Author's Note:

01/12/12 edit: I wasn't sure at first, but with the encouragement from readers, this will be a two part story. Thank you for your positive feedback- it was the incentive I needed to resolve the debate in my head and complete this tale. *applauds readers*

Many, many thanks to my beta reader: Lyaksandra. This fic would be paltry without your input. *bows in humble gratitude*
Lyaksandra - www [dot] fanfiction [dot] net/u/2544544/

I hope you enjoy the story.


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Between Alpha and Omega

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When I walked into that space station an unusual feeling overtook me. Shepard would have called it déjà vu. I would call it survivor's guilt.

It was a year to the day. Not the day of Shepard's death, but the day I had handed her body over to Miranda Lawson and into the paws of Cerberus—the pro-human terrorist group. I didn't do it out of love. I didn't do it out of fear. I didn't do it out of loyalty or some high-minded idea that because Cerberus may have the means to bring Shepard back to continue her quest against the Reapers, then it was okay for me to deal with an unsanctioned, murderous demon. No. None of that mattered. My decision to give her body to them was spurred by feelings a bit more basic. I did it out of loneliness… because the elusive hope that I could one day see her again was easier to bear than the desolate knowledge of her being gone forever.

That's not to say I'd forgotten the day Shepard died. That day had been burned into my memory as plasma burns into flesh. That day I had looked through the escape pod's sight glass and watched as the Normandy SR-1 had been torn asunder by the collector ship. The frigate's incredible mass had splintered apart amidst celestial bodies of the Terminus system. Painted on the obsidian backdrop of starry space, the sight had been perversely beautiful. I'd heard Joker's screams over the interlinked comms, and against all logic, I had strained to catch a glimpse of her floating in the black abyss—an abyss that mimicked the gaping void in my chest.

I had felt impotent… useless. I'd prayed for the ability to halt time, return to her and save her. But I was powerless, unable to do anything except be a reluctant witness to her death. As silly as it may seem, I had watched because I didn't want her to die alone.

Over a year had passed since that day and I still wanted to halt time, return to her, and save her. Instead of saving her though, I had salvaged her body. Just more guilt to add to the heaping pile. It was a good thing I'd become very adept at burying my feelings.

As I continued through the crowded corridors of the dingy station, I couldn't stop a series of thoughts from racing through my mind: "This is where it all began and ended for me. Where I found out there is a high price to be paid for fanatical pursuit of one's goal. It's where I lost Shepard. It's where I lost Feron. This is where I lost myself."

Omega really was the end of all things.

By the time I entered The Afterlife, I had thoroughly fouled my mood and almost turned to leave, but then I remembered why I'd come back. Aria T'Loak had information I needed and she would only give it to me in person. Once again, my zealous pursuit for information had me compromising my true desire. The information she had related back to the Shadow Broker and although I tried to be nonchalant, Aria had known that I would pay any price for a lead to the Broker's whereabouts. That's why she asked for a face to face meeting; because she had known she could. She liked to toy with people—liked to play games, and because of my need, I had been defenseless against it.

Becoming an information broker had been much easier than I imagined. Turned out being a researcher with connections in the asari government was the perfect recipe to initiate such an endeavor. I had enough credits saved from my time as an active archeologist to rent office space on Illium. As a commerce planet with substantial incoming and outgoing traffic, it seemed like the ideal location from which to launch my new career path. People were always willing to pay for information beneficial to them. Within a week, I'd hired an assistant and immediately set out to fulfill my three main goals: discover as much as I could about the Reapers; establish a solid network of useful, accurate information; and of course, destroy the Shadow Broker.

Within six months my new profession was thriving. If I wasn't gathering information to be sold, then I was scouring the networks to discover who would pay for it. If I wasn't investigating leads, then I was creating false trails for others to follow. I researched geth activities, all major species' fleet movements, the economic market, political activity, new scientific discoveries and anything that had the remote possibility of keeping me, my mind, occupied. I worked myself to exhaustion. To forgetfulness. To numbness.

I had only one obstacle to work through—my innately quiet nature. I learned by watching Shepard that in order to get what you wanted you not only had to be focused, but you had to be determined. For me, that meant being focused on the goal to the exclusion of all else. Sometimes I used Miranda Lawson as a template for my behavior and adopted a cold, calculating attitude. Sometimes I used my mother—the harsh version encountered on Noveria was quintessential during conversations where intimidation had been required. Sometimes I used Shepard—her cocksure bravado and confident demeanor went a long way when securing a deal with timid clients. The only problem with borrowing personality traits from others had been that somewhere along the way I'd forgotten what it was like to be me.

I'd heard people say that endings are the toughest moments to endure. Others said that beginning again was the most difficult. They were all wrong. The most difficult moment to endure was sitting in the merciless wasteland of in between. Sitting in limbo and hoping that the past would enfold you in its warm, suffocating embrace, but also praying that the future would slice through the thick fog and offer you a lifeline—reaching beyond the disorienting moment to save you. While immersed in this 'between', I had discovered that pretending to be someone else was easier than being me.

When I'd reached the far end of the nightclub where Aria resided on her platform throne, her batarian bodyguard, Anto, motioned for me to wait. I had taken the unexpected opportunity to look around the crowded establishment. With its circular bar and asari dancers, the club had reminded me of Chora's Den on the Citadel. Amidst bustling energy and thick sounds, the place had been illuminated with a kaleidoscopic spectrum of ever shifting colors that followed the pulse of the dance music. Hidden fog machines billowed hazy clouds down upon the dancing masses, which then crept along the outlining floor like an ethereal mist. This combination of fog and oscillating lights had added a surreal feeling to the restless space giving it an otherworldly sensation.

The dance floor and booths that lined the outer walls had been filled with patrons who were oblivious to all but themselves. They swayed body to body on the dance floor, whispered private conversations to each other in the booths, hovered next to their momentary interest at the bar, unheedingly groped whoever caught their eye. Part of me had been disgusted by the hedonistic display. Part of me had been envious.

After waiting ten minutes, Anto ushered me into Aria's private lounge. The "Pirate Queen of Omega" was leaning back into an overstuffed leather sofa with her arms stretched out upon the back ridge, like a lioness lazing in the moment waiting for her prey to show. A delicate, sly smile formed upon her lips just before she greeted me. By the time the greeting was over, her smile had transformed into a toothy, wolfish grin.

She offered me a seat, but I had politely refused. I remained standing in the middle of the room, staring back at her with hardened conviction. I had wanted her to know that I was not going to be part of her day's amusement.

We had exchanged pleasantries for a few moments, and then abruptly Aria pushed off from the couch and sauntered toward me, her lissome fluidity like a seductive dance. Well-toned leg muscles flexing easily beneath shimmering material, curvaceous hips swaying hypnotically with each step taken, the carnal gleam in her eyes being matched by the slight menacing smile of her lips—all of which bound me by their dangerous implications. She crossed the space between us and then began to circle me as she spoke—her eyes never leaving mine for long. She casually reminded me of the information she had—the information I wanted—but she'd done it indirectly. Like dropping bait and waiting for the prey to nibble.

Refusing to show any weakness, I continued the conversation matching questions with answers and countering with my own playful banter and witty retorts. The language we both used was ripe with flirtatious innuendo- intelligent rhetoric enmeshed with an innate essence of seduction. It had been a long time since someone challenged me with words and the halo of enticement it produced, both thrilling and intoxicating, took me by surprise.

I knew Aria's game and knew her actions were performed by intelligent design. The way she intermittently stopped to pose, making sure I had the best view of her abundant curves and bewitching body; it was illicit poetry in motion, and also premeditated enticement. She continued her graceful dance, plotting a methodical course back to the couch and returning to her relaxed, predatory perch.

Our verbal sparring continued and with each playful move, the closer I came to stepping over the invisible boundary line. In some ways I'd felt out of control. I didn't know if it was me who was coquettishly toying with the familiar stranger or if I was playing an adopted role. The obviousness of my intent and my questioning of its meaning remained floating in the periphery of my thoughts—in the middle of 'between'. So many mysteries surround us as individuals and so many questions are tied to our choices, but at that moment the questions I had most wanted answered were bound in understanding my own desire.

Once again, Aria slipped off the couch and had slowly made her way toward me. Although mesmerizing, ethereal was not a word I would ever tie to the ruler of Omega. Her innate sensuality was too vivid and dynamic to be mistaken for anything other than primal. Standing in front of me, provocative and unapologetic, Aria's beguiling form had woven into every sensory nuance within my repertoire. I took in the magnificence of her strong, sultry figure. Felt the raw heat radiating off her body. My mouth began to salivate involuntarily as an exquisite blend of scents—a fresh floral aroma braided within a sweet spice—wafted around me. The lustful memory of what it was like to touch warm, soft flesh and feel its touch upon me induced a momentary trance.

The proximity of her all-encompassing allure was maddening—and she'd known it, so Aria raised the stakes. She stepped closer, her lips brushing my ear and without apology, whispered an invite to her bed. She had looked so smug and brash, and in return, I laughed out loud at her audacity.

It was in that very moment that I experienced a personal epiphany: We never exist but 'between'. Between borders delimiting our experiential and pragmatic possibilities. It was there, in our middle between extremes, that we endeavored to know and act. It was there that spread our science and our identity. It was there that we built and organized our world. It was there that we ascertained and forged our individual path. Between the beginning and end of all things was where we discerned our true self.

Maybe that was why when I finished laughing, I said, "yes."