He had been waiting for the admiral for quite some time now. The skycar was ready to take them to the Citadel Tower, as informed by the asari C-Sec officer assigned to them today. Four long days of negotiations had passed, and they seemed to be barely making any progress. The admiral was growing increasingly impatient with all the bureaucratic bullshit, and Kaidan could see it in his eyes.
The Council had turned out to be just another circle of hell filled with endless pompous speeches that lacked real substance. Shepard was tired of wasting time, not just his own, but his people's. The admiral wasn't sure if the turians were just as disappointed with the slow pace of negotiations or if it was a deliberate strategy on their part, in coordination with the Council, to derail the whole thing. He told Alenko that he wanted to cut through the red tape and get straight to the source. His plan was to speak with the Primarch in private. No Council members, no assistants. An unconventional approach for turians, no doubt, but if successful, it might provide him with some insight into which direction the wind was truly blowing.
As the admiral was finishing going through Alliance reports in his study, Kaidan stood in the living area patiently waiting for his superior.
The Council graciously offered Shepard and his daughter luxurious accommodations in the very heart of the Presidium for the duration of their stay. The other members of the human delegation, as well as Shepard's staff, were provided quarters in a nearby building.
Now standing on the first level of the admiral's apartment, Kaidan looked out through its panoramic windows that offered breathtaking view. Skyscrapers, unlike anything found on Earth, soared toward the skies, their metallic facades gleaming in the soft light of the artificial dawn. Flashing neon signs were gradually fading as the station moved from night to day. It was early morning on the Citadel, a cauldron of activity and life that never truly ceased. And Alenko couldn't help but marvel at the spectacle before him, a testament to the ingenuity and ambition of the galaxy's most advanced civilizations.
He caught a hint of movement behind him and turned around.
She was a vision, walking down the stairs, still sleepy and yawning. Her blond hair cascaded in wild, tangled waves, a disheveled remnant of the night. Her eyes were half-closed, and she stumbled slightly when she reached the main floor to make her way into the kitchen. Barefoot and dressed in a t-shirt that barely skimmed her thighs, she moved with a natural grace that made his chest tighten. Good god, she was beautiful.
She passed by, stretching, and Alenko felt a surge of affection all too familiar to his heart. Her sweet and grumpy kind of look tugged a smile to his lips. Kathreen was clearly not a morning person, and he relished the rare glimpse of her like this.
She hadn't noticed him. Should he say something? She was half-dressed and right in front of him. He probably should. But he stayed rooted in place, unable to say a word.
She wandered into the kitchen, feet padding softly against the floor, moving on autopilot. Opened the refrigeration unit and rummaged through its contents before pulling out an apple juice pack. Her expression shifted to a frown, and she muttered a quiet curse under her breath. Damned apple juice. She hated apple juice. Kaidan's smile widened despite himself.
He knew he should leave, that lingering was inappropriate. But the sight of her in this unguarded moment held him fast, and he couldn't bring himself to look away.
When she reached for a glass, his smile faded. The movement pulled her t-shirt higher, revealing a flawless tight bottom in black laced panties. Kaidan's throat went dry. Her slender form arched in a way that drove his thoughts spiraling into forbidden territory. His gaze lingered longer than it should, sending unmistakable signals to his groin. Kaidan swallowed hard, trying to regain control. Shit. This was getting out of hand. He had to remind himself where he was—and who he was with.
She poured herself some juice, yawned, took a sip and made a face. Glancing around the kitchen, she suddenly caught sight of him standing in the living area.
"Good morning, Kathreen," Alenko finally found his voice.
She flinched, her expression briefly clouded with confusion as though she couldn't quite place where she was. Then, recognition lit her violet eyes, and a flush of crimson spread across her cheeks.
"Major," she muttered. "What are you doing here?"
Kaidan forced a smile, praying she hadn't noticed how his gaze had lingered. "Just… enjoying the view." The words were out before he could stop them, and it was his time to be embarrassed.
An awkward silence followed.
"Well," she said at last, her lips curving into a nervous smile. "I hope you found it worth your while."
Her attempt to lighten the mood fell flat. Kathreen perched on a kitchen stool, hoping the counter might offer some cover. It didn't. She tugged at her t-shirt, trying to hide more, but the fabric only clung tighter, accentuating every curve. Kaidan's pulse quickened, his eyes betraying him as they traced her silhouette. The awkwardness of the moment grew, thick and heavy, as neither knew quite where to look or what to say next.
"Oh good, you're up," the admiral's voice rang out as he entered the room, footsteps firm and deliberate against the floor. "Sorry to keep you waiting, Major."
Alenko straightened instinctively in the presence of his superior.
"My God, Kathreen," Shepard said, his tone sharp as his eyes fell on her. "Could you wear something more appropriate when we have company?"
"Sorry," she mumbled, gaze flitting between her father and the major. "I thought you'd already left."
"Just had to go through these reports once again," Shepard sighed putting a datapad on the counter. "The turians are pushing back hard on Eletania. They claim historic mining rights."
Kathreen paused, her embarrassment forgotten. "What about the colonial settlements?" She leaned forward to peer at the data. "They can't ignore the fact we were there first."
"They're not ignoring it," the admiral replied grimly. "They're using it as another proof of our 'aggressive expansion.'"
"But that's ridiculous," she said, pushing the half-filled glass to him across the counter. He accepted it with a grateful smile and took a sip. "We had no way of knowing it was their territory."
Kaidan watched the transformation. Gone was the shy, flustered young woman, replaced by the admiral's daughter—sharp, focused, and deeply invested in the peace process despite her civilian status.
"You should have seen their Admiral Oraka the other day," Shepard continued. "According to him, our ignorance of galactic law doesn't absolve us of responsibility."
"The same old tune," she scoffed. "They can't expect us to just give up Eletania. Tell me you have a plan."
Shepard finished the drink and smirked, "I just might. Ready, Major?"
Kaidan was snapped out of his observations. He'd seen this interplay between them so many times—the way Kathreen matched her father's strategic thinking, step for step. It never failed to captivate him.
Clearing his throat, he said, "Yes, sir. The skycar is waiting."
"Good," the admiral replied, then glanced at his daughter. "Don't forget, we have that meeting at the Hanar Embassy at seven."
She gave him a small, confident smile. "I remember. Don't worry. Liam briefed me thoroughly."
She adjusted her posture with mock seriousness, recalling the overly meticulous way Shepard's staff officer had coached her through the nuances of hanar etiquette—every last bow, flourish, and proper form of address not to insult their ancestors or gods.
"Ah yes," Shepard exhaled heavily. "At least they're neutral in all this."
"That remains to be seen," his daughter said with a wry smile, standing from her seat. The admiral frowned, ready to chastise her for the state of undress, but she was faster. Kathreen walked over to him, leaned in, planted a gentle kiss on his cheek, and winked. "Have a great day, Admiral. Slay them all."
Before he could respond, she turned toward Kaidan, her confidence wavering for just a moment when their eyes met. She hesitated, gave Alenko a slight nod, then dashed upstairs, her bare feet tapping lightly on the staircase.
The admiral let out a sigh and shook his head, face softening at his daughter's affectionate gesture. He gave a resigned look to the major. "I swear to God, sometimes she just drives me crazy..."
Kaidan remained silent, his gaze lingering briefly on the now-empty stairs. He knew exactly what the admiral meant—perhaps even more than Shepard realized.
Admiral Shepard slouched slightly in his chair, exhaustion evident in every line of his face. They had spent most of the day locked in heated debate and the endless loop of accusations and deflections, the list of unresolved issues seeming endless. Territorial boundaries. Prisoner exchanges. Military de-escalation protocols. Shared research initiatives. Diplomatic immunities. Resource allocations. And, inevitably, the bitter and tangled matter of reparations—a topic that consistently reignited tempers on both sides.
Shepard had remained largely silent, letting the others argue themselves hoarse, his focus drifting between the words and the subtle cues that revealed the true feelings in the room. Hackett, his tone sharp and unwavering, finally cut through the din, his words directed at the turian delegation.
"The Alliance believes that given the circumstances of this conflict's origin, the Hierarchy bears a significant responsibility for the damages incurred."
Septimus Oraka slammed his fist on the table. "Preposterous!"
Castis Vakarian subtly shifted his stance, a low, resonant hum vibrating in his chest, offering the turian admiral a quiet reminder to stay composed.
"Call it whatever you want, Admiral," Hackett continued. "But you can't deny that your shoot-first policy cost thousands of innocent lives."
Oraka's eyes narrowed. "And what of turian lives lost? How do you account for the devastation your forces caused in our space?"
The chamber descended into chaos, with delegates from both sides uttering accusations and counter-accusations. Councilor Tevos's voice rose above the clamor. "Order! We will have order in these chambers!"
As the noise subsided, Sheppard took a deep breath and said, "Perhaps we should start by acknowledging the losses on both sides."
"How do you mean, Admiral?" the Primarch sounded uncertain but curious.
"Both races suffered immensely, Alliance is willing to agree with that. Reparations is but a part of a bigger issue of accepting the blame for all our mistakes. If we could find a place or point we both agree was devastating and… misguided. We could build on that."
The room fell into a heavy silence, the weight of Shepard's words settling over everyone. Faces turned inward, reflecting on memories too painful to voice. The pause stretched, heavy and expectant. Garrus exhaled quietly, then finally broke the stillness.
"Shanxi," he said. "It was... a turning point for both our peoples. Neither side emerged unscathed. Perhaps in acknowledging our shared pain, we can find a path forward."
Kaidan's voice was tight with barely controlled emotion. "You speak of shared pain when it was your forces that decimated our colony. When it was turians who ventured on human territory, lured Alliance ships into a trap." Shepard cast a warning glance at his major, as he knew the toll that battle had taken on the younger man. The admiral hoped he would not cross the line to make it personal and was vexed to see Kaidan doing exactly that. "When it was your squad that killed my people."
Garrus's mandibles flared in anger. "Orders are orders, Major. You of all people know how it works. Weren't you following yours when you dismembered my men? Severed limbs are a painful way to go."
"Enough!" Primarch's dual tones cut through the tension. "The admiral is right. It is issues like this one that we need to address." He turned to Shepard. "Shanxi could indeed be that place and point you were referring to. It's a wound that has never truly healed for either side."
Shepard nodded. Castis leaned forward, his expression thoughtful. "What do you propose, Admiral?"
"A joint memorial," he said, voice gaining strength. "On Shanxi itself. A place where both humans and turians can mourn their losses and commit to a peaceful future. A reminder of the cost of our misunderstandings."
The proposal hung in the air, neither side immediately rejecting it. Garrus and Kaidan exchanged a long look—a decade of conflict and mistrust would not be quelled that easily by a narrow point of agreement.
Kaidan spoke first. "A memorial won't bring back the dead."
"No," Garrus agreed. "But it might help prevent more names being added to the list."
Primarch Vakarian nodded slowly. "It's a start. A small step, but perhaps a significant one."
Shepard's attention shifted as movement in the corner of the chamber caught his eye. The ashy-gray sculpture, perfectly still for most of the session, seemed to stir. A faint sneer twisted Saren's face, a perpetual reminder of his disdain.
Irritating, as always, Shepard thought, but at least the Specter remained silent—for now.
Primarch Vakarian brought him back to discussion at hand.
"Let's talk about trade," Castis said. "There are mutual benefits to be gained, despite our... history."
Shepard nodded, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. "Agreed. We have unique resources and technologies to offer each other. The Alliance has made significant strides in mining and agriculture that could benefit the Hierarchy."
Councilor Tevos spoke smoothly. "Perhaps we should focus on compliance with interspecies trade standards first. It's crucial for galactic stability."
Shepard frowned slightly, noting the sudden shift in topic. "I suggest we focus on the general direction and trade opportunities between our species."
Sparatus nodded. "Of course, but the Councilor raises a valid point. Any trade agreements must align with established galactic practices."
The Primarch's mandibles twitched in frustration. "I believe we should negotiate principal terms first."
Valern spoke up, his large eyes blinking rapidly. "Of course, but consider the long-term implications. We must ensure that these agreements don't inadvertently destabilize existing trade networks."
Shepard felt a growing sense of unease. The Council's interjections, while seemingly well-intentioned, were steering the conversation away from concrete progress.
"What about tariffs?" he pressed, trying to refocus the discussion. "The Alliance is particularly interested in fair rates for eezo imports."
Castis nodded. "We're open to negotiations, provided we see similar considerations for our military hardware exports."
Tevos raised a hand. "Let us not forget the environmental impact of increased trade. The Council has recently implemented new regulations on interstellar shipping emissions."
The Primarch's patience was visibly wearing thin. "With all due respect, Councilors, these are matters the Hierarchy and the Alliance can address once we've established our primary trade agreements."
Valern blinked rapidly. "But surely you see the interconnected nature of these issues? We cannot separate economics from culture, environment, and security."
As the conversation continued to spiral into increasingly tangential topics, Shepard felt his frustration mounting. He could see the same sentiment reflected in the Primarch's rigid posture.
The Council's interjections, while couched in terms of galactic stability and long-term planning, were effectively derailing any chance of real progress on the matter. Shepard recognized the subtle maneuvering for what it was—a calculated effort to maintain the status quo and protect the Council's interests. By bogging down the talks in bureaucracy and secondary concerns, they were preventing any significant shift in the galactic power balance.
The day dragged on, and Sparatus finally called for a much-needed recess. Delegates began to filter out, eager to stretch their legs and vent their frustrations, and it was then that Shepard caught Castis Vakarian's eye in the hallway. "Primarch," he said quietly, "may I have a moment?"
"Of course," the turian leader nodded as they both stepped aside to the panoramic windows.
"I don't know about you, Primarch Vakarian, but I'm less than pleased with the progress we are making at these sessions. The rigidness of the process is slowing us down, the unwillingness to compromise is something our two species simply cannot afford…"
"Admiral," Castis cut him off with irritation. "If you are implying that the Hierarchy has been less than honest in its intentions here, that we are advisedly stalling the talks, I assure you—"
"Not at all," Shepard rushed to clarify. "You misunderstand me. I believe that it is the Council who are stalling. Whatever the reason, and I'm not saying it is malevolent, their rigid bureaucracy seems to interfere the second were are reaching an understanding."
Shepard chose his words carefully, as he wasn't sure whether the Primarch would agree. Castis Vakarian was a shrewd and intelligent leader, a skilled diplomat. The admiral simply could not tell for certain if he was not in collusion with the Council. The turian's intentions could be whatever the Hierarchy wanted them to be, let alone the fact the person of his stature could have an agenda and ambitions of his own. And so Stephen Shepard felt like he was treading on broken glass.
The Primarch was silent for a long moment. When he finally spoke, his tone was pensive, "I must admit, I tend to agree."
The admiral relaxed his shoulders, as if the turian had lifted a heavy weight off them with just that phrase alone.
Castis continued, "The Citadel Council was never a robust and fast-paced body. It is a deep and cloggy swamp. And I have probably wallowed in it too long to even notice at this point."
Shepard gave him a genuine smile unlike all the previous ones that were nothing more than simple tokens of diplomatic courteousness.
"However, we are here at their complete mercy, Admiral. Without an option of changing their rigid—as you called them—tactics. There is nothing that I or the Hierarchy can do about it. It is as it has always been and always will be."
The Primarch moved his shoulders in a turian equivalent of a shrug, yet the human admiral did not seem to be discouraged at all. If anything, his smile got even brighter, exposing more of his blunt teeth. A hint of mischief touched his eyes, to the utter surprise of the turian.
"Then perhaps we could circumvent this needless intermediary and take the matter into our own hands," Shepard said with a conspiratorial glance, voice lowering.
Primarch's sub-vocals rumbled with confusion. "What exactly are you proposing?" he asked carefully. He wasn't sure he would like the answer. What was the human up to?
"Nothing much," Shepard replied, his tone suddenly light, as if the words he'd just spoken had never left his lips.
The way the humans could change their expression, their whole demeanor, in a split second, puzzled the Primarch. Dozens of micro-expressions too slight, too rapid for a turian to decipher. And so Castis waited for the Alliance military leader to say what it was that he was saying before rushing to make any judgements.
"I believe now more than ever that we need to speak privately, Primarch," Shepard said simply. "I propose a dinner."
"A dinner?" Not what Castis expected, not at all.
"A closed gathering at my residence at the time of your choosing. No Councilors, no assistants, only your people and mine. An honest talk. The way it should be."
Vakarian studied him for a long moment, not sure what to think. Was it some kind of ruse? Surely, the human knew that if the Council found out, it would raise some eyebrows and brow plates, and not in a good way. Direct bypassing the Council? Regardless of what Castis thought of their efficiency, it still went against every protocol. What was Shepard hoping to achieve? A double play, a decoy, some hidden agenda?
Looking at the human's seemingly open face, the turian leader could not help but wonder if the admiral wanted exactly what he said—an honest talk.
And for the life of him, Castis could not find a reason why he, the Primarch of Palaven, should deny him that, should be opposed to do exactly what he came here to do—ensure peace for his people. And so, for the first time in what seemed like forever, Castis Vakarian thought, To hell with protocol.
"Very well, Admiral," he finally spoke, his blue locked onto the human's brown. "I am willing to try."
Those words were everything Shepard wanted to hear. He nodded, relaxed. "I'm glad you accept, Primarch. I understand how my human approach may seem unorthodox to you."
"To say the least," Castis smirked.
"Perhaps, away from these chambers, we can find some common ground."
Castis nodded, his peripheral vision noticing the lingering figures of his and Shepard's people, who were awaiting their return for a final hour of the session. "I shall check my schedule and let my aids contact yours shortly."
"Splendid," Shepard exclaimed with a grin, clapping the turian's shoulder in a way that felt a bit too direct and familiar to the Primarch, yet seemed oddly appropriate. Castis blinked, surprised, then gave the human a small smile. He is a strange one, the turian thought, feeling an odd sense of affinity towards the male.
The turian leader spent the rest of the session in thought. Despite his wish to trust in human's words, he couldn't shake the feelings that he was being played. He watched the admiral across the table argue with Sparatus on something Castis lost track of and his mind wandered. Shepard was an experienced Alliance officer, a cunning diplomat, and a charming leader. Was the Primarch of Palaven getting under his spell? Or was the admiral genuine with his intentions? Castis simply couldn't tell. But he also couldn't allow his own desire to see the talks through and emerge triumphant for his people to cloud his judgement. He had to remain vigilant, always scrutinizing humanity's actions for their true intent, never taking anything they say or do at face value. He knew the full extent of their mind games, manipulation, and subterfuge.
Yet, as he observed the people around him, a fragile hope persisted. And perhaps the human was right after all, the real test would come not in the grand Council Chambers, but in the quiet conversations and personal connections formed beyond their walls.