Location: Blackstar Hotel Bar—New Thebes—Anhur
Liam plunked down at the bar sans-invitation and ordered a Bushmils straight to calm his throbbing head. If Flores had a problem with him occupying the seat next to her, she didn't say so. Instead his captain only looked into the dregs of her glass and watched him from the corner of her eye. Shepard met her gaze but remained silent. The muted yelps of the crew celebrating a successful mission fell to the background as the two of them spoke without words.
When the bartender returned with his drink, Liam stopped him. "And whatever she's having, had or will have, is on me," he said, gesturing to Flores.
That earned him a smirk from the woman herself as a batarian bartender blinked all eight of his eyes and glanced between them before excusing himself. "You sure know how to woo a girl."
"Not just any girl, but my captain," Shepard replied with a wink before downing half a glass in one go. "How're you doing?" Raising his glass, he tried to drink away image of that syringe sinking into her delicate skin.
Dana shrugged and leaned her head on one hand. "Well I'm not growing a third arm so that's a relief." Something on his face convinced her to add, "I bagged the syringe. The techs on the Dub will take it from there."
He nodded and felt himself deflate. The entire confrontation with that maniacal biotic felt surreal. He had never dealt with someone that powerful and it shamed him to know that he was so unprepared. The N7 missions put the most gifted biotics on his side and let him focus on the sniping. But that pathetic excuse still didn't change what happened. He was trained to fight anything and anyone yet he failed tonight. If anything happened to her it was on him and he knew it. Thanks to his ineptitude, Flores had to suffer an unknown fate on top of worrying about her sister.
The liquid courage hit Shepard's system as he leaned close and spoke without thinking."And just how are you really doing?" The murmur of his own voice surprised him. Sitting in her company and asking as a friend was one thing, but actively reducing the space between them with the crew only a few feet away, was pushing the line.
Her eyes flashed with warning, but it must have been the alcohol because the look was gone the moment he saw it. Flores took another sip of her drink and he could swear he saw her shoulders deflate. This was not a topic she wanted to discuss, but she spoke before he had a chance to back off.
"I feel like I'm dreaming." At his quizzical look she elaborated, "I spent months worrying and fighting bullshit...half the time I thought she was already dead and we were just searching for a body." She got quiet and Liam studied her contemplative expression, forever unreadable. It hurt to see her happiness squashed in the span of a couple of hours. Nobody deserved to have family ripped away from them like that, not after worrying sick about their safety for so long. So while the mission was marked as successful, Liam couldn't help but feel a sense of defeat. His only saving grace was seeing her relax in response to his nearing proximity.
"We'll find her," Liam whispered, not sure when he got so close as to brush his shoulder against hers, "she's made it this far, so don't count on her clocking out anytime soon."
The sound of cheers mixed with bits of a narrator's score keeping blended into the background. The soft lighting not only hid them from view, but highlighted her hair to a natural tinge of cinnamon. There was no one else around him but her, no other brown eyes sought his. No other lips opened softly as if to say something, only to close just as slowly.
The sensation of her cool fingers brushing against his forehead stopped him dead. She was so close that he could smell the traces of damp sand stuck to her collar, and felt the sharp intake of breath as her look of wonder morphed into concern.
He cringed at the sting originating from his forehead before the crimson on her fingers caught his eye.
Liam instinctively grabbed her wrist, only to relax when he noticed the absence of a cut. "Your stitches broke. Go fix them up," Flores ordered, before pulling her hand away.
The small cut above his right eye wasn't that big a deal, but Ellie had insisted on stitching it back together. Now it seemed like her handiwork was literally falling apart at the seams.
"Hmmm, think I'll wait for Chakwas," Liam mumbled, resisting the urge to throw caution to the wind and eliminate the tiny space between them as she dabbed a napkin to his head.
"Keep pressure on it," she replied. Liam took over and suppressed a shudder when her fingers slid down his arm as she rose. When the heck did I regress to a fumbling schoolboy?
Maybe it was the speed of what almost happened that sobered him up, maybe it was something else. But he didn't have time to ponder as she smiled down to him for the first time since they lost contact with their attackers. "You did good today, Shepard. Thank you."
"Wait." She stopped and looked to him over her shoulder, but the ringing of his omni-tool cut him off. Sparing a glance at the call display, he sighed and looked up to her, shaking his head"I'm sorry but I have to get this. Have a good night...Dana."
Her brows knit together as something akin to amusement flickered in her smile. "You too, Shepard."
As she walked away, Liam felt the heavy sense of apprehension weigh him down. Dillon was the last man he wanted to talk to tonight, but Mikey was with him and if luck were on his side maybe he could say goodnight to his son.
Taking another chug of whiskey, Liam stared at the holo-projection of Dillon's image above his omni-tool. It would be hard to guess the man was a CEO of anything, the thick grizzly beard, mixed with prominent scars on his face told the story of a man who was born into a hard life. Dillon grew up on Earth but didn't have the luxury of good parents to take him up to space. Learning to survive on gang-land trust, he walked the line between general thievery and hard crimes. But unlike most people of his circumstances, Dillon was slowly siphoning money out of his gangs so that he could start his own company and correct his trajectory. Part of that plan succeeded, but thanks to gang-exposure he was left sitting atop a small fortune that was slowly dwindling thanks to a persistent alcohol & drug problem.
At the time Liam was ready to fight his whole N7 squad in an effort to save this man despite his image. Now sober and supposedly clean, his rugged nature still cast him as a roughneck or logger and not the CEO of Hahne-Kedar Shadoworks.
"You need something?" Liam asked, feeling the surprise register with his once close friend.
"Wasn't sure you'd answer," Dillon said, grinning wide from beneath his beard. It would scare the pants off most people, but Liam knew it was his way of a greeting. "Sasha told me about your call. I'm sorry."
Liam drank his whiskey and tried to figure out what he was getting at. He didn't care about what Sasha shared with Dillon, all he was interested in was his son. "Is there something you need?" Liam repeated.
Dillon took it in stride, gazing down like a whipped bear as he hung his head low. "I thought you might like to speak with Michael. The boy makes a great fisherman, caught a great bass and wants to show it to you."
The glass heading towards Liam's lips stopped mid-way. He had his reservations about this camping trip, especially since Dillon might be tempted to teach Michael how to shoot a rifle. The last thing his son needed was to learn how to kill. "That's great," Liam replied, setting his glass down with shakey hands. "Where is he?"
"Right here." Dillon moved to reveal Michael tending to the campfire and Liam let out a breath. With utmost concentration on his face, Michael Shepard carefully rotated the two spikes of large fish without so much as blinking. The boy was so devoted to the task that not even the crunch of leaves beneath Dillon's boots disturbed him. The sense of pride at just watching Mikey work was too much for words. "Michael, it's your dad!" Dillon hollered.
Instead of rushing clumsily and ruining his handiwork, Michael had the patience to wait for Dillon to take over before smiling into the offered omni-tool. "Dad! I caught two of them on my first try!" the boy exclaimed.
"I see, those look good, buddy!" Liam praised before moving to a quieter place. The majority of the crew was now crowded around a drinking contest and calls of bets and urging filled the air. "Are you enjoying your trip?"
"Yeah!" Michael replied, plopping down on a rock just a few steps away from the campsite. "Dillon taught me how to clean a fish and roast it over an open flame. Tomorrow we're going to tour Elysium's memorial. Dillon says they will build a statue of you, dad. I want to figure out where."
Liam smiled at the curious nature of his son. Michael heard the stories and, like half the galaxy, thought the Skyllian Blitz deserved some sort of celebration. But batarians hadn't cornered the market on villainy and Liam still remembered the darkness of human nature he saw that day. Thankfully none of it was followed by a flashback.
"Keep learning but remember to have a good time too, okay?" Liam said, and Mikey nodded in reply. "Is Faye coming to your party?"
Michael blushed and stalled. Faye was his best friend since the first day of school; While Liam chided their penchant for mischief he was secretly amused with his son's apparent infatuation. Although as the boy got older he talked about her less and less. Gripping his glass in anger, Liam found another thing to hate. All this time out on missions meant missing out on his son's social life.
"I don't know...I invited her though," Michael said, trying and failing to pull off a casual response by avoiding Liam's gaze. His son's look of disappointment prompted him to change to change the subject.
"Well either way, you're going to have one heck of a party. Thirteen is a big deal you know, a few more years and you'll be a man," Liam said, moving towards the chillout lounge. Michael looked a little more hopeful now, green eyes large with a sense of responsibility that would make any father proud. "And wait until you see your surprise," Liam added with a coaxed a huge grin from Mikey and all was well again.
"Dad, are you going to stay for my qualification?" Michael asked, referring to the yearly qualifier round for the junior citadel racing league.
"You bet," Liam replied, "I already paid your registration fee so tell mom she doesn't have to do it last minute again." Michael laughed and nodded again. While he looked really excited and ready to keep talking, the stifling yawns he kept trying to swallow showed that he had survived an exhausting day outdoors. Liam smiled, knowing Dillon's gung-ho attitude about camping. "Alright, buddy. Go eat some food and get some sleep. I'm proud of you."
If it was possible to grin any wider Michael Shepard would have done it. Fighting sleep, he got off the rock and waved goodbye. "Thanks, dad. I can't wait to see you."
"Me too, Mikey," Liam murmured, suppressing the sting at the back of his eyes. Camping, fishing, these were things he was supposed to do with Michael, not someone else. "Let me speak with Dillon again, alright?"
Michael gave the omni-tool back to Dillon and went back to watching the fish. Something in his own expression must have registered, because Dillon moved well out of earshot before saying a word. "Everything alright?"
"Yeah," Liam said, regaining some composure. "Dillon...thanks. For taking care of him and everything."
The burly businessman looked at him blankly, unsure of what to say. Their friendship hadn't been great ever since Sasha decided she didn't want marriage and moved on with his good friend, but he was trying and for that Liam was thankful.
"No need, Liam. That boy knows who his father is and respects the hell out of him. I never want that to change, believe me."
Surprisingly Liam did. Yet as much as he wanted to blame it on the alcohol, he knew he held a genuine shred of respect for Dillon, he just didn't know what to do with it. "You're going to the memorial?"
"Yeah, they have a nice little setup." As if reading Liam's line of thinking, Dillon backtracked. "Don't worry, they put it in the city center and nowhere near where you said they ran that fucked up shit."
"Good," Liam replied, feeling a sense of relief, "just keep him safe."
"You got it."
With that the omni-chat disconnected and the weight of a thousand stones fell off his back. The Alliance promised that the horrible facility would be shut down. The problem was, he had no more faith in the Alliance keeping their word than the batarian slavers who ransacked it.
o~O~o
Location: Holo-communication briefing room—Cerberus Frigate 'Albatross`—drifting the Amun system in stealth mode.
Miranda paced the cavernous interior of the communication room. Each tap of her heel echoed back twice as loud. The room was intended to seat twenty people around an oval shaped desk with a projector in the middle. But Miranda chose to stand, feeling completely unworthy of the executive chairs that remained unoccupied. Others would be fearful of admitting their failure to the Illusive Man himself, but Miranda was not fearful, she was livid. Operative Harris didn't mention Alliance interference, but that was no excuse for the failure of this mission. A Cerberus asset was still at large and Miranda had nothing but a dead operative to show for her first ground excursion. She had been so sure, so content in their advantage that like an inexperienced rookie she underestimated her enemy.
The orange glow from the center of the table morphed into a perfect holo-projection of the Illusive Man.
"Miranda," he said, taking a drag from his cigarette. The greeting seemed more of a formality than a genuine welcome and she had to fight not to flinch under his frosty gaze. "I have some conflicting reports."
Miranda frowned, unable to decide if this was a bluff or some mistake. Deciding to play it safe she humored him with a question. "Conflicting reports?"
The enigmatic leader of Cerberus took another drag. She was no stranger to the waiting game, but his version of it piqued her curiosity. There was only one official report and it was hers. Conflict meant that either she was being replaced or someone was spreading disinformation. Normally she would be one step ahead with some form of warning from her trusted operatives, but with Suraj dead and everyone else on new cell assignment, Miranda had nothing and felt unprepared.
One of the Illusive Man's assistants emerged from the projected background and handed him a datapad. "One report claims that the mission was a success. The other, written by you, points to a different conclusion."
There was only one official report and that was hers, only hers. No one else would have the access or even the permission to submit one to the Illusive Man himself, no one but her.
"This must be some mistake," she said, mentally going over the list of suspects before settling into the empty chair at the head of the table.
The Illusive Man puffed a cloud of swirling smoke and sighed. "Do you want the abbreviated version?"
o~O~o
Location: Office of Lieutenant-General Petrovsky—Cerberus Frigate 'Albatross`—drifting the Amun system in stealth mode.
Oleg Petrovsky loved the peace and quiet of his office. Despite its spartan decor, there were just enough personal items to make it feel like a second home. One of his most treasured possessions was the picture of his grandson, taken on his fifth birthday. Oleg smiled as he recalled the young child's squeal of delight when he spun him in the air. He wouldn't call himself the world's greatest father, but when it came to his grandson he couldn't help but feel pride in his daughter for raising such an earnest young man. It's also one of the reasons why he never objected against her wishes that he leave them be. Yet his birthday was fast approaching, and despite her justifiable wishes, Petrovsky hoped his upcoming attendance would change all of that unpleasantness.
The door opened and his visitor confronted him unannounced. Judging from her body language, few words were needed. Miranda Lawson wasn't known to lose her temper and that legend held true as she stood before his desk with her arms crossed in a relaxed posture that to any trained eye communicated displeasure.
"Can I help you, Ms. Lawson?" Petrovsky asked, feigning ignorance. For all he knew it was mere coincidence that she happened to burst into his office and there was no need to throw a pawn.
"You already have, sir," Lawson said with enough professional courtesy to make him frown. If it were Dima or Sveta, they would have voiced their displeasure by now, yet Lawson was the epitome of tranquility as she waited for an explanation they both knew he didn't owe her.
"Yet you don't look very happy," Petrovsky replied, testing the waters.
"With all due respect, it's not my happiness I'm concerned with, Lieutenant-General," Miranda relayed, still vying to keep things professional. "I understand your fondness for your now rogue operatives. What I can't make sense of is why you didn't inform me of your plans."
"It was of no concern to the mission at hand," Petrovsky defended, resting his chin on the steeple formed by his interlocked fingers.
"I beg to differ," Miranda replied as she closed in on his desk. "Had we known that you've already acquired the Hammerhead from operative Kassel, we would have focused our efforts entirely on Flores."
"Which, according to your report, is precisely what you did," Petrovsky asserted, before waving a hand to the plush chair across from his desk.
Miranda took the offered seat and slowly crossed her legs. "Operative Harris was biding his time, I instructed him to standby and play along because we couldn't risk either graybox being destroyed. Had I known that only one was at play, I would have ordered him to disable Kassel and use him as leverage." She leaned back and laced her fingers before stating fact, "my operative would still be alive."
"And mine would not," Petrovsky countered, ignoring the flicker of confusion in her eyes. "I explained to you, Ms. Lawson, that none of my people should be harmed. I have already lost Jeremy Roberts and I refuse to see more bloodshed over the course of this operation."
"My orders are to recover five grayboxes, sir," Miranda said, her voice sharp and unforgiving. "I understand your instinct to protect your former group..." She stopped, smiled and ran a hand through her raven locks. "No, actually I don't understand why you risked everything and reached out to Kassel while posing as non- other than the Illusive Man. It was a risky move."
"I do not have to explain myself to you," Petrovsky ground out, keeping the timbre of his voice down so as not to lose what shred of control he still maintained. "I did what was necessary and recovered one of the five grayboxes whereas you have yet to show me any progress."
Miranda backed off as the truth of his statement seemed to hit home. "I don't like being kept in the dark, Lieutenant-General," she said in a much calmer tone, "neither does the Illusive Man."
"I'm sure he can speak for himself," Petrovsky chided, as he too leaned back in his seat. What did this woman, this young lady really, know about shadow wars? She was just a baby when he was neck deep behind enemy lines during the First Contact War. "I brought you aboard to keep the operation on a small scale. Instead you bring me a showdown in the middle of a batarian merchant bay."
At least Miranda had the decency to look down and not feed him any ridiculous excuses. Though if he was honest with himself, Petrovsky didn't blame her in the slightest. Anyone partnered with Banes would have a difficult time maintaining control. The fact that there were no civilian bodies during this skirmish only proved how effective her presence was.
"It won't happen again," Miranda promised, with solid conviction burning in her gaze.
"You cannot promise me that, Operative Lawson," he said, rubbing his tired eyes. He was getting too old for this and knew it. "However, the attempt is much appreciated."
Miranda nodded as her gaze swept his office, lingering on the history books on display in solid paper form. Her curiosity tempted him to indulge her in a bit of a history lesson, but something told him that silence was the young woman's attempt of putting him at ease. If so, she was succeeding. They sat for a moment longer before Miranda spoke again. "This is just mild curiosity now, but why approach Kassel and not your former second-in-command Flores?"
At her question, Petrovsky couldn't help but suppress a small laugh. Young people these days entered the shadow wars too early and usually at the expense of experiencing a meaningful relationship. There was no doubt in his mind that Miranda Lawson was skilled in the role of seductress, but her charms didn't come with an emotional understanding of true feelings at play. This translated into a large blind spot where the art of persuasion was concerned. "My dear, please don't take any offence but you truly don't understand a man's heart," he began, pleased to see that her expression remained impassive. "Elena would have never agreed to my proposal, let alone the assertion that someone contacting her through the extranet would be the real Illusive Man."
"And Kassel would?" Miranda challenged in a surprisingly friendly tone. "He's supposedly sharp. His service record is impressive and he's a mechanical genius if the hammerhead concept actually works. Someone like that should have seen through the ruse."
Clevergirl. Petrovsky smiled as her fact-based rebuttal confirmed his earlier suspicions. "A very astute observation, Ms. Lawson. But you forget that we are discussing a man in love. Logic does not apply."
Miranda raised a brow, evidently picking up on his thoughts while letting the curiosity of his knowledge speak for itself. "You knew?"
"I've known of their relationship for quite some time but appreciated their discretion," Petrovsky explained to his newest operative. "Had I offered him merely riches, Mark Kassel would have turned me down."
"What did you offer instead?" She asked, leaning closer slightly. He could see the intelligence gathering happening before his very eyes. The woman seemed determined to learn of every bit of their target's weakness by asking these probing questions. There might be hope for her yet.
"A new life for both him and Elena," Petrovsky said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. When they first started their tryst Petrovsky decided to remain quiet wait out the inevitable downfall, but as the months turned to years it was perfectly clear what this couple wanted with their lives. "It would have been a mistake to try and use him as leverage."
Her eyes narrowed in confusion. "A mistake how?"
"Using him as leverage would have killed your operative Harris sooner rather than later. Operative Kassel would rather struggle and die than risk her life." Petrovsky had known this for years. Whenever they found themselves working in the same lab, Petrovsky noticed how Kassel would position himself between Flores and virtually any volatile object.
Lawson seemed to consider this carefully as her eyes clouded in contemplation. "Well now that we have the contents of his graybox, he's no longer a priority," Miranda said with something akin to relief, but he couldn't be sure.
"Which only makes him a man with nothing left to lose," Petrovsky warned, feeling the strain of his years tug at his heavy heart; this session felt like a betrayal to Flores. But it was just another necessary evil. "Take care to be on guard, Ms. Lawson because as long as Elena Flores is in harm's way, Mark Kassel is your most dangerous enemy. I don't believe any of this has to end with bloodshed so tread carefully."
Even though her mask was firmly in place, Petrovsky detected the slightest ease in Miranda's demeanor. She seemed less severe now, more cunning and even somewhat honored if his senses read her correctly.
"I don't either. Thank you for your time, Lieutenant-General," she replied, and he watched as she stood, still considering his words.
When she was gone Petrovsky allowed himself a smile. Perhaps there would be a happy ending to this unpleasantness after all.