TITLE: Hell is Empty
CHAPTER: One
GAME TIMELINE: Post ME1, one year before the events of ME2.
AN: Many thanks to xx-doriangray-xx . deviantart . art / ME-Fairy-Tales-Schneeweisschen-und-Rosenrot-2-3561 27432 for their generosity in allowing me to use this depiction of Shepard and Kaidan's wedding picture. Please go check out the artwork. It's beautiful.
Not a soul
But felt a fever of the mad and played
Some tricks of desperation. All but mariners
Plunged in the foaming brine and quit the vessel,
Then all afire with me. The king's son, Ferdinand,
With hair up-staring—then, like reeds, not hair—
Was the first man that leaped, cried, "Hell is empty
And all the devils are here"
William Shakespeare. The Tempest, (1.2.10)
Noise from the corridor woke Kaidan Alenko much too soon for his liking. Rolling over in a tangle of filthy bed sheets, with a dry mouth and an aching head, he stared at the cracked ceiling. Another day in hell and he was not ready to face it. Kaidan pushed himself up to survey his surroundings. The bed smelled of sex, the room of whiskey and the man snoring on the other side of the bed an unknown. Not even a name drifted through Kaidan's liquor soaked brain. He let his head fall into his hands when a wave of nausea swept over him. Consumed with a grief that knows no end he's exhausted and depleted.
A year ago, Kaidan dropped out of what his mother would call polite society. Much worse than she knew, he'd lost his commission, left the service, and drifted to Omega Station. Omega, where he'd successfully rebooted his career into a promiscuous drunk. Lost and alone, with only the grief over his failure to save Commander Shepard's life a constant companion. Sure, he could drink a pint of good Canadian whiskey and banish the pain to the shadows. A pint no longer satisfied his cravings. It never lasted long enough, and he could no longer afford Canadian whiskey.
It's all about equivalents on Omega Station. The equivalent to Canadian whiskey was the poison cooked up by the batarian who kept a still on the lower levels. The equivalent of food was the calories he got from the liquor. The equivalent to the brash young officer he'd been was a sodden drunk.
Now that he is awake, his body clamored for a drink. No food in two days and nothing but the cheap swill to drink left him weak and disoriented. He found his clothes, carded fingers through dirty hair, and headed for the door. Then rough hands grabbed him by the collar and threw him back down on the bed.
"Where the hell do you think you're going? I'm paid up 'till noon. Now, give me what you owe me."
The quarian opened the lower half of his suit. How the man survived like this without dying of infection neither concerned or interested Kaidan. He existed in a narrow world of alcohol and ghosts. Sex was the way to keep the liquor flowing and alcohol prevented the demons from rising. In a cocoon of the numbing haze of alcoholism, he knelt dutifully in front of the quarian.
An open-handed blow to the side of his face sent him reeling against the bed.
"You're disgusting. I don't touch me again." Then he chuckled cruelly, the sound of it muffled inside the helmet. "I'll just take what I need and be out of here."
Kaidan felt several pieces of coin hit the back of his head and slide over his face. Picking him up by the hips the quarian tore Kaidan's remaining clothes away and took him brutally. The pain tore a cry from Kaidan's throat, and when the quarian finished with him, he dropped the human on the floor and left. Hot tears dripped off the human's face, and he curled around himself. As the pain receded, he realized he didn't mind servicing quarians. It helped that he couldn't see their faces.
A gentle kick from the hotel proprietor woke him two hours later.
"Hey bud, time to move on."
Kaidan knew him, and he wasn't cruel, but business was business, and he had to get Kaidan moving so he could clean up the room for the next loving couple.
"Here's some coin. That quarian ripped your pants. Don't look like they can be mended."
Looking down at himself, he saw the damage and the sticky blood still drying on his bare legs. Loss rose up in him like a wave of greasy fear. Now he had another reason to feel sad. The pants represented his last connection with the military. The boots he'd sold long ago. These were his uniform pants, the casual fatigues he wore when he wasn't in his armor. The clothes he wore after missions sitting with Commander Shepard in the Galley, nursing a coffee or whiskey. Hours spent discussing the mission, with teasing and gentle humor. Time spent in the ship's cockpit, working with Joker guiding the Normandy to her next destination, talking about whatever came to mind. His months on the Normandy were the best of his short career. Friendships built on the solid foundation of shared danger and experience.
"Just go straight to the guy around the corner. You'll be OK. No one cares around here anyway."
Kaidan pushed the thoughts away, nodded his thanks, and stumbled from the room. The proprietor stopped him.
"You don't look so good. If dying is your goal, there are quicker and less painful ways to go about it."
"I know, guess I'm just a coward about that too."
He heard the man sigh and tried not to shy away from the hand on his shoulder.
"Take care, kid."
While the nights were horrific and dangerous, the days he walked the streets and alleys of Omega like a wraith. Usually, a handout would come his way in the form of a drink, or a scrap of food. Nothing went to waste here in the underbelly of Omega, so trash picking rarely yielded anything. There were one or two Missions here, although one or both might close unexpectedly. When he was just too sick to keep walking, he'd flop there. They'd make him eat, let him clean up, and send him on his way.
Evening found him headed down to the batarian for his nightly anesthetic. If he didn't have money, there would always be hungry and frightened men and women who'd pay him for sex. If there weren't, he'd spend a long sleepless night, hiding in an alley. When he finally passed out, the Normandy was there waiting for him. She always blew up in a fiery blossom of blood and flame. The dream sometimes allowed him to locate Shepard only to watch him spaced. Kaidan screamed and tried to reach for Shepard, but he never caught him. Deep in the clutches of night terror, he ran through the ship, the screams of the dying crew battering his ears and fire licking at his feet and hands. He ran on and on trying to help, trying to save someone or something... anything to stop what happened. He always failed and always woke sobbing in a trembling sweat of withdrawal.
Tonight was one of those nights. A fever raged through his weakened body. Through cracked lips, he tried to swallow some liquid from a bottle of water he stole from a kiosk. Guilt at the theft broke another piece of his soul, but he needed something to quench the growing fire of fever ravaging him. A small crowd stood around him. Perhaps they would share something to get him through the next few hours. Kaidan tried to speak.
"Hey, what'd you just call me?"
"Sorry… didn't mean… Bad dream."
"Hey fellas, I think he called me Shepard."
They all laughed. The drunk at their feet wasn't worth their trouble, but a few laughs were always worth the time.
"Bad news, dude. Shepard is dead!" The leader yelled it in his ear and kicked the small bottle of water clutched in Kaidan's hand, and they all laughed.
Kaidan pushed himself to his hands and knees. His survival depended on escaping this gang. He'd never been caught outside at night before, then, he'd never been this sick. Maybe he should just lay here and let them kill him. One of them kicked him in the side. The blow didn't register any more than the freshly broken fingers in his right hand. Yes, just lay here and go to sleep. All the intentions, the dreams, and the honor were gone. With his eyes on the bottle he could no longer reach, Kaidan closed his eyes and prayed for release.
Several yards from where Kaidan lay huddled, a hidden exit opened to the corridor. Out of the passage stepped a turian and an asari matron. They were deep in conversation and failed to notice the commotion centered on the gang and the man laying at their feet until they were on top of it.
Typically, Aria T'Loak didn't bother with these petty brawls. She might be their unquestioned leader. Her ambitions ran much higher than simple street gang issues. Tonight something caught her eye, and she stopped suddenly. So suddenly, the turian almost bumped into her. The young man on the ground looked familiar, and she never forgot a face.
"Vakarian, check him. I have a feeling he's wearing dog tags."
"This?" The turian pointed and shrugged his shoulders. It was always wise to do whatever Aria asked, so he bent down to reach under the human's filthy shirt. Omega was no place for humans, Garrus thought, his mandibles fluttering at the smell of the unwashed human. They just didn't have the stamina to survive long in this nightmare. After he had found the chain, he had to rub the tarnished metal to read the name.
Alenko, Kaidan, Staff Lieutenant. Alliance Marines. Sentinel. Registered Biotic. Human.
"Spirits! Kaidan, no. Not you. Not like this."
"You know him?"
"Yeah. Uh, I'll catch up with you later Aria. Okay?"
"Sure thing. Find me later at Afterlife. Bring him along if you want. He looks like he could use a drink." Her laughter rang through the corridor. Garrus watched her stride away, grateful she didn't question him further.
With a long look at the gang, who wisely backed off, Garrus Vakarian gently lifted Kaidan from the ground. His apartment wasn't far away, and it wasn't long before he had the young marine safely indoors.
~o0o~
In a darkened room, Kaidan opened his eyes and glanced around, or tried to, the shards of glass stabbed his eyes, and a vise of pain squeezed his head until he groaned. Although he couldn't identify the room, it was clean and didn't smell of the usual bouquet of biological waste. He's laying naked in a real bed with a blanket over him didn't stink of unwashed bodies. When he tried to sit up the room tilted, and the broken hand gave under the pressure of trying to move. Kaidan raised the injured hand and noticed that someone had wrapped his hand in a splint and gauze.
How very odd to see clean white bandages, when everything in his world was gray and dirty. But, where is he? The lights are so low; he must squint into the gloom to see the figure of a turian with his back to him on the other side of the room. Bent over a computer screen, the turian seems unaware of him. As lucky as he is to receive such generosity, he knows that nothing is free on Omega, and there will be payment.
"Hey, buddy. Thanks for taking me in last night. I wasn't doing so well. No money, but I can pay for the bed… any way you want it. What do you say?"
The turian stood and slowly approached the bed. Kaidan blinked rapidly to focus over the pain wracking his body. He is in no shape to provide anything but a verbal thanks to this man. Still there must be payment. Kaidan forced himself to his feet. When the familiar armor and the blue facial tattoo took form against his burning eyes, a cry of desolation rose in his throat.
"Garrus! No. Oh, God. I'm…"
"You're safe, Kaidan. That's all that matters."