Chapter Forty Four: Do You Count the Dead Years?
Shepard's conscience refused to let him rest. When he had wearily dragged himself to the commander cave, and collapsed on his bed, nothing but nightmares greeted him. Black, oily shadows shaped like humans whispered, and shimmered their way through a dark forest. He could hear the voices of Kaiden, Alex, his father, long dead squad mates, and his friends that were in the Tenth Street Reds. They kept saying his name over, and over again. When his name no longer slipped through their lips, it was begging, and pleading. Seemingly hundreds of voices asked him to save them, or why he hadn't been fast enough.
The only solid figure in his personal hell was the Alex kid. He ran through the shadows, laughing. Red light, and that haunting noise made by the Reapers lit up the darkened forest. Every time Shepard had almost saved the kid, he was distracted by crimson light. The shadows would gently pull on his N7 armor as he passed them. Ghost fingers would occasionally brush him, and it was terrifying. The only thing keeping Colt going was the little boy.
When the child finally stopped, Colt reached his hands out to take him. The child looked up as a Reaper horn went off above him. Red light painted the kid's face, before he burst into flame. Shepard watched Alex's light being snuffed out by flame. His fate was terrifyingly similar to Colt's father's.
Shepard woke up in a cold sweat. He was also in the standard Alliance casual wear, which was not very comfortable to sleep in. He felt more tired than before he fell asleep. What a way to start off his birthday.
Commander Shepard made his way to the bathroom, and hoped a little bit of cold water would clear him up. His mirror showed him a picture of a very disheveled man. Certainly not the person who was leading the fight against the Reapers. His face had drained of all color, and dark bags found their home under his eyes. Shepard slapped his face so the color would return.
A knock at his door only served to remind Shepard of his duty. He called out for the person to come in, but remained in the bathroom. He hadn't gained enough courage to leave.
"Shepard?" Liara's gentle voice echoed through the commander cave.
"In here!" Shepard stared at his reflection while speaking.
"Are you okay?" Liara's voice was just outside of his door.
"Just thinking about those we lost," Colt heard those whispers begging him to be saved.
"Anyone in particular?" Liara sounded so careful. Was Shepard really that bad?
"No, it's...ah... just kinda everyone," Shepard felt a little better. He decided to come out of the bathroom; he couldn't just cower while the war raged. The first human Spectre didn't get bad nightmares, children did.
"You won't let them die in vain," Liara gave him a careful smile, like he was fragile China. This wasn't right. Colt didn't need protecting, or reassuring, and even if he did, he shouldn't have. He was an Alliance soldier, an N7 operative, and humanities first human Spectre - he didn't need to be handled carefully. "There something else isn't there?" Liara narrowed her eyes at him.
"I didn't exactly dream of rainbows, and Pegasus," Colt meant to sound firm, hoping to put further questions to rest, but instead his voice sounded painful.
"I'm sorry. Wanna talk about it?" He could feel how hopeful she was. Didn't he talk to Liara a lot?
"No, I can't, but I'll show you. You know, through 'Embrace Eternity,"' Shepard knocked on his head. Liara nodded, and rested her forehead on his.
"Embrace eternity," Shepard was immediately plunged into his dream. He said nothing as Liara watched everything progress, and ending as the child burned.
"Colt, that was... I don't know," Liara was smart, she wasn't supposed to not know.
When she was nervous, she played with his hands. So she did exactly that. They looked at each other intensely, but uncertainly. Both of their emotions were muddled in Colt's mind. That small presence in the back of his mind was more intense than it had ever been, confirming Shepard's suspicions that Liara and himself were somehow connected mentally.
"Commander Shepard, my name is Samantha Traynor. I was in charge of the Normandy's retrofits. I just want to say how much of an hono-. Oh sorry, I... thought you were alone," Liara, and Shepard pulled immediately apart. Liara nodded to him, before leaving.
"No worries, come in," Shepard gave her a welcoming smile. "Continue Traynor," Shepard said cheerfully, all signs of his earlier distress gone.
"Okay...Um, is that a Varren?" Traynor stared behind him at Rosebud. She wagged her tail, and started panting. She seemed to be smiling.
"Sure is, Rosebud is her name," Shepard picked up a Varren toy, and started a game of tug-o-war with her. She was hella strong, and pulled it right out of Colt's hands. She then tore the unsuspecting toy apart. Pieces of stuffing flying everywhere in Shepard's room. He laughed, and turned back to Traynor.
"I didn't expect you to-" Traynor started before Shepard interrupted her.
"You didn't expect that Commander Shepard would own a Varren? More specifically a Varren with a pink collar, and more clothes than everyone else on the Normandy combined?" Shepard said this with a challenging tone, he was trying to mess with this new member of the Normandy.
"I meant no disrespect, sir...Commander. I've just never seen an actual Varren," Traynor's eyes bulged; she was obviously flustered.
Shepard kept up his challenging look, before breaking out in laughter. Poor Traynor looked so confused. "I'm just messing with you. Of course no one expects me to have a spoiled Varren. They think I eat nails for breakfast, and run solely on testosterone. While both of those things are entirely accurate, it turns out that I have a soft spot for Varren," Shepard rubbed the inside of Rosebud's ears, and she sighed in happiness.
"Of course, sir," Traynor looked even more confused.
"You can call me Shepard," he put out his hand to take, and she took it hesitantly. Maybe he shouldn't have been so strange right away.
"Of course, sir-Shepard. I'll be handling your email, making sure you're not getting messages from just anyone, and doing a lot of the administrative work," Shepard was so glad to hear that. He didn't know what would happen if the galaxy relied on his handwriting for reports. He even danced ever so slightly.
"Shepard, are you okay?" Traynor looked shell shocked. A combination of his right off the bat flummoxing and dance moves probably scarred her for life.
"I was dancing. You have no idea how happy I am that someone will be doing the administrative work. It's my pet peeve," Colt clapped her on the shoulder. "Thanks so much," Shepard decided that sometimes he was too thrilled at the small things. When he saw Traynor smiling, though, it made all the difference. He felt like they would be good friends.
...
From Menae, Shepard watched Palaven burn. The Turian's home world was getting hammered by the Reapers. Shepard hated fire. It was so destructive, and gave nothing. He wondered if that's how the galaxy saw him. General Corinthus' voice pulled him back to the situation at hand. Pity for Palaven would have to wait.
The fight during the comm. tower repair was intensely fun. Shepard and Liara made an unstoppable force of deadly biotics, and bullets. It was nice fighting beside her in such a fun environment. After that fight, they learned that a Turian named Victus would be the next Primarch.
None other than Garrus Vakarian strode up to him when they returned to the Turian's command camp . The Turian walked up to Shepard with an arrogant little sway. "Didn't know breaking out of jail was one of your specialties," Garrus flared his mandibles in what was probably meant as a smile.
The quest for Primarch Victus was much the same. Constant banter between Shepard and Garrus. Always trying to one up each other. The only concerning thing was that the Normandy was malfunctioning, and Liara had to leave. Shepard also almost got killed by these nasty things called Brutes, but other than that it was a pretty fun mission. Shepard had to use every last diplomatic fiber in him to get Victus to come on the Normandy, and eventually he did. Shepard was one step closer to this much needed war summit.
...
Dress blues were special torture devices designed for maximum discomfort. Maybe it was because that almost every bad thing that happened was followed by them, a negative connection forming. Whatever the reason, Shepard still found himself fidgeting against them. He looked good; dress blues could make anyone look good. That's precisely why he had worn them. Liara was taking him out to dinner for his birthday, and he couldn't just wear anything. Maybe the restaurant would give them a discount, seeing how Shepard was shoveling his way through mountains of BS for the galaxy.
Liara had told him that she would be five minutes. Twenty minutes later, Shepard was still waiting. Finally, after an ungodly amount of time, Liara emerged from her XO office. Every thought from Colt disappeared at the sight of her. He could feel his jaw touching the floor.
She wore a beautiful asari dress that flowed down to her ankles. She was absolutely stunning. "Colt, I think you need to pick your jaw off the floor," Liara's laugh was melodious.
"I..ah...yeah. When you said you'd dress up, I had no idea," Shepard held his arm out for her. "After you m'lady," Shepard bowed slightly, sweeping his free hand dramatically.
When the couple arrived at the restaurant, everything appeared abandoned. Suspicion flashed through Colt before a tremendous cry of "Happy Birthday" reverberated through his bones. He felt honored that a crew that barely knew him would throw such a thing. Then he thought about how Garrus, Joker (maybe EDI) and Liara had probably set most of it up. Still the crew was there, and participating enthusiastically. He had no idea why they had the party here instead of the Normandy, but it was better not to ask questions.
"Commander," Garrus stepped forward with an awkwardly perched party hat atop his head. "The dance floor awaits you," he gestured to a wide open floor. So that's why they had rented this place, to laugh at Shepard's dancing. Well if they wanted a show, he would give them one.
Shepard walked to the middle of the floor, and commenced his dance of a thousand tears. At each beat, his body awkwardly moved. He started out with traditionally bad dances such as The Varren Wobble, The Pyjack Jiggle, and his signature move, The Shepard Shuffle. Each dance just kept deteriorating into something much worse than before. Shepard found the way that everyone was entranced hilarious. When the song finally came to an end, he bowed to his crew.
"That, my friends, is dancing in its purest forms," Shepard announced. No one said a word, Colt was sure that they were too amazed to say anything.
"I guess that just because you save the galaxy numerous times, it doesn't mean that you can dance," Garrus said. The entire crew erupted into laughter.
"Ya, ya. I have too many skills in fighting to be good at dancing," Shepard stepped off the dance floor to find cake. Even if the rest of the war was soul crushing, he would have this memory.
"So how old are you?" An Ensign asked. Shepard was enjoying a piece of vanilla cake, while another Ensign told everyone a funny story.
"Well, I don't know. Do you count the dead years? I'm either thirty or thirty two," Colt scratched his head. That was certainly a mind bender.
"Well the younger the better, right?" Liara strode up next to him, and put her hand over his.
"Depends, I kinda like not knowing. Keeps my life mysterious," Shepard waggled his eyebrows at her.
"Shepard, your age discrepancy doesn't make you mysterious, you do that without any help," Liara patted his hand. Shepard swallowed at her comment; he laughed in discomfort.
...
Author's Note: Happy Birthday Commander Colt Shepard! I can't wait for you to be born! Shepard will be born in one hundred and forty nine years. Get excited people.