"Griffons Never Die" (San d'Oria [S]) from Final Fantasy XI: Wings of the Goddess
XXIII. Griffons Never Die
(Ashley)
Some optimism carried me through the next two years while I waited for Shepard to come back home.
After saying goodbye to Miranda, she went off to Lazarus Station to start on the project, while I started my N7 training. I packed up and got shipped down to Rio de Janeiro in Brazil, at the Interplanetary Combatives Academy. I arrived with dozens of other fresh recruits, heading to the Vila Militar as our new home base. Brutal training exercises, sometimes going for twenty hours a day: mostly leading small teams into combat over hostile terrain, all with next-to-no food or sleep. I consumed it all.
This was exactly what I needed to push myself. This helped me get through everything. I didn't have time to wallow in my misery or to worry about the things I couldn't control. I was able focus more on what was directly in front of me. Yeah, I had to miss out on some things, like watching the Super Bowl that year while it was live, or keeping up with Miranda and her progress as much as I would've liked. But I looked forward to returning to my room after a long, long day of training, and watching Miranda's daily vidlogs for me, with a layman's summary of what she and her team worked on and discovered.
I leaned on Miranda's confidence—and her own optimism—that the Lazarus Project was smooth-going.
I quickly qualified for N1, even while most of the other candidates had given up or failed. Then I was finally able to start my specific focus to train as a soldier, and with the specialization I'd picked out, moving up from N1 to N6 over time. I went for a more flexible version of that N7 Destroyer I'd played as in Shepard's game, without that slow, bulky T5-V battlesuit slowing me down. I wasn't able to have that missile launcher without the battlesuit. So I settled on stronger personal shields along with the rest:
More weapon damage and accuracy, higher rate of fire and better stability, and increased clip sizes for my guns, all during my own devastator mode that turned me into a mobile turret; an all-red enemy radar synced up to my vision HUD with these new implants, helping me see my environment better at night or in hazardous conditions; self-healing with my skin able to mend itself from most gunfire and flesh injuries pretty much on the spot; multi-frag grenades synced up with my omni-tool to launch at crowds, at bigger or heavily-armored enemies, or to stagger anyone in my way as a point-blank countermeasure for a quick escape; general expertise with assault rifles and sniper rifles; and moderate-to-good mobility with any armor I chose to wear, but at the cost of not being as much of a defensive tank as I'd imagined.
Overwhelming enemies with non-stop, sustained fire and grenades, and leaning on the increased survivability I had from my implants and personal shields, all as a tank on offense—that was the way to go instead.
Moving up the ladder from N1 to N6 wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. Especially as I got used to my new implants and abilities as the months went on. I earned a rep for really pushing myself, and my instructors and team members respected me for it. They all thought that I was trying to push past what happened with Shepard. But I knew I chose to fight with my emotions instead of fighting against them.
I prayed for her every day.
I fought for her every day, needing to be the perfect soldier for her once she was back.
Fighting like this, pushing myself: we had the rest of our courses off-world on Jupiter's moon, Europa, with live training exercises for a bunch of qualifications. I already had some of these things from before, like proficiency in zero-gravity combat, and close-quarters combatives. Nearly everything else was new for me, like first responder training and frontline trauma care, parachuting, combat driving, and even linguistics for more effective communication as a leader. I seriously couldn't stand the damned parachuting: jumping out of mobile aircrafts to land safely on the ground. It kind of helped to just think of it as another extension of Shepard's landing system, and maybe get over my fear of heights that way.
Right before each qualifying test for my next N-rank, I would always do the same thing. The same ritual.
I would spend the time I had fixating on Shepard's pictures, usually from the ones Tali had taken in secret during our mission before. Staring at her, at the glow of her skin and the sharpness of her piercing stare. Gazing at her, at the shimmer of her long hair, of those sunny shades of brown and streaks of blonde all mixed together, so unlike the intense, focused look on her gorgeous face.
What helped even more was immersing myself in my memories of her, before my tests and every day in general. Every single day. Constantly, if I could.
Using Shepard's cinnamon toothpaste to feel her lips, her breath, and her mouth over mine, all over again. Eating strawberries as often as possible. Drinking moscato whenever I had the freedom to relax with alcohol. Listening to her music: whatever fit my mood, but always from her gigantic library of creative, experimental, sexual and sensual songs. Playing her video games. Imagining her hands in my place whenever I dressed and undressed myself; whenever I put my armor on or took it back off again. Wearing her clothes to bed. Spraying the black chamomile of her aromatherapy scent over the sheets of my bed, and insulating myself under the covers, getting high off of the sensations alone. Jumping at the chance to hone my sniper rifle proficiency during training, if only to hear those loud booms from those powerful shots. Peeking in on the N7 Infiltrator candidates during their training, just to listen to their tactical cloaks activating and deactivating in those soothing sounds, giving me the best kind of chills.
I did all of these things to remember her with so much love—never able to forget.
This love of mine carried me through to my next N-rank, hard-fought, every time.
These memories of mine carried me through each day, subspace spiking high.
Eventually, I knew I'd get to face the final qualifying test. When the time arrived, our instructors would drop us off on an asteroid somewhere, with only basic equipment to protect ourselves. The last person who ran out of oxygen would go on to graduate at Arcturus Station, all for that special N7 Soldier rank.
I definitely planned on earning it.
In the meantime, whenever I got the chance, I took advantage of the time off our instructors gave us for shore leave here and there.
Usually, I would just go back home to San Diego and chill out in the apartment, indulging in my memories as fetishes as much as possible. Or I would meet up with Miranda at her apartment on Illium whenever she actually let herself have a break, just to catch up in-person instead of constantly relying on emails and vidlogs. Or I would go visit Sarah while she was at college, with us doing our best to enjoy our time together, all while avoiding anything and everything about the rest of the family. I was still distant with them. And they were still distant with me, as convinced as they were that I'd picked my grief over them. Too much stubbornness. Too much pride. It was always one thing after another. They refused to apologize to me; I refused to back down and beg for their forgiveness.
Even though it stung sometimes, I learned to find my peace with the situation.
If they couldn't respect what I had with Shepard, then they didn't respect me at all.
Normally, I would've vented about the whole drama in the team's chat room. After all this time that had passed, I somehow still kept forgetting that the chat was archived. I could read the logs whenever I craved the nostalgia, and I could see that we were all still registered to the room. But those memories were all in the past now.
We had to rely on email and the occasional vid-mail instead.
As awkward as it was for me to talk to them, we had all made that promise to stay in touch.
I kept up with Tali the most. I knew she missed me. I knew she needed me, our friendship. So it was easy enough for her to keep me in the loop about what she was up to, and to take the initiative to ask me all about my training. Besides, I did like learning more about Tali's duties on the Flotilla now that she'd completed her Pilgrimage. She even had her big girl enviro-suit and a new name: Tali'Zorah vas Neema. Her father Rael'Zorah relied on her to help him out with his research on the geth. She seemed really driven to meet his high expectations of her. And not just because she was that excited about helping him.
I wasn't sure if Tali had ever opened up to her Dad about her sexuality. But if she had, then it might not have gone too well, considering how strict he was. Maybe that was why she didn't mention it to me. She didn't talk about falling for anyone new, either. So it was clear to see that her feelings for Shepard were here to stay, no matter what.
Wrex and I wrote back and forth to each other, too. He was the chief of Clan Urdnot back on Tuchanka, doing his best to keep his people together in the middle of their constant battles over turf and fertile female krogan. As strong as his ideas were to bring the clans together, Wrex would run into diplomatic problems when dealing with the female clans. I had to tell him sometimes that his plans weren't always the best, and that he needed to go with what the women wanted if they were going to make progress. Then he would find a better way to compromise with them, thanking me afterward. I loved that he still called me clan chief, too.
Garrus was more of a wildcard. We had no problems emailing normally while he was on Palaven with his Dad and his sister. He even qualified for Spectre candidacy training. His father didn't approve, not trusting Spectres at all, but Garrus went ahead and tried the training out. He was inspired by my stories of what I was up to; inspired by our memories of Shepard as a Spectre. But then, at some point, he quit his training and disappeared. Vanished. Fell off the grid. I wasn't sure how or why. No one else could figure it out, either.
We only knew Garrus wasn't dead because he did try to email us after that. Just barely. Rarely. And his messages to us were always way too vague. He did seem driven and determined with whatever he was up to somewhere out there. After a while, we learned to respect his privacy, grateful for the once in a blue moon emails from him, letting us know that he was all right.
Kaidan had gotten through all of his procedures to replace his L2 biotic implants with L3s. He was almost done with his recovery process. When he'd learned about everything that had happened with the Normandy, with Shepard, and the public story with her—the shock from it all had nearly set him back. But he'd managed to pull through, and we were able to talk on a more regular basis now. We promised to meet up on the Citadel once he was finally discharged from the hospital and reinstated into active duty.
Joker had toughed it out through his guilt. It did help that I kept emailing him, promising that I didn't blame him for what happened. On top of that, the Alliance tried to discipline him over the whole mutiny thing before Ilos, way back when. Councilor Anderson managed to deal with that before it could get too bad. But it was enough to piss Joker off anyway. He seemed like he was done with the Alliance after all.
He wouldn't give any details, but he'd taken an indefinite leave of absence to go work someplace else. Someplace else that let him fly without all the rules and red tape. I had a feeling I knew what this other place was, especially since Joker was so excited about his newfound freedom. Obviously, I couldn't say anything about it. And I didn't want to risk asking Miranda in case I was wrong somehow. Still, it was good to know that Joker was doing much better these days. He and I were a lot closer as friends, too. I could tell that he relied on my forgiveness as an emotional push for him to keep going. And I was happy that we had this kind of friendship now.
Things between Miranda and me stayed on the same path, with the same vibe as when we'd spent the holidays together back at home. Our non-Lazarus Project emails to each other teetered on that edge of something more than friendship. It was mostly subtle, like how Miranda would always ask if I remembered to eat properly through my long days of training—and if I hadn't, then she made sure to recommend alternatives to keep me from collapsing out there. She worried about how strenuous my exercises were. She encouraged me to keep at it. She made vague, distant attempts at saying she missed me. She liked reminding me that Shepard would only have the best fighters in the galaxy on her team to stop the Collectors, and that I was still going to be at the top of the list of those dossiers. But more than the substance of what we wrote and talked about, it was always the tone. The tone of our words. The tone of our intentions in needing each other like this, so neurotic underneath the surface.
No matter how much we left unspoken, I loved that Miranda chose to treat me this way. Like she enjoyed caring for me, to the point of sheltering me, even from a distance. Like she couldn't help it. If I were anyone else, I was pretty sure I would think Miranda was overbearing, fussing over me all the time. But I needed her validation whenever I did as she said, meeting her expectations. I really, really liked the attention she gave me, and the way she chose to give it to me, non-stop in between her work. With how naturally attentive Miranda was, she just didn't know how to leave me alone. She couldn't help herself. I couldn't resist her. Still attracted to her; still attached to her.
My constant sexual dreams about Shepard and Miranda with me said it all, too—so clear and so terrifying.
I made a point to see Miranda for her birthday in September, spending the time at home again. Even though I thought it was morbidly ironic that her birthday was on 9/11, I didn't mention it to her at all. But I did ask her about something else instead. I wanted her to tell me about how she knew Shepard, and when she'd first heard about her. I wanted Miranda to give me something, anything about how she felt. Because all I did know was that her heart was at its maximum capacity. And I knew what that meant. I only wanted more details. I wanted us to be able to talk about anything together.
While we were face-to-face like this on her birthday, Miranda couldn't bring herself to talk about it.
She promised to send me an email instead.
Waiting on that email, I went back to my training until the next round of shore leave.
This time, Kaidan was free to meet up with me on the Citadel. I made it to the station a few days before he did.
So while I waited for him, I got permission from the Council to enter the Citadel Archives. I spent my time there documenting Shepard's life and her achievements, including all the details I hadn't known about before I went digging through her omni-tool data. Like I'd had no idea she earned a Medal of Honor after the Battle at the Citadel… That had to be that private reward Anderson had mentioned to me.
The public knew that Shepard had been posthumously promoted to Commander. Officially. Better late than never. And I also got another promotion: First Lieutenant. For all my hard work so far in the N7 program. It was more of an afterthought for me, though. I cared more about Shepard's new rank.
Even to this day, the galaxy still talked about her. On the news. Over radio broadcasts. On just about TV network. Everywhere.
Being here in the Citadel Archives, surrounded by the truth in history, uncensored, and highly classified—I found my own comforts in this place. I liked setting up these interactive vidlogs: ranging from Shepard taking down Sovereign, to Shepard cloaking while sneaking through Peak 15 on Noveria, to the way Shepard concentrated for her unique power boost when handling her sniper rifle in general. I enjoyed getting to obsess over her like this, almost as if she was right in front of me again.
Speaking of obsessions: while I was in the middle of something at the archives, Miranda finally sent me that email. I stopped what I was doing to read it, feeling so pleased already. I had been curious about this for a long time…
From: Miranda – A long time.
Ashley,
Since you asked, I'm sending you this to answer your questions. About Shepard. About how I knew of her before. About how I feel—how I've always felt. It's quite ridiculous. I'm not proud of it. I hate that it affects me so much, clouding my judgment at times. I hope you're prepared to read all of this. It's long. Stupidly long.
You and I have built up a substantial amount of trust. It hardly feels like it's been over a year since our first meeting. I surprise myself each time I realize just how much we rely on each other for emotional support. But I hesitated to send this to you anyway. You would of course have every reason to tell Shepard about these things once she returns. I don't want you to do that. There are too many reasons why I could never bring myself to be honest with her. So I would appreciate it if you kept this to yourself.
If it isn't obvious by now: I've known about Shepard since she first had her start in the fashion industry. I'm four years older than her, as you are four years younger than her. She was thirteen years old when I was seventeen or eighteen, depending on the exact month.
At the time, I had just recently escaped from my father when the Illusive Man took me in. I had started my new work with Cerberus, helping our biotic researchers study and develop new upgrades to sell to other retailers, which helped fund our organization's many operations. Plenty of those funds found their way to me. I was self-reliant for the first time—without my father's involvement—and I wanted to make the most of it. I was also young. It should have been a bad mix, but I did manage to stay responsible. Mostly by forcing myself to focus on my university studies.
I'd always had an interest in fashion. My father used to give me the best clothes, the best cars, and the best anything that money could buy, all as a way to control me. So I was quite happy that I could pay for my own things instead. Magazine subscriptions, runway vids, industry gossip—I kept up with all of it.
When Shepard first came onto the scene, it was a very big deal. Yes, she was only thirteen. But her pointed attitude, and that natural sharpness and intimidation of hers created…an illusion, so to speak. Everyone was obsessed with her. They actually liked that she wasn't an industry insider or a product of nepotism. Shepard was a maverick—and she certainly acted like it. She was fresh, she had an edge about her in her photographs and runway, she was from the streets, and above all, she was real. People couldn't get enough of her. I couldn't get enough of her. She completely consumed my attention.
As gorgeous as she was, even back then, I knew better than to lust after her while she was underage. The age difference between us was more than awkward, as I'm sure you can imagine. Still, I kept up with her as Sol over the years, doing my best to keep my more romantic and sexual feelings away until the appropriate time.
I focused on her work instead. I collected every vid, every magazine I possibly could. I studied her walk: the juxtaposition of the ease and command she strutted with. I memorized her face and her body, taking note when she seemed to have grown taller almost overnight at her age. I even took an interest in men's fashion, as she appeared more relaxed in sharper, more masculine clothing. Yet she had the confidence to pull off any look she wanted. She was naturally gifted…even though her heart wasn't in anything she did.
When Shepard turned eighteen, and she enlisted with the Alliance, I didn't know what to do with myself. It was clear that the military was her way out. It was more than evident that it had been her plan all along to become a marine. I was devastated over her hiatus from the fashion world, yes, but there was also something else. When Shepard joined the military, she shattered my silly dreams of finding her someday and getting to know her. Even when she did make brief returns here and there over the next few years, my heartbreak still felt like an open wound. I couldn't get over her. I couldn't move on.
Cerberus and the Alliance. Forever sworn enemies.
I knew that Shepard was loyal to the Alliance for helping her find her purpose in life. I was loyal to Cerberus for the same reasons. We both owed our lives and livelihood to the organizations we worked for, sworn enemies and all. So I never had the freedom to pursue her. I've come to expect that Shepard's duties with Cerberus will be purely transactional. She won't approve of us, of the Illusive Man, of our reputation. She won't approve of anything about us outside of the mission.
Shepard was always incredibly principled, even in her ruthlessness. It's what makes her so captivating. In fact, I'd say it's what I love most about her. What made me truly fall for her in the first place. The way she refused to tolerate intolerance. The strength with which she would fight against injustices, taking extreme actions to terrorize her enemies into submission or death. How she pushed herself to such excellence of character, as both a woman and an infiltrator, reaching well beyond where others would have failed. All through her sense of honor, and her exceptional willpower, so unyielding. Without a doubt, that is the legend of Commander Shepard to me.
Time has passed. Situations have changed. Yet all I could do was follow Shepard's progress as she gained prestige in the military. I dedicated most of my work to following her, shadowing her. Despite how thorough she was at concealing her own communications and other activities, I did what I could to get around that. Aside from you, I'm the galaxy's prime expert on everything she did and believed in. And now I'm putting her back together with that same knowledge. Down to the very details of her DNA, of every fiber of her being—after she died. After her death shattered my heart all over again. That was why it took me a week to get in touch with you about the project. It's why I pressured you, rushed you into making a decision when we first spoke, since I knew I'd wasted too much time, and I was angry with myself about it. I had spent most of that week alone in my apartment, drunk out of my mind from all the bourbon I'd drowned myself in. White wine would've been too much.
I also agonized over something else during that time. Something that had always bothered me about this situation. The truth is, no matter how perfect I might be, and no matter how many other people want me, it doesn't matter at all. My many assets would probably mean nothing to Shepard, to someone like her. You know how much she values 'real' women. Compared to you, to other people, I'm as artificial as it gets. There's nothing real about me. Nothing about my identity belongs to me. Only my mistakes.
This has caused a lot of self-doubt for me over the years, making my existing insecurities much, much worse. It's all very much linked to my sexuality, how I was created with these specific genes of mine. The rest of the truth is far too dark and complicated for me to get into any time soon. I tried detailing this to you, but I ended up deleting what I wrote out of frustration. I'm too ashamed to accept this about myself. Regardless, I'll at least do my best to explain what I can:
I'm well-aware that I'm the product of a man's gaze, built for fulfilling men's wishes of what the perfect woman is supposed to be. It's why I lose my patience whenever I'm reminded of that sad reality. And yet I'm ironically not attracted to men. Only women. I'm not sure if my father 'chose' my sexual orientation when he made me. If he did, I don't like those implications at all, as complicated and confusing as they are. But Shepard strikes the perfect balance between the type of masculinity I am attracted to, and her own brand of femininity that's difficult to pin down or define. I'm enamored with the role she plays in relationships, how it's completely natural to her. I'm enchanted by how much respect she has for women in general, whether she's involved with them or not. She is the perfect woman in my eyes. She's one of a kind.
What bothers me the most is that I have no idea how Shepard will react to me. I can assume she won't approve of Cerberus or the Illusive Man. Though I can't guess anything beyond that. You know how I always need to be prepared for things. When I'm not prepared, I don't know where to stand, what to think or how to behave. And even then, it isn't important. My personal feelings are irrelevant. I do want the two of you to be happy together. I have no ill-will or bad blood about this. I'll always have my fantasies and illusions, however. Like how it would be nice to see Shepard in a three-piece suit sometime—for special occasions. She enjoyed wearing these during her fashion years. I think she pulled them off quite well.
Still, I know that I'll never be able to let go of her.
I only want the best.
Shepard is the absolute best. The pinnacle of human excellence. The pinnacle of everything. Knowing that no one can ever compare to her, I've come to terms with how things are…for the most part.
I don't want to say the obvious about how I feel. And I can't even begin to describe how I react whenever I think about her having sex with me, let alone…looking at me with her intensity. Or listening to her speak in that direct manner of hers. Or simply being in her presence, so commanding and all-consuming. I fear that I would do anything for her if she asked me to. If she didn't ask. There's a twisted, masochistic element in how I view her, how I want her to want me. It's linked to how I was created, how perfect I'm supposed to be. After writing so many damned words in this email, those particular things are too much for me to write down. You can use your imagination to put the remaining pieces together.
So there you have it. I've never told anyone about any of this. I trust you to keep this quiet. I'm sure there was a certain time when you could relate to me, to some extent. This is ultimately why my heart is at its maximum capacity. Though I'm nevertheless grateful for what you and I have. It's more than enough.
It's far more than I can ever reasonably hope to have with her. Especially with so much riding on your relationship together. I've accepted that my role is to support you both as best as I can. Nothing more.
-Miranda
The next day, while I was on my way to meet Kaidan for lunch on the Presidium, I could barely focus on the walkways in front of me. I couldn't get Miranda's email out of my head. She definitely had the right idea that I was in her shoes at some point. But this was about way more than that.
My heart actually ached for her. I was in real pain over this, like I was heartbroken for her, in her place.
This on top of the non-stop dreams I had about Shepard and her, the three of us together…it got me thinking.
I did try to stop myself from wondering about this. I wanted to convince myself that it was too much.
Even still, I couldn't deny the power I had over Miranda, with her feelings. It was so fucked up. It was…but I kept thinking about it anyway. Like I wanted to reward her as much as I wanted to control the situation. Because having this power, this control was a huge contrast to how things were before I met her. Before she'd helped me out. Before she'd pretty much taken me in and protected me from the consequences I should've faced for my actions. Before, when I spent so many weeks and months fighting against my own perceptions of myself, thinking that I wasn't good enough for the one I loved.
I'd gotten over those old insecurities of mine. I wasn't threatened by this other woman who wanted my girlfriend. I was only vaguely worried about Shepard falling for her instead and leaving me. I trusted Shepard more than anything—despite needing to lie to her about certain things once she was back home with me.
All of this stayed on my mind, at least in the background, while I spent time with Kaidan that afternoon. We met up at Apollo's Café, giving each other a big hug as soon as we could. Sitting at this table with him by the lake, smiling with him again, and just being in his calming company again was like a blast from the past. I kept getting these nostalgic reminders about the Normandy. I kept remembering those same old insecurities I'd left behind. I kept thinking back to the resentments that had weighed my relationship down, conjuring up those trust issues I'd had with Shepard, even when it was completely unfair to her.
Deep down, I knew I'd hated that I wasn't really in charge of things.
Shepard would say that I was. But that wasn't actually true back then.
This time, it would be. From now on, I was the one calling the shots—without anyone in my way.
Not even Miranda.
Kaidan had no idea about any of this. He needed to be oblivious while he drank his Canadian lager, while we talked, while we laughed together about old times. I needed him to be oblivious, if only to keep my thoughts from going where they weren't supposed to go. He could never know. I could never tell him.
Pulling me back into the moment, Kaidan asked me, "So, Ash, what's next for you? After you graduate from the N7 program, that is. Think you'll be back at it out there?"
"Honestly, I don't know," I lied. "Graduation's still a ways off. Doesn't help that I picked such a specific specialization. Since it's kind of tailor-made for me, I might not finish in a year and a half like I thought. It could take me two years to get through the program instead."
"Then you won't be done until next January or February? Maybe we can both catch the Super Bowl live this time!"
"Yeah, here's hoping! I'm on track for like the first few days of February, give or take. If everything lines up, then I'll be good for the big game for sure! Aside from that, I'm trying not to think about the future too much. Not until I'm done with this. It's just pretty overwhelming, you know?"
Kaidan smiled. "Makes sense. Sounds like your training's pretty intense, after all. I bet it'll be worth it."
"What about you?" I wondered. "Think you'll get shipped out somewhere soon?"
"I'm getting my first assignment soon, actually," he replied. "Looks like I'll be out in the Terminus Systems, helping to improve Alliance relations with the colonists there. I've heard about the human abductions. Everyone's saying Cerberus has something to do with it. I wouldn't be surprised if they did. For as long as I can remember, they've always been up to no good. But this is almost too much…"
Kaidan and I went quiet then. Thinking about the same things. About the opposite things.
He had this pissed off look on his face, worrying about the human colonists and the abductions. Of course he wanted to do right by them. Of course he wanted to help put a stop to everything going on out in the Terminus Systems. Even if it meant believing the fake reports that this was Cerberus' fault.
I knew that this was about the Collectors. Not Cerberus.
But I couldn't tell him that. Because then I would've had to share how I knew, and why.
And if I didn't give any details, then he'd just think I was some Cerberus apologist for no good reason.
So I kept my mouth shut, eating the rest of my lunch instead.
Letting that topic pass us by, Kaidan then changed the subject: "By the way, Ash…remember back when I was in the hospital in San Diego, and you came to visit me? We had had that talk, cleared the air between us. There was one last thing I couldn't tell you, though. It was the main issue bothering me. It's what I spent the most time working through during therapy. What I felt most guilty about, I guess."
"You promised you'd tell me," I recalled. "Later, once you got better. Think you're up for sharing now?"
Kaidan stared down at his laced fingers, gripping them more as he set the scene, "So, back on Feros, when we lost Shepard that time: we were in front of that freighter, taking down all those creepers coming at us in waves. Tali was at the control panel, trying to get the crane to move. Liara was working on brute-forcing the crane itself with her biotics. I was on our right flank with Wrex, while you were with Garrus on the left, keeping Tali and Liara safe in the middle. And that was when my headache got really bad. The Thorian's mind-control was just awful. It made me turn my gun on Tali at the time, but…"
I remembered it all perfectly clear. "But what…?"
"The Thorian—that thing wasn't actually telling me to shoot her. Not Tali. Not her. I only did it to stop the pain, thinking that was my only way to resist. I guess it kind of was, until you came over and knocked me out cold. I was hoping someone would stop me. I'm glad it was you, Ash."
"Kaidan, what do you mean?" I worried. "What are you saying? If that thing wasn't telling you to shoot Tali, then what did it want you to do?"
"I don't know why…but the Thorian wanted me to shoot you instead. It wanted you out of the way for some reason. It wanted you dead. Like killing you would somehow stop Shepard from resisting its control. I couldn't tell you how that might've been possible. Do you know anything about it?"
Kaidan's obliviousness.
How clueless he was.
The way he looked at me in so much concern while he watched my eyes tear up like this.
He didn't know.
Having this extra confirmation that I was the one…it took me back. Brought me back to those days I used to spend in agony. Back to those months, those years I'd spent pining after Shepard for what felt like no reason, wondering why the hell I was stuck on her. Wondering why I could never let her go. Wondering why I couldn't stop believing in us, like it was some sure thing—and how it wouldn't leave me alone. Wondering why the hell my emotions for her were so damn powerful, even when they seemed so pointless, so meaningless, and so insignificant.
Kaidan just stood at my side, holding me without a word. So caring and supportive. Without judging me.
All this time, he'd had the single answer to my questions, long before I'd ever talked to Miranda or the Illusive Man. Those months Kaidan and I had spent without really speaking to each other on the Normandy—I'd only shot myself in the foot by holding that stupid grudge, since he was the one who could've helped me so much sooner. He knew…without knowing much of anything. He knew enough to let it eat away at him instead. He kept it all to himself, only letting himself smile whenever I was around, since he didn't want me to worry about him.
Kaidan knew.
Miranda knew.
Shepard—she'd had a feeling. Enough to know. Enough to do what she needed to do.
And I'd kept believing in us, and praying for her anyway, no matter how pointless it all may have been.
Even though I'd had no idea that any of this was possible, that hadn't stopped me. I had still kept going.
That truth, that reinforcement helped me push myself even harder throughout the rest of my N7 training. I made N6 by the summer. So I had plenty of time to prepare for my final assignment on that asteroid around the beginning of the next year, once the two years had finally passed. And then a few weeks after that, I'd have my graduation to look forward to.
By then, Shepard should have been back.
Without my N7 training, this time wouldn't have flown by as fast as it had. As much as my stomach fluttered over the thought of so many unknowns—if Shepard would be different somehow, if her feelings for me would all still be there—I was just as excited and driven to see what the future had in store for us. And if I had to chase after her all over again, then I was prepared to do it. If I had to fight with her all day every day to convince her that I was still the one, then I would fucking do it. Anything to have Shepard in front of me again. Anything to be able to see her every day again. Anything to keep pushing myself in this way, too, reminding her that I was way too crazy about us to ever let her go.
Miranda had promised me that everything with the Lazarus Project was on-schedule. They were apparently way over-budget, but the Illusive Man was determined to keep throwing resources at them. So I didn't have to worry about any delays.
A few days before Miranda's next birthday in September, I made it back home to the apartment. We had plans for her to take one last vacation here with me—before she went back to Lazarus Station for the final push over the fall and winter. We'd agreed to go ahead and skip spending the winter holidays together so she could focus on finishing everything. While she was busy with that, I would finally go visit Dad's grave after avoiding him all this time.
I owed him a serious explanation for what my deal was.
For now, while I was at home before her, Miranda and I were on a QEC call, going over the itinerary and our plans for her birthday. There was really no surprising her. She had to know what we were doing, otherwise she wouldn't know how to make the most of her time off. She needed to know what to pack, too. "Will I be under or overdressed for where we're going?" seemed to be Miranda's main concern with these things. So I promised to take her shopping for biotic and tech upgrades. I thought it was kind of cute that she was so obsessed with details like this. And I really didn't mind, since she usually did relax with me soon enough, once she got settled in.
Once we finished discussing all of that, Miranda changed the subject to Shepard's restoration.
I saw it in her body language then: the way she closed herself back off, trying to keep her cool.
Miranda usually did this whenever we talked face-to-face about Shepard, about anything to do with her. Over email, or in her daily vidlogs to me, she was perfectly fine. Perfectly normal. But when she actually had to look at me across this space, across the QEC bringing us closer through the distance between us, she broke way, way off from me, back to her professionalism.
So then I had to prompt her: "Miranda? Is something wrong again?"
"'Again'?" she almost snapped. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Patient, I reminded her, "You're acting kind of cold, that's what."
Waking up, Miranda had switched without realizing. "Oh…I suppose I was," she accepted. Sighing, she accepted this, too: "Then again, those habits of mine are related to what I wanted to tell you. It's about Shepard, of course. Her defense mechanisms."
"Okay, what about them?"
"Well, the thing is…they seem to be gone."
"Gone?" I echoed. "What you mean, they're gone? You mean her defenses aren't going to work anymore once she wakes up? Is that it?"
"Yes, that's precisely it," confirmed Miranda. "I'm not able to pinpoint how or why, but the source of those habits of hers have eroded away. What this means is, Shepard won't be able to stop herself from feeling the entire spectrum of her emotions. She will feel things much more strongly than before, in a more extreme way. Much like how a burn patient is far more sensitive to the touch than the average person, it looks like she will be the same. I'll need to keep monitoring her to find out if this is only temporary, or if it will in fact inform how things will be for her from now on."
Stressed over those possibilities, I needed to know, "Are you saying that any little thing will be able to set her off? Like she'll start yelling at us? Do we have to walk on eggshells around her or something?"
"Not necessarily. Her logic should continue to keep her sane and rational. Shepard will likely experience the same internal reactions to everything, just as before. She was always quite the emotional person…even if she didn't like it. The point is that she worked very hard to hide this from you, from everyone else. It's only a matter of how she expresses herself going forward. Where she normally would have been restrained or noncommittal before, she may instead choose to act differently. I'm not sure that she'll be completely the same as you remember her. So you need to be prepared for that."
"I understand… Is this what you were worried about before? You know, about keeping Liara around her?"
Miranda nodded in a somber sort of remembrance. "It was foolish of me to hope the three of you could get along that way," she admitted. "The fact of the matter is, Liara opened Shepard to the powers you gave her. In doing this, she accelerated Shepard's emotional growth in ways that should have happened more gradually over time. When you suddenly take the source of that growth away, things are bound to get scrambled and confused. Then again, it's not even about taking it away. Things simply aren't the same now that the two of them are separated in this way."
I didn't want to know the answer to this—"So, is Liara…still there?"
"Frustratingly enough, I don't know," responded Miranda, scowling as much. "It's unclear. This falls into the realm of the unconscious, of the intangible. Anything within Shepard's consciousness is easy enough for me to access. But this? It's the exact opposite. Trying to find any definite answers is next to impossible."
That was better than the alternative…
"Then what do you think the case is?" I asked instead. "What's your feeling on this?"
"You mean my intuition?"
"Yeah. I mean, you have to have some idea. Don't you?"
Miranda tried to play it cool again: "My professional opinion is that it's too dangerous to speculate."
I rolled my eyes.
She quickly caught herself, deflating.
Miranda let herself say, "Fine, Ashley… My feeling is that this will be problematic no matter what the case is. Either Liara isn't there, and Shepard is unstable in her absence—or Liara is there, and Shepard won't be able to truly let her go. Whatever the truth actually is, this was my worst fear. This calls for the other solution the Illusive Man tasked me with finding. Without all the answers, I can't know how to proceed. If I make one wrong calculation, then Shepard will likely suffer. This is why I'm so irritated."
"No, I totally get it," I sympathized. "Let's try to figure this out, then. How'd you find out this much in the first place?"
"One of my most brilliant colleagues developed a way for me to navigate Shepard's consciousness and her memories, giving me complete visual access to her mind. Still, her unconscious self and our collective unconscious are inaccessible this way. I'm not able to look over that fence, so to speak."
"So, when you're in her consciousness, do you see any kind of way for me to take Liara's place?"
"Yes, you are already there," said Miranda. "There is a clear path for you to continue on as Shepard's main priority. It leads out past the boundary, but it's a viable solution."
I smiled, relieved. "Then why don't I just do that instead? I'll take Liara's place. We'll have some time before the Reapers get here. I'm obviously going to be with Shepard while we take down the Collectors. We'll keep our relationship going, get to know each other better. All of that. Won't it be enough?"
Miranda reminded me, "Ashley, you're only human… I'm afraid there isn't anything you could do that might come anywhere near the asari bonding process. Liara was so effective because she was constantly present in Shepard's mind while they were both alive, never-ending. Even when the two of them didn't speak, their bond found a way to persevere. It was an entirely unconscious thing—otherwise I'd have plenty of pointers to give you. I'm not saying you can't replicate this. I'm only pointing out that it wouldn't be the same."
"This is the best option, though," I justified. "Either I do this, or Shepard never lets Liara go. If she doesn't let go, then her immunity fails in the end. Right?"
"Correct."
"Then I'll do it!"
"All right, then," she allowed, still sounding uneasy.
"Miranda, come on," I griped. "What is it? Why do you sound like that? Isn't this the solution?"
Cautious, she gave the worst hypothetical: "If you do this, what will happen if you and Shepard break up somehow? Your relationship is strong. And it will be stronger once Shepard has confirmation that you were the one all along. But I'm frankly uncomfortable risking everything on this single connection. Considering how prone the two of you are to fighting and arguing, I don't like this. I don't like it at all."
I had to concede, "Fine, I get your point… We kind of have a rocky relationship. Sometimes."
If that was the case, then maybe…
"I know what you're thinking," warned Miranda. "If you try to censor yourself—or hold back in any way—you already know how Shepard will react. That will only turn into a self-fulfilling prophecy."
"Oh my God, okay!" I growled out. "Are there any other answers here? Anything we can work with?"
"I honestly don't know. The only solution left is to take a wait and see approach. It's frustrating that I can't think of anything else."
"If wait and see is all we have, then it's something," I pointed out. "I know you want to keep everything under control. But Shepard's her own person. Why can't we give her a chance to figure this out first? If we just hand her the solutions, I can pretty much guarantee you she won't like it. And if I see her struggling, then I'll do whatever I can to help. You know I will."
Miranda gave in, "Yes, that's true… You're right, Ashley. I should've asked you sooner instead of trying to figure it all out on my own."
I smiled at her. "It's okay to not have all the answers, you know. That's what I'm here for!"
"That you are," she allowed. "I wish I could be more comfortable with this approach. Like you are. Old habits, I suppose."
"Is that all, though? Seems like you still have something on your mind. If you want to talk about it, I'm all ears."
"Not now, actually," she evaded, sounding convincing enough. "I might run it by you later instead. Was there anything else you wanted to talk about? Anything at all?"
As convincing as she sounded, though, I didn't buy her act.
I also knew this was one of those times when Miranda needed to keep her distance. There wasn't much I could do when she was in this mood, so I decided to leave it alone.
Aside from that, I did worry about Shepard being different… I kind of expected she wouldn't be the same now that Liara was gone. But maybe I wasn't prepared for just how drastic the change might be. So I needed to talk with Miranda about this some more. I needed a better picture of what I was up against. I had to know what to expect. Even if it was impossible to know all the details beforehand.
"It can wait until you're here," I claimed. "Don't let me keep you any longer. Thanks, though."
"All right, then," replied Miranda, smiling a little. "If you change your mind, you can always let me know. For now, I should get back to it. You'll have my vidlog later on, as promised. I'll see you soon."
I beamed at her. "Definitely! See you soon."
After that, I pushed on, pushing forward through these final months of the year, of this second year without Shepard. This second birthday in October without her here. This second holiday season without her… The time didn't go by as quickly as I wanted it to. Because I was near the end—close to my N7 qualifying test—I didn't have nearly as much to distract me anymore. Not like before. Not like when I had more ranks to progress through, more hurdles to cross over.
There was only so much my instructors could do to help prepare me for my test.
Somehow they got it in their heads that I'd be better off with more downtime. More time to rest.
More time to think.
More time to miss Shepard in this raw, all-consuming way—pulling me down and into something I'd spent the last two years avoiding, running away from. Whenever I was about to fall into this, I'd have another full day of training to focus on. Whenever I was about to slip into this, I'd look to Miranda as an example, reminding myself that she forced herself to keep going, and so I had to do the same. Whenever I was about to sink into this damned despair, I'd remember Tali and Wrex and Joker and Garrus, and Kaidan, too. I'd remember my team, telling myself that they'd found a way to move on. Even with this cloud of Shepard's absence hanging over our emails to each other after all this time.
But, if I was really honest with myself…I was about to run out of steam.
It was a miracle I'd even lasted this long in the first place.
There was only so much I could do to avoid reality. Telling myself that Shepard was just deployed. Clinging to Miranda's reports to me about Shepard's progress. Living this double-life as a liar: the perfect traitor to almost everyone around me.
So by the time the winter holidays rolled around, visiting my Dad's grave made the most sense.
I sat here alone on this grass, in this graveyard. Staring at his headstone. Remembering that he'd never made it past Serviceman Third Class; feeling pissed off all over again about how unfair it was.
Dad hadn't complained about it. Not once. At least not to me. Whenever he was around, I could always count on seeing that big smile on his face, lighting up his bright blue eyes. So optimistic. Calling me his baby girl—before I enlisted. Then believing in me as a soldier, carrying on the family legacy. He cared about my happiness more than letting his sorrows show. He did his best to put me first…as much as possible. Even if it meant lying about his actual feelings. Keeping up that illusion of the perfect father, the perfect man was his obsession back then. I did believe it for a while.
Until I saw the same habits, the same illusions reflected in the one I loved.
"Hey, Dad. It's been a while, huh?" I spoke, hoping he could hear me. "That's my bad. I guess I was…kind of avoiding you for the longest. Avoiding how I felt. Avoiding the obvious. Maybe it's because I can't read your favorite poem to you anymore. Because I just…can't relate to it. I've moved on. And that scares me. It scares me a lot." Scaring me more, this ache in my chest was about to win. About to hollow me out. But I wouldn't let it. I couldn't. "But, back to the reasons why I avoided you. You know why. You know what I did. You know that I basically sold my soul to the devil. At least, I used to think Cerberus was the devil. Turns out it was me all along. Holding all that hatred in my heart, and then letting it out the way I did that night… To this day, I still don't really recognize myself.
"The last time I was here, I told you about Commander Shepard. I was so pathetic, crying to you about how much I loved her, when I didn't even know her back then. I wish I'd known what I was in for. I wish I had some sign, or a hint about how much she'd change me after I met her. Or not even that. It's more like I had this in me all along, and she's the one who helped bring it out. Her influence over me is way too strong. But that's the whole point, isn't it? The whole point—why I can't look away from her. Why I could never move on from her. Why I was desperate enough to compromise myself. Why I risked so much the way I did, all to have her come back home to me again.
"I wish I got to tell you about her while you were still alive. I wish I'd been brave enough to come out to you, too. Not knowing if you approve of her—it tears me up sometimes. Like now. Especially now. I want to know that I'm doing right by you, Dad. Even if I am a traitor. I need to make sure I'm making the right choices from here on out. Sacrificing everything for her like this: sure, it's romantic, and I wouldn't change a thing. I just worry why I'm completely sure about this, without your approval. I don't understand why I'm fine about everything, even while I'm lost without her. While I'm lost without you, too. While I'm trying not to be.
"Since I'm here, and I didn't bring your poem, I should give you some answers. Get you caught up on what I did, and why. The one time I finally did get to tell someone my side of the story, she believed me. Having her support keeps me going like this. But I want you to know. I want you to see what's in my heart. I hope you can understand me. And I need you to forgive me for all I've done. Because I can't take any of it back. I can only move forward from here.
"You know I wouldn't have made my choices unless Shepard was absolutely worth it. I wouldn't dare to love her this strongly unless I knew she was the one. I wouldn't have dedicated my life and my service to her unless I knew… She's my whole universe, Dad. You can trust her to take care of me once she's back. Whenever she is, and wherever you are, I'd love if she could have your blessing. Shepard's the one I want to marry someday. She's the one I want everything with. She's the only one… So hear me out. Please."