#temphest

      Years ago, he was her home. She remembers the house they owned in Detroit; she’ll never admit it but she thinks about that home often. It’d been the first thing she’d ever officially owned, and the same for him. They shared it like they’d share everything for the past 15 years. She wonders if Lucas ever thinks about it: the daisies they planted along the pathway to their front door, the mailbox they had to replace after he’d backed into it one morning during the worst blizzard since 2098, or even the mantled fireplace they had installed because of her voice piercing through the living room: my feet are cold!

      The wound was still fresh of their demise: the realization that the man lying in your sheets isn’t the same man you once loved. It’d only been six years— four for her. Nina always wonders if she could have done something differently, but there’s never an answer that suffices her needs. There’s a fact out of this, though: she lost both her husband and best friend. 

      She’d located him residing in an apartment on the Citadel, nearing the district her apartment was in. Her body leans against the frame of his front door, her eyes flashing green then almost grey— a hueless recollection of the reason she’s here. The results of the investigation against Udina’s crimes had been finalized, office records indicating Lucas and Udina communication often. Bank statements showed Lucas transferring large sums of credits to Udina’s account, linking back to Cerberus. It wasn’t a solid lead, but it was a lead. 

      She wonders if their house in Detroit is destroyed, just like their fate.

the official story—  the metaphorical story they’ve been faced with over  &  over again.    (saren,  the reapers,  cerberus,  the protheans;  the list was endless.)    there’s a part of him that knows garrus is right.    the official story right now is,   commander shepard was fine  &  taking an early leave from work—  a vacation of sorts,   all while hell broke out throughout the galaxy as reapers took clusters one-by-one.    it was only a matter of time before questions were asked;  questions were already being asked about the acting commander.    (there’s a part of him that questions what everyone was thinking as they selected him to become the new commander shepard;  there’s another part of him that sees the light shimmering through the curtains of the stygian shadow he’s lived in all his life.)    

the official story was:  nina shepard had failed them one last time  &  the normandy finally had enough.    (at least—  that’s what’s letting john sleep at night.)

 It’d been a haste decision— probably not of his best judgement, but hell, the world was on the verge of ending and John Shepard was the one left in charge. Yup, they were fucked. It’d been their last Shore Leave before going to Cerberus’ Headquarters and something told him he needed a beer, maybe three, before getting back on the Normandy to his impending demise. (Maybe he wasn’t giving John enough credit, but then again— why would he? Sure, he’d bartered a few deals with a few of the species’. He was no Commander Shepard, though.)

 Three beers at the Purgatory Bar on the Citadel had turned into five beers, one shot, and a glass of water the bartender forced him the drink. Next thing he knew, a rendition of Super Freak was playing and he couldn’t help but stumble off his barstool, and make his way directly on the dance floor. The sprinkler, the robot, the fist pump— he pulled out every signature move until he sees Tali on the dance floor. Aw, fuck— this was awkward. This was really awkward. 

 The conversation had led to her saying,    “how about this— you pretend you didn’t see me, I’ll pretend I didn’t see you.”

  If she isn’t talking to Suvi in the pilot bay, she’s in her designed office; a makeshift area right in front of the bathrooms. It’s not a proper area for work, but it’s better than the labs even on the Citadel. She’ll take it. Besides, being in a new galaxy— there’s always something waiting to be uncovered. If she isn’t trying to crack open the frozen soil from Voeld, she’s either helping Cora take care of the array of plants in her room— breaks were a rarity for the blonde, and they were bound to become rarer by her own pettiness. 

When Scott enters her office, she doesn’t dare look in his direction, still angered by their previous interaction.   “You, uh, working again?”   He breaks the silence— the awkwardness is clear, and his voice doesn’t even begin to cut through the tension between them. 

  “If I don’t do it, no one else will. You should know that by now.”   It’s the truth too— if she isn’t providing samples back to the Nexus, none of the botanists want to work; they don’t see the things she sees daily. They don’t see the light at the end of the tunnel like she does. Her head finally pops up from her desk, cerulean hues meeting his. Truth be told, she has nothing to say to him. She’d prefer to continue boiling in the anger she feels rather than have a conversation with him. But, at the end of the day, Scott’s the Pathfinder. She can’t allow a conflict of interest to affect her work. 

  God, where’s Sara when you need her?

   She’s gone over the scenario in her head over and over. Her departure from the Milky Way, her goodbyes to her family as she ventured out into the unknown galaxy of Andromeda. She’s slept on the decision for a few days and after speaking to Sara’s dad, it seems her mind has been made up. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. How could Eleanor turn it down?

   They’d been at Purgatory on the Citadel, perched on bar stools as they both held a bottle of beer in their hands. The conversation of which song they were going to sing later in the night had been halted by Sara’s adjustment of the conversation: the Andromeda Initiative. Eleanor couldn’t blame her, though; it’s all they’ve had on both their minds. It was in the moment that she decided to tell Sara she’d made her choice; she was joining the Initiative. 

“You know it comes with a lot of risks, right?”   Sara’s voice rings out, speaking over the music. The blonde nods her head, taking another swig of her beer.   “You may never return home.”

   A laugh escapes Eleanor’s mouth, her eyebrows shooting up.   “We’ll be in space for 600 years, Sara. I already know I’ll never come home.”   It’s a hard truth to spill, but it’s the reality of the choice. By the time they ever reach back to the Milky Way, her family would be deceased and it’s an understanding she’s coming to. She’ll never see her family again, she’ll never have lunch at her favorite Ramen restaurant, she’ll never be able to walk the UCLA campus ever again. It’s a tough pill to swallow but one she’s forcing down. 

   Another sip of her beer is taken.   “I want to go, okay. I want to fucking explore space. I don’t want to be stuck here for the rest of my life, you know? I’ve got dreams... I’ve got aspirations. I want to do something... totally crazy for once in my life!”   Her words slur together as she sets her beer bottle on the bar’s countertop. Her hands move to rest themselves on Sara’s shoulders, her eyes directly staring into hers.   

   Her life had become a constant cycle upon boarding the Tempest— work, eat, work, maybe spend a few hours with Scott, retreat back to work. The cycle was endless and with few breaks in between, Eleanor found herself holed up more and more inside the botany lab than she initially had before her getting on. She’d become a self-deemed workaholic which, by nature, only made her more depressed about her self-deprecating life. 

  She knows why she joined the Andromeda Initiative in the first place; Sara needed her and she wanted to be there for Sara, and now Sara isn’t even here. She’s stuck in a coma while the Pathfinder is dead, and she’s still trying to figure out how to explain she’s been fucking her brother whenever she wakes up. The cherry on top of an already bad predicament is she’s aboard a ship working for a crew when she should be on the Nexus, learning from the professionals aboard there. But instead, she’s the teacher, trying to figure out from samples of planets how sustainable life is on them. She’s got her work cut out for her.

  When she hears the metal door open to the botany lab, the blonde takes a glance over her shoulder and spots Scott walking in, before sighing in exasperation.   “If you’re going to ask me what I think you’re going to ask, don’t bother.”   His nightly ritual— come into the botany lab if all other options had failed, and beg her to come back into the Pathfinder quarters until he got bored and decided to make her leave. 

And yet, he still asks the question she already knew he would ask.   “Why don’t you take the night off?”

  “Why? So I can be kicked out of bed at 2AM again?”   She shoots him a quick side glare before cerulean hues retreat back onto the monitor.   “No thank you.”   Displayed is a mushroom from Harval, a mutated variation that could be quantified for the potential of crops; too bad they’re too toxic for the Angara.   

  This is his metamorphosis; the falling silent moment where a person becomes who they’re meant to be, altered by the nausea of reality. Dad is dead, everyone hates him, and he’s alone in this galaxy. The people behind him, whom he swears he trusts, could just as easily turn on him as his father’s corpse did on Habitat 7, his eyes fluttering shut as he took his final breath. 

  He sacrificed his life so Scott could live his — how’s that for a taste of reality?

  Sara’s still comatose; Doctor Carlyle had called him to the Cryo Bay, telling him Sam had a way of communicating with Sara. It was a long shot, but Scott needed this; he needed Sara. She was his twin, the person who understood him even when he didn’t understand himself; she was the one who could finish his sentences when he didn’t know-how. 

  His knuckles are lily-white as his fingers are curled; he sits adjacent to Sara’s body, hovering over her hospital bed as if at any moment her eyes will flutter open. I fucking need you, Sara. She never does open them, though; instead, Sam’s voice rings out throughout the room:   patching you through to Sara, Pathfinder.   And for a moment, it’s almost like she’s there — they talk long enough for him to tell her the truth about the Andromeda Initiative. Dad’s dead, the planet was a bust, and I’m the Pathfinder now. It seems like an endless list with so much happening in such a short time. 

Sara goes quiet for a moment, her eyeballs twitching underneath her eyelids — her heart rate spikes, and Doctor Carlyle recommends cutting off the communication between her implant and Sam before things get potentially ugly, but her voice rings out once more:   "I’m sorry I can’t be there for you."

  The gore of an open wound pours open, his head leaning back as he stares up at the lights. Anything but Sara. In this galaxy, they’re aliens — invaders of someone else’s homeworld; they’re isolated in the vast pit of stygian space. Nausea hits him again, tears threatening to cascade from his eyes.   "I need you to wake up, Sara. I can’t do this without you."   Spoken softly, like he’s seated in a confessional, he washes his sins away and presses his lips together.

  "But it doesn’t look like I have much of a choice, huh?"   A pause, his eyes retreating back onto his sister, his knuckles finally returning to his natural tone as he rests them.   “I’ll make you proud. I promise by the time you wake up... you’re going to be so fucking proud.”

  Nothing about this job is simple. The suits are always bulky and hot, the suicide missions aren’t always what they’re pared up to be; upon boarding the Normandy, Kaidan believed he knew the risks of joining such a ship. That was a blatant lie. Nothing could have prepared him for the day-to-day tasks, especially when Commander Shepard became in charge; getting shot at by rockets definitely wasn’t on the initial brochure. But as the days continued and his times on the Normandy prolonged, he also became more acquainted with the tasks and expectations for their missions. 

  That doesn’t ever change the fact, though: this job is not simple. Nor is dodging propelling rockets sent in his direction by the turrets above him. 

  He’s crouched behind cover, a fragile crate that’s bound to be destroyed in seconds either by a bullet or rocket. (He hopes it’s a bullet; at least if it’s a bullet, he has a chance to run to another crate. If it’s a rocket, he’s toast. Literally and figuratively.)

  “Alenko to Normandy!”   He knows someone is on the other end of comms aboard the Normandy, even if it’s the shuttle crew. Shepard and Liara had dipped earlier in the fight, continuing onto their destination on the planet while Kaidan provided covering fire from the landing pad. The initial fight only lasted a few minutes— until more Cerberus reinforcements arrived. 

“I’m sorry, I’m having trouble hearing you- I’m getting a lot of bullshit on this line.”  Miranda's voice crackles through the comms, a reproach attitude no longer hidden behind the placid demeanor he’d received through their prior interactions. 

  He knew Miranda didn’t trust him, nor did he truly trust her. Only eight months ago, she’d still been a Cerberus operative working under the Illusive Man; the man responsible for the attacks they’re facing now. But, Shepard trusted her— if she trusted Miranda, who was he to question her judgment? (He’s learned from questioning her judgment from their last incident: Udina.)