A/N: This chapter is slightly shorter, but we are once again back with Shepard and James. For those of you who appreciated the humour – more will be coming! It's got to be a balance, I feel – this wouldn't be all fun and games, no matter how much fun that would be to write. I also promise that most of the backstory/testimony that appears in this story is important for James' and Shepard's future friendship ( - more?).
Thanks so much to my readers and my reviewers – please keep it up! Nothing makes me happier than hearing constructive feedback.
Chapter Two: Stasis in Darkness
James sits just behind Shepard as the first day of the tribunal draws to a close. That wisp of a woman on stage, it's clear she's a junkie and he dislikes her as much as any person he's never met. As much as he loves humanity – and he does, and not just because they invented huevos rancheros or the football season or action flicks – sometimes, he can't help but realize what pieces of shit human beings can be. Here this woman had the future saviour of, well, fuck, maybe everyone by the time this thing's over – and what does she do? Treats her like a goddamn criminal is what.
That Shepard is, technically, a criminal is fucking beside the point. She wasn't then. She was a kid.
His eyes trace Shepard's back. None of the vids made mention of her colourful past. Sure, there's mentions aplenty that she was born on Earth, and that her early life wasn't exactly a cake walk, but nothing to this extent. Clearly, James has to reassess the Commander. She's still a badass, but now there's this extra layer of respect that she even managed to turn out to be a semi-decent person.
He knows. It's not like his life was terrible – especially not when levied against what he just heard – but, well, after the fiasco with his old man, James is sometimes surprised that even he managed to be mostly okay – key word being mostly, here, 'cause if anyone knows his faults, it's him – and he supposes what he's getting at is, damn, where would they have been if Shepard had stayed on Earth all those years ago?
How did it happen? All this duster in front of them said was that Shepard (Kayleigh, the woman had said, but it just sounded wrong to James' ears after hearing Leigh Shepard for the majority of his adult life) had joined a gang. Obviously, sometime between when Palomer saw her last and Shepard's eighteenth birthday, something shifted.
He's curious. Who wouldn't be? But he knows he's not really in a position to ask Shepard anything. He's her guard, not her best friend. Not even her drinking buddy. Sometimes, days pass where they say only a handful of words to each other. Shepard obviously wants to wait out her confinement in stony silence.
Though he'd never admit it, part of him wishes he could see that camaraderie she had with Anderson – you know, the wisecracking, ass-kicking, ear-burning person that nearly came out to play when the Normandy docked.
"Do you have anything left to add?" asks one of the members of the tribunal. A man. Some admiral or other? James can't remember.
Palomer, she shakes her head, looking falling down tired, like she's about to keel right off her chair.
"Then the court is adjourned."
There aren't that many people in attendance. Brass didn't want this to turn into a circus. Still, a good thirty people stand, Shepard included. Her hands are cuffed in front of her, but today, like every other day, she acts as though they're just an inconvenience accessory. She looks to him.
"Let's get out of here – now," she says, and even though it's an order and she's technically in charge of jack shit, he takes her by the arm and leads her from the room. Her muscles are bunched tight under his hand, and she's chewed her lower lip up. She has the look of someone who's trying real hard not to think of something which means that, of course, it's the only thing she can think of.
Yeah, he gets that.
It doesn't help when there's a shriek of Kayleigh behind them. He can't help but look back and see that skinny little woman hobbling like duster after a dealer which was, you know, almost accurate. Shepard though, she tenses up like a rope, turning around like there's something really bad she just don't want to see.
Palomer stops about a meter and a half away. Just out of reach. Behind her, some guy comes up. He's in nearly as bad shape as she is, his white shirt stained in places and his long hair greasy, but his teeth aren't glowing so maybe red sand isn't his vice of choice. Don't matter – the guy smells of trouble.
"Shireen," says Shepard, and if that's what she sounds like when she's trying to be casual, James doesn't ever want to hear her pissed off. And though her voice doesn't drop an inch, it's ten times frostier when she adds, "Kurt."
To her credit, Palomer is smarter than she looks – not that it means much. She hunkers over her hands, twining them together like a ball of yarn. This Kurt guy seems totally nonplussed, which is a reaction James hasn't seen much when it comes to Commander Shepard. Kurt leans over Palomer, draping an arm around her shoulders, hip cocked. He could be one of those hicks from the vids, prepped to spit chewing tobacco.
"Look at you, all grown up," he drawls, his eyes roaming up Shepard, who crosses her arms over her chest. James isn't the sharpest crayon in the box, and he's certainly not the most observant, but it's his job to watch Shepard, and he sees the tightening around her eyes when she looks at Kurt. A surge of protectiveness floods through his system, and he has to stop himself from standing in front of the Commander.
"I didn't mean to hurt you," says Palomer, her words fumbling out of her mouth like her lips aren't working properly. If she's coming down off a high, probably they're not. "But they asked me to come in, you know, to tell them about you, and how could I say no when it was the Alliance and I mean, you did kill all those people-"
"Is there a point to this conversation?" asks Shepard. James frowns, giving her a significant look that says, Say the word Commander and I'll get you out of this. Her eyes touch on him briefly, but she gives no indication that she understood his unspoken message, so he has to assume she's doing okay.
Palomer falters. ""I – just – how have you been?"
James turns his surprised bark of laughter into a cough.
"Dandy," says Shepard levelly, though James thinks he sees a spark of amusement in his direction. "Well, if that's all, I've got to go." She gestures to James, who dutifully takes her by the arm to lead her away.
"Oh, yeah, of course," says Palomer, shrinking even smaller (if that's possible).
"Wouldn't want to interrupt your incarceration or anything," says Kurt, half-smirk on his face. He squeezes Palomer close to him, and her wiry bird hands cling to his shirt. Something about the whole scene makes James want to punch that expression off Kurt's face and damn, if Anderson hadn't tasked him with being all responsible and shit, he might've done it.
Instead, he says, "Come on, Commander."
She's still coiled tight as they start to walk away, but with every step she gets looser and looser. Can't say he blames her. If he had a family like that – even a fake one – he wouldn't want to be around them either. Luckily, it won't be a problem.
Or at least, that's what he thinks until Kurt, he calls, "Hey, Kay – keep the hair. It suits you."
Shepard's hands clench at her sides, and she increases her pace so that if she weren't several inches shorter than James, he might have to jog to keep up. He has to stay with her – that's his job, right? - but if he didn't, he may have gone back for that punch. Something about the way it was said just made him feel nasty, like he'd been swimming in sewage. Considering the source, he shouldn't be surprised.
They don't say anything on the way back to her room, but there this little frown on Shepard's face that would've been cute in any other circumstance but just makes his chest hurt now. He keys open the door, and Shepard wanders in, standing in the middle of the room, one arm wrapped around her middle and the other to her face. Her room isn't big, but it's not the brig either. She's got a bed, a desk with a small console, a small sofa, a kettle and en suite bathroom. Truthfully, it was nicer than some of the postings James had been on. No, it was nicer than all the postings he'd been on.
Right now, she's staring at herself in the mirror. James wishes that he'd been born one of those guys with the gift of gab, because he can't think of a damn thing to say. Shepard's hands move slowly to the bun at the back of her head. She turns around.
"Lieutenant, do you have an electric shaver?"
He starts, wondering if she's serious. Her expression says she is, so he holds out his hands in apology. "Not on me, ma'am but I could maybe get you one." He pauses, shifting from foot to foot, knowing the rules but hating them. "If you're going to do what I think you're going to do, though – I'll have to. Do it, I mean." She raises her eyebrow at him, and oh god, when did he become a teenager tripping over his own words? "Nothing personal, Commander – it's just that everybody knows how big a techie you are. I'm not supposed to let you have anything that hasn't been officially sanctioned."
She sighs, shoulders slumped. "Jail is so much fun." With a wave of her hand, she says, "Yeah, okay. Just make it happen if you can. Today, preferably."
James knows a dismissal when he heard one so he backtracks out of the room. Just before the door shuts, though, he sees the Commander sink onto her bed, dropping her head into her hands. He feels a jolt of surprise, and then ldecides he's a tool. Of course she'd be upset about the proceedings and the douchebaggery that was – her family? Her past? James doesn't quite know what to call it. It's the first time that he'd ever seen Shepard so... human.
And it's humbling and terrifying all at the same time.
Maybe that's why, a few hours later, he enters her room with an electric shaver clutched in his paws like that (terrible, no really, awful) homemade valentine he gave to Maria Wagner when he was six. Shepard looks up from her computer, startled, but her features settle into a grim resolve as she stands wringing her hands.
"Okay, so, where would be best? The bathroom?" she says without preamble, like it's totally regular for her not only to be incarcerated, but to ask her jailer – and subordinate – to shave her head. James has the impression that life with Shepard will never be dull.
She doesn't wait for his response but wanders into the bathroom, pulling the down the cover on the toilet and sitting expectantly. James doesn't really know what to do with himself as she removes the pins from her hair, laying them around the sink. He had a girlfriend once that did that – it annoyed the hell out of him at the time, because he would invariably send them all flying, these tiny doo-dads that he could barely see never mind find to pick up.
Her hair is long and thick and lighter than he expected somehow, and she's softer in the face with it down. Makes her seem less ruthless soldier and more – James stops that thought where it is. He holds up the shaver.
"You sure about this ma'am?" he asks.
She nods, once. "Abso-fucking-lutely."
He's glad she's sure, because he sure as hell isn't.
James takes that hair in his hands, and he mows it off, strip after strip all while resisting the urge to run his fingers through it. He tells himself he's nervous not because it's Shepard, or because this is weirdly intimate in a way he didn't expect, but because, being honest, Shepard's a woman. Okay, he knew that before, but he's also got enough female cousins to have seen how beauty routines can go bad and the explosive, dramatic mess that follows. While he doubts the Commander's that sort of woman (he'd bet his shorts she's not), you can't really be too careful.
He tells himself the nerves have nothing to do with beauty mark behind her ear or how long her lashes look. No, this is a totally professional shave between jailor and jailee. Right.
To take his mind off it, he says, "If you don't mind me saying so, Commander, those two today... Well, you deserved better, is all." Shepard hums softly, not quite agreement but not a shut down either. James barrels on, not able to stop his hesitancy, "You know, my old man was a duster."
"Oh?" Shepard cranes her neck around and James is forced to stop shaving.
His free hand goes to the back of his neck, scratching at an invisible itch. "Yeah. Found out just after I enlisted."
Shepard holds his gaze a long time, then slowly turns back around. "My sympathies."
James shrugs, even though she can't see it. "Not looking for sympathy, ma'am. Just – listen, I don't really know what went down with you when you were a kid. Not any of my business anyway. Just saying that it's fucking impressive you managed to turn your life around, to get away from all that."
He's rewarded with a short snort. "I got less far than you think, Lieutenant."
"That why we're giving you a buzz, ma'am?"
She shrugs, but James can read a definite yes into that silence. It makes him wonder, but like he said, it's none of his business. He runs a hand over her head, brushing away any little hairs that might be left. All in all, it's pretty good. Not going to win her any awards in beauty pageants, but she's a real and proper jarhead again. She surveys the damage in the mirror, turning her head back and forth presumably to make sure that he didn't miss anything.
"Looks good," she says, and exhales deeply. There's something like a smile on her face. "I feel more like myself again. Hair is so hot and heavy, you know?" She runs both her hands over her new stubble.
There's nothing halfhearted about his own smile. "Yeah, me and my luscious locks, Commander. Thanks for noticing."
Shepard rolls her eyes into the mirror. "You know what I mean." She plants her hands on her hips, and she's more in control than he's seen her since she was taken into custody. "I'm like a whole new person."
"I certainly hope not," says James, before he can stop himself. Under the weight of her surprise, he feels the back of his neck grow warm. "What with the Reapers coming, we need you to be you. The Commander Shepard who kicked ass and took names, yeah?"
She pulls back then. Not physically, no, but there's a coolness that washes over her. "If I'm even allowed to fight," she grumbles, pushing past him to retrieve a small broom from the other room.
"When the Reapers come knocking, nobody's going to have time to play politics, Commander," says James, shoving his hands into his pockets.
Her bark of laughter is sharp and bitter. The way she looks at him makes him feel all of five years old, and he hates it. "Oh Lieutenant, I wish I believed that."
She sweeps up her hair and tosses it into the trash without a second glance.
o-o-o
It's about a week later when James finds himself in the cafeteria eating a BLT and making eyes at the leggy barista. He can't help his grin as she glances up at him through her lashes, a coy smile playing on her lips. He's about to man up and talk to her when his comm beeps. Stuffing down his annoyance, he answers.
"Hey," he says.
"Vega." It's Anderson, and James immediately chooses to forget all about his annoyance. In fact, he's already standing, wrapping his sandwich up in preparation. "Shepard's got a visitor."
"You need me to let him in?"
"No, no, he's already been admitted," says Anderson, sounding slightly concerned. "What I need you to do is go and make sure there aren't any... altercations. You don't need to stand guard – Shepard's more than capable – but I do need you to interject if things start to get heated." The newly appointed admiral sounds strangely reluctant to go into details.
"She in trouble sir?" asks James, already busting his ass out of the cafeteria towards Shepard's quarters.
"Honestly? I don't know. Better to be safe than sorry."
"If you don't mind me asking – who is it?"
Anderson's voice is both weary and concerned when he says, "The only other survivor from Akuze."
Next Chapter: Toombs gives his deposition on Shepard.