Author's Note: So, I kind of posted this in a rush and forgot the author's note I wanted to add.
So, Bladhaire is so totally uber-wicked-awesome, and has posted this lovely little one shot based on Del and Liara. You should so TOTALLY check it out. http:/www . fanfiction . net/s/7767251/1/Music_for_the_Soul
Fave and rave! Now, on with the show!
Noon heat on Tuchanka was miserable. Even the wind that moaned in low, ghost-like voices through the washes and broken canyons brought no relief, each brush of its touch against skin simply the blast of a furnace.
Like great scars in the rock and dirt, deep cracks had opened, the remnants of some ages-ago earthquake, or tectonic reaction from large weapons during the Rebellion. Mostly eroded with sand, the wide cracks posed many hazards…well rounded rock suddenly changing to sharp, broken edges, and seemingly solid ground revealing only sink-pits of drifted dirt that threatened any unwary footstep.
The figures in beige were not krogan, far too small and lithe for that race. Their suits were form-fitting, revealing feminine curves. Hoods bound around their heads, dust-goggles and rebreathers keeping out the almost constant pelting of sand and dirt, but doing nothing for the heat. The color of their garb blended almost perfectly with the rocks they moved along.
Eír crept along the stones and broken boulders, taking care to stay out of the open land of the crevasse so as not to misstep into one of the sand-drifted pits. Her goal was to stay out of the blasts of wind, to remain as hidden as possible.
Across the small canyon Shrive was doing the same, moving nimbly along the landscape. Then the elder asari paused, Eír doing so a moment later.
Soft sounds could be heard ahead, snuffling grunts. Eír, eager to get the first kill of the hunt, edged forward a bit more, straining to see.
A small herd of strange creatures were gathered in a wide-spot of the crevasse, taking advantage of the shelter to avoid the worst of the noon sun. Like most creatures on Tuchanka, they were scaled and well-plated, their low heavy heads thick with bone, with tiny eyes that were rudimentary at best. Their front legs were nicely clawed, their back end thick and powerful. As Eír spotted them she saw one sit on its haunches, lifting its fore-body into the air and stretching an impossibly long tongue into cracks along the walls.
She had only a small caliber rifle and a knife. Risking half a glance over at Shrive, she saw the older girl trying to move to a better vantage point without alerting the herd. Eír grinned, and carefully sighted her rifle onto the standing beast.
Just as she pulled the trigger, it withdrew a tongue coated with insects and dropped down again to enjoy its snack. The shot whined off the rock where its head had been moments before, and instantly the entire herd alarmed and bolted. Amazingly fast for such dense, heavy beasts they scattered. Gritting her teeth, Eír let off another shot at a fleeing set of hindquarters, missing again. Determined not to let them escape, she jumped down off the rocks and ran along the canyon floor, her hand lighting up with blue fire as she flung it forward.
One of the beasts bleated in alarm as the biotic bubble surrounded it, lifting it high in the air. Letting out a breath of relief, Eír grinned behind her rebreather, turning her head to look at Shrive as the older asari reached her side, pulling off her mask and goggles.
"Let it go," she ordered. Eír blinked at her in surprise, then scowled.
"No, I got it fair and square," she protested.
"No, you didn't," Shrive said sternly. "Vilkol have no biotics, Eír, and no way to counter biotics. You do it no honor or justice. Put it down."
"It's mine!" Eír said angrily. "What honor or justice does an animal deserve? I am smarter than it is and I caught-"
She stumbled as a light wave of biotics shoved into her, hitting her hard enough to cast her down into a sit. She lost her concentration, her own biotics dying. The bubble around the suspended vilkol vanished and the animal fell to the ground, scrambled to its feet, and was gone.
"What is wrong with you?" Eír snarled, jumping back to her feet and glaring murderously at her teacher. "I had it!"
"You still understand nothing," Shrive replied sternly. "You use your biotics for everything, Shrive. You cannot do that. You must learn to walk before you can run."
"But I know how to run! Why shouldn't I?"
"You may know how to run, Eír but you do not know how to look where you are going. You will run right off a cliff before you know it is there, because your pride blinds you. On its feet, a beast has a chance to run, to fight, to change its own fate…a chance that every living creature deserves. To hold one helpless and kill it is as good as shooting a pet in a cage…there is no honor, no strength, only cowardice. If you cannot kill a creature fairly then you don't deserve to kill it at all."
"And guns are fair?" Eír asked, flabbergasted. "The vilkol cannot shoot back at us either!"
"No, but guns miss. Its plates are thick and may deflect a bullet if it is not placed exactly right. It has a chance to run or to fight, and escape if it is fast, strong, or clever enough. It cannot do any of those things, however, if it cannot move. If you hold it suspended you can then shoot it and shoot it until you accomplish the kill. Its death is then not chance but inevitability, helplessness. Only cowards kill that which is helpless."
"I am not a coward!"
Shrive's narrow gaze was inscrutable. "Eír, you are strong. Your biotics are strong, the strongest I have ever seen. But as I have said so many times before, strength alone is not everything! What happens if you cannot use your biotics? What happens if you are injured, or if you have exhausted their use? What happens if you are cinched? What then?"
"I…what is 'cinched?'" Eír asked, having never heard the term. Shrive looked vaguely troubled, then shook her head.
"I can explain when we return to camp," she said matter-of-factly, then let out a sigh as she looked up at the sun. "The vilkol's alarms would have scared all game away from this area for a kilometer in each direction, and the day is growing hotter. We will go back to camp now, try again in the morning."
Readjusting their mask and goggles, the pair of asari headed back to the small camp they had made that morning before dawn, when they had first arrived on the plains for their hunt. Buhto and the boys had departed for their hunt some thirty kilometers to the north at the same time, but here it was just Eír and Shrive.
The cave was set into the side of a deep wash that had long ago dried up. It had been used as a hunting camp for two centuries. A well had been sunk far into the ground and provided water from a deep underground river. Cracks in the rock also reached this river and so the cave itself remained cool and a little humid as a result. Accessible by only one narrow path it was an easily defensible location, something krogan insisted upon.
They had left their supplies in the cave before they had departed to hunt. As they returned, the cool shade descending on them felt like balm. Eír removed her head coverings, taking a deep breath in appreciation, mopping the sweat from her face. Though they had walked in silence the last hour to return here, she had not forgotten her interest.
"What is cinched?" she asked, even as Shrive removed her own gear. The elder asari went to her bedroll and her packed belongings. Fishing in her bag a moment she came out with something strange, something Eír had never before seen.
It was made of flexible jointed metal, each piece about an inch wide and less than a centimeter thick. It formed a continuous loop, half again as large as an average belt. As well, she drew out a small device she held in the palm of her hand. Still crouched over her bag, she lifted the jointed loop so that Eír could see it.
"This is a cinch," she told her. "They are ancient devices, predating the Protheans. Their technology is much like that of the mass relays. They have proven…impossible to reproduce. There are only a dozen known in the entire galaxy. Pray that in battle your opponent is never in possession of one of them."
Eír moved over with curious interest, sitting down nearby, her eyes fixed to the 'belt'. "How is it you have one?" she asked. "What does it do?"
"Grandfather Frek gave it to me. His father discovered it during the Rachni Wars. We cannot know for certain its original intent. It is possible it is a slaving device, or an instrument used in torture."
Setting down the smaller device in her hand, she held the links over her palms. "As you see, it forms a continuous loop, but the joints can be displaced."
Closing each hand she pulled apart, and the loop severed along the crease between two joints. Pausing a moment, she then carefully narrowed the gap in between them. When it got within a few inches of itself, the two halves leapt together and refused. Lifting it, she offered it to Eír.
"You try."
The device was light and cool in her hands, the shining metal as smooth as silk. She stroked it a moment before taking hold of it as Shrive had done, and pulling.
Nothing happened. Grimacing, she strained harder, then harder still, until her muscles were bulging, her clenched teeth bared. Still, nothing happened. The links refused to separate.
"I can't," she panted as she loosened her grip. Shrive plucked up the tiny device at her feet, and then set it on the ground before Eír.
"Touch that, but do not pick it up. Then try again."
Wrinkling her nose in confusion, Eír touched the small cube. In the brief moment of contact she could feel a tiny distant vibration, like the ghost of a hum. Then she took hold of the loop again. This time, it separated at the lightest tug.
As she snapped it back together, Shrive picked up the cube. "This device controls the cinch," she explained. "Only the last person to have touched this device can undo the cinch, or control it."
"You still have not explained what it does," Eír accused. Shrive lifted a brow, then took the cinch from Eír's hand and straightened. As the other girl got to her feet as well, she separated the links, dropping one end to whisper against the floor. Without warning, she suddenly lashed her hand out.
In a flash of light winking off metal, the cinch snapped out and wound itself around Eír's arm, the links sealing again and holding the device on her tightly. Startled, Eír took a step back, looking at it.
"You cannot remove it," Shrive told her. "I could wind it about your neck, about your waist, any limb, and it will immediately lock. Now. Try your biotics. Hit me with your most powerful slam."
When Eír hesitated Shrive shook her head. "You will not be hurt. Neither will I. Go on."
Drawing on her biotics, Eír gathered the energy and then flung it toward Shrive.
Nothing happened.
She blinked, looking at her hands, then tried again. She could feel the power gathering, feel it flowing through her. She drew it up and then flung it toward Shrive again.
Nothing happened.
"Look at the cinch," Shrive instructed. Eír glanced down at the band hugging her arm like a serpent, and saw the joints were now glowing blue.
"The cinch captures any biotic energy and immediately charges itself with it," Shrive told her. "Kind of like a battery. It can hold a tremendous amount of power…a thousand more of those attempted shocks. So long as it binds you, you are biotically helpless.
Eír's brows knit, and for a moment she wondered if this all wasn't some kind of trick, that by pretending to use instruction, Shrive had rendered her completely helpless and unable to fight.
Clearly the older girl saw her thought process on her face.
"What you are feeling right now, that helplessness? That is what I meant earlier," Shrive told her. "Your biotics are only a single tool in what should be an arsenal. Even now, you should be able to disable or even kill me. You should be confident in your strength, your cunning, and your reflexes to defend yourself even when so shackled."
"Are you going to leave me shackled?" Eír asked warily.
Shrive said nothing, only lifted a brow, and for a moment Eír was certain that was exactly what the girl intended to do. That thought was banished, however, as the older girl reached forward and unfastened the cinch, allowing it to slip away from Eír's arm. The younger asari rubbed the places it had gripped idly, taking a step back from it. The cinch was still glowing.
"Now this is what I meant by torture," Shrive murmured. Turning, she cast the cinch across the cave floor, and narrowed her eyes at it, the cube in her hand again.
There was a biotic flash, a bright, forceful expulsion of blue energy that trembled the cave floor. When it faded, the cinch was again dark. As Eír blinked the afterimage away from her eyes, Shrive went over and picked it up again. "All the biotic energy it has charged within can be released at once…even while it is on a victim," she murmured, regarding it almost sadly. "Or it can be released in tiny doses, at the whim of whomever holds the cube. All that biotic energy strikes inward, at the one cinched. A large enough release can kill. Small releases cause pain relative to the amount willed by the captor."
Staring at the expression on Shrive's face, Eír realized something that made her cold. "You know because…someone used it on you."
"Yes," Shrive said calmly, looking up from the device to her pupil. "My mother."
"Matriarch Misira tortured you with that cinch? Why?" Eír was shocked, horrified at the thought.
"Because I asked her to," Shrive responded. "You cannot overcome something unless you are faced with it. I wanted to learn how to fight even through pain, to not lose myself to the agony of a wound or fear of torture. By feeling it, I took charge of it, controlled it, became its master. It will never have a hold on me again."
Eír looked at the cinch in the other girl's hand, her lavender eyes darkly brooding a moment, before they lifted to Shrive's gaze.
"Teach me," she asked, holding out her arm.
Shrive searched the gaze of her companion deeply a moment, then nodded. Whipping the cinch out again, she snapped it around Eír's outstretched limb.
"Remember, the pain does not control you," she said. "You are stronger than it, more powerful. You can overcome. Now, charge the cinch."
Eír drew in her biotics again, attempting yet another slam. The cinch immediately began to glow. She started to try another one but Shrive shook her head.
"One is more than enough for our purposes," she said. "Now focus, concentrate. I shall let only a little out at a time."
Eír took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as she centered herself. After a moment, she nodded. "Do it."
It was like a white hot flame lighting every nerve ending in her body at once. It lasted less than the space of half a heartbeat, there and then gone again, but the momentary force of it made Eír gasp. Trembling, she took a step backward, her mouth suddenly feeling dry. Shrive said nothing, and after a moment Eír took another breath, then nodded.
"Again."
Another lance. Her nerves, apparently still sensitive from the first, screamed at her. As before, it lasted barely a breath before fading away again. This time, she gave herself less of a pause before ordering, "Again!"
Another strike. A cry grit out from her teeth, sweat breaking on her forehead. Her glare was almost feral and barely had the pain started to die than she snapped, "Again!"
Shrive obediently hit her again. Then again at her request, until the jolts came so close together one had no time to die out before another was hitting her.
It was unbelievable. Every cell of her body seemed to be aflame. Muscles strained, sweat trickled down her face, panting cries escaping the clenched prison of her teeth. She had no idea pain like this even existed.
She had collapsed down to her knees, spilling forward onto her hands. Tears spilled down her cheeks, but her eyes flashed up toward Shrive when the agony started to die. "No…more," she insisted. "A-again…"
"Are you su-"
"I will b-beat this," she panted, cheeks and nostrils flaring with each rapid breath. "Again!"
The pain returned, rising to insane levels. She let out a cry, barely aware of herself as she collapsed onto her side, every muscle fiber clenching spastically at once. So hot did it burn she didn't at first realize it had stopped. The world was swimming, slanting away into darkness as she saw Shrive's face looming over her.
Then nothing more.
"Commander Shepard and Garrus Vakarian have returned aboard," EDI announced. Turning away from her conversation with Hawthorne, Miranda looked forward from the CIC as the pair strode in from helmside.
"Commander," she greeted, walking over. "We just received notification that your Spectre status was reinstated. Apparently your meeting with Anderson went well."
"I'm not in chains, so well enough," Shepard agreed. "I have to be a good little girl, however, and restrict myself to the Traverse until this mess is over."
"Oh. Well, that shouldn't be too difficult. We-"
The rat, which had been curled up on Shepard's shoulder, half-dozing beneath her hair, suddenly poked its nose out, scenting the air eagerly. Miranda caught sight of it and suddenly seemed to teleport instantly six feet away, one hand gripping the edge of a console as if she expected to be sucked out a hull breach.
"What is that?" she asked, trying to sound stern though her eyes betrayed her discomfort.
Shepard lifted her brows slightly, then reached a hand up and drew the rat off her shoulder. "It's a rat, Miranda," she said evenly. "I saw her cute little mug on the Citadel and got her."
"It's a rodent," Miranda protested, her grip not having loosened on the console. Kelly, drawn from her station by curiosity, moved over with a soft 'awww'.
"Can I hold him Shepard?" she asked.
"It's a her, and sure," she replied, passing the small animal over to the yeoman. As Kelly cooed over it Miranda scowled.
"Rodents do not belong on starships, Commander," she protested. "If it got loose it could get anywhere. Chew through wiring…short out EDI."
Shepard shrugged. "This ship is far more advanced than a fourth-gen garbage scow, Lawson, and even those have vent infrared and rodent-proof clamp-doors in any accessible space. Even if she did get out, she'd get about four feet into any vent or access-way before the sensors would catch her and lock her in. Even rats can't chew through steel."
"The Captain of the Francois Maid has guinea pigs," Chambers supplied helpfully. Miranda shot her a withering look.
"Fine," she said at last. "Fine, just…I don't want to see it."
"Fair enough," Shepard replied, taking the small animal back from Chambers. "I'll try and keep her out of your way. Has Goto settled in?"
Miranda finally realized she was still holding on to the console and loosened her grip, folding her arms. "Yes, she's on board. Took up residence on the starboard observation deck."
"Good. I'm going to go and have a word with her. Kelly, did my packages arrive?"
"Yes ma'am, just a few minutes ago. They've been taken up to your quarters."
"Thanks. Miranda, if you don't mind putting us on a course for the Hourglass Nebula? And send a message to the warden of Purgatory that we're on our way, get exact coords. We should be there tomorrow."
Miranda only nodded, stepping back against the console as Shepard strode past toward the lift, rat still in her hands. Watching her go as well, Kelly walked over to the Cerberus XO.
"Bit afraid of rats?" she asked gently.
"I don't like rodents," Miranda defended. Kelly shrugged.
"Nothing to be ashamed of, ma'am. Many people do not like rodents. Myself…I hate spiders. Most insects in general, actually. Had Shepard come on board with a tarantula you'd need a ladder to scrape me off the ceiling."
Miranda shook her head, still scowling. "It shouldn't be on board."
"Well, think of it this way," Kelly replied. "It's been medically proven that pets help relieve stress, increase focus, provide motivation. You know as well as I do that Shepard needs all the stress -relief and emotional support she can get. This is a positive step for her, therapeutic. I think it's great."
Miranda's soft hum revealed she had her doubts, as she continued to look toward the closed lift. "She seems a bit…cheerful to me," she admitted. "After T'Soni's good-bye letter I expected a repeat of the target practice in her room, or for her to get utterly plastered. She…seems to be taking it rather well."
"You're afraid she's taking it a bit too well," Kelly commented. Miranda glanced at her.
"When are you speaking to her next?"
"Tonight," Kelly stated. "Since we'll be en route to Purgatory she should have some down-time."
Miranda nodded, then gestured. "I expect a full report, of course," she said. "For now, go…go wash your hands. There's no telling what that rodent got all over them."
"She's adorable," Kasumi said, lips curving in a grin, her fingertips playing through the rat's whiskers as it perched on her knee. Capturing one finger with her tiny pink hands the animal began to groom it with intent sweeps of her tongue.
"Miranda doesn't think so," Shepard replied, pouring herself a drink at the tiny lounge bar nearby.
"What are you going to name her?" Kasumi asked, gently extricating her finger from the rat's paws, and lightly scratching her behind her ears.
Shepard shrugged, turning to lean back on the bar as she took a sip of her drink. "Dunno. I don't think I'm very good at naming things. I just keep calling her Rat."
"You'll think of something," the thief replied, then gestured at the other half of the low sofa. "Please, sit. We have much to talk about."
Moving over, Shepard sat down. As she did, the rat abandoned Goto's knee, trucking down her leg before bounding up Shepard's side and back onto her shoulder. It made Kasumi smile.
"Don't tell me animals aren't smart," she commented. "She already knows where she belongs."
"If only it were so easy for the rest of us," Shepard murmured.
"Amen to that," her companion agreed, before she hugged her knees to her chest. "Well, you wanted me to tell you about my favor. I'm trying to acquire a very important item."
Shepard looked over at her across the rim of her glass. "You want me to help you steal something."
"Not precisely. It would be more accurate to say that I want you to help me steal something back. I used to have a partner, Keiji Okuda. Do…you know what a greybox is?"
"Vaguely," Shepard admitted. "Black market tech."
"They're devices planted directly into the brain that can record and store information, even memories," Kasumi told her. "Both Keiji and I had greyboxes installed a while back. Then a man named Donovan Hock murdered him and took his greybox."
Shepard sat up a little, brows knitting. "I'm sorry," she murmured. "Why would this Hock want his greybox? What was on it?"
"I'm not entirely sure," Kasumi admitted. "Something important enough for Hock to kill him over it. I need to get it back before Hock manages to get past its encryption and retrieve whatever data is recorded on it."
"And that's where I come in."
"Hock is powerful," Kasumi told her. "He's a weapons and art collector, more than half of which is black market stuff. He's also a paranoid criminal. There are government treasuries on some planets that don't have the security he does. Even so, it would be simple…were I completely anonymous to him. Unfortunately, he knows my name, knows that Keiji was my partner. He's expecting me to make an attempt to get the greybox. He'll be counting on it. I need an angle, and a heavy hitter, if I'm going to get Keiji's greybox back. He won't be expecting you."
"I'm like the Spanish Inquisition," Shepard smirked lightly around her glass, before taking another swallow. "So what's the plan?"
"I'm still working on that," Kasumi admitted. "I have his home location but as I said, we need an angle…preferably a quiet one. We can't just storm in, guns blazing. Subtlety is required."
Shepard snorted. "I'm hardly what most people consider subtle."
The side of Kasumi's mouth lifted in a grin. "I doubt you are entirely without finesse," she said. "A special forces marine? Any soldier knows that it isn't all about who has the biggest gun. You have been trained in subterfuge, shadow ops…espionage?"
"True," Shepard admitted. "Though it's been a goddamn long time. All right, Goto. I did make you a promise. You get the plan laid down and just let me know what you need from me."
"I should hopefully have a more concrete idea of what we're going to do within the next few days," Kasumi told her. "I…appreciate this, Shepard. This means a lot to me."
Shepard nodded, regarding the woman from the corner of her eye. She had an expression on her face…faint, but unmistakably there. It was a look Shepard had seen on her own face more than once since the Normandy had gone down. After a moment she leaned forward, setting her now empty glass on the small table nearby. "Keiji wasn't just your partner, was he?"
"No," Kasumi admitted. Though dry, her dark eyes were faintly gloss as she looked up at the commander. "Have you ever lost anyone, Shepard?"
"Yeah," Shepard replied, then wiped a hand over her face, making a helpless gesture. "Couple people."
Kasumi nodded her understanding. "Then you know why I need to get this greybox back. It isn't just classified intel that may be on it, whatever it was that got Keiji killed. His memories are there as well, the last pieces of him left to me."
Shepard reached up to her collar, tugging out the gold chain with its tiny cross. She rarely took it off, but usually kept it under her shirt. "This is all I have from one of them. Nancy. She…well, she helped me through some dark shit. Guess you could say she was the only real mother I knew. Her son was my best friend when I first joined up with the Alliance. I lost them both."
"I'm sorry, Shepard," Kasumi said gently. "Accident?"
"No. Paul was murdered," she said, tucking the cross away again. "Nancy was taken by the Collectors. Her, I'm going to find and bring home safely."
She could feel the weight of the thief's eyes on her, and cleared her throat. "Well, anyway. Depressing shit. Not important. Um…tomorrow we should be meeting up with a prison ship. They've got some crazy powerful biotic in custody I want for the mission. Apparently, Cerberus is willing to pay an astronomical amount of bail to get her out and on the team. If you don't mind, when we make the retrieval, I'd like you along."
Kasumi smiled. "Taking a master thief onto a prison, Shepard? I can taste the irony from here."
Shepard grinned a little. "Yeah well. Should be a simple enough bag. Hard part is the money and someone else is paying that so all we have to do is pick her up. Seriously, it'll be fucking boring."
"Thank you then for including me in your mundane errand," Kasumi teased.
"Yeah, well…Miranda won't let me hear the end of it if I go on board alone and I'd like to weigh you in a bit more. Get you stretching your legs a little. Besides, my kind of luck…at some point, there'll be running and screaming."
What she didn't tell Kasumi was that she hoped they'd have a short amount of time to talk aboard the Purgatory…away from the prying ears and spy-cams of Cerberus. She didn't dare discuss Liara or her continuing search for her on board the Normandy.
"Well, could be interesting," Kasumi admitted. "I've gotten in and out of a few prisons before, but…never one in space. Might be neat to see it."
"Good. Well. I'll leave you alone. Welcome aboard."
She offered her hand, and Kasumi sat forward, taking it with a smile. As the Commander left she settled back again, turning her head to look at the stars. It was going to be interesting, working with a whole team of people for a while. Kasumi was used to working on her own…that is, before Keiji. And though her heists were often full of adventure and intrigue, being part of such an operation was…titillating. She'd never gotten the chance to be part of something really big before.
She couldn't wait.
"You ever been in love before?" Shepard asked, leaning forward across the small table in her quarters as she poured another finger or two of whiskey into Chambers' glass. The last third of a cigar burned between her teeth, but Shepard had shed her hat and untied her hair. Still falling nearly to the middle of her back, her hair had only the slightest wave to it, the contribution of her Native American heritage making it all but perfectly straight. It was remarkably thick, however. The kind of thick most women would kill for.
The black strands draped over her cheeks and threatened almost constantly to fall into her face. She shook them back with a mildly irritated flip as she sat back, ashing her cigar into the tray nearby.
"A few times," Kelly admitted. "Nothing serious. Of course, some would argue that if it is not serious, it's not love."
"Hmm," Shepard agreed, and let out a stream of smoke on a thoughtful breath, her eyes far away.
"What about you?" Kelly asked. "I mean, before you met Dr. T'Soni. Was there ever…anyone else?"
"This is the psych profile coming out, isn't it?" Shepard smirked. "Let me see if I can't quote it."
She leaned back a little, looking toward the ceiling as she gestured grandly with her cigar. "Shepard, Delilah S. Subject suffers from marked Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and possible borderline personality disorder stemming from lack of proper socialization during formative years. Has trouble forming relationships and displays a lack of emotional commitment. Anger issues are marked but directionable. Subject shows an extreme aptitude toward strategy and wide-angle thinking allowing her to make use of her own environment during combat scenarios. Extremely single-minded when given a task, subject can be depended upon to push until the task is concluded. Despite psych disorders, subject is extremely stable, rational, and poses no threat to the security of her team or her ship."
"That's pretty impressive," Kelly smiled. "And a bit strange, don't you think?"
"What, that I memorized my last psych profile?" Shepard asked.
"No. That it says you have trouble forming relationships and that you display a lack of emotional commitment. I don't think that's the case at all. It may take you time to trust someone, but you are fiercely devoted and loyal once you do."
"Well, we are talking about Alliance shrinks here," Shepard told her, picking up her whiskey. "Talk to them five minutes and they think they have you all figured out."
"You are also dissembling," Kelly pointed out, taking a sip of her own drink. "Trying to distract me from the question I asked…which you still have not answered. Was there anyone else that you had a romantic connection to, prior to meeting Dr. T'Soni?"
Shepard glowered a little, stumping her spent cigar out a bit more firmly than necessary in the tray. "No," she said.
"You're lying."
Shepard said nothing, only tossed back the rest of her whiskey and watched Rat weaving her way through her new play tubes connected with her environment.
After a moment, Kelly nodded. "I understand," she said. "None of my business."
"Cerberus really put you on as my yeoman just to try and get inside my head?" Shepard asked after a moment. "Keep me from going bat-shit motherfuck on everyone?"
"Not entirely," Kelly told her. "This is an extremely high-risk mission, Shepard. It is my job to keep tabs not only on you but the entire crew. Stress like this can cause any number of problems and every personality handles such things differently. Vakarian, for example, throws himself into work, as does Ms. Lawson. Joker uses his sense of humor as a defense mechanism, his arguments with EDI an outlet to his fear."
Shepard looked at her, flipping an annoying strand of hair back again. "And what about you? What does Kelly do?"
"I concern myself with everyone else," Kelly replied with a faint smile.
Shepard smirked, refilled her glass. As she leaned over and refilled Kelly's as well, the yeoman gestured to her hair. "Why have you not gotten it cut yet?"
"I don't know," Shepard said honestly. "I keep intending to, just haven't yet. Stupid as fuck not to when I can expect to see combat. Maybe I'll cut it tomorrow."
Lifting her glass she held it out to the yeoman in an offer of toast. "Here's to the Normandy and her crew," she said. "The sorriest bunch of angry, shit-mouthed, OCD, broken-hearted workaholic fuck-ups in the entire galaxy."
Kelly smiled, tinking her glass against the Commander's. "To the Normandy," she murmured. Shepard gave Kelly a grin, lifting her glass to her lips.
"Scariest part?" she said before she downed the whiskey. "We're gonna be the ones to save the fuckin' world."