Mess Talk
"Arrrghhhhh!"
Lakota vehemently launched her full-faced, field helmet across the crew quarters hitting her locker squarely. Wrath not appeased, she strode quickly to pick up the ricocheted head piece, and, with a viciousness born of rage, swung it down on her locker. Still not satisfied, the helmet was apathetically discarded, and she savagely punched the metal door. Rabid pain seared through her hand, arm, and shoulder, acutely punctuating the terse moment. Because her wild rampage had no effective outlet, Lakota's emotional control was in tatters, and every muscle, every fiber was wound taut, ready to snap. Without warning, like a puppet whose strings were cut, she fell heavily to her knees. Frustrated tears burned the rims of her eyes as she attempted to rein in her righteous fury.
A familiar swoosh of sliding doors was heard, followed by footsteps descending the CIC stairwell. Without looking up, Lakota angrily barked, "I locked this floor down, soldier! Get the hell out!"
"No," was the serene reply from across the room.
Irritated, Lakota slumped forward. Her forehead touched the cool, dented locker door seeking some sort of salve for her emotional frenzy. "Liara, now is not a good time."
The asari scientist clearly saw her lover's embittered state. "Commander, what did the Council say?"
Looking over, Lakota seethed, "What didn't they say? Apparently, the whole 'Battle of the Citadel' was caused by Saren." Lakota abruptly stood and began to pace furiously; her outrage reborn and barely contained. "Oh…and he recruited an army of geth to help him." With each word her voice became more agitated. "And his ship, Sovereign, was just a ship." Turning suddenly to face Liara, her words were laced with acid. "And now the precious Council, in its' infinite wisdom, is sending me to hunt down the geth!" Spinning back to fanatically pace once again, she sneered, "What the hell was the point in saving them, if all they do is cover-up the real threat?"
"Commander…"
"I am being sent on a fool's errand, Liara!" roared Lakota. "The Reapers are real! And they are coming, but nobody wants to do a blasted thing about it."
Liara tried again. "You do."
Lakota laughed ruefully. "Oh…and that's the best part! The Council is throwing me to the media maws! Haven't you seen the news vids? You are now in the presence of a hero!" The last word was spit out venomously.
With an impassive, but firm tone that belied the commander's inflamed state, Liara answered, "Yes, I saw them. But Commander, you did lead your crew and stopped Saren. And whatever they admit, or will not admit about the Reapers, you did defeat Sovereign."
"Don't you get it Liara? The Council is encouraging this insidious idea to take the focus off the fact that a larger threat exists, and they have no clue what to do about it!"
"Shepard, the fact remains that you defeated both Saren and Sovereign."
"I am no hero, Liara," Lakota retorted hotly. "I am a soldier. A Spectre. I did my job. Nothing more, nothing less."
"I disagree."
Jaw clenched tightly, Lakota coldly condemned, "You are entitled to your opinion, Doctor."
The asari scientist paid no attention to the verbal dismissal, "Commander…"
Interrupting with a raised hand, Lakota abruptly halted her pacing. "Liara, stop. I feel betrayed. I am angry. I am frustrated. And I want to hit or shoot something, but this ship is too small for a firing range. No amount of coddling will make me feel better right now."
"Then perhaps you should talk about something else?" Liara walked further into the room, stepping to face the commander, but keeping the crew's dining table between them.
Rolling her eyes, Lakota exasperatingly shook her head and demanded, "And just what should I talk about?"
"You never finished the story about your scar."
"My scar?" snapped Lakota incredulously. Her voice verged on hysteria. "You want to know how I got my scar? Now?" With her right forefinger pointed at her right eyebrow, Lakota made a brutal, diagonal cut in the air in front of her and vehemently cornered, "This seven inch slash across my face?"
Not backing down, Liara unflinchingly confirmed, "Yes, Commander."
"Sure! Why not?" Agitation radiated off her in waves as Lakota's arms opened wide in a mocking portrayal of being on stage. "Let's add one more sad tale to this day of misery!"
Lakota recommenced her angry pacing and attempted to restrain the burning inferno that raged within. Taking deliberate, slow breaths, she forced herself to speak, but sarcasm was woven into every word. "You already know about being born and raised in the Mexico City slums… Well, life in the Red Den was picturesque. Let's skip the fun stuff like how we were sorted as cattle: smart ones here, strong ones there, pretty ones here. And let's slide over how we were pitted to fight each other like prized varren. Oh, and don't forget using food as a reward system. But the best… the best was when the older boys and girls brutalized the younger ones."
Lakota stopped short, no longer able to maintain her cavalier, flippant façade. She stood still, taking another deep breath as her left hand reached up to pinch the bridge of her nose. She closed her eyes, forced a calm composure, and then mindfully exhaled. "I was lucky though. Guns weren't allowed at that time, so I became very adept with knives, daggers… anything sharp that fit into my hands. It took a boy losing an eye, a girl being gutted and another boy, twice my size, losing his so-called manhood before I was left alone."
Lakota leaned back against the beaten locker, downcast eyes blindly roaming the floor. "Truth is, kids started looking to me for leadership…or something…after that."
Remembering the reason for the monologue, she shifted her ill-tempered gaze and directly challenged the asari. "But you wanted to know about the scar. For that we'll need to jump ahead to when I was fifteen, and a lieutenant for the Reds." Composure faltering for a moment, she antagonistically added, "Incidentally, I got that promotion by killing two rival gang members when I was twelve… How's that for a hero?"
Shaking her head as if to dispel the grim memory, Lakota revealed, "'Shepard' was my nickname."
"Nickname?" Liara could barely contain her bewilderment. "But I thought your full name…"
Bluntly, Lakota interrupted, "I was born in some back alley of the slums. No birth certificate, no name. I was sold to the Red Den by my drug addled mother when I was days old. No one gave me a name. Not until I was maybe four years old and someone called me 'Shepard' because the other kids followed me around. The name stuck."
Attempting to make sense of the unsuspected revelation, Liara cornered, "But your first name, 'Lakota'…"
"Is one I gave myself. I forged my birth certificate with it and joined the Alliance at sixteen."
"Sixteen?" Astonished, Liara continued her attempt to sort out her confusion. "But I thought the recruitment age was eighteen?"
"It is. And my birth certificate said I was eighteen." As an afterthought, Lakota offered, "I don't even know my real birth date, so I chose the day I enrolled, April 11. I figured it was a new beginning."
Liara was rendered speechless. She looked quizzically at the commander as if attempting to put a complicated puzzle back together: piece by piece.
Sharply, Lakota vented, "Hell, Liara. I told you my childhood wasn't pleasant."
Still unsure of what to say, Liara's eyes narrowed in reflection to the thoughts and queries formulating in her mind.
Lakota took note of her lover's unspoken questions and sardonically retorted, "You wanted to hear all of it. Fine. Here it is, in all its splendor."
Resolute in her chosen path, Lakota squared her shoulders and began her tale. "I was fifteen and one of six lieutenants. Grace liked to keep things balanced: three boys, three girls. Grace was the den mother; she ran the show."
Lakota returned to her supportive posture on the battle scarred locker, while long-safeguarded images, blending between tragic and kind, flashed through her senses. She faced away from Liara, her thoughts transporting her back to point when life seemed simple. Brutal, but simple. She bowed her head in remorse for what those memories wrought, because it was also a time when friendship and betrayal walked hand in hand.
Lakota tilted her head, so she could catch a glimpse of Liara in her left periphery, and then continued her story. "We were all groomed from an early age. Grace hand-picked us. She gave us food, clothing, and shelter. Educated us. She was of the 'might equals right' school, so the stronger we became, the more powerful she became. But don't fool yourself. By 'education' I mean, we were taught to read, write and given some technical training. I excelled in electronics and hand to hand combat, so those were my primary focus. We were schooled in firearms and, eventually, allowed to carry guns, but I preferred my blades: quick, silent, easily concealed, and I had a decent throwing range."
"Each of the lieutenants had a squad of four to six underneath them, and each squad was designed with a specific purpose in mind. My squad focused on B&E." Lakota assumed the asari was unfamiliar with the slang, so without turning her head, she elaborated, "Which means we broke into houses, stores or warehouses and stole whatever was valuable. Three of the squads were focused on selling drugs throughout the city, and the other two focused 'public relations'. Basically, they dealt with the other gangs trying to encroach on our territory."
Caught up in festering memories, an irritated sigh escaped Lakota. "Grace was larger than life. Beautiful, poised, mesmerizing. A magnetic personality. We all loved her and wanted to be in her spotlight. She could be very generous when you were her favored… but she was vicious and unforgiving, if she felt slighted by you."
With a wry, humorless smile, Lakota added, "Looking back, she was a bit of a megalomaniac."
"I was Grace's favorite until she felt threatened by my growing popularity. The other lieutenants looked to me for leadership. The younger members did so, too. I even had the respect of rival gangs. She kept us all on a short leash though, and made sure to remind us that she was in charge."
Accusingly, Lakota snapped, "Kind of like what the Alliance and Council have been trying to do with me these last few days."
Skipping over the finer details, Lakota got to the heart of the story. "At some point, Grace became paranoid and killed my crew. Six kids, the oldest not even fourteen. Massacred them while I was in a meeting with her. When I returned home, I found them. They'd been shot to death."
Liara heard Lakota's voice break slightly at the mention of her young crew. She saw the commander's rigid stance soften as if being broken down by the weight of her grisly memories. She even felt Lakota's energy shift from an overflowing, tempestuous wrath to a tightly contained, inconsolable sadness.
"At that moment, I received a phone call from one of the other lieutenants, Rosa. She told me the apartment was rigged with explosives, and I needed to get out fast. I started to run, but they detonated before I got to the door."
Lakota wearily looked up, her haunted eyes filled with bitter, unshed tears. "I should have died that day, but I didn't. An old, beat up refrigerator fell on me and took the brunt of the blast. Saved my life. I had broken arm, some fractured ribs and a seven inch cut across my face, but I was alive."
Tempered by the confessional tenor, Lakota's gaze beseechingly locked with her lover, and in response, Liara slowly crossed the distance between them. She was careful to assess whether or not a close proximity was something Lakota could handle. Finally, when standing inches in front of the commander, she tentatively asked, "What happened afterward?"
"Rosa found me, made sure I got some medical attention, and then kept me hidden from Grace. Everyone thought I died in the explosion. Whatever interest the authorities had in the case, Grace made sure it went away. She was very influential." Lakota's body was immobilized. Tears began to fall freely down her cheeks, but she did not break the visual lifeline with her lover.
Liara attempted to move closer, to offer comfort, but Lakota, knowing that if the tale stopped, it would never be told, shook her head drawing an invisible boundary line.
Astutely, Liara observed, "But that is not the end of your story."
"No. It's not. My sole focus from that point on was to get justice for my murdered crew." Wet, red-rimmed eyes narrowed menacingly, and Lakota matter-of-factly added, "And once I was healthy, I got just that."
"I found out that two of the other lieutenants were responsible for butchering my crew, so I hunted them down and killed them. Those who tried to stop me when I went after Grace died, as well. When I finally confronted Grace, she was defenseless, but I shot her anyway."
No longer able to bear the compassionate look of her lover, Lakota penitently closed her haggard, tear-stained eyes. Droplets continued to intermittently slide down her cheeks as though releasing a burden that would no longer be contained.
"I had so much rage, so much fury, inside me. She killed my crew. She tried to kill me. And there she sat, at her desk, trying to convince me that she and I could lead the Reds into a new era. That all of it was a test designed to make me stronger. That I owed her for all the things she'd done for me."
Lifting her head, Lakota's defiant glare harshly nourished her feral state of mind. "I told her to go to hell. Then I shot her."
The tidal wave of righteous anger disappeared as quickly as it reared, leaving in its declining wake an emotionally raw, dispirited soul. As a troubled afterthought, Lakota added, "I never killed anyone with a gun before."
Dismissing the invisible boundary line, Liara's right hand reached out and softly caressed the commander's right cheek, wiping away lingering wetness. "What happened to Rosa?"
Pain flashed across Lakota's face. "She died protecting me."
Liara's voice was soft and considerate. "I am sorry. I can tell she meant something to you."
"Yes, she did. She was the only friend I had."
As if her memories were weighted, Lakota wearily shifted her shoulders, emotional exhaustion burrowing to her core. "I joined the Alliance right after. I needed to disappear. Seemed like a good idea at the time."
Gently tracing her lover's facial scar, Liara conveyed her appreciation. "Thank you for telling me about this."
"I never told another soul my story before," confided Lakota. "This is going to sound like a cliché, but it feels good to finally tell someone."
A smile played at Liara's lips when she jokingly advised, "Remember that in the morning."
Lakota remained silent, but offered a tired smile in return.
Attempting to lighten the mood, the asari affectionately teased, "So Commander, you are only twenty-seven years old."
Bemused, Lakota shook her head. "Way to pick out the important part, Doctor. Don't tell the Alliance though. They sort of frown on forged documents."
Completely forsaking the veiled boundary lines, Liara leaned in and tenderly kissed Lakota. The kiss carried the implied sympathy, the inferred compassion, and implicit trust she bound around her lover. As the moment quietly settled, Liara sensed the imprisoned grief still emanating from Lakota's being. She intuitively knew the commander held back some bit of caustic information which mercilessly tore at her.
Moving so that their foreheads touched serenely, her voice soothed, "Shepard...what you are holding onto? Just let it go."
Anguished tears from a persistent, unwanted memory silently flowed down Lakota's cheeks as she whispered her soul-weary confession, "Before she died, Rosa said…she…"
Years of pent up mourning broke through Lakota's timeworn barrier. Awash in old, despairing emotions, she fought for, and gained control of the fervent, turbulent flood. Forcing herself to bring the dirgeful autobiography to an end, she sighed miserably, "…she called me a hero."
Leaning back, Lakota looked into Liara's eyes with naked vulnerability and woefully stated, "I'm no hero."
Liara reverently enveloped Lakota in her arms. She felt the commander initially fight the offered refuge, but then, with stoic effort, Lakota unshackled her self-condemnation and melted into the haven of her lover's absolving embrace. A long, weary sigh emanated from the Commander as her face burrowed into the crook of Liara's neck.
Continuing to stroke Lakota's back in an affectionate, tranquil motion, Liara lovingly whispered, "You are to me."
