Chapter Seven: Bad Blood Runs Long

Dahlia Misra,

I have to admit I don't quite know what you want from me. Commander Shepard and I were never close. While my father travelled with her, helped her in her mission, she and I had only fleeting encounters. The first ended in a reunion between myself and my father. The second, with my father's death.

I know something about having a parent who has done impossible things, who's lived a life of violence completely removed from the normal experience of things. The truth is, it wore on my father a great deal, the burden of his actions. He came to peace in the end, after saving the salarian councillor during the Cerberus coup, but I knew that I would never understand. Commander Shepard would be much the same, I think. The level of her accomplishments is unprecedented, but I can only assume that she has the same shadows haunting her as did my father.

What I do know is that my father was a good man, for all his faults, and that, at the end of his life, he prayed that the Commander would be forgiven for her sins. He knew that dark deeds have a price, but that sometimes the price is worth it; he also knew that the Commander would likely never ask to be forgiven, because she believed – as he did – that she'd only done what was necessary.

I wish you luck in your endeavours.

Kolyat Krios

o-o-o

Shepard came barrelling down to the cargo bay, fully suited up. Her face was illuminated by some inner rage, and James – who'd seen her pissed on more than one occasion – had never seen her quite this angry. Her eyes snapped to him, and he didn't know if he was supposed to salute or what. He had a girlfriend once who got this sort of angry look, usually over nothing, and there wasn't a damn thing he'd ever been able to do to make it right.

"Lieutenant," she barked, "my gun. Now."

This was all fucking confusing, because since when do people need armour on the Citadel, never mind a rifle? He opened his mouth, but she was already two steps ahead of him. She made a slicing motion with her hand to silence him, and he could tell that today wasn't going to be the day where they traded barbs and one-liners in battle.

"Don't argue," she snapped, and wandered over to tell Estaban the game plan. James saw the pilot nod and jog over to the shuttle. That potent smell of eezo filled the hangar bay as she powered up. Shepard circled the area behind the procurement interface like a trapped tiger. James popped the last component in place and walked over to hand her the weapon. She inspected it like she was sure he'd done something wrong, and that was more than a little insulting.

"You going to tell me what's going on, Commander?" he asked.

He regretted his decision to say anything near instantly when she whirled on him. He held up his hands in surrender, but something in her hard façade bent a little, even if it was nowhere near breaking. Teeth gritted, she ground out, "Cerberus."

And yeah, it would've been nice to know exactly what Cerberus was up to on the Citadel, but after Mars, James knew that whatever it was, it wasn't going to be good. He shoved his hands in his pockets. He knew more about Cerberus than his limited experience should allow, and that was all thanks to Shepard. Suddenly, those lines around her eyes, the angry set to her mouth made so much more sense. Cerberus was probably second to top on Shepard's shit list, right after the Reapers.

Only the Reapers, for all their intention to destroy all organic life, couldn't compare to the douchebaggery that was Cerberus. From what Shepard had let slip, and from the chatter he'd heard around Alliance HQ when her trial was ongoing – and from the reaction of that Toombs guy when he came to see Shepard (God, just thinking about him made James want to punch something) – Cerberus had fucked up Shepard's life in ways he couldn't imagine.

So yeah, he got why she might be a little bit upset that they were on the fucking Citadel.

"You want me to come with?" he asked.

Shepard let out all the air through her nose, one hand resting on her hip. "No," she said. "You go up to the bridge and sit with Joker. If I need backup, I'll let you know on the comm."

Sidelined again. Fuck. "I could help," he protested.

Even through her anger, she managed to give him a sardonic glance. "And how well do you know the Citadel, Lieutenant? Better than Garrus – the former C-Sec officer – or Liara, who was probably window shopping on the Presidium when our grandparents were in diapers?"

Uh, well, okay she got him there. "Yeah, I see your point." Now he did salute her, and just as the elevator swung open and Scars emerged with Doc in tow.

Shepard nodded to her squad and without word they started over to the shuttle, each caught in their own little world. Only, these worlds weren't filled with rainbows or hot asari dancers or anything; they were filled with death and destruction.

The second that shuttle left the bay, James was on the elevator to the CIC. He walked towards the bridge, noticing the grave atmosphere. Nobody on this boat was stupid, so they all knew that if this coup went through, that was a big fucking problem for the war against the Reapers. Refugees had already started pouring in to makeshift camps in the docks. If the Citadel was taken, god knew what Cerberus was planning on doing with it.

"Hey man," he said, curling an arm over the top of Joker's chair. "Pretty heavy, no?"

"Yeah," said Joker. "Cerberus is like that piece of gum you get stuck to the bottom of your shoe, and no matter how hard you drag it along the sidewalk, you just can't scrape it loose." The pilot's fingers flew over his interface, drawing up schematics of the Citadel and monitoring feeds.

"Damn, you never told me you were a poet," joked James, eyes scanning over the information.

"What can I say? I'm the perfect man." Joker grinned.

"Statistically, there is no such thing as a perfect man," chimed in EDI, causing both men to look at her. "Perfection being a subjective designation dependent on culture and preferences."

"You hear that sound?" asked Joker. "That's my masculinity dying a slow, agonizing death."

EDI opened her mouth, and James was interested to hear what she said, only that was when Shepard's voice came over the comm. It was thick with rage. "When we touch down, I want you to fire to kill. Anyone in yellow and black is fair game. I want to see their brains splattered all over the floor."

"Understood," said Scars.

"Shepard…" said Doc.

"Move out," ordered Shepard, followed by the sound of gunfire.

"That Commander of ours," said Joker, "she's such a people person, you know?"

James' insides were pulling themselves into knots. Fuck, he wanted to be down there with Shepard, saving the day and killing those damned bumblebees. Sure, he could get on board with the fact that they'd brought her back from the dead – even barring for a moment the nightmare that was the scientific procedure that allowed it – because, well, she was Shepard, and he would've been missing something important if he'd never met her. Still, though, he knew how much she hated them, knew how much they hurt her, and he wanted to be down there with her, fighting at her side, watching her six.

"Not easy, is it?" asked Joker.

Jolting, James' eyes swivelled downwards. "What?"

"Being put in the kiddy corner," said Joker, stretching his fingers. "Trust me, I know. I always hate it when Shepard goes on runs without me." He paused mid-stretch. "Not that I've ever been on a ground mission, but, well, you know. Must be even worse for a big beefy marine like you."

Gunfire pittered through the speakers. "Yeah," said James. "I just want to fucking shoot something."

They listened in silence for a bit while Shepard's orders echoed around them. James had to switch his weight from one leg to the other to keep them both from falling asleep. Every time Shepard grunted in exertion, or barked in surprise, James felt as though his heart was going to pop right out of his chest and land on the dash for Joker and EDI and the whole fucking world to see. A fine sheen of sweat covered his head, and he wasn't even the one in the damned line of fire.

When Shepard found the salarian councillor, when it was revealed that Udina was behind the whole fucking thing, that was when James nearly ran down to his armour and demanded that Estaban drive him over to wherever she was. He could only imagine what she was going through. No, scratch that, he didn't a goddamned clue. He remembered her throwaway comment to Anderson the first time he saw her, the one about Udina being a toddler at the big kid's table, but even so, Shepard didn't hate the councillor, not exactly. And for the guy to throw in with Cerberus of all people…

There was a loud burst and static flooded over the comm. "What just happened?" demanded James.

"It would appear that the assassin overloaded Shepard's systems," said EDI, seemingly nonplussed.

"Get them back up right now, EDI," snapped Jeff. "What if she needs help?"

"Impossible," said EDI. "Hers is a closed system, and even if it weren't, the charge to her circuitry would've disrupted the operations that allowed me to interface remotely."

"Shit," said Joker, and James couldn't agree enough. Even though there was nothing they could do, even though they were sitting blind, neither of them moved for a good ten minutes. James would bet all his poker savings that they were both just hoping that her comm unit would magically repair itself and that they'd be able to swoop in and save the day.

James' insides felt like a garbage disposal.

"Jeff," said EDI, "I've managed to hack some of the Citadel security feeds. I may be able to gain control so we're able to watch the Commander's movements."

"Do it."

The vid screen popped into life in front of them, and James' first thought was, what the fuck. Shepard, Scars and Doc had their guns trained on Udina. That wasn't what bothered him. What bothered him was that Major Traitor stood between Shepard and Udina, his gun pointed at her pretty face. James' hand contracted tightly around Joker's headrest, and his vision swam with white. All he could say was, it was a damn good thing that for the Major that he was out there and James was in here, or there'd be a smoking crater where the second human Spectre used to be.

"Jesus, Kaidan," hissed Joker, leaning forward. "What are you doing?"

Shepard's face was stony. They couldn't hear what she was saying, but her brows were drawn together in concentration. Kaidan answered back, but neither one dropped their guns. Behind them, Udina marched up to a console to do… hell, James had no idea. The asari councillor walked up to him, placed a hand on his arm, and was rewarded with a shove that sent her sprawling. Shepard's brows dropped lower, but she didn't seem to be yelling.

There was this moment where he was sure he was about to see one of the two human spectres die, but then, like he actually had some fucking sense or something, the Major lowered his gun and turned to Udina. Shepard came to stand next to him, and all the guns were finally pointed where they actually belonged.

Except, you know, for the one that Udina pulled out and pointed at his fellow councillor. If you wanted the definition of a madman, all you had to do was pull up the galactic codex entry, and there would be Udina's smug, ugly face. He was screaming something, but then there he jerked back, red blooming in his chest. His hand trembling, he tried to keep his gun pointed. Of course, that became a moot point because then his head exploded.

James couldn't stop the grim smile from stretching across his face. He wasn't sure how he felt when he saw a nearly identical one stretch across Shepard's face. The Major, on the other hand, looked at the thing that used to be Udina and his face contorted like he was getting ready to be sick. James wanted to tell him that maybe, just maybe, he wasn't cut out for this war stuff. It was one thing to be a soldier in peace time – it was quite another in a literal life or death war.

There really wasn't much to see after that. That Bailey guy showed up with a few C-Sec officers and escorted everyone from view. Joker hovered around the Citadel for a while until the docking bays were back under official command. The docking bay hissed into place, and James stationed himself near the door to thank the returning heroes for the show.

Only, Shepard wasn't with them. It was Scars and Doc, both exhausted as fuck. Scars took off immediately. Doc gave him a small smile upon noticing his frown, but it wasn't exactly happy.

"She's not with us," said Doc, laying her hand on his arm. "A – a friend of hers was injured saving the salarian councillor. She's with him now."

James forced himself to nod, to not ask exactly how close a friend they were talking about, because it wasn't any of his business and it wasn't like he had a claim on Shepard or anything, and for Christ's sake, the guy was injured doing something fucking commendable. If Doc noticed anything was up, though, she gave no indication. She just patted his arm before dragging herself away, presumably for a nice long nap or at least a shower.

"Doc," he called, and she turned. "You wanna give me your pistol, there? I can clean it for you."

Her smile was brilliant, and James was reminded why asari were considered the babes of the galaxy. He walked up to her, hands out stretched. The gun was a comforting weight in his hands, and more importantly, it gave him something to do. They walked back together in silence, entering the elevator without a word.

It was only when the doors shut that Doc turned to him. "This war is going to get worse before it gets better, isn't it?"

"Looks that way."

One of her hands was scratching at her chin, and she was shooting him little glances like a girl with a crush. He knew that wasn't it though, and from scuttlebutt aboard the ship, he wasn't really her type – her type being female, badass as hell, and sporting the name Shepard. James didn't know how true that was, but he didn't much care either. If she liked Shepard, that was up to her. There was some saying about stones and glass houses, wasn't there?

"I want to thank you for looking out for Shepard," she said, finally. Her shoulders drooped after she said it, like it had been this huge burden on her. James couldn't for the life of him figure out why.

He shrugged, feeling the back of his neck go warm. "I didn't do much."

There was this really measured expression on her face. James wasn't exactly top tier clearance, but he'd gleaned from the off-hand conversations aboard the ship that Doc was a pretty powerful information broker – Donnelly had even mentioned that she might be the Shadow Broker, though James found that hard to figure. Still, he didn't like that expression, because it said that she knew a hell of a lot more than him, and though James would never have made it without people who had more between their ears than him, he didn't like the weight of it being thrown all on him. Made him nervous.

"You had her back," said Doc softly. "It was more than some of us."

"I was her jailer," said James, embarrassed. "It was my job to watch her back."

Those blue eyes levelled on him. "You weren't her jailer back on Omega, hm? And you weren't on duty when you defended her in that brawl in Vancouver."

Okay, now, that right there was fucking creepy. James couldn't help but wonder how much else she knew, because damn, he had some things that were just private. He didn't want her to know about those long showers, or the way he watched Shepard even when he didn't have to, or how he'd done nothing but gush (in his own, manly way) to his uncle months ago when he met her for the first time.

He didn't want her to know that Shepard had confided in him. That wasn't supposed to involve anyone else. That was between him and Shepard.

"Guess not," he said.

The elevator door swung open and Doc walked off. She turned and smiled at him in a way that wasn't even the least bit comforting, like she knew all his secrets, like she guessed at his feelings, but she didn't say a damn word. She just walked away.

If he hadn't already been pissed, now he was. Maybe he didn't even want to clean her damn gun for her. Of course, he knew he was going to do it anyways, because it would be his fucking fault if it backfired or locked up in combat and even though he was freaked out by her spy network, he didn't exactly want Doc dead. Oh, and Shepard would be the mother of all angry at him too. So there was that.

He stomped over to his workbench and started dissembling it. Estaban was working on the Kodiak, but he came up for air and James could feel those blue eyes on the back of his neck.

"Problem, Mr Vega?"

"Not a one," lied James, dismantling the pistol into its various parts. It had definitely seen (and dealt) its fair share of damage on this particular run.

"You're a lousy liar," said Estaban.

James really had nothing to say to that, so he kept his trap shut. He cleaned that pistol within an inch of its life, trying hard not to think of Shepard. He was so into it that he didn't hear the footsteps until they were behind him. He glanced over his shoulder, and saw Shepard there. She was still in her armour, and there was blood on her face. She unholstered her rifle and her SMG and set them both on the table. She raised her hands as if to begin taking them apart, but then dropped them.

"You mind, James?" she said.

His throat clamped up tight, but he shook his head. She nodded, absently and was getting ready to leave when James touched her arm. She stopped mid-step, peeking up at him through her lashes.

"You okay, Lola?" he asked softly. "Doc said a friend of yours was injured."

She squared her shoulders and inhaled deeply. "Thane, yeah." From the weight of those words, James knew nothing good was coming. Shepard didn't seem able to continue.

"I'm sorry," he said.

She shrugged, but it was too lopsided to be genuine. "Thane was raised with violence," she said. "It was who he was. He tried to live the normal life and it backfired. He joined me to fight the Collectors because he thought for sure that he was going to die as he'd lived – with blood and death." She sucked in another deep breath. "I thought he found peace on the Citadel, finally. But then it turned out he was right."

James rubbed his thumb over the rippled ceramic of her greaves. What he should've done is keep his mouth shut, but he said, "Reminded you of you, huh?"

Shepard swallowed thickly then, ripping her eyes away from him to look at nothing in particular. Her brows came together. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Right," said James, removing his hand. "My mistake then."

"James," she began, running a hand through her hair before crossing her arms in front of her. "This isn't Earth. I can't keep coming to you with all my problems. It's not professional. I've got to be a big girl and take care of myself."

There was that word again. Professional. God, James was really starting to hate that word. He forced himself to take a step back, to act like that didn't sting even though it fucking did. "You know," he said, "keeping all your shit pent up, it's not always the greatest way of coping. It can make you do some dumb shit."

"Like crash a shuttle into another shuttle?" she said lightly.

"For example," he conceded. "I'm just saying, you're dealing with some pretty heavy stuff right now. Might be, you just need to talk to someone." James shrugged. "If you want it to be me, great, I'll listen. But you've got some good friends on board Shepard."

He rethought that last sentence a few times, wondering if it implied that he wasn't a good friend, and oh shit, why the hell can't he ever say what he means, but then it didn't matter because she placed a hand on his chest and pretty much interrupted his internal ramblings.

"Sometimes you've just got to go for it," she said, and he felt a spark of pleasure when he realized she was quoting his own words back at him, those words uttered before she met her daughter for the first time.

"Great advice," he said with a half-smile. "Bet someone real smart told you that."

Shepard didn't smile back. Probably, the grief was still too fresh. He got that, he did. He wanted to place his hand over hers, and was actually considering doing just that, when she pulled it away, eliminating the chance.

"I need to go get cleaned up," she said, backing away. "Kaidan might come down later. If he needs anything, you help him out, okay?"

It was like a bottle of something cold had been shattered over his head. His jaw stopped working. Something red hot pumped through his veins where blood used to be. He ground out, "What?"

She was deadly serious when she said, "Play nice."

"But…"

Her face brokered no argument. "I said, play nice."

And with that, she was gone and he was left wondering exactly what her relationship with the Major was, that she forgave him after he pointed a fucking gun in her face. Shepard didn't have a reputation as the most forgiving person. She wasn't a psychotic bitch, no, but still. And then there was that conversation between him and the Major back on Earth when James asked if the other man knew the Commander. The Major's vague and fucking annoying answer had been, I used to.

What the hell did that even mean? And what did it mean when coupled with that sad, wistful tone the guy had used to say it? Jesus. James had wondered about it for a half a second when it actually happened, but then he'd been distracted by, you know, surviving and the goddamned Reapers blowing the shit out of everything.

It wasn't pleasant, that moment when James realized he was jealous of Major Fucking Alenko.

Next Chapter: James struggles over the nature of Shepard and Kaidan's relationship.