A/N: As mentioned in the previous chapter, this story is going to do something a little different. I've been writing like a maniac trying to get it to a place where it's nearly finished, but the damn thing keeps getting bigger and bigger. In any case, I'd like to give a big thank you to those who read and/or reviewed. Please continue to do so, leaving me comments about what you like or even what you find confusing. Thanks so much.
Oh, and I should mention that the chapter titles are all taken from three Sylvia Plath poems.
Chapter One: One Year in Every Ten [Case Report: Shireen Palomer]
Trial of Commander Kayleigh Shepard
Vid Log Evidence #0.00423X
[Palomer, 63, fidgets in her seat. She's seen better days, but has obviously done her best to tidy herself up. The suit she wears is threadbare but immaculately ironed, though it hangs awkwardly off her wire-thin body. Her bloodshot eyes flick between the interviewers, looking for any sign of sympathy.]
TRIBUNAL:All right, Mrs. Palomer – just take it from the top.
PALOMER: The top?
[Her fingers toy with her hair, attempting to push back a flyaway that doesn't exist.]
TRIBUNAL: Tell us when you first met Kayleigh Shepard.
PALOMER: Oh, yeah, right.
[She chews on her fingernail, revealing her slightly luminescent teeth – a clear sign she's been abusing red sand. A beat passes as this tribunal waits for her to begin.]
TRIBUNAL: You were her foster mother, were you not?
PALOMER: Kayleigh? Yeah, sure. That was a long time ago, though. Don't know anything about her now. Don't know anything about batarians either. Never left Earth, me. Space is so, so big, you know?
TRIBUNAL: We're going to have to ask you to focus, Mrs Palomer. We're here to talk about Commander Shepard, remember?
[Palomer nods, still chewing on her nails.]
PALOMER: Always saw it coming, I did. She was always up to no good. Had a mean streak in her.
TRIBUNAL: Would you care to elaborate?
PALOMER: She ran away, too! Just like she did with the Alliance, I'll bet. I always saw it coming, I say – told everybody – that girl is up to no good.
[Palomer tears up, bottom lip quivering.]
PALOMER: It's not my fault, I swear. I didn't make her like this.
TRIBUNAL: Mrs. Palomer, nobody is claiming -
PALOMER: She started off so sweet, and I swear it's not my fault! I didn't do it! I didn't!
o-o-o
Kayleigh wished for a long time that her parents – her real parents – would come back and claim her. When she was a baby, she used to imagine that they'd forgotten her somewhere, that there'd been some sort of mix up, and that they were frantically searching for her. They'd show up one day in the dung heap where she lived and rescue her, and they'd take her far away and reveal that not only did she have a family, she was also a princess and totally rich and could have her own hover car too.
Only, Kayleigh wasn't a baby anymore. She was nine years old and tough – tougher than all the kids at school, that was for sure – and she knew that wishes didn't come true. Whoever her parents were, they weren't coming back for her. Might be, they were even dead. There was no way to know for sure, and it didn't really matter either.
The light outside the apartment building where she lived was on the fritz again, sparking on and off like Morse code. Setting down her paper bag full of groceries, she undid the safety pins that held her backpack shut and withdrew the key, sliding it home and turning it the special way that Shireen had showed her. The door liked to get stuck, and eventually Shireen had gotten tired of having to come downstairs to let Kayleigh in. One foot propped the door open while she bent down to pick up the bag, and then she was inside, the smell of mould, cigarette smoke and something like urine shooting through her sinuses.
With an arm wrapped around her bag, Kayleigh ran a hand over the stubble that was, until today, her hair and tried her best to ignore the tightness in her throat. Her lower lip quivered. Today, the nurse buzzed it all off with a sympathetic look. Kayleigh wanted to punch the woman in the face for that pitying expression – it wasn't like she didn't know she had lice or that getting rid of her hair was the logical solution, but she also knew that everyone in her class was going to whisper to each other about it at lunch.
So really, it wasn't all her fault that when Billy Thorpe started picking on her, she kicked him in the nuts. Just like it wasn't her fault that when he punched her in the face and split her lip, she spat blood in his face. The principal hadn't been pleased and had forwarded a note to Shireen's extranet account.
They're all bitches anyways. She'd never say it aloud – that was a lesson she'd learned early – but Shireen's vocabulary was definitely applicable in this situation.
The apartment door wasn't locked, meaning Kurt was probably over. Kayleigh paused inside the doorway. Nobody could hear the door open over the sound of the vid in the other room, so she crept into the kitchen and unloaded the groceries as quietly as possible.
Shireen stumbled into the kitchen, blinking bleary eyes. She was so skinny, Kayleigh was able to drag a finger through the grooves between those ribs. Not that she'd ever do it when Shireen was awake; that would get her a slap for sure. Her foster mom didn't resemble "What the fuck happened to your hair?"
"Lice," said Kayleigh, putting the milk in the fridge. "Didn't want me to pass it on to the other kids."
"Maybe if you had a fucking shower every once in a while, it wouldn't be a problem," slurred Shireen, lighting up her cigarette with feeling.
Kayleigh let herself shrug, doing her best to keep her face down so that if, on the off-chance, Shireen hadn't yet found the note, she wouldn't know anything was up. There were about a million things that she could say in the face of that accusation, but she kept her mouth shut. She'd learned that early, too.
The second the older woman cleared her voice, though, it was clear that the gig was up.
"Anything else you wanna tell me?" asked Shireen, elbow propped up on the counter. One strap of her dress slid down her skinny arm, revealing a saggy, small breast.
"No," said Kayleigh.
"You know, nobody's gonna like you if you keep up that attitude." Kurt came up behind Shireen and wrapped his arms around her middle, pulling her close. His age was a mystery – younger than Shireen though, probably. His hair was long and dark, and he had a scar that stretched from one cheek to the other. One hand drifted lazily up to her breast. He raised one appraising eyebrow. "Too bad you lost your hair, too. It was your best feature."
"If they kick you outta school," said Shireen, in what Kayleigh always assumed must be her motherly voice, "what are you going to do then, huh? You're not gonna live here for the rest of your life."
Kayleigh said nothing.
"Go on, get out of my sight," said Shireen, nodding towards the hall. Kurt watched with heady eyes from behind her.
Relief poured through Kayleigh's veins as she scampered away, locking herself in her room. The bed was unkempt and even the posters on the walls – of various rock groups and movies – couldn't hide the fact that it needed some TLC and badly. She dropped her backpack next to the door, knowing full well that she wasn't going to be homework tonight, and dug under her bed for her plastic box filled with pieces. Cross-legged on the floor, she began her own work: fixing an old omni-tool she'd found in the dump a few weeks ago.
They learned about omni-tools at school, but it wasn't like she could afford one for herself and Shireen wasn't going to buy her one either. Over the course of a few lunches, she'd snuck into the room where they were kept and dismantled them enough to understand how they worked. Never all the way, of course, because then she wouldn't have time to put them back together before a teacher found her or worse, some snitch discovered her plan and ratted her out. Still, it didn't look too difficult, and she was sure that she could fix the old one, no problem.
Her fingers skittered across the letter she'd taped to the side of her box – an honest letter on paper! She knew the words by heart.
Once she fixed this, she was getting out of here. She heard some kids talking about living on the streets, and they were way less tough than she was, so if they could do it, she would do it better. Besides, if she could fix this omni-tool, maybe she could fix other things and then sell them.
Screwdriver in hand, she set to work.
o-o-o
Vid Log Evidence #0.00423X (Continued)
[Palomer has settled down substantially now, wringing her hands in her lap. Her eyes still flicker between the members of the tribunal, as if she's the one on trial.]
TRIBUNAL: And she ran away soon after that?
[Palomer nods, nearly hesitant.]
PALOMER:I looked for her, really, but I couldn't find her. Even filed a police report! They've got records, you know, you can ask them.
TRIBUNAL: That won't be necessary. You say that she had a grasp of technology even then?
PALOMER: I don't know anything about that. Didn't. She never said a thing to me. Only after she was gone did I hear about it and find that letter.
TRIBUNAL: Letter?
[Palomer reaches down and retrieves her handbag. Her fingers rifle through the contents, though she shoots wary looks at her audience as though afraid for them to see what's on the inside. She finally pulls out a piece of paper, folded and creased. A page comes and collects it, presenting it to the tribunal.]
PALOMER: I kept it just in case, I don't know, in case she came back, I guess.
TRIBUNAL: Did she? Come back?
PALOMER: No.
TRIBUNAL: So you never saw her again?
PALOMER: Didn't say that, did I? Next time, she was with the Reds.
o-o-o
Physical Evidence: Tagged – SP09.2163
Dear Mrs. Palomer,
I am privileged to write this letter in support of my student, Kayleigh Shepard. Kayleigh has studied in my classroom for the past two years, during which time I have witnessed her incredible aptitude for technology. She grasps easily those concepts and applications that would've stumped many of my peers. Although her background is troubled, there is great potential for growth and success in her future. It is for this reason that I would like to nominate her for the Gregor Ivanovich Scholarship at your academy.
If she were to receive this scholarship, her future prospects would be limitless. I have included the applications with the hope that you will sit with Kayleigh and fill them out.
Thank you so much for your time,
[REDACTED]
o-o-o
Leigh woke up to Goro's arm around her waist, the stench of sweat all up in her face. With both hands, she pushed him away and climbed out of bed checking herself for hickeys or whatever. None. Good. It wasn't that she hated Goro exactly – he was a decent enough lay, but he always got so damn clingy. He wanted her to be his girlfriend or some shit, when it was clear that she was way out of his league. Like, lightyears. Like, if he was Earth, she was some spit of a planet in the Perseus Veil.
She sniffed at her pits and decided she didn't need a shower. Running a hand over her short hair, she searched for her pants, digging them out from under a chair. They were loose on her thin hips, so she cinched her belt to her custom made holes. Her shirt was missing, so she grabbed one of Goro's emblazoned with the name of some punk ass band that thought they were cool shit. It covered her tits though, and that was a plus.
If the snore from the bedroom was any indication, Goro was still blissfully unaware of her departure as she closed his apartment door behind her, hiking her backpack up on one shoulder. Her omni-tool bleeped, and she hit it.
Tybalt's face appeared, and Leigh had the sense to keep her hands down even if what she really wanted to do was smooth her hair and simper. She was fucking better than that. So she did her best to appear nonchalant in the face of the most beautiful man in the world, mentally stamping down her nerves.
"Hey boss," she said, propping her body against the wall. "What's cracking?"
He smiled, and it warmed her to know that it was all for her. "I got a job for you."
Her eyebrows shot up, and she couldn't quite keep the interest off her face. "A fun one?"
"Would I give you anything less?" Coordinates appeared on the vid. "Meet me here and we'll go over the details."
"Roger that, boss," she replied with a smile. The vid disappeared, and she couldn't help but do a small dance, pumping her fists. Then, remembering she was a badass and not a snot-nosed kid, she gathered herself and walked out of the building, not quite able to keep the bounce from her step. She swung down the decrepit steps, careful to keep her hands to herself because God knows what was on that railing, and swung out of the building. Some lady ploughed straight into her.
"Watch it, bitch," said Leigh, using a voice that scared even some of the toughest motherfuckers in the Reds.
The woman looked up, her dark brown eyes meeting Leigh's own blue ones, and Leigh felt herself grow suddenly cold. She stumbled back, all her happy thoughts melting away like an ice cube in a coffee pot. When Shireen grabbed her arm, Leigh yanked it away and moved back.
"Kayleigh?"
"Fuck this," Leigh said to nobody in particular. She turned, shoving her hands into her pockets and keeping up her trademark swagger, because hell if she was going to let Shireen – of all people! - know how badly shaken she was.
The bitch didn't know when to let things be and used one of her spiderlike hands to claw at the back of Goro's shirt. Leigh swung around, ripping herself from Shireen's grasp, and slamming her hand as hard as she could into the older woman's face. Shireen broke off with a wail, and Leigh found that she was panting and that when Shireen looked up at her with such a pained expression, an untamed rage erupted in her veins.
"You come near me again, I'll put a bullet in your head," warned Leigh, and meant it.
By the time she got to the coordinates she was given, she was pretty much calm. She'd stopped in a public restroom and made sure that her weaknesses weren't visible. When the hell had Shireen moved into that hell hole? Whatever – it didn't matter now. She wouldn't be going back regardless. If Goro wanted to his shirt back, well, he could damn well find her, couldn't he?
With scissors from her backpack, she cut off the collar and sleeves of Goro's shirt so that she at least looked a little bit fashionable even if her musical taste was in question. Tybalt had started paying her more attention, and while she wasn't going to be some sort of hussy – the image of Shireen near naked with Kurt waded into her mind and she scowled – she certainly wasn't going to be just one of the boys either.
She was better than anyone in the gang. She knew it. Most of the Reds knew it. Hopefully Tybalt knew it too.
He was in the back of a bar, and after knocking on the alley entrance, she was granted admittance. Behind his desk, his blonde hair was pulled back into a ponytail. He smiled widely when she entered, going so far as to stand and hold out a chair for her. She knew she was blushing, but somehow she couldn't help herself.
Settling down, Tybalt clasped his hands in front of him, regarding her. She stared back, unflinching and hopefully just a tad bit sexy. "You ready for a solo run?"
There was no hesitation. "Damn straight."
Tybalt smiled.
o-o-o
Vid Log Evidence #0.00423X (Continued)
[Palomer pulls a pack of cigarettes from her purse, followed by a lighter. With shaking hands, she puts the cigarette to her lips and makes to light it.]
TRIBUNAL: Mrs. Palomer, you can't smoke in here.
[She looks up, surprised, as if she hadn't realized she wasn't alone. She slowly drops the lighter back in her purse but keeps the cigarette in her hand, rolling it between her finger and thumb.]
TRIBUNAL: So you say she was with this gang, the Reds? How could you tell?
PALOMER: She had a tattoo. Red plus. Right here.
[She touches a finger to her wrist.]
TRIBUNAL: And was this the last time you saw her?
[Palomer nods.]
TRIBUNAL: Do you have anything else to add?
PALOMER: I didn't do it, you know. Make her that way. She was like that all along.
o-o-o
FWD:
Criminal Record – Wade Marsi (Deceased)
File: 2012571502
Name: Wade Marsi
Aliases: Tybalt Granger, Red Banger, Wade Consuela
Gender: Male
Eyes: Brown
Hair: Brown
Country: United North American States
Affiliations:10th Street Reds, Terra Firma
Status: Deceased
Offences
Case No: 25-153146-PQ
Offence Date: 04/02/2158
Offence: Weapons Violations
Disposition Date: 17/05/2158
Sentence:8 months jail, 2 years probation
Case No: 25-153146-PQ
Offence Date: 25/11/2161
Offence: Property Crime
Disposition Date: 13/03/2162
Sentence:1 year jail, 1 year probation
Case No: 13-253646-SL
Offence Date: 08/08/2163
Offence: Aggravated Assault
Disposition Date: 21/05/2164
Sentence: 3 years jail
Notes:
Subject key in many unsolved crimes. Purported to be head of the 10th Street Reds gang. SEE ATTATCHED.
ADDENDUM – Subject found deceased in known hideout. Possible foul play. Investigation pending.
o-o-o
All she could think was, this is it.
It felt as though every bone in her body had snapped. Leigh nearly vibrated with pain, her head swimming. Her vision was completely black, and while she normally would've waited it out, she didn't have that luxury. Somewhere in the very near vicinity, there was an angry turian and he was coming for her. Her legs refused to stand, even as her vision slowly returned, muddled like a chalk painting in the rain.
She might die here. Realism, at its finest. But if she failed, she might as well die anyways.
For nearly a year, she'd been Tybalt's favourite. She'd organized a few well-executed heists under his orders, taken out a few key players from rival gangs. Her sniping skills were already better than some of the Reds' hardened veterans. Combined with her self-upgraded tactical cloak, and she was quick, fast, deadly. Tybalt hadn't failed to notice, taking her first into his confidence, and then into his bed.
And though she still slept in his apartment, curled up in his sheets, the scent of him had long since disappeared. He'd been eyeing some leggy redheaded bimbo at the last few meetings, and Leigh couldn't say shit about it without seeming like a whiny bitch. So when he'd mentioned some turian at the embassies – some alien prick here to cement treaties or discuss colonies or some political bullshit that barely interested Leigh – she'd jumped at the chance.
"I'll take him out," she vowed, and for the first time in weeks, he'd given her that smile that was only hers.
She had to get back into his good graces – needed to win him back. Period. End of story. There was no way she'd survive otherwise. No way -
Her rambling thoughts were cut short as the turian approached her. He stood over her, and she hunched over, arms protecting her middle, glaring up at him and trying to think of some way out of this fucking mess.
His mandible things twitched, and if he'd been human, she would've said he looked surprised. Hell if she could tell, for sure on his weird alien face. "Spirits," he said, "you're just a damn kid."
Because she'd only gotten mouthier, meaner, bitchier, she said, "Well, this damn kid broke into your suite without anyone noticing. Aren't you turians supposed to be like, the shit with security or something? 'Cause I'm not impressed."
It was all bravado, but that was the only thing she had left. If life had been kind – it wasn't, and she had evidence in spades – his face would've been less fucked up, and she would've been able to read his expression. He inclined his head slightly, his green eyes flickering down to her arms. Leigh pulled her shirt down protectively, resisting the urge to fidget, to tell this alien that she wasn't into that xenophilia crap. She should've, but she was still thinking that maybe, maybe she could get out of this.
She couldn't help but be startled when he moved away from her, though he never presented his back to her. He sat in a chair opposite her, folding his mutant hands in his lap.
"Why are you here?" he asked. "You with some pro-human organization?" When she said nothing, he tried a different tactic. "What's your name?"
Leigh slid herself into a standing position, hands cradling her belly. The turian had tossed her like a rag doll, sniffed her out under her cloak or something. All her limbs felt stiff, and she was sure she was going to be bruised the next day, her stomach worst of all.
She didn't answer his questions, but asked one of her own: "Are you going to kill me?"
The silence stretched between them, thick with something Leigh couldn't name. Finally, he keyed something into his omni-tool. A picture of another turian – nearly identical down to the tattoos, except this one had blue eyes – popped onto the screen.
"This is my son," said the turian.
Leigh snorted. "What, is daddy playing matchmaker now?"
The turian's voice was hard when he spoke again. "He's probably about your age – and he's the only reason I'm going to let you walk out of here. One chance. You come here again, and -"
"You'll kill me, yeah, yeah," said Leigh.
But the turian shook his head. "Worse – I'll hand you over to the authorities. I bet they'd have a lot of questions for you."
She almost couldn't believe what she was hearing. Stumbling forward a step or two, she shook her head. "You're just letting me go? Why?"
His eyes snaked down to her belly, then back up to her face. Leigh's mouth went dry. "Go," he said.
And she did.
o-o-o
Vid Log Evidence #0.00423X (Continued)
[Palomer sits erect in her chair, eyes scanning the crowd past the tribunal.]
TRIBUNAL: Thank you for taking the time to come in today, Mrs Palomer.
[Palomer regards them with wide, frightened eyes. She manages the most timid of smiles.]
PALOMER: Are we done, then?
TRIBUNAL: Yes, we're finished.
PALOMER: Can I... I just wanna say, you know, that what Kayleigh did doesn't surprise me. Have I mentioned she was always a mean one?
Next Chapter: Shepard asks James for a favour.