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Shepard balances her hot mug of tea on her tray of food, peering over the datapad in her free hand. It’s o-five hundred hours. None but Rupert, two members of the essential staff, and Garrus with his biphasic sleep schedule, are awake and moving around the mess. Garrus greets her as she passes the dextro-dairy bar. Shepard nods at him with a stony expression.
It’s been twelve days since Major Shepard joined the Normandy SR-2, taking over for commanding officer Alenko. Twelve days for her to find it in herself to forgive her former teammates for joining the enemy; twelve days for her to forgive herself. She’s not quite there yet.
Shepard finds a seat in the corner of the mess; this early, most people sit on their own, spread out, relishing the quiet early hours, the overhead lights still set to dim for the “night” cycles.
The datapad contains the dossier for their upcoming recruit: an assassin working a contract on Illium. Shepard figures they will recruit him after they’ve gone by Haestrom to convince Tali to join them. The idea of facing Tali and asking her to join them on this mission—the ethics of working with Cerberus flying in the face of everything they’ve worked to achieve together—makes Shepard’s stomach roil. She sips her tea, the hot water calming her nerves. Then she swipes over to a split screen and opens her note logs.
This datapad is Alliance-issued, one of the few possessions she brought aboard this ship. She rigged it to not connect to the local network. The only way to ascertain any data from it would be through a brute force physical scan. She ensured its security from the ship’s AI. She needed a way to maintain her independence from Cerberus, a way to hide her thoughts from machine and man. A paper journal could work, but even well-hidden, that could fall in the wrong hands. This datapad is locked behind several layers of encryption and biometric passwords.
Opening a new file in her most-visited folder, Shepard begins a new log.
Galactic Standard Day 139, 0504 GST
Alenko not risen for early mess hours. Out of character from SR-1 days—typically finishing up his first biotic rations by the time I arrive, to maximize nutrition and energy prior to morning workout. Said it was to front-load calories and account for loss of appetite due to L2 migraines and subsequent medication. Personality shift? Consequence of reconstruction? Or evidence of clone?
Shepard finishes her thought and swipes away from the screen, hiding it. Prior to boarding, she downloaded offline copies of major extranet research engines, and she opens a search query, key words, L2 implant, side effect, treatment. Shepard looks up while waiting for the results load, scanning the room once again, and makes eye contact with Kaidan coming out of the elevator.
“Good morning, Commander,” Kaidan says. After her promotion, the word is jarring. The honorific sounds wrong, coming from his lips. She can’t blame him for continuing to call her the wrong title. The last time I saw you, I was your commander.
“Major, Lieutenant.” Shepard says, voice clipped, trying not to dwell on the line of thought.
“Right, apologies—Major.” Shepard scoffs a little. Then she quickly closes the extranet tab, re-opening Thane’s dossier. She pretends to read it while watching Kaidan load up his tray. No tea or coffee—not unusual. The caffeine would trigger or worsen his pain. He tried to relish the early morning hours before his first biotic flares, when he’s least likely to have any pain. The days he woke up with migraines were his worst ones, but regardless of what sort of day he was having, he would never let it show.
Kaidan brings his tray over to her table. “Mind if I join you?”
“Please,” Shepard says, shifting in her seat, her body language betraying her actual feelings at the prospect. If Kaidan notices, he pretends not to. He begins to eat. After a few bites, Kaidan shakes his head. “Rupert’s been killing it lately. If you didn’t already deserve to be our XO, you definitely earned it after improving his rations.”
Shepard allows a surprised snort to escape her. “Appreciate that Alenko. Anything I can do to improve crew morale.” She doesn’t necessarily hate the Cerberus crew. Yes, she distrusts them, but they are people, at the end of the day. They weren’t part of the Akuze cell, the Nepheron or Binthu cells. They did not personally torture Sergeant Toombs or assassinate Admiral Kahoku. They simply work for the entity who did—and are doing so because they believe the cause is worthy. She can’t fault them for that. It’s why she’s working for Cerberus, after all.
Shepard watches Kaidan eat over the rim of her hot mug. The way he holds his fork with all of his fingers curled around the handle, shovels his eggs into his mouth like—well, like he’s shoveling—Shepard cannot hold back a laugh.
Kaidan pauses. “Something funny, Shepard?”
“I’m sorry—you just,” Shepard shakes her head. “You still hold your fork the same way you used to. Eating like it’s running away from you.” Shepard allows herself this small moment of sentimentality, blames it on the oh-five hundred calmness in the air. It feels like old times.
Kaidan offers her a crooked smile. “Cerberus didn’t program table manners into me. You can add that detail to your little notebook.”
Shepard blinks. He knows? She can’t let her surprise show on her face. She shakes her head, taking a sip from her tea. “They should have. You eat like a goddamn kid.”
Kaidan laughs and continues eating. Shepard tries to read the dossier again, but she’s been rereading it over and over since yesterday. She could recite it by heart, at this point. Kaidan speaks again.
“Talk to me, Commander.”
“Major,” she corrects.
“Major,” Kaidan says. Shepard looks up and sees he’s already finished his food. “You’ve got that worried look on your face.”
“Worried look?”
“Thinking about the mission?” Kaidan continues.
“You’re up late,” Shepard says. Kaidan’s eyebrows rise.
“By whose standards?”
“Your own,” Shepard puts down the datapad and puts her fist under her chin, leaning forward. “You always beat me to the mess. No matter how early I thought I was getting up, you got up earlier.” Except the morning before Ilos. When they talked about it on shore leave a week after, he mentioned it was the best he had slept in years. She smiled, kissed him, promised him many more nights like that to come. Less than a month later, he was gone. Now, two years later, he’s sitting in front of her again, giving her a hard time like nothing’s changed.
Shepard relaxes her arm, grabs her tea, and ducks her face into the mug to suppress the sudden wave of emotions.
Kaidan drinks some water, looks at the table. Taps his fingertips into it for a few moments. “Cerberus did… take some liberties,” he admits. Shepard looks up at him. “They replaced my implant. I’m an L4 now.”
“L4?” Shepard frowns. “I thought the most advanced we have were L3-Rs.”
“So did I, but apparently being on the cutting edge of illegal sapient test subject research gives you some insight into new product lines.”
Shepard shakes her head. “Any side effects?”
“None,” Kaidan breathes. “None at all. It’s strange. I lived for so long with migraines, the sickness, the pain. It became part of who I was. To wake up and start a new life without any of that… It’s been confusing, Shepard. It’s like they took a part of who I was away. And I can’t really be mad at them, because, well. I was dead. And it’s a net positive—not just alive again, but pain-free.” Kaidan rubs the back of his neck. “I don’t know. It’s a weird thing to complain about. Forget I said anything.”
“It’s not weird,” Shepard defends him. “I think it would be more weird if you were totally okay with it. They took that away from you without giving you a chance to choose. Even if you wanted the implant gone, you didn’t have a choice.”
“Yeah,” Kaidan says. “You’re right. Still, feels weird complaining.”
“Well, just because you had all your Jump Zero stuff figured out for so long, doesn’t make it weird to have to unpack the new stuff with…” …someone you trust. Shepard takes a deep breath. She didn’t expect to feel this empathy for him so soon. He’s Kaidan—but he’s not Kaidan. But he is. Kaidan.
“Kaidan,” Shepard says. “I’m sorry.”
Kaidan lets out a deep sigh. “You have nothing to apologize for, Commander.”
Shepard quirks a smile. “Major.”
“Major,” Kaidan smiles too. “Sorry.”