Title: Virmire Part One
Author: DinkyMew
Game: Mass Effect (One)
Disclaimer: Bioware own all characters, content and world related to Mass Effect. The character of Abigail Shepard is my own creation inspired by the character of Jane Shepard created by Bioware. All original characters contained herein are my own creation and are not necessarily affiliated with Bioware. This version of Virmire may deviate from the actual events as depicted in game – please forgive the author this digression; it is meant for entertainment purposes and for the development of characters, not to offend.
Characters Featured / Pairings: Abigail Shepard (F); Ashley Williams (F); Kaidan Alenko (M); Original Character Stewart 'Spooner' Cooper (M); Admiral David Anderson (M); Jeff 'Joker' Moreau (M). Pairings suggested in the writing: Abigail Shepard & Kaidan Alenko

Author's Note: I've added this flashback in, it might not initially make sense, but without it the later writings in this fiction will leave you with too many questions. I could have edited the piece to incorporate the information somehow, but as it is such an important event in Abigail Shepard's life I feel like it needs a flashback to truly appreciate the meaning behind it (And I know it's strange the flashbacks are all in first person, it's just a little extra indication that it's meant to be in the past). So please bear with it, I might rework it at a later date once I have had feedback on how it all gels.

I wait.

Spooner brought me here, told me to wait for the Admiral. I know that is the guy with the blue hat and the dark beard and I don't like him much; when he looks at me it feels like he is looking through me. He told me he knew my father – that I have his eyes and that unnerves me. I can't look at myself anymore now.

I bounce my feet off the legs of the chair, trying to look idle but secretly nosing through the papers lying on the Admiral's desk. There is a photograph there in a dark frame of a woman and a girl; she looks about my age, sixteen.

"Well I know that." A voice says as the door to the Admiral's office wheezes open. The Admiral enters, sharp and formal as always, and behind him Spooner is dressed in his armour. I brighten at the sight of him, my heart fluttering weakly in my chest but he seems pensive, worried even as he looks at me.

"Miss Shepard." The Admiral addresses me, sitting on the edge of the desk a little too close for comfort, I fidget glancing to Spooner for a clue, but his eyes are on the Admiral and I feel lost without his gaze on me. I tick my gaze back to the Admiral and he is looking at me expectantly.

"Yes?" I say a little weirded out.

"Do you know anything about what your parents were researching on Mindoir?" He asks, tucking his chin into his chest as he speaks. I blink. I had no idea they were researching anything.

"No sir," I say carefully, I glance to Spooner and this time he is looking at me, his handsome face dark and troubled. I shake my head "I don't know anything."

"When we found your father's body Shepard we recovered the OSD's he was carrying; they're pass-locked." The Admiral continued "The inscription on the disk says that you know the key to get into them."

I frown "My father never talked to me about anything." I say honestly "Unless it was Turian biology he wasn't interested in a thing I had to say, or telling me anything – for that matter. I have no idea what you are talking about."

"You don't know anything at all Skipper?" Spooner asks me and I look at him, holding his gaze as I take a breath.

"I don't know anything." I say clearly.

"It's important." He presses and I bite the inside of my cheek, moving my shoulders.

"I still don't know anything." I say.

They exchange looks and I feel anger stir within me; hot, malleable anger that erupts into my chest as my arms begin to tingle. In the muted light of the office the blue of my biotics is obvious and both men take an instinctive step back. I am a time bomb; I have no control over my powers – they come when they please and they do what they wish.

"Skipper," Spooner says calmly, as though talking a jumper from the edge "calm yourself down."

I hear his voice, somewhere deep inside me I hear it like an anchor and I breathe; slowly, the tingling recedes, the thrumming in my ears eases off.

"I believe her sir," He says, turning his eyes to the Admiral. The officer is still looking at me closely, his eyes narrowed as he grunts in agreement.

"Very well then." He relents "You're to become a ward of the state, Miss Shepard. We were planning on dropping you off at Arcturus, where you would be transported to an Earthen orphanage – but the Lieutenant here submitted a request to Alliance Command, one that has been granted and I am to oversee the agreement as it is between you if one should arise."

I blink, taking in the words carefully as he powers on.

"Lieutenant Cooper would like to assume Guardianship of you Miss Shepard, If you are agreeable. At sixteen you are classed as being able to make this decision without the aid of a support." He pauses, watching me carefully for a reaction but I keep my face like stone. "It would mean you would remain aboard the Humbee – and you would have to make yourself useful, mind. I don't mind what you do – help with modding, serving the lunches, cleaning the uniforms, so long as you keep yourself out of trouble. You hear me?"

I look to Spooner and he nods at me hopefully.

"You will get your own room – we can't have a young girl like yourself sharing with the crew. Not promising it will be anything remarkable, but it will do you for your time aboard." He clears his throat "Well, would that be agreeable to you then, Miss Shepard?"

Slowly I nod, not daring to speak the answer aloud in case I am dreaming. That I would get the chance to remain here? So close to him? I couldn't have wanted anything more.

"And you mind the Lieutenant." He warns sternly, pointing a finger at me. Then he smiles, through the thick of his beard I think he looks quite warm, comforting. He pushes from the desk, and Spooner snaps off a hard salute. He gives a casual one back, then pauses, glancing over his shoulder at me once more.

"Oh, and stop pestering the engineers."

Abigail Shepard stepped into the hot spray of the shower and closed her eyes, tilting her face to greet the water. She let the motion wash warmth into her muscles; easing the tension there, soothing the new bruises and scrapes. She held her breath, imagining it was simply stripping the events of Feros from her skin – like grime and dirt, it was pulled from her and washed down the plughole.

Realistically things could not have gone better on Feros. She had secured an entire colony with minimal casualties; that was something to be congratulated on, but every time she closed her eyes she could see that Thorian creature and it still terrified her. Suspended by great, corded tendrils the Thorian had been reminiscent of a gigantic grub, the skin taught and pulsing over muscle-type fibre within, rippling with pustules and ectoplasm. Its head had been tucked in, tapering down to an opening that dripped with ectoplasm, long tentacles dangling loosely. She had never been so glad to have something gone from the world; that plant – or whatever it was – could do no good. None at all. How could something so old – something so huge – have been undiscovered all this time? If something like that could be concealed, experimented with and hidden so well what hope did she have of uncovering Saren and his Geth?

She swept her fingers through her wet hair, pushing it from her mind. Things were escalating fast, first there were Rachni on Noveria, now a Thorian on Feros, and she wondered what else she was going to meet on this mission.

"Commander?" The voice was Joker's and she opened her eyes, turning her face from the spray to answer.

"Joker?" She asked frowning "Are you in my quarters?"

"Sorry ma'am." He called back "There was a package delivered for you while you were on the Citadel reporting to the Council, it's marked personal so I thought I would bring it here to you?"

"Alright." She called, flicking soap suds from her arms "Thanks Joker. Just leave it on the bed."

She didn't hear the door, but he didn't answer so she assumed he was gone, soaping herself briskly she showered down and closed the taps; the spray shuddering to a stop. Without breaking stride she pulled the towel from the rack and wrapped it around her body, tucking the corner in at her armpit, before twisting her hair up in a spider clip to drip dry. Cautiously she opened the door, half expecting to see Joker still standing there waiting for an opportunity to perv, but luckily her chambers were empty – the monotonous, slow beep of her console reminding her she had unread messages the only company.

The package had been left on her bed, a neat, square box wrapped in brown paper. There was an envelope taped to the top and she glanced at the scrawl over the front. It was Admiral Anderson's writing – she would recognise it anywhere. Might be a new retrofit for her gun, the thought excited her more than it should have. Pulling the envelope free she opened it, pulling a little note out that was lined with the same writing.

I know you well enough to know you would want these in the end.

It was signed Paps which made her frown; she was used to getting personal mail from Admiral Anderson since he was officially granted guardianship of her on her seventeenth birthday. They never lived together; not for long periods anyway, but he visited her often at Arcturus, wrote her when he couldn't and generally was the only family she had left in her life. He joked that he was her grandfather once removed – she liked to think that too. What was troubling her was receiving a personal note while she was on board the Normandy, if this was retrofits for her weapons it would have been a much more formal affair.

Setting the note aside she tore the brown paper at one corner, pulling it loose as she unveiled a box. It was exactly as she had anticipated – an old cardboard box, the flaps shut inside each other. There was a number marked on the top in thick black marker, but it meant nothing to her.

Opening the ends she peered inside at the contents. There was nothing of note; a thick, bound leather journal that was beaten to the point it was falling apart, held together by an old red elastic band. Various photos poked her fingers as she rummaged in the contents, more confused than anything else, a few pens with chewed caps scuttled at the bottom of the box along with what looked like an old OSD drive. There was a glass paperweight, the size of a fist and created so it looked as though it held the galaxy inside its swollen glass stomach; a tool kit for cleaning pistols; a broken watch, the glass on the front cracked, the hands stopped forever at 3.12pm; but it was the ring she plucked from the box that made her stop short.

It was large, gold, with the head of a lion stamped into the precious metal. She felt the colour drain from her face, almost as if she would faint, but she caught herself – gritting her teeth as blood hammered through her head. She dug into the box, more frantic now, grabbing at the photos and wiping the dust from the filmy covers. Eyes she thought she would never see again smiled back at her from that picture, and inside Shepard felt herself begin to curl away from the world.

I glance around the room, unimpressed, and pull a face I hope conveys my feelings on the subject. My room on the Humbee was tiny, and this is larger – only just, but it lacks everything I had grown to love about my home on the frigate. It was clinical, white walls, tiled white floor, a white nondescript bed with the sheet pulled back at one corner. It was meant to be inviting, but it was anything but.

Behind me I hear a shuffling noise and turn in time to see Spooner coming up the white corridor – a vivid, wonderful breath of colour in this suddenly colourless void I have been thrust in to. He looks at me as he approaches, his green eyes incredibly vibrant under the strip lights here, a shock of blonde hair falling in his eyes as he drops his gaze; unable to look at. Or unwilling?

Over his shoulder he carries my duffel bag – which is really his, but he has given it to me to help transport my things from one place to another. I sour my expression, hoping if I make it as difficult as possible for him I can prolong or even avoid this hateful turn of events. He moves into the room – made even tinier by the presence of his bulk, his deeply sculpted muscles pushing against the fabric of his tank top, the light glints off the gold chain he wears around his neck as he bends to put the duffel on the edge of the bed. His tank top creeps up his back a little and I can see the beginnings of his tattoo as it snakes up his shoulder blades.

At last he looks to me, his face stern and I feel anger bubble inside me. Like a wave it surges up from the depths of my soul and I glare at him; this man that I love – that I need.

"Don't look at me like that Skipper." He complains, the nickname has no effect on me this time – six months I have lived on board the Humbee, making it my home – that nickname belongs there, not in this alien clinic. I don't answer, instead I stare at him, willing my contempt and anger to bore into his soul and hurt him the way I hurt. He sighs heavily at my unwillingness, sitting beside the duffel bag he unzips it and begins to drag my meagre belongings from inside.

He folds the clothes as he unpacks them, setting them in a neat little pile beside him. Most of them are Alliance uniform pieces picked up at the citadel for me, or requisitioned by the staff. He pulls a book free, one he bought me the first week I was aboard the Humbee, the pages are dog-eared and yellowed now. Next a snow globe – a gift he had brought me back from brief visit to earth. He pauses with this, turning it one way and then the other, watching the snow float down around the tiny family huddled inside. I feel like screaming at him, I want him to know that my world had once been like that globe – safe and secure in my own bubble.

"I think this is the best place for you." He mumbles and I bite the inside of my cheek. I sink my teeth into it until I taste blood and then I press further. "I think the Admiral is right." He adds, unpacking toiletries one at a time and setting them carefully on the small white bedside table. "You know I was fighting alongside a biotic the other day… I've never seen anything like it skipper – it was then I knew what you had to offer the Alliance, how could I stop you learning all that?"

I turn my eyes from him at last, swallowing past the growing lump in my throat as I feel tears burn their way up. I hold them back. I don't care what he thinks. I was happy to stay on the Humbee, I was happy to be part of the crew and graduate eventually into the ranks – I don't care about biotics, I don't care if I have them, whatever they are, I don't want them, and I certainly don't want to be left to rot in the middle of nowhere to learn all about them.

I want to be on the Humbee, in my room – sitting on top of the shelf that runs the length of my bed and staring out the window at the FTL stream as it dances over the glass in an array of colours. It's the only time I ever feel truly safe; the minute you sit still in someplace the more risk there is someone will come for you.

"I want you to learn about yourself Skipper, and if this is the only place you can do that…" He paused, rubbing his eyes with his big, clumsy fingers "I want what's best for you."

I steel myself, unforgiving as I look at him once more. His face is broken, turned in a little with hurt as he looks at me expectantly. I want to slap him.

He gets to his feet and I can feel it's time for him to leave. I can feel panic swell where anger had been; but it tastes the same at the back of my mouth – bitter and hot. He goes to give me a hug, something that had become as familiar as breathing between us, but I won't allow it. I jerk from him, turning my eyes away and folding my arms over my chest in a last act of desperate defiance. I stand to lose everything – and to keep it I will do anything.

"Come on Skipper." He whines, and I stride away from him, into the room. I march to that little white bedside table and glare down on the mocking family inside my snow globe. They smile as the snow still floats around them; as oblivious to my turmoil as the man standing in the doorway to my cell. "What do you want me to do?" He asks, and I dig my nails into my arms, the words are earnest, not angry, but they still make me boil with rage.

Shakily, my hands trembling, I pick up the traitorous snow globe, turning it in my hands, watching the snow swirl around and around inside.

"What would you have me do?" He prods again and something inside me snaps. Like when you pull an elastic band too far and it breaks suddenly with that distinctive 'pop' noise. Like when you are travelling through pressure and your ears suddenly go. I grind my teeth, the inside of my mouth aching where I have bit into my cheek. I whirl on him, my fear lunging forward before I can control it.

"You're supposed to fight for me!" I scream, and the floodgates are open – my rage, my tears come pouring out of me like black venom as I curl away from him and my temper surges forward in my place "You're supposed to care about me! Not leave me here! Not leave!" I heave in a breath, my lungs burning angrily as I take a menacing step forward "But go! Go on! Go! Just like everyone else! Just fucking go!" the last I scream out at him, and before I can really know what is happening the globe is flying from my hand. It strike the doorway just beside his head sending a shower of glass and water spraying everywhere. I don't stop, I grab anything – everything – from the bedside table and launch them at him. A few hit, most miss, and gradually he retreats down the white corridor once more.

When I have run out of objects I stand, staring at the empty doorway. Somehow my achievement although what I wanted tastes bittersweet in the back of my throat.

I'm alone.

That was the last time she had ever saw him. She had received a couple of mails, vague and nondescript and she had been too stubborn to reply. Then nothing.

By chance she met Admiral Anderson a week later as he pulled her off another student in the mess hall; she must have made an impression because when he went away and looked into her back story and offered to take her on as his own, becoming her legal guardian. He knew how much Spooner meant to her, and how much she regretted the way things went – but now it seemed Spooner had not just decided to forget about her. The box she had been sent contained his personal possessions, and by the looks of them they had been stored for some time.

"Shepard?" The doors hissed open and Ashley stood in the entrance, one hand pressed into her hip. She looked stunning in a short, backless red dress. Her dark hair was down, bouncing around her shoulders. She strode into her room, doing a twirl for the Commander's benefit, before splaying her hands for an opinion.

"Well?" She asked and Abigail nodded, emotions confusing each other as she gave a small smile.

"You look amazing." She said, realising that she had not yet got herself dressed.

"What's that?" Ashley asked, tipping her head to the box in front of her and Abigail shook her head, closing the lid once more hurriedly.

"Nothing." She said absently "Just a ghost."