The Covenant was nothing short of a whirlwind of chaos bound into the vaguest assumption of order that wasn't fooling anyone. As the Council flagship, a massive asari vessel akin to the Destiny Ascension repurposed to house the most essential Citadel entities, it was stuffed beyond capacity with everything from ambassadors, to panicking volus financial aids, to lingering C-Sec officers. Numerous Spectres had also converged on the Citadel when the agonizingly anticipated broadcast was heard giving the all clear, and while most chose instead to drift nearby within their own ships or find refuge at one of the Lunar bases, a handful found themselves immersed in the sea of bodies cluttering every corridor of the dreadnought.

Lost in the quagmire of bureaucracy and political backwash saturated with media broadcasts and a flood of communication transmissions from across the galaxy, Kaidan felt himself being pulled apart at the seams with almost every waking moment. Still not fully recovered from his close encounter with a capsizing Mako, he was nonetheless up and about, flopping from one bellowing section of the Covenant to another, trying desperately to keep up with the needs of the remaining entities of the Citadel, toying with a balancing act between every conflicted part of him that was likely going to put him in the hospital again. His head hadn't stopped pounding since he got released from the med bay.

Kaidan was still a Spectre. So long as the Council existed, so too would their shadowy right hand, and where their will was needed, a Spectre would follow. The once enigmatic, proud agents of the Council were, however, reduced to glorified messengers more often than not, or a brutally efficient police force where C-Sec failed. Those few fortunate enough to remain in the far reaches of the galaxy on their assignments, whether by the decision of the Council or simply being stranded by the Crucible's cataclysmic energies washing over every star in the galaxy, would never really know just how lucky they had been.

Conflict grew more common as irritation, compressed in the hull of a ship on the brink of rupturing, grated against already frazzled nerves, and many times, it had to be a Spectre that broke it up. They were guards now. They were secretaries, and councilors, and mail men from time to time, the oddly mundane now being entrusted to the most elite of agents. The cause, of course, was the Council's need to have their hands on everything aboard the dreadnought-turned-refuge. Whether to maintain a guise of control among the populace and placate them into maintaining the Council's superiority, or for genuine cause that had been lost in the tide of bodies, none were more than half certain.

Add to that the mounting frustrations of Citadel Security at their increasing redundancy in the presence of Spectres on the ship, and the tension was often palpable on the Covenant. Tasks that would normally have called only for C-Sec involvement now instead beckoned the elite Spectres to handle them, leaving the security officers as glorified sidekicks more often than not, a fact that embittered them even more so than before. None could deny the effectiveness of the Council's decision to utilize the Spectres as they were, but few could claim to be happy of the choice.

At the moment, Kaidan was navigating through the communications hub of the Covenant on the third level, just below the flight deck and the war room, repurposed as the Council's chambers. He maneuvered through the always bustling center a bit clumsily, pressing his fingers into his temples, trying to goad the oncoming migraine into at least holding off for another hour or two. A salarian, his wide eyes bouncing about the four screens glowing in front of him, flat face crossed with frustration, didn't notice the approaching human in his frantic pace.

"Have we regained contact with Oma Ker yet?" the marine inquired, forcing his husky voice to an uncomfortable volume to try and contend with the clamor around him. The salarian, however, continued chattering rapidly. Kaidan couldn't tell if he was talking to himself, someone on the other end of a comm buoy, or a bit of both.

"Hey, Telmonik!" Kaidan pushed closer, voice breaking above the wash of background noise, startling the flustered Salarian.

"What?! I don't have time for -"

"Have we reestablished a connection with Oma Ker?" the Spectre interrupted. Telmonik blinked up at Kaidan for a moment, fully assimilating who he was talking to after a brief pause.

"No, we haven't," Telmonik bit, eyes narrowing slightly at the human before he returned to the screens flickering in constant motion before him. Kaidan crushed his teeth together in his skull, which he immediately regretted as a new spike of pain stabbed through his head. This is how it had been ever since he gotten directed to the Covenant after being cleared for release by the Alliance med team; despite his position, few of any species that wasn't human offered much respect to him, the only human Spectre remaining. True, each race was somewhat instinctively closing in on itself, folding into a pseudo-tribalism that had each species treating the others with guarded angst on the best day. Kaidan, utterly dismissed by the salarian, returned to the current of bodies, irritated at this kind of treatment and the headache pounding ever more violently in his head.

"No, we haven't gotten in touch with Oma Ker, Councilor," he reported through his earpiece, trying to keep his annoyance from filtering into his voice.

"Thank you, Alenko," came the detached reply from Quentius, the turian councilor. While the other two held a bit of an edge toward Kaidan, Quentius remained largely neutral, fixing to the ideal that cooperation was the best means to pull the Citadel back together. "I believe Councilor Halldorson needed to speak with you again."

'Wonderful...'

"Thanks Councilor. Let me know if you need me for anything else."

"Of course."

So the human councilor wanted to talk to him again. It was the third time today, and frankly, the last two had only agitated him more. First, it was some issue with a damned merchant claiming that an elcor stole something, which turned out to be nothing but a racist trying to stir up trouble with a rival merchant. The second time, he had to go to the docking bay and search a human vessel fresh from Earth and packed with refugees. Councilor Jessica Halldorson was trying far too hard and running herself thin doing so. More haphazard foot traffic, a jam surrounding a volus on his back and a turian calling in a potential emergency, and a cramped elevator ride carried him to the first level.

Couldn't they at least dim the lights a little?

"Good, you're here," came the rushed, panting voice of the rather young politician as Kaidan rounded the first corner from the elevator. "I need your help again, Kaidan." The councilor was a woman of thirty-something years, with a sharply rounded face and prominent cheek bones, shoulder length wintry blond hair tied back, and pale blue eyes. The Norwegian woman held herself with a proper regality, looking every part the political power figure with none of the demeanor.

"Calm down, Councilor." Mostly for his sake, if he was going to be honest with himself. "If it's another loud-mouth human raising a stink about an elcor, have C-Sec handle it. I have to head to Sur'kesh within the next day or so, and the Normandy's not nearly ready yet." He spoke slowly, calmly, and with respect in his tone, keeping well enough in line despite his putting off the woman. Nonetheless, she shook her head a bit emphatically.

"It's nothing like that." Her voice dropped low, furtive and quiet as she leaned in closer. "Members of Cerberus have contacted our office. They're saying they want amnesty in exchange for offering themselves to the rebuilding efforts on Earth." Kaidan's eyes widened incredulously.

"You're kidding, right?" he half-heartedly chuckled.

"I wish. They said that they abandoned their station on Nepheron when the Reapers landed, and they only just got here. They're hiding out on Europa for the time being." Her accent was thick with her failing composure, a clear sign to Kaidan that she had stepped into her role without the slightest inclination what it entailed. The Spectre took a deep breath, nodding, trying to diffuse her panic with a smile and a consoling color to his dusky voice.

"I'll look into it before I go. Take a breather, Councilor. You'll give yourself an aneurysm if you stay this high strung."

"Yes, you're probably right, there's just so much to do, and more keeps piling on top of it." Halldorson pinched the bridge of her nose as she huffed a deep sigh. "I'm in so far over my head, I can't even see the sun anymore."

"You're doing fine, Councilor," Kaidan encouraged, laying a comforting hand on her shoulder. "No one else could handle this kind of stress as well as you have. You stepped into a hell of a mess when you accepted the position as the human councilor. All anyone can ask of you is your best."

"Thank you, Major Alenko," Jessica forced a tentative smile and met his sepia eyes with hers. Ever since he made his way back to the Citadel three weeks after the fall of the Reapers, he had been her strongest support in the face of such overwhelming political adversity, always offering her a kind word to reaffirm that she hadn't failed, or a soft reassurance to steel herself, or a gentle pat of appreciation on the back. Some days, he had been her only positive influence against the deluge of nigh hostility from the other races. He kept her going.

"No problem, Councilor. Did you need anything else?" he asked, keeping the reluctance from his words. She shook her head and gleamed a fuller smile at the Spectre.

"Not right now. I'll be in touch though, and I want to know what happens with Cerberus as soon as you have a report."

"Of course." Kaidan turned and made a brisk pace back toward the elevator, wanting little more than to get to the Normandy and sleep his way to Europa.

"Kaidan?"

Hell, there went that plan. The marine pivoted to see a slowly pursuing councilor, apparently not done with him yet.

"Yes, Councilor?"

"We... Still don't have any word on Shepard." The sadness in her inflection was only semi-genuine, rehearsed, practiced to a passably convincing skill. Kaidan, however, had talked with her enough to pick up the ghost of hope deep beneath the veneer of sobriety. "I'm sorry."

Kaidan was quiet for a moment, eyes drooping to the floor, heavy with the ever present fears always nagging at the back of his head in any brief moment of silence. As if he needed her reminding him that no word on Shepard had been heard for three months now. As if he needed another reminder of his waning assurance that he'd see the commander again, or the poignant hint that she, as much as many, wanted him to move on with his life. Perhaps more honestly, she wanted him to move on with her, and there were others that thought it only proper.

"Thanks, Jessica," he murmured, lament thick in his voice, not wanting to hide the trouble in his mind and heart from her for this very reason. He could only hope to stave off her opportunistic advances until he either found out about his commander, or proved conclusively that he wasn't giving up. He wanted to tell her plainly, but this wasn't the time. It never was. He turned again and waded through the mire that overcame his legs with the onset of heartache always accompanying mention of Shepard.

Fuck it, he was leaving as soon as he could.