Notes: So I'm back on schedule finally. Also, happy coincidence between schedule slips and unexpectedly added or subtracted chapters, this chapter falls during Kaidan week on tumblr or something. IDK, I'm pretty out of the loop with fandom related things. I really hope you guys like this, I'm still a bit nervous about it. Title's from Lana del Rey's 24
Thank you to everybody who's still reading this, reviewing, favoriting, what have you. You guys make this all worth it.
For All the Things They Paid You For
He told himself that it was an actress. It was Westerlund News. If anybody would find someone to play Commander Mira Shepard back from the grave for an exclusive interview for the sake of ratings, it would be them. He told himself to keep walking, that it was just like the recruitment vids. If he could ignore them every day, without thinking about how much she would have hated the Alliance using her like that, he could ignore this.
So he did. It was Westerlund News. He'd read supermarket tabloids with more journalistic integrity. They tried to run a smear campaign on Shepard before. Her unflappable calm and diplomatic choice of words made this same reporter look like a raving lunatic on live TV.
Most of the time, it was the little things that got him. The smell of wintergreen or ginger, a particularly tricky question on Space Jeopardy, an article in Security Quarterly she would have liked. The bigger things – the ads, the unopened reparations check in his desk- almost didn't register anymore.
He still hadn't told anybody about the real nature of their relationship. His therapist was obligated to report that kind of thing. There was already scuttlebutt going around saying she'd gone crazy before the end. She didn't need her memory even more tainted by allegations of misconduct. Still, two years later, she'd faded to a dull ache and happy memories.
As he sent off his student's evaluations to Alliance command, he smiled. This time, her portrayal was just tasteless enough that she would have loved it.
After the incident with the Volus Mafia and Captain Cavanagh's subsequent stress induced retirement, the brass had him on a temporary assignment as a biotics instructor at the academy. Rumor was they were thinking of making it permanent.
He wasn't sure what he thought of that. The kids were smart, eager to learn, and they deserved so much better than he had. He was doing good work. He just wasn't sure if he was cut out for it. Maybe after so long in the field, it would just take some getting used to. The weekends and grading would definitely take some getting used to.
Ned was helping with that. They'd only gone out a few times, but he was having fun. He didn't think his buddy from basic setting him up with her doctor brother in law would end in anything other than awkward embarrassment, but it was pleasant. Awkward certainly, but pleasant.
They met for drinks on the Citadel. Ned was sweet, intelligent, wore adorable square rimmed glasses, and was just as nervous as he was. They talked about work, medi-gel improvements, laughed at each other's awkward jokes, Ned showed him pictures of his geckos, and even talked him into dancing. He thought he'd feel guilty the whole night, but by the time he kissed him goodbye, he was excited and hoped to see Ned again.
The next time they went out and wound up at a rock gym, he realized that Ned also had an unexpected spontaneous streak. Tonight was supposed to be more relaxed, they'd get sushi and see where it went from there. He was looking forwards to it. He hadn't stopped smiling since he got off the transport.
He was waiting on a bench in the waiting room when the story began to play again. He started to get up and walk away, then text Ned that he'd meet him outside, but he caught a second of it as he started to leave and he had to sit down again.
She was all angles and points. The bright camera lights cast a glare over her armor. There was something wrong with her face, parts were cracked and somehow glowing, other parts were slightly off, but she had her eyes. An off grey, intelligent, striking, almost off putting.
They played the interview and this time, he watched transfixed. She let the reporter set the terms of engagement, kept her best military posture and a well-practiced neutral expression. She drew Khalisah in, let her present her case, logical fallacies and all. She answered her questions politely and with each one, the reporter grew more and more confident. All the while, the woman's eyes were shining with anticipation.
"Do you have anything to say to the families of the men and women onboard the ships you destroyed to save the Destiny Ascension?"
She paused, tilted her head slightly left. For a fraction of a second, there was a slight uptick to her mouth and a gleam in her eyes. It wasn't enough to win. Her opponent had to know they'd been beaten at their own game.
"Khalisah, on the whole, would you say your viewership is fond of war vids?" She used to like watching nature documentaries. She always tucked her head against his shoulder for this part. "I know the tiger has to eat. It doesn't mean I have to like watching it pounce on a baby deer."
"After your victory against the Geth, everybody is interested in war vids."
"Then you do understand that the realities of fighting a war are about as far divorced from the vids as the Citadel leads will be in six months. Your viewership knows that. They understand that in war, there are sacrifices. It would be insulting their intelligence to pretend otherwise. "
"But Commander, you deliberately…"
"Let me speak." She let the air hang silent until it was clear that she wouldn't tolerate the reporter's interruptions. Shepard had a special kind of annoyance for people who interrupted her monologues. "The Turians lost twenty cruisers. Each had a crew of around three hundred. The Asari dreadnaught we saved, the Destiny Ascension, had a crew of ten thousand. That's ten thousand families to notify that their loved one is gone on account of our inaction."
"But surely the human cost…"
"The Alliance lost eight cruisers. Shenyang, Emden, Jakarta, Cairo, Seoul, Cape Town, Warsaw, Madrid. And yes. I remember them all." His heart raced. It had to be an actress. A very good one. Someone at Westerlund News did research this time. They knew how she spoke, how she acted. It wasn't her though. It couldn't be.
"Everyone onboard those ships, everyone in the fifth fleet who put their lives on the line for ten thousand people they didn't know, is a hero. The Alliance owes them all medals. The Council owes them a lot more than that. And so do you."
She turned on her heel and walked away, leaving the reporter sputtering about being bull rushed on her own show. Then she stepped just far enough out of the light for the glare to come off her chest. He'd studied the files enough to know that bright orange emblem anywhere.
Edolus. Ontarom. Binthu. Nepheron. All of them full of Cerberus soldiers and scientists. Most of them former Alliance. The ones they captured said they'd talk. They gave too much evidence for him to believe the Alliance was innocent in all they saw. He felt sick. Shepard just shrugged and continued filing her reports. She did their dirty work for too long to be surprised.
"Turn clock…no counter…no…"
He leaned forwards, tried to breathe. There was a nagging, tingling in the back of his head and the tips of his fingers. It couldn't be Shepard. She was dead. There was a name on a wall. An empty apartment. Too many ceremonies and memorials to remember. A hidden cache of fake IDs and cash under a floorboard. An empty casket.
"Fix it… Maintenance manual. Page 56, chapter 4, section 9, subsection 2…"
There were always rumors. He knew better. But there was the thought, looming like the migraine he knew was coming.
Shepard was alive.
"Secure t'O2 line with one hand and firmly hold it n'place, with the other, turn the lockin mechanis…" It's all he's heard for the last two minutes, increasingly frantic, then slow and slurred. "With one…can't hold'nd turn at the same…"
He wants to say something, comfort, guidance, love, anything, but she can't afford to lose focus. If anybody can fix this, it would be her. Mira Shepard was a survivor. She dug herself out from under Sovereign's wreck on the Citadel with a dislocated shoulder. She can fix this.
"If…take the other hand…guide…" She screams. It's choked. The air's already been ripped from her.
He'd watched her stitch herself up looking like it was a mild inconvenience. Shepard didn't scream. She gritted her teeth and moved on. Whatever is wrong with her, it's wrong enough to produce that unearthly, piercing shriek.
"I will not die here." Those words got her through the long night on Akuze. It's the last clear thing she says. It's how he knows that this time, she's not coming back.
He wants to say something, anything, but his mouth is dry and cottony. No matter how hard he tries, there's nothing. Every time she chokes and gasps and gags, the words leave him. By the time he can say something, the evacuation pod is as quiet as the coms and there's a Shepard shaped void on the other end of the line.
X~*~X~*~X~*~X~*~X
The pinging omnitool was like a flechette to his skull. It'd been beeping at him all morning. By the time he realized this would hit him like a Mako slug, he was too disoriented to remember to turn it off.
He leaned against the cabinet and cracked his eyes open. His legs shook. It was too far away. He'd overestimated how much walking to the kitchen would take out of him. The last thing he needed was to spend the rest of the day in a heap in the hall. At least it would stop in a few minutes.
He pressed a hand to his temple. It didn't do anything. He almost thought it did. That's what mattered.
He fought down another wave of nausea. He wanted to sink to the floor, rest until the room stopped spinning. He didn't think he could get back up if he did. A fresh ice pack seemed worth it a few minutes ago.
He pressed the pack to the back of his neck and took a water bottle and a sleeve of crackers from the counter. Ned left him a few water bottles and nutrient bars on his nightstand when he dropped him off the night before. He didn't have the spoons to get back to bed. If he felt up to eating later, he didn't want to waste any.
Ned offered to stay to help out. As much as he appreciated his efficient and practical bedside manner, it would have been asking too much to say yes. Besides, he could manage. He'd been managing his migraines for years.
He leaned on the counter and slowly made his way to the couch. He'd forgotten his meds the night before. Or maybe he hadn't. Too much brain fog to remember. Either way, he was almost grateful for the pain. It kept his mind from drifting elsewhere.
Every time he thought he heard her choking or remembered the emblem on her chestplate, his implant threw another familiar bolt through his brain. Anything to keep him focused on just the next few minutes.
He just about collapsed on the couch and the omnitool started pinging again. He slung a pillow over his head and let it go. It wasn't worth it. He'd contacted Sanders last night about needing a substitute Monday. She was probably getting back to him.
What followed wasn't sleep. He kept drifting towards sleep. Each time he was almost there, there was another knife behind his eyes. He twitched. Bile rose in his throat. After what felt like hours, he looked up at the clock. It'd been ten minutes.
It was almost night before he had the capacity to do anything other than lay on the couch in a semi-paralytic state. He could manage a handful of saltines and a few sips of lukewarm water. It couldn't wash the awful taste out of his mouth.
His skin was sticky and clammy. He was still exhausted, his body ached. Yet he felt better than earlier. He could get himself cleaned up, then take something that would let him get some real sleep.
He'd left his omni-tool on the sink the night before. He thought he should check his messages while he had a little clarity.
There were a few from Ned checking in on him. He replied that he was fine and asked if he was interested in taking a rain check on dinner next weekend. He'd have to wait to send it. Nothing said, "I'm sorry. Much better. Migraine crept up on me. Try again next week?" like the kind of misspellings and poor word choice brain fog created.
There was one from the sub asking about lesson plans and another about the filing system. One from Henderson asking about the extra credit assignment. Some spam. All things that could wait until later. He'd learned several lessons about sending professional emails when he could barely see straight.
It was all relaxingly normal. The emails reassured him that whatever he thought he saw, it wasn't real. Just a tabloid pulling another ratings stunt. It had to be.
Shepard was dead. She wouldn't put m through that for nothing. Twenty other people died on the Normandy. She wouldn't do that.
He was about to shut it down and start looking for his toothbrush when he caught the summons from Admiral Hackett.
X~*~X~*~X~*~X~*~X
He tugged at his collar. The skin around his implant was still sensitive after his episode over the weekend. An unexplained and unexpected summons was never a good sign. He thought he'd been doing well as an instructor. Maybe he was wrong. He didn't think he'd screwed up so badly as to involve Admiral Hackett.
The secretary waved him in and paged Admiral Hackett to let him know. The Admiral stood by the window, like a statue looking out at a starfield. He hadn't been in this office since the debriefing after Alchera. It looked like he'd never left.
"Sit down Commander," Hackett said, pointing to the chair on the other side of the desk. "There's no good way to say this." There was growing pit in his stomach as Hackett spoke. "We've received intelligence that indicates Shepard survived the Normandy crash."
"With all due respect Sir, you have bad intel." He wasn't sure if he believed himself. "I was on the coms with her when…"
"Shepard was caught breaking into Councilor Anderson's office and spoke briefly with the council." A chill went through him. "She's joined Cerberus."
Hackett sat across from him and opened the file. There was years of reports, stolen Cerberus data, recent security photos from the Citadel, stills from the video. He really thought it was a hoax. There was a mix of relief and horror swirling in his gut instead of surprise.
He went on, explaining the situation, missing colonies, suspected Cerberus activity, but he hardly heard it.
She was alive. Two years of grieving and pain were all for nothing. He'd loved her. He'd truly loved her. She let him think she suffered and died.
He knew everything about her; all the good, all the bad, everything.
Some of it she stated like facts. She made, "I never actually got my driver's license. At this point, everyone just assumes I have one and now I'm in too deep to take driver's ed," sound like, "The sky is blue because the molecules in the air scatter high energy wavelengths."
Some of it sounded like a joke. One reporter too many asked her about why she was so determined to save the galaxy. Rather than get angry, she just smiled, laughed, and said, "I live here."
Sometimes, late at night when it seemed like they were the only people on the ship still working, when she felt safe that nobody else would ever hear, she'd start talking in an almost painfully tired voice. Like every word had been dragged kicking and screaming to her lips and beaten until it was too exhausted to resist being made to tell the truth. Earth and Akuze were tired stories. She'd never find the courage to tell them again.
He knew how she clawed her way out of the gutter on Earth. She didn't think she would have left the Reds if she hadn't been forced to. She faked her death and sold out the rest of her gang to save her own life. Then she conned her way into University of Earth with fake transcripts and letters of recommendation, all of it paid for with Alliance scholarships.
She told him how it all went to shit. They found out she was a fraud. She went in for what she thought was a meeting with the Dean to expel her. Instead, there was a woman claiming she could make it all go away. Mira would have agreed to sell her soul for the chance to stay in school. Instead, a woman who should have done her minimum service and got out was bought and paid for as a spy.
He knew all about Akuze, the story behind the, "I survived because I refused to die," soundbite the Alliance loved to use in vids. He knew all the details she left out of her statement to save her career. Retreat was just as deadly as fighting back, so she played dead and waited for it to be over. He tried not to think about how Akuze was a Cerberus operation.
There were good things, he tried to focus on those. He thought about the sheer unabashed enthusiasm with which she talked about pirates or how she'd spend hours talking to engineering or medical, trying to learn as much as she could about everything on the Normandy. The earth-forged steel in her spine when she stood before the council after releasing the Rachni. "I've done a lot of things I don't think I'm supposed to be proud of. Genocide will not be one of them."
There was the shore leave that wasn't actually shore leave, but rather debriefings and a press tour. He tried to think about her curled up against his chest, pleasantly sleepy but still calling out the answers on Space Jeopardy. Instead, he remembered how much she enjoyed sneaking around, lifting his hotel keys for an elicit rendezvous later, meeting in alien bars and acting like they were strangers. At the time, he'd been just as exhilarated, now it felt like he'd missed a red flag.
There was radiant confidence in her, burning ambition, intelligence, cunning, charisma, loyalty, and if not honesty, an odd sort of integrity. After all, Mira Shepard was nothing if not a woman of her word. Every time they suited up, she was scared, but she was a professional. She went ahead with their mission anyway. There was also bitterness in her and cold, logical pragmatism.
"They were going to take me back you know," she said, pacing on the balcony with a whiskey in hand. "After the Normandy's shakedown. Hackett was going to take me at 5th fleet for solo ops. If it went well... I should have gone back anyway. I help save the damn galaxy and they still won't promote me above Lieutenant Commander…"
He'd seen her slip into and out of too many covers too easily, yet he believed she really let him know her. He thought knew everything about Commander Mira Shepard and now he wished he didn't because it's only making everything Hackett's saying easier to believe.
He almost didn't notice when Hackett stopped talking. He took a deep breath, remembered where he was and who he was with. He needed to keep control of his emotions.
"Why are you telling me this?" Just like in the escape pods, he could grieve later.
"Ambassador Udina met with the council to discuss the situation," Hackett said. He looked as much a man carved out of stone as ever. "They said that humanity made this mess, we have to clean it up."
"Udina? Isn't that Anderson's job?" They should be sending another Spectre after her. The Council never really respected humanity, but this seemed a special kind of insult.
"Shepard put Anderson in power for a reason. The council would rather deal with a less partial party." Hackett shook his head. He knew exactly how much political bullshit this situation could become. "Regardless, Shepard's dangerous. We don't know what she or Cerberus have planned, but for her to show herself…"
"What do you think I can do about this?" His heartbeat was slow and dull and a steady numbness spread throughout him with each pulse.
"Captain Zabala's received reports of Cerberus activity near the Horizon colony. It's outside of our jurisdiction, but there's also AA towers on the colony that need maintaining," Hackett said, ignoring her and sliding photographs of the dilapidated defenses at him. "If in the course of your work on the AA towers, you happen to find Shepard, we can't fault you for bringing in a dangerous fugitive."
"I don't need to tell you that there are risks in this assignment. Shepard was one of the best. If she wanted to stay dead, she wouldn't go up in front of a tabloid news camera. She wants us to chase her. You knew her. She trusted you. She might let you get close."
"I don't think I knew her at all Sir." There were twenty more empty graves to attest to that. "I'm not sure how much help I'm going to be able to be here."
"I know it's a lot to take in. Think it over. I'll have your answer by the end of the day."