Disclaimer: I own none of the characters, objects or settings from Mass Effect. They all belong to BioWare. I'm just playing with them!

Author's note: This is the back-story of Jennifer Shepard, an Earthborn, War Hero.

The part in italics is not from Jennifer's POV and she has no knowledge of those events.

I hope you enjoy the first part and will bear with me until my exams are over and I can get the rest done ;)

For the Kaidan Alenko Support Thread"What's your story Jen?" Kaidan's large hand trailed up her arm, making her shiver.

"My what?" Shepard mumbled, her head lifting just slightly off of Kaidan's hair spattered chest to turn and look at him. She had been dozing and her bright blue eyes were only half open.

"Your story. You know, your past. Tell me." Kaidan sounded genuinely curious; not once had Shepard purposely told him something about her days on Earth as a child. She had dropped only a handful of hints, mostly accidental ones, about her difficult upbringing on the streets of Washington D.C. He wanted to know more about the woman he was coming to love, what kind of things in her past had shaped her into the remarkable, beautiful woman she was now.

"Oh right," Shepard murmured, "My story. It's uh- it isn't one of those Cin- Dre, thingy with the mice stories." Shepard rested her head back onto Kaidan's chest and closed her eyes, obviously satisfied that her answer was adequate.

Kaidan chuckled, "Cinderella you mean." His hand, which had continued to trail up and down Shepard's arm now moved to her bedraggled hair, working delicately to move the errant strands and layers back behind Shepard's ear so that he could see her face. "But that was not an answer." Shepard gave a 'tut' and said, "Ok. My past is not a fairy tale. In explanation, it isn't suitable bedtime story-telling, so leave it." She sounded perhaps a little harsher than she had meant. Still, her past was a touchy subject, one that she'd rather not remember herself, let alone share it with anyone. Even Kaidan. But Kaidan was more persistent than Shepard expected.

"No I won't leave it. Jen, I love you, yet I know hardly anything about you. At least nothing I haven't been able to decipher since we met. I just want to know who you are." Kaidan sounded completely determined to get Shepard talking.

"Kaidan I- I never talk about my past to anyone, not unless it's completely necessary. I try not to even think of it. Does it really matter?" o emphasise her point, Shepard rolled onto her back beside Kaidan and propped herself up on her shoulders, giving herself the higher position physically. She hoped that this would in some way help her to gain the higher footing in the conversation. She was trying her utmost to think of a reasonable excuse for not sharing her life story, but no matter how hard she tried, every response she could think of seemed weak and easy for Kaidan to reason away.

"Yes, it matters. It's good to talk, to share. When I told you about brain camp and Vyrnuus I felt a million times better. And not because of some tacky 'I've told someone so they can make it all better now' thing. Just that you knew about it; you knew a bit more about who I am, and you accepted it and left it at that. Everyone's got skeletons, love."

"Yeah, my closet is full to bursting point. I have to try so hard not to let them out, Kaidan. I know that if I did, it would put me off the task at hand. That's something I cannot allow to happen." Shepard had regained some of her composure, her tone resembled that which she used on duty.

"You know I won't let that happen. Tell me." He sounded almost pleading and he moved to cup Shepard's face with two hands. His dark brown eyes bore into hers, trying to loosen her resolve, willing her to let every mental barrier she had fall and allow him to truly understand who she was. Kaidan watched as Shepard wavered and finally gave in.

"Fine. What do you want to know, Kaidan?"

"Everything." Kaidan said softly, "Tell me everything you can."

"I only remember from when I was six." Shepard replied honestly, it was as if she was ashamed to admit that she bore no memory whatsoever of her first five years of life.

"Then go from there." Kaidan replied and he pulled Shepard into his embrace, allowing her to talk into his neck rather than look him in the face.

Jennifer Shepard's eyes fluttered open to the pitch black of her bedroom. It was too dark, still night-time. Her face scrunched up as she tried to remember what had awoken her. A nightmare? If it had been a nightmare, she couldn't remember it. Her round, blue eyes gazed the blackness and she thought she might go and tell her parents that she couldn't sleep.

She started to get out of bed when –BANG!- a noise so loud she physically jumped back against her headboard, sounded from across the landing- her parents' room. Her eyes widened in fear. She knew that sound, if not from experience then from childlike intuition and the vids she had seen on the extranet. It was the sound of a gun. And it must have been a previous gunshot that had startled her awake. She felt tears of fear begin to form and they slid down her cheeks. Normally, when she cried, she would wipe them away and put on a brave face, but not now. She was frozen, her small form trembling under her bed cover. Someone was in the house, in her parents' room. Whoever they were, they had a gun and they had just fired it.

Despite being only six years of age, she knew better than to scream out, to let the person know that she was in here. Mustering her usually boundless bravery, she reached and pulled the cover over her head, drawing her knees up to her chin and wrapping her arms around her legs. She clutched at herself for safety, sleep tousled brown hair falling into her eyes as she kept her head low. She hoped that perhaps the gunshots had just been a warning; that her parents were alright still. Perhaps her father, who was an ex-soldier, would have been able to beat the intruder and he was going to come through her door any second, telling her not to worry and that the police were on their way. And then her mother would follow and she would hold Jennifer and wipe away the tears that still fell.

Nobody came. Not her parents. Not the person with the gun. She sat and waited, listening. A short time later, though it had seemed like forever, she heard the front door opening and closing with obvious care. She felt torn; she wanted to stay where she was in the illusion of safety that her bed covers provided her as much as she wanted to bolt to her parents' room to see if they were alright. Curiosity won. Tossing the covers aside, the young girl launched out of bed, her decision made. She ran out the bedroom door and darted across the landing. Her steps slowed as she reached her parent's bedroom; the door had been left open but it was too dark inside to see anything.

The girl took tentative steps inside and she reached blindly for the light controls, her arm raised to full length to find it on the wall beside the door. She eventually found the small control panel and pressed a finger over the touch-sensitive 'on' button. The room lit up and she turned to face the bed. She froze still. Her mother lay still on the bed, eyes still shut as if she were still sleeping. Her father was strewn ridiculously across the floor-the open bedside cabinet suggested that he had been reaching for the pistol he kept there. He had been too slow and his eyes remained open, staring blankly at the skirting board. There was-her stomach twisted- there was red everywhere. Blood.

She wanted to scream out for help, in pain and in anger all at once but her voice had deserted her the moment she had set eyes on the lifeless bodies of her parents. She just stood, sawing slightly on the spot and she continued to stare, like some invisible force was keeping her eyes locked into position. She couldn't stop staring into her father's eyes.

Completely unaware of anything but the horror before her, Jennifer Shepard did not hear when someone opened the front door downstairs. Nor did she hear when they climbed the stairs and entered the bedroom to find her staring.

"Little girl." A young man's voice said from behind her. The girl jumped and turned around to face the new intruder. He looked like someone from the streets; his hair and clothes were dirty and unkempt and he smelled bad. Still, he had a kindness beyond his years in his face and his voice had been deep and soft when he had spoken. "Are you alright?" he asked.

Jennifer didn't know what to do. Under normal circumstances, she wouldn't talk to a stranger but this was anything but a normal situation. She shook her head at him sadly and spoke in a wavering voice; "Someone broke in."

"I know, I saw a man running out of your house with a gun and thought I'd come in and see if everything was ok."

"It's not!" the girl shouted now, she had found her voice; "He killed them. My parents! They're gone, but I'm still here because I was hiding in my room and now I have nobody because we don't have any family and we only moved here not long ago and I haven't even started at my new school yet and..." Her childish rant merged into incoherent sobbing and the young man knelt down in front of her, putting his hands on her shoulders in comfort.

"What's your name?" his voice remained quiet, yet the girl heard him over her sobbing,

"J-Jennifer." She murmured between cries, "Jennifer Shepard." She added. Even now in her anguish she remembered to introduce herself with her full name like her parents had taught her to when meeting someone new.

"Jennifer Shepard, huh. How old are you?"

"Six."

"Ok. And is there anybody who can take care of you?" he enquired. The six year old only shook her head again in answer, her eyes red and puffy as yet more tears fell. "No?" Another shake of the head, the young man sighed; "Then how about, how about if you come and live with me and I'll take care of you? You can't stay here by yourself and you'll be no better off if you go into care. Believe me, I've been there."

Jennifer thought about the man's offer, her sobs slowing as she concentrated. She didn't really understand what her meant by 'go into care' but the way he had said it made her think that she definitely did not want to go into it, whatever it was. But going with him, a stranger, would be silly. It will go against all of my parents' rules...then her mind stopped dead. She didn't have parents anymore. She was alone and right now the only bit of hope she had of living was to go with the man kneeling in front of her. If she didn't she would be left all alone to wander the streets, hoping to find someone willing to take care of her. She knew despite her age, this would be unlikely. The streets of the city were now full of homeless children like her; they formed gangs and fended for themselves in the very centre of the capital. Nobody would be willing to take in a child off the street, not if there was a possibility that the child was a gang member. The gang's had terrible reputations.

"Ok." Jennifer said simply. It was really her only option.

"Good." The man said with a small smile, "I'm Fred Zayer. People call me Zayer though."

"Freddie?" the young girl said, preferring the pet name to the man's surname. Fred Zayer chuckled,

"Alright, you can call me Freddie. But only if I can call you Jen."

Jennifer pouted as she responded, "Nobody calls me Jen. I'm always Jennifer."

"Huh, well, nobody calls me Freddie." He held out his right hand, "Deal?"

The girl looked at Freddie's hand for a moment and then shook it with her considerably smaller and pudgier hand. When they finished their handshake, Freddie didn't let go of her hand, he held it tight, "We need to go now Jen. Do you want to say goodbye?" he motioned his head past Jennifer's shoulder towards her parents. She nodded meekly and turned to face the bodies.

"Bye." She said simply and she turned back around, unable to look anymore and ready to escape her now lost family home.

"Come on then." Freddie said tugging on her hand and leading her out of the bedroom.

"Wait!" she cried and Freddie stopped instantly, looking down at the girl with worried eyes. She let go of his hand and ran to her father's body. Then she knelt beside his head and with her small fingers, she closed his eyelids so that he too appeared to be sleeping like her mother. She had seen this on one of her father's war movies. She had stayed up late and begged to watch with him, despite being too young. When a soldier had died, his comrade had closed his eyes to make him look more peaceful. Something about those war movies had captured the young girl's imagination; the heroism, the friendship, even the action, and it seemed right that she should do this, like that soldier had, for her dad who had been a real soldier. And so, she picked herself up off the floor and walked back over to Freddie, who looked as though he might cry himself.

"I'm ready now Freddie." He nodded and took her hand again, leading her down the stairs and out of the house into the night and into her new life on the streets with him.

He cursed inwardly as his foot caught on the corner of the bedroom door as he entered. His eyes adjusted to the darkness and he immediately scanned the two figures that occupied the bed. One of them, the male, had heard him stumble and was bolt upright, staring towards him in the pitch blackness. The intruder panicked and with shaky hands he immediately pointed his almost antique gun at the female, who had not woken. He hoped that doing this would be enough of a warning, but the man in the bed, although startled by the presence of the weapon, continued to move; he was reaching into the bedside cabinet.

The intruder took a sharp breath. Did the man keep a firearm in that cabinet? On his way up the stairs he had seen military medals adorning the walls- the man was definitely trained in combat. He had a split second before the man would retrieve whatever it was in that cabinet; a split second to decide what to do. The gun was still pointed at the woman; he thought only momentarily, aimed and-BANG!- fired at the sleeping figure. She made no noise; it was an instant kill from such a short range. The man turned from the cabinet with a mix of shock and anger in his eyes. The intruder knew he had no choice; he aimed the gun again and watched as the man tried to duck as he fired and hit him square in the chest. The man crumpled into an impossibly twisted pose on the floor, his eyes still staring but not at the darkness of the room; they were staring blankly into death.

The intruder cursed under his breath again. Things were never simple. He was supposed to have broke in, stole the first decent amount of credits he could find and get out of there and back to the gang leader with his stash. The gun had been a precaution.

He turned about on the spot and in the darkness, he spotted a credit chit on top of a chest of draws, he grabbed it and ran as quietly as he could back out of the bedroom and down the stairs. Before he left, he turned and spotted a family photo hanging lopsided by the front door- he grimaced and turned away from the smiling faces, opening the front door and stepping out into the cool night air. He shut the door and saw as his lookout appeared from behind the hedges on the street."Well?" he whispered into the air. The intruder lifted up the wallet in affirmation. "Good. What the hell happened in there?"

"The guy woke up- I didn't really think about it, I just...fired." he explained, walking down the drive towards his companion.

"It took two shots?"

"No, I shot his wife first, he was reaching for a weapon or something so I thought I'd try and stop him."

"Damn." His companion said with a wince, "Ah well, you got the loot, let's get to back and give it to the boss. I'm starving."

"Yeah!" the intruder said, his mood picking up slightly at the thought of something half decent to eat, purchased with the credits he had just stolen. He and his lookout were members of the 10th Street Reds- at the most basic level they were a rag tag bunch of orphans, runaways and other delinquents grouped together in order to have a chance of survival on the streets of the capital. On a more complex level, the gang was actually one of the strongest and most organised in the city and widely known for their xenophobia and violence that had spawned since first contact two years ago in 2157.

The two gang members began to walk down the deserted suburban street when the intruder stopped dead in his tracks,

"Shit!" he swore aloud this time as he realised something. His companion stopped and turned to him in concern.

"What? What's wrong man?"

"There was a kid." The intruder's shoulders drooped and he looked in chagrin at the black sky. "I saw a kid on a family photo. I only killed the parents. Shit, Tommy what am I going to do?"

His lookout, Tommy shrugged and bit his lip. "Man, you're gonna have to go back in there and finish the job. How old did the kid look on the photo?"

"I don't know, five maybe?"

"Old enough to be able to tell someone what happened. You've got no choice man, you're gonna have to go back in there."

"I can't kill a kid!" the man-turned-murderer exclaimed to his friend. Tommy shrugged again. "Look, this is your problem. Do what you want, but if that kid survives and lets the cops know, Cody will slaughter you."

Tommy was right, if the law got involved in this in anyway and Cody, the current leader of the 'Reds' found out, the man knew he wouldn't see the light of another day. He had to go back in there and finish the kid off; he had to save his own skin.

"Anyway, I'm going to head back with the creds. Maybe if you hurry, the food won't be gone." Tommy said. He was known for his distinct lack of compassion- some might even call him heartless.

"Yeah." The intruder said and he turned to walk back toward s the house, wondering if there was really anyway he could get out of killing the kid. Maybe if he just-

"Hey, Zayer!"Tommy called after him, stopping his thoughts; "Try not to screw up this time, yeah? That things only got six shots you know!"

.