Life in a Graveyard

0124 HRS, March 11, 2180

La Grange Military Base, Newport, Rhode Island

The base was dark. Darker and more abandoned than Shepard expected a military headquarters to be and he was grateful for the month that he had already spent living here that allowed him to commit the area to memory.

Shepard remembered now why he so often opted out of these stupid things. Because no matter how entertaining the night had been so far—and he was not going to admit to actually having fun tonight—they always ended the same: shuffling back to his room, alone, wondering why he bothered to leave it in the first place.

His feet hurt, and right now more than anything he wanted the comforting smell of clean sheets and a bed that, for the next week at least, he could call his own. The frigid breeze nipped at his neck and Shepard flipped up his collar, pulling his jacket tighter around himself. If this was supposed to be spring, he remained unconvinced.

The street lamps that guided his way down this narrow road that (hopefully) led to his barracks were spaced way too far apart to be of any practical use. The faded, silvery lights reminded him of a hospital and, as he stepped in and out of the flickering glow, Shepard felt much like he must look: in-between light and darkness, in-between knowing what he wanted and actually having it, in-between being a hero and a coward, in-between jobs, in-between happiness and misery.

Shepard strode onward, slightly drowsy, watching the wet asphalt of the street flash by three feet at a time.

When he rounded a corner and the barracks came into view, the first thing he noticed was that the door was ajar. It was certainly strange, but not altogether unreasonable, considering the amount of alcohol consumed tonight. Most of the men in his building had been at the party after all, and Shepard had somehow ended up being one of the last to leave. A moment later he understood exactly why the door was open when a slender form slipped through and shut it behind her. He was then met with long, black hair and a very familiar face; it was one that he suspected he wouldn't ever forget.

The area was open, and he couldn't have been more than 20 feet away, so even if he felt like hiding, it was impossible. He wasn't stalking her after all, but he wouldn't blame her for thinking otherwise. Something akin to curiosity flickered across her face when she saw him, but only for a moment before it was gone.

It was a hallmark of his stunning inexperience when it came to relationships that some small part of him had secretly been hoping for this scenario. One in which she had decided to come back to him, albeit in the fantasy she probably looked a little happier to see him. Now she was perfectly composed, but there was something restrained in her manner, though he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

Though it was far too late and she had no doubt been through a lot today, somehow even with her hair let down and without any jewelry she still managed to give the impression of being immaculately turned out. He absentmindedly wondered if she still smelled of mint and gardenias, or if he might get close enough to find out.

For the moment, he was too embarrassed to look at her any longer, so, as he approached, he tried to focus on any other point he could find: the rusty hinges of the metal door, the broken window next to it that was supposed to have been fixed yesterday, the rose bush that he had stepped in one too many times. And before too long, he had to face her because she was standing right in front of the doorway.

"Bet you're not happy to run into me again," he said. It was supposed to be something resembling an icebreaker, but when she didn't reciprocate his nervous laughter it turned into more of an awkward truth.

She eventually cracked a small smile, hopefully not at his patheticness. "Oh, I don't know," she said, pink-cheeked from the cold. "I can't seem to get rid of you. I might as well accept it."

Why did it sound so smooth when she said it?

"You didn't strike me as a big believer in fate," he said.

"I'm not." She leaned in close, but hopefully not close enough to hear his breath catch, and whispered it like a secret. "If fate has me running into you at the end of every empty hallway, I think it sold us both short."

With how transfixed he was on the way their eyes locked, he could barely process what she was saying. God, she did smell just as good as he remembered, maybe even better now that the cold air had dulled some of the artificialness. Her hair blew lightly in the breeze and those silver-blue eyes were brighter than any light he had passed on his way here. His omni-tool beeped and Shepard jumped, blindly fumbling with his wrist, thankful only that he had at least been given a small relief from the tension of the moment.

"In-in general or in this specific instance? Because right now I have no complaints," he said, happy to have any thread of the conversation to grab on to.

He composed himself, but shoved his hands in his pockets and looked away when she still stood, blinking at him curiously. It wasn't supposed to sound like a line, but now he didn't have much of a choice. What he really wanted, he didn't dare articulate, at least not yet.

"And you shouldn't either," he said. "It could've been someone entirely different behind that door. Someone much more dangerous."

Her brows came together. She probably didn't know him well enough to know when he was joking, but he understood enough about her to know the sentiment was ridiculous.

"And much less handsome," he added.

She rolled her eyes and shook her head. "You must be truly desperate to result to using threats on my life to flirt."

"Well, maybe," he said, embarrassed, but meaning it. "To be fair, you left so quickly at the bar I didn't get a chance to say anything."

"That's because I came here for a conference, not a quickie."

"Looks like you stayed long enough to do both," he said before he could stop the words. Her nostrils flared and he immediately wanted to slap himself.

"No, no, no, that's not what I meant." This conversation got worse every time he opened his mouth. "I'm just saying, you're still here, and so am I and we could've . . . well not that. Um, not necessarily, at least. I just meant you didn't have to go so early . . ." He sighed. "Look, I'm sorry. I'm a little drunk, and more than a little nervous."

He had realized much earlier that this woman wasn't a soldier, but she was something. And as her face adopted a taciturn expression, he could feel that other person taking over. Some kind of cold, distancing mechanism.

"I mean, you are here at the barracks. For all I know you could've been here looking-" he stopped and was sure the redness of his cheeks had nothing to do with the weather. If it were at all possible, he would've resigned himself to not speaking for the rest of the conversation.

"Looking for you?" she said, ignoring his clumsy apology.

Later he would reflect on her anger and be mildly disturbed by it. Only two things you snap at—things that are wildly false and things that are entirely true.

"No," he offered meekly. "I was going to say, um, looking for me."

She laughed what he imagined to be her real laugh. It was soft and almost mirthless, very different from the honeyed, modulated one she used earlier when she first spoke to Jacob. "You are incredibly annoying, you know that?"

He was still nervous, so he babbled. "You sound like every girl I've ever dated." He paused briefly, and then the rest of the words tumbled out of his mouth all at once. No way was he giving her a chance to respond to that. "Not that I can see any reason behind it. Why you feel that way that is, not the sounding like-uh, I just mean I think I'm pretty harmless. Most of the time."

"Yes, I know," she said, pushing some hair out of her eyes. "I suspect that has a lot to do with it."

It took him a second to understand what she meant and under normal circumstances her way of making him feel stupid probably would've been slightly offensive.

"So why are you . . .?"

She raised an eyebrow when he didn't continue. "There are other people that live here besides you, Shepard."

Oh. Oh. Her answer surprised him, though maybe it shouldn't have. She had come here for Jacob, after all. Maybe his earlier slip-up had been much closer to the truth than he realized. Shepard suddenly felt very ashamed of himself. For listening to Jacob, for actually enjoying himself, for giving her the power to upset him. Aggravation came fast however, and it trumped the humiliation and at least allowed him to say something.

"So that's it?"

A slight shrug that told him she was treating this with the same nonchalance that she had conducted herself with all evening.

"Now that I've pried Jacob away and gotten what I wanted, I can leave," she said, as if it explained everything.

He felt at the very least somewhat betrayed. Opening up to people wasn't something he did very often and she had practically tricked him into it. The only thing he couldn't figure out was why.

"So why aren't you?" The edge in his voice seemed to catch her off-guard, and he used the opportunity to press her further. "Why even have that drink?"

He almost added Because you're sleeping with my friend, and all I do is get on your nerves which was the only obvious truth. But he wanted to hear her answer, so he bit his tongue and instead fixed her with the hardest glare he could muster for someone he'd been looking at with radiant, admiring affection all night.

She looked away. "Shepard, can I ask you a question?"

He frowned at her deflection and felt himself deflate, somehow managing to feel even more foolish than he had minutes before. He had no right to be upset with her, and no real reason to make her feel uncomfortable. If anything he was more angry with himself for letting her get to him that much. She never owed him anything. It occurred to him that this might be the last time he would ever see her, and he didn't want anger to be the final feeling he experienced.

She tilted her head. "According to Jacob, you actively avoid these smarmy get-togethers. You despise them. What were you doing there?"

Her tone was genuinely contemplative—not angry, not sarcastic. "B-Because," he sputtered, taken aback. "I don't know. Anderson is my friend. I had to go."

He almost left it at that, but the way she was looking at him made him want to keep going. This was harder to answer than he thought. "I might think they're a waste of time, but . . . sacrificing to do something good for someone you care about . . . isn't that all relationships are?"

She leaned in close again, closer than before, and for one heart-stopping moment he thought she might kiss him. Her voice was soft, barely audible over the blood pounding in his head and the whistle of the breeze.

"That's why I stayed."

And then she was gone. Shepard was left hanging in the evaporating tension for a few seconds to recover before he whipped around and reoriented himself to her retreating form. As much of a disaster as that conversation had been, it did leave him with a surreal, warm feeling. He stood there, watching her leave, for a few moments longer than was probably necessary—slightly hoping that she would stop and maybe tell him to get in touch with her if he needed anything—but he only saw her turn around once, catching a glimpse of her blue eyes on his once, calm and cool.

It was almost disturbing that what he found so fascinating about her were all of the things most people probably found particularly bothersome: her penchant for speaking in riddles, the way she looked through you, rather than at you, and the gravitas she carried without even trying.

She had come into his life like a whirlwind, snatching up all manner of what once were peripheral emotions, and leaving turmoil in her wake. And now as she faded in and out of view, passing under the dull grey light of the street lamps, he felt it all slipping away.

He couldn't argue that she presented an exciting life. Or rather, an exciting life with her, which was an idea he had been stupidly holding onto all night. It had only been a few hours, but her presence had already become something of a friendly weight. She had a strange way of shutting out the world around him. Calling her a distraction would be a disservice, and a comfort not meaningful enough.

Shepard sighed and shook his head, but couldn't look away as he watched her finally vanish into the darkness.


0112 HRS, May 11, 2183

Pax System, Horse Head Nebula

"Wha-what's happening?"

His voice felt faint, even in the silence. The world was very fuzzy, and everything tasted like lemon meringue pie. Moving didn't come easy; it was as if he was wearing a heavy suit of armor (and he wasn't, not anymore). From what Shepard could tell, he was curled up on his side on top of a long, upholstered lounge seat built into the wall of what looked like a small train cabin, and his head was resting on something comfy, and warm. There was a pervading hum, but, along with the gentle feeling on his scalp, it was more soothing than annoying. He turned over onto his back and hazarded a look upward, fearing that he already knew what he would find.

But it wasn't one of the marines he left behind on Eden Prime that he saw when his vision cleared, just a very shapely, weary figure that had focused her attention on him after the movement. "You feeling okay?"

"I . . . I don't know. I think so." He had to concentrate hard and when her features finally came into focus, she was staring down at him, her gaze shrewd and appraising. Her eyes had lost a certain luminosity and the bags under them exuded an unhealthy wanness that reminded him she wasn't as invincible as he had built her up to be in his mind.

"I didn't expect you to be awake so soon. I still have no idea what happened when you touched that beacon." She paused. Her next words were so quiet he wasn't even sure if she really said them. "But it was certainly frightening."

The beacon. Thinking about that did make his head hurt. The last thing he remembered was that gripping feeling of panic as the thing came alive and started pulling him toward it. Somehow he had not only survived that, but gotten off-planet in time to avoid the bombs?

"Am I dead?"

She laughed quietly. "This is your vision of paradise? Waking up next to me on a run-down Asari transport?"

No, she was right. Plus, if that were the case, she probably would have been wearing much less clothing. Shepard suppressed a groan and hoped he hadn't said that out loud. In this state he was hardly sure one way or the other.

"The extraction could've gone smoother," she said. "But there's been no sign of the Alliance yet, although that's not really saying much."

He frowned. "Did you actually have any trouble making it out okay?"

"You worried about the future?"

It looked like she hadn't slept in days. "I'm worried about you."

She sighed. "It was nothing I couldn't handle. Don't fret about it. Besides, I'm not that one that just had a near-death experience."

He gave her a dubious look, but acquiesced. When he closed his eyes, he found that felt so much better. Now that he wasn't preoccupied with trying to focus on what he was seeing, he was finally able to identify that the sensation he was feeling was her running her hand through his hair. That meant his head was on her lap. He had to be really out of it if it took him this long to notice something like that.

"What-what are you . . .?" he trailed off and smacked his lips, bringing a hand up to rub his forehead. To her credit she didn't have to ask what he meant.

"We're supposed to be husband and wife," she said, and he immediately regretted the question if it meant she was going to stop her ministrations like that. "It wouldn't look very good if I tossed you to the other side of the room after you 'fainted'."

"We're married?" It was a stupid question, but not an all altogether revolting one. His head was swimming way too much to try and analyze the ramifications of that thought. "What exactly happened while I was asleep?"

She was smirking at him now. "No, you credulous idiot, but I needed some kind of story to get us on board. And that seemed like it would go over better than escaped traitors."

"That makes it sound so bad. What about something more ambiguous, like renegades, or rogue spies?"

She rolled her eyes. "Alright, fine. We can be rogue spies instead."

He squinted at her, his senses feeling very dull. "I'm not so sure I like the idea of being a spy rather than your husband."

She chuckled softly. "Well at least I know the propofol didn't do too much damage. You're still you, as annoying as that is. Though you probably need your rest."

"You . . . drugged me?"

She nodded and grabbed his arm, which still rested on her thigh, and smoothly moved it back down to his side. "I had no idea what you'd be like when you did wake up, but I couldn't risk you making a scene before I could secure us a way out."

He tried to lift his head, but realized very quickly that was a bad idea. "That's a little much for a first date."

"Well then it's a good thing this is our second."

He ran his tongue over his teeth, trying to get the damn taste out of his mouth. "Is that why I feel so—so loopy?"

"Probably. Either that or the beacon." She was looking out the window now, and it occurred to him that he still had no idea what was going on.

Shepard hazarded another look around the room. The window was behind him but he still caught a glimpse of space and stars. "Where are we?"

"I used the shuttle to barter us passage onto this liner." She looked back down to him. "It was too dangerous to keep using it after the Alliance got a good look at it planetside. We'll be at Illium in a couple of hours, but until then you should relax."

"The colony." He was slowly regaining brain function. "What happened to it?"

She shushed him. "Too many questions. Get some sleep, and we can talk when you're feeling better."

She made it all seem so very formal. A colony was destroyed, presumably, and thousands, maybe millions, were dead. Oh, and it had been mostly his fault. Had it not been for the utter ineptness with which he handled pretty much everything after he got up in the middle of that field on Eden Prime, his team would've carried on with their mission. Whether it was the drugs, whatever the beacon did to him, or perhaps just his own conscience, a creeping feeling that felt much like death was edging into his stomach. All the darkness he'd tried to shut out threatened to start roaring back in and he shivered involuntarily.

She must've noticed because she brought a soft hand down to rest on his shoulder. He tried to anchor himself in the dimness of the pitiful cabin, the pounding in his head, her subtle encouragement, the not-so-subtle hardness of the bench he was resting on, and the familiar hand on his skin. Anything to stop the aimless drifting that he suddenly felt like he had been doing for years, just to keep any kind of reality from pushing through.

Before yesterday he had withstood his solitude impassively enough, without realizing quite how lonely he had come to feel. And tossed away from the world he knew, it was hard not to yearn for that feeling of being needed, if only to serve as a comfort. Even if she was only doing it to protect their well-being, and even if she never became anything more than a fantasy, he would take it.

"Remy," he mumbled, not opening his eyes. He felt her slide the hand down to rest on his chest.

"Hmm?"

"If I suddenly turn into one of those zombies, you have to shoot me, okay?"

"What, so you don't infect me?" she said. He nodded and could feel, rather than hear, her exasperated sigh. "You watch too many movies. You're not going to transform."

"Well, yes, those are the two outcomes. Either I do or I don't."

"Are we really having this conversation?"

"Okay, it's admittedly not as fascinating as staring uselessly out the window for the next few hours."

"They're not trying to eat your brain, Shepard. They are just synthetic-organics, and their existence has been known since the First Contact War."

If he wasn't fading so fast, he would've asked her how she could possibly have known that.

"And judging by what happened on that planet, as long as there aren't any of those spikes around, we will be fine," she said.

If he had any strength left, he would've groaned in disappointment. "It was way cooler before you explained it."

"It was absurdity until I explained it."

"You know, sometimes a simple yes or no answer is good enough," he said. He cracked open an eye to see her staring down at him, her nose wrinkled.

"I think I like you better when you're asleep."

He smiled a little, but tried not to let it show in his voice. "I'm just saying, someone has to be the brains of this group when I'm incapacitated."

She gave his nose a light pinch. "Small shoes to fill, but I'll fill them nonetheless. Now go to sleep."

Feeling much better, he yawned and turned his head, burrowing further into the cushion of the seat—and into her, but that was little more than an afterthought. They were safe, for now, and while the beacon thankfully hadn't killed him, it had done something. Perhaps, if they were lucky, it would be enough. Shepard slowly drifted away in the confines of the cramped train cabin and dared to hope.


0133 HRS, March 11, 2180

La Grange Military Base, Newport, Rhode Island

Shepard slumped against the cool, metal door as it shut with a bang. She was gone now, for good this time, and he hoped that made her a little sad, because it made him a little sad. All of the closeness of the evening was gone, and all that remained was the frustration of knowing what the future held.

He knew that he would be embarrassed and stiff in the morning when he had to face Jacob. There would be plenty of questions about his night and teasing over how foolish he'd acted around someone who was clearly very connected and very powerful. But a bigger part of him was dreading Jacob's questioning exposing the closeness of last night for what it was: make-believe.

It had only been a short amount of time, but from the moment she left him at the bar, Shepard had been desperate to recapture that feeling. And—for a few minutes in the cold—he had. But now he was alone, and it was all unreal again. He was right back where he started, and he tried to tell himself that it was enough, just to have had her all to himself for those few fleeting moments. Only it wasn't.

Shepard was almost to his room when his omni-tool beeped again, a gloomy reminder of the past few minutes. He considered again hitting snooze on whatever alert had interrupted his earlier conversation, but curiosity got the better of him. The display came up and showed him it was a message that had been waiting for him. Shepard groaned. Even when Jacob wasn't there, he had a way of putting a damper on Shepard's interactions with his beautiful companion. He slumped against the wall, tapping a few buttons so that the text was brought up to read:

I don't know where you are, but I hope you took my advice tonight. I certainly enjoyed myself and I can only hope that you can say the same. At the very least, you deserve that much my friend. There's more that I want to tell you, but it's a little much to type into an omni-tool, and I'm almost asleep as it is. I left you a letter on the dining table that should explain just about everything. Hope you didn't live it up too much and are still able to read it whenever you get home.

Jacob

Shepard shook his head and let his wrist fall back to his side. If there were anyone else with him, he would've made a wisecrack about how it was very Jacob to write him a note telling him that he had left him a note. But he was alone, and Shepard would be perfectly fine if he lived the rest of his life without anyone else reminding him of that fact.

By the time he reached his door, Shepard was so ready for this day to be over he would've been agreeable to just about whatever Jacob had in store for him. He fully expected to find his friend hunched over the kitchen table, scribbling down some final, meaningful information like it was 1852 and he was moving out West. Shepard fumbled with the buttons on the keypad as he tried to enter the code to his room, and the lock finally acquiesced after a few tries.

Though it wasn't terribly late, he still somehow managed to trip over the umbrella stand and make a lot of noise coming in. The crashing sound was amplified by how deathly quiet and empty the rest of the apartment was. The housing was only temporary, and therefore bare and unfurnished by default; the dull white walls barely visible through the stacks and stacks of cardboard boxes. Soon everything would be gone, leaving only a sea of white emptiness in its place. And with them would go the last vestiges of evidence that the "great" Commander Shepard had ever been here.

Shepard tried to look out into the disarray and confusion of the living room, but the place was as dark as it was silent. Only the steady hum of the building's power generator stopped his ears from ringing in the stillness. Jacob didn't snore, so it was impossible to tell if he was already asleep; especially since he always kept his door locked. Some ridiculous sentiment about never knowing what was coming. Shepard would've called him a gullible moron if he thought it would've made any difference. To steady himself, he reached for the back of the sofa in the darkness.

The only thing of note in the front rooms was the kitchen table, extending long enough to seat ten, leftover glass table settings and ornamented napkins stretching off into opulent darkness. Shepard belatedly remembered that whatever was so important that it couldn't wait until tomorrow, when they were both alert (and sober), was waiting for him somewhere on the table.

He shoved aside the candlesticks swamped with puddled beeswax and the bowl of oranges Jacob always insisted on having with him wherever he stayed. They actually weren't bad once you got used to the fact that they weren't real oranges. Crisply folded in half, a small sheet of what looked like a page torn off of a lined notepad rested gently in the center of the arrangement. Reluctantly, Shepard picked it up and began to read by the light of his omni-tool.

Shepard,

I know, I know. I originally said I'd finish out the week with you before I went on to my next "spook adventure" as you love to call them. But now, things have changed. My.. situation has you ask, no I can't give you any details, and I know that beyond your own annoying curiosity, you don't really care anyway. So let me just say this: sometimes what you need to do for yourself doesn't always make everyone else happy. You know that better than anyone.I don't know what you thought of.. Remy when you met her tonight, but even though she can be a little . . . uncompromising, what she's doing is important. And this time she needs my help. She's very good at what she does (though I'm sure she told you that herself), but more importantly: we can trust her. And if you don't believe that, then trust that I believe in I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm leaving, first thing tomorrow. You'll still be out cold I'm sure, so I guess that makes this goodbye. I don't know when we'll see each other again, but I hope that Vancouver ends up being everything that you want it to be.

Who knows, maybe we can stop by sometime and share a coffee with you, or whatever it is that normal people do.

There was no signature at the bottom, but at this point that hardly seemed to matter. The two of them would be leaving in the morning, together; Jacob had made it clear. If there were any lingering doubts about the true nature of Remy's visit (to this room or the base itself, it made no difference), they were all but eliminated in the severity of the letter Shepard now held in his hand.

He crumpled the piece of paper, content to take out his frustrations on the note if his friend was too scared to face him. And make no mistake, Jacob was avoiding the conversation that Shepard himself had been dreading only minutes ago. Now, however, Shepard's feelings more resembled consternation. He had blabbered on like a moron for far too long about his mystery woman before realizing that she was Jacob's . . . whatever she was, and at this point Shepard didn't care how ridiculous his disapproval looked. Jacob knew all of that, of course, which is why he heroically deigned to leave in the early morning light.

Shepard stumbled to his room and stopped in the doorway, dismayed, and tucked the wrinkled message into his inside jacket pocket. Shepard himself was never one for goodbyes, and Jacob knew that too. Though he was a little sad to his friend go, Jacob's feelings would surely be a little hurt if he had done something like this without staying to at least try and explain himself. As for Remy: she didn't seem particularly upset to see the last of him, though in truth Shepard still felt a little sick to see her leave.

Shepard took a few steps into his room, shrugging off his shoes and then his jacket. He tossed the coat aside, not even flinching when it knocked over the wooden hat rack at which he'd been aiming. He sighed. In a few days he'd be off to his new life, Jacob off to his even sooner than that. And it would be a lie if he tried to act like he hadn't considered what it would be like to trade places with him, and that was something he never would have thought about before tonight. He could only hope that they had both made the right decisions, but right now, in his soon-to-be empty apartment, he was less sure than he'd ever been.

Shepard fell into bed, not even bothering to remove his clothes, and wondered when life had gotten so complicated.


A/N: Much shorter this time! Posting nothing but 10k+ chapters would wear out both you and me I fear. I know the timelines have jumped around a lot. Sorry if that caused any confusion, but that will calm down fairly soon. I do plan on involving other characters in this other than just Shepard and Miranda, but they have a long way to go as it is.