A/N: Mass Effect and its characters are the property of BioWare. No copyright infringement intended. Please don't sue me.
Some in-game dialogue has been included.
October 2179
"You didn't show up to the ceremony."
From her newest ship model project, Shepard flickered a listless look at her mentor, picking up on some sort of disturbance in his tone of voice. Was it anger? No, not sharp enough. She eliminated the possibility of him making a statement, as well; from her twenty-five years of experience, humans seldom made random obvious statements unless they were a) trying to get a point across or being sarcastic or b) low in intelligence due to age or physiological impairments. She twitched a nostril before burying her nose in her magnifying glass and continuing to carefully paint a fine black stripe on her new M35 Mako model.
"I don't like them. Too crowded."
She heard Anderson sigh before the legs of a chair scraped against the metal floor. He took a seat across from her.
"I know," he said.
Two cinnamon-colored fingers took the yet unpainted cannon between them. Had he been anyone else, Shepard would have been inclined to throw a fit. Anderson, she decided, had been part of her "environment" since her induction into the Alliance six years ago; therefore, something such as touching her belongings- even more so her "babies" – wasn't so much an invasive overture as a curious exploration of surroundings. Curiosity. She understood that quite well.
"The Alliance wants to do this for you, Shepard."
"I don't get it. I did what I did 'cause I had to."
Another sigh.
"Looks good on a resume, a Star of Terra award." A few seconds of silence and then he continued. "And it makes the Alliance look good."
The paintbrush made a soft, flat tap against the table as she set it down, and she looked back up at him. There it was: This wasn't about being commended for being a war hero. She didn't expect it to be. This was about optics, politics- more she didn't understand. Apparently, there was a lot she didn't understand when it came to human beings. It made her feel alien in her own species.
"Will you at least come to the dedication on Elysium? You can't pull a Jon Grissom every time."
A few blinks in response.
"For your fallen squadmates."
"They're naming it after me," she replied matter-of-factly. "Besides, none of them will know. They're dead."
"It's symbolic."
"Of what?"
"You're not making this easy on me" The middle-aged man groaned, rubbing the space between his close-set eyes. "It'll, uh, I dunno... help their families get closure?"
"With a statue of me."
"Dammit, Shepard! Will you just show up? Do it for the people of Elysium."
There was that haggard look; she saw it most often when a mission had gone south, or when he'd just come back from a vidcom with Cynthia, his ex-wife. Squared jaw tight, nostrils flared, that frowning wrinkle between his eyes, and silence ringing in the warbling hum of the ship's engines. Why was he so angry?
"Fine! Fine," he sighed. "For me. Will you do it for me?"
She twitched her nose and thumbed at it once. Twice. He finally had her: Anderson knew she wouldn't refuse a request from him.
"Fine."
"On the morning of Saturday, October 5th, 2176, the colony of Elysium fell victim to the first attack of what would later be known as the Skyllian Blitz," Admiral Hackett began. The gravelly quality to his voice could make a Saturday morning cartoon have gravitas. "During the course of a week, the colonists put up an admirable fight and, led by Lieutenant Jennifer Millicent Shepard and her platoon, managed to fend them off. Then, on, October 13th, when the slavers broke through the defenses, Lieutenant Shepard singlehandedly repulsed the ground forces, giving the colonists a chance to escape to safety while reinforcements arrived."
Anderson stole a glance at his protege: stoic as ever. He still found it difficult to believe that just nine years ago, she had just been some child, a newly orphaned catatonic teenager. The thought of it made his skin crawl and the hair on his arms rise.
A lanky girl in a shredded pale blue nightgown, marred with mud and blood. Dark brown hair matted and glued to her expressionless face. It made him wonder what that freckled face would look like twisting with laughter and joy. Her small hand had been clutching a heavily modded Stiletto pistol with a vice grip. By the deep bruise forming on her wrist he determined she hadn't been used to the kickback; therefore, it was likely not her weapon. Later, they determined the thermal clip had been emptied.
No matter how many times he'd asked if she'd been injured, she wouldn't respond. Still, he remembered the adrenaline-induced biotic punch he had barely dodged when he'd attempted to tap her shoulder. And that scream. God, that blood-curdling scream. What had they done to her? He recalled it had taken two other marines to hold her down and administer a much-needed sedative in order to take her to the medical bay.
Two miles down the path, they had found a farmhouse and a barn- nothing out of the ordinary; Mindoir was a farming colony, after all. While the house had been burning in flames, the barn's door had been left wide open. Several kinds of footprints were scattered across the mud: human, animal, batarian. Even now he could remember the batarian corpse they'd found inside the barn; or, at least, later on, they identified it as batarian. Its head had been blown off into pieces by a point-blank shot to the head. Near the back was another batarian, this time identifiable, with multiple shot wounds to his chest, limbs and head. And just a few meters from him, the body of girl about 12 years of age.
"You're staring," Shepard murmured, instantly snapping him back to reality.
Anderson sucked in a breath to speak but decided against it. Not the right time.
"And now we honor them with the unveiling of this memorial." With a quick nod from Hackett, the ensigns lifted off the cover to the bronze statue in Shepard's likeness- well, somewhat in her likeness. The statue had her in a dynamic but strategically illogical pose, running and holding an Elkoss Combine assault rifle high above her head, hair long and loose, mouth open in a silent battle cry... all looming over a bench. A scene from a cheesy comic book, frozen in time.
Shepard said nothing, but the way her mouth flapped open a few times said it all. She was horrified.
"Artistic license, they call it," he whispered. She didn't even crack a smile.
"And now we would like to invite the Lieutenant to say a few words."
If Shepard hadn't been horrified before, he was sure of it now. All trace of color drained from her olive skin. And so Anderson did the only thing he knew would calm her down. Discreetly taking hold of her hand, he gave it a firm squeeze and waited.
She squeezed back.
A familiar grip. That same hand had squeezed his own nine years ago- though slightly smaller and just a bit less calloused- at the morgue. He hadn't been expecting much of a reaction. Minutes prior they'd shown her the carbonized bodies of her parents and six-month-old brother and she'd barely twitched. But something in her snapped when she'd taken in her sister's eyes, milky corneas over once hazel irises. He remembered Shepard's form plummeting to the floor, keening wails echoing throughout the sterile hospital walls. He remembered thinking she would never recover.
And now here she was, accepting one of many awards and medals. How wrong he had been.
The woman stood at the podium, her hazel eyes narrowing under the harsh flash lighting of journalistic drones and omnitools. Her fingers curled around its edges as if she didn't trust herself to stand on her own.
"Lieutenant Shepard! Lieutenant Shepard!" called various reporters from a roaring sea of people.
"Why have you refused attending other ceremonies in your honor? How was this one different?" asked one.
"Is it because this one bears your likeness?"
A pair of panicky, confused eyes met his. Not a word and she was already tanking. Funny thing, Shepard. A brilliant tactician and formidable opponent on the battlefield, but a complete mess in the social arena.
"Uh..." At least the microphone feedback bought her a few extra seconds to think. "... Thank you."
Oh, Shepard, he thought as he watched her descend the platform with all the speed of a charging krogan.
