Chapter Three
Scrubbing the Decks
Vancouver, Earth
An aggressive gust of wind drove Lynn Williams to wrap her arms tightly around in body as she tried to retain warmth. The weather was bitter, heralding the dreaded approach of winter. Abby had warned her about the forecast that morning as she ran out the door, but she'd been running late and the sun had been shining. If only she'd grabbed her coat. It wasn't just the fact that she was freezing her tits off, it was anticipating the irritating 'I told you so' from her sister.
The cold wasn't the only reason for her haste. She loathed being under the scrutiny of the overzealous Alliance soldiers patrolling the streets. Curfew was hours away, but that didn't stop them from asking inane questions if they so wished.
Who are you? Where are you going? Identification please.
Lynn was already in a foul mood. It wouldn't be helped by losing her temper with one of the baby-faced military goons. Barely out of school, most were stuffed full of their own self-importance and quick to use their considerable powers of detention. Some playful teasing over her coat was one thing, calling Abby to explain she'd been detained was another matter altogether.
So, Lynn tried to walk quickly and purposefully. She only had to get home, then she could collapse into tears or launch into a flurry of expletives. At that moment, she was leaning toward the latter. She'd never thought of herself as an angry person, but it was her default setting these days. And she had a lot of anger to go around - for the stifling bureaucracy, the xenophobia that had a stranglehold over their civilisation, and the whole damn Systems Alliance. Not to mention their constant stream of lies.
Illustrating her point, she had to pass a squad of soldiers. They were trying to tear down a series of posters affixed to a wall. Lynn had seen the posters, or ones similar, before. She stole a glance as she passed, smirking at the idiots struggling to scrape them off, and paying attention to the message. It wasn't discreet. It was an image of a nondescript middle-aged man, albeit with an intense gaze. Lynn recognised him as the outspoken Senator Ephraim Hale. News reports had claimed that Senator Hale had died of a heart attack over a year ago. The poster's message claimed otherwise.
Murdered by the SA!
It was boldly emblazoned in red across the image of the Senator. Lynn had never paid much attention to politics, but even she remembered seeing news reports of the Senator's impassioned pleas for democratic elections to be reinstated. It wasn't a stretch to think the Senator might as well have painted a target on his forehead.
A mirrored visor suddenly turned in her direction. Even though she couldn't see a face, she felt an intense scrutiny. Lynn swiftly ducked her head. Inwardly she revelled in the fact that there were others speaking out – even if it was just through posters that were rapidly being torn down.
As Lynn continued towards her apartment complex, she found that the posters weren't isolated. They were wantonly and liberally plastered on flat surfaces everywhere. In every direction, the Senator's piercing gaze met hers, along with the accusation.
Murdered. Murdered. Murdered.
Sirens suddenly pierced the air, growing closer by the second. Lynn quickened her pace, eventually breaking into a run. By the time she reached her building, the streets were filled with vehicles disgorging Alliance soldiers. She dared to observe them for a moment, marvelling at the fact that posters warranted an emergency armed response.
"Fuckheads." It felt good to say it aloud, even if she wished she could say it to their faces.
Upstairs in the apartment she shared with Abby, with the door locked behind her, Lynn could finally relax. She found her sister peering out of the window at the commotion down below.
"Anyone would think they didn't have anything better to do," she commented, dumping her bag on the floor before she flopped onto the couch.
She closed her eyes but couldn't block out the sounds of the sirens outside. Her anger was fast giving way to misery. At the first sign of her eyes burning, she opened them to try and find something to focus on. Unfortunately, she found only reminders in the form of images sitting on a shelf opposite. Seeing Sarah's beaming smile only intensified the sensation. Her baby sister somehow managed to wear an Alliance uniform better than anyone. A posthumous medal was clipped to the frame. More frames were carefully arranged on the shelf – the last one taken of their whole family before their mother had passed away; one of their parents together; all four sisters taken during a rare moment together. There was one of Ash as well – also wearing her uniform with pride. Staring at her big sister's face gave Lynn the strength to banish her tears.
Lynn pushed herself forward to the edge of the sofa, feeling her anger return with gusto. "Hey, Ab, did you have time to go to Alliance headquarters today?"
Abby finally stepped back from her perch by the window. She offered up a nod. "For all the good it did. Some back-office paper-pusher fobbed me off with the same information. The long-range covert mission bullshit."
"There's no way Ash would have gone for over a year without sending word." Lynn shook her head. "Why can't they just admit the truth. That she was killed on Chasca?"
Abby sighed and joined Lynn on the sofa. "All that time I spent hoping Miranda had been wrong-"
"Miranda wouldn't have been wrong. Not about something like this," Lynn interrupted.
"Yeah, I know. It just gave me a little bit of hope to wonder what if…if there'd been some sort of mistake, or she was MIA. Instead there's this awful nightmare of knowing she's dead and being lied to about it. Not knowing how it happened." Abby looked wistful for a moment. "I like to think that she died close to Sarah."
"I hope that wasn't how it happened," Lynn replied gently. "Sarah's death would have broken Ash."
"Yeah. Maybe…" Abby's voice trailed off.
They both knew such musings were pointless. Regardless of what had happened on Chasca, their sisters were both dead. Sarah's body had been cremated and returned to them in a small Alliance ceremony. Neither of them knew what to do with her ashes, they were currently nestled in a drawer - out of sight but not out of mind. Lynn wanted to take Sarah's ashes back to Sirona, to bury them next to their mother. Abby preferred not to answer the question.
With the Alliance's duplicity, they had nothing of Ash – not even her tags.
With the morbid discussion lingering in the air, Lynn invited herself to nestle close to Abby. Her older sister wrapped an arm around her shoulders, drawing her in close.
"I can't wait until the weekend." Abby tried to steer the conversation back to safer territory. "It felt like everyone in Vancouver had a toothache this week. If I didn't see the inside of another mouth for a year, it would be too soon."
"Seems like a good sign to me. People going to the dentist, things getting back to normal."
"It would be a good thing, except for the whole not having been to the dentist in the past two years bit," Abby replied.
"Well, you've only got yourself to blame. Who'd ever want to be a dentist?"
Abby shrugged, well-used to hearing this argument. "How about you? Any horror stories about the youth of today to share?"
You're going to have to tell her. "Yeah…about the youth of today…" Lynn began with a sigh. "They're going to have to do without their favourite teacher."
Her support was suddenly gone as Abby sat up, turning to look at her. "What do you mean? What happened?"
"I may have been fired for going off the prescribed lesson plans," Lynn admitted, she too sat up, searching Abby's face for any trace of disappointment. She continued quickly, "And before you get mad, hear me out. There was no way in hell that I was going to start peddling that sorry-excuse for a curriculum to my kids. Completely fabricated atrocities from the First Contact War? That the asari are waging a covert conquest of the Galaxy by simply trying to make everyone asari? You teach that shit to ten-year olds and they're going to believe it's true!"
Abby exhaled in frustration. "I'm not mad, Lynn. Well, I mean I am mad, but not at you. I'm mad at those flunkies out there-" she nodded toward the window, indicating the soldiers stripping posters "-and the bureaucracy that locks down the streets at 9pm. The same people who won't tell us the truth about what happened to our sister."
Silence descended after her sister's outburst. While Lynn was grateful that Abby wasn't mad at her, it didn't make losing her job any easier. She had genuinely loved teaching her kids and it saddened her that the school would simply find someone else who was willing to teach the new curriculum.
"Have you ever thought about going back to Sirona?" Abby suddenly announced.
Lynn stared at her sister for a long moment, wondering if Abby was trying to usurp her role as the family joker. "You're serious?"
"Why wouldn't I be? We've got no ties to Earth. They'll still have jobs for dentists and teachers on Sirona…and hopefully a curriculum that's lagging behind here."
As a kid, Sirona had felt like the most backwards and remote place in the Galaxy. Now, a decade after they'd left, Lynn realised that the prospect of going back was an appealing one. They'd revisit their past, to make a fresh start.
"I never thought I'd say this, but how do we make that happen?"
Abby shrugged. "I guess we'd have to apply for a travel Visa. Can you make yourself useful with your newfound unemployment and do some research?"
"You're making fun of me now?"
"Absolutely not." Abby even managed a small smile, which quickly disappeared. She pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Can you leave a coded message for Miranda on the forum? We've not heard anything for months. I'm worried about her."
"You've met Miranda Lawson. And you know that she is more than capable of taking care of herself," Lynn pointed out.
"I know," Abby replied softly. "But it must be impossible to come back from losing the love of your life – even for someone as strong as Miranda. It changes a person."
Abby beckoned, and Lynn gratefully returned to her previous position nestling against her sister's side. She closed her eyes again and managed to keep the tears at bay.
Normandy
Her internal alarm clock told her that it was time to get up. Insistently so. But removing herself from the delicious warmth of her bed was something Miranda did not want to contemplate. Instead she stubbornly ignored decades of conditioning and burrowed further into the warmth. Everything wasn't going to fall apart if she indulged in a few minutes of idleness.
There was a sudden unpleasant sensation as freezing skin met the warmth of her own – cold toes brushing against her calf. A murmured expletive was all the intruder earned, as she stubbornly clung to the last vestiges of torpor.
"M?"
Although the voice was gentle, it carried with it a hint of disapproval. Miranda wasn't interested in being scolded and she drew the covers up over her head. Within the cocoon she created, she could momentarily ignore who and where she was. She could imagine another life for herself, one free of complications.
"M?"
There it was again. How was it possible to say so much with just one syllable?
"Five more minutes," Miranda implored in a quiet murmur. "Surely the Galaxy will be okay for an hour or two?"
"Maybe…but if it all goes to shit, you're going to blame yourself."
"Probably," Miranda replied, the corners of her mouth tugging upwards. "But you could make it worth my while?"
She opened her eyes. In the dark space, she could barely see the outline of Ashley's face and the shine on her eyes. Her heart swelled. She felt a gentle movement, and moments later a warm palm pressed against her cheek. Miranda smiled, knowing Ash could feel rather than see her lips, and pressed into the touch.
"I love it when you nuzzle," Ashley whispered, pleasure and mirth evident in her voice.
"I don't nuzzle," Miranda protested weakly, still nuzzling, feeling the calluses on Ashley's palms brush against her skin.
Everything was so warm and comfortable. She was safe. An hour or two was never going to be enough. Miranda wanted a lifetime of moments like these, although without the nagging thought that there was something else she ought to have been doing.
"Did I do something to choose this life?" Miranda asked quietly.
"That's far too serious a question this early." Miranda could practically hear the pout in Ashley's voice. "Why don't you ask me something I can actually answer? Like what should we have for breakfast?"
Ash was right, as she often was. Regardless of whether the Galaxy would be okay for the next hour, there were better things to think about.
"There's only one answer to that," Miranda replied, reaching out for the warm, naked body next to her. She felt a thrill travel down her spin as her fingers trailed the length of Ashley's flank. She then tugged Ashley closer, making her intent clear as her own stomach swooped in excitement. "You."
"Mhmm, now you're talking."
Shrill, repetitive tones interrupted the precious moment. Miranda jerked upwards, tearing the cloying covers away from her face.
"End alarm!" she hissed. The room immediately descended into silence.
In those first moments of consciousness, Miranda remained in the dark trying to hold onto the memory of the dream. The feel of Ash's hands on her face. Ash's smell. It was bittersweet. In reality, it was a cruel taunt of a life that had once been. A life that could have been. She didn't have time for such frivolous fancies.
"Lights. Dim."
A soft glow bathed the Nest, chasing the shadows into the corners. Miranda allowed herself the luxury of a sigh. Time to face another day…duty shift…whatever the hell it was called. She simply viewed it as that period between oblivion. The time when she was supposedly awake but felt like she was living someone else's nightmare.
What was the prescribed time period for mourning someone you loved? Most days, Miranda felt as though a lifetime wouldn't be long enough. Yet Ashley had been dead for longer than they had been lovers, causing her to question her own sanity. Surely someone of her intelligence knew when it was time to stop mourning? Wistful dreams and longing were the refuge of weak minds, not the strong.
Yet regardless of how many times Miranda reminded herself of that, she still mourned Ashley with even fibre of her being. A weaker mind indeed.
"Lights. Full."
The room was brought into stark relief as the shadows were banished altogether. Miranda rose swiftly and headed for the shower, hoping to chase away the fog of sleep and dreams with ice cold water.
The water hit her like a thousand tiny knives, setting her nerves on fire. The shock alone was enough to drive disruptive thoughts from her mind, leaving her to focus on what needed to be done.
As blasts of air dried her chilled skin, Miranda mentally ran through the list of tasks she had planned for herself. With most of the crew enjoying shore leave on Omega, the list was extensive. That was her antidote – keeping her mind and body as busy as possible. All day, every day. It was a schedule that left little time for reflection. Sometimes, she cursed the fact that a similar regime couldn't be implemented for her subconscious mind. Her longings were left to run rampant in her dreams.
Miranda paused in front of the mirror to attend to her 'beauty regime.' This usually consisted simply of dragging her fingers through her damp hair, then twisting it up into a haphazard knot atop her head to keep it out of her way. She couldn't help but take stock of her reflection – her eyes were dull and listless, her cheeks almost gaunt. It wasn't an appealing picture.
She paused for a moment, then on a whim she picked up a pot of cream that hadn't been touched for some months. She dolloped a generous spot on each cheek and rubbed it into her skin with several vigorous swipes of her hands. Once finished, she didn't feel any different. The act had little impact, other than to have consumed time.
{Good morning, Miranda,} EDI's voice intruded into her space as she was methodically dressing. {You have an incoming call via QEC from Shepard. How would you like me to respond?}
Miranda let out a huff of irritation. The call was unscheduled of course. Unlike Liara, Shepard never bothered to schedule anything. It was as though the damned woman thought she would just drop everything and come running.
"Tell her I'll be five minutes."
{Understood.}
At another time, Miranda might have tried to make her interactions with EDI less curt, less business-like. But she had barely known the AI as a physical platform, so her rudeness didn't register. At the back of her mind, she knew that Shepard would be quite content 'chatting' with EDI for those five minutes, as though the AI was an old friend.
Her mind had already moved on – mentally revising the unexpected call into her schedule. She'd simply skip Chakwas' recommended thirty minutes for breakfast. On her way out of the Nest, she compromised by grabbing a protein bar to sate her morning hunger.
She swallowed the last mouthful as she reached the QEC, jamming the wrapper into her pocket before Shepard could notice. Her ex-CO was standing in a relaxed pose, arms folded across her chest. When she saw Miranda, her smile was genuine, but her expression was also tinged with concern. Miranda gritted her teeth at the knowledge that her appearance was being assessed. If Shepard possessed a modicum of common sense, she wouldn't comment.
"Hello Shepard."
{Hey yourself. No offence, Miranda, but you look like utter shit,} Shepard observed.
Miranda ought to have known better than to expect common sense where Shepard was concerned. However, the assessment was no more brutal than her own had been just minutes earlier. In comparison, aside from what looked like a black eye as a result of a recent sparring session, Shepard looked healthier than ever. It seemed like a decade ago that she'd helped to rescue the emaciated woman from the Alliance facility in Alberta.
Miranda refused to take the bait. "What can I do for you, Shepard?"
{Ouch,} Shepard winced visibly. {I expected a scolding for being so blunt, but is it straight to business?}
"Presuming you actually have business to discuss as this call wasn't scheduled, then yes."
{So, there's no room in the schedule for chit-chat then?} Shepard asked with an arched eyebrow. {How are you?}
"You've already said I look like shit, so clearly that's all the answer you need – or were you looking to make some other unhelpful observation as to my state of being?"
{Do you enjoy being this obtuse, or did you get out of the wrong side of bed this morning?} It was Shepard's turn to be grumpy.
"Sorry, Shepard. Yes, I slept…badly. That doesn't exactly do wonders for my complexion." She stopped short of saying she never slept well, knowing that she wasn't ready to have that kind of conversation. "Apart from the sleep, I'm fine. Everything is fine. You on the other hand look as though you've been on the receiving end of someone's fist."
{You should see the other guy,} Shepard quipped. She pressed her fingers beneath her eye, as though reminding herself that it was actually bruised. {Shiala has something against medigel. Knowing her, she probably thinks it makes you soft. I'll sneak a tiny bit after this call. Speaking of altercations, how was the raid on the asteroid in the Nemean Abyss?}
"Did you not read my report-" Miranda caught herself before she continued. This was Shepard, who was of the opinion that reports were written for the express purpose of not being read. "In terms of knocking out another of Kor'Amon's cells, it was a success. However, in terms of catching up to the bastard himself, it was another failure. At every turn, he seems to be light years ahead of us."
{You know that cockroach will eventually run out of places to hide – and when he does, you'll be there.}
"I don't care if it's me or not." Liar. Yes you do. "I just want someone to bring him to justice."
The word left a sour taste on her lips. It wasn't justice that made her throw a handful of bottom-feeding mercs from the landing platform. That was vengeance. Others would rightly call it murder. Even if Shepard had read her report, that part had been omitted. Nevertheless, she felt the stain on her conscience. Despite her denial of the truth, Jack's words had cut to the core. Everything she did, the way she was acting, was pissing on Ashley's memory.
The need to talk about what she was feeling was tearing her apart. Shepard was the perfect sounding board. Someone she trusted beyond doubt, someone who would understand exactly what she was feeling.
But the words never quite came, and Shepard never brought Ashley up. Miranda didn't know whether her friend was worried about upsetting her, or if her own pain was still too raw. It meant they constantly skirted around the subject of Ashley. It solved everything…and nothing.
{Just promise me that you're looking after yourself in all of this.}
Miranda inclined her head. "The Normandy will be enjoying the delights of Omega for another forty-eight hours. Not exactly the vacation spot I would have chosen, but I haven't heard any complaints from the crew."
Shepard didn't buy it. {I'm talking about you, not the crew.}
As if on cue, Miranda's stomach rumbled in protest at her pathetic excuse for breakfast. She couldn't remember the last time she had done something for pleasure or relaxation. Those kinds of words no longer registered. That was not something she was going to admit to Shepard.
"Someone has to keep the ship running while it's crew are letting off steam," Miranda pointed out. "And since I have no interest in pissing away credits in Afterlife, shopping for black market goods or developing food poisoning, I'm the most logical choice."
{You should give it a chance. If there's one thing Omega has to offer, it's plenty of surprises.}
Miranda just shook her head. She could already guarantee that she was not interested in any of Omega's so-called surprises. Shepard's teasing though, she didn't mind. It felt like something that normal people were supposed to engage in.
{Oh, I almost forgot,} Shepard announced. {This call does have a purpose. The Councillor has a vested interest in the whereabouts of your asari crewmember. It seems that Kurin is Tevos' goddaughter.}
"Of course she is," Miranda said with a sigh.
Shepard continued, {Her family aren't exactly thrilled that she didn't return to Thessia with her crew.}
Another problem to add to Miranda's list, although far too minor to warrant any in depth attention. "I'll inform her, but I won't be ordering her off the ship. Kurin made the decision to abandon her duty to help us, she can choose whether she returns."
{I agree, but you might change your mind if you start getting squads of commandos scouring the Galaxy for her.}
Miranda raised her eyebrows. "I would hardly think that the asari government has the resources to waste on one individual."
{I wouldn't put it past Tevos, or Kurin's family for that matter, but it's up to you,} Shepard said with a shrug. {I'll let you get back to running your ship. If it helps, I'll schedule my next call…and promise to stick to it.}
"It's fine…really, Shepard," Miranda replied. In all honesty, although the initial interruption was irritating, talking to Shepard always helped. Her friend was like a balm, not taking away the sting but making her forget about it momentarily. "You have a free pass to call anytime."
{Careful, I might just take you at your word. Stay safe. Shepard out.}
Miranda remained staring at the empty QEC even after Shepard's likeness had blinked out. Not for the first time in recent memory, she felt a little nostalgic. She wished Shepard was back in the Crow's Nest and she was simply the XO. Granted, she had never been a 'simple' XO, but there had never been any doubt that Shepard was the one in command. Despite all the times they hadn't seen eye to eye, Miranda had always admired Shepard's leadership skills.
Before she could lose herself in thoughts of 'what if', Miranda left the QEC. She was determined to make herself as busy as possible. There were mountains of emails to be sorted, systems to be calibrated and stores to be ordered. If she didn't dwell on just how mind-numbingly boring it all was, then she could lose herself in her tasks.
Omega
Jack usually drank alone – content to lose herself to a bottle of whatever. As long as it burned her throat and brought about an oblivion where her nightmares couldn't follow her. She didn't understand why some people found enjoyment in drinking together. The last thing she wanted when she was drunk, were witnesses. Not to mention the galling custom of having to buy drinks for other people. Not only was she pissing away her own credits, others were too.
With all of this in mind, Jack had to wonder why the fuck she found herself in a booth at Afterlife. She was sandwiched between Cortez and Traynor. The latter whined constantly about how much she missed her girlfriend. Cortez and Fleeting were too fucking schmaltzy, holding hands on the table and absently stroking one another's arms, as they reminisced about the War with Petrova. Jack had no desire to chime in. The memories of watching her kids die were hers alone. One of the reasons she drank to forget.
When Fleeting returned to the table, cradling another round of drinks in his arms, Jack realised why she hadn't bothered to haul herself off to a dark corner alone. It required minimal effort to sit and make appropriately sympathetic grunts at various points during her 'conversation' with Traynor. All the while a steady stream of drinks were brought to her. For some reason, no one nagged her to buy a round. The music in Afterlife was rhythmic and primal, just the way she liked it. Here she could almost lose herself in the moment, forgetting who or where she was. It was almost as though she had – Jack hated even thinking about the word – friends.
Fleeting slid a glass over to her with a broad grin. "Asked the bartender for something special. Wouldn't tell me what it was, just said that humans probably shouldn't drink it."
Jack stared happily at the cloudy purple drink. "Fuck yeah."
There was no such thing as a 'sip' in Jack's vocabulary, she lifted the glass to her lips and threw it back. If she thought ryncol burned, then the mystery drink was on another level entirely. It scorched her throat as stars burst in front of her eyes. She could barely reach for the chaser, struggling to wrap her fingers around the beer bottle. She drained half the bottle in several deep glugs before slamming in back down on the table.
The stars and the burning were still there, but it was a pleasant feeling watching the pinpricks of light dance across her field of vision. Cortez and Fleeting were holding hands again, Petrova was still trading war stories, and Traynor wouldn't shut up, but Jack was blissfully content as she sat cradling her beer.
"You've met Myke right?" Traynor was saying, oblivious to Jack's alcoholic adventure. "You've seen how fit she is? What I still don't understand, is why she'd want me. I mean, I was her first…do you think she's just waiting for someone more attractive to come along?"
"Mhmm," Jack added what she hoped was an appropriate noise at the appropriate time. She lifted her arm to take another swig of beer.
Traynor suddenly grabbed her arm, fingers digging in desperately. "You think she is?"
"Fuck!" Jack hissed as beer dribbled down her chin. She wiped it away and scowled at Traynor, realising her approach to the conversation wasn't working anymore. "What?"
"Myke! You think she's going to leave me for someone else because I'm just…well, plain and she's…gorgeous!"
Jack fought against her urge tell Traynor to fuck off and get some self-respect. "Not in a million years. That one's head over heels."
"You're sure?" Traynor asked anxiously.
Long since bored of the conversation, Jack sought to put the matter to rest altogether. "She's so in love with you, it makes me want to vomit."
"Brilliant!" Traynor replied, beaming.
With her good deed done for the night, Jack turned her attention back to her beer. She made short work of it in a few more gulps. Part of her wanted more of the purple stuff, but even in her inebriated state she knew better than to get completely shit-faced in public. What she was going to do however, was shake out her legs a little.
"Outta the way, princess." Jack motioned to Traynor to let her out of the booth. "The dance floor is calling."
Traynor's response was far too enthusiastic for Jack. "Oh yeah, I'm-"
"No," Jack interrupted curtly. Drinking with people was one thing, dancing with them was something else entirely. "Just no."
Leaving behind a pouting Traynor, Jack made her way to Afterlife's 'dance floor.' It was little more than a dark corner where individuals congregated to move their limbs in time with the beat reverberating in the club, but it suited Jack. She made it clear with both her expression and her body language that she was there to dance alone. One salarian, who clearly didn't value his body parts, took a chance. The split second his hand grabbed her ass, Jack snatched it up and jerked one of his digits back – not enough to snap bone, just enough to let him know that she wasn't just playing hard to get. As her aspiring paramour slinked into the shadows, Jack turned her attention to the serious business of losing herself in the music. It wasn't hard. The beat was primal and raw, suiting the way she liked to move. Her energetic limb movements soon caused others to give her a wide berth, although she barely noticed.
Dancing wasn't about other people, it was about losing herself to something simple. In those precious moments, Jack was able to let go of the mantle of leadership and the obligations that came with it. She could stop worrying about whether the Cheerleader was about to fall apart completely. She didn't have to give a shit that they might be poised on the brink of another war. For a few minutes, she was just another uncoordinated loser dancing alone. Drunk enough to not care that people she knew might be watching. Sober enough to know that she wasn't about to make an ass of herself. It was a happy medium – especially with no further wandering hands.
She'd worked up a light sheen of sweat when her eyes wandered to the eyrie that hovered above Afterlife. Aria's domain was usually none of her concern. She'd tagged along up there with Shepard a couple of times and Aria had dismissively ignored her. That suited Jack just fine. Although the figure that stood at the balcony was in shadow, Jack knew it was Aria. Everything about that bitch was instantly recognisable, down to the arrogant tilt of her head. She scowled – annoyed at herself that she'd bothered to stare - when a second asari joined Aria. Jack was surprised to find that she recognised Kurin immediately. While Aria stood impassively, she could clearly see Kurin's gestures growing increasingly emphatic. For a view that had initially warranted a split-second glance, Jack now found herself blatantly staring as she danced. Her state of peace was replaced by an uncharacteristic curiosity. She was still asking herself why the fuck she cared when Kurin suddenly flared. The glow of the mass effect field threw Aria's nest into sharp relief. Jack could just make out the anger on Kurin's face, and the corresponding mirth on Aria's – more obvious when Aria threw back her head and laughed. It wasn't until Jack took stock of her own response, that she realised she had stopped dancing altogether and taken several steps towards the arguing pair. The response had been unconscious, born out of the certainty that Kurin would be reduced to a purple paste on the floor if she attacked Aria. Kurin extinguished her field, rendering the pair in shadow once more. Jack then watched her disappear from view. Seconds later, Aria returned to her characteristic pose, surveying the beating heart of her kingdom as though nothing had happened.
The dancing altogether forgotten, Jack made a beeline for the bottom of the stairs in time to catch Kurin descending. Her asari crewmate looked visibly shaken, but the anger was still there in the way she stormed down the stairs. When Kurin caught sight of Jack, she schooled her expression into an impassive mask.
"Enjoying shore leave?" The asari asked, there was a slight catch to her voice.
"Clearly more than you." Jack jerked her chin upwards. "What was all that about?"
Kurin's expression faltered. "What did you see?"
"The Queen Bitch herself getting you so riled up you flared." Jack shrugged. "I dunno where you were going with that shit, she'd turn you into a pile of sticky purple goop before you could even think about dropping a singularity on her head. And she let you get away with it."
"It's none of your business," Kurin muttered.
The asari's tone was sullen. Jack was reminded that although Kurin was decades older, she was still essentially a young adult.
"It is my business if one of my crew has been compromised." Jack lowered her voice. "Don't tell me you're fucking her?"
With Afterlife's dim lighting, Jack couldn't see the dark flush to Kurin's cheeks. Judging body language however, she could tell the asari was even more uncomfortable.
"I'm not doing this here…I'm not used to having my personal life on display like this," Kurin replied awkwardly. "And I can still feel her eyes on me."
"Easily solved. Afterlife's not the only joint that sells booze on this rock. Let's get outta here," Jack suggested.
Kurin looked panicked. "You're ordering me to divulge my person life?"
Jack snorted. "This isn't an order, it's an offer. You wanna talk about it, great. You don't wanna talk about it, also great. What I don't want, is any sort of scene. Laying waste to Afterlife is a sure-fire way to cancel our open invitation. And it's gonna piss Miranda off."
"Fine," Kurin muttered. "I need a drink anyway."
They didn't have to walk far before finding more drinking establishments. Although they wisely passed on the first one they found after walking into the aftermath of a particularly brutal fight between a gang of vorcha and remnants of the old Blue Suns merc gang. By the looks of things, the mercs had lost.
The second was little more than a cobbled together stack of empty shipping crates, but it was clean, the booze was reasonably priced and the only music was coming from a group of drunk Salarians singing in surprisingly decent voices. As the evening stretched on towards early morning, Jack was grateful to find a comfortable seat where she could kick her feet up on the table and relax. Kurin, on the other hand, looked as though she wanted to be anywhere else. The asari sat hunched over, staring at her drink.
Jack took a swig of her beer. It was Hanar craft beer, the good shit that left you properly drunk after a few bottles. And since Jack had already been properly drunk, she was now well on her way to the state of not giving a fuck.
She stared across the table at Kurin. "So, you and Aria huh?"
That got Kurin's attention. She jerked her head up, glaring at Jack. "I thought you said I didn't have to talk about it?"
Jack shrugged. "I lied. Now spill. Did you or did you not?"
"Once. It happened once."
Kurin was finally able to look Jack in the eye. Her gaze was direct and challenging, daring Jack to think less of her.
"You in love with her?" Jack said, proving she could be just as direct.
"No!" Kurin's voice was emphatic. However, she then swiped a hand back over her crest – a nervous habit of hers. "There was a time where I was…infatuated with her. You've seen Aria. She's…magnetic."
Jack was unsympathetic. "She's a fucking viper."
"I knew what I was getting into, and I don't have any regrets."
As Jack cocked an eyebrow, Kurin lifted her beer to her lips and drained most of the bottle. She set it down with a heavy thud. "Okay, there are some regrets. But I'm done with her."
"Like I said, I need to know if you're a danger to my ship. What were the two of you arguing about?"
"She wanted information. The Normandy's movements, our operations. Anything. She's concerned we're looking for the missing Reaper – Catalyst, whatever you want to call it. Her people haven't found any trace of it." Kurin's hand tightened around the bottle in front of her. "Look, I know what you're thinking – I refused to tell her anything. Hence the argument you saw. My loyalty is to the Normandy."
"How do I know you're not bullshitting me?"
Kurin suddenly looked deflated. "After everything I've given up to join your crew, you really think I'd sell you out?"
Jack shrugged. People had given up more for less. "Depends if this bitch's cunt is as magnetic as you say it is."
"Goddess, what am I doing?" Kurin slumped forward into her hands, scrubbing at her forehead as though everything was a bad dream she could erase. "My family are searching for me. Miranda told me a few hours ago."
"Fuck 'em," Jack replied, she downed the remainder of her beer and wished she thought to buy multiple bottles at once.
Kurin shook her head. "It's not that easy. You don't just walk away from a family like mine. My mother is the Matriarch Lidanya, Captain of the Destiny Ascension and Admiral of the Citadel Fleet. My godmother is Councillor Tevos herself."
Jack leaned forward, purposefully trying to look sober – or at least capable of saying something worthwhile. The old Jack might have rolled her eyes and gone to fetch an armful of beers. The new Jack, however, she was pretty damn good at pep talks. "That's exactly what you did, you walked away from them. Hell, I was raised by Cerberus and I walked away from those fuckers. Tell you what, you buy me another beer – or three – and I'll personally kick the ass of anyone that comes looking for you."
Kurin frowned. "You're not worried I'm Aria's shill?"
"Nah, you had the balls to flare in front of that bitch. You looked ready to go a round even though your blue ass would've been smeared across Afterlife's shit excuse for a dance floor."
"Hardly a noble way to go out," Kurin said, her despair finally giving way as she offered up a small grin.
"I can think of worse ways to go," Jack replied.
Kurin responded with a deep belly-laugh. It was tinged with desperation, as though the only thing she had left was to laugh at herself. She stood emphatically, brandishing her credit chit. "We are going to need a lot of beer."
Jack winked at her. "I knew I liked you for a reason, Kurin."
As her eight-hour shift drew to a close, Miranda moved about her remaining duties methodically and efficiently – everything made easier by the fact that there were few interruptions. She contemplated pulling a double shift. With her stamina, it would be effortless. She'd gone twenty-four hours in the past, at the height of their mission to stop the Collectors. It wouldn't have taken much to push herself further before her performance began to suffer.
But the urgency wasn't there. With no solid leads on their next raid against Kor'Amon and the Normandy in perfect condition from stem to stern, there was very little for her to do. After spending an hour developing a new filing system for her emails, she was going stir-crazy. There was nothing left but to finish her shift and find something to do with her time. Her thoughts immediately went to a workout. The kind of punishing workout that left her feeing completely drained. She could spar. Grenier was a decent enough opponent, and she'd seen him return from shore leave an hour earlier, still sober.
Decision made. Miranda logged off her terminal. She was heading to the elevator when she heard the airlock open, followed closely by a very loud, very slurred voice.
"They can all go fuck themselves. Every one of them. My goddess-damned mother - I don't give a fuck if she's Admiral of the fucking Fleet. Every one of my ass-kissing sisters. And Councillor Tevos too – especially her."
Miranda paused, watching with something akin to fascination, as Jack and Kurin practically fell through the airlock. The latter was stumbling as though her legs wouldn't work properly. Only the fact that Jack was practically carrying her meant that she could walk at all.
"Who wants to spend the next century kissing their superior's azure just so they can captain their own dreadnought?" Kurin was saying in an indignant voice, wildly gesticulating with her hand. "My mother wants me to captain a dreadnought, not me. I just want to be left alone. So what if I deserted? What we're doing here, this is important. We owe it to Ashley…I owe it to Ashley."
"Yeah, we all get it, your family are a bunch of jackasses," Jack said almost patiently – her words were nearly as slurred as Kurin's.
Miranda cleared her throat. The last thing she wanted was anyone to launch into a drunken lament for their late CO. Her shift had helped her put her dream behind her, but it was only ever a brief thought away.
Jack glanced up, unconcerned enough to smirk. "Oh, hey Cheerleader. Good shift?"
"Clearly not as…interesting as your shore leave," Miranda replied in an arched voice, arms folded across her chest for effect.
There was a part of her that envied the drunk pair and their ability to escape from reality, even for a few hours.
Kurin groaned. "Athame's blessed cunt. I think I'm drunk."
On second thoughts, Miranda definitely didn't envy Kurin. The asari was going to have the mother of all headaches in the morning. Plus she fully suspected that her demons would run havoc with her drunken self.
"Ha! No shit," Jack laughed merrily, needing to pause as Kurin almost slipped out of her grasp.
"Jack? If Kurin vomits on my deck, you're going to be the one cleaning it up," Miranda announced.
"Jeez, Lawson," Jack pouted. "You're a fucking buzzkill. What don't you take that stick out of your ass and help me get this one into her rack?"
"You got her into this mess, you get her out of it," Miranda said calmly as she crossed the short distance to the elevator. For some reason the sight of Jack looking decidedly worse for wear had improved her mood. The doors swished open and she stood, hand on hip watching the drunken charade play out in front of her. "I'm holding the doors open while the two of you get in here, and that's the extent of my help. Hurry up, she's starting to turn white."
London, Earth
With her back aching and her legs restless, Captain Susannah Whitehead pushed her chair away from her desk with a savage finality. She rose, arching into a glorious stretch that was almost painful. Her bones creaked audibly in protest at sitting for so long.
Months of flying a desk had only confirmed what she had already suspected – that she would hate flying a desk. She longed to be confined to a chair of a different kind – her harness keeping her secure as she guided her fighter through the infinite depths of space. Gloriously alone save for the stars and the graceful machine responding to her touch.
"Hey Rav, I'm signing off." Her colleague and friend, Ravi Sharma glanced up from the desk opposite hers as she continued, "I've just about finished that procurement tender, but I'm waiting on figures from Finance. They've promised to get them to me first thing tomorrow."
"Isn't that what Finance always promises?" Ravi quipped in response.
"I've got those guys wrapped around my finger. It'll be tomorrow," Susannah replied confidently as she tugged her jacket on. "Have a good evening."
Ravi suddenly stood up and snatched his coat from the back of his chair. "Didn't you say Lucy was out of town? Sayani has taken Arjun up to Sheffield to stay with her parents for the weekend which means I'm a free man! What do you say to a pint? Or three? I bet Gabe and Helen will be up for it."
The announcement took her by surprise. Ravi's wife was notorious for never letting him anywhere near the pub. On any given day Susannah would have leapt at the chance. She quickly fixed a disappointed expression on her face.
"Shit, Rav. You had to choose today of all days?" Even as the lie formed in her head, Susannah knew it was a terrible one. "I've got physical therapy tonight."
He frowned. "I thought your appointments were on Tuesdays?"
"Usually. Had to swap this week as my therapist was sick." Way to make the hole even bigger, she thought, feeling her palms start to go clammy. She edged away from the desk. "Rain check for tomorrow?"
Ravi nodded in response. "Sure thing. Hope you don't mind if I hit Gabe and Helen up to go out tonight. I plan on making the most of my temporary freedom."
"No way, you deserve it." Susannah was half way to the door, she turned and grinned. "Have a pint for me."
"You could join us after your session?"
"These sessions always wipe me out. I'll probably just head home and scrounge some leftovers before collapsing onto the sofa."
"Gotcha. Laters, Wildcat."
Ravi was already turning, calling out across the office in search of other willing participants for his evening plans. Susannah allowed herself to let out the breath she'd been holding, even as inwardly she berated herself for being so terrible at this. She was so far down the Alliance chain of command, her work so mind-numbingly boring, that there was very little security or anything to unravel her carefully laid plans. But she'd still managed to concoct an excuse so flimsy that it would have been picked apart in minutes.
With each step she took on the way to the exit, each casual farewell she nodded to a passing colleague, she felt the microdrive burning a hole through the lining of her jacket.