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ihaveatheoryonthat · 6 years

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Some Time to Think it Over

Warnings: Hellbent spoilers, but that’s about it.

Arthur woke up in the back of a semi-truck.

Normally, that would be bad news, but he had the distinct impression he’d narrowly escaped something worse. For several foggy seconds, he watched as the shadows playing over the sides of the trailer shifted and tried to make sense of anything that was going on.

The truck seemed as good a place to start as any. He didn’t remember working on any semis recently, let alone have any business in the back of one. His head throbbed and he moved to investigate, but only one hand responded; he gave the prosthetic a flat look. So they were playing that game. What was it this time? Mechanical failure? Electronic?

The light source abruptly stopped and moved the other way and, startled, Arthur whirled around to keep it in front of himself.

Oh shit. The ghost. It had caught up to them, hadn’t it?

It didn’t seem to notice his return to the waking world, re-tracing its path along the length of the truck like nothing had changed. As it drew nearer Arthur could make out a steady stream of vocalizations, and even though he could pick out the occasional bit of English mixed in, it was too inconsistent to make any words out—too fast, too indistinct, switching rapidly between languages that Arthur could almost recognize and something that sent a thrill of fear down his spine.

He took several instinctive steps backwards as its path brought it just a little too close, until his back hit the other side of the trailer. It… didn’t look like it had calmed down since the last time he’d seen it; while it wasn’t exactly obliterating its own haunt this time, flames spat fitfully from its shoulders, warding away even the smaller ghosts that seemed to follow it. Its free hand balled into a fist and, haltingly, creaked open—it didn’t even uncurl its fingers all the way before clenching it again.

Arthur’s eyes flicked toward the trailer’s door—the shutter wasn’t fully drawn. It would make for a loud escape, but an easy one. If he waited until it was at the very front, he might have enough of a head-start to—

The ghost turned on its heel; its followers hastily moved out of its way, and then made to keep trailing after it.

Inexplicably, Arthur’s nerveless fingers itched to reach for it. Where the urge came from, he didn’t know and he didn’t care. He was almost glad his prosthetic was malfunctioning, just because it meant he was only half as likely act on the impulse.

A wordless growl escaped the ghost’s nonexistent throat, underlying its frantic muttering for half a second. If the situation had been more appropriate, Arthur might have wondered how that worked, even for a paranormal being, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the flame-wreathed hand that flew to its skull.

Just for a moment, the sight of its open palm made the world fall out from under him.

He—he really had to get out of here. The sheer amount of fire in this truck was a hazard, never mind the fact that it was responding to an emotionally unstable ghost. His first—only—plan had been a good one. He should just run with it. Literally.

His feet didn’t obey. He made it two steps away from the wall, but the instant he made to turn, it was like he’d been weighed down—like he didn’t just have one useless limb, but three.

(And for the second time in his life, his arm betrayed him.)

When the ghost’s path brought it nearest, Arthur’s prosthetic shot out towards it. He only grazed its sleeve before one of the followers snapped at him, but it was enough. He could actually feel the spark that trailed up from his metal fingers, shocking the sense back into him.

He remembered.

The ghost—Lewis—didn’t respond at all, dark eyes unfocused, hair spitting embers whilst he spat furious Spanish to nobody in particular.

If the ghost was really Lewis (he remembered. He remembered kicking at thin air, desperate to find purchase wherever he could. His arm moving so agonizingly slowly, a burst of flame that left something more than ash in its wake.) then—then he had died. And he had tried to—tried to—

‘Tried to scare him’, said some little liar in Arthur’s head, and for now, he chose to believe it.

The cave was gone. The stalagmites were gone. Right now, there was a truck, empty save for Arthur, his best friend, and a handful of anxious ghosts. He’d been searching for months. Now, when he had the answers right in front of him… there were more important things to do than remember— (oh god, he was going to fall. He was going to die here).

He forcibly pushed the thought away. Not now. Soon, maybe, but not now.

“L-Lewis?”

It was impossible to miss the way the hand still clutching at Lewis’s skull shook; he snarled something incomprehensible and oh-so-wrong to Arthur’s human ears, but it wasn’t a response. He only noticed because he’d been looking for any indication that Lewis had heard him, but almost as soon as the outburst died down, it was succeeded by something that might have been a whimper.

“Lewis! C’mon, can you hear me? Look at me!”

He froze in midair, though his hands still visibly trembled, and whipped his skull around to look at Arthur. Pinpricks of light bored into him, so small that he’d almost assumed the eyes trained on his were empty.

Arthur took a deep breath and acknowledged the fact that, yes, this was the same ghost that had made three separate attempts on his life, but he couldn’t let that scare him away. Something was obviously wrong—even ignoring the fact that the Lewis he knew would never entertain the idea of hurting someone, there was still the undeniably distressed behavior. He had to be missing something here.

They stared at one another for half a second before Lewis barked something at him. The meaning was clear, and, between the otherworldly language Lewis had said it in and the tone he’d used, part of Arthur really did want to make a break for it. He could feel his legs wobble, but stood his ground.

Eye sockets narrowed at him and, in the exact same tones, Lewis bellowed, “Leave!”

It was almost enough to make Arthur obey, in spite of his conviction. Though his voice was still distorted, it was recognizable—and in English, colored with such alien hostility, recognizable and uncanny. That wasn’t how Lewis spoke or acted. Arthur had never—

...no. He had heard that timbre before, just once. They'd been running from a pack of something that weren't dogs, and Arthur had been cornered. Up until just a second ago, he hadn't been sure whether Lewis's intention had been to scare the not-dogs off or draw their attention, but now he knew. If the creatures had been there with them, he was certain they'd have fled towards the gap in the door.

He wasn’t sure why, exactly, but the thought was encouraging. There was still someone vaguely recognizable in there. He took a tentative step forward.

Lewis backed off.

“Lewis, wait. C’mon…”

“What are you doing? Nothing happened! Just go!”

He spared a thought for the odd claim and then took another step, to the same response. Lewis let go of his skull to wrap the arm around himself instead. Any other time, Arthur would have taken the hint and let the topic die, but today he couldn’t do that.

“There’s nothing for you here! Leave me alone!”

“There’s nothing…? You don’t actually expect me to buy that, do you?”

“I don’t know.” Lewis snapped, “I don’t know what I’m—what you’re—“ He broke the sentence off with a frustrated grunt and shifted his stance again, moving to feel blindly for the semi’s front wall.

As soon as he processed it, Arthur lunged, catching him around the wrist before he could escape.

He expected resistance. He did not expect Lewis to stumble the rest of the way backwards, or to start trembling so badly that it alone nearly shook Arthur’s mechanical grip. Out of desperation, Lewis yanked his arm upwards, over Arthur’s head, and managed to lift him up off the ground instead.

The instant his feet left the truck bed, Arthur felt himself go limp. His gaze immediately dropped, searching for the spikes below. Metal met him instead, less than a foot down from where he was hanging in the air.

Right. Right. He was the one keeping himself aloft this time. Even if he let go and fell, worst case scenario, all he’d do was land on his ass. Didn’t mean he was looking forward to it, but it wasn’t exactly fatal.

He took a deep breath and looked up, where his best friend flinched away from his attention. Lewis gave his arm a pitiful—though, admittedly, deliberate this time—shake and made a futile attempt to slink further away.

Earlier, as he stalked up and down the truck, it had been impossible to tell whether he was angry or scared. His behavior since had indicated the latter more than the former, but until Arthur had seen his face—not just the skull—he hadn’t realized just how far the balance tilted.

Lewis looked utterly terror-stricken.

Without a thought for what he was doing, Arthur reached out in a gesture of support.

With a half-strangled sob of “No!” Lewis dropped his arm, landing Arthur—as predicted—right on his ass. In spite of Lewis’s ability to defy gravity, Arthur somehow managed to drag the both of them down, and the strange new vantage point gave him a very brief look at something stony grey and deeply cracked. Whatever it was, when Lewis righted himself, he deliberately angled it away, never once tearing his gaze from Arthur’s prosthetic.

He tried to pull away again, but it was different this time—not the desperate bid for freedom from before, or even to test Arthur’s grip. It was almost like he’d made to move it and just forgotten he couldn’t, which made absolutely no sense, because…

Actually, now that he thought about it, the whole time, every shift in body language he’d watched had been the work on one arm. He hadn’t even noticed that the other stayed stubbornly tucked against Lewis’s chest. If he’d been so violently opposed to being touched, why hadn’t he just used his free hand to pry Arthur off?

It was almost silly to ask—the answer had almost literally been dropped in his lap. Lewis was holding onto something, trying to protect it.

He didn’t think he’d be able to get an answer from Lewis; apart from somehow keeping him from leaving, Arthur was in no position to force a reality warping ghost’s hand. That was okay. It only took a few seconds to narrow it down.

The grey lump he’d gotten an eyeful of had once been a little golden heart.

There was no world in which that could be a change for the better.

But realistically, there was no way Arthur could do anything about it. Not right now, when Lewis was defending it so vehemently. It… would be okay, right? It had broken before, and been mended, hadn’t it? He felt certain that it had thrummed gold in the phantom cave, but doubt lurked just below the surface. He’d had only a second to process what was happening between being grabbed and dangled over the side of a cliff—and, while it was infinitely more pleasant to try to focus on the heart, that wasn’t where his attention had been at the time.

He shuddered and tried to move on for the time being. It was all too recent for him to process, and too much for Lewis to handle at the moment. The problem would either correct itself, or keep until it could be addressed.

Somehow, he wasn’t quite able to believe the liar that had taken up residence in his head on that one.

A sharp and wholly unnecessary breath next to him alerted Arthur to the fact that, during his brief venture back to the stone outcropping, he’d subconsciously grasped for whatever he could reach. Which would still be Lewis. He turned his attention back to his friend’s face, worried for what he’d just caused. It was bizarre, but he looked… less freaked out now? His eyes were still trained on Arthur’s hand, but the one laying on top of the prosthetic rather than the metal fingers that were visible beneath it.

Arthur made to move it away but, at the last second, curled it around Lewis’s instead, the same way he used to lead him around town, even after Lewis had learned the way for himself. It was trickier now— it had been ever since Lewis had finally hit his growth spurt— and awkward against the grip on his wrist, but, in some small way, it made Arthur feel better about what was going on.

Lewis’s fingers twitched, the same as he’d absently tried to pull his arm away before. Like he was reminding himself not to do something instinctive.

“No,” He hissed to himself, and Arthur didn’t know whether to look him the eye or keep his attention where it was as the larger hand grasped back, “No, it’s wrong. I can’t.”

When he risked a glance upwards, Lewis’s eyes were distant and unfocused, betraying the fact that, mentally, he was somewhere else. Awkwardly, Arthur dropped his gaze again, staring at the pitch black hand that enveloped his. He had a feeling he knew what that had been about.

And… and if he was right, that meant there was hope. The Lewis he knew would never have taken things to these extremes under normal circumstances. If the memory of the monster-dogs and the uncharacteristic behavior they had brought out proved one thing, it was that Lewis was prone to lashing out under certain circumstances. He’d been angry, he’d been—

He’d been scared.

Arthur stared hard at their hands. He would fix this, but he had to understand what was happening, what had happened in their time apart.

He felt a lump rise in his throat. Of course it came down to that.

If he wanted to end this, he had to know what had happened the night Lewis disappeared. The night that—

“Nothing happened!”

“There’s nothing for you here!”

“I don’t know.”

His mouth went dry as something occurred to him. Arthur could only remember bits and pieces of the night he’d lost his arm, Vivi didn’t remember anything about that night, or anything about Lewis.

And Lewis…

“Do—do you know who I am?”

Lewis paused and, slowly, moved to look Arthur in the eye for the first time since his name had been called. He seemed to have a bit of his metaphorical fire back, and Arthur wasn’t sure that was a good thing.

The silence lasted long enough that Arthur felt he had his answer, whether Lewis said anything or not.

“A murderer.”

He almost didn’t notice the response he actually got, and when he did, his attention was stolen away. Buried deep beneath the accusation, more of a question than anything, Arthur heard just a whisper of his name.

He swallowed. “And—do you know who…”

Arthur trailed off, derailed by a wave of heat rushing over his hand and the plume of fire that accompanied it, nearly blinding in the darkness that the trailer had lapsed into. The hand folded over his clamped down and dragged him upright as Lewis straightened up to his full height.

Even though he was standing under his own power, Arthur’s pulse raced.

Lewis looked down his nose at Arthur and grimaced.

“A murderer.”

The fire didn’t hurt, some small part of his brain told him. It was a distant realization, and Arthur could only hope it didn’t come from the beguiling little voice he’d already bought into. The rest of him screamed to act on basic instinct and get away.

Almost clumsily, Lewis let go of the heart at his lapel and raised his hand beneath Arthur’s chin.

Arthur had expected more fire. From the look on his face, so had Lewis.

The grey lump gave a fitful shudder, purple sparks jumping between the cracks, and Lewis’s entire form sagged. He withdrew his arm and lethargically moved to cover the fluttering heart, doing little to properly conceal it.

It crackled again, and he closed his eyes, turning away.

“Why did you kill me?”

Somewhere, far away even as it seared Arthur’s eardrums, a gunshot echoed into the night.

#mystery skulls #ihaveatheoryonthat MSA #fanfic

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cometladyicarus-blog · 7 years

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Alliance and Hierarchy pt.2

Okay, here’s part two which sets up for the sketch I had linked to in part 1 - a fairly generic work scene considering who’s involved, after all.

Not much to ramble about here, except for some awkward transitions I haven’t figured out how to smoother over just yet. And as before, handwave inconsistencies with canon while reading, but let me know where I was off-canon please!

I freely admit, I don’t know much (or anything) about prosthetics except for the occasional news story, but I presume that in the future prosthetics would be better than the ones available now.

Part 1

Part 2

Who doesn’t love dealing with Akuze’s aftermath?

12 March 2178 (Human Calendar)

Citadel Lower Wards

15:15 Local Time

The artificial leg was awkward, but the Salarian doctor with the motor mouth the Alliance hired had an improved version waiting for Jane in Dr. Michel’s Ward Medical Center. He may not have the right angles in his own legs, but he seemed to know how to make artificial legs for a human with a habit of tripping in heels of any kind originally. Then again, Asari have a very similar leg build, or appear be. Regardless, she doubted - if Asari did have a similar bone structure for legs as humans - she was the first creature to be missing a leg.

Doctor Michel greeted her and waved out a patient who had apparently been faking an illness to get out of work. “Lieutenant Commander Shepard, your leg has arrived. The privacy curtain is going up, now.”

“Thanks.” Jane unlaced her boots - still her active duty pair, considering her other shoes were strappy things she had been convinced to buy a year ago when Rain - no, not now. Michel passed through the curtain as she was kicking off the last bit of pant leg onto the floor.

She flashed a grin at the ward doctor as she hopped onto the table, flexing both feet, though the temporary one was slower to react and actually stuttered as she moved the ankle. “So, pop out the temp, pop in the new, and all’s good?”

“Physically.” The Human doctor frowned, but the new leg was installed with very little problem. “I still think you should speak with psychological expert again. Causes of injury like yours don’t heal without scarring of the mind.”

“I'll be fine, they cleared me as sound of mind. My nine months are almost up.” Shepard's green eyes stared out the windows. “I'm not sure I'm ready to go back into service. I’ve never actually had time to do anything else, really. Mom would still have Golden Boy John the Hero, y’know, and I could never live up to that.”

She slid to the edge of the table and placed her good foot on the floor first, leaning on the table as the false leg touched the solid surface. She shifted her stance to place more of her weight onto the new leg until she was touching the table for balance and holding one leg up. A practice walk around the table, good, good, no creaks, no cracks, just footsteps.

Jane was zipping and buttoning her pants when the doctor asked her an odd question.

“Where would you go, Lieutenant Commander, if not back to the Alliance?”

She was dancing - sort of, she was never a very graceful person, though the new leg was more stable than her original two together ever were - to the tune of some old Earth song about shutting up and just dancing with the one’s true love. Or something. Old Earth romance dance songs weren't her usual thing, she only went to Humanity's cradle for Graduation Leave. Hell, dancing wasn't, but the new leg actually supported her weight and was fully locked into the socket. It was time to celebrate giving away that stupid cane!

And what better way than to wear a cute little number that didn’t leave her ass out to the world, or try to make a fuss about making her flat chest seem bigger, in a pair of strappy heels that didn’t catch in the ball-hinge joint of her new leg? Celebrate life and freedom! And booze!

To pretend her life wasn't one disaster after another. To take back her life from The Legacy. She downed her shot- sweet, hint of fire, savory- and signed for another one.

Not drunk yet, she only started ordering her usual list that seemed longer than it used to be. Last Leave, Commander Trapper ordered them off the ship to keep from bothering the Odette crew still stuck on duty. Toombs was determined to survive Leave sober enough to take everyone back from the bar, but his plan failed when Lefty wasn't paying attention and poured rum into his soda.

She had won the drinking game as they watched some game or another and had to take a drink every time the announcer started shouted excitedly. Lefty picked an arm-wrestling match against a visiting Turian. Rain was busy lecturing on the importance of good medical care to the three equally drunk Volus.

When the commander found the whole team half-passed out playing pool and still drinking and telling bad jokes, he apologized to the bar owner.

And the team was the group of nice military people. Who chased off the xenophobic locals from harassing the Turian engineering squad also on their own Leave. The lecture Trapper almost ripped into them before the clarification—

A jittery Salarian bumped into her, breaking her memory as she stepped away from the bar and sipped at another glass of … something, blue, at the bar. He dropped a device as the Volus owner barreled through. She smiled at the mental image of a Volus pinball knocking over patrons. Maybe a Volus Vanguard on a Biotic Charge?

Ah well, the Salarian escaped the burly reach of the Human bouncer’s arms. The owner wandered back to the bar and walked under the barkeep/patron barrier ledge.

“- That Salari-an! - I know he was chea-ting.”

She knelt down to pick up the device. “Sir? Was this that Salarian gentleman's?”

“-Yes. - Thank you,- ah?”

She smiled. “Shepard, well, Jane Shepard.”

“Yes - thank you, - Jane Shepard - of Earth-Clan -.”

She spent the next two and a half weeks at Flux’s as an unofficial bouncer, stepping in when the waitress girls were being bothered, and watching the quasar machines for the accused cheater. She was paid in drinks and food from the bar. Not a bad gig. Kept her from falling too deep in old memories. Or the new ones haunting her dream hours.

Until one night, a week before her leave was up and she would have to call it quits on her unofficial job anyway, a C-Sec officer tapped her on the shoulder.

She had been telling the waitress about how she got some of the scars - not the Thresher Maw ones, too soon, no good, badbadbad - and showing off her - now scarred, being on her inner lower arm - tattoo marking which Company she was a part of, when she was tapped on the shoulder with the tattoo of her squad.

Single finger tap, a wide and long-ish instead of skinny and long finger, from an armor plated glove, blunted tip, had to be Turian. Asari did not wear armor plate, nor have wide fingers, and often tapped with two fingers like a lot of Humans. Salarians, on the other hand, tapped with one but didn’t often wear plates, nor did they have wide fingers. Krogan was unlikely, she’d just be pushed or shoved instead of tapped. Too tall to be a Volus. Elchor just spoke in a rumbly voice and wouldn't tap someone on the shoulder. She turned the barstool, adjusting the wide strap of her dress.

Turian was correct. Fringe and prominent cowl identified him as a young-ish adult male turian. He looked to be about her age, just out of mandatory military service. And taller than her, like most Turians. “Excuse me. Officer Garrus Vakarian. C-Sec.”

She smiled and held out a hand. Yeah, he was about her age. Other military officers her age were still polite and formal. Hadn't had the manners beat out of them from the hustle and bustle of getting things done yesterday and the resentment from bureaucrats messing with shit they didn't know. “Nice to meet you, Officer. Lieutenant Commander Jane Shepard, Systems Alliance Marines. Currently on a long and well-deserved leave.”

He chuckled. “Apparently, and you seem to be itching to get back if you took up bouncing for a bar.” Interesting, he didn't immediately activate the not-staring gaze at her leg that was in full display as she sat on the barstool in a skirt that didn't reach her knees. Or the scars along her arms, her face, her good organic leg. He looked her in the eye. The dance stage lights played havoc with her eyes trying to pick out the color of his clan marks. They may as well be fuchsia as far as she could tell.

She indicated the drink in front of her. “Free drinks, and I can help move people out with my drunk soldier act.” She paused for a moment. “I’m not breaking Citadel law, am I, officer?”

“No, ma’am. Just checking to see why an Alliance soldier is on a long leave, and why said soldier hasn’t checked in with her embassy for two months.”

She swore. “My mother put you guys up to this? This is why I didn’t check in; they’d tell her, she’d show up, start insisting on taking care of me or some other kind of bullshit, and then she’d wonder why the hell I’m not- Why am I ranting all this to you?”

He shrugged as his mandibles twitched in the manner she recognized as amusement. Nine months was a long time to spend on the Citadel, and Humans weren’t quite everywhere yet. “I have one of those handsome, devilishly charming, faces and a voice that can summon the truth from anyone. I don’t know what made the Embassy look for you, just that they are.”

Oh damn, he's a clever asshole. A cute clever asshole. She smiled at his disarming tactic and turned her wrists in a surrender. “Alright, I know making deals is kind of against regulations, but I’m this close,” she held her thumb and index finger very close to each other as she went on, “to catching a hacker rigging the Quasar games to his favor. That’s really why I’ve been bouncing here, C-Sec has better things to worry about than a gambling cheater and a soldier on a long medical leave.”

Vakarian paused a moment, nodded. “Alright. Who are we watching for?”

Well that’s new. He was up for playing along with her vigilante-ish scheme. On the other hand, she was helping to improve the situation of the community by trying to gather evidence for proper law enforcement- shut up, just report. “Salarian. Name’s Schells, I think. Paler face than the rest of his head, but he has spots in the lighter shade. I’d say grey or blue-grey at darkest. Half a head taller than me. Likes to wear red, but don’t rely on that. I think his eyes are green, but the lighting here is difficult enough that I can't be certain what colony color your clan marks are. And if I didn’t know my hair is red, I’d not know it either.”

He pulled up his omnitool’s display and found the Salarian in question. “So, any behavior patterns you know of?”

“He usually shows up when the place is busiest. Easier to slip in and move about when everyone is everywhere. He usually only plays a few games at a time, thanks to Flux knocking over everyone in an attempt to tackle him.”

“Like now on the left?”

She looked. “Well, he’s early. That’s poor form. Breaking a pattern is just as likely to get you caught as keeping it.”

Some yelling, and shouting, from the Salarian, but Schells was cuffed in the end, and Flux was trying to get Vakarian to accept some drinks. The nice officer kept turning them down, insisting he was on the clock.

With the Volus finally appeased and moving along back to his bar, Officer Garrus Vakarian, C-Sec, turned to Jane. “Alright, we got him, and better yet, he’s now in C-Sec hands for his crime.”

She grinned. “Great!”

“Now you’ll keep your end of the deal.” He laughed as she swore and stopped her celebrating. “Turians don’t forget that easily, Lieutenant Commander.”

And then he led the way to C-Sec headquarters, pausing only long enough to let her glance around the Presidium and for him to point out features and some of the histories of the features. She would later learn he took the less direct route.

“Officer- ah, you found her?” Another Turian, this one older and clearly not fond of tracking down people, approached and gave her a once-over. The dress felt more awkward, with her leg on display, but he seemed to make a point of not really looking at her. Damn it, she'd think Turians were familiar with what dangers are in military life and would know better than to look-not-look at scars like that. Hell, the few Krogan she’s met thought her tale was worthy of being put to song, and while it was flattering, no thanks, I really don’t have the time to listen-

Vakarian moved his hands between the two, breaking her from her mental rant and indicating who was who. “Detective Chellick, Shepard. Lieutenant Commander Shepard, Chellick.”

“Nice to meet you, Detective. As you can see I am just fine, I just didn’t want to deal with Alliance when I’m on nine months of medical leave.”

“Medical leave? Jane! What happened? How are you still standing if you needed nine months?” Captain Hannah Shepard, mother of the Akuze Sole Survivor and mother of the Hero of Elysium, gave Jane a close look-over. Examining every piece of civilian wear she was wearing when out catching a gambling cheater. Likely disapproving it all for practicality, but Jane didn't need it to do more than look pretty. Or sort of pretty. Hannah spent more time staring without staring at the leg and the scars on her arms, leg, and face. At least she couldn’t see the scars along the rest of her.

She paled, forced herself to smile, and locked her legs to keep herself from falling to the temptation that running offered her. “Mother, I didn’t want you to worry, not any more than Akuze already had you distracted from your responsibilities. I just had to have my leg replaced and get used to it all. See? I’m fine. I’ll be going back on duty next week, already booked transport back to the Alliance.”

The Captain crushed her daughter in a hug. “Why didn’t you tell me this? I heard about Akuze but-”

She clapped her arms around her mother twice before pushing her back a step with a smile. “Mom, John needs you more, I think. I trained for being out in the wilds before the mission, but he ran around being a hero in his underwear, armed with a paperclip. I think he needs you to remind him how what he did was more dangerous and incredibly stupid than me being attacked in full armor by the wildlife.” John was going to love his baby sister now she set their mother on him.

Hannah Shepard smiled and patted Jane Shepard’s head. “I was just worried.”

“Mom, you used your military clearance to track me down, I have my Omnitool on me all the time. Next time, just send a message. I have to report to the Embassy now you involved them. Wonderful to see you again, I promise I’ll visit for Winter Festives.”

Hannah smiled and left C-Sec with one of the higher-ups.

“You didn't tell her about your leg before, or did she already know?”

Jane glared at the law enforcer. “Not a word to her about Schells or anything else about my Leave. I'm making my own way, without her name paving it ahead of me. I am earning every accolade, and refusing everything that hints at her influence. I do not need her damn pity or her want to help her poor, cybernetically legged, daughter.”

"I completely understand." The way he shook his head as the elevator to the docks went up made her believe him.

The day she was leaving, her omnitool beeped and sang to alert her to a call coming in.

“What is it, Vakarian?” She listened as he summarized the events regarding the Salarian madman. Busy week. “On my way.”

She ran, shoving people aside with the practiced ease of any N7 candidate until she found the Salarian matching the doctor’s description. “Halt, Saleon, in the name of--” no, not in Alliance space- “Citadel Justice!”

Well, that worked. God, she sounded like some fictional super heroine character saying that. The Salarian turned. Must have been the strange command.

“The name of what?” Strange: 1, Regulation Standard: 0.

She grinned, tackled, and locked him down, even without cuffs. Catching bad guys turned out to be fun. “Vakarian, is this him?”

“That’s him. Thank you.”

“Not a problem. I’ll just call this my great send off to the hardest training the Alliance can dish out. I believe, Doctor, this is called ‘justice.’”

The Salarian would have head-butt her if he were Krogan.

Garrus chuckled and helped her stand again. “Glad to be of help to you. I owe you a few drinks next time you’re at the Citadel.”

She grinned. “Alright.”

Maybe she had an answer for Doctor Michel's question.

28 September, 2178

Luna Base, Sol System

18:35 Earth Standard

With her N7 stripe on her armor, the patch on almost everything she wore, her footlocker packed and in hand, she squared her shoulders and stood her ground. “Nope. I am out.”

“But you passed.”

She glared. “I only passed because you all decided that I needed to be fucking rewarded for being at just the right place to survive Akuze, even with a dead leg. I passed this so you lot know I’m not quitting because I couldn’t handle this shit. I’m quitting because I am done with military life. I am done being the great Commander John Shepard’s little sister. I am done being the great Captain Hannah Shepard’s daughter. I am done with being The Sole Survivor of Akuze.”

“Alright, where will you go?”

She shrugged and remembered a flanging voice chuckling, blue eyes behind a blue half-visor, and owed drinks. “I’m thinking security. Or law enforcement. Off Earth, of course. Maybe at a station or something.”

The evaluator looked at her papers. “Your forms say you’re going into the reserve services.”

“Sir, yes, sir.”

No more reason to complain, she was still - technically - part of the Alliance’s military, and someone was bound to point out how she’s still scarred mentally by Akuze.

12 October 2178

Presidium Embassies, Citadel

08:15 Local Time

“Well, Vakarian. You’re getting a new partner. Try not to arrest this one, or else you’re out, regardless of family connections.” Executor Pallin did not look like the kind of person anyone would want to irritate.

“Don’t partner me up with someone corrupt then, sir.” Garrus looked the same as seven months before. From behind him, she could see how his hands were having a hard time staying folded behind his back. Couldn’t have been a very comfortable stance to maintain either.

She cleared her throat. “Technically, I’m a C-Sec cadet, but being an Alliance N7 was impressive enough to the bosses that I just have to memorize regulations and can skip the physical training. That and they shot at my metal leg to test my pain threshold. Guess being former military is good in general here.”

Garrus frowned as he looked her over. No, not frowned, he looked her over with an observing eye, like he was making sure she wasn't part of an elaborate joke. Did Turians prank each other? Her uniform was the correct one, right? The red and white stripes on her sleeve were just Alliance standard, but they weren’t exactly C-Sec standard, and no N7 ever left the military for Citadel Security or any other kind of security organization though Jay- “Shepard?”

She grinned, though part of her flinched at someone using her last name like it was her only name. “Vakarian.” So much for being mature and not-petty. “Call me Jane, my mother is Shepard. So is my father. And so is my brother.”

“Alright, then I’m Garrus. Vakarian’s my father.”

“Yeah, figured you two would do well together, with Schells, his elchor accomplice, and Saleon. Better not be a sign you two don’t like Salarians.”

Jane shrugged. “So, where do we start, partner?”

She held out a hand and after a moment of pause on his side, they shook hands.

#Mass Effect #garrus vakarian #female shepard #C-Sec #Sibling Shepards #spacer/sole survivor #C-Sec Officer Shepard

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