#post-akuze

Mass Effect In which Anderson meets Shepard for the first time. Follow-up to this story, and tangential to this one.

Only an N7 could make a formal recommendation to induct trainees to the Interplantary Combatives Training program. 

That rule was established early on to keep the prestigious but difficult program lean. And, as one of the more prominent of the ICT’s alumni, Anderson was used to having favors called in to evaluate promising candidates.

Most potential candidates were more than happy to talk to him, eager to impress for that letter of recommendation that could earn them the respect of their peers. Most left disappointed, though. It took more than bravado in a scrap or two to make it into ICT, let alone all the way to N7, as he damn well knew. It took something else, something more, and most of the candidates he interviewed just didn’t have it.

Few, though, were as hard to read as the stone wall that was Lieutenant Shepard. 

She stood across from him on the other side of his borrowed desk, tall and stiff with her shoulders locked up tight. Rough looking, as could be expected for someone who’d survived a meat grinder like Akuze. White bandages peeked out from under her uniform up the side of her neck, hiding the acid-ravaged skin beneath. Her left leg was locked in by a sturdy brace that seemed to be all that kept it attached to her body for all the attention she paid to it. The medical report he’d skimmed had been pretty clear on how close she’d come to losing it. But beneath the bandages, beneath the uniform was something that had caught General Ivanova’s notice. Something worth the time to come out to Arcturus to talk to her. 

Fifty-one marines had landed on Akuze. Only one made it out. That alone was probably enough for Ivanova. Hell, it might even have been enough for him. But there was something more to it that he hadn't quite put his finger on.

“Your leg. I understand it was a result of friendly fire?” He asked, taking a shot at another target to see what he could hit, to see what was beneath the stone wall. None of his attempts so far had been successful. Neither the small talk nor the rundown of the incident on Akuze had gotten much out of her.

“Yes, sir,” she replied rotely. God, but she was young. Twenty-three years old, according to her file, but the eyes that looked past him, off to the side, anywhere but right at him looked so much older.

“Tell me how that happened.” He pressed his fingers together and sat back in his chair, listening to her give the same explanation he’d read in the formal report, the same story he’d heard in the inquiry board’s recordings with the exact same clinical tone of voice. Corporal Fern Kinley had panicked and fired her weapon wildly, hitting just about everything except the thresher maw and including three of her fellow marines. He held up his hand to stop her halfway through the recitation.

“Corporal Kinley was not field certified with assault rifles. How did she get her hands on one?” Again, knowing the answer but wanting to gauge her reaction. And again, met with the same detached indifference.

“Captain Nakamura was already dead. I made the call to open the weapon locker. I didn’t know Kinley wasn’t certified, sir. I take responsibility for what happened.” 

Anderson held up his hand again. “I’m not here to assign blame, Lieutenant. The inquiry board already closed the matter, in any case, and concluded that Kinley shouldn’t have taken a weapon she wasn’t qualified for.” 

“Then why am I here, sir?” She asked. Again, she kept looking past him and avoiding his eye. Like she expected some sort of punishment. Instinct whispered to him that it had little to do with Corporal Kinley, either. Not when the board had already ruled on the subject.

“Tell me about Sergeant Luo,” he said, changing the subject and keeping his tone casual but a sharp eye on her face. There might have been a small hesitation, maybe a little wince, but it was too subtle to really tease out.

“Luo and I were the only ones to make it out of the camp, but she was too injured to make it to the landing zone,” she said in that same flat affect. 

“I’m sorry. I understand the two of you were close.” When her eyes flicked up in surprise, the first real reaction he'd gotten out of her, he added, “You were listed as her next of kin in her file.”

“She…we met at basic. I thought she was joking when she said…when she put me as her next of kin. She didn’t really have a family, though, so I guess….” Shepard trailed off, and there was just the slightest quaver in her voice, the smallest crack. So he pressed.

“The official report on Akuze states she was found halfway to the LZ. Looked like she’d been dragged most of the way there. God knows with her injuries she couldn’t have walked that far on her own,” he said.

"No, sir."

“The thresher maw might’ve killed her, but that wasn’t how she died.” It wasn't a question, but neither was it anything he’d read in any of the reports on Akuze.

“Sir,” was all Shepard said. And those eyes that had seemed so cold, so lifeless before now shone with all the truths she’d held back from the board. Her shoulders fell and for the first time she looked him in the eye.

A quiet understanding passed between them.

And there it was. The missing piece he’d been looking for.

“That was a hard choice you made, child,” he said softly. “I won’t tell you it was the wrong one. I wasn’t there." He pulled a datapad from the desk and slid it across to her. "But there’s a place in the Alliance for people who can make those kinds of hard choices.”

Shepard’s eyes now followed the datapad and narrowed at the red-and-black emblem displayed on it.

“What are you saying, sir?” She asked, her voice barely a whisper. The understanding they'd shared had drained the stiffness from her, and now it seemed like the leg brace was the only thing keeping her upright.

“Times like these make or break an officer, Shepard. What I’m offering you isn’t easy, but it might well make you. If, that is, you’re up to the challenge,” he said, getting up from his chair and straightening his uniform. “I understand you’re still on medical leave, Lieutenant. Rest up while you can, get that leg better. And when you’re fit for active duty again…come see me.”

He left her there, staring down at the datapad in silence, and wondered if he’d hear from her again.

So, because I CAN, and because I really like how this started before I had to yank it from Caleb's Akuze fic (don't worry, it's now got a new home!), I figured I'd share it. The fine print of this message is I FINALLY HAVE A FUCKING DRAFT OF AKUZE. It only took 11 months to get it, too! lol

Anyway, have a bit of something I plan to expand on to follow that Akuze fic...

Setting: 2177, Murph's, Arcturus Station (right after Shepard is released from hospital)

~~~

As usual, Murph's is packed. It’s a favorite haunt of Systems Alliance personnel, military or political, and of the handful of times Caleb has stopped by, he’s never seen it ‘slow.’ Today is no exception. Pausing at the bar, he loops his arm around the waist of a middle-aged blonde-haired, green eyed server who squeals before spinning to wrap her arms around him in a big hug. “Dia duit, Molly, m’darlin’,” he greets her with a grin.

“Shepard!” She plants a quick kiss to his cheek. “How’ve you been?” She pulls free of him and takes a step back, eyeing him critically.

Like most pubs and bars, the room is dimly lit, but he can't miss the moment of recognition when it hits her eyes, the quick pain and sorrow that fills them, the fight to smile her way through it. How many soldiers has she done this for over the years? How many haven’t had the chance to reassure her because they didn’t come back? Returning the kiss to her cheek, he murmurs, “I’m well enough. Looks busy. Got a seat for me?”

She doesn’t bother to answer, simply takes his hand and tugs him along behind. “If y’don’t mind sharing a table, I’ve got your usual.”

“That’ll be fine,” he assures her. He prefers the darker, more removed and isolated spaces of the pub, mostly because it’s quieter when noise in here can reach far louder levels than the docking bay during a departure. That and he’s able to set his bag aside without worry of it being walked off with by someone else.

Molly releases his hand as they approach, and while she speaks to the patron already seated, Caleb drops his bag behind the seat.

“You don’t mind, d’you, lieutenant?”

“No, of course not.”

Caleb spins around, honing in on the voice and peering into the deeper recesses of the booth. There is no way… “Alenko?”

The lieutenant appears as startled as Caleb for half a second before he laughs and gestures to the seat across from him. “Small world, sir.”

As he drops into the seat, Caleb tells Molly, “I’ll have my usual, darlin’, but bring me the bottle if you please. And a second glass?” His head tilts slightly in Alenko’s direction as he makes the request. Only then does he turn to face the man to whom he owes everything right now. “Looks like Fate’s on my side today,” he says, grinning. “It wasn’t until after you’d left the hospital, I realized I needed to thank you properly.”

“Thank me?” The same furrow that had creased his brow back at the hospital returns looking far more dramatic in the dimmer light. “For what?”

Molly pauses at their table to drop off two glasses and a bottle of Caleb’s favorite whiskey, then moves along to take care of other patrons. Caleb pours a glass for himself, then glances at Alenko who nods. Once they're both set, Caleb lifts his glass in salute. “Sláinte!”

“Cheers,” Kaidan replies.

Caleb sets his glass down after taking a sip, savoring the taste as it eases down the back of his throat, a slow, steady burn. “Are you always this humble? For saving my life, what else?” He sobers a bit and stares down at the liquid in his glass, watching it swirl. “I should’ve died on Akuze with everyone else.”

“Fate must have other plans for you, sir.”

Caleb snorts softly as he glances across the table, meeting Alenko’s dark gaze. “Aye, you’ve got a point,” he agrees. Then cracking a lop-sided smile, he adds, “But if the ‘sir’ crap doesn’t stop, I’ll be helping you find yours sooner rather than later!”

She’s had a medal pinned to her chest, sat through more memorial services than she ever thought possible. Sure, there was a mass memorial, but then there were all those other little memorials, and she, the ‘sole survivor’ blazened across every newsvid, how could she refuse what little solace she could offer to the families of the other Marines? Never mind that the screams and the blood and the sand were always in the back of her mind. She went anyways, put on a bold face, fronted the stoic Commander like so much death was all in a day’s work. And it was, wasn’t it? She was a soldier, and a damn good one, and she’d found herself beat up and semi-conscious in an Alliance shuttle before, the only one to make it out alive. She was the woman who refused to die. Her Alliance-assigned therapist says she has survivor’s guilt, first from Mindoir, now from Akuze, but Shepard thinks privately that she just doesn’t give a damn anymore. Soldiers die. One day, it’ll be her turn. Her luck will finally run out and she’ll be dead just like every other son of a bitch in the galaxy

Her first shore leave, she finds herself on the Citadel, alone, in some dingy out of the way bar down in the wards. It’s a bit early in the afternoon to get drunk, but Shepard doesn’t care. She slouches over the bar and ignores the only other patrons in the place, a group of Turians in the far corner.

Shepard loses track of the time after the first few shots of something the bartender vaguely refers to as asari hard liquor. It’s probably a few hours later though when several humans show up. She casts a glance over them, notes the Alliance uniforms and the good-looking blonde one, a Corporal. She goes back to her drink and waits for the inevitable shout-out, the ‘hey, aren’t you -’

“- that Marine? The one that survived those maws on Akuze? Commander Shepard, right?” The blonde’s dopey-looking ginger friend asks after ordering a round of beers from the bartender.

Shepard lets out a long breath and turns, leaning one elbow on the bar. The ginger has the usual short-cropped hair and big brown puppy eyes. Young, Shepard thinks. And newly enlisted. “Who’s asking?” she says a moment later, quirking an eyebrow.

“Oh! Oh, Private Campbell, ma’am.” The soldier doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands, going for a salute on reflex and abandoning it halfway in favor of holding out his hand for Shepard to shake. She doesn’t bite.

“I look like I’m on duty to you, Private?” She gives him a faint scowl. Tougher soldiers than him have been cowed by that look; we’ll see what he does.

Campbell twitches, draws his hands back towards his body and rubs them together awkwardly. “N-no ma’am. Sorry, it’s just an honor to meet you. Mindy said you were Commander Shepard, but I didn’t believe her…” he glances back to the rest of his group, who are doing a terrible job of pretending they’re not watching.

Shepard has been mostly annoyed by the awed fans she’s been meeting lately, but she finds herself more amused than otherwise tonight. Maybe she’s drunk. Maybe she just likes giving fumbling young Privates a hard time. She tosses back a shot and says, “You got a first name, Campbell?”

“Uh yes,” he gives a nervous laugh. “It’s Tucker. Tucker Campbell, ma’am.” The bartender brings over Campbell’s beers and he shoots a deer-in-the-headlights sort of look between the drinks, his group, and Shepard. She lets him stew until finally the blonde tries to wave him over and Campbell twitches again. “Ah. You um, wanna join us for some drinks?”