Kelly Chambers never expected to hear from Shepard again, so when a Shadow Broker agent 'acting on the Commander's behalf' arranged a meeting, she was both pleased and alarmed.
By now, the whole galaxy knew that Shepard had been at the Bahak system and that the entire cluster had gone dark. It was popularly supposed the relay had been destroyed.
And yet, here they were, using a hotel room on Illium as a meeting place. Chambers had no doubt that the room had been carefully swept for monitoring devices and, for once, she didn't have any to be detected.
"Chambers." Shepard nodded once, her expression lined with concerns and…
…pain. Fear. Grief. Remorse.
It was the expression Chambers supposed anyone with a conscience would wear after having wiped out hundreds of thousands of people. She found the miasma of negative emotions reassuring: it contradicted the supposition that Shepard had finally gone crazy and executed some kind of revenge for Mindoir.
"Shepard. What can I do for you?" Shepard looked surprised, as if she thought she'd been very discreet. Chambers smiled at her. "Shepard, I'm a psychologist. I'm was also part of Cerberus. And you don't like either very much. Though I'm glad you don't mind me."
"You're one of my crew."
That was Shepard's way of saying that, should the time come, Chambers could count on her help getting away from Cerberus. "We're not here to talk about me, are we? I have to say, I was surprised when a Shadow Broker agent not only contacted me on your behalf, but set all this up," she motioned to the locale.
Shepard said nothing, but the silence implied that the agent in question owed her a favor.
"So what's so important that you'd blow a favor from an intelligence organization just to see me?"
"I don't remember you being this astute," Shepard noted.
Chambers chuckled, then walked over to the bar. Shepard had already made it clear it was open, should she want anything. "You didn't need me to come across as astute. And it would have made observing you and the others more difficult."
"You're Machiavellian, Chambers." There was respect in the tone, and little signs of self-disgust that she, Shepard, had somehow miscalculated her crewman.
"I am." It sounded like something Operative Lawson would say. "Is this about the Bahak Incident?" Chambers asked, pouring juice over the ice in her cup before preparing one for Shepard as well.
"Sort of." Shepard seemed to stall, unable to gracefully come to the point.
"If you wanted to talk, you'd have talked to Vakarian, or Tali'Zorah. If you wanted to be blamed you'd have gone to the Alliance. So there's something else that makes you willing to talk to me in a professional capacity." Chambers handed Shepard one of the drinks.
Shepard produced a datapad. "I need you to give me a field psychology test. Make sure everything upstairs is…okay."
Chambers looked at the datapad, which had a biometric seal on it. Clearly Shepard had not investigated her previous results, so as not to influence the current iteration. Chambers did not ask why, but she didn't have to. Shepard's posture screamed that something was wrong.
Something was wrong enough to frighten her. Chambers sipped her drink, forced herself into an attitude of casual calm, and sat down in the comfiest chair near the couch. The overlook of Nos Astra was beautiful, but something she could ignore. "Come sit down. Or sprawl, whatever's comfortable."
Shepard didn't sit, merely stood beside the couch. "I was exposed to Reaper tech for a prolonged period of time. And from what I understand brain scans aren't going to tell me anything."
"Oh…I see." Chambers swallowed, unlocked the datapad, scanned through the contents. "All right. I'll do what I can. I do need you to try to relax, though, so we'll start with some very basic, very easy questions."
Shepard nodded, her lips pursed, eyes occluded.
"I need you to be honest."
"I want a conclusive answer, Chambers. False data returns false findings. I don't want that."
Fair enough. The simple fact that Shepard did not seem concerned that she, Chambers, would share this session with anyone, was flattering.
Or maybe she had faith in the loyalty of her crewmen. Goodness knew that Shepard had a right to expect that much, at least. "Okay, let's have your name."
Shepard gave it with military precision.
The background questions went over easily, though Shepard did not volunteer additional information, despite the questions becoming increasingly open to elaboration.
That wasn't surprising. Shepard could get one-tracked when in pursuit of a concrete answer.
Unfortunately, Chambers couldn't give her a concrete answer. These things were never that simple. However, as the session went on, Chambers found that she could at least reassure Shepard. There was nothing in her responses that varied from her last psych evaluation.
The evaluation took hours—it had to, Chambers knew, in order to wear down resistances and leave the subject in a state tired enough to let out unguarded answers. Everyone, even someone with nothing to worry about or nothing to hide, tried to guard their answers.
No one liked having psychological evaluators grill them; it afforded an outsider an intimate look at the subject being reviewed without any kind of friendly association to buffer the scrutiny.
"Well, I've gone over everything I possibly can. I don't see any meaningful deviations from your last evaluation. The only thing I'm worried about is your ability to bounce back after…" she trailed off tactfully.
Shepard, who had eventually sprawled on the couch, got up. "So I'm okay?"
"As far as I can tell you're fine," Chambers got to her feet, locked the datapad, and handed it to Shepard. "I worry as part of my profession, Shepard, and as far as you're concerned, I'm not worried. Which is rather odd, now that I think about it."
Shepard smiled ruefully. "Good. Thanks, Chambers."
"What now?"
Shepard looked out the window. "Legal proceedings."