A/N: While this story is a sequel to Memento Mori & Rising Tide, it can be read stand-alone! Jade Shepard, colonist, Hero of Elysium, vanguard, loved Liara in her days with the Alliance, and fell for Thane upon her resurrection. This picks up in the interim prior to ME3, when Commander Shepard has been incarcerated for her role in the Alpha Relay incident and her association with Cerberus.
.
If you're looking for a fluff story, this isn't it. ME3 isn't about fluff. It's about war. And war is hell.
.
SPOILER WARNING: ME1, ME2, ME2 , Shadowbroker & Arrival DLCs, ME3, and any of the comics/books (save Deception, never reading that) contributing to the Mass Effect universe surrounding Shepard.
.
"When legends die, the dreams end; there is no more greatness." - Tecumseh
It was another morning of running with the dawn.
Shepard's feet hit the treadmill hard, her eyes focused on the data screen before her. Her body moved in a familiar sway and gait, breath long and deep to fuel the endurance. The headline was there again – The Disgraced Commander Shepard. They were looking for a weakness to lock their jaw and rip, but the Alliance somehow kept them aloof. Gritting her teeth, she tucked her head down to push harder.
The door on her confined quarters cycled, and Shepard slowed to look.
"Don't let me stop you," James Vega said, and lifted the mugs in hand. "Wasn't sure you'd be up – thought you might like a cup."
"I'm always up by now," Shepard replied, and hopped off the treadmill
"Yeah, I know," Vega replied. He leant back against the door frame as she took her cup and drank down. "Off to save the world today?"
Shepard cast him a glance over the edge of her cup, and licked the bitterness of the black coffee from her lips. She shook her head and set the cup on the counter beside the treadmill, and gained pace. She ignored the monitored extranet feeds and inquiries from the Alliance and press, settling her gaze on the window that overlooked Vancouver Harbour. She ran.
The sweat on her brow was trickling past her ear when Shepard glanced to the other marine. "Enjoying the view?"
With a shrug and an arched brow, Vega nodded. "Yeah, but nothing I ain't seen."
Shepard huffed and shook her head at the routine. Because it was routine. "Don't you have something better to do than watch me?"
"Nope."
"Could always go to the aquarium," Shepard said, half out of breath. "Give you something else wet and glistening to watch."
Vega snorted and drifted across the room, putting his cup down on the edge of the small sink in the sterile suite. "I'm sure the hanar protesting there would just love it."
"They were approved passage? I'm impressed." Shepard looked over the mountains across the harbour. The stark shadows of morning light gave them a haunting depth, contrasting sharply with the peristeel archologies that blocked them. The air streamed with the early morning rush of sky cars.
"Political bull crap," Vega murmured, walking back towards the door. "Besides, I'm not sure I could sneak you out the front door."
"Ah, that's a pity," Shepard replied, losing her breath as she sprinted hard.
"They'll be another guy at the door," Vega interjected, as he looked at his omni-tool. "Been summoned by the tribunal."
"I see," Shepard said without looking at him. He was gone without another word, like always. Useless chatter about anything but themselves, anything but what was really going on. Like always. While she ran on a wheel in her cage.
Shepard closed her eyes and turned her face into the wind, sighing quietly as it whipped her long brown hair out of the ponytail that held it. She smoothed her hands around her face and breathed the scent of the sea, mingled with exhaust from the sky cars and industry nearby. From where they stood, they could hear the waves and horns in the harbour, the continual prattle of life and the cry of gulls. She only opened her eyes when she heard a grunt behind her.
Vega stood nearby, his eyes on some distant point as he did his best to watch her without watching her.
"Something amiss, lieutenant?"
Clearing his throat, Vega said, "I just think you picked the coldest day to come out, ma'am."
"Aw come on," Shepard said, as she turned her face into the sun once more. "I'd swear it's the first time I've seen the sun since they locked me up. Seemed a shame not to come out."
"Uh huh," he replied, zipping up the leather jacket he wore.
Shepard inhaled the wind, feeling it rush over her skin. Leaning forward onto the railing, she looked down over the city. The balcony was one of the few prison yards she was afforded – overdramatic, perhaps. But a prison was a prison, no matter what they called it, and no matter how nice.
It wasn't the sky and stars.
Wisps of clouds overhead pulled towards the sparsely treed, dark mountains inland. The air was humid and cold, clinging to the last vestiges of spring. It raised goosebumps on her skin and almost left a chatter in her teeth.
"I thought you were born on Mindoir."
"I was," Shepard said, glancing back as his omni-tool blipped. A brief flare of jealousy tweaked her gut. Another necessity she missed. Her access was closely guarded, and she was barely allowed access to a terminal. An omni-tool was entirely out of the question. On instinct she touched the scar from her biotic implant. Another piece that had been... confiscated. "Something about the cold though. I've always felt good in it. As long as I've got a bit of sunshine."
"Well, sorry to burst that bubble," Vega said, and the orange glow of his omni-tool disappeared. "Your attorney just got out of session with the committee."
"Took long enough," Shepard said under her breath, and took one last breath of the sea air. "Guess I shouldn't keep her waiting."
Vega shrugged and waited for her to go ahead of him. "What's she going to do?"
Shepard smirked and shook her head.
"We'll be back," Vega replied, and walked inside, the door cycling shut and cutting off the brisk wind. "Besides, I hear summer's here are pretty sweet."
"Anderson," Shepard said and smiled as they clapped arms. "It's good to see you."
"Likewise."
"Good to see anyone, honestly," she murmured, and he chuckled as they drifted towards the one window in her detention cell.
"I'm not sure how well I'd fair bottled up like this," Anderson said and crossed his arms, before glancing her way. "Keeping sane?"
"That's under the assumption that I ever was," Shepard replied, and clasped her hands together behind her back. "Though maybe Cerberus reprogrammed it into me." She felt Anderson's eyes on her as she stared out the window, before turning her gaze to him. Her expression finally cracked with a grin. "I'm joking. But isn't that what everyone keeps saying?"
Anders chuckled and shook his head. "Some days I think you'd joke through the armageddon."
Shepard shrugged, maintaining her rigid posture. "Seems better to laugh, doesn't it? What's the alternative?"
"Too true," Anderson said, and they both sobered into silence.
"It's me," Shepard said, and glanced to where Vega was near the door before meeting Anderson's eyes. "I'd like to think you know that."
Anderson exhaled heavily and dropped his arms. "I know. And believe me, I'm pulling any weight I can. We've been able to get a lot of intel from the Normandy – it's helped your case."
"Just treat her right," Shepard replied, sighing heavily and looking out the window. The sun was shining brightly, and ships dotted the harbour. Only a few scant clouds clung to the mountaintops in the distance.
"Don't you worry about the retrofit," Anderson said and patted her shoulder. "You've got enough on your mind."
"Do I?" Shepard said, and veered sideways to pace briefly. She waved a hand. "Given all I've been through, all of… this is the equivalent of nothing, sir. I just want to get in a firing range, or … or anything. But mostly the firing range."
Anderson smirked at her before the expression disappeared, and he dropped his eyes. "I wish I could tell you more, Shepard. You know why you're here."
"Yeah," Shepard said under her breath. "I know. Believe me… I know."
"It's a farce," Anderson murmured, and they resumed their posture by the window, blocking Vega from their conversation. "There are a lot bigger fish to fry."
"Yeah," Shepard said, and crossed her arms, mirroring his posture. "Too busy trying to pick me apart in every way possible."
"I know," Anderson said, and dropped his eyes. "But take heart – I've heard through the wire that the tech Cerberus used in you could make some big differences for Alliance medical. Save a lot of lives."
"Guess I'm lucky I heal so fast," Shepard said, without offering him a glance. She smirked and shook her head. "Better than being dead, I suppose?"
Anderson chuckled. "That yet remains to be seen."
It was the quiet that bothered her more than anything. No – no it was the inaction. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Shepard could hear Garrus griping about red tape and bureaucratic idiots. The nothing became an avalanche beneath which they buried her with details, questions, and propaganda. It didn't seem to matter what she said, no answer she could give satisfied them enough. It was only Admiral Hackett's evidence, presented to the tribunal of admirals behind the bench, which kept her from a very real prison and a brutal public court-marshal. That and Anderson..
They'd had her in the locked holding room since the final statements had been given that morning. Out the narrow slit of a window, the sun was setting on the summer-dry hills. The air was smoky – someone had said wildfires in the mountains – and the whole sky tinged a milky, washed out orange. It hung over top of the towers, whose powerful pumps filtered the air and kept it clear for traffic. It reminded her of Mindoir.
Shepard looked down at her hands. The calluses from the extended wear of her hard suit and pistol were almost gone, leaving her hands oddly soft. They'd never been that soft. Dark scarring showed where she'd been cut, burnt, or worse. It didn't stretch as much, and she poked at them, grinding her fingers together.
On the Normandy, hell, on any ship, on any mission, she'd never allowed herself so much downtime. She'd never done so much reading, never been so limited and trapped. Some might have considered it a well-deserved vacation, with the only thing missing being a cocktail and a beach. And Thane...
She had learned long ago that her thoughts were her worst companion. In action, shooting, running, cleaning her guns or strategizing the next route of attack, she was always doing, always giving her thoughts an outlet for their need. But now that starving varren gnawed within, reminding her of every little failure, questioning every action that had led her to this point and reminding her of everything she was missing. Of all people she'd let down.
Well. At least her parents weren't one of them.
Shepard's head clunked against the wall as she sunk in her seat, her dress blues bunching up. She sighed. After having so much information through so many fucked up missions, the months she'd spent in the dark were taking their toll. The silence and solitude. That none of them had come to see her – none of them had even contacted her. Though she assumed otherwise - she assumed the messages were withheld - the isolation was wearing into paranoia.
The last night with Thane was an ache that hadn't abated in her months on Earth. The sound and precision of his words had faded, even if she struggled to hold onto them. She knew his mind was doing a much better job at it. Siha. His word for her stood out beyond all else; the way he'd said it, in passion, in adoration, in reassurance.
Her eyes rolled to the window again.
An ideal she could never be. A replacement for a much better person taken too soon.
Bitterness crept up the back of her throat, and Shepard pushed out of the chair, resuming the pacing she had spent much of the day doing.
What she wouldn't give for a gun.
A marine without a gun, Garrus said in her thoughts, talk about 'raining on your parade'.
Shepard shook her head and banked right towards the window, slamming her arms on either side of the narrow space to support her head as she leaned her face close to the glass. The murmur of blank music continued through the holding room at the Alliance courts, a bland brush over the movement of life out there. The truth further tightened the bitterness in her gut.
She hadn't been a marine for a long time. Not really.
They didn't care. None of them cared. They all just went about their mundane, normal lives with an ignorance that stewed her pot even more. The luxury of selfishness. Because they had the choice, because they could do nothing - they had the freedom to care only for themselves. Because Lachesis had tugged her string that day on Eden Prime and set her on this course. Because fate was a cruel bitch.
The thoughts toiled as Shepard's eyes darted from place to place, cybernetic focus and precision letting her watch the routine go on. Fate was something she'd stopped believing in long ago.
The door on the opposite end of the room blipped, and Shepard snapped to attention as the green circle upon it activated and cycled open. Righting herself, she saluted as Admiral Hackett walked in alongside her military lawyer, flanked by Lieutenant Vega. Vega lingered back at the Admiral's signal, and he was shut outside when the door closed.
"At ease," Hackett said, and sighed heavily as she walked up to shake her hand. "I apologize for this being the first time that we've been able to speak in person since the Alpha Relay incident."
"No apologies needed, sir," Shepard said, and met his grip with a firm shake. "Where would our fleet be without you?"
"Can't say I know," Hackett replied with a chuckle, and stretched his shoulders back as he looked to the attorney. The woman nodded. "As long as you accept the OTH and agree to remain under observation here in HQ, the charges against you will be stayed."
Other Than Honourable. Shepard glanced down and put her hands on her hips. She should have been glad that they weren't pushing for a court marshal – that they just wanted to bury her. It meant she would never be Alliance again. She closed her eyes.
"I know it isn't what you want, Shepard. I know what the Alliance means to you." Hackett said, his gravelly voice dropping. "If I'd had any idea what I was sending you in to do, I would have made damned sure you have the people to back you up on that station."
Shepard inhaled deeply and clasped her hands behind her back. "I know, sir." She met his gaze. "How long will they keep me here?"
"It's unspecified," Hackett replied, and they turned to walk towards the window. The lawyer lingered behind. "You've got them scared. When combined with everything you gathered battling the Collectors, the data you brought back from Bahak has got the full attention of the board of admirals."
"It's about time," Shepard said, and cast him a side glance.
Hackett nodded. "But that also means they want you close – you're the foremost expert on all of it. They won't admit it, but I know they need you. We need you."
"Then I'll be here," Shepard said, eyes out the window once more, "where I'm needed."
"I'm sorry," the VI on the console said, "That site is restricted from your access."
Shepard sighed and leaned onto the desk. It was a moment before she pushed back and stood up in one fluid, frustrated motion, swiping the data pad as she moved. She tried to access another.
"I'm sorry," the VI replied. "That site is restricted from your access."
Every day was a struggle – she knew the few, core extranet sites she was allowed – to find something else she wasn't barred from seeing. The lack of information, the hazy filter over all the news that reached her, was beyond driving her stir crazy.
They'd cleared her of the charges – it was in writing that they believed she wasn't an agent for Cerberus! Somehow it wasn't ever enough – her shadow of a life continued in quarters of the Alliance detention centre. She wandered to the window, datapad in hand, and leaned her arm upon the glass to look down over downtown Vancouver. Her eyes drew to a rooftop garden, where a young boy played on the grass. It looked like there was an Alliance cruiser in his hand. Shepard smiled.
Life was simple at that age.