The Soul Behind The Name - Chapter 17 (pt. 1)

Title: Mass Effect - The Soul Behind The Name: Chapter 17 (Part 1)
Author: Reellifejaneway2 (Joanna Knowles)
Game: Mass Effect Trilogy
Characters/Pairing: Kaidan Alenko & FemShep (Kira Shepard)
Disclaimer: Mature Themes (language). Mass Effect and all its characters are the intellectual property of Bioware/EA. I'm just a fangirl and I can't let go...

“Kaidan – over here!”

I look around to see Joker standing close to the front of the queue. I slip past the mixed groups of patrons – some Asari maidens in slinky dresses, a team of Turian officers on shore leave, a huddle of men and women in brightly coloured garments – and here’s me, standing in line in a pair of jeans and a leather jacket. I suddenly feel comparatively under-dressed.

One Turian growls as I bump past his elbow. “Watch it, Human.”

I hold up my hands in protest, apologising profusely. Joker, unperturbed, reaches for me and pulls me to the front of the line. He slaps me lightly on the shoulder when I finally reach him.

“You made it!” The pilot exclaims, his green eyes sparkling in excitement. “Would you take a look at this place? Look at all those colours!”

I lean over and sneak a glimpse around the doorway. Vibrant shades of light dance across the polished floors, casting a faint sheen of colour across the concrete pavement.

“How did you get us in?” I query, shooting Joker a perplexed glance.

“The name Normandy still has connections” is the only rejoinder I’m offered before Joker displays his ID to the bouncer. I’m next, and before I’m fully aware of what’s happening, the pilot’s hand comes to rest on my shoulder, steering me toward the entrance.

To be entirely honest, I’m still not sure why I’m here. After the day I’ve had, there is nothing I want more than to be at home in my dingy little apartment, watching an old vid and shutting out the noise of the city. There is a tell-tale heat building up at the base of my skull. Torturous claws occasionally thrust into my brain, sending spasms of pain down through my limbs. I know that I won’t last long here – I’ll have one drink with Joker and then I’ll be on my way.

At least, that’s my plan. Knowing Joker we could end up staying here until two in the morning playing Quasar and exchanging stories about the Normandy... And her commander. It had been an old routine between us when we had first started out on the SR1. Whenever we docked at the Citadel, Joker and I had arranged a run to Flux. Garrus became a regular addition to our party once he joined the crew, and on occasion Shepard would join the fun with some bad dancing and karaoke. Sometimes we had even persuaded Pressly and Adams to come along. But when Shepard died the first time, we left the tradition alone.  It didn’t feel right anymore. The one time I did let Garrus and Joker persuade me to come out again, it had been for a melancholy night of drinking and self-pity.

I shudder to think back to it.

It wasn’t until two years later – after I rejoined the Normandy SR2 – that Joker, Garrus and I had rediscovered our little tradition. Purgatory had been a favourite then, and Shepard, who had a newfound affinity for whiskey, had decided to add to our festivities. There had been so much laughter and friendship back then. Perhaps for Joker, Garrus and I that hadn’t changed. But when Earth had been lost, and when the Crucible fired... our worlds fell apart.

But I don’t want to think about that right now; I’m trying to save those memories for later when I have time to sit down and write. I have bigger problems. Problems such as dealing with a thirsty, gossip-hungry pilot – and not letting anyone surreptitiously swipe my credit chit from my pocket.

Joker steers me over toward a booth at the far end of the room. We navigate through a throbbing crowd, the heady rhythm stirring old memories inside me as we go, and out of instinct I look for Shepard’s face among the crowd at the nightclub. Reality hits me for the millionth time – she’s not here. But at least I still have friends in this room.

“Joker, Kaidan.” Garrus rises from within a plush red leather seat and smiles at me. Well. As much as a Turian can smile, anyway. His mandibles flicker with unspoken delight. “I was wondering if you boys were ever going to turn up.”

“Shove it, Vakarian. This cripple just navigated through a crowd of drunken revellers without breaking a sweat – or a bone,” Joker retorts blithely, his mouth curving up into that memorable grin. “And Alenko here is going to shout me the first round of drinks as a prize – aren’t you, Alenko?” He elbows me, and I pre-emptively slide further back into the booth to avoid more strikes from those pointy joints of his.

“I already ordered,” Garrus intervenes on my behalf, taking in the surprise on my face with shrewd amusement. “Relax, Kaidan. You’re off the hook.”

Joker leans in, “Until next round.”

I throw my hands in the air. “What did I do to you?”

“You were late,” The pilot hisses, folding his arms and smirking knowingly. “Where were you? I had to hold our spot in line for half an hour without you. Do you know how many times I had to plead with the bouncer, how many times I had to play the disability pity card?” He turns to Garrus and holds up a hand to emphasise the point. “And I’ve only ever had to do that three times in my life by the way.”

“Sorry, I... I was busy.” My brow twitches and I rub my temple with cool fingertips.

“Busy?” Garrus’ brow plate lowers marginally, his pincer-like eyes boring into my forehead. His pupils sweep across to glance at my fingers, before returning back to study my face. “Judging by the scrape on your palm I’m guessing not the good kind of busy.”

“Yeah, uh, it’s a long story.” I bite my lip when an Asari waitress strolls over to our table, passing around some glasses. I retrieve a mug of beer and take a hesitant swallow. Suddenly my throat feels constricted knowing that two sets of sharp eyes are firmly settled on my face. “I had a run in with someone,” I finally admit.

“What!” Joker chokes on his beer and glowers at me across the table. “And you didn’t think to tell us?”

“He just got here, Joker. Relax,” Garrus chimes in, the sub harmonics in his voice mounting to match the mood at our table. “What kind of run in? Do you need back-up, Kaidan?”

“Back-up?” I moan, instantly regretting that I mentioned anything. I don’t need assassins trailing me for protection. “Guys, it’s fine. I’m here and I’m in one piece.”

Before I can offer any further explanation, a richly-accented, memorable voice interrupts us.

“Hola, compadres.” I glance up to find James Vega looming over our table, the flashing spotlights making his bulky muscles appear almost hulk-like. “Hey,” He exclaims upon spotting the drinks, “You started the fiesta without me? You wound me, Major.”

“I only just got here myself,” I return, sliding further to the left so the younger man can take a seat. “Thanks for coming, James.”

“The Major here invite you along to share in the good times, Vega?” Garrus drawls.

“Good to see you too, Scars. Alenko said he had something he wanted to show me. Hey, I found somebody else hanging around outside – I hope you don’t mind.” The young N7 recruit signals to somebody behind him. “Figured our fiesta could use a little bit of zesting up.”

I rub my head as the heat of my migraine threatens to grow. I’m not entirely sure who I was thinking I would see, but the sight of the grizzled old mercenary sauntering over to our table was not quite what I was expecting.

“Glad you could make it, Massani.” Garrus stands up and clasps hands with Zaeed. “It’s been too long.”

“Yeah well, when you called earlier it sounded like you could use some half-decent company at this bloody get together of yours.” Zaeed sits down beside the assassin and waves at the waitress. “So is this a goddamn reunion bash or what?”

“At this point it’s turning into an interview.” Joker crosses his arms and frowns at me from beneath the rim of his cap. “We were just about to put the screws to the Major here...”

“Don’t drag me into your interrogation. I’m just here for the drinks.” Vega shoots me a mischievous grin. “But if the story involves Asari strippers, count me in.”

“There were no Asari strippers,” I groan. “And there will be no interrogation! It was just a minor misunderstanding.”

“Uh oh – that spells trouble,” Zaeed’s gaze narrows. “We all know ‘minor misunderstanding’ is code for ‘kicked your sodding ass’. Nobody at this table is buying your goddamn cover story, Alenko. So spit it out.”

“Thank you, Zaeed. See? Somebody around here needs to get through to you,” Joker persists, his lips pinching into a thin line. “Because if anyone is trying to kill you, Kaidan, then—”

“Joker!” I warn him with a flick of my eyes toward the crowd. “Not so loud. Anyone could be listening.”

“You’d better start at the beginning,” Garrus suggests, shooting a glance in the fuming pilot’s direction. “Tell us everything.”

After a reluctant groan, I do exactly that. I take them back to the start of my day, recount how I went to see Doctor Chakwas for my medical appraisal, and then, stepped out into the street only to be shoved in front of a skycar. The two men’s eyes widen significantly at that turn of events. But it’s the discovery of Shepard’s doppelganger that has them intrigued. Joker’s mouth falls open when I whip the aged family photograph out of my pocket and lay it on the table.

“Wait a second, so this was in the back of Shepard’s old journal?” He arches a brow and strokes his stubble-lined jaw. “Up until now I didn’t even know she had a journal. Or a photo of her family. How old is this?” He turns the picture over, studying the date on the back.

“I thought Lola lost all her family on Mindoir,” James enjoins. “Are you telling me that some hermana is running around out there with Shepard’s face? That’s loco!”

I shrug, “It’s the only explanation I can think of right now. Unless anyone here has a better idea?”

“A clone?” Garrus offers tentatively. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

James frowns. “Yeah but Cerberus only made one clone. And we all know how that ended.”

“Guys, this woman wasn’t a clone.” I shake my head adamantly. “She had green eyes and her hair was almost scarlet; Shepard and her clone were both auburn. But her voice was nearly the same, and her smile was identical. I’m telling you, this woman has to be Shepard’s sister.” I tap the picture, pointing to the face of the younger girl in front.

“All of this is doing my head in.” Zaeed indicates for the waitress to bring another round of drinks.

“Shepard’s family died on Mindoir,” Garrus interjects once more. “And up until now I didn’t even know she had a sister. So how can she be here on Earth? And why didn’t we hear about this woman before now?”

“That’s a good question.” I take back the photo and slip it into my pocket.

“The relays were only opened two months ago,” Joker offers. “It’s possible she caught a transport since then. The question is what is she doing here?”

“That’s goddamn obvious.” Zaeed sets down an empty shot glass and snorts. “She’s looking for her sister. With Shepard’s face plastered all over the bloody vids—”

“Then it wouldn’t be hard to track her last known location back to London,” Garrus finishes the thought.

The table falls eerily silent now. The deep thrumming music stirs me after a long moment, and I shake myself out of my reverie.

“So what do you suggest I do?” I cast my eyes around the table, taking in four concerned faces. “Until now we didn’t even know she existed. We know what she’s looking for, and we can guess where she is likely to look next.”

“She can’t know, Kaidan.” Garrus’ mandibles flare and his talons clasp his glass tightly. “It’s a security risk.”

Zaeed’s blurry eye settles on my face. “Last thing we need is goddamn impersonators strolling in claiming their Shepard’s long lost relatives. Who knows what else they’ll be bringing with them. Grenades? Poison?”

 “But what if... I mean,” Vega flounders when all eyes turn on him. “What if she just wants to find the one person she has left?”

“Think about it, Vega.” Garrus taps his glass contemplatively. “The galaxy hasn’t heard anything about Shepard since the Crucible fired. So why is this ‘sister’ here? She can’t possibly think she’ll find Kira Shepard alive and well.”

“Guys, I don’t even know her name.” I lean back in my seat and shrug. “I can’t find a reference to her anywhere in the journal, and with the Alliance information network still under reconstruction, it’s going to be difficult to find out who she really is or where she came from. We’re blind here.”

Joker picks up a coaster and starts flexing it back and forth between his palms. “Unless... Unless we take this to the Shadow Broker.”

A deathly silence falls.

I grimace. “You think she might be able to answer our questions? Find out who this ‘sister’ really is?”

“It’s worth a shot,” Vega adds, shrugging. “What have we got to lose?”

I let out a pent-up breath. “Everything.”

“But what if we lured her in?” Vega insists, leaning forward on his forearms. “We could talk to her, find out what she wants. We have the answers she’s looking for; maybe she can give us something in return.”

My breath catches in my throat. “No, Vega. It’s impossible. And we’re not going to tell this woman anything different to what the rest of the universe has already heard. There’s too much at stake, and I’m not going to risk what little hope we have left on even the slightest chance that this woman is working for the enemy. Agreed?”

The others exchange knowing glances, and then nod simultaneously.

I sigh heavily and cradle my pounding head in clammy hands.

“Are you alright, Major?” Joker asks.

“I... I think I need to get some air.” I stand up and step past James. “Thanks for the drink, guys. I just need some time to figure all this out.”

“Just make sure you don’t get ‘misunderstood’ again,” Garrus warns in a low tone. “The streets are dangerous at this time of night.”

I grin weakly. “I’ll be fine.”

I turn to leave, but Zaeed’s voice stops me.

“You know, Alenko, I can see why Shepard trusted you.” He steps across to me and puts a hand on my shoulder. “You went through a lot together. I’m sure she’d appreciate that you’re still looking out for her.”

Tears sting my eyes. I am speechless, startled by this display of consideration from the grizzled older man. After a moment, I nod and choke out a reply: “I just wish she were here to see it.”

And then, with a wave in the direction of my old squad-mates, I stroll out the door into the cold night.

---2186---

I take a sip of my coffee and pull a face – it’s gone cold. Glancing at the clock above my desk, I suddenly realise that I have been reading these surveillance reports for much longer than I first thought. It’s almost three in the afternoon and I remember sitting down at about midday...

I haven’t eaten since six in the morning.

My stomach verifies this thought with a violent protest and I push myself up out of my seat.

I’m greeted by the heady smell of hot take-out when I open the door to my office. I grin when I see Lieutenant Barrett making his way toward me, holding a box in each hand.

“Afternoon, Sir,” He says with a grin, extending the food toward me as an offering. “I was just about to knock on your door.”

“Good timing,” I smile back, happily receiving the offering. I breathe in the warm scent, my mouth instantly salivating as I recognise the smell of Mongolian Beef and Chicken Satay. “You got my favourites. Thank you, Barrett.”

“It was no problem,” The younger man returns, then cocks his head in the direction of the rest of the squad. “We’re all just exchanging notes. Would you like to join us?”

I nod in acceptance, following the Lieutenant toward the break room.

My ‘students’, as they are still fondly dubbed by Alliance Command, have been operating out of this office at HQ for almost six months now. After Shepard was transferred back to Earth, the squad received orders to follow suit – thanks to Anderson’s efforts to ensure that Operation Safe Haven would continue. Vancouver has been our base ever since.

For me, at least, the transfer was a welcome one. I had been operating off space stations and cruisers for two years. To have my feet back on home turf was a pleasant change, and to be able to stare out over English Bay again... Well. It has brought back lots of memories.

I can still remember coming home after BAaT wound up. It had been one of the darkest times in my life – the sting of Rahna’s rejection, the questioning sessions in that cold interrogation room, the mixed reactions from my old friends after the Alliance shut the facility down – but stepping off the shuttle and feeling that sweet, cool wind brush across my face somehow helped wipe away a little of the bitterness. It would take another few years before I would be brave enough to apply to the Alliance, but if it hadn’t been for this view and for this city, then perhaps I would be a very different man today. I spent almost every night on my parents’ balcony, watching the sun set and thinking through my mistakes. My office at HQ has a similar view, except this time I’m staring out across the water as a respected leader instead of an unruly adolescent.

The strangest part, though, is knowing that Shepard is little more than a dozen feet away.

After her initial trial, Shepard was incarcerated in a small apartment here at HQ. Anderson and Hackett had both pulled strings to make that happen. In many ways I was grateful that Command listened – having Shepard locked away in a cold prison facility would have been devastating to her, not to mention life threatening. I shiver at the thought. Thankfully, that had not been the case. Instead, she’s close by, where the Alliance can keep an eye on her.

Shepard has no idea that I’m here. Anderson didn’t tell her that I would be returning to Earth too – and after our parting, I’m glad that he didn’t. Kira didn’t need to know that I was the one in charge of her security detail.

And she certainly didn’t need to know that I was sitting in an office in the wing opposite her room.

James Vega, Shepard’s bodyguard, has certainly turned out to be as proficient at his duties as I had hoped he would be. It has been years since I last saw the guy. He’s bulked up since then – the young recruit that I met has turned into a powerful soldier, and I have no doubt that he could easily match Shepard blow for blow in combat. Vega has become the representative of Safe Haven, the one who Shepard has come to trust for her protection. In some ways I am jealous of the time they’ve had. The surveillance network has produced hours of vid recordings for my team to wade through, and on some nights I sat up to monitor the channel to let Barrett and Carlton get some well-earned downtime. It was painful to watch Shepard and Vega like that: removed, isolated behind a camera lens. It felt wrong to invade their privacy in some ways. But I know that James is a good man, and while he has some hero-worship issues, he doesn’t have the highly-charged emotion that I would have in his shoes. Often he and Shepard would simply sit around the table and play poker, usually for small packages of food or new reading material. Their banter often tended to grow loud, particularly when Vega lost – which tended to happen often. Shepard would sort out her growing stock of chip packets, magazines and tea bags, grinning wryly at her opponent while he rummaged through his knapsack for a new wager.

Some nights I would sit back and shout at the screen, adding my own comments to the conversation. I knew they couldn’t hear me, but it was better than wallowing in self pity.

On other nights, Vega would sit up alone after Shepard turned in. There was no banter, nothing to watch except the minutes tick past. And on those nights my mind replayed those last few minutes in the hospital, the moment she begged me to trust her, the choice I made...

I’m sorry.

Sorry. I’ve grown to hate that word – in my mind it has become a horrific blanket excuse for my foolishness, for my hatred of Cerberus, and for my heartless betrayal of Shepard’s trust. I don’t even believe myself anymore. And if we ever met again, why should she...?

Not that we’re likely to meet again.

I don’t know what thought is more painful: The thought that I will never get the chance to tell her that I still care, or that she might turn me away if I did.

The enticing scent of satay and hot rice drags me back to the present. My hand sends a sharp, jolting complaint to my brain as it finally registers that I’m still holding a hot carton of food.

“And the man emerges from his cave,” Lieutenant Matheson grins at me, her grey eyes flashing from beneath arched blonde eyebrows. “How goes the report?”

“It’s gone,” I laugh, reaching for a serviette and stealing a seat beside the window. “Another uneventful week of surveillance and precautionary sweeps makes for pretty dull reading.”

“I hope somebody in HQ has remembered their coffee today,” Corporal Rob Carlton jokes, his mouth twisting into a satisfied grin. He twirls some egg noodles onto his chopsticks and nods at me. “One of these days I wish Shepard would attempt to bust out or something just to make the vid feed more interesting.”

“Don’t wish too hard,” I reprove, rolling my chopsticks smoothly between my palms. “She might just grant you your wish.”

Campbell chokes on her rice. “Are you kidding?” She swipes one hand across her mouth and grins at Matheson. “Honestly, Jamie, if you were trapped in a room with a hunk of muscle like that Vega, would you want to escape?”

“Hell no,” Matheson laughs. “Actually,” She points her chopsticks at Carlton as she makes her point, “I would be hoping that Cerberus tries to bust in, just so I could see those muscles in action.”

“Damn!” Campbell’s darkly tanned skin neatly conceals her heated blush. “Now I’m going to be thinking about that instead of writing my duty report.”

“Work your way up the ladder and maybe someday you will get your wish,” Mick Wilder replies steadily, his blue eyes flashing teasingly.

I shake my head slightly, staring into my carton and focusing on eating while I can.

These guys have become like family. This is the sort of lunch-time conversation that I’ve become used to over the past six months. When you live with a group of people twenty-four-seven, you learn to make concessions. While this is certainly not what most commanding officers would consider to be appropriate, I make it a rule that what happens at our desks stays at our desks. The rest of the time, we simply enjoy good food, good company – and more than a little bad humour.

And in my branch of the Biotics Special Division, there is plenty of that in abundance.

Some days it materializes in the form of Wilder and Barrett sparring with dark energy. Other days it manifests in Campbell and Matheson holding a paper tossing competition into the nearest wastepaper basket. But on some days, like today, it takes its shape in the muscular form of one James Vega – who has been the not-so-secret obsession of Campbell for about five months now.

Sometimes I feel more like a parent or a teacher than a commanding officer. And this is definitely one of those moments.

 “My lifetime aspiration: Be imprisoned with a hunk of muscle – my personal bodyguard? Mmhmm.” Campbell tosses her dark ponytail over her shoulder.

“Emphasis on personal,” Barrett mutters under his breath. “Suddenly I’m grateful you’re not Commander Shepard, Liz.”

“If I were, that vid footage would be a hell of a lot more interesting,” Campbell winks.

I can feel Matheson’s eyes boring into my head, but I don’t look up. “Alright, here we go,” She quips, “The Major versus Lieutenant Vega: who would you rather be locked in a room with?”

I choke and furrow my brows in disbelief. “You can’t be serious!”

“It’s a perfectly valid question,” Carlton pipes up, “Nobody is saying anything about what you are actually doing in the room—”

The group erupts in a loud mix of protests and hooting – protests from me, hooting from everyone else.

“I wouldn’t choose either – no offense Major,” Barrett interrupts.

“Oh believe me, none taken,” I reply around a mouthful of chicken.

Carlton elbows him. “Come on then – who? And don’t say Shepard. She’s off limits.” He winks at me knowingly, and I grimace.

The Lieutenant smirks, “Daana Vas Al’Teen!”

“You mean the Quarian version of Khalisah Al-Jalani?” Campbell snorts. She pinches her nose and makes breathing noises beneath her hand, “This is Daana Vas Al’Teen reporting all the day’s celebrity gossip and pointless speculation from across the galaxy. Who needs news when we have masks and trilled ‘r’s?” Then she turns toward Barrett, leaning over slightly and adding even more emphasis to the mock accent. “Stay on the line, hot stuff and maybe I’ll give you my number once we cut to a commercial. Keelah say-hi!”

There is another outburst of whooping, and then Carlton adds, “Alright then, Ivira S’Aralene.”

The mention of a second Asari – this time a film star reputed for her Elcor-like stoicism – makes everyone cackle.

This time Carlton performs the impersonation. Laying his hand over his heart, he throws his head back and declares emotionlessly, “You have ripped my soul in two!”

He and Matheson exchange knowing looks then continue, schooling their faces to be utterly impassive as they recite in listless chorus: “Don’t hurt him. I beg of you – don’t hurt him for my sake. Think of the children!”

By this time my sides are aching. I swipe at my eyes, struggling to hold the food in my chopsticks at the riotous conversation taking place around me.

Wilder puffs his chest out fractionally and grins lopsidedly. “Vanyl, the Chatty One.”

This elicits a chorus of wild laughter, myself included, at the thought of Wilder trapped in a room with the Hanar talk-show host.

Barrett adopts a jelly-like posture. “Tell this one, how does the human enjoy its interpersonal recreational activity? Does it prefer to demonstrate its virulence to members of its own species or does it prefer a more diverse population when selecting a mate?”

“That, my friend,” Wilder punctuates the comment with a jab of his elbow, “You will never know.”

As the din dies down, I notice that my omni-tool is pinging. The channel is registered to the Admirals’ office. “Keep it down to a dull roar, people, I’ve got to take this.” I set down my lunch and hit the ‘receive’ button. “Alenko here.”

“Major Alenko Sir, you’ve been summoned to a board meeting of the Admiralty at 1600.”

The secretary’s dread-filled tone indicates to me that something is seriously wrong. “Uh… Of course,” I return with a forced smile. “Thank you. I’ll be there.”

The channel cuts out, and I roll my shoulders.

“Guess that means break is over?” Matheson groans.

“Guess so.” I stand and exchange my empty container for the other. I’ll finish this off on my walk to the boardroom. “Alright, everyone. Back to work. I’ll contact you as soon as I know what’s going on.”

---Continued in Part 2---