The days in solitary confinement aboard the Normandy were excruciatingly dull. Six months of the same in Vancouver were even more so. The accommodations weren't so bad, considering she was one of the most notorious (alleged) criminals in the galaxy. She wasn't in the brig, although the Batarians had huffed a bit over that. They had wanted a swift tribunal, followed by an even swifter execution.
The Alliance mollified the Batarians just enough to avoid war, but they weren't willing to terminate an asset as valuable as Commander Shepard. Instead, they found multiple reasons to delay holding the tribunal, keeping her locked in what was essentially a luxurious hotel room. Although small and reinforced to withstand any attempts to escape, it was still probably the nicest place that Shepard had stayed in since she'd enlisted. Shepard chafed under the constant surveillance and lack of booze, but she had little choice in the matter.
As a suspected terrorist, Shepard was not permitted any communication in or out. Her only real contact beyond the walls of her room was the mammoth Marine that stayed on as her guard. Lieutenant James Vega was decent enough. He obviously took no pleasure in his assignment, but he carried out his duties professionally. As the weeks wore on, he surprised her by obtaining permission for her to use the gym for sixty minutes each night, when it could be emptied and secured without inconvenience. Naturally, he accompanied her, but she found she didn't mind having a workout partner, even if they typically only exchanged grunts.
Shepard spent most of her time sitting by her room's one window which overlooked a small plaza that was little more than a series of walking paths and a patch of grass. The glass was deeply tinted so that nobody on the outside could see in, but her view out was unobstructed. In the mornings the area was mostly empty except for a few runners, with more people occupying the area by midday. By afternoon, the grassy areas were typically host to a number of children playing with balls of various shapes and sizes. It wasn't much in the way of entertainment, but with Shepard's severely limited access to anything else from the outside, it was all she had.
One morning Shepard sat drinking a cup of coffee (without nearly enough sugar) by the window, idly watching the goings-on below. She nearly dropped the mug when she spotted a runner with a familiar stride at the far end of the plaza. Ashley. Shepard rose, leaning with both hands against the window, her attention focused on Ashley making her way down the path. Even if she were to happen to glance upward, the dark window ensured that Ashley wouldn't be able to see Shepard's quick, involuntary wave. Shepard stood there, now with her forehead pressed against the glass, enrapt as her eyes followed Ashley until she was completely out of sight.
Shepard stayed like that for some time, eyes squeezed tight. Her chest ached and her limbs were heavy. She hadn't seen Ashley since the day she'd been lead off the Normandy in shackles. Shepard wasn't sure if it was worse to not see her at all, or to see her from a distance behind tinted glass with no hope of exchanging a word, a gesture, or even a simple look.
Shepard took her coffee away from the window for the next several days.
And cursed the Alliance for refusing to allow her any bourbon.
OoOoO
Weeks became months, and still Shepard remained in custody. She didn't know if anyone outside of Admiral Hackett even knew where she was. Any form of communication continued to be forbidden, let alone any visitation. She'd told Vega a few times that she wanted to consult with someone from the Judge Advocate General's Corps as was her right under the Alliance Uniform Code of Military Justice. Her requests were apparently ignored. Nobody even took the time to deny them.
Shepard tried her best to avoid taking her frustrations out on Vega, but she was not always successful. When she would yell and curse and throw things, he would stand stoically at parade rest, eyes straight ahead, never rising to the bait. Sometimes she would later apologize. Usually she didn't. And yet he returned day after day, making sure she had her gym time, ensuring she received her three squares a day. He greeted her each morning with a salute and continued to address her unfailingly as "Commander," no matter how many times she told him not to.
She hated him for it.
Each morning, Shepard sat at the window with her cup of coffee (still without enough sugar; she was beginning to think Vega was doing that intentionally), hoping to see Ashley. After initially avoiding any glimpse of her after that first day, she realized the pain of not seeing her was greater than the pain when she did. Ashley didn't keep any obvious set schedule. She might run every morning one week, then only twice the next. It didn't matter to Shepard. She cherished each sighting, no matter the frequency. Seeing Ashley was the one happy variable in her otherwise dull, predictable and tedious confinement.
Shepard's routine never varied, which is why Shepard suspected that her time was finally up one afternoon when Vega entered her room carrying a freshly pressed uniform in one hand, pausing only to salute. "Commander."
"Stop calling me that." It was almost an involuntary response by now. She caught the bundle he tossed to her.
"Need to put that on, ma'am."
"Ah. The Batarians finally get their blood. It's been a good ride, Vega. Hope your next assignment isn't quite as dull." Shepard turned her back to her guard and began changing into the dress blues Vega provided.
"You misunderstand, ma'am. The Defense Committee wants to see you."
Shepard's head whipped around. She had been expecting a token tribunal followed by a swift execution. She wasn't sure if this was better. "The what now?"
"The Defense Committee. They're expecting you now, ma'am."
Shepard straightened out her uniform, running a quick hand over her tousled hair. She'd cut it shorter again, mainly so she'd have an excuse to see a barber once a month, even if she wasn't allowed to talk to him beyond a "thank you" when he was finished with her. She craved the brief physical contact with another human being, even if it was just some crusty Marine with a comb and a pair of scissors. She couldn't help but laugh at her own foolishness in finding comfort in that.
As satisfied with her appearance as she could be, Shepard held her wrists out to Vega, anticipating shackles. Vega shook his head. "Not this time, ma'am." With a quirk of her eyebrow, Shepard walked out of the open door ahead of the Marine, wary of whatever might come next.
Vega was in a hurry. As Shepard jogged to keep up with his longer strides, she asked, "So what's going on?"
"Couldn't say, Commander. They just told me they needed you. Now."
Before Shepard could make any follow-up inquiries, they were intercepted by Anderson. Admiral Anderson, judging by the insignia on his dress blues. Shepard extended a hand. "Admiral."
Anderson signaled for her to follow him while Vega stayed just to the rear. "You look good, Shepard. Maybe a little soft around the edges." That earned a glare from Shepard, as a hand drifted unconsciously to her middle. "How you holding up since being relieved from duty?"
Another glare. "Is that what they're calling it?" Anderson responded with a shrug. "It's not so bad once you get used to the hot food and soft bed. And the lack of contact with the outside world."
"We'll get it sorted out," was Anderson's non-committal reply.
Shepard sidestepped to avoid oncoming traffic in the crowded hallway. "What's going on? Why is everyone in such a hurry?"
"Admiral Hackett is mobilizing the fleet. I'm guessing word's made it to Alliance command. Something big is headed our way."
Shepard stopped short. "The Reapers?"
Anderson turned back to face her. "We don't know. Not for certain."
"What else could it be?"
"If I knew that, you'd still be back in your cell."
"You know we're not ready if it is them. Not by a long shot."
"Tell that to the Defense Committee." Anderson continued on.
"Unless we're planning on talking the Reapers to death the Committee is a fucking waste of time."
"They're just scared, Shepard. None of them have seen what you've seen."
"And none of the jackasses believed I saw what I saw."
A bitter chuckle. "You've faced down a Reaper. Hell, you spoke to one then blew the damn thing up. You've seen how they harvest us. What they plan to do to us. You know more about this enemy than anyone."
Shepard's temper fired. "Then why have I spent the last six months sitting along in a goddamn box, Anderson? While they do who knows what with my ship?"
Anderson stopped, pointing a finger at Shepard's chest. "That's not fair. When you blew up the Batarian relay, hundreds of thousands of Batarians died."
"Goddammit, Anderson. It was either that or let the Reapers walk right in through our back door. What the fuck would you have wanted me to do? Do you think I accepted those deaths lightly? I am responsible for killing over three hundred thousand Batarians. Me. Not you, not some nameless Alliance officer. Me. But there was no other option."
Anderson's shoulders slumped. "I know that, Shepard. So does the Committee. Otherwise you'd have been court-martialed and left to rot in the brig."
Shepard snorted. "That, and your good word."
Anderson's eyes narrowed. "Yeah, my good word. I trust you, Shepard. And so does the Committee - "
"They don't trust me, Anderson. They just don't want to waste a good killer. Never know when they might need another system wiped out without getting their own hands dirty. I'm just another soldier to them. One that happens to be very good at the worst parts of the job."
"I'm not going to get into this with you right now, Shepard. I just need you to do whatever the hell it takes to help us stop the Reapers." Despite everything, Shepard knew she had no choice. Her sense of duty required her to do what she could, no matter what.
Their conversation ended as they arrived at the Chambers reception area. A young officer greeted them. "They're expecting you two, Admiral."
As Anderson continued on, a hand came down on Shepard's shoulder. She turned to face Vega, who had his other hand extended. "Buena suerte in there, Commander."
"Don't call me that." Shepard accepted the proffered hand with a firm grip. "I know I've been a pain in the ass. You've handled it well." That was as close to an apology as she could get.
From behind her, Shepard heard a familiar voice greeting the admiral. "Anderson." Shepard spun around.
"Ash?"
