Disclaimer: Don't own anything but the slightly off personality of my Shepard.
Note: Among others, I've used Earth based fish for this.
Note#2: English is not my mother language so I shall immediately apologize for any grammatical and/or spelling mistakes made. Mind you some of it is quite deliberate.
*ch5.
Ocellaris Clownfish, Stegastes Variabilis, Illium Skaid,Holacanthus Ciliaris, Thessian Sunfish, Chaetodon Capistratus.
"Miss? Have you decided?" The voice of the shopkeeper, a predictably young asari, asked and she straightened. Eyes still roaming over the colorful swimming palate on blue background Shepard tilted her head.
"Do they play well together?"
"Well enough. You won't have to worry about seeing them half-eaten one morning."
"Ah, at least one good news today. A pair of each, please," she said and then typed on her omni-tool, both paying – five hundred each species, a robbery as far as she was concerned – sending dock number and ship's name data to store's computer. "Have them delivered here. Someone will be waiting to pick up."
Hopefully, t'would not be Garrus to enforce himself as the one-man welcoming committee, subsequently ending their existence by tossing them down the drain. Or he might hand them over to Sergeant Gardener as a new and special gift for crew's banquet.
The turian. She paused, rubbing her chin. For the moment she didn't think. There was no need now, and she had already plotted two or three potential disastrous courses, and five to six somewhat beneficial endings to their friendship. Anything else could be calculated later, or in the back of her mind where the rest of her thoughts would not be intruded.
Paying she stepped out of the pet shop, taking a deep breath of Citadels' filtered atmosphere.
Truly, the Citadel was her least favorite place in the Galaxy. And it had very little to do with politicians inhabiting the upper layers like parasites or aspirant mafia bosses gracing the gutter below. In fact, it had much to with ogling. Blatant ogling.
It might have been on the flattering side if indeed the appreciation of her figure had been calculated in. It wasn't. Not with the way she felt gunpoint-like pinpricks rest on her hips where her guns should be and not on her well rounded behind. They bore into the shotgun that was not there and the team that did not walk by her side.
Long time ago, during one of her first missions when she wasn't as of yet used to wearing armor like second skin, she used to slouch a lot leaving lot of her back exposed, vulnerable to attack. The habit has been rid off since that time but, curiously enough, it was there where those rude stares converged most.
Should she thank the Illusive Man for the generous spread of rumor of her return to the glorified lands of the living? Rumor mill would work its way through the crowd with or without his help. And possibly with even more ludicrous tales and severe consequences.
Exhibiting some admittance of her lack of orientation – only the Keepers knew every inch and store on this station – she prodded her omni-tool for directions. Following instructions she rounded a corner, went down a level, and meandered among streets some wide lanes and others narrow – until she found herself what she had been looking for.
Her grumbling stomach approved of the sent and sight.
Today, it seemed was a day to buy fish – dead or alive.
Steamed and roasted catfish fillet, soaked with olive oil, lemon juice and chopped scallion. A royal treat for those who appreciate a good taste and simple food directly from Earth. Not that she hadn't tried some of more exotic and alien dishes, but in the end, that's what they would remain – exotic, extravagant and very much not nutritious.
Shepard hitched her gloves and gauntlets against her belt, leaving her fingers exposed and free to deal with the meal. She wandered some more, eyes fixed with nonchalance to people, aliens going about their business fully ignoring her presence as they did with many others. Of course, without an armored escort and with no weapons of her own her armor would pose more of a curiosity than a threat. And the fish helped. Common folks rarely expect professional soldiers to display something of an ordinary behavior – like eating.
The catfish was delicious, by the way.
Reaching one of the many surrounding balconies she leaned on her forearms, crossing her ankles. Absentmindedly she counted the towering buildings in the distance. Last time she had taken her time to look at sight such as this involved Kaidan and Ashley by her side. Things have changed very little since then. People surrounding her might be different but dangers equating destruction of galaxy nipped at her heels.
Taking a small, last bite of her snack she leaned over to look at the sight directly below her, she let out a snort. Despite its forty-four point seven kilometers of length, the Citadel was a small. It had to be. It was a space station, not a planet. And watching Grunt pass one level below her proved her point. Whether he noticed her or not was not the issue here.
As she cleaned her fingers and lips she didn't look back though her ears picked up an odd sound of footsteps – one coming closer as opposed to many circling her position. Throwing the napkin in nearby trash disposal she pulled on her gauntlets, methodically patching them together.
"If you wish to speak with me, do so. If you wish to kill me," she turned around, resting her forearm on the short balcony wall, eyes and smile tinted with knowledge and dull resignation, "well, something can be arranged I suppose."
*/*/*/*/*
Approximately nine hours and forty-three minutes since Normandy docked, Sofia had barely stepped on board of her ship when Kelly caught up with her. In fact, it would be better to say that Kelly suddenly appeared, out of nowhere, like a genie. The one that did not grant wishes. Shepard was beginning to consider the possibility that all secretaries were supernaturally gifted so they could track and cruelly abuse their bosses while at the same time successfully multitasking all the assignments which were required of them.
"Commander, you're back! Do you realize you've been impossible to reach for hours!" There was a reprimand in her voice making Sofia wonder who was beholden to whom exactly on this ship.
"Which is precisely the point of me switching off my radio, Miss Chambers. Otherwise 'time alone' would hardly be time alone, no?" Shepard let out an absolutely exasperated sigh brushing her of her face in a dramatic manner. Kelly pressed her lips in a tight line, without a hint of usual good humor. Did something happen on the ship in the meantime? Nothing seemed to be in shambles so Shepard assumed no body parts were hidden in inconspicuous locations.
Kelly looked over her datapad as if jotting something down in a typical secretarial manner, "Your fish have been delivered. Quite the colorful choice you have made."
Shepard blinked, amused at Kelly's vindictive irritation.
"Why thank you Miss Chambers. When I am in position to face death, destruction and surly crewmembers every time I step out of my rooms I thought I might as well keep them lively," she replied noticing Kelly's gaze now dropping to cage in her hands. A novelty she didn't plan on spending credits on.
"Your quarters are lively commander. And that is…" she asked to lean over to get a closer look. When a small furry snout peeked out from the box Kelly quite literally threw herself back on the other side of the wall, datapad clattering on the floor loudly. Shepard, for the first time since she had been introduced to her yeoman, gave the woman a curious look.
"That's… a rat!" Kelly screeched pointing accusatory at her commander as if she had brought plague on board. Maybe it would be true at one point in history.
"No, this is a miniature giant space hamster, and her name is Ammut. And here I thought your entire family was a lover of animal world."
"Amu-what?!" Breath hitched in Kelly's voice as she completely ignored every other word the Commander had said.
"Ammut. Honestly, young people these days don't read even the basic history of our planet," Shepard sighed bringing the cage up to her face. "And with your endearing appearance you will do some great deal of heart devouring, won't you?" The hamster sniffed the air and rapidly scurried to hide in her miniature cave with a squeak.
Something akin to whimper left yeoman's lips and Shepard rolled her eyes. Well, there was one person who will not be offering herself willingly to feed the hamster or clean the cage while she was away on missions. Unless Shepard was feeling particularly sadistic. Shepard grinned. Why yes, she was in fact feeling very sadistic.
"Well then," she threw a derisive glance at her secretary. Call her pet hamster a rat, will she? "Is there anything that requires my immediate attention?"
"It… it can wait, Commander," Kelly swallowed gathering her ungracefully discarded datapad.
"Good. Should anyone have a need for their illustrious captain, namely me, I can be found at the armory. After I help settle Ammut in her new quarters, that is," she patted the top of the cage.
"Of course, Commander," there was nothing in Kelly's barely composed voice to say she was happy about the idea. Quite the opposite in fact. It made Shepard grin all the wider.
*/*/*/*/*
Miss Chambers, who had appeared very cross with the Commander at the time, had pointed him in her direction. Armory had become a place she frequented more often than others on the ship. Door hissed open and his ears were assaulted by a loud music with an upbeat rhythm. Even stoic Jacob, who was present, had his head moving lightly with the beat.
"You don't approve of choice? Or do you simply disapprove of my tastes?" Shepard chuckled, taking a tool from his hand.
"Not my first choice commander but it can get under your skin," he offered with barely a hint of a ruffle smile. The scene he stumbled upon was not unlike the one he had shared with her a few days back. Except for the noise which could pass as music.
Shepard was the first one to look up and spot him standing there, hands clasped behind his back. She tended to do that; notice things, people, changes in her vicinity. Noticing change in her, Jacob's eyes followed suit to see the drell standing there.
"Mr. Krios," Sofia said and took a moment to silence the surrounding sound. "James Brown. Second half of twentieth century. Exceptionally good song," she explained briefly taking into account that being familiar with Earth philosophers didn't necessarily mean knowledge of musicians was included as well. "At a later date then?" She said turning her head back to Jacob.
"Commander." With a salute and a distrusting and not at all concealed glance at the drell, Jacob left. Though his attention never wavered form the Commander, Thane turned his eyes back to her.
She was sitting at the far side of the table, peaces of her 'dragon' suit lay scattered about and across as she concerned herself with repairs. It was her favorite armor and she almost refused to leave the ship without it in pristine condition – never mind that she had at least four different sets of equal quality. No, for Sofia Shepard it was either her prized possession or mission would not happen, disturbing as it was.
Not looking up she gestured him with the wave of her hand to approach, come closer. Her face was frowned in deep honest concentration as she worked delicate tools over the singed and damaged areas, removing microscopic cracks which could spell disaster when one least expects it.
"This is most excellent, I see you have arrived in one piece. I take it you didn't let Garrus steer?" There was a strange absence of usual jovial tone which accompanied her speech. Had the actions on Citadel have any personal effect on her he could only guess. By all accounts the friendship between the commander and turian had been forged in trial and fire. His own opinion of the matter he kept closely guarded. There would be other times, between many a mission, for him to deliberate on the matter. Time which he had precious short and had to be put to good use now.
"He was in no mood to argue the matter," Thane replied taking a stance at the side of the table – one previously occupied by Cerberus operative. "But he was visibly distraught when he saw you have left your weapons behind."
Shepard frowned, thinking.
"My- Oh, dear me," she snapped her fingers, an explosive sound amidst the hum of Life Support, "On the co-driver's seat. I knew there was something that slipped from my mind."
The day something truly 'slips' from her mind would be the day Kepral syndrome grounds to a halt in his body and makes a hasty retreat leaving no traces to be found, morbid as it sounded.
His expression turned to slight curiosity when he next spoke, "You seem very fond of manipulating those around you."
Her eyes twinkled and a small smile nestled in the corner of her lips, "That is a poor set of words to choose, Mr. Krios. Have another go."
Another go? The words did not fit, but the meaning was close? Following her advice he tried again this time taking something different into account, "You are good at manipulation."
Sofia nodded, openly, "As any commander worth of their salt is. As any self-respecting commander would fail to admit when asked. But you are not here today because of me, for me or in any other way, shape or form related to my shenanigans involving Garrus." She leaned back and brushed her hand gently over the surface of her newly repaired segment of her armor. "Have you managed to complete your business I've so rudely interrupted?" She raised her head to look at him and spotted a slightly widening of his dark eyes. "I saw you come out of the bank," she explained further.
"I did. And in a way, yes, it has something to do with my being there." He looked near reluctant to speak as she had ever seen him. It was not something distinct, or anything that would shatter his iron composure. If anything, it added to the fact that he was flesh and blood. She was curious now.
"Should you wish my assistance, Mr. Krios, I might need a bit more information than that."
"It is not an easy subject to talk about, Shepard."
"If it is personal, then it wouldn't be. If it is anything else then-"
/"Commander. Normandy will be ready to leave the dock in fifteen minutes."/ As per its impeccable timing, Joker's voice cut in through the conversation. A slight, barely traceable tension sprang through drell's body. Shepard made a mental note and filed it away for future reference regarding the only assassin on the ship.
"How very kind of you to notify me Joker."
/"Commander?"/
Someone was persistent today. Shepard sighed, "Yes, Joker?"
/"Is it true that you've shot the reporter on the Citadel?"/
As fate's machinations would have it, it was her turn now to feel a bit of tension.
Immediately but also somewhat reluctantly Shepard straightened from where she was bent over her work. Her eyes were downcast and her shoulders unusually stiff. She cleared her throat before speaking, "Such a ridiculous notion! Of course I did not shoot a reporter Joker," she said in snappish tone as if it were so obvious to the world. "I have obliterated her camera," she amended.
She heard Joker's laugh before communication was cut. She paused glancing at Thane before haltingly looking away, all the part a guilty child in appearance.
"I am liable to get bad press wherever I step, I'm afraid. Apparently I do not know how to communicate with people properly," she shook her head.
He considered that, yes, shooting or hitting reporters, or their cameras, might do that to one's reputation.
"Now, as to your question?" She gestured at him with welcoming sign of open palms. "Would this, let's call it a 'favor', require the ship to stay in port when we should be off?"
Tension and acceptance in equal parts.
"It would, Shepard."
She leaned over and closed her eyes, resting her chin upon her intertwined fingers, "Before this conversation proceeds to point of no return, allow me to think."
*/*/*/*/*
He let out a small barely audible sigh. He was already debating with himself of how very bad of a decision this was. "Do you still find it all that hard to believe?" The seat next to his shifted sharply.
But the decision has been made.
"Pardon?" She quipped, a confused expression briefly crossing over her face. "Oh, no. No, no, no, no. No. Yes."
He gave her a curious, even slightly amused glance at her quick jabber. In the half-darkness of the cab her violet eyes had an imposing red glow to them. Implants showing when the light was just right, he knew.
"I suppose grasping the idea that an assassin can have a family is difficult to some."
"Quite the opposite in fact," she intoned shaking her finger. "You seem like nothing else but a family man. Why, had I not witnessed it myself, imagining you on a field as an assassin would, well let's say, require a concoction made combined of stretch of imagination and a leap of faith." She met his questioning gaze before giving him a sidelong glance and looking away to the lit streets of the Citadel, "I hope that did not come across as an insult."
"It did not," was his quiet reply. Assassins were meant to be inconspicuous after all. "But you are far too used on thugs with custom-painted armor, Shepard."
"Well now, I'll let you know that I have dealt with professionals before Mr. Krios. The only difference is that they've got caught in the attitude." And before he could answer, and his lips have already parted with a ready retort, she spun around exclaiming an excited 'Ah, there he is,' and rushed off in long sinew stride.
"Captain Bailey!"
Captain of C-Sec of Zakara Ward looked like running away was not only preferable but a single sane option. Thane couldn't fault the man. During moments when his own imagination wasn't stretched too thinly by Shepard's exploits into the wonderland of deliberate misunderstandings, his own thoughts run along much the same course.
*/*/*/*/*