Are we waiting for a saviour?
I'm so sick of waiting
I've been waiting
My whole life
This is a new day

Karnivool, New Day

A bar, Omega

She sits, slumps rather at the bar, just one more piece of human flotsam among thousands here on Omega and studies her reflection in the smeared mirror hanging over the backbar – formerly auburn hair died a lifeless black, eyebrow piercing glinting defiantly back at her. Like the dye-job, the eyebrow piercing is recent. Part of her effort to get as far away as is humanly possible from the girl she used to be. And what a girl: naive, idealistic, always seeing the good in people, even psychopathic bitches like Jack. And what has it gotten her, she demands of her reflection. What? Due to the oh-so-heroic actions of Commander Bloody Shepard, the Illusive Man has disavowed the entire Lazarus Cell, leaving her and the rest of the Normandy crew nowhere to go.

Tentative overtures to the Alliance – when she was sill the 'old' her – were rebuffed. As far as the Systems Alliance is concerned, she is a member of a terrorist organisation and the Alliance Does Not Negotiate With Terrorists. The fact that many Cerberus operatives are themselves formerly of the Alliance goes unremarked. Hypocrites. In her less self-destructive moments, she acknowledges that as bad as her life is right now, things could be worse. At least the Illusive Man deems her not important enough to warrant the use of a kill-team. No, the kill-teams are reserved for the likes of Miranda and Jacob. A smile tilts up the corners of her black-painted lips. Does not the Illusive Man know what Miranda will do to a kill-team should she even allow one to locate her all?

Pulling her red-rimmed gaze from her reflection – oddly attractive despite the circles under her eyes from lack of sleep – she lifts a finger to the turian tending bar. He nods silently and deposits another shot glass before her. She is becoming something of an expert now at getting drunk and does not even feel the burn of the liquour down her her throat. She does not look around as somebody perches atop the stool to her left.

"This seat taken?" an all-too familar voice asks.

"What the fuck do you care?" she replies, voice devoid of anger. Cursing, like the dye-job and piercings – the one in her eyebrow is the only visible one is new to her but she's always been good at learning new skills.

"How have you been?" the voice asks. If she's offended, Shepard isn't showing it.

Kelly turns her head to face Shepard. Unlike herself, Shepard looks just peachy. There are no dark circles under her eyes and she doesn't look like her last proper meal was almost twenty hours ago. "Shouldn't you be out stopping the Reapers from killing us all?" Kelly asks. She turns momentarily back to the turian, raises her finger. Another nod, another shot. Down the hatch. She clicks the empty glass down amid the dozen or so preceding it.

Idly she wonders how she'll be able to get back to the tenement she's sleeping at. Probably have to beg a lift from the turian in exchange for a blowjob she thinks. This thought does not bother her as much as it should. The 'old' Kelly Chambers would never have let herself fall so far so quickly. But this is the 'new' Kelly and New Kelly isn't above selling her body when required.

"That's the reason I'm here," Shepard replies neutrally as though not seeing the expanse of empty glasses decorating the bar. Perhaps she thinks they belonged to somebody else, that the bartender can't be bothered cleaning them up. The turian bartender, scaled face sporting green clan markings ambles along the bar until he's standing opposite Shepard. "What can I get you?" he asks.

Shepard moves to wave him off. "I'm good."

Unmoved, the turian replies, "There's a two drink minimum. Order something or get lost."

Shepard eyes him steadily for several moments, unblinking. "You get a lot of tips with that attitude?" she enquires. "Give me two of whatever she's having," she says, tilting her head at Chambers. The turian grunts wordlessly and two more shots click onto the bar.

"Ten creds," he says.

Shepard slides a credit chit across the bar. It's a twenty. "Keep the change," she invites.

The turian's mandibles quiver with sarasm. "Oh joy, now I can retire from this shit-hole and never work again!" He takes the extra credits nonetheless.

Shepard picks up the first glass of clear liquid, raises it to Chambers. "Cheers," she says and knocks back the shot in one swallow. She spends the next thirty or so seconds coughing on the eighty-five proof alcohol.

Despite herself, Kelly's face breaks into a smile. "Strong stuff, huh?"

Eyes watering, Shepard can only nod and wonder what became of the giddy young psychologist who harboured a rather strong crush on her not three months back. "What happened to you, Kel?" she asks after a period of silence.

Kelly shrugs, fingers toying with a glass. "After the Illusive Man cut us loose, I tried to go to the Alliance but they won't have a bar of me." She snorts. "Called me a traitor. The Reapers are busy tearing Earth apart and they're hung up on formalities."

Shepard nods. "I understand."

Anger flares in Kelly's bloodshot green eyes. "Do you? Even after everything that's happened, the Alliance still welcomed you back with open arms! Commander Shepard who can do no wrong!" Kelly looks away so Shepard can't see the tears she can feel welling up.

"You feel angry and betrayed," Shepard says softly, "That's perfectly reasonable."

Now Kelly does face Shepard, "You're trying to counsel me?"

Shepard shakes her head, her eyes capturing Kelly's, refusing to let go. "I'm trying to get you back. We need you. I need you. That jerk the Alliance got to replace you?" Shepard shakes her head. "He isn't fit to hold your datapad."

"So what, I'm expected to just come running after you because suddenly you need me?"

Shepard quips, "I don't think you're capable of running, in your condition." At length she asks, "Do you have some place to sleep?"

Kelly effects a girlish voice, "Oh yes, there's any number of places a good-looking girl can find a bed if she's willing to whore herself out for it."

Shepard winces at the directness of the reply. "Look, Kelly, I'm offering you your old job back. Not because I feel sorry for you or because I feel responsible for," Shepard waves a hand to encompass their surroundings, "This. But because you were part of my crew when we took down the Collectors. You and all the rest of them were there to back me when the Alliance and Council wouldn't."

Lips quivering with barely suppressed emotion and longing, Kelly replies. "Do you love me?"

Taken aback Shepard, grapples for an appropriate response, comes up empty. "I..." she trails off.

A tear pools in Kelly's lower right eyelid before spilling down the gentle curve of her cheek. "Because I love you," she whispers huskily. Voice stronger, she continues. "I tried to tell myself it was just a stupid infatuation but it isn't It just...isn't. I drink myself into a stupor every night just so I can stop thinking about you." Kelly reaches across the distance between them and clasps Shepard's hand. "Tell me you love me," she pleads.

Shepard swallows past a suddenly dry mouth. This requires the utmost care. The wrong answer will likely tip Kelly over the edge and into an abyss of alcohol. It is so tempting to say Yes I love you and give the young woman what she so desperately yearns for but Kelly isn't so far gone that she won't be able to see the lie in Shepard's eyes. A lie, at this point, would be like taking Kelly by the hand and throwing her into the abyss over which she totters. Shepard's features harden. "No," she says, gently freeing her hand from the other woman's grasp. "And if I've done anything to lead you on, I'm sorry."

Kelly's face crumples and she looks away, shoulders hitching as she sobs quietly. Shepard watches her, feeling sick at heart for having had a hand in Kelly's fall. Part of her ponders the alcohol content of Kelly's tears. After a few minutes, Kelly gathers herself and turns to face Shepard, rubbing tears away with the heel of her hand. As she does this, Shepard notes the broken heart tattooed on the tender skin inside her wrist. "You're a friend, Kelly. A dear friend and I care about you."

"Oh great," Kelly says, battling sobs. "The 'I like you as a friend' speech. Fuck. Why don't you stick a knife in my heart and say I'm sweet as well?"

Shepard bites her lower lip. "You're drunk is what you are."

Kelly laughs a little and surprisingly, now that her true feelings are on the table and she's survived Shepard's well-intentioned rejection, she can't remain this angry. She isn't Jack. Constant rage at the universe and everything in it just isn't her. She sighs. "Can we...can we put this behind us and forget it do you think?"

"It's worth a shot," Shepard answers.

Author's Note: Hi! I'm writer RICARD. You may remember me from such fanfics as Mass Effect: Elevation and Days of Our Normandy Lives. I'm here to write a series of random scenes and ficlets inspired by the Mass Effect fandom* Now sit back and enjoy The Darkest Days are Yet To Come.

*Apologies to The Simpsons