This place felt like home.
The trash spilt from overstuffed cans, runoff from the main street that pooled and stagnated behind the row of buildings in a part of the universe yet untouched by the technological boom. Even as the stench from the garbage stung his eyes, it put his heart at ease. He'd spent most of his childhood running through streets like this, hiding in alleys just like this until trouble had passed.
He was home. He shouldn't be here.
They were in between missions and Shepard needed a break. He'd just helped Samara with her daughter or Tali with her father. He couldn't remember which; it was all too much for him to deal with. Shepard's request for a lower key mission had brought them to the Sol system, depositing salvage at a Cerberus drop point on the outskirts of the area formerly known as Chicago. It was a smart choice; who would think to come looking for Cerberus in a place so run down and devoid of the technology they were known to covet?
Choosing a team to disembark had proven to be a challenge. He tried to pick the two who would be more enamored with the filthy pit that was the human home world. Grunt, Jack, Tali; any of them would do. The drell was always on edge, Jacob was still unsure of how to act around him. He'd taken Shepard's fall from grace the hardest. It had gotten to the point that they couldn't be in the latrine at the same time without it feeling awkward. Shepard had started to miss those Q & A sessions they had in the mess hall.
Miranda, who he hadn't even considered having accompany him, too occupied with running the ship, sent Garrus in her stead, to serve as a reminder for Shepard to stay on his best behavior. That was low. Since they'd set foot on the planet's surface. Shepard couldn't take a piss without Garrus standing outside the door. He knew Garrus was just doing what he thought was right, but that didn't make it any less annoying.
Shepard had been clean for weeks now; partly because the bulk of their missions had taken them away from the more civilized regions of space, but mostly because of what happened the last time he'd touched sand. He went into a mission high and it had cost him; his team, his respect and Garrus might never be the same again.
Shepard stood at the mouth of the alley, rapidly calculating his chances of not getting propositioned if he entered. Every few feet it seemed like some member of the criminal element was poised, looking for a buyer, a victim, or both. He wasn't sure how he ended up here, but it was too late to turn back now.
He'd taken the squad to an open air market once their task was completed, to get a little taste of Earth culture or what was left of it. Tali had been fascinated by the stands offering various samplings of archaic human technology. She shouldered her way through the crowd like a veteran shopper with Garrus acting as bodyguard. A gimp turian could still handle a human jerk who got out of line.
Shepard couldn't take it anymore. He just needed a moment to himself without someone constantly watching him. So he ran. It was too much to hope that they wouldn't follow him, but as soon as he'd cleared the square, he could hear them thundering after him, Garrus' hindered steps echoing in his ears. They'd tried to raise him on the comm, but he could only listen to their angry shouts for so long. He'd come back when he was ready.
Shepard forced himself to stroll into the alley as casual as he could. The last thing he wanted to do was draw attention to himself. He hunched his shoulders, trying to hide his face. Most of the alley dwellers gave him a wide berth.
He was about through the alley, when he heard a commotion behind him. Against his better judgment, he turned around. He could see Tali and Garrus questioning a drunk who pointed in his direction. He broke into a run, deftly dodging gawkers as he fled down the narrow corridor.
"Russ!" Shepard looked up to see someone flagging him down from an open doorway. He didn't recognize the man, but with a pissed off turian and quarian on his tail, he'd take his chances. He corrected course for the opened door and was plunged into darkness as it slammed behind him. He and his savior held their breath as they listened for two sets of feet to rush past the door.
"Looks like I owe you one, stranger," Shepard said as he tried to discern his location.
"I'll just have to add it to your tab," Shepard could hear the smile in his voice. "I've saved your sorry ass more times than I can remember."
"Do I know you?" The voice sounded familiar, but he couldn't place him.
"You could say that. One might say that we know each other intimately."
"Can I get some lights here?"
The last thing Shepard wanted was to be trapped in the dark with some nut, or even worse a fan. He pictured the walls were covered in articles and images printed out from the Extranet in a show of fanaticism that put Conrad Verneer to shame.
"Sorry about that. I'm used to keeping them off." Shepard could hear him shuffling around, kicking debris about the floor. "It's been a while since I've had company."
Shepard's hand instinctively went for his gun. He didn't want to have to draw it on a civilian, but it was better safe than sorry.
The lights buzzed to life and Shepard blinked, clearing the spots from his eyes.
"That better?"
"Yeah, thanks." Shepard took in his surroundings. They stood in a very small spartan apartment sparsely furnished with a simple cot, a small refrigerator, a table and a few chairs. The walls bore watermarks from frequent flooding. He'd lived in a similar room growing up; they were inexpensive and the landlords didn't ask any questions if the rent was on time.
Shepard's gaze finally fell on the room's occupant. The man was almost a head taller than Shepard, but maybe half his weight soaking wet. His clothes hung off his frame, falling in big folds, the sleeves of his shirt flapping like wings as he spread his arms, as if he were waiting for something.
"Do I know you?" Shepard asked again, the man's features still not ringing any bells.
"Do you know me? Of course you know me." The man advanced on him. "What, now that you some big hero you forgot where you come from?" He enfolded Shepard in as hearty a hug as he could manage, given his frailty.
Shepard patted him on the back gently, afraid he might hurt him if he did it too hard.
After a few moments, the hug ended and the stranger gripped Shepard's shoulders, holding him at arm's length, his eyes wet with tears.
"You really don't remember, huh?" He rubbed his nose on a billowy sleeve.
"Sorry," Shepard shrugged. For the first time in his life he wished he carried tissues with him.
"It's me! Mohinder!" He shook Shepard, as if trying to bring him to his senses.
"Mohinder? You mean Mo? From the Reds?"
The man nodded enthusiastically, pulling Shepard into another hug.
Shepard couldn't believe this was the same man. The Mohinder he'd remembered was a mountain of a man, well-muscled and broad shouldered. He'd been the enforcer in their gang, proving time and time again that those muscles weren't just for show.
Shepard hadn't been the only one who wanted a life beyond what they found in the gutters, and when he'd left the Reds, Mo had come along, too. He'd lost track of him after basic. He never expected to find him here, so far from their old stomping grounds and in such a sorry state. He looked like he'd been ravaged by illness: his skin was ashen and peeling, his lips dry and raw, his hands trembling and unsteady. He was a shadow of his former self.
"What happened to you?" The words were out of his mouth before his mind could censor them. "After I signed up for the N program, I didn't hear from you again. None of my messages got through, I couldn't find out anything… I thought you were dead."
"I thought you were dead!" Mohinder laughed as he shuffled over to the small refrigerator in the corner.
"It was all over the news. There was a big uproar down here. People thought maybe the Council did it. They didn't seem like they were fans of making a human a Spectre." He lobbed a can of beer over his shoulder before spinning around to face his guest.
Shepard caught it easily, but didn't open it, waiting silently for an answer to his question.
"Turns out I wasn't Alliance material." Mohinder plopped down in one of the few chairs near the table and cracked open his beer.
"They said I had 'no respect for authority,'" he punctuated his statement with air quotes. Shepard took the seat opposite him, opening his own drink. "You know how those drill sergeants are; real hard asses. They were always on my case when I screwed up the littlest thing."
Mohinder took a long draught before setting his can down on the table. "I didn't think a little sand would hurt, you know? It doesn't seem like it did anything to you." He looked Shepard over appraisingly, envy etched into his features.
They'd both gotten into Sand at the same time. Some of the other recruits had been passing it around, singing its praises. It was a clean high, undetectable after only a few hours if used sparingly, and the minor biotic powers it gave you were fun to play around with for a while.
"Sand did this to you?" Shepard asked, hoping he didn't sound cynical. The drug wasn't supposed to have any long term effects. Sure, he'd heard of some people dropping weight from forgetting to eat, but nothing like this.
"No, no. Not just sand. That was just the beginning." He waved a hand batting away something Shepard couldn't see. "I've tried all kinds of things. You name it, I've done it. But in the end, you always come back on what you're used to." He grinned, flashing a set of teeth in various stages of decay.
"You still doping?"
"Nah, not anymore."
Technically it wasn't a lie. Even if it was against his will, clean was clean. He wanted to sigh in relief, grateful that he had the power of will to just be a casual user. Only indulging when he was celebrating, or depressed, or bored… That didn't matter now. For all intents in purposes at this moment, he was drug free.
"Once you start moving up in ranks, they keep a closer eye on you."
"But you're a Spectre, aren't you? Surely you've had the chance to sneak some every now and then. That sounds like a sweet gig. You get to do whatever you want!" When you were one of the top ranking officers on a ship in the middle of nowhere and few reports were made in person, who was there to keep an eye on you? He just hoped Mo wouldn't put two and two together.
"I haven't really thought about it much." Shepard said as he rubbed the back of his neck, the words sounding hollow to his own ears. "I'm always too busy saving one thing or another."
Mohinder eyed him skeptically. He'd never been the sharpest knife in the drawer, so hopefully that would be enough to placate him.
"Well good for you." His said tartly. "I guess it won't bother you if I go ahead then?"
"Go ahead." Shepard could feel his throat tightening. As Mo produced a small envelope, he wasn't sure if his resolve was strong enough to resist sand, only a foot away. He wiped at the sweat beading on his upper lip, trying to make it look like he was smoothing his moustache.
Mohinder poured the powder onto a small, sheet of plastic and separated it into four, even lines using the edge of a credit chit. Shepard's mouth went dry.
He shouldn't be here.
He should back out now while he still could, find Garrus and Tali and make a break for the Kodiak. But he didn't move. He was transfixed as one line after the other disappeared from the plate.
Mohinder leaned his head back and brushed some excess sand from his nostrils. His eyes glazed over and a shiver ran through Shepard as his body empathized, the familiar rush as the sand made its way into your veins. He ran his tongue over his parched lips.
"Man…" Mo sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head, a gesture Shepard knew all too well. The first hit of sand always stung your nasal passages and while it didn't last long, it still hurt like a bitch.
Mohinder slid the tray across the table, within inches of Shepard's fingers.
"Take a hit for old time's sake." He grinned, showing he was missing a great deal of teeth.
Shepard was teetering on the brink. He wanted a taste. He wanted it bad.
Even with his potential future sitting here, staring him in the face, with the knowledge that he could end up right down here at the bottom beside Mo, it didn't stay his hand.
He picked up the plastic tube, its weight almost comforting in his grasp. He pulled the plate towards him, a ghoulish grin plastered across his Monhinder's face, triumphant, almost mocking.
One hit couldn't hurt.
Who would know? He just had to hang around here until it metabolized out of his system and he'd be in the clear and he could go on like nothing happened.
He scrubbed the tube with the hem of his shirt. He had no idea of what else had been up Mohinder's nose and he was well past caring if he offended him. He leaned forward, almost salivating in anticipation. Then he heard it; that familiar, uneven, loping gait hurrying passed the door accompanied by a string of curses.
He caught a glimpse of himself in the reflective surface of the tray as he stooped over it. He didn't like what he saw. His face was slick with sweat, his face twisted into a visage of desperation, of savage hunger and need. An expression he saw echoed across the table in Mo. Shepard tried to contain his horror. He felt sick.
"I think I'm good. " Shepard said as he willed himself to push the tray back across the table with shaky hands.
Mohinder shrugged, "More for me."
He quickly set to work on the last few lines. Shepard rose from the table, brushing at a layer of grime that coated his forearms where they made contact with the table. Strange that he didn't notice it before now.
"I'm gonna head out, Mo. Maybe I'll see you around" He doubted it. If his travels ever happened to bring him back this way, he wasn't sure there'd be anything left. Mohinder didn't respond as he bent over the tray.
"Take care of yourself," he called over his shoulder as he exited the small room but Mohinder simply stared ahead of him, large eyes opened wide, unseeing.
##
Shepard crouched in front of the door a hand pressed over his mouth to keep from gagging. His stomach clenched painfully, his body rebelling at being denied that which it craved. He didn't know how to feel. Regret? He'd dreamt about when he'd be able to take his next hit. It was right there in front of him, but he'd resisted. Should he be proud? No, he was feeling too sick for that.
"I've found him!" Tali called over the evening sounds of the alley. Shepard raised a bleary eyed gaze to see what he assumed were his very irate teammates, neither of their faces capable of showing much expression. It was all in the body language and if he was reading their squared shoulders, he was in it.
"Hey guys," he flashed a sickly smile. "How'd you enjoy the tour?"
"It was terrible, thanks to you!" Tali jabbed a pointed finger in his direction. She sounded exhausted, her voice on the verge of tears. "We looked everywhere for you. We didn't know if someone picked you up off the street or worse!"
"I'm a big boy, I can take care of myself." He said as he rose to his full height, towering over her.
"What could you do if you were outnumbered? What if they were armed" Tali said emphatically. She wasn't going to back down on this. Garrus just looked on, silently fuming.
"But none of that happened, and I'm fine."
Tali turned away, already turning on the water works. He hated that strange, snorkeling sound she made when she cried. He always wondered if she cried enough, would her helmet fill up, but today now wasn't the time to test that theory.
"Hey, I'm sorry." He attempted a hug, but it dissolved into a friendly pat on the back. "C'mon. I'm sure that flea market is still open. Let's see if that vendor's still there."
"Why would she want fleas, Shepard?" Garrus piped up, mandibles flaring in confusion.
"It's just a name."
##
"So where were you all this time?" Garrus asked when they were relatively alone.
They were positioned against a wall with a good view of the market. That was a sniper's instincts for you. Tali was nearby, flitting from stall to stall, filling a basket with various wares. Shepard knew it would take time for Tali to forgive him, but when he'd offered to pay for anything she found, and she was taking full advantage of it. It was a start.
"I met up with an old acquaintance of mine. We caught up."
Garrus grunted. "You look a little pale. You haven't been…" he paused, unable to find the right word for it in public, but Shepard caught his meaning.
"No. I came close, but I couldn't go through with it."
"Oh thank god—gods- someone." Garrus let out a sigh of relief. "I thought Miranda was going to kill me."
Shepard turned to look at him, his brows on the verge of disappearing into his hair. "And you believe me, just like that?"
"It would have been easier just to say that you didn't do it; didn't come near any sand, didn't even think about it but who would have been stupid enough to believe that?" He gave him the turian version of a grin. "Besides, your eyes dart around when you lie."
Shepard shrugged.
When the man was right – he was right.