Testing Limits

"Mom?" Jasmine drops her backpack on the couch, glancing around the silent house. "Mom? Are you home?"

She makes her way to the hall, stopping to listen. Something about the air smells off to her, but she can't quite place what it is. "Mom?" She turns, just about to head back the other way when she sees the light shining from beneath the bathroom door. Something in the back of her mind, way down deep, tells her not to go look, but she doesn't listen.

Putting one hesitant foot in front of the other, she walks down the hall before coming to a stop in front of the bathroom door. "Mom?" she says, her voice starting to tremble. She lifts a hand, it's shaking, too, and she knocks on the door.

There's no answer. Whatever she's smelling in the air, it's stronger here. She swallows, fear twisting her insides. She settles her hand on the doorknob, but for a second, she can't find the courage to turn it. "Mom, are you in there?"

Still nothing.

She takes a deep breath, tightening her grip on the knob and turns it, pushing the door open just a crack. "Mom?"

Not a single sound comes from the bathroom, so Jasmine gathers her courage and pushes the door open the rest of the way. At first, the sight in front of her makes no sense. None at all. Her mother is asleep on the bathroom floor, laying in giant puddle of something … blood. Sweet Jesus, it's blood. The room spins around Jasmine, and she can't breathe. She opens her mouth, gasping for breath, but nothing comes.

She sinks to her knees, jeans soaking through, grabbing her Mother's shoulders and shaking her. Finally, air fills Jasmine's lungs again, and she screams. So much blood. Mom's blood. She won't wake up. She's dead. Oh, Jesus. Oh, God. She's dead. She's dead.

Some distant sound, something that didn't belong, not in the place with her mother's body, tore at her mind. A hiss, and then a low growl yanked Jasmine from sleep, hand wrapping around the pistol beneath her pillow before her eyes were all the way open, and she bolted upright on her bed. Frantic, confused, and with her pistol up, her gaze darted around the room, stalling on the giant turian looming in her doorway.

Turian? Ares. He's got his gun out. What …. Oh, God. Mom.

He lowered his gun, taking a hesitant step into her room, and she brought her pistol down to her lap. She saw him reach for something, but her vision wouldn't focus, and she realized she was crying, chest heaving. She let go of her pistol as he held something out to her, the light in the room too dim for her to tell what exactly, until she wrapped her hand around the familiar texture of Thane's shirt. She pulled the shirt to her, holding it against her chest.

Tears still stubbornly flowing down her face, she looked back at Ares. Licking her lips, she found her throat raw and dry, voice cracking when she said, "Sorry."

"For what? That shit happens." He tapped his own throat with a talon and rumbled softly. "You want some water for that?"

She nodded, licking her lips again. "Yes, please." She watched until he disappeared from view, then followed his movements, tracking the little sounds he made as he moved throughout her apartment. Half of them for her benefit, no doubt.

She took a deep breath, running a shaky hand through her hair before wiping at her eyes. Pushing herself to the edge of her bed, she glanced down at the shirt in her hand and smiled. She slipped Thane's shirt on over her tank top and brought the collar to her face, inhaling deeply as she stood. It didn't smell like him anymore, but it still eased something inside of her. Standing on weak legs, she made her way out of her room.

Having Ares around the last few days had been an exercise in patience—on both their parts. They kept different schedules, and even though the apartment was plenty big enough, they constantly seemed to be stepping on each other's toes. She'd grown used to spending days at a time with Thane, but the two men were polar opposites. Thane thrived on being accommodating to the extreme, anticipating her movements throughout the hotel room, learning her rhythms and her moods. If she was happy, he was happy, and for the most part, it worked in the opposite direction, too. But then again, she loved him and was getting laid pretty much every night. Having gone almost three weeks without him … she might be feeling a little extra tense.

And Ares … well, he turned out to be just as much of a grumpy ass as her first thing in the mornings. But still, she enjoyed having him around. He gave her someone to talk to, someone she could really talk to, without fear of recourse. She got along well with Isaac, but there were some things she just couldn't tell him. Not yet at least, maybe never. Ares handled the real talk rather well, even if he didn't actually say much. He might be prickly around the edges, but he didn't judge. And she had a lot of fun having him at her side in the arena. They were starting to adapt to one another, learning to anticipate each other's tactics in the fight, something she never really had much of before. Admittedly, she could learn a few things from him. Plus … he kept Isaac's attention diverted.

Ares turned from the sink, holding a glass of water and fluttered his mandibles when he saw her. With him shirtless and the light on in the kitchen, she saw just how badly the fire left him scarred. Knotted hide trailed down the entire left side of his body, spreading out over his chest and stomach, trailing down to disappear beneath the waistband of his pants. Plates—what little remained—were distorted, mangled, worn thin. Tearing her gaze away, she offered him another smile and wiped at her face again, crossing over to climb up on a stool at the breakfast bar.

"I don't know how to make that other shit you drink, or I'd have offered it." Ares shrugged, handing her the glass before he turned back to fill one for himself.

She took a drink from the glass, holding the water against the back of her throat for a second before swallowing. "What time is it?"

"Zero two-hundred, Citadel standard time," Ares responded as he shut off the sink, turning around to lean his hip back against the counter. "Too late to sleep, and too early to get to work."

"Fuck me." Jasmine groaned, scrubbing her hand over her face. She sucked in a deep breath. "I'll live. Sorry if I woke you up."

"Not really." He took a deep drink from his glass before jerking his chin towards the still open balcony. "Though someone down below probably got hit with my cigarette."

She snorted, taking another drink. "Oops." Then she hummed, tilting her head to the side. "Give me one of those?" She didn't know if it would help settle her nerves the same way tobacco used to, but she was willing to give it a try. She would not let herself start smoking all the time again. Just one. That was it.

Without speaking, Ares reached into his pocket as he set the glass down, freeing his other hand to search in the opposite pocket for his lighter. Pulling out the box, he held it out to her, and she took one of the black, strong smelling cigarettes. She put it between her lips, holding her hand out for the lighter. He circled the pad of his thumb over the worn engraving before tossing it over. Snatching it out of the air, she gave him a soft smile, knowing the fact he let her use the sentimental lighter carried weight; a symbol of his trust. She flipped open the top with her thumb before striking the flint wheel, the lighter sparked before the flame burst to life, in all its tiny glory. Not to say she didn't understand why he kept it turned down so low, one look at his scars, and it'd make sense to anyone. She held the cigarette to the fire and breathed in, pulling the flame through the tip of the cigarette before using her thumb to close the lid again.

"Thanks," she said, holding the lighter back out to him.

He took the it, lighting his own cigarette as he grunted out his words, "Don't mention it."

She took another drag from the heady cigarette, letting the smoke coat her tongue and throat, lingering in her lungs before letting it back out slow. "If this doesn't do the trick … don't suppose you'd want to spar?"

He lifted a brow plate, cigarette halfway to his mouth and thrummed. "You asking for a spar? With a man that usually takes his kills with his hands?"

She held his gaze for a moment, taking another drag from her cigarette. "I trust you to keep it to just sparring."

Chuckling, he blew smoke out towards the general direction of the open balcony door. "Alright, alright. I'll keep it strictly regulation."

She snorted, picking a loose piece of whatever the hell was in the cigarette off her tongue. "Doesn't have to be regulation, you just have to remember to pull your punches and not follow through with seriously damaging maneuvers."

"Yeah, regulation." He snorted and put the cigarette in his mouth. "I'm not that boring as to keep the actual maneuvers regulation."

She smiled, wondering just what to expect from the turian. Wondering just what he expected from her. "We'll have to move furniture."

"I've heard that before."

Huffing, she shook her head. "You're really reaching there, aren't you?"

"Well, no." He blew out another heavy cloud of smoke. "I actually did have a girl who had such a small apartment that we had to move the furniture just for me to actually get where we could fuck."

She chuckled. "Was it worth it?"

Ares held his hand out, palm down, wiggling it back and forth with a shrug.

She huffed again, smiling as she took a drag. She couldn't say it did much to ease her tension, but it did make her lightheaded. She looked at the cigarette. "I'm not going to finish this, do you want to save it?"

Snorting, Ares moved to stand in front of her and took the cigarette. "I guess I'll just smoke them both then. Get a double dose of shortening my life," he said as he chuckled.

She laughed, watching him stick both cigarettes in his mouth. "Mhmm. Just don't claim it hinders your performance." She winked, sliding down off the stool. Lifting Thane's shirt back up over her head, she folded it and laid it on the counter.

"Even if I did, it'd only be to give the other men a chance," he said, his voice muffled from the cigarettes between his mouth plates.

She grinned, moving over into the living room. Stopping, she turned back to face him, stretching her arms out. "You get to move the heavy shit."

He took a long inhale to finish off his two cigarettes before dropping them into his glass of water and rounding the breakfast bar, moving into the living room. Looking around, he grabbed the couch by the end and dragged it towards the closest wall, pulling it flush. He picked up the small table and flipped it over, setting in on top of the cushions before pushing one of the plush chairs against the opposite wall. Its mate followed, creating a wall between the living room and the large glass windows overlooking the Strip.

Free to go over his own stretching, Ares rolled his shoulders, being sure to push against the tautness of his left. It loosened, and he could swear it almost felt like something pulled free as his range of motion broadened. Popping his neck, he turned to the sound of her returning from apparently being gone, her hair pulled back and up out of her face and way. He nodded, at least that shit had less of an opportunity to get in his face and mouth when they sparred.

"Ready? Any rules?" he asked, rumbling as he shifted on his feet enough to wake up the muscles in his legs. It was all something he did every morning anyway, but at least it worked to loosen up the scarring that might have tightened up from the adrenaline rush of hearing her thrashing and screaming in her sleep.

She shrugged falling into a stance he'd seen other humans use before, her hands up but not fisted, elbows tucked in against her sides. "No blood. Don't break anything. If I say stop, you stop."

All logical and reasonable requests, so Ares nodded. "Understood. No talons and no breaks. Safe word is 'stop.' Got it." He added his own rules when he saw her smile. "No mandible pulling or kicking directly on to my spurs." He was damn sure he'd have fallen victim to that very thing by the knowing grin on her face, but she did nod in agreement and gave a wave for him to approach.

He wanted to test the woman's training, to see if she'd stick to a strict set of a regiment or mix in some of that street fighting shit she used back in that alley that night. He was fine with either, well adapted to fighting in the streets from his many years picking fights in bars on every planet and station with a bar, but he knew those blows would have to be pulled coming from either of them. Street blows were always meant to inflict the most damage, not really practiced on each other. He might even get to see if that kind of fight only came out of her in the worst of situations or if she could control it.

He feinted with a punch from his left—remembering to curl his fingers inward to protect against his talons—and she flinched slightly in reaction but didn't directly move away from the false hit. Rumbling, he side-stepped slowly, and she followed so that, when he jerked forward and around to throw in a fast elbow strike with the intent to aim for her ribs, just behind her arm and situated below her shoulder blades, she bent into the hit, any damage to her ribs deflected against her arm. Her opposite hand shot up as she slipped closer and aimed a blow towards his solar plexus.

He turned into her move, and her blow missed her intended target as her hand grazed his abdomen. Shifting his footing, he kneed her while her arm was extended, but she spun into the movement, the move less direct than he was going to go for. She was close enough, back to his chest, that she tried to stomp on his instep, but the shift in her body gave her away. He slid his foot inward, waiting until her foot landed on the empty floor, then kicked his foot out as he leaned forward and looped an arm around her neck when she tried to compensate for the kick. Jasmine brought her hand up and dug her fingers into the tender flesh between his thumb and forefinger.

Thrumming, he chuckled and backed up quickly, pulling on her neck. He found she quickly lost any interest in trying to get his fingers to release. Instead, she started jabbing with her elbows, aiming for his abdomen and groin. Pressed so close and her arms so short, her jabs didn't get the right affect. Ares turned and, with a jerk of his arm, threw her out of his grasp for the floor. Her ankle locked in the crook of his calf and spur, bringing him down with her, but he reacted fast and grabbed her ankle before she could yank her leg away and dragged her back in. Knowing she'd kick at him—because who wouldn't?—Ares turned into the kick so her foot landed on his cowl instead of her target.

He knocked her leg away and, remembering to pull his punch, dropped a fist to her abdomen. She saw the move coming and curled up, upper body lifting as her abdominal muscles tensed to lessen the blow. She grunted and tried to grab his arm, but he jerked it as if in a reverse punch, throwing her grasp away as he pinned the leg in his hand with his knee on her thigh, shifting his weight on it and the opposite knee at her side. For a shocking reason he couldn't quite figure, Jasmine rolled her hips despite his weight, a hiss erupting from behind her clenched teeth when he felt her muscles give under the weight of his knee as she pulled away. Bringing her free leg up, she kicked up towards his ribs as she rolled, but her foot only grazed as he got to his feet and just out of her reach.

Roll ending in a—very distracting—flexible move that got her on her feet, he moved before she could raise her fists up in defense again, charging her and leaning his shoulder down to ram into her then unstable side thanks to her injured leg. Wrapping an arm around her body, Ares felt her hand grip his crest tightly as she aimed the other towards his neck, but he let her have her blows before he slammed her against the wall opposite her bedroom, the hard surface and his own body pinning her in place. She grunted, head tucking into the safety of his cowl on impact, distracted enough for Ares to toss her hands off his head and grab for them, even as she wrapped her legs around his waist just below his ribs and squeezed.

He huffed in amusement and used his body to pin hers tighter against the wall and released her waist to wrap his hand around her throat. "Afraid this is where it would end." Just to further prove his point, he flexed his hand slightly to press the pads of his fingers against her skin.

Jasmine grinned under him, accepting that, it seemed, but said, "Again."

Her grin widened when he flicked a mandible at her and let her go. She dropped her legs, ready to slide back to the floor. He stepped away, turning his back to her as he moved to the center of the floor. In a real fight, she'd take the target given to her. Then again, in a real fight, she wouldn't have held back at all, and at least one of his mandibles would be dislocated, his spurs broken … and she'd probably have talon marks covering half her torso and throat. Instead of lunging after him while his back was turned, she pulled her leg up behind her, grabbing the top of her foot to stretch out her throbbing thigh. It'd be bruised for a few days, but she got her Hail Mary. If only she'd recovered fast enough to get out of his way when he charged. Rolling her head on her shoulders, she followed him back out, stopping just outside of his reach and brought her hands up.

"Ready?" She lifted an eyebrow.

He nodded, waving his hand at her, telling her to take the lead. She let her smile fade and shifted, circling to his left, moving into his blind side. As expected, he circled with her, his right eye tracking her movements. She took her time, keeping her distance for a moment as she sized him up, looking for any weaknesses beyond the obvious. Failing that, she let her gaze travel past him, taking an account of her surroundings, letting little pieces of tactics fall into place in her mind. With his mandibles and spurs out of the equation, and his face too high for her to reach unless he was already down, it didn't leave her much to work with. Not much she could safely pull off sparring, at least. She hated to do it, it seemed cruel, but his damaged hide and plates seemed like just about all he left her to target, the only real advantage she had against the swift giant. She shifted her gaze, taking in his right side again. She knew he was right dominant, leading with that side, so it'd make sense for her to stay to his left either way.

She darted forward, testing him, leading with a flurry of blows aimed at his sides and abdomen, meant to distract and push him back. She watched, ready for his arms to swing out, trying to grab her again or land his own punches, ready to dance back out of the way. He maneuvered with her, keeping her in sight of his right eye, blocking her blows, pushing her hands away, backing up only a step or two. She waited until he extended his right arm, slapping away one of her hits, before spinning her body around the outside of the arm, aiming a kick at his knee. He bent his leg into the kick, keeping her from catching the side of his knee, shifting his center of gravity off the leg as she hopped out of the way again. She kept moving, trying to get behind him just long enough to activate her cloak, knowing it wouldn't buy her much wiggle room, but maybe enough to get into his left.

Ares turned, moving with her, and she darted forward again, fist aimed for his solar plexus, swiftly followed by a foot aimed at his knee. He grabbed her wrist, taking the heel of her foot to his kneecap, and he grunted, leg buckling just enough to bring him closer to her level. He reared his head back, and she knew what was coming, but with his knee bent, she had a little leverage. Using it to push herself up, she lifted her body and turned, taking the headbutt meant for her face to her collarbone and shoulder instead, letting it push her back off and away from him with a hiss. Carrying through with the momentum, she wrenched her arm against his thumb, breaking his grip. She tried to put distance between them, but he stayed close, pressing in on her. She circled to his left, aiming an elbow at his side as she moved herself back away from the breakfast bar before he decided to rush her again, certain the horizontal edge of the bar would hurt far worse than being slammed into the wall.

He turned, dropping to take the blow to his carapace and made a grab for her ankle. She tried to hop out of the way, but his taloned fingers wrapped around her bare skin, so, she punched him in the face. He took the blow to his nose, grunting as he yanked. Expecting to fall on her ass, Jasmine twisted to her side, rolling with the fall and kicked out with her other foot. She grazed his cowl as he leaned to the side, grabbing her other ankle and pinning them both to the floor. She squirmed, pulling herself up to sitting, knees bent before he could dig his own knee into her again, and swiped at the left side of his face, hand cupped and aimed at his aural canal.

The blow landed, and he snarled, pivoting his body to bring his right leg down, shifting his center of gravity as he lifted his left knee up to brace against her ankles, pinning them down. He lashed out at her sternum. Jasmine twisted the best she could, no real choice but to take the hit, over-extended and without enough time to simply drop back—nor did she want to return to a position giving him more of a chance to pin her upper body. His fist grazed her breast and arm, bringing a hiss of pain through her teeth. She retaliated, ramming her knuckles into the nerve at the apex of his outstretched arm.

He hissed, and she she didn't see his left hand coming until it was too late. His fingers wrapped around her throat, tightening as she jerked her head back. She growled, knowing he didn't have the leverage he needed to make it a deadly move … yet. She turned her body, lifting her arm up ready to bring her elbow down on the side of his arm and break his grip, but he jerked her closer to him, his other hand wrapping around the back of her head as his knee shifted, moving between hers, parting her legs.

She froze. "Damn it. Again."

Ares chuckled, releasing her throat and pushing himself to his feet before holding out a hand to her. "You stink. Go shower so you're ready for your handler."

"You suck." She slapped her hand into his, letting him pull her to her feet.

He snorted when she let him go. "Right. And you'll probably thank me when you're doing whatever shit Ray will have you doing."

She huffed, wiping the back of her arm across her sweaty forehead. "Probably pretty much this. Only he'll kick my ass more, and in front of an audience."

"I'll admit I had to remember to pull most of my punches. Not used to sparring after so long." He walked to the kitchen and opened the fridge. "You want a water?"

She nodded, lifting her shirt up enough to wipe her face, exposing her stomach and ribs, blocking him from her line of sight. "Yeah." She dropped her shirt, letting it fall back into place and crossed the floor to take the bottle of water he held out to her. She smiled up at him, leaning her back against the breakfast bar and opened the bottle. "Thanks … that helped."

"Good." He hummed and opened his bottle, lifting it to his mouth but paused. "I won't be joining you in your training today."

She sucked on her teeth. "Well, no. Even if you wanted to, I'm pretty sure the Alliance training facility isn't on the top of your list of places to visit, nor Ray's list of places to take you."

Ares made a dejected sounding trill. "I'm hurt. I thought you'd actually miss me, but it seems I was sorely mistaken."

She snorted. "I will miss you. Miss you not laughing at me when he tosses my ass onto the mat. That motherfucker is fast and has moves I've never seen."

He shrugged before lowering the bottle from his mouth and swallowing. "He wouldn't be a fit handler if he couldn't kick your ass."

"Yeah," she said, waving a hand, "but I mean with Leon … maybe it just came with really knowing how he moved, but I could at least hold my own—sorta. He was big though. Built like a bear. Ah, you probably don't know what a bear is … built more like a krogan."

He grunted and leaned back against the kitchen counter. "Like I said, he was a shit handler. You're not supposed to give them a run for their credits. If you learn their techniques and can adapt, you need to move to the next instructor."

She bristled a little. "He must not have been too shitty, I'm still alive, and my targets are dead. I may not have the same years of experience as you, but I'm good at my job."

"From what I've seen, I agree." Ares emptied his bottle of water and tossed it into the trash. "Don't take blame for what your handler did or didn't do, you learned it well enough without him. I figure it's from your own hunt after the drell, only not with the intent to kill him, but be his better." He shrugged. "And I only have years because I'm an old bastard compared to you. Doesn't necessarily count."

She snorted, turning the bottle cap over in her hand. "Nice save, but we both know it does count. As for … Tannor," she snorted again, shaking her head, "I'll never be his better, but I'll be happy to be his equal, or even close." She glanced up at Ares. "Don't you ever tell him I said so."

"Do we look like the conversational type with each other?" He gestured to himself with a hand to his chest. "The drell doesn't like me, so I'm fine knowing him by association."

She put the bottle on the counter before pressing her palms into it and pushed herself up, taking a seat on the breakfast bar. "It's not that he doesn't like you so much as he doesn't know you, and … he thought you might hurt me." She pursed her lips. "Although, you two are pretty much on opposite ends of the personality spectrum, so I can't exactly see you becoming best friends anytime soon, but you two could get along."

Ares stayed quiet for a long time before he finally spoke. "Did you just put your sweaty ass on the counter? Where people eat?"

She grinned, leaning over to wrap her arm around his shoulders, wiping her sweat off on him. "Yep. My place, my rules."

"Well, that's going to be distracting …." Ares lifted her arm with his thumb and forefinger. "How can I concentrate with your scent all over me now?"

She scoffed. "According to you, turians learn to ignore that shit." While he dropped her arm, she darted forward, pressing her lips to his temple in a loud smack of a kiss before hopping down off the counter. Laughing, she turned, backing away from him.

Ares grumbled, lifting his gaze to the ceiling before looking back down. "Everyday scents are different from pheromone rich sweat. I smell like we got pretty hot and heavy, but interrupted before the final act. And I didn't even get any of that."

She snorted, grabbing Thane's shirt from the breakfast bar. "Please." Turning, she headed to her bedroom. "I didn't even get that turned on." Glancing over her shoulder, flashing her teeth at him in a grin, she stepped inside, letting the door close behind her.

As soon as she was alone, her smile faded. She brought Thane's shirt to her face, breathing in deep. Damn it, she missed him. She hung the shirt over the corner of her headboard, right back where it came from, and stripped off her sweat-soaked clothes, tossing them in the corner to deal with later. Making her way into the bathroom, she turned on her shower, letting her thoughts drift as she poked around the edges of the empty hole she felt inside, like a tongue worrying a loose tooth. She'd told Ares sparring with him helped, and it had, just not enough.

Stepping under the hot water, she groaned, turning her face up to the spray. If everything went according to plan, they'd kill Remitun tomorrow and save the Alliance from whatever scandalous thing contained within the information he stole. Then, Ares would leave, and she'd be alone again, no one to keep her from her own troubling thoughts but Isaac.

Turning her face away from the water, she sighed, reminded of the look on Isaac's face as he doled out her punishment for taking lives that weren't hers to take. All things considered, he proved far, far nicer about the whole thing than she had any right to expect. Yet somehow, he chose to discipline her in the one way able to hurt her the most. Forcing her to focus her mental energy on the men assured she'd beat herself up over it, and sure enough, she did, several times a day.

She'd looked into the men, finding their families and friends, just as Isaac told her to. She memorized their names and faces, and the faces of those who cared about them the most. She said their names over and over to herself in the moments of silence. Michael Raston, the man whose neck Ares snapped. Abdul Hassim, the man she shot. Canton Hanover, his throat was sliced open by Ares' blade. Raymond Anders—she tasted the irony in that one somewhere—the one she called Red and knocked out with the butt of her pistol, even though she'd been so offended when Leon did the same to her. Last but not least, the Leon-eque of a man she brutalized, Kenneth Anders, brother to Raymond. How the hell would she ever find a way to pay restitution to the loved ones of the dead?

She hoped whatever Isaac said or did to silence the men had a lasting effect. At least long enough for her to finish her job and be reassigned somewhere off the Citadel. Otherwise, she had a feeling she'd be seeing a lot more of one C-Sec Officer Garrus Vakarian, and if Ares thought it'd be awkward to play wingman for Garrus and Jasmine, he sure as hell wouldn't like it if she had to kill his cousin to save her own ass.