well, as a medical professional... It's my job to know my patients."

Gavorn cocked his head to the side, no longer trying to bother hiding the grin the man was inspiring in him. "And what'd you hear?"

"Mmhm. Something about how you can tell by the length of a fringe for a male turian, that it's equivalent to the length of his..." Evan's eyebrow went so high, it nearly disappeared into his hair. Some expressions were universal.

"Really now."

"Indeed. It sounded a bit superstitious, perhaps even outrageous, but... well. I owe it to xeno-medical science to find out the truth."

"It's important to know your trade," agreed Gavorn. Leaning back onto his hands, he grinned, teeth bared flirtatiously.

"I think we agree on that." Casting off his shoes, Evan made the first move; placing his hands on Gavorn's shoulders for support, he leaned in, kneeling on one leg between Gavorn's. The barest brush of contact was more teasing than he was sure he could take. "Course, then I'd need a willing patient. He'd have to understand the risks, benefits and all that."

Gavorn grinned and reached for the human, placing a hand lightly on Evan's arm. Carefully, he traced a clawtip down the curving, twisting tattoo. The human shivered, thrilling him. And when the captain looked back up, the green eyes met him again before he nuzzled against the man's lean neck. Part of him wondered how he was going to explain the time wasted to Aria. But... well...

"Some things are worth the risks."