Author's note: This is the first long fanfic I'll write. You can be sure to expect more chapters from this. I know it's not long… but I promise more in the next one. I also promise I will not abandon you to HIATUS. Thank you for reading, commenting, judging, enjoying and accompanying.
Solar System: Earth: Vancouver: Alliance HQ.
She wasn't an irrational woman. She did what had to be done, the way it had to be done, when it had to be done. And she always did the most sensible thing when there were options present. She didn't complicate herself with those things that were unavoidable, because as much as she hated to admit it, she could be rather emotional. If she looked back at Mindior, Elysium, the first Normandy, her lost years, Kaidan… and just at everything, every person she couldn't save… she'd go crazy. And yet, "she got what she deserved", according to some bitter officers.
Agatha Shepard took a deep breath, and threw herself into the messy bed covers. Her short black hair stuck out in all directions and her clothes, black shorts and a baggy shirt were wrinkled, even more than they were supposed to. Most people looking at this scene would think that the great commander Shepard, the legend, was no more, had given up and was wallowing in regret. Those who knew her though would see nothing abnormal with it. She, when off-duty, was not picky with her wardrobe, especially if she wasn't going out anywhere, much less with her hair. And… when restricted to one room tidying up the bed, every morning, seemed like some pretty monotone pointless work. No, right now more than anything, she was focused on forming a plan.
After destroying the Batarian relay, she knew she had to be good to her promise, and hand herself over to the Alliance ASAP, only briefly encouraging her crew to make the Reaper truth known when they went on their way. And as Joker and she had stepped out the airlock, with at least twenty rifles pointed at their heads, she thought it was just normal procedure for such a public figure such as she, the cameras were there in the corner, after all. She also thought she had reunited enough goodwill with the Alliance, what with her reputation and willingness to cooperate (she had nothing to hide relating her relationship with Cerberus), that the true trials would take about two weeks, and the rest of the time, it would be a mounted show for the Batarians in order to avoid war. And during that time, she would be able to talk to the important people that had to be talked to in order to pick up their defenses; she was very persuasive and knew exactly what to say in order to convince each personality. Previous experience when talking about reapers had tough her how to breach the topic. Even if that didn't happen, perhaps the press would push hard enough, and the Alliance would be soft enough, to make the trials public. Then, she could talk to the public itself. And there were people outside and inside official channels with more than enough influence and power.
Turns out, she was being too fucking optimistic.
All and every one of them, of the soldiers in the full room had at least 6 years serving, and held suspicions. There was not a single raw, fresh out of the academy amateur. Ones inside, they treated her like any dangerous war criminal, only very a few, but loyal, friendlies. Some came up to her, and paid their respects with a nod, or even a salute, though they immediately received nasty glares, not from her, of course. The trials were as harsh as one can expect them to be, most officers stiff and passive-aggressive. Offensive comments and implications were not uncommon. She understood, it slightly angered her, but she understood. And just as she had planned, she was as detailed and honest with her answers as possible… tried to keep it as realistic and easy to digest as possible too… and, inoffensive. There was no "I came back from the death" but "I woke up with no memory of the last two years, and I was told to have been death and brought back. I may as well have been in coma." No "I didn't join you because you didn't let me, and because you had done nothing so far, you fuckers! And if I did, you wouldn't let me!" but "I tried, but turns out, Cerberus had already spread rumors saying I worked with them before I even accepted. I knew coming back meant this, trials that took time those colonists didn't have. And even then, I wasn't sure my assignments would even help them." No "Are you calling me racist? Of course I don't hate batarians!" but "I have no ill feelings towards the race, they just happened to be the ones occupying the system that served the Reapers as a backdoor." No "we'd have the Reapers right here if I hadn't done what I did!" but "we'd have the Reapers right here if I hadn't done what I did! Christ, I bought us time you seem more interested in wasting than anything else!"… Some things just couldn't be said differently.
Their responses had been so stubborn, so stupid, so hateful, and so suspicious, she had been unwillingly transported to that sunny day on Horizon, all with that, now mild at least, gut clenching feeling.
Oh, and the reporters, now of all times, seemed content with the bits and pieces the Alliance occasionally offered.
…Only good news? She was sure she was condemned to a featureless white room and a grumpy bodyguard; instead she got James and a nice apartment with complete furniture and a giant, well placed window.
But, with all the events, one thing became painfully clear: She had to think of something, fast. The longer the people went on ignorant of the thread, the less of a chance they had against the reapers. And she knew exactly who to ask for help. She sat up, determined, stood and… remembered communication was banned for her. She couldn't do it with what had been given with her so far, and going behind the Alliance was not an option. Well, it was, as an institution and a whole. They wouldn't accept a request like that. But she couldn't do it without someone from the Alliance to vouch for her in case of her being caught, which was almost certain within the month. A secret, illegal, unknown, private communication from her was going to make things much harder, if not impossible, at court. The first thing they would think about was a treacherous, ominous and stealthy orange insignia.
So she went, and tapped on the entrance door. "…Lola to Loco!" She said, giving James a bit of his own medicine.
Author's note: What do you think? Suggestions? I'll take them, but relax, I will not rely on them. Love! And, by the way, "Loco" is crazy, which I think, thanks to James, you already know. But in case you didn't, well. Also, it isn't an insult between friends in various parts of South America. I know because I am Ecuadorian, and I have seen my brothers call their own friends so. Just in case you were wondering "why would he call Shepard crazy? Or she, him, for that matter?"