Many of the old memories can be found in Chasing the Daylight
Ryder sat on her bed. It felt normal. The early morning sun, slightly diffused, was streaming in through the window. Skycars whizzing by taking people to places, trams zipping along their tracks noiselessly. The Citadel was waking up like it did every single day. Nothing had changed but everything did.
One day, two days, three days. Scott scrapped himself off the floor and returned to work, refusing to take more bereavement leave. She checked her omni-tool, technically she had another week before she was due back, but being here without the anchoring need of her mother, she felt lost. Thoughts and regrets assaulted her while she wasn't unconscious. She saw her mother in the simplest things. The clothes still folded neatly in a bag they had taken back from the hospice, the bottles of useless pills on the counter never tidied away, the datapad filled with photos of them her mother kept at her bedside till the end.
Ryder drifted into the kitchen. All she wanted was a glass of water and memories caught her off guard. A flash of red, an echo of crying, a stab of an old fear. Her jaw tightened. "I can't stay here," she whispered, bracing herself against the kitchen island.
Without getting the water she wanted, she walked resolutely back to her room, eyes squeezed shut. Finding her way through the home was easy enough, no different from playing a game of blindfolded catching with Scott.
She opened her eyes only when she had stepped into her room. Her first action was to turn her terminal on. It took mere minutes to fire off a mail to XO Pressly, requesting her leave to be terminated earlier. She'd find a way to rejoin the Normandy hitching rides on Alliance transport, as horrible as they were, if she needed to. Staying home was a special kind of torture.
No sooner had the mail been sent, Ryder forced herself to take a shower despite not getting much sleep the night before. Hot water streamed over her hair and down her back. It was a luxury she didn't want now. A quick twist and the water turned ice cold. she flinched at the sudden change in temperature. Her hands found soap and set to scrubbing her skin as if she could scratch the grief out of her body. By the time she stepped out, she was as raw outside as she felt inside.
Her omni-tool started chirping, indicating there was an incoming call. Ryder sighed, she was stuck with her arms stretched up as she fought her shirt down her head. "Call accept," she hissed. "It had better not be C-Sec calling asking me to bail your ass out of jail, Scott."
When her head worked its way through the neck, she found Shepard staring back at her.
"Eh, sorry Commander," she stammered. "I thought it was my brother calling."
"You mean C-Sec?" Shepard chuckled before sobering up. "Ryder, my condolences. I can't imagine what you must be going through right now."
Ryder nodded tightly, unable to find the correct words to say. Her team as well as some others on the Normandy, Shepard included, had sent their respective condolences via mail. She appreciated the gesture, but it didn't help ease the hollowness in her chest.
Shepard cleared her throat, dragging her attention back to her omni-tool. "So…" Shepard said, grimacing. "I'm not approving that early termination of leave."
"But, why?" she stiffened, eyes wide, fear suddenly invading her chest. Have they found a replacement for me? Am I being reassigned? Maybe Shepard's just tired of all my bullshit. Imposter syndrome backed by years of her father reinforcing it raked its claws across her mind.
"Ryder, Ryder," Shepard barked. "You're not ready to come back. Take the rest of the week as you've planned, and take the bereavement leave—"
"No, Commander, I can't—"
Shepard's eyes hardened, a scowl creased her face. "You are not ready. You need to grief, and you need the time and space to do it. Once you're on the Normandy I want your one hundred percent and not a single bit less."
Ryder bit her lip to stop from interrupting again. The words that rushed to the tip of her tongue went unspoken as she stared at Shepard through her omni-tool. The orange cast over the Commander's face only served to highlight the dark rings around her eyes, the weariness that hung over her shoulders.
Shepard took a deep breath. "I know, distraction will be mighty useful now, but combat can't be the distraction for you. Your team count on you to be at your best, not half thinking about the things you should have done, the words you should have said. You know that."
Ryder nodded mutely. If she was in Shepard's place, she'd have said the same thing, but it was a bitter pill to swallow.
"Two weeks, Ryder," Shepard went on. "The Normandy will be docking at the Citadel. Get your head straight. I don't mean you can't grief after two weeks but I don't want you to do stupid things and have your attention split into a million pieces when you come back."
She swallowed, eyes closed for a second to master her emotions. "I understand, Commander."
A small smile tugged at Shepard's lips, she looked relieved. "Hang in there, Ryder. And for what it's worth, I believe your mother was proud of you."
Ryder sat there, still half dressed, even an hour later. Her thoughts were stuck in a recursive loop bouncing between the horror of being stuck on the Citadel and the guilt at wanting to flee. Maybe she was her father's daughter after all, running at the first sign of trouble.
The rifle felt too light in Ryder's hands, it was the civilian model of the standard Alliance issue Avenger. It fired no bullets and took no heatsink, fitted with a laser beam that synced with the shooting range's VI tracking a user's accuracy and the like. She took a deep breath and lifted it up, pressing the butt against her shoulder. The sight lined up with the target, and she pulled the trigger. The simulated kickback wasn't the same, too light compared to the real thing. The rifle beeped, indicating a standard heatsink's worth of shots had been discharged. She glanced at the scoreboard that was synced to her omni-tool. Her mouth twisted, and shook her head.
Not good enough.
Ryder tapped against her omni-tool and the scoreboard reset. Lifting the rifle and shoving the butt against the sore spot in her shoulder, she fired again and again. Simulated gunfire echoing in her headphones. If she couldn't return to the Normandy early, this was the next best thing, training so that she wouldn't let her team down.
Hours later, Senana lifted her head, mandibles flapping, "Leaving?"
She sighed and nodded. "There is only so much shooting a person can do."
Senana chuckled. "You and your brother were the most hardworking kids I've seen training here." The smile faded, taken over by with concern. "How are you holding up? I've heard about your mother."
Her shoulders lifted and dropped. "I'm getting by."
A quick nod as mandibles pressed tight against Senana's face. She didn't know what else to say either. "All right, I'll see you tomorrow?"
"Yes, bright and early."
Ryder didn't know how to achieve what Shepard wanted. How does one get one's head back after the world was shattered? Can it even be done? She wasn't convinced it was possible. Sitting alone at Apollo was a self imposed ritual she forced herself to keep. The staff knew to give her the same seat, the one she had occupied with her mother before, after the first couple of days. Maybe they had picked up on her patterns, maybe Matriarch Aethyta had told them about her, as long as she didn't need to explain herself, she was good.
By now, they no longer come to take her order, they know what she wanted. It was the same thing everyday. And that's how she spent her days. An hour after her morning meal, she would be down at the Alliance gym. There she ran through an hour of cardio and strength training followed by another hour pushing her biotics. After a quick shower and a supplementary meal, she would head to the range and exchanged her customary greetings with Senana before firing the rifle till her body forced her to seek sustenance. By the time she trudged down to Apollo, her body was numb, but her mind still wasn't.
Maybe this was self inflicted torture, but Ryder felt she was keeping her mother's memory alive by visiting the last carefree moments she had with her. Sometimes it was easier because she was here, remembering the good times, the smiles shared, the laughter that rang out in the same space. Other times it just made her regrets swarm her like waves threatening to drown her. Things she never got to share, big life events that her mother would never see, all the memories they would never create together. Today was one of those days.
The server placed a glass of whiskey on her table. Ryder blinked. "I didn't order this."
The salarian server jerked his chin towards the bar, and she learned forward to look. Aethyta winked in her direction. She thanked the server and drained the glass immediately. The whiskey was too strong but it fitted her mood. She wanted to scour the pain from her chest, but it never go away, not really.
Ryder stood and made her way over, empty glass in hand. She slid it over to the Matriarch. A grin spread Aethyta's lips as she poured two fingers' worth. As Ryder reached towards the glass, Aethyta tugged it out of reach. "In moderation," she said.
"I've not been arrested yet," Ryder pointed out.
"Yet," she snorted. "What a ringing endorsement." The glass slid over.
Ryder took it slower this time, sipping it.
"I see you're alone," Aethyta pointed out.
"Such remarkable observation skills you have."
Aethyta frowned, blue skin creasing at her brow as she tsked. "Manners, kid. I'm just trying to make conversation," she said before pausing. She tried to catch Ryder's eyes, but Ryder just stared at the bottom of the glass, swirling the brown liquid fire around. "Kid, don't dwell on what you can't change. Your mother wouldn't want that."
A spike of irritation made Ryder see red. "Was my mother's funeral on the Citadel news or something? How is it that everyone seemed to know?"
"One look at that ugly face of yours says everything."
Ryder grimaced, and she took a gulp of the whiskey, unable to find words that weren't laced with poison.
"Kid, you're allow to fall apart you know? You don't have to be strong all the time. It's always hard when a parent dies."
She sighed, jaw clenched tight as the lump in her throat choked the words from her lips. A hand reached out and clasped her shoulder, it was a brief contact, but in that split second, she shattered. The tears she tried so hard to stem leaked from her eyes. Her grip tightening hard over the glass.
"Word of advice," Aethyta said. "It's going to be tough for a while, but it gets better. It always does. The pain dulls, the ache bothers you less and less. Sentient life is resilient that way."
"But…"
"But you don't want the pain to go away? Because pain reminds you of your mother?"
"No!"
"Then what is it? No mother wouldn't want to see their kid sad forever. Grief, mourn, then move on. Live your fucking life."
Ryder swiped her hands across her eyes as she lifted them to met Aethyta's. Her breath came in shuddering sobs. Aethyta's gaze was firm but yet gentle, a rough iron wall that refused to budge but one that was always in your corner. She stepped away from her bar, rounding around it to come to Ryder's side.
"Come on," Aethyta said gruffly, her arms opened wide.
She looked at the Matriarch confused.
"Don't embarrass me here, kid," she growled, pulling Ryder in roughly for a hug.
Ryder was a stiff board for a moment before relaxing as Aethyta held her tight.
"When is your leave up?" Scott asked. His eyes dull as he chased the noodles around his plate.
Ryder tapped at her omni-tool, her fork trapped between her teeth. "Two more days."
"And you will be back on the Normandy?"
She nodded.
They ate in silence, the house too large and empty when it's just the two of them here.
"Did you know Pa has started recruiting people for the Pathfinder team?" Scott asked.
She shook her head, shoulders lifting and falling in a shrug. "He is going?"
Scott nodded.
Her tongue seemed to swell in her mouth, the question churning in her gut. Brown eyes watching Scott's Adam's apple bobbed as he gulped.
"Are you—?"
"I'm—"
Their words came crashing out at the same time. Scott rubbed the back of his neck as she scratched her eyebrow. They laughed. "So much for having twin synchronicity," she said.
"You first," Scott said eventually as the laughter tapered off.
Ryder took a deep breath, putting her fork down, eyes boring into Scott's. "You're going too." It wasn't a question, it was a statement. She knew it before their mother passed, all the signs were there. His excitement at the wonders in Andromeda, the potential, the possibilities. Scott wanted to go. He had nothing to hold him back. With Ma gone, it was one less reason to stay.
Scott nodded. Her chest tightened. "I've submitted my request for early discharge today. I'll be joining Pa as soon as my request goes through."
Ryder bit her lip.
"My CO," he chuckled darkly, "has strongly advised me not to reenlist so I thought I'll save everyone the trouble and get out early. It's better for everyone involved."
"I get it, Scott." She reached out across the table to wrap her hand around his.
It was Scott's turn to look uncomfortable. "What about you, Sara? Are you…"
"Coming?"
He nodded. She took a shuddering breath. "I don't know. I'm sorry, I really don't."
His gaze drifted back to his uneaten sat in silence for the rest of their meal. Both of them were locked in their thoughts, wondering if this was the sundering of the Ryder family for good, separated by 600 years and a vast expanse of dark space.
As promised, the Normandy was docked at its usual berth, D24. Shepard wasn't surprised to see Ryder already standing at attention, duffle bag in hand, when the ramp was lowered. She stepped off, boots striking the grates. As she approached, Ryder snapped her arm up in a smart salute. "Corporal Sara Ryder reporting back to duty, Commander."
Shepard returned the salute, rising an eyebrow wryly at Ryder. "Welcome back, Corporal. Report to the LT, he will get you up to speed."
Ryder hefted her bag onto her shoulder and jogged onto the Normandy, almost as if she was afraid she wouldn't be welcomed back. So much had happened in such a short time for Ryder, but she stood up again and again. Shepard couldn't help but admire the sheer will the Corporal possessed.
She sighed and turned away. There were a couple of meetings she had on her docket. Coming to the Citadel was in part a resupply, in part to pick Ryder up and in part to do a little more digging of her own. Her legs knew the way, and they took her right to the Alliance Headquarters.
The press of people on the Citadel was as crowded as ever. Thankfully being Alliance she had a small fleet of skycar she could use to travel directly to the headquarters. She was due to meet Hackett soon. It was providence that the Admiral was on the space station, he was normally stuck on Arcturus or Earth with his duties. Whatever his duties were, it wasn't getting the fleets ready for the Reapers.
Shepard ground her teeth together. The Alliance would move at their speed and not an inch faster. Reapers aside, she had more urgent matters to see to now. With Walker officially arrested, she needed to let Hackett know there might be more Cerberus moles working in Alliance High Command. In the grand scheme of things, Walker couldn't influence much being a low ranking officer and stationed out at the ass end of nowhere, but if there was one, who was to say there weren't more?
Hackett's aide opened the door. "Commander Shepard is here," he announced.
"Come in," Hackett called out from inside.
She couldn't help but gaze at the plush carpets and fine furniture. These were credits that could have gone into new frigates and cruisers. Stepping in, she found him studying his terminal with multiple datapads scattered about his desk. "At ease, Shepard." He waved a hand at her without looking up. "I'll be right with you in a moment. Have a seat."
She sat down and waited. He looked up when he stabbed a finger at a screen. "So, I assume you're here to report success on your latest geth clean up mission?"
"Yes, sir," she said. "I've filed the report just before docking. We have cleared every single geth outpost we found in the Attican Traverse. We're set to make our way to the Omega Nebula once we resupply."
"Good work, Shepard," he took a deep breath, "I know you're chaffing. But you know as well as I do High Command do not appreciate your rumour mongering about the Reapers."
"With all due respect, Admiral, it's not rumour mongering when it's the truth."
He grimaced. "We are trying to get a respectable footing with the Council. We have to take their lead on this."
"Even if their lead is going to get us all killed? What other proof do they need if the Reaper that crashed into the Citadel isn't enough for them?" Shepard said, her words clipped and her voice raising.
"Give them time, give Anderson and Udina time to work them. The Council has to do their due diligence. Meanwhile, I'm sure you're here for that other thing."
She took a deep breath and shoved her frustration aside. "Yes, about that other thing, sir," she said, leaning forward. "Has Walker talked?"
Hackett's face darkened, he signalled her to follow. He led her out into a small balcony overlooking the docks. Soldiers were rushing towards their berths, engineers were looking over dry-docked ships and quartermasters were guiding supplies where they needed to go. Everyone was tiny from the height they were, all of them cogs in a larger machine. Sometimes they pulled in the same direction, other times they pulled against each other. Shepard had never seen a more apt image of the inertia she was fighting against.
"About that," Hackett said, his voice pitched low. "Walker is dead."
"While in custody?" she asked, keeping a poker face even as her grip tightened on the railing. "Suicide?"
"No, assassination."
"Fuck."
"You got that right, Shepard."
"Does the thread end with him?"
Hackett sighed. "I'm putting together a small task force to look into this."
"Can you trust—"
"We have to start somewhere, but I know Major Kang, her record is exemplary. I vouch for her."
Shepard nodded. In the end, she didn't have the time to deal with this, she was too recognisable. Her hands were tied. "All right, let's hope this isn't an infestation."
"Agreed."
"So, the Normandy will be heading out again in 24 hours?" Hackett asked.
"Yes," she replied.
"Good hunting then, Shepard."
Shepard turned to go but she hesitated. Hackett looked up from his work. "What is it?"
"I'll like to submit my recommendation for Sara Ryder to be considered for N-School," she said.
His eyes narrowed. "You do know that the Ryder name is toxic now, what with Alec Ryder dabbling in AI research openly now."
Shepard lifted her chin. "That's precisely why I want to submit my official recommendation. I know how the optics of this isn't great, but Corporal Sara Ryder is a valued member of my crew. Her record speaks of itself. N-school is a little early for her now, but once she has a couple of years leading her team under her belt, she'd be ready."
Hackett hummed, pulling up Ryder's records on his terminal. His eyes darted across the screen as he read. Eventually, he sighed. "I can't speak against her records. She has commendations starting from boot. But…"
"All I'm asking is not to shit can her just because of who her father is. I'm not saying you have to do anything now. Just keep an eye on her, let this all blow over. Once she's ready, send her off to N-School sir," she said, tagging it on almost as an afterthought.
"Maybe so," Hackett said. "No promises."
"I don't need any, sir," she replied.
"Give my regards to Anderson," he called out as she left.
"Just my fucking luck," she growled under her breath. The tram was crowded, packed to the seams. "Goes to show it doesn't pay to be the Saviour of the Citadel if I have to be squished in here like everyone else."
Shepard winced. She was sure the turian behind her was jabbing his armour into her back on purpose. It was just too bad she couldn't get at her pistol given the press of people against her arms. How she wished she could just give everyone a little Push.
When the tram reached the Presidium, she got poured out of the tram with the rest of the disembarking passengers. She huffed and straightened her uniform before making her way through the crowd towards the Embassies. A quick stop to a nearby kiosk nabbed her a steaming cup of coffee. She flashed her credentials, and the aide allowed her into Anderson's office. "He's on the line with Udina."
Shepard grimaced. The aide chuckled. "He'll be happy to see that," she jerked her chin at the cup of coffee in her hand.
She stepped in. Anderson had his back facing her, his hands gestured in short and sharp movements. "Udina, we're supposed to be working together for the betterment of humans within Council space, you're—"
A beat of silence, all she could hear was his heavy breathing. It was a reaction she was familiar with. She had been on the reeecivifng end of that more than once. Silently, she lid the cup onto his table and waited, standing at ease.
"Fine, we'll talk more when you get back," Anderson growled before he stabbed at his omni-tool.
He rested one hand on his hip while the other rubbed his forehead as a long sigh escaped his lips. Shepard understood that exhaustion. Speaking to Udina and not being able to punch the man took a whole lot of willpower. She didn't admire Anderson having to deal with the asshole every day. Then, he stiffened and sniffed the air. He whirled around, his eyes darted first to the cup of coffee then to her.
She snorted. "Wow, just wow. Coffee first huh?"
"You're a fucking miracle," he said as he sipped the hot beverage.
"Me or the coffee?"
"Let's say both."
Chuckling, she settled herself into a chair and took in all the changes the span of a year wrought upon him. More lines creased his face, the whites at his temples stood out more prominently than before, thankfully the brightness in his eyes remained the same.
"What are you looking at, kid?"
"You," she said. "This job doesn't suit you."
The cup was half drained when he placed it back down. "And whose fault is that?"
"Mine, all mine," she laughed. "But it's between Udina and you. He wouldn't last if I had to deal with him, so it's always going to be your job."
Anderson chuckled. For that brief moment, it eased the tightness in her chest. The ticking clock, that was ringing in her ears, fell silent.
"I needed that," Anderson confessed, eyes crinkling.
"Me too."
He cocked his head and leaned forward, studying her face. "Are you all right?"
Shepard grinned, a smile that felt forced and uneasy on her face. "Why wouldn't I be?"
Eyes narrowing, but Anderons didn't press. He was good that way. That nebulous feeling of the bottom was going to drop out from under her, the intangible fear that clutched at her throat, she couldn't put it into words without sounding like a crazy woman. It didn't help when the Council had regarded her banging the drum on the Reapers as nothing more than rumour mongering, she didn't need to add more fuel to that fire.
"So, you've heard from Hackett about our little problem?"
He sighed. "Back to business huh? Can't you let an old man relax for a moment?"
"You're far from old, Anderson. N7s never grow old."
He picked up a datapad, one that was securely locked to his biometrics. Pressing a palm against it, unlocking the screen, he tossed it over to her. Shepard picked it up. "I'm sure Hackett didn't show you this report."
It was Walker's autopsy report. She flicked through it and stopped at the holo-vids. Poison. Foam dried in a white trail down Walker's mouth, his eyes death glazed, blood shot and wide opened, hands and fingers stiffened around his neck.
"You recognise this I'm sure," Anderson said.
"Red Sand overdose," Shepard said, grimacing. She had the pleasure of almost overdosing on Red Sand many years ago.
"The levels in his blood was enough to kill ten men."
"Hackett told me he has a task force looking into this, pulling the threads." She slid the datapad back to Anderson, averting her eyes from the image.
Anderson nodded. "Unofficially," he replied. "Officially, this is an oversight on the facility and his death was ruled as suicide."
"He didn't tell me that part." She frowned. Having the task force work unofficially meant smaller teams, less funds, and a whole host of restrictions. She understood why but at the same time, she railed at the time lost.
Shepard shook her head. "I can't do anything about it. No amount of table banging is going to make them work any faster."
He regarded her with eyebrows raised.
"What?" she glowered at him. "I'm not the kid from the Slums anymore you know."
A soft snort of amusement, he nodded. "That you are not. That kid would have pissed me off for no reason at all, that kid wouldn't have bought me coffee."
"Yeah," she agreed. "So while I can't do anything about our little internal issues, I can disrupt their plans for the Prothean artifact. At least I hope to, do you have a lead for me?"
Anderson handed her another datapad, similarly secured. It took a few seconds to find the information she needed. Her eyes met his over the rim of the datapad. "Where did this come from? Please don't tell me it's from the Shadow Broker."
"I'm neither stupid, Shepard, nor am I that rich," he growled. "This came from Blackwatch."
"So Illium?" she mused, tapping the datapad against her chin. "Why?"
"I don't work miracles, Shepard. That's for you to find out I guess."
She rose to her feet. "I'm taking this with me."
He nodded, standing too. "It's coded to your biometrics as well."
Silhouetted against the bright artificial sun, Anderson looked powerful and vital. Skycars zipped along in the background. Shepard smirked. "I've changed my mind, this job does suit you. You just need to punch Udina more often. It'll help."
He chuckled and shook his head. "Go get that artifact back for us, Commander."