Work Text:
For the third time that night, Mira Shepard set down her datapad and just about threw her stylus across the desk.
She leaned forwards and rested her head in her hands, trying to shut out the sound of the drive core. She would have to bring this up to Tali and Adams when she checked in with Engineering tomorrow morning on rounds. In addition to making it nearly impossible for her to concentrate on writing up the mission report, she did not want to waste time on costly and expensive repairs to a prototype drive core.
She had a reputation amongst the alliance for flawless paperwork. She had a reputation for how much she loved her paperwork. She had a reputation for how much she could get away with on account of perfectly filed paperwork. She’d never hear the end of it if she sent a badly written report to Alliance Command on account of a malfunctioning drive core.
She opened the folder on her left again and took her outline out of the pocket to read it again. Even her outline was sparse, erratic and in no way up to her usual standard, and this mission had been anything but standard. This report had to be perfect, every detail in order, yet she couldn’t focus for long enough to even write a decent outline, let alone commit anything about Ontarom to the datapad.
To make matters worse, the damned drive core noise was making her nervous. She stood up and paced the short distance between her desk and her bed. It would take half an hour at most to meet with Tali and Adams, but she had to get this report to Alliance Command before they heard from Wayne and Toombs.
They should have been picked up twenty minutes ago, but the cruiser was running late. Command would want statements from both of them as soon as possible. She had at most three and a half hours until the Alliance had their version of events. There wasn’t time to visit engineering tonight if she wanted to finish this report on time, but if there was something wrong she should know about it.
She’d never hear the end of it if she died with unfinished paperwork on account of a malfunctioning drive core.
She took a moment to breathe and think. If she was the alliance analyst receiving this report and supplemental information, she’d take the time to requisition any files pertaining to Akuze before reading the reports. Given the publicity surrounding the massacre, they’d only give this assignment to a senior analyst and while they’d take the time to do it right, they would be experienced enough to know how to do it quickly.
With the requisitions, she would get another twenty minutes at most. Especially if they gave it to O’Hara. That woman was a tacky dresser, but she could find files like nobody else.
If she wanted this done right, she would have to start as soon as possible. It had to be done right. If the one bad mission report she filed was related to Akuze, they’d notice the discrepancy. They’d look into it. They’d scrutinize her earlier statements, looking for anything that didn’t fit with the current narrative. It’s what she’d do in their position.
She would have noticed the pattern. Nothing but perfect paper work until Ontarom. That would indicate that something about that mission was very wrong. Then she would have started digging. She would have asked why Ontarom was so different from every other mission. She would have found out about Akuze. If it was just a nosey Alliance analyst, they would probably stop there. Mira Shepard was, as everybody knew, up until Toombs, the sole survivor of Akuze. It was understandable if she was shaken by the mission on Ontarom.
A nosey analyst might stop at the word Akuze. Someone else would start digging further. Wayne studied what happened at Akuze. He might have video footage. They would notice discrepancies between her story and video. That could mean the end of her career.
Sure, she was more valuable to the Alliance now. She was the first human Spectre. But there was so much that depended on her success. The reputation of her entire species was at stake. If she was found out, they could discredit not only her but all of humanity.
If someone else was in her position, if she was the person assigned to this case, she would want her out of the Spectre program. Maybe humanity was pushing too hard for a position on the council, but they’d lose any chance at all if she was disgraced. Whether it came from someone within the Alliance trying to remove her quietly or another race blowing everything up in her face, it she didn’t take control of the narrative, it was only a matter of time until her career was over.
She didn’t have time to go to Engineering if she wanted to fix this. She had to have faith that Tali and Adams could fix whatever was wrong with the drive core before it blew them all into little element zero covered bits, her unfinished paperwork forever floating through the vacuum of the Milky Way.
She picked up her datapad again and winced as she took a sip of her now cold coffee. The gnawing feeling in her stomach grew as she glanced at her outline. She set down the datapad and turned the paper over. The blank lines bothered her less than the scrambled, harried, half-finished work she’d done.
Just as her fingers brushed up against her stylus there was a knock at her door. She closed her eyes and straightened her back and opened her omni-tool to unlock the door.
“Come in,” she said, taking a step back and another sip of her coffee.
“Commander?” It took all she had not to flinch as Kaidan entered the room. If he was back, it meant her countdown’s already started. It would take twelve minutes minimum to transfer custody of Toombs and Wayne from himself and Garrus to the Alliance officers picking them up, then a further six to reach the ship from the planet’s surface.
“Lieutenant,” she replied, tucking her stylus behind her ear. “I trust Toombs didn’t give you too much trouble.”
“Transfer went perfectly ma’am,” he said. “I thought you’d want the records for your report.” He hesitated for a moment. “Unless you’ve already sent it off to command.”
“No I…” she hesitated, trying to get her nerves back under control. If it was anybody else, it would have made her look worse. “Thank you,” she continued. “I’m still finishing up and they would be nice to include.”
He nodded, made a couple of quick keystrokes on the datapad, she’d receive the files in a moment.
“I just thought you should know that Toombs seemed like he was doing alright when he got onto the shuttle,” he said, still lingering in the door way. His warm, brown eyes were full of a sort of concern she didn’t want to think about. “I think he’s gonna pull through.”
“Good to know,” she replied. She’d only half heard him. “What about Wayne?”
“He was promising all sorts of Cerberus intel to Commander Gregson, but if Cerberus is really as powerful as he says it is, I think it’s going to be gone by the time he can work out a deal,” he said, sounding at least properly disgusted with Wayne for working for Cerberus.
She had to stop herself from laughing. There had to be some dark power in the universe at play if the agency that tried so very hard to kill her wound up saving her career.
“Of course he is,” she said. Disgust with the bitterness of her stale coffee masked her worry. “Those shadow group types always offer up data when they get caught.” At least she would have offered up good data. “Is that all Lieutenant?”
“That’ll be all Commander,” he replied.
“Thank you. You’re dismissed,” she said, turning back to her desk. Then she caught sight of the blank paper and as the door opened again, she added, “Wait. Before you resume your duties, check in with Engineering.”
“Of course,” he said. “What am I checking in on?” She tilted her head to the side, confused that he even had to ask.
“You don’t hear that noise?”
“What noise?”
“The drive core. You don’t hear how loud it is?”
He stood absolutely still for a few seconds, listening. “No. There’s just normal engine noise.”
She took another sip of coffee to cover up her grimace. If there really was no noise, maybe she was more on edge tonight than she thought.
“Ma’am, are you alright?” he asked. She blinked, stared at him for a moment. His voice was soft, maybe a little worried.
She considered all he’d told her about BAaT. Most of it things that weren’t in his record. Maybe he would understand. Maybe he wouldn’t. He’d acted in defense of another person. She acted out of self-preservation.
“Kaidan,” she said, instantly regretting her slip in professionalism. “I…” For a moment, she thought better of it. She didn’t need to burden him with her worries. She didn’t want him to see the normally consummate professional Mira Shepard having a fit over things that should have been buried six years ago. “I’ll be fi…” She was his commanding officer. He shouldn’t be responsible for her emotional wellbeing.
“Shepard?” He stepped towards her. “If you need anything, I’m here.” Maybe, just maybe, if she was paranoid enough to think the drive core was about to blow her and her unfinished paperwork across the galaxy, she needed to talk to somebody.
“Close the door. Sit down.”
He took the desk chair as she sat at the edge of her bed. She leaned forwards and stared at her hands, then up at him.
“What I’m about to tell you cannot leave this room.”
She looked him directly in the eye. Lieutenant Alenko was a good man. If he promised her this, and he meant it, she trusted he would keep it secret. If he didn’t, well then she would give him the same story she’d told time and time again about Akuze.
“I promise it won’t.” She studied him, his body language was open, if a bit nervous. She would be too if her commanding officer told her that something did not leave the room.
“Good,” she said, staring into his warm, open eyes. She doubted if he could lie if his life depended on it and she was so grateful for it. “I’m a fraud.”
He recoiled slightly, more confusion than disgust. “What do you mean?”
“How much do you know about my service history prior to Akuze?”
“Only what it says in your file Commander,” he replied. “The Alliance sent you to University of Earth in Boston as part of one of their specialist training programs…” for just a moment, she allowed herself a smile. She was prouder of her degrees than almost anything else, even with what it took to get them. “…then immediately after you were drafted into the N7 program, you finished with commendations, then were assigned to small posts until…”
“Until Akuze,” she said. She sighed and she stared at her hands again. He was her second in command on the battlefield. He deserved to know everything about the woman he was serving under, no matter how horrible. “Everything before then, it’s not lies, but it’s not the whole truth. When I enlisted, I had every intention of spending as little time in a combat zone as possible. I was supposed to go into Admiralty Law. But two years into my degree, someone saw something in me…”
She closed her eyes for a moment, remembering the pit forming in her stomach as she read the e-mail from Admiral Essex. “Be in my office at eight AM. We must discuss your future in our program.” She’d pictured this day for over two years. She considered taking the money she stashed in her dorm mattress and running, but she put in too much work to get where she was to throw it all away without a fight. So at eight AM sharp, she was waiting for Admiral Essex in the nicest clothes she owned.
The Admiral found out about forged transcripts from a high school she dropped out of when she was fifteen to start cooking the books for a street gang. But even then, she’d done a good job. She fooled them for two years. They should have thrown her out right then and there, but Admiral Essex knew a useful operative when she saw one.
She’d proven herself an excellent hacker. She maintained a perfect GPA. She was performing exemplarily in training. She was willing to operate in some very gray areas and to do whatever it took to achieve a goal. More important, she would owe the Alliance everything.
It was agreed upon that so long as she maintained a standard far above and beyond what was required and served in an agreed upon fashion, casting her aside at this point would be a wasted investment. So long as she held up her end of the bargain, nobody would notice if one student’s records from one inner city school were wiped out by a virus.
Kaidan didn’t need to know this though. Not tonight.
“…and my career path changed. I worked my ass off to finish degrees in legal studies and electrical engineering…” Essex insisted on electronics, to see if she was capable enough to handle to workload. “…then I went into the N7 program as an infiltrator.
“What does this have to do with Akuze?”
“It’s context.” It sounds more like, “It’s an excuse.”
“I was never a soldier Kaidan. I was a spy.” He didn’t respond and she kept staring at her hands. “I was good at it too.” She openly flinched at the pride in her voice.
“You sound like you miss it,” he said. She tilted her coffee cup to the left, watched the last few drops roll around the bottom.
“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t,” she said. “I liked the challenges, the glamour, the tactical cloak, but I appreciate having parts of my record that aren't redacted.”
“Is that why the DNA scanner on Noveria said you were Mary Read?” She laughed. She spent a good amount of their visit trying to convince Parasini that it was a mistake. She suspected now Parasini didn’t think so.
“Old alias,” she said. Noveria was a small, straightforward operation to retrieve research the Alliance paid for, but never recieved. All it took was a little charm and greasing a few palms.
“It must have been interesting,” he said.
“I went behind enemy lines and retrieved data, sabotaged operations, performed selective removal of high ranking enemy combatants, and if something went wrong, I was trained to disappear. I did field operations as part of N1, but I was overwatch, not frontline, and they were…” She sighed. “They weren’t Akuze.”
She glanced up at him. He looked confused, but he didn’t look like he hated her. It wasn’t as if she’d given him anything particularly reprehensible, but she had to assess which Akuze story he'd accept. He was still processing, but he was still open to her. She could consider telling him the truth.
“They liked to move me into and out of operation zones as a soldier. People look out for an N7 infiltrator, they don’t look at a recently transferred grunt. About a month before we had an operation, they’d transfer me into a squad heading into the area, a couple weeks afterwards they’d transfer me out. I was just getting my papers in order when we diverted to investigate the distress signal.”
“Akuze was a mismanaged debacle. Wakefield was ill-suited to command. During my time in that unit, I witnessed no fewer than thirteen violations of command protocol.” Not dissimilar to what she was doing now, but she wouldn’t dwell too much on that.
There was more venom in her words than she meant for there to be. She’d kept her dislike of her former CO out of any Alliance reports or media. She had to keep up her image. The good soldier, who knew all of her former squadmates by name and was respectful and deferential to her fallen commander.
“We should have retreated the second we saw the thresher maws.” She took the stylus from behind her ear and started twirling it between her fingers. “You want to bring a tank if you’re fighting one of them. There were three. If we scattered and ran for the landing zone right away, some of us would have made it. Not all of us, but more than if we stayed to fight.”
“We tried to get a distress call to the Tacoma, but the coms were jammed. Even if he didn’t have the sense to order a retreat, Wakefield,” she wouldn’t justify that man with his rank tonight, “at least told us to get to cover. Two of my squadmates and I bunkered down behind a boulder at the edge of the nest.”
She could still remember Nguyen’s hand on her shoulder, forcing her down into cover as her shot went wide and the way her face plate sizzled when she couldn’t follow suit fast enough.
“I’d never trained for anything like it. You can’t train for anything like Akuze,” she said, chancing a look at the Lieutenant. “We tried to keep our heads, but there’s no protocol for how to handle watching your medic get melted by space goo.”
He leaned towards her. “Commander, it’s okay…”
“No. I'm thirty-three. It was six years ago. I’ve dealt with it and moved on,” she said. The pity party Akuze inevitably brought up bothered her more than any residual feelings from the incident. “We took heavy losses scrambling for whatever cover we could get. A few just ran for it. They never made it far.”
“Wakefield told us to keep shooting. Some of them did. It didn’t make a difference. By the time he was dead, there were less than twenty marines going up against three thresher maws. There were too few of us to run, too ill-equipped to fight, but at that point, they didn’t see another choice.”
“Sargent Lewis made a break for our position,” she said. “Corporal Gonzales ducked out to provide her with covering fire. Lewis never made it over. Gonzales never made it back. Operations Chief Nguyen grabbed Gonzales’ assault rifle and told me she was going to give me cover if I just started shooting back at the damn things.”
She had a sniper rifle prone to overheating too fast and the tremors made it difficult to shoot straight, but if she could hit one it would do some damage.
“I had my shot set up, I was going to hit one of the bastards through the head with a polonium round, then it lunged at somebody. I tried to line up a second shot, but the ground was shaking and I was too far down my scope to notice another one spitting at us. Nguyen grabbed me and pulled me down. The impact knocked us both back. She was dead by the time she hit the ground.”
She looked back at her coffee cup, unable to look Kaidan in the eye. He’d yet to react in an overly negative manner. She took a deep breath. She was in too deep to tell him she was the only one to survive the retreat.
“I remember lying there, stunned, thinking, “I don’t want to die here. I don’t want to die for nothing.” I knew that if I got back up, I’d be going to my death no matter what. So I didn’t.”
She went quiet for a minute, waiting for him to respond. When he didn’t, she continued, “I laid there, playing dead, listening to the screaming of my squad and the shrieking of the thresher maws until the ground went still and I still waited, with Nguyen’s body draped over my legs, until morning. Then I ran for the landing zone and I never looked back.”
She almost didn’t notice when he got up and sat down beside her.
“The next thing I knew, I was giving statements to Alliance officials and when they asked me how I got away, I was going to tell them what happened, but I…” She willed her hands to stop shaking, but they didn’t. At least her voice remained steady. “I thought about how hard I worked to get where I was. I couldn’t throw almost ten years of hard work and exemplary service away on a desertion charge.”
“I grew up with nothing,” she said, sitting up straight. “I had to work harder than everybody else to get what I had and I finally made myself into someone I could be proud of. I couldn’t take that chance. I told them I was the only one to make it to the landing zone. I just wanted to go back to work, but the Systems Alliance wanted a hero. Then the media got involved and they took Sole Survivor of Akuze and ran with it.”
“I wasn’t close to my squad. I didn’t know most of their names until the night before the first press conference. By the time the press tour and memorial services were over, I knew their names, their faces, their family, their hopes and dreams. And my career in intelligence was over. I was deemed too much of a public figure to go back, so they transferred me and you know the rest.”
Kaidan was quiet. She hazarded a glance at him. He was still and his face was hard and contemplative. She knew could take it if he found her story unacceptable. She could take it if he put in a transfer request. She appreciated Lieutenant Alenko and all the support he gave, but she would get on with the mission if he didn’t stay.
She bit her tongue to keep from talking. She was good at talking. She was good at getting people to do exactly what she wanted by talking. She didn’t want to do that to him.
“Shepard,” he said. “You know I don’t always agree with your methods. I don’t think I would have done the same in your position.” She hadn’t felt that sort of falling feeling since she first spoke to Admiral Essex. “But you were the only one who survived to tell the tale and get justice for your squadmates and I’m sure they’d be grateful you’re still here. For what it’s worth, I am.”
“Everything I’ve earned since then, every command post, every promotion, it all comes back to Akuze. If there’s proof of how I survived, everything I’ve done will have been for nothing,” she said.
“You were in an impossible situation. You did what you had to do,” he said, putting a hand on her shoulder.
“I know,” she said, pulling away from him. “I know what I did and I’m not ashamed of it. If they dropped me back onto Akuze, I’d do it all over again. I don’t feel like I could have saved them or that I shouldn’t be here today, but I’m scared Wayne has records.”
“Even if he does, the Alliance won’t hold it against you,” he said. “You’ve proven yourself a hundred times over since then. Commander, you’re the first human…”
“I know. And because of that, everything I do will reflect not just on me, but upon humanity as a whole. There’s so much riding on my performance. I can’t just be good, I have to be perfect. If Wayne has footage of Akuze, the best case scenario is that it doesn’t go beyond the Alliance and they quietly retire me from service to preempt anyone else from digging into me.”
“That’s not a best case scenario.” He was right, but it wouldn’t do her any good to prepare for the real best case scenario.
“Other species don’t like that there is a human spectre. Humanist groups like Cerberus think I’m too pro-alien. If they get ahold of it, it’s only a matter of time until they discredit me and humans lose the respect of the council. Humanity deserves a hero and…”
“…And they got a spy,” he said. “I think it’s good enough. I’ve seen what you can do Shepard. They didn’t make you a spectre just because of Akuze.”
“People don’t see anything else when they look at my record. Akuze has already cost me one career. I can’t let it happen again,” she said.
“It won’t,” he said, reaching out for her again, but stopping himself. “You’re not alone Shepard. You have the rest of the crew and myself backing you up.” She nodded and he laid a hand on her shoulder. “Anything you need, I’m right here.”
“Thank you,” she said. “For listening and for…” for seeing me when I was weak and pretending I wasn’t.
“Any time,” he replied. She was painfully aware of his hand on her shoulder and the space between them.
“I should probably get back to my report,” she said. “I barely started and well, there’s a lot to do.”
“Do you need any help with it?”
She should have said no, but she was so far behind and her outline was shit. “If you want to.”
“Alright,” he said, getting up. “I’m going to get a coffee before we get started. Do you want anything?”
“Please. Black, no sugar,” she said, handing him her mug. “Thank you.”
He paused by the door for a minute. “Commander, before I go I have to ask, do you take your martini shaken or stirred?” She laughed. Maybe this would be alright after all.
“Stirred. I’m not a heathen Lieutenant.”