Author's Note: Had a super busy two months or so. Wanted to get this out earlier but better late than never, right?
...right?
On another note, Happy Holidays and Merry Christmas to anyone celebrating them. If you want to maintain the festive cheer, I would recommend putting off reading this until the holidays are over, because you may get slightly depressed after finishing this chapter.
You have been warned.
Sunlight streams high overhead. Traynor finds herself blinking at the intensity. It feels like the Citadel is turning up the lights every time she visits. She wonders if they think that making things more pleasant here will make the war happening beyond the artificial sunshine and sky less real.
"Want an actual drink this time?"
Traynor turns to face the scowling asari bartender at Café Apollo. The Normandy has taken a brief detour at the Citadel to stock up on supplies before heading back to Tuchanka. Dr. Solus is excited about something, and he requests that they head back to the krogan homeworld as soon as possible. Urdnot Wrex has also gotten more serious. He spends the day coordinating his forces instead of teasing the specialist about eating her.
Eve seems thinner than ever.
"Hello?" A blue hand flashes in front of her face. "Do all humans have this short of an attention span or is it just the ones I run into?"
Traynor shakes her head. "I'm sorry. I was preoccupied." She pushes the empty cup across the counter. "Just coffee, please, if you don't mind."
The asari snorts. She shoots Traynor a look and the specialist glances away.
People rush by, their voices blending into soft murmurs in the background. The crowd around them shifts and breaks like a quiet tide. Traynor wonders why she feels so alone.
"So, what's your deal?" The bartender swirls her cloth rag along the counter almost lazily. Her blue skin shimmers under the Presidium's light. "You got someone you're pining for?"
Yes, but that isn't what is currently preoccupying her.
Traynor shifts in her seat. "It's nothing, really."
The bartender looks at her like she's a terrible liar, but doesn't press. "So, you've been nursing that cold coffee for an hour now because you're in love with it?" She eyes the specialist. "Or someone?"
"That's preposterous. I am merely enjoying a drink in the Presidium." Traynor takes a sip determinedly and manages not to make a face at the bitter brew. Her tongue is practically demanding a scraping of her taste buds. "It's delicious."
"Uh-huh." The bartender looks less than impressed at Traynor's statement. "So, what is eating you?"
The specialist has finally received correspondence from her family on Horizon. Her mother is still alive and fighting. Supply lines to the colony have been cut off or severely reduced due to the Reaper invasion.
It's only a matter of time.
"I don't suppose you've heard anything from your family?" Traynor notices the bartender stiffening and hastily backtracks. "I'm sorry. That was very nosy of me. I—"
"Damn right, it was." The server looks away. "But it doesn't take away from the fact that I have less and less family each day."
Traynor has too many moments where she wishes she could sink through the floor and into space.
"I'm sor—"
The bartender waves her off. "You've got nothing to do with it. It's the damn Reapers and time." She pauses for a moment then laughs. It is not a happy sound. "I have a daughter out there, somewhere, who doesn't know that I exist."
"Have you contacted her? Surely, she would like to know about you. After all, you're her mother."
"Father."
"Fath—" Traynor pauses and frowns. How does that work?
She takes one look at the bartender's face and decides not to ask. For a second, her throat closes up. She tries not to think of her own father.
"Father, right. I don't think it would hurt with everything going on to let her know you're alive."
The bartender is silent. She rubs her crest in thought. "I think…we should stick to me giving you advice. No offence or anything, but it's not as simple as that."
Traynor frowns but doesn't press the issue. It's not her business to get involved. Still…
"Neither she nor you might be here tomorrow. It's worth a try at least, isn't it?"
The cafe worker shakes her head. "If I had a chance…" She takes a look at the specialist's cup and dumps the contents before refilling it with hot coffee. "But enough about my sad life. So, who is he?"
"She," Traynor corrects automatically.
"Right. So, what's her deal? Too good for you?"
"No, that's not—" Shepard's saved the galaxy twice. Traynor managed to cobble together turian intel with salarian surveillance into a barely comprehensive whole. EDI helped. "She's busy."
"What's so important that she can't spare you a few minutes to talk?"
Er…
"It's complicated."
The bartender crosses her arms. "What? Is there an ex in there or something?"
"…it's complicated."
"Well, maybe you should let her know where you stand to uncomplicate things. Ambiguity can hurt a hell of a lot more than rejection."
That sounds like totally reasonable advice. After careful deliberation, Traynor chooses to ignore it.
"We don't have time for that sort of thing. I don't—" How would Traynor even address that anyway? By the way, Shepard, I have a massive crush on you. Thanks for listening. I'm going to the bridge to throw myself out the airlock now.
That should go over well.
"We're in a professional relationship."
She looks at Traynor. Very hard. "Is that the best you can do?"
Traynor shrivels at her tone. She wonders if sinking beneath the counter and slinking away is considered bad conversational form.
The bartender eyes the Alliance insignia upon Traynor's collar. "Is it a higher-up, then? Well, in my opinion, you should go for it. The galaxy's not gonna hold out much longer at the rate the Reapers are wiping us out." She picks up a glass and wipes at it absent-mindedly. "Plus, you look like you need to get laid."
Traynor nearly drops her drink over her lap.
The asari bartender leans across the counter. She stares intently at the specialist. "That long ago, huh?"
"Th-that's not something I discuss in public!"
"Listen, you look like a nice kid. Go and get some while the galaxy is still out there." She tosses her head back and glances sidelong to the balcony near the café. "Otherwise, you might regret not doing anything at all."
Traynor ducks her head away to avoid continuing the conversation for now. She spots Shepard strolling towards them, looking slightly worried but radiant under the warm Presidium light. Her skin glows with a golden, almost serene light. It takes away the shadows under her eyes for a moment.
Traynor desperately pushes the bartender's advice out of her mind. She pretends she succeeds.
"Commander." She is about to get up when Shepard gently pushes her down.
"You're on leave. You don't need to stand for me all the time," she chides with a smile. Her eyes are worried. Traynor wishes she could sweep away the anxiety inside Shepard.
"Why don't you have a drink, Commander? The coffee here is—" Traynor turns to the bar and freezes. The server looks like she wants to crush the soldier to a puddle around her boots.
"Shepard," growls the bartender, tendrils of blue wisps dancing about her wrists. The glass in her hand cracks under her grip.
Shepard looks puzzled. "Do I know you?"
The bartender snorts. "I don't know. How many asari clean your ass off of their bar counter when you get completely shit-faced?"
Shepard pauses then glances over to Traynor. She shrugs.
That is not an appropriate response to a pissed-off asari matriarch.
"Should I jog your memory? Sorry, but we're out of ryncol today."
Shepard snaps her fingers. "Aethyta, the matriarch from Illium." She tilts her head and regards her with a frown. "You're a long ways off from where I last saw you."
"No shit. I got out of Illium before they came." Aethyta glares at the soldier, who gives her a hard look right back.
Traynor feels the air getting hotter between the two women. Mostly because she's sitting in the middle. She slowly edges out from under the hostile gazes.
"Is there something you want to talk about?" Shepard crosses her arms and tilts her chin up. Traynor glances nervously at the server whose arms and shoulders seemed to be rippling with dark energy power. She should run. She stands by Shepard instead.
She blames Shepard for the weakening of her self-preservation instinct.
"Traynor, Aethyta and I have something personal to discuss." Shepard doesn't take her eyes off the growling asari. "Liara's sitting nearby. You could go chat with her."
…Traynor would rather take her chances with the matriarch.
"Commander, I—"
"Go."
The single word is not a request. Traynor swallows her protest, takes a last look at Shepard's face and heads over to the balcony with slumped shoulders. She could hear voices behind her rising in heat. She wishes the Commander let her stay.
Liara looks up as Traynor stops in front of her table. She blinks then straightens up right away. "Specialist, I did not expect you to be passing by this part of the Presidium."
"It was a nice day for a walk. Do you mind if I join you, Liara?"
The broker looks skeptical but gestures to a seat across from her. "Go right ahead."
Traynor sits down. She and T'Soni make eye contact, and Liara looks away.
Both she and Liara have reached a point in their professional relationship where they could be more than cordial to each other. It makes the specialist uncomfortable, given the asari's propensity to gaze at her for long periods of time. It also reminds the specialist that the asari has the most intense blue eyes she had ever seen. That makes her doubly uncomfortable.
Traynor realizes she can see the scene at the bar over Liara's shoulder. It does not reassure her.
Liara types away at her datapad. "Is there something I can help you with?"
The specialist glances back at the pair arguing at the counter. Sharp, wild hand gestures have been added to the conversation. The customers at the café are giving the pair a wide berth. It's just as well. Shepard has an astounding reach.
Traynor glances back at her companion. "I was wondering how your day was going."
Liara arches an eyebrow marking. "Relatively productive, Specialist." She glances away and smiles. "About what are you really inquiring?"
Traynor blinks. Liara looks at her, and the specialist stammers out whatever comes to mind. "I was wondering if you had ever met Shepard's mother."
Oh. Dammit. Well, she has been wondering that, but she thinks she misjudged her timing. Probably. Most likely.
Crap.
The smile fades away. "Once and only once, but by then, it did not matter." Liara goes quiet. "Why are you asking?"
"It's just that Shepard told me she hasn't contacted her mother in a while. I was hoping that perhaps you could..."
"Specialist, it is not wise to meddle in the affairs of Shepard if she does not want them to be disturbed." Liara's tone is stern but not unkind. "However, I cannot give you any information as I do not know the current location of Captain Shepard any more than you do." She glances down at her hands. "I have been looking."
Traynor lets out a long breath. Something clenches in her chest, and the specialist has to remind herself to breathe. "What was she like?"
"Strong. Graceful. Commanding. Grieving." Liara pauses. "She is exactly Shepard would be like a couple of decades from now." She looks up. "Is the commander aware that you are seeking information about her mother?"
Yes...obviously.
"I was just curious, since I have received news about my mother and..." Traynor's throat closes.
Liara glances at her. "Just your mother?"
Traynor nods slightly. There is a long pause.
"Oh.
"I am sorry."
Traynor doesn't answer.
Liara searches Traynor's face before she places her hand on the specialist's and squeezes.
And Traynor squeezes back.
Liara talks lightly of the sights of the Presidium, the colourful personalities of the vendors, and of various noteworthy asari restaurants. She struggles to remember the names of the latest movies that have come out before giving up and talking about the various types of fauna on the ward instead.
Traynor takes it all in without hearing a thing.
"So, what made you choose to pass by this part of the Presidium?" Liara asks, gently.
"It's pretty. I like pretty things." Traynor looks to her right. She wipes at her eyes. "Damn allergies."
"I imagine they can get quite active at this time of year." Liara politely glances away. Neither of them point out that the specialist's eyes have been moist long before she sat down.
"Was there anything else I can do for you, Specialist?"
Traynor ventures a smile. It almost collapses on itself. "No, I'm fine. Thank you." She looks over Liara's shoulder and sees the commander still talking with the matriarch at Apollo's Café. "I can see that Shepard is talking to the bartender at the bar."
Liara stiffens. She doesn't look to check the scene. "Which bartender?"
"The asari matriarch." Traynor glances back and forth between the server and Liara. They resemble each other quite a bit. She doesn't point it out though. The last thing she wants is for Liara to get the idea that the specialist thinks all asari look alike.
"I see." The tone is cool and clipped. Liara continues typing away at her datapads. The line of her mouth firms into a rigid line, and her eyebrow markings furrow together. She looks quite unhappy.
Traynor glances back between her colleague and the café. "Is something wrong?"
"No. Nothing is wrong. Nothing at all."
…right.
Traynor can't help but notice Liara eyeing the next ward down.
"Do you know that bartender?"
A muscle twitches in Liara's face. "Do you think I am familiar with all asari I see?"
Given the extensiveness of Liara's information network...kind of.
Liara seems to pick up on the specialist's skepticism. She shakes her head. "It is a private affair. Shepard should not get involved."
Traynor looks over to see the commander slams her hands so hard into the counter's surface, little craters form underneath her palms. Both the owner and the matriarch look less than pleased.
The specialist thinks it's too late to pretend that the commander isn't.
Maybe she should go over there and try to drag Shepard away from that…energetic conversation she's having. Traynor excuses herself from the table and heads towards the café. She considers sending several prayers to multiple gods would hedge her chances of evading harm nicely.
She's not sure what she can do if a fight does break out. Perhaps, tossing a chair at Aethyta or perform some other badly thought-out action will do.
She nears the pair when she overhears the matriarch's sharp words.
"So, what? My daughter's not good enough for you to f—"
Nope.
Traynor heads right back to Liara.
"They seem able to handle themselves." She sits back down. "So, how do you know that asari? Or not know her?" She adds hastily at Liara's glare.
Liara sits back and rubs the bridge of her nose. "She knew my mother."
"Very well?"
"I would say so, yes."
"Then, why don't you talk to her?"
"The galaxy is ending, Traynor. I hardly think this is the best time to pursue personal affairs."
Traynor gives Liara a look, and the asari almost blushes under it. The specialist is aware of the hypocrisy of her attitude.
"Liara."
"I have already made up my mind, Specialist. Simply saying my name will not cause me to change it."
"You might regret it if something happens to both of you tomorrow."
"Well, in that case, I do not think I will regret much by that point."
The biotic scientist can be more hardheaded than a krogan mercenary when she puts her mind to it. Traynor does not appreciate it at the moment.
She is about to argue her point further when Shepard's hand claps onto the asari's shoulder. Both she and Traynor nearly jump. The commander snuck up on them. Traynor didn't know she could do that. Not based on her combat vids, anyway.
"Sit down, T'Soni." She pushes Liara down firmly who eyes the next ward over in a slightly panicked manner. Shepard plops herself down in the last remaining seat. "So, you know that asari over there?"
Liara sighs. "The matriarch hired by the asari government to track my movements?"
"…yeah, that one. Anyway, she's your father."
Traynor's head twists so quickly towards T'Soni that she probably gave herself whiplash. "What?"
Liara rubs her eyes. She looks like she wants to groan. "I know."
"You know?" both Shepard and Traynor blurt.
"I am a very good information broker." Liara stands up and gathers her data pads. "Well, this discussion has been remarkably refreshing. I shall see you all back on the—"
"Liara, go talk to her." Shepard looks baffled and disappointed at T'Soni's confession.
"Shepard, this is hardly the time for family reunions." Liara says. Her eyes immediately go wide, and she glances at Traynor. "I mean, given the war effort and everything, I would imagine that family meetings should—"
"Liara, go." Shepard glances worriedly at Traynor, who has gone pale and presses her lips together tightly.
"Shepard, I—"
"Go."
This time, the command is from Traynor who tucks her chin to her throat. The word sounds low and loud at the same time. It sounds choked.
Liara takes a look at the specialist's face. She opens her mouth to protest before something comes over her expression, and she marches her way towards the nervous-looking bartender without another word.
Shepard doesn't speak, but she takes quick peeks at Traynor from the corner of her eyes. She looks like she wants to say something. She doesn't.
Traynor feels like she's about to break. She clears her throat instead. "Commander, are you sure this is wise? That matriarch looked like she wanted to kill you a while ago."
Shepard waves off the concern. "It's not the first time a matriarch wanted to kill me."
Why does that not reassure the specialist?
She glances at Traynor once more then pulls something out of her pocket. It's a strange sort of circular disc that fits neatly in her palm.
She taps at a button on the device, and the disc begins to spin. Aethyta's voice emanates from Shepard's hand in a clear tone.
"So, that Commander Shepard…nice piece of ass on her, huh?"
Traynor grabs Shepard by the forearm. "Are you eavesdropping?" She also turns a bright colour from Aethyta's iteration of something she's noticed more than once herself.
"What do you mean me?" The commander points to the specialist to indicate her complacency in the matter. "And besides, we're gathering intel that may help protect a fellow crew member. Seems like a fair reason to listen in to me."
That is not—Shepard does reconnaissance?
The commander frowns at Traynor's expression. "What kind of Spectre would I be if I couldn't gather information without using my fists?"
Traynor isn't sure. She had the impression that the commander does her information-gathering by showing up somewhere and shooting someone or something.
"I think Liara would appreciate it if we left her to talk with her father in privacy." Not to mention that Traynor does not want to overhear anything that should remain private. Especially more about Shepard's...assets. Or about something else that should remain between parent and child.
Her eyes start to burn again.
"Spoilsport." Shepard turns off the device. The hum dies down. She folds her fingers together and watches the specialist expectantly. "All right, let's talk about you then."
Traynor goes quiet for a while before she reaches over to pluck the smooth, metal disc out of the Spectre's hand.
"That's an intricately made listening device, Commander," Traynor says, examining it. She doesn't see it .
"A good friend made it for me. She's a genius with anything mechanical." Shepard looks away. "I don't know where she is now."
"Maybe you'll run into her again?"
"I hope so." Shepard is quiet for a moment then changes the subject. The expression in her eyes lets Traynor that the other subject had not been forgotten. "I saw you talking to Liara's father earlier. What were you talking about? Was it me?"
Traynor's heartbeat trips over itself. "Not everything is about you, Commander."
Oh, god.
She knows.
"Then, was it about whatever you're unwilling to talk to me?" Shepard gives her a hard look, and Traynor drops her eyes.
"Specialist, look at me. You're not obligated to divulge anything personal to me, but as a friend—and I hope I'm your friend—I'm asking you to let me know. Please."
Traynor can't look at the commander. She doesn't want to hear Shepard use that tone of voice.
"Was there terrible news about Earth or Palaven? Has a friend of yours been killed?
"Is it something to do with your home? Your family?"
Shepard does not know when to quit. The same trait that has led her to countless war victories makes Traynor want to leave.
"I..." Shepard gazes at her hands. "My family died before the war started. Most of them, anyway."
Traynor looks up and catches Shepard looking away, hair mussed, eyes faraway. She gazes out over the Presidium like she's searching for something dear in the wards below. She doesn't seem able to find it.
"My grandparents passed away a couple of years ago. Around the time Sovereign attacked the Citadel. Shock, I suppose."
That's not true to a certain point. Traynor did enough research to know that they lived until after Shepard saved the Citadel from the lone Reaper...but not long after the Normandy was attacked over Alchera.
"My father died before I was old enough to know him. A casualty of the First Contact War." Shepard chuckles mirthlessly. "He wasn't even in the field. He had been a medical officer." She pauses. "The turians can be brutal when they need to be.
"As for my mother and I...despite our differences, we were civil enough to each other to update one another on our lives every once in a while. Now, I don't know where she is." She glances down at her hands. "I fear that I may be the last Shepard."
Traynor reaches out for the commander's hand before she realizes it, and Shepard takes it before she can retract it. Neither of them comments about how warm the other is.
"I understand, Commander."
Traynor tries to say more, but there is a large blockage in her throat from behind which nothing can escape. Not her grief, her sorrow, her rage, her disbelief. She is rendered mute and enraged. She grieves for the emotions she cannot express.
But Shepard understands anyway.
She squeezes the specialist's hand, and they stare out over endless wards below them. Traynor doesn't know how much time has pass but Shepard stands up and leans over the specialist, her breath warming Traynor's face. "When you're ready, I'll be here to talk."
Her eyes flicker over Traynor's face. "I know what you're going through." She straightens up. "But I also know that you will deal with them your own way too. You know where I am if you want to find me." She picks up T'Soni's datapads. "I'll hand these to Liara on my way out." She turns to leave.
Traynor catches her by the wrist. "Thank you." Her words are so soft that for a moment, Traynor is sure that Shepard didn't hear them.
The commander gives her specialist a nod. She gazes at Traynor for a long time before departing. Her boots click quietly against the Presidium's floor. The sounds die away amidst the endless murmur of the crowd.
Traynor gazes out into the wards below, into the vivid blue lake and immaculately sculpted wards. They are so well maintained and so carefully constructed. It becomes so easy to pretend that everything will always remain the same.
The warm Presidium light makes her sleepy and causes her to doze off. She dreams of a kind, thin man of middle age. He's shy but he always smiles. He's always been proud of her.
He is disappointed when she doesn't share his love of geological minerals, but supports her when she moves into technology. He is the one who recommends her to get a scholarship to Oxford to pursue her dreams. He waits at the port when she leaves him and her mother behind for Earth. He greets her when she comes back home. He is always there.
Traynor becomes busy and cannot talk with him as much as they used. He understands but with every month he does not see her, he starts to shrink. As Traynor grows bigger, he grows frailer and quieter until he is almost a shell of himself. She knows he is waiting for her to reach out to him again. She does not have time to.
She dreams of the slender man getting smaller as the ship he's on dives deep into the dark velvet of space. This surveying expedition is the last one of his career and the destination's only a system away. A quick trip and back.
A red light flashes in the distance before flaring out into tiny pricks across space until they gleam like bloody diamonds in the cloth of night. They hum loudly and strangely. The whole galaxy is blinded.
The ship becomes a pinpoint as it sails towards them then disappears.
She dreams it never comes back.
