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Kaidan Alenko had never been one for ghost stories.
He had heard his fair share of them, of course. The teenagers at Brain Camp, in the little downtime they’d had, had spent much of it exchanging them. At first he had assumed it was to scare the younger students, who had clutched their blankets, wide-eyed and enraptured by tales of reanimated corpses and ethereal beings with unfinished business. In retrospect, Kaidan supposed they had found solace in the unusual; after all, each and every one of them had been a reject of their respective societies.
Kaidan, on the other hand, hadn’t felt a connection to the supernatural, preferring instead to counter his out-of-place feeling with things he had assumed correlated with a normal human life—a term that he, in his thirty-four years of living, had come to realize held no significance in reality. If the last two and a half years had taught him anything, it was that there was no such thing as a normal human life in the inscrutable, unforgiving Milky Way.
That, and the concept of ghosts had always unsettled him. Human biotics were considered abnormal, but their abilities were discernible; they manifested in the real world. Ghosts existed on an entirely different plane, cut off from the living but still able to manipulate them. To him, that was much more eerie than being able to levitate the person in front of him.
So when he had heard her voice on Horizon—Commander Shepard, who he had watched go down with the Normandy two years earlier—it had made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. And when he’d finally been brave enough to face her, to take her into his arms, it had taken everything to keep him from shaking.
Except Shepard hadn’t been an otherworldly being on a separate plane of existence. She had been there, in front of him, as real as the ground he’d been standing on. The woman he had fallen in love with and made him remember his humanity was alive, and for the first time in two years, Kaidan had felt like everything had finally fallen back into place.
Then he had let her go, and the illusion had shattered.
Kaidan had heard the whispers, like ghost stories murmured among children in the dead of the night, about the Commander coming back from the dead. Equally as fervent as the rumors of her living were the rumors that she worked for Cerberus, and neither of those things had seemed remotely possible to him. To see her not only breathing, but donning the symbol of a terrorist organization, had been like a punch to the gut. Commander Shepard had been a paragon of hope, fiercely loyal to the Alliance and a believer in equality. The woman in front of him had looked the same as he remembered, but clearly the person Cerberus had brought back to life didn’t have the same values anymore.
He had left her with some harsh words, he knew. He winced at the memory of her stricken expression. It wasn’t that he hadn’t meant the things he’d said—Kaidan rarely said things out of spite—but he knew he could’ve handled it better. She had struck a nerve; her nonchalant attitude about their reunion had hurt him as much as the Cerberus symbol on her armor. She’d smiled and asked how he’d been when he had spent the better part of the last two years dealing with survivor’s guilt and trying not to think about the empty side of his bed. Still, she claimed to have been dead for those two years. Could you miss someone when you were dead? Had time passed for her the same way it had for him?
With a sigh, Kaidan reached forward and took a long sip of the glass of whiskey sitting on his desk. The dimmed light of his computer screen was the only thing illuminating the room, which had darkened considerably since the sun had set. The ice in his glass had long since melted, leaving condensation that was cold against his fingertips and left a ring-shaped pool of water next to his holographic keyboard. On the screen was a blank email addressed to Shepard. Kaidan had procured the address from Captain Anderson with the intention of sending her an apology, but so far, he was at a loss for words. He didn’t even know what to put in the title space, or if she would want to hear from him at all.
Her face flashed through his mind again, battle-worn but surprisingly soft, in his experience (and he really needed to stop thinking about his experience). He had noticed that after rebuilding her, or reanimating her, or whatever Cerberus had done, they had removed the jagged scar that had been under her right eye. He wondered if they had changed anything else about her. Or maybe she had changed all on her own, and he just didn’t know her anymore.
Letting out another frustrated sigh, Kaidan downed the rest of his drink and stood up to get another. It was going to take more than one glass of whiskey to get him through this email.
~*~*~
The first time Kaidan had visited the Citadel, he had been in awe at the sheer size of it. It was a technological marvel, donning multiple ward “arms” with their own gravitational pulls and connecting to the Presidium ring in the center. He had made dozens of trips there since that day, and while it no longer held the same magic as it initially did, it was nonetheless impressive.
He shielded his eyes against the sun’s rays, which filtered down through the spaces between the looming skyscrapers. Kaidan, along with several others, had been invited to attend an Alliance-Council summit in regards to the latest human colony disappearances. The Collectors had been abducting colonies with increasing frequency since the attack on Horizon, and frankly, the Alliance was growing more and more concerned. The only reason they had reached Horizon in time to save some of the colonists was due to the anonymous tip they had received. Since then, it had been impossible to determine when and where the Collectors would strike. On the few occasions they did receive an SOS from a colony, it would already have been harvested by the time the Alliance was able to reach them.
Kaidan had a sinking suspicion that the Council would be of no help to them, even with Anderson vouching for humanity. In his experience, the Council rarely offered assistance when it came to their species’ colonies. According to them, it wasn’t due to an anti-human sentiment, as Ambassador Udina had accused them on multiple occasions, but out of pure utilitarianism. It wasn’t worth it to them to potentially sacrifice the lives of valuable soldiers for the lives of civilians and farmers. Still, it left a bad taste in Kaidan’s mouth. After all, what were soldiers for if not the protection of the innocent?
Shaking his head, Kaidan began descending down a flight of stairs that would lead him to the Markets. There was still some time before the summit was scheduled to start, so he wanted to ensure that his crew was sufficiently stocked before their departure. If he placed the orders now, he thought, the merchants would be finished delivering the supplies to his ship by the time the meeting ended. If his predictions were correct and the council did deny them help, at least he could say they didn’t fly halfway across the galaxy for nothing.
The Markets were as lively as he remembered them. Storefronts were illuminated by neon lights, grabbing the attention of the passersby who flooded the wide halls. Kaidan could tell who the newcomers were; while some appeared frightened, others looked around in awe, drinking in the sight of flashing lights and fast-talking merchants. Kaidan wondered if he had looked that starstruck the first time he’d set foot here. The thought made him nostalgic, which quickly became melancholy, which turned into him wishing he hadn’t made that connection at all.
He hadn’t wanted to acknowledge it, but this visit to the Citadel was reminiscent of the first time he had set foot on the space station. He had been a lieutenant then, experienced in combat yet new to watching galactic politics unfold from the front row. He had watched Commander Shepard navigate her way through council negotiations with both determination and a hint of frustration, and Gunnery Chief Ashley Williams had more than made up for what Shepard had lacked in raw passion. Now it was Kaidan who had taken the role of frustrated commander, and both Shepard and Ash were dead. Or he supposed it was just Ash now. He hated not knowing for certain.
In the end, he hadn’t been able to write that email to her. Kaidan had finished three glasses of whiskey before finally giving up and retiring for the night. How ironic, he thought, that he was at a loss for words when it came to Shepard. When they had served together on the Normandy, talking was all they’d done, and he certainly hadn’t lacked for things to say at Horizon. Even now, he could practically hear her voice: smooth and sultry, with an unmistakable edge of authority—
“I’m Commander Shepard, and this is my favorite store on the Citadel.”
His blood turned to ice.
Kaidan whipped his head around—he was definitely going to feel that in the form of a migraine later—to face the sound, heart pounding. That had been been her voice, right? His eyes scanned the crowds, searching for a head of cropped red hair, a purposeful sway of the hips, a tendency to be surrounded by the galaxy’s most notable alien species—
“I’m Commander Shepard, and this is my favorite store on the Citadel.”
Wait.
The voice was unmistakably hers, but this time, Kaidan could hear the synthetic overlay. His heart sank, probably from disappointment, but he didn’t want to think about that right now. He followed the sound of the looped message before coming to a stop in front of Saronis Applications, where it became apparent that her voice was being used as an advertisement.
“Welcome, sir,” called the salarian behind the counter, waving a three-fingered hand. “Can I help you find anything?”
It took a moment for Kaidan to find his voice. “No. I was just looking.”
The salarian, who Kaidan could only assume was Saronis himself, only grinned. “Well, don’t look too long, or you’ll miss out on some great deals. Our prices are so good that the famous Commander Shepard herself gave us an endorsement.”
“Commander Shepard?” Kaidan’s voice was monotone, professional; it did nothing to betray the way his heart threatened to jump out of his chest. “She was here?”
“Just a few days ago, in fact. If only you’d gotten here sooner. With everything she bought, I can only imagine she was preparing for a top-secret Spectre mission.”
“I see. Well, uh, thanks for the information, but I really have to go.”
Before the merchant could try to sell him something, Kaidan began walking in the opposite direction, intent on putting as much space as possible between him and the sound of her voice. He didn’t know what bothered him more: that Shepard had been on the Citadel and he had just missed her, or that having missed the chance to see her again left an ache in his chest that he still didn’t want to think about.
She really was like a ghost, he thought, and not for the first time. She had haunted his dreams when she was dead, and now that she was alive again, she haunted his waking moments as well. Kaidan had never liked ghost stories, but now he knew that the real thing was so much more unnerving.
~*~*~
Commander Shepard had gone through the Omega-4 Relay. That was the rumor that was making its way around the Alliance, and despite his conflicted feelings about her return, Kaidan couldn’t help the trepidation that gripped his heart over the idea of her heading into a suicide mission and possibly dying all over again.
(Kaidan wasn’t entirely sure if ghosts could even die, but right now, he couldn’t bring himself to care about the philosophy of it all.)
It had been months since the aftermath of Horizon, since he had sent her an apology email saying both too much and too little. She hadn’t responded to his message—whether by her own choice or by Cerberus’, he wasn’t sure—and it had bothered him much more than he cared to admit, even to himself. Back on the Normandy, he had seen her in her last moments, had called her name as she was thrown into the inky blackness of space, past the flames and wreckage of the original Normandy. This time, his last words were digital, more impersonal. He felt billions of light years away from her, both literally and figuratively.
Just like last time, though, he was powerless to change the outcome—whatever it might end up being.
Kaidan sighed and leaned his head against the ship’s observatory window, watching as planets streaked by at lightning speed, blending into one another as they rushed past him. He was on his way back to Earth, having just finished the most recent assignment to save a human colony. Like their last several missions, this one had failed miserably, and he tried not to think about the empty homes and barren cities. The Alliance had begun calling the bulk of their units back to the home base to regroup. The higher ranks would likely analyze the information they had all gathered and issue orders about the next step in countering the Collector threat. The real threat—the Reapers—still loomed ominously in the distance, and they would unfortunately have to wait until what remained of the human colonies had been evacuated.
He tore his gaze from the expanse of space and began walking back to his cabin. They were supposed to reach their destination in less than six hours. Kaidan was more than accustomed to running on caffeine and virtually no sleep, but he wanted to be at least somewhat rested for the endless conferences and tactical meetings that were to come.
Kaidan had barely made his way through the door when he was accosted by the sound of his personal comm ringing. Curious, he stepped over to his computer and pressed the “answer” button. He was surprised when Captain Anderson’s uniformed figure appeared on the screen, arms behind his back.
“Lieutenant-Commander Alenko,” he greeted, his tone brusque and formal.
“Captain Anderson.” Kaidan saluted, as was proper for someone of the Captain’s station. “I wasn’t expecting to see you for a few hours, at least.”
“You’ll no doubt be seeing me then as well, but there’s something I wanted to discuss with you first. Off the record.”
Kaidan’s heartbeat quickened. He hoped Anderson couldn’t pick up on his nervousness. “Yes, sir.”
“I assume you’ve heard?”
Kaidan briefly considered playing dumb, but if this conversation was indeed off the record, then there was no point in pretending that he hadn’t heard the scuttlebutt. “About Shepard? Yes, sir.”
Anderson nodded. “Alliance intelligence has just confirmed that a ship with the Normandy’s signature passed through the Omega-4 Relay less than four hours ago.”
“I see.” Kaidan was becoming increasingly confused by this exchange. “With all due respect, sir, why are you telling me this? Is this related to our current mission?”
“You served under the Commander, did you not?”
“Well, yes—”
“And you were involved with her?”
“Yes, but—” Kaidan’s blood ran cold at the realization of what Captain Anderson had said and what Kaidan had just foolishly admitted to. Damn it, he was usually more composed than this. “Wait, no, I mean— What I meant to say was—”
Anderson held up a hand to silence him. “Relax, Alenko. I’ve been in the loop about this for a while, and I’m not here to lecture you on fraternization rules. We have much bigger things to worry about right now.”
Kaidan swallowed, then nodded, waiting for the Captain to continue.
“When Shepard comes back, she’ll likely be taken into Alliance custody.”
Kaidan didn’t miss Anderson’s use of “when.” He was confident that she would return. He ignored the way his heart felt lighter at the thought. “Provided she makes it back, sir, what makes you think she’ll turn herself in willingly? She’s with Cerberus, after all.”
“She will,” Anderson said with a note of finality, suggesting there was no room for debate. Kaidan was almost jealous of his conviction. “And when she does, you won’t be able to see her for some time. But you and I both know that the Reapers are still coming. When they do, she’ll need you to support her. She’s always relied on you more than the others.”
Kaidan’s chest tightened, and he felt a twinge of guilt. “How do you know that she’s still the same person, or if she even cares about the Reaper threat?”
“She is, and she does. You’ll realize it, too, when it really matters.”
At that, Kaidan was silent.
“Get some sleep, Alenko. You’ll need it. Anderson out.”
The holographic screen went blank before disappearing altogether. Kaidan stared at nothing in particular for a moment before shuffling to his bed, letting out another deep sigh. Anderson believed in her. Garrus and Tali apparently believed in her. Was Kaidan wrong for being cautious, or was everyone else simply too quick to latch onto the hope that Shepard was truly back against all odds, no strings attached? That her being with Cerberus, a human supremacist terrorist organization, was simply a matter of circumstance?
He turned his attention to his nightstand, where a small picture frame laid face-down. Against his better judgment, he picked it up and held it gingerly in both hands, gazing, not for the first time, at the picture displayed on the digital screen. Commander Shepard stared back at him, green eyes crinkling at the corners as she smiled. This picture had been taken just after the battle with Sovereign, and she’d had an air of pride about her. She had just saved countless human and alien lives, after all. She’d had every right to be proud.
Kaidan wanted to believe that the woman on Horizon was the same one in this picture. He supposed he would have to wait until she got back to find out. Maybe, in time, he would come to trust her again, just as Anderson did now.
He set the picture back on the nightstand, this time face up, and selfishly wondered if Shepard was thinking of him as she fought the Collectors.
(Little did he know that only hours before, she had looked at his picture, perched face up on her desk, and wondered the same thing about him.)
Kaidan turned out the lights, and the backlit screen of the picture frame flickered before fading to black.