12 Feb 2011

~ Finding The Heart ~

Vices

Disclaimer: the characters in this story are the intellectual property of Bioware, not mine.

WARNING: Rated for MA for future chapters (although I haven't written them yet). 16yrs+ readers only please. Foul language, adult concepts, violence.

Author note: I've purposefully tried not to describe Shepard too much, after all, fans of Mass Effect will each have their own versions of Shepard, so I leave those parts up to your imagination.

Shepard drew a deep breath. This was not a conversation she'd rather be having with such a 'loose cannon' on her own, but it had to be done. Not alone – she reminded herself – EDI will be watching. Still, the AI's attentive monitoring did not comfort her. She was fairly confident of her own abilities – there was nothing this man could do to her unless she slipped up and let him get too close, and even then she had ways of getting out of tight spots. It was more that she didn't want to have to deal with that kind of reaction. He'd only embarrass himself, and further deteriorate, and she needed him, god damn it. I need him on top of this, functional, and able to put his skills to use on my command. She sighed and let the breath go as she pressed the door panel to enter.

Zaeed was leaning against the far worktop in his usual prose, fingering a pistol and clip in his hands. Normally he'd be cleaning something – he was as meticulous as Jason was when it came to looking after his weapons, Zaeed was a lot more attached to them. He never seemed to throw them away, keeping them as trophies, memories of times gone by, naming them with sentimental attachment because... why? Because these are perhaps the only things in his life that have stayed with him? Stayed loyal? She pitied him.

"Evening Shepard." He spoke in response to her presence, having never lifted his head. At least his senses were sharp. More than she expected when she eyed the near empty bottle of real whiskey and the shot glass next to it.

"Zaeed." She nodded, with a careful measure of respect but a tone in her voice that commanded his attention. I'll not have drunken tantrums on my ship thank you very much. The thought of becoming so dependent upon a substance disgusted her. Sure, people had vices, but she didn't have to like that in anyone. A person with a vice could be manipulated, and she could simply no longer afford that vulnerability – not in a member of her crew. Not when the Reapers had an expansive intelligence network and a mind to exploit such weaknesses. Shepard, for her own part, did not have vices. She had made a principle of it, ever since she saw what that kind of weakness could do to a person, when she lost a dear friend because they chose that vice over their friendship. I'm wasting my time here too, but I have to try...

Zaeed continued his ministrations, making Shepard uneasy. There was something about the way he caressed the gun that frankly disturbed her. Something was off, he was unhinged in some way. Whatever it was that had been getting to him was obviously coming to a head right as she walked in the door.

"So... you've come to give me a good telling-off I take it, put me to rights about my little habit there." He motioned to the bottle with a tilt of his head and shift of an elbow, never taking his eyes off the weapon. His jaw was tense. Shepard noticed how he didn't take a breath. She could sense his anger even without these cues, a seething hatred that permeated the air and left it biting cold. If this had been anyone other than crew, in any other place in any other situation, she'd have dismissed reasoning with him as being utterly pointless (and likely life-threatening) and left him to it, but she had to try. It was that or turf him off the ship. Clearly he wanted to say more, perhaps he was going to tell her a morbid story – he always had a story...

"I take it that means yes. So. Who told?" He lifted his eyes but not his face to Shepard, glaring at her from under furrowed brows with a toothy, aggressive grin. "Who do I have to thank for this little visit? Kelly with her 'I'm here to help you' counsellor bullshit? Miranda miss-high-and-mighty? Or did I just look at someone funny at breakfast?" He tilted his head with that last question, smirking sinisterly.

Sure. He wasn't going to make this easy. Why would you ever think otherwise. "Actually none and all of the above. With regards to breakfast, I hardly consider lifting Jackson's tray into his face then planting Gardner's face into Jacob's chicken salad 'looking at someone funny' Zaeed. So why don't we cut the crap, and pretend that this is a conversation where you tell me exactly what is getting under your skin and why, then we deal with it, move on, and get back to real business again."

"Hmph. 'I'm sorry'." There was an awkward pause, "That what I'm supposed to say? But you know the way you describe what happens makes it sound so funny that I almost feel like going back up there and doing it again." He laughed, it wasn't a nice laugh. It was the kind of laugh that came from a sadistic bastard right before he cut off your finger... But there's no way in Hell Shepard is about to get intimidated by him. She downright refused to give him that pleasure.

"Cut the crap Zaeed." Pushing this man, this obviously mentally unstable man, was probably not a sensible thing. But it was the only way to get to the bottom of this.

Zaeed got up and stormed over to her, eyes so fierce he could have been back at that refinery on Zorya the day she forced him to let Vido go. His finger (clip held in the fist that accompanied it) jabbed the air close to her nose whilst the arm with the gun waved around to the other side of her head as he snarled: "Why don't YOU cut the crap, Shepard. Enough with this 'I care – share' bloody rubbish. I expect it from Chambers, not from you!"

"Zaeed." Shepard levelled her eyes with the mercenary, which meant looking up a little, "Either you're going to tell me what is going on so we can fix this, or we're going to have a problem."

"Don't play this like you want to bury your nose in my business because all you're going to do is get burned! If you think I'm trouble you should throw me off this ship at next port, I'll take my money and leave. If you figure you need me, then you put up with me and stop wasting my time coming down here, and giving me grief about things that're none of your goddamned business!"

Shepard was breaking her own rules. His face was within 5 inches of hers – way too close for safety. She could smell the overbearing stench of alcohol on his breath. But she did have the door at her back. Unfortunately she was getting too angry herself to want to use it, no matter what transpired. I'll put you out and drag you to the infirmary if I have to...

"Oh I'll go one better than that. You start talking or I space you." I'm only half-bluffing.

"You wouldn't dare." He squinted his eyes at her.

"I've killed people for less." Shepard shrugged.

"So what? What the Hell difference does it make if I have a little drink now n' then?"

Obviously he'd had a little more to drink than he could normally take and stay focused in an argument, or he wouldn't say something so blatantly flawed. He was looking for a fight but he was being far too straight forward about it.

"I'll explain that again in more detail shall I? With the knowledge you have, I can't take the risk that you'll spill it out to the highest bidder. You're on this ship at my discretion, and you're not leaving it until your contract is fulfilled or I put you in a coffin. Now if you would rather I put you in a coffin sooner, you just keep on going Mr Massani because you're walking a fine line."

He launched at her – another sign of his condition because he was trying to use the gun as a bludgeon instead of what it was designed for - she blocked the blow but it was too close not to knock her backwards. He pinned her to the wall. "Now you pay attention to me lil' girl!" He didn't notice the knife she'd pulled and now had poised at a weak point in his side. She'd only use it if he forced her hand, but it was ready nonetheless. "I'm not taking orders from anyone: what I do with my own body in my own time is my own goddamn business!" His words were starting to slur, and his voice was less than stable now. "An' you best stay out o' my way if you know what's good for you."

Seeing such a proud man in this state was embarrassing. He wreaked of alcohol. Still... Some part of her pitied him, and she was reminded of the friend she lost so long ago, the one she failed to help. No. It was his problem. He wouldn't deal with it. I couldn't do anything. I did my best but I couldn't do anything. Friendship can only go so far. But damn it I need this bastard. I'd have walked away by now if I didn't. Too many enemies and too few heroes... Hell maybe I wasn't kidding about spacing him but...

"Bare in mind I've got a knife ready to bleed you if you don't give an honest answer: why are you pushing people away? What is it you're trying so hard not to let me see?"

The mental trick seemed to work. His self preservation instincts prickled at the realisation of the knife, and the anger momentarily subsided. "I'm tired..." He began, then letting go of her he stumbled backwards, as if winded. "I'm tired of living Shepard. I've been around long enough to know that everything ends. Nothing stays with you 'til the end. Best you can do is make it an end at a time and place of your choosing."

Jesus that's what he was doing with the pistol... Cold settled in her stomach. Zaeed was never a man she would expect would ever take his own life – he was just too hell bent on surviving for that. What did this to him?

"So, what? You were just going to shoot yourself in the head, leave me a man down and a mess to clean up in the cargo bay?"

"What's it mean to you anyhow? Huh? I'm just a gun for hire." He sounded pitiful, waving the gun in the air and shaking his head, "My best years are behind me. I..." He turned away and caught the desk where he then stared at his weapons. Either she scared some sobriety into him, or the alcohol was starting to wear off. "I..." He paused, remaining silent for a painfully long time. "Thanks Shepard. I think... I want to be left alone awhile." He swallowed and cleared his throat as he hoarsely added: "I'll... take some time, think it over. You can leave now." His voice was calm, although beaten. He was dismissing her, but she was pretty sure she'd made her point. He slumped a little.

Shepard couldn't help but feel a touch of sorrow. She shelved her frustration and walked over to him, gingerly placing a hand on his shoulder. "Hey." She leaned around his shoulder to see his face and smirked in her own cheerful way. "Just because I'll space you if I can't have you without that bottle doesn't mean I don't need you, and wouldn't rather have you with us. Doesn't mean I don't appreciate this is going to take some time either. But I expect you to see Dr Chakwas at 09:00 tomorrow morning regardless how bad your head hurts, and she's going to help. In the mean time, if you need to talk, or want to talk, even if its just to tell me some more of your stories you know where to find me alright?"

Zaeed nodded, that was all. He let out this huge long sigh and just nodded. Shepard decided then to leave, to afford the man a little dignity.

Author note:

The point of this story as I write it is that for every action there is an equal and oposite reaction, and psychological coping mechanism are complex. Even the craziest bad-ass has a reason behind who they are, how they behave, and the decisions they make. Sometimes an exceptional person entering their life can tip the balance, for good or for ill.