3. The Mirage of Memory
Shepard surreptitiously eyed the security detail unloading the shuttle, keeping her face carefully blank.
She smoothed the wrinkles in her dress in a conscious effort to appear disinterested and aloof. She'd never been the heels and black cocktail dress sort of gal. The dress was too tight, too revealing. It hugged her curves, nearly skin-tight. She felt uncomfortably exposed, nearly naked. The appreciative glances Hock's men had been throwing her way hadn't helped in that regard.
Hock's security started their Omni-tool scans.
Her stomach gave vicious, little wrench. She was a vanguard, damn it! She was trained for front-line combat, not infiltration ops.
Shepard kept watch on the guards. It was hard to resist checking the pistol she'd concealed at her inner thigh. She fiddled with the decorative silver clasp at her neck to keep her hands busy, tracing the edge of the triangular point with her thumb.
These grunts weren't armed but Shepard had no doubt that if things got ugly, there were more guards inside. With guns. If it all went to hell, she had her pistol and biotics. Kasumi had guns and her tactical cloak.
Shepard still didn't like their odds. It was too open out here.
She shifted, trying not to fidget. Maybe it was a mistake to let Kasumi do all the planning. She missed her armor already.
What is it with thieves and needing to sneak around? she thought irritably. If Kasumi had just let her fight through the security into Hock's vault, she could have done that no problem. This trying to be discreet was so much worse on her nerves than just storming the place!
Her eyes darted around the plaza, checking for places to duck for cover. Almost against her will, they landed unerringly on him.
Or it, I should say.
Shepard almost asked Kasumi where she'd found the awful thing, but decided better of it. Whoever was in the business of making statues of Saren, it was probably better if she didn't know. Something unfortunate might befall them.
It was a spectacular likeness, though. It could've been the Spectre himself standing there, except for the gaudy gold veneer.
Shepard fought off the nervous fluttering feeling in her chest. It wouldn't do to appear hysterical, she thought, drawing on every ounce of her military bearing to tamp down on the inappropriate tittering threatening to erupt from her throat.
In life, Saren absolutely terrified men like Hock. Before Sovereign, before the geth, the galaxy knew him for two things: ruthlessness and his hatred of humans. That now, after his death, a petty human criminal like Donovan Hock would accept such a "gift" was, well ... in poor tastes would be an understatement.
Fortunately, said petty human criminal came out to greet the new arrivals.
Shepard fought the urge to sigh with relief at the timely interruption. Instead, she gathered her wits about her, redirecting that energy into appearing impatient with the delay. After all, Allison Gunn is not a woman who likes waiting.
They had a party to crash. Shepard was all too ready to shelve thoughts of a certain turian Spectre and get to work.
Shepard couldn't believe it.
After all her worry about the guards, getting through Hock's security had been so easy it was almost a letdown.
Kasumi's plan flew in the face of all good tactical sense. The audacity of it was like a bad joke, almost begging Hock to put it together. Kasumi had even gone so far as using Saren to smuggle their weapons in. Saren and Shepard, the two most famous Spectres in galaxy. It was about as subtle as an elbow to the ribs, complete with winks and a nudge.
And it had worked!
She couldn't figure it out. She passed off Hock's obliviousness as him having more credits than sense. With the rumors of her return, she'd been paranoid that everyone would see through her disguise. After all, Kasumi caked up her face and made her wear this dress, but even two years dead, she thought there wasn't a person in the galaxy who didn't know who she was.
She'd half expected that when Hock gave his little speech, one of his guests would exclaim: "Hey, isn't that Shepard?"
Not one of them had even spared her a second glance as she snooped around.
At least she could appreciate the irony.
"Here you go, Shep," Kasumi chirped as she opened the hidden drawer from the base of the statue. "You go ahead and get dressed. I'll go scout ahead and disable any security."
"Right."
Kasumi cloaked and disappeared, the slight pattering of her feet the only evidence she had been there.
Shepard waited until she couldn't hear them any more before moving to the statue.
She stood for a moment in the silent room. Kasumi had been chattering in her ear the whole mission. The sounds of the party above had faded away. The sudden absence was jarring.
She strained her ears, the sound of her own breathing loud in the silence. It was just her, alone in a room with something that wore his face.
It was childish, but some part of her felt that it - he - was watching her. It wasn't even that she had to take her clothes off, though the idea of undressing in front of Saren would be enough to creep out anyone.
She knelt to the retrieve her weapons and armor, aware of its presence looming above her.
"They still don't believe me about the Reapers, you know," she said quietly, as much to fill the void of silence as anything. She slid on the underarmor skin before taking her dress off. "Well, except Cerberus, and they're terrorists."
"Figures, doesn't it?" She pulled her boots on. "The Council thinks you manipulated me into believing in Reapers while terrorists decide to help me fight them."
Shepard snorted humorlessly. "I know." Shepard popped the lower armor into place. "You told me this is why you didn't go to the Council."
We fight even when we know we cannot win, Saren growled in her mind.
"I won't give up," Shepard snarled at the memory. "As long as I'm breathing, I'm fighting. That's why they brought me back." Her mouth twisted into a scowl. "I guess we're just too useful to throw away, you and me."
She furiously snapped her armor into place. They'd brought her back to fight yet another threat to the galaxy. As for Saren, well, they couldn't bring him back. Not that they would have, even if they could. But even in death, the Council still found him useful as a scapegoat for their problems.
It was all Saren's fault. Shepard was just crazy and easily manipulated. Never mind the systematic annihilation of an entire race by enormous machines that she saw in her dreams every night.
She slid her weapons into place. "Even now, I dream of them." Her hand hovered over the missile launcher. "They're still screaming. Sometimes, you're there." She paused. "You'd think dying would have changed that."
Shepard's eyes pricked with unshed tears.
After everything he did, she felt she should be happy he was dead. But she remembered. She could remember the moment she realized he'd waited, delayed Sovereign's orders, for her to arrive. The relief in his eyes said more than words ever could.
Then he pulled the trigger.
She didn't want his thanks, his damned gratitude.
Her hands clenched the missile launcher, and for a moment, she wanted to blow the statue apart. She hated it, remembering the near-physical blow of despair at the sound of shattering glass. Two years dead and she still carried him under her skin. Grieving him, because no one else would.
"I couldn't save you," she whispered fiercely, glaring at him. "You chose your path. I can't help if they blame you. I didn't even get a say how they talked about me."
She hefted the missile launcher, strapping it to her back.
Gear in place, she strode off to find Kasumi. She could almost feel those cold, blue eyes following her out of the room.
Whoever decided on that little piece of work, Shepard decided, glaring venomously at the viewport over the bed, is a sadist.
Shepard flopped back on the couch, aching legs propped up on some pillows. She hadn't walked in heels since high school prom. Her feet gave a throb, reminding her that it should be at least another decade before she tried it again.
How does Miranda do this everyday? She must have calves of steel, Shepard mused. She lifted her glass off the table and downed the last of her wine.
She dropped her arm over her eyes and sighed.
The last person she wanted to think about was Saren. So, of course he was the only person she would be able to think about.
"Damn him," she said, without much heat. "Damn him, Hock and his gunship. Damn sneaking into parties." She slid further down on the couch. "Damn Bekenstein while I'm at it and high society in general."
She sighed, longer this time, then sat up and snatched a bottle off the table. She poured herself another glass.
Might as well go all out if I'm going to have a pity party, she thought, raising a self-mocking toast to the fish. They swam without paying her the least bit of attention, which she figured was rather fitting.
There's something sad, she thought, in this ... 'Obsession' was the only word she could think of. Shepard didn't think she'd ever been obsessed about anything in her life, but she guessed this must be what it felt like: plagued by an unwanted connection, to a man who appalled her.
She swirled the wine, watching the hues shift in the deep blue liquid. She held it up and it caught the light, almost seeming to glow from within. It reminded her of his eyes, and she looked away.
Why couldn't she get away from him? He was in her mind and in her dreams and even in her damned wine. She wanted to forget like everyone else seemed to. So why did she mourn a man no one else thought deserved it?
Shepard took a sip. It was a sweet burn down her throat, pleasantly tingly. She was already starting to feel the effects of the first glass. Things were starting to take on a floaty, not-quite-there quality.
She dropped her head back against the couch cushions and watched the fish swim in lazy circles.
How many died because of him? How many good people? Shepard hadn't known Benezia, but Liara swore she was a good person once. Shiala had said much the same.
And Ash ... God, how she missed Ash.
Yet ... Saren wasn't solely responsible. Sovereign had caught him in its web, used him as a puppet. He'd been unable to escape or even disobey until the end, and people hated him for it.
Then Sovereign had stolen even his redemption. Even Fai Dan, that poor bastard, managed to stop the Thorian from using him against her. But not Saren. Death hadn't stopped Sovereign. Or the Council.
Shepard swallowed another sip and closed her eyes.
It was so much easier to hate him when she could pretend she didn't understand. She once thought if she could only understand him, she could find a way to stop him. She had been naïve.
Shepard put the empty glass down. No, understanding only makes it harder.
Saren's downfall was only that he found Sovereign first. Sovereign had gotten its tentacles in his mind, warped the very things he saw and thought. His mind wasn't his own.
And who can fight their mind when it's no longer under their control?
Shepard got up, ignoring the feeble protest from her feet.
Saren was never a good person, but he tried to do the right thing in his own twisted way. And in doing so, he saddled her with the responsibility of dealing with the fall out.
She hadn't asked for this, any of it. Everyone was pushing her into this role, slapping her with all these labels. Survivor. Spectre. Savior. Everyone kept trying to make her into some symbol, something to hang their hopes and dreams on.
She wanted to scream, but all the labels choked her. No matter how much she pounded against their box, they kept pushing her back inside. She was just a soldier. She'd never wanted to be anything else. Why didn't anyone understand that? Why didn't anyone understand?
Shepard found herself in front of the door to her cabin and stopped. "EDI. Is Garrus awake?"
"Yes," the smooth female voice replied. "He is in the battery, calibrating the Thanix."
Shepard bit back a burst of hysterical laughter. Of course he is. She turned to face the blue orb that popped up. "Is he busy?"
"Shall I ask him," EDI inquired politely.
"Yes, please," Shepard replied equally as politely, ignoring the hitching in her chest. It has to be the wine, she thought, holding a hand to her head.
EDI paused for a second. "He says that he is not."
"Good," Shepard said, wiping her eyes. "Tell him I'll be down in a few minutes."
A.N.: I rewrote this chapter three times and I'm still not 100% about it. I decided to post it anyway.
I always thought the scene in Kasumi's loyalty mission where Shepard has that moment with the Saren statue was a missed opportunity to revisit Shepard's ME1 emotions. To me, it implied that even though Shepard is busy with the Collectors and Cerberus and whatnot, they're not really over everything that happened in the first game. There's still something with Saren that's still hanging. It was this moment specifically that inspired this fan fic. Which is why I'm kinda bummed that this chapter didn't turn out as well as I'd have liked.
I went back and tweaked the previous chapters after some advisement that it wasn't very descriptive for people who haven't played Mass Effect. I suppose that's a valid point, since I had written it under the assumption that the people reading would be Mass Effect fans. Hopefully the imagery is a little clearer now.