James stood in the back corner of the observation room. Admiral Aimes and Admiral Petrenko stood just a few meters ahead of him in front of a two-way glass. A General and a Major responsible for Shepard's interrogation (no names, since they hadn't introduced themselves to James) stood next to them, all four of them watching a lone figure in the interrogation room silently.
James pretended to be a piece of furniture. By the orders of these very men he was not supposed to step further away from Shepard than ten meters and while he couldn't be with her during interrogation, he silently inserted himself into this observation room. He could see the "other side" of things from here, hear those who worked behind Shepard's back, interrogated her. Right now he seriously hoped none of them would notice him and decide he had no business being here.
What he saw drew a shit eating grin on his face whenever he was sure no one observed him. Beyond the glass Shepard had been left alone in the bleak, grey interrogation room for over an hour. She got bored sitting around eventually and climbed onto the table, lay on her back with one knee angled, one arm under her head and the other lazily stretched out at her side, her gentle wrist carelessly hanging off the edge of the desktop. Her eyes were closed, her breathing even, the muscles of her face relaxed. She seemed to be enjoying a nap.
The four high ranking men in the room with James seemed completely at a loss. They didn't know what to do to turn around the way these interrogations worked. So far Shepard always ended up the one interrogating her interrogators or owning their asses in arguments she manipulated them into. Nobody in this Alliance HQ could do anything to shake her.
Suddenly a gentle chime from the door disturbed the desperate silence. The Major exchanged a frown with the General and went to open it. James remembered that two guards should be positioned at this door from the outside. No one was supposed to be ringing. When the lock flashed green and the door slid apart, James saw no guards in the vicinity. Instead there was one man calmly waiting for entrance.
James gave the intruder a careful look. He was a tall man around seventy years old with the beginning of grey in his hair. His uniform resembled Alliance uniforms of very high rank, but it was black, with no insignia whatsoever. He was clean shaved, a few scars graced his well-worn face. James figured the man South-European, perhaps with a little mix of Native American in there somewhere. His skin was darker than James', but not as dark as Admiral Anderson's.
And yet all of that was just a side note. The man carried himself with such confidence and power, he oozed so much personality and superiority and his dark blue eyes looked around the room with so much intelligence and knowledge that James got weak knees and shivers down his spine. He suddenly felt like a little insect against a speeding car. People like this new arrival rolled over small-time officers like James and didn't even notice the spot on their windshield.
More than that. The man was… Well, from the very first moment James saw him, the man gave him the creeps like a serial killer would, and at the same time warmth like his abuela did. The combination was the most unsettling thing he'd ever felt. Well, after feeling something similar when he first met Shepard, of course. Still, this man was intense.
The rest of the officers turned to see their new arrival.
"Can I help you, Sir?" The Major tried to stop the man from advancing into the room but had as much success as the previously mentioned insect against a speeding car. James was almost glad that he wasn't the only one who felt overwhelmed by this stranger.
"You sent for our help," the man addressed the Admirals. "Here I am."
There was a long and loaded silence until the Admirals finally exchanged a glance, some sort of understanding passing between them.
"We never received an answer from the villa," Petrenko said. James turned his brain to full speed. The villa. Could it be the same nickname the soldiers around the world had given the ICT? The villa that made the N7s. Of course. And this man…
Holy fuck.
"I am your answer." The man stepped closer to the glass.
"Pray tell, Sir, how did you get in here past the guards?" The General seemed very uneasy.
"I walked through the door," the N7 man deadpanned.
"Sir, we would have given you the honourable reception you deserve if we received the word from the checkpoint that you were coming."
"Are you trying to insult me? I didn't go past any checkpoints, of course." The man deadpanned again and James felt nausea of déjà-vu. He sounded just like Shepard. The same mild but barely hidden superior sarcasm. Or was it the other way around? Did she sound like this man?
He offered no explanation and the others were clearly at a loss as to how to react to him. The similarities between this man and Shepard were incredible because they were so clearly visible and obvious.
"So, gentlemen, what can I do for you?" All business, the man stepped right up to the glass.
"Excuse me, Sir, what's your name?" Admiral Aimes asked.
"That is way above your pay grade," was another deadpan-answer. James' jaw dropped. Above an Admiral's pay grade?! And the fact that both Admirals just blinked and accepted that sent James' head spinning all over again. "But for the argument's sake call me Mr D."
"Well, Mr D, there is our problem right there," Petrenko pointed at the picture behind the glass. Shepard, resting on the table like she was on a chaise lounge.
Mr D turned and focused his entire unholy attention on the young blond woman. He regarded her for more than two minutes and James' skin was itching just from watching him watch her so intently. He noticed that the other men were just as itchy as he was.
"I see," Mr D said eventually. "You got yourself an N7 and she's playing your whole garrison like a fiddle. Half of them are in love with her already, the other half is losing sleep from frustration. You made no progress with her through your own methods, so you called for another N7."
"Well… Something like that."
Mr D measured the men from top to bottom with a curious glance. Then his face turned icy.
"No," he said.
"No? What do you mean, no?" Petrenko looked like he wanted to jump down Mr D's throat.
"It means there is nothing I can do for you with that one," he waved his hand at the mirror.
"Why?!"
"Because there is literally nothing I can do for you. Whatever story she's telling, she won't budge. She'll never slip. She'll never mix up details. She'll never grow tired. If it's a cover story she's telling you, you'll never know it from the truth. If she is actually telling you the truth, then Heaven save us all."
"But… but…" Aimes desperately looked for words. "Can't you at least find out if it's the truth or a cover story?"
Mr D turned to Aimes and smiled like a predator.
"She's trained to withstand all kinds of pressure, psychological warfare and interrogation with extreme prejudice." When the eyebrows rose, he elaborated: "Torture, my friend. She's trained to withstand torture."
"Yeah, I bet she's trained to deliver it, too," the Major muttered. He'd been with Shepard in the same room and got to feel her sharp tongue.
"Obviously. And I'm the one who taught her. No lie detector will work on her, no magical trick would. I trained her to hold her ground until she could do it against me, and she was one of my best students. A star," he sounded warm all of a sudden, giving Shepard a fond glance, a touch of fatherly pride lifting the corners of his mouth. If this was one of Shepard's instructors at the N school, he might have been a kind of a father figure to her at some point, James figured. He pressed against the wall pretending to be paint. This was too good to be sent away right now. He wanted to know more.
"Can't you find out anything from her?" Petrenko sounded desperate. "If you know her, maybe she'll talk to you."
"You presume I would betray my family for you," Mr D sounded cold like a nuclear winter all of a sudden. "You presume much." The temperature in the room dropped at least twenty degrees and all the officers shifted uncomfortably.
"I'm sorry, Sir, we do not expect you to betray the trust of one of your best students, but we're at a stalemate here and we can't move forward without her full cooperation."
"I'd say you have it." Mr D pointed at Shepard. "She's right there, telling you her story. Why don't you believe her?"
"She's been working for Cerberus for months, claims they brought her back from the dead. Would you believe such a story? We don't even know if it's really Shepard or some clone."
"And it's not like she has much choice but to sit here, since she's locked up," Aimes chimed in. "So we're running in circles with the investigation and she's biding her time."
"You seem to suffer under the illusion that you can keep her here against her will, gentlemen. That's… cute," Mr D almost smiled.
"What do you mean?"
"I walked into this building without anyone noticing and I'll leave the same way. She can do the same any time she wants."
James saw the desperate faces of the officers.
"Please, Sir, is there anything you can tell us?" Petrenko sounded frantic. James never thought he would hear an Admiral of the Alliance Fleet sound frantic.
"I don't know if this is my Shepard or a Cerberus clone, but whoever it is, she is still an N7," Mr D's eyes fixed on the blond woman again. Suddenly Shepard spoke – quietly, without opening her eyes and addressing nobody in particular:
"I can feel you watching me, whoever you are. Might wanna ease up on the intensity, buddy."
The officers almost wept. She'd been doing this kind of thing ever since they got her, but Mr D cackled:
"That's my girl! She could always feel when someone was watching her. Invaluable ability for our school."
"So you're saying this really is Shepard?"
"I can give you a ninety nine percent guarantee."
Aimes and Petrenko exchanged another tortured glance.
"So, what are we to do with her?"
"I honestly don't know," Mr D shrugged as he watched Shepard with another fond smile. "I can tell you this: the tactics you're using on her won't work. She's amused by the whole process. Claustrophobic grey interrogation rooms won't scare her. Hell, being locked in a torture dungeon, strapped to a table and with a serial killer removing her leg with a chainsaw didn't scare her, so you can imagine why she's peacefully resting over there right now. Persuasion and manipulation won't work on her. You can either believe her story or not, it's up to you."
"So you're saying that she's such a great liar that the chances of her telling the truth are minimal?"
"No. What I'm saying is that nobody will ever know if she's lying or telling the truth. Ever."
"Great," Aimes let his arms fall at his sides. "We're not any further than before. I'm sorry, Mr D, but you've been no help at all."
"I didn't come here to help you."
Another awkward silence stretched for several seconds as the Admirals exchanged glances with the Major and the General.
"Then why did you come?" Petrenko asked.
"Our family never abandons one of our own. I came to see with my own eyes if this person you have in custody is one of my own. I can't absolutely guarantee it's really Shepard, but this woman in there is an N7 all right." Mr D suddenly turned around and looked straight at James. "Lieutenant Vega," he nodded. "Please, come over here."
James' knees almost gave in, what with suddenly becoming a point of interest for this unreal man. But despite his nausea and dizziness his body reacted to the command with no delay. Fuck, this man wielded a hell of personality. One word from him sent people hurrying to obey. It was scary, and yet fascinating.
"Yes, just what I thought," Mr D said after observing James approach him. "Besides the four bullets you took for her, you're bruised and battered all over. A kick in the balls, I believe? You're wearing it like a badge of honour, Lieutenant, because she did it. She must like you."
"What?" James couldn't hold his tongue. "How do you know all that? And why do you think she likes me?"
"I can see the kick in the balls by the way you walk and the cracked ribs by the way you carry yourself, son. And I think she likes you because your face is still intact. She'd only go for the face if she meant business."
"But how do you know he has contact with her?" Aimes insisted.
"I've read all files and reports, of course."
"They're classified!"
"Admiral, my people know where your youngest is stashing his porn. Nothing is classified for us. Now, I need you to show me Joker."
"Why?" Petrenko was genuinely surprised.
"Are you kidding me?" Mr D truly smiled for the first time. "Among my people he is a legend! The man who laid a hand on that," he pointed at Shepard. "And lived to tell the tale? A man who made Johanna Shepard a civilian? A man who actually seems to enjoy her genuine affection? Such a man was not supposed to exist at all. We're all curious. Oh, and now you're thinking you can use him against her," he nodded, reading the faces around him correctly. "I wouldn't advise that. She'll get really pissed if you do that. You don't want her pissed, trust me. Hell, I don't want to be around this solar system if she gets pissed. Just show him to me and let's be done."
"All right, I can arrange a meeting," the General nodded.
"Oh, no meetings. I just want to look at him, he doesn't need to see me."
"I think that can be arranged, too." The General gestured Mr D to follow him out of the room and James remained face to face with two Admirals and the Major.
Awkward silence filled the room for almost a minute. Then the Admirals left and the Major dismissed Shepard's interrogation.
James walked her back to her room, trying to hold back his excitement. There were so many things he needed to ask her!
Shepard didn't seem very approachable when she stopped in her room to stare out of the window, but James couldn't hold back.
"Is it true that a serial killer removed your leg with a chainsaw?"
That suddenly got him her full attention. Like he expected, her heavy glance felt just like Mr D's.
"Excuse me?" She growled. "Why in the world would you say something like that?"
"Heard it from someone who claimed to have it on a pretty good authority."
"And who was that?"
"A certain Mr D. Know him?"
She relaxed, smiled and turned to the window again.
"Nope," she sounded amused. "I most certainly do not know a Mr D."
She wasn't lying, he realised, but she was getting out of this on some technicality. She knew the man, obviously. Maybe his name wasn't really Mr D. Most likely it wasn't.
"Is it true about the chainsaw?"
"I'll leave that one to your imagination," she smiled enigmatically. James had to translate that from Shepard to English. It meant yes, but so classified that she would never be able to tell him. He could live with that.
For the next few weeks a sort of pattern established itself. The Defence Committee was stalling Shepard's trial despite all the demands and threats the batarians made. No assassins came near her due to all the security in the brig. James took her to interrogation rooms where she ruled like a queen, and then back to her own room. Once there, she would fall silent and busy herself with some exercise, like balancing her whole body on one hand, or spending hours in some extremely uncomfortable fighting stance. He knew from experience how the muscles burned after some of those, but she seemed to enjoy it.
Also, she was reading books. Lots and lots of technical, historical, xeno-educational books he brought her. Those datapads were the only tech she was allowed. Sometimes he left her alone, but he discovered soon that if she wasn't sparring with him, he didn't exist to her, whether he was in the room with her or not. She did her own thing for hours until Joker would show up. He came by for an hour or two, depending on how much time his timer still left him. That was when Shepard lit up. She became a human being in the limping man's presence. James saw this transformation night after night and couldn't help but wonder if it was a blessing or a curse. Love was beautiful, for sure, but ten hours of contact a week were pure torture.
Before long Joker's prediction came true and he heard Shepard scream in her room in the middle of the night. In his adjacent room he sat up in his bed, cursing. She screamed like someone was tearing her apart while she watched.
He ran out to the dark and empty corridor like he was, wearing only his long, grey sleeping pants. The night guards looked at him for guidance. He'd warned them ahead about the screaming and they stayed outside, letting him handle it.
That was the first time he'd found himself half-naked on Commander Shepard's bed, gripping her thrashing hands and holding her down before she could hurt herself or him. As Joker advised, he tried to be gentle, called her name, tried to calm her down. His ears were ringing from her yelps by the time she finally acknowledged him and stopped.
The otherworldly horror in her eyes was replaced by cold emptiness as she tossed him off the bed and told him to leave. He went back to his room with shaking hands. He'd never even imagined such terror in someone's face. He thought he'd had it rough? That night showed him horrors beyond his wildest imagination.
He'd had to go through the same with her a second and a third time within three weeks, but then it stopped. Shepard didn't appear any different than before, but the nightmares stopped. She went through her routine with the same purposeful determination as before and he couldn't help but wonder how she could stand it. So he asked:
"Don't you get restless from inactivity? I mean, even I'm going loco here, and claustrophobic, too, and I'm not the one locked in the same room for weeks now."
"I'm a trained sniper, a very good one. I can stay in the same position for days, it doesn't bother me. Also, I'm trained to withstand torture, which is what incarceration is. Also, I'm a space ship CO. I live in a tiny metal box, sealed and surrounded by vacuum, with the same people without privacy. The inactivity, though… This is the calm before the greatest storm this cycle has ever seen. I need to be at my best. So I rest, eat, train. I know what's good for me."
He took her words for the lesson that they were. Time after time Commander Shepard was showing him how young and inexperienced he was compared to her. She kept working him over again and again when they sparred, and he could feel improvement in his own fighting style, but it was by far not all he could and should learn from her. There were many things that made her a hero that had nothing to do with combat. Her patience was one of them, and so was her endurance.
Shepard kept ignoring him most of the time, especially when she was deep in her own thoughts, but that gave him a better opportunity to observe her. Very often between interrogations and conferences with her lawyers she stood quietly in front of her balcony window, looking down at Vancouver. She looked battle-ready in those moments, tense and pale. He didn't know what to make of such reactions. Also, she seemed to be intent on shaming her jailers by behaving at her very best. She never complained, never demanded anything, never went against rules and never tried to contact the outside in any way.
"Why don't you ever ask anything from me?" He asked her when November slowly turned into December. She raised one eyebrow quizzically. "I'm your guard, but I'm on your side. A lot of things are within my power, I could make your stay here a little less horrible. At the very least I could get you the food you like and entertainment. Music, vids, games…"
"I don't need anything."
"Oh, you're one of those," he nodded, knowingly.
"One of who?"
"Those people who would give their lives for other people but never ask anything for themselves."
"I do ask for myself, when it matters," she smiled a little and James realised that whatever she was thinking about had to do with Joker.
"So let me help you here. You've not only been a model prisoner for two months, you're putting all the brig guards to shame with your selfless and accommodating behaviour. There has to be something you'd like."
"I would like to get some news from the outside," she shrugged like she knew she was asking for the impossible. And she was. She was strictly forbidden from having any means of communication with the outside. No omnitools, no computers, even no TV or radio. An idea struck him:
"Well, I can't get you a TV, but nobody said I can't listen to the radio myself when I'm guarding you."
She shot him a look of interest, like she saw him – truly saw him – for the first time. That kind of look from that kind of woman could move a man to do anything. He opened his omnitool and chose one of the big Vancouver stations that played reliable news every half hour and mixed in some acceptable music.
The look on Shepard's face when she heard the host chat about the new biotiball season… That look of salvation… He could deny it all he wanted, but it shot straight to his lower body. She sat down on her bed, her lips a little parted, taking in the cheerful sounds of the outside world that she'd been denied for two months, and she looked so relieved, so enraptured, like he'd just saved her life.
They sat there for a couple of hours, listening to the radio in silence, but it was the best mood James had seen the Commander in so far, at least when Joker wasn't around. Later in the night the radio began their usual program: people called in or sent messages addressing their loved ones and placing music requests. The host read the messages and put on the music. No news would come during that program, but James saw in Shepard's face that she wouldn't mind just listening to the voices and music for a while, so he let it run. Anything for her.
Next day he decided to take things into his own hands. She wasn't asking for anything, but it didn't mean she wasn't craving things. He brought her take-out food from the best Mexican restaurant he knew and a six-pack for dinner instead of the usual brig food.
"If the hill won't come to Mohamed, Mohamed will go to the hill," he declared. It felt so good to surprise her, do something to change their dreary routine, coax some attention from the 'white girl'. He called her that in his head sometimes, what with her colouring. She reminded him of some old, really old time actress.
Shepard nodded at the food, but her eyes turned cautious when she saw the beer. There was longing in her face, mixed with something weird. Blank fear.
"You don't like beer?" He asked. "I can get you something else."
"No, it doesn't matter. I'm not drinking any alcohol at all."
"Why is that?"
"It has an unfortunate effect on my nightmares. Intensifies them."
"Oh. Sorry. But come on, it's just beer, doesn't get lighter than that. Just to relax a little."
"That's the whole problem, Vega. I relax, my mind loses its grip and bang, nightmares guaranteed."
"Damn," he looked at her more attentively. "So you're not drinking anything at all? That sucks!"
"Tell me about it. I used to drink guys under the table, but haven't touched a drop for about half a year now," she busied herself unpacking the food, trying to hide her eyes. He still could see the darkness in them.
"And what was your drink of choice back when you still drank?"
"Ryncol."
He laughed out loud:
"Ryncol? Is that what you drank when your nightmares worsened?"
"Yeah."
"How many times did you try before you figured that one out?"
"Once."
"Wait. You drank ryncol once, got nightmares and stopped drinking for good?"
"Pretty much."
"Did it occur to you that maybe it had something to do with your drink choice?"
"Did it occur to you that maybe I'm too scared to try again?" She turned to look at him and he received a full portion of poison from her eyes. "Did it occur to you that it's not a pleasant experience? Did it occur to you that maybe, just maybe, there aren't so many things in the world that can make me scream my lungs out?!"
He took three steps back from the energy she hit him with.
"Lo siento!" He muttered. "I'm really sorry, I didn't mean anything by it. If it bothers you, I can put the beer away."
"Please."
His heart was still racing when he took the six-pack and went outside to give it to the guards on duty for later. He'd never even in his dreams imagined he would ever see Commander Shepard react like that. What was she dreaming about, then? She never told him and he never dared to ask, but he was very curious now. During her nightmares she wasn't saying words, she just screamed at the top of his lungs and flailed her arms like she was drowning. Actually, one would have expected a warrior like her to throw punches at some invisible enemy, but that was not what was happening. She thrashed and bulked in sheer terror. Of what? It looked like she was being devoured.
He remembered again that she hadn't had any nightmares for a while now. Maybe it wasn't so bad... Or maybe the orange glowing scars on her face were glowing stronger and stronger every day, if only someone looked attentively enough. There was something going on behind his back and James knew he would have to start asking some difficult questions pretty soon.
He put on a more cheerful face when he returned to her table. She had her emotions under control again and he wasn't going to mention it. Upsetting her could trigger more nightmares and that was the last thing he wanted to do.
She ate the Mexican food like it didn't make any difference to her what it tasted like, just like with the brig food. It disappointed him. Was it the mood of the moment or was she generally not interested in food? Even if not, there had to be something she liked. Finding that out would be an interesting challenge.
After dinner he turned the radio on again. That earned him a smile from her. He would have to work with that. He made himself comfortable on the couch, while she took the bed, dimming the lights. For a few hours they pretended there was nothing else in the world but the lights of the city through the windows and the sounds of the radio station. No Reaper invasion, no Defence Committee, no brig, no guards. Just freedom. Later in the night the radio started the same program from last night with people sending messages and requesting music. It went on for a while, then the host started reading a new request.
"All right, people, here we have another message. This one is for Janina."
Shepard sat up straight on the bed. James bolted upright, too, startled by her move. The radio girl spoke on:
"Janina, this is for you from your boyfriend. He writes: 'All jokes aside, I love you, girlie. Don't let anything upset you, 'cause I'm always with you.' Aww, isn't that cute? The music request for Janina is "Bridge under water" by Meticulous Arrow. Frankly said, I wasn't sure we had that song, but it looks like Janina and her boyfriend are in luck tonight, so enjoy, love birdies!"
Music began playing, a mix of Argentinean tango and a heavy drum beat. James frowned. He didn't know the song, but it sounded at least 50 years old, from the pre-extranet era. Shepard sat upright on the bed, pressing her hand against her mouth, like she was about to burst out crying.
"What's happening?" He asked, but she shushed him until the song ended. Then he insisted on knowing what was going on.
"That was for me," she told him, her voice heavy with emotion.
"How do you figure?"
"Janina was my mother's name and Joker is the only one who knew that this is my favourite song."
"A code message?" James nodded. Something about all this was weird. "How does he know you're listening to the radio? How does he know you were upset earlier?"
Shepard shrugged. A suspicion made James get up and turn on the lights:
"You have some sort of way to communicate with him, don't you? Do you have a transmitter on you?"
"No, I don't have a transmitter on me." She sounded genuine, and yet cheeky. He thought about her and his words, then bit his lip:
"Uhm. Do you have a transmitter in you?"
"You'll sleep better, the less you know."
"Come on, I'm on your side here. What's with all the theatre, wanting news from the outside, when you have a transmitter?"
"I can honestly promise you that I receive nothing from the outside," she said to him slowly, as if trying to force understanding into his skull. The slight incline of her head reminded James of all the cameras in the room. He dropped the subject immediately.
Next day James was curious about what would happen on the radio. Joker had exhausted all his visiting hours early in the week by staying almost all night long and the radio was probably his only way to contact Shepard. James sat with her, waiting curiously, but nothing happened until the program was almost over at midnight. The last message and request, however, changed everything.
"Our last request for tonight is from a guy named Angel. He writes: 'To my best friend in the whole world, Janet. I'm feeling blue without you at home, missing you more than anyone on the planet. I'm working on the house we're building together and the work is hard, but I think about you every day and hope you can join me soon.' All right, Janet, your friend requested a soundtrack from "Fleet and Flotilla" for you, hope you enjoy it!"
James saw Shepard almost tear up again. Whatever she heard in those words, he wished he was in on it.
"Who is that from?" He asked. "Didn't sound much like Joker."
"It wasn't. It's from someone else. A certain Angel, who keeps doing our work on his home planet."
"And who is it? Not human, I take it."
"Before you get the honour of that particular introduction, you'll have to prove that you're worthy."
"The guy's that important?" James teased, thinking that Joker was supposed to be the only one who'd get Shepard so dreamy. But then she nodded with such a serious, intense face that he realised: her boyfriend aside, there were people in Shepard's life who had earned her full respect and trust. His gut tightened. This kind of approval and trust from a woman like Shepard could make a man. It would mean everything. He had no doubt that it meant everything to 'Angel' and he knew he wanted her to feel the same way about him, too.
