Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

11 May, 2177

Arcturus Station

"Hey, hey- look!" Murray's incessant slapping of Kaidan's arm sends his glass off course enough to partially miss his mouth-- whiskey dribbling down the corner. He wipes it off on the back of his hand, because why would a bar have napkins, and follows the path of a finger across the room. "I told you he was giving Carl the 'fuck me' eyes!"

Carl throws a grin their way and wags his eyebrows as he places a hand on the small of the stranger's back, following him out of the bar. With Carl off the list, Murray would want to focus her wingperson powers on him next: the only member of the crew to not have gotten laid this leave. Their last leave as a crew. He honestly has zero desire to go sleep with a stranger, but Kaidan also isn't sure how far Murray will push the joke now that they were so close to a 'perfect score'.

"Alright Alenko, you know what that means!" 

"Murr, please I--"

"It's yoooour tuuuurn! " The singsong lilt to her voice sends Kaidan's eyes rolling, and he downs the rest of his glass. Whatever it is they're thinking right now, he'll need the extra little kick.

"Okay, scanning the perimeter for our target."

"Murr, seriously, I'm good. Please don't try to hook me up with somebody." Had he mentioned his thoughts on shore leave flings to Murray? They're still scanning the bar with tipsy intent, really looking , and this can't be good…

"Quit worrying, Lanky; I'm not lookin' to get you laid, relax." She pauses and tilts her head, allowing Kaidan to follow her gaze to whatever target she's locked on to. If he's reading the trajectory right, she's staring down a fellow  dark-haired Alliance Marine looking rather uncomfortable at the bar. 

"Bingo. Target acquired." Murray turns their head towards Kaidan and beams with self satisfaction at the discovery. "Mr. Awkward, Dark, and Handsome over at the bar has a free seat next to him. Go meet your new pen pal, Alenko. Practice safe messaging, okay? No viruses."

Kaidan can only watch as said man at the bar shifts around on his stool and pulls an umbrella from his glass. He spills some of whatever concoction he's drinking and wipes it up with a uniform sleeve.

"A pen pal, Murray?"

She gives him a nudge with her elbow and confirms. "Yeah! If you don't wanna get your hands on anybody right away, I can respect that. But, I swear I will successfully be your wingperson one day, and I'm trying to kick that into motion here. So get your ass over to that open stool and introduce yourself to your new friend before somebody beats you to it!"

Practically pushed from his chair, Kaidan stands and wipes his hands on his pants before turning back to the mastermind.

"Alright, fine, I'm going." He's sincere when he looks at her-- flashing that shy smile that she's convinced could reel in half the people in this bar if he wanted them. "Thanks for not pushing on the other front, Murr."

"Friends don't push on the wrong fronts, Alenko. But if you come back without his contact info," they smile, "I'm kicking your ass." 

Kaidan shakes his head, but he's smiling nonetheless. "See ya later, Murr."

"Go gettem, Lanky."

Now it's his turn to lock on target as he crosses the dance floor. Another drink is placed in front of the man, who carefully transfers the little pink umbrella from the glass to his mouth. A few steps away, and another biotic field makes its presence known. If the slightest shift in the man's posture is any indication, Kaidan would see an amp port right about…

Fuck. How the hell did Murray do it? 

He steels himself and doesn't break stride until he's reached the empty stool. One deep breath, and Kaidan goes for it.

"This seat taken?"

The man looks over his shoulder and locks on to Kaidan with some seriously rich brown eyes. The pink umbrella dangles from his mouth, and Kaidan stifles a grin at the sight. Realization hits the stranger a moment later, a blush tinting his cheeks, and he removes the decoration from between his lips. 

"Nope, all yours."

~~~~~~

12 May, 2177

09:17 Galactic Standard Time

> Alenko, you good? Were still chatting up your pen pal when I called it a night. Let me know if I have to kick anyone's ass.

< I'm good Murr, thanks. Made it back late. No ass kicking necessary.

> That include you? Meaning you got contact info?

> Alenko, your silence is telling…

< Only a local comm. BUT we're hanging out again today, so belay the kicking, please.

> … Alright. For now. But I expect status reports, Lanky.

< I outrank you Murray. 

< But I'll keep you updated.

> You better <3

~~~~~~

13 May, 2177

02:24 GST

> Status?

< … Third time's the charm?

> Alenko, what the fuck are you waiting for? 

< I don't know! We just keep making more plans and the moment never seems right.

> Well as long as you don't miss your chance I can belay the ass whooping again.

< Wait, is a whooping worse than a kicking?

> Yes. And what's this about a third time? You two hanging again tomorrow?

< … 

> ALENKO

~~~~~~

13 May, 2177

07:40 GST

< Posting came through. Yours? 

> Yeah. Ready to share?

< Yeah. Do it.

> Marathon

< Marathon

> HOLY SHIT ALENKO

> YOU'RE STUCK WITH ME AGAIN

> FUCK YES

< Holy shit, Murr! We're heading to a frigate!

> Fuck yeah we are! But first, I'm heading to the strip club >:3

~~~~~~

13 May, 2177

21:49 GST

< Murray, I'm pleased to announce that you can officially take me off your shit list. My ass will remain un-whooped. Or kicked. 

> Meaning you finally got up the nerve to ask for his contact? 

< Well I mean… he beat me to it, but yeah I have his contact.

> FUCK YEAH, ALENKO! My reign as the ultimate wingperson continues untarnished.

< Murr, just because I'm gonna keep talking to the guy, doesn't mean anything… physical will ever come from it. He's also a lieutenant. On his way to his next assignment now, actually. Who knows if we'll ever see each other again.

> Kaidan whatever-the-fuck-your-middle-name-is Alenko, don't you count anything out before it can have a chance. 

> My wingperson skills deserve better than that.

< Fine, you're right. Who knows what'll happen.

> That's better. Now, was I right that he's even better looking from the front than he is from the back? 

< … I mean… 

> Lanky, spill.

< He's really cute, okay?

> Cute, Lanky? Oh you've got it bad already, dontcha? 

< Can it, Murr. 

> ULTIMATE WINGPERSON

~~~~~~

14 May, 2177

18:47 Ship Time - SSV Marathon

Kaidan stares at his messages, trying to will one into existence by sheer pleading as he waits desperately for a response. Murray throws an arm around his neck and leans over his shoulder to catch a glance of the omnitool interface before Kaidan shuts it off.

"What, private pen pal messages I'm not allowed to see?"

But when Kaidan shakes at the question, Murray tightens her hold on her friend, leaning closer for whatever it is that has him upset.

"Something happened on Akuze."

"... That where…?"

"Yeah. He hasn't answered yet."

Murray leans their chin on Kaidan's shoulder and squeezes the other. It's a thin reassurance she knows won't help, but as long as he knows she's there for him, it has to be enough.

"I'm sorry, Alenko… They don't have all the details yet, right?" There's a nearly imperceptible shake of his head next to theirs. "Then cautious optimism is what I'm sticking with. Let them figure out what happened first, and keep your fingers crossed in the meantime."

Kaidan lets out a sigh that does nothing to loosen the tension built up under his skin, but it does reassure Murray that something said got through. There's one more shoulder squeeze before he's relinquished, Murray backing off for the time being to allow him room to breathe.

"Let me know if there's anything I can do, 'kay Alenko?" 

He finally stands, slowly-- as if the muscles now moving him were struggling to remember how-- and faces his friend.

"Thanks, Murr."

"You're welcome. Now, come grab dinner before the rest of the savages eat your share." 

She leaves him to follow at his own place, granting him that extra moment of calm before walking out amongst their rowdy new crew. Kaidan takes one last look at his messages, still unread.

14 May - 18:41

> Jay, please, give me something here. They haven't confirmed anything yet. Please tell me you got off of there?

Closing his omnitool once more, Kaidan takes a deep breath and heads to the mess.

Chapter Text

27 May 2177

Arcturus Station

Freshly promoted Staff Lieutenant Johnathan Antony Shepard felt the weight of fifty squadmates in the new medal pinned to his dress blues. A promotion, a commendation, and a gaping hole in his chest where his usual resilience had abandoned him – he found himself hiding away in a run-down diner on Arcturus. The back wall was one long booth lined with tables for two, the chairs opposite were those that showed their wear and tear more than the rest. It made the corner spot that John occupied all the better when nobody wanted to claim the uncomfortable seating surrounding him.

He’d had almost two weeks of leave leading up to the ceremony, though he wasn’t sure you could still consider it leave if you spent the entire time in the hospital, debriefings, or curled up in the closet of your hotel room trying to get the shaking to stop. Tomorrow he’d begin mandated therapy, both physical and psychological. The Alliance had to make sure their Brave, Strong Sole Survivor was in proper shape to throw back into duty, to be their poster boy. Though it sounded like they had other plans for him, as well. 

Anderson had let it slip that the brass in charge of it were finally taking his N school recommendation for Shepard seriously, now that he’d set a new personal best for ‘closest he’s come to dying’. Seems like the Alliance doesn’t know how to promote soldiers without being told they’re on the brink of death, first. 

As much as Shepard had thanked Anderson for initially recommending him a year ago, he couldn’t help but want to curse the man a little as well. He could barely function at the moment, and they were talking about shipping him off to Earth for the most brutal courses the Alliance had to offer. Just the thought is enough to start him on that now-familiar spiral back down into his memories. His chest tightens, and he knows he needs to get out of there. 

His left hand shakes as he lifts his arm and activates the new omnitool he’d been given. Guess his old model hadn’t been acid-proof, much like everything else that day. Shepard pays his tab, the cup of coffee untouched except for the one sip he’d half-spilled on the table before giving up. He keeps his head low, his features serious, and his pace quick, hoping to prevent anyone considering trying to talk to him from actually attempting it. The walk out of the diner is fine. He can hear the table of Alliance soldiers close to the door scramble to silence their whispers as he walks past, and if he weren’t on the verge of breaking, he’d say something to them. Ask them about the sudden stop to their conversation. 

Not now though. Not like this. Shepard clears the exit and starts his journey back to the barracks nearby. He would keep it together long enough to get back into his room and lock the door. Then he could break. Not until then. 

His breath keeps trying to hitch in his chest, and when he clenches his fists to fight for control, his left hand trembles again. The feeling of the acid eating through his gauntlet and into the skin around his thumb and all along the back is still vivid, even if the pain he remembers doesn’t return with it. He’d jumped for Kopp, trying to get between the man and the spray heading straight for him. Kopp had cracked, fallen to his knees, and cursed the Maws in front of them, but by the time Shepard had connected the dots and dove… Kopp still got the brunt of it, most of his body covered, save for the one arm and shoulder that Shepard’s side had managed to cover. 

His face in the sludge. The screaming.

Focus. Almost there. One more hallway after this corner, then a left, down three doors, and your room is on the right. 

Shepard bites the inside of his cheek as his fingernails cut into his palm. He turns the corner.

Hallway, turn left, down three doors, room on right. Hallway, turn left, down three doors, room on right. 

If he focuses on the repetition, maybe Kopp will shut up. He reaches the end of the hall. 

Turn left, down three doors, room on right. Down three doors, room on right. Down two doors, room on right. Fuck, one door. Room on right. 

He pulls his omnitool back up to unlock the door. The scarred pink skin on his hand catches his eye, not quite healed despite the doctors’ best efforts. 

Fuck. Close the door. 

It closes, and he smacks the interface at the side to lock it, sliding down the door to sit, arms wrapping around his legs to grip tight on the loose fabric at his calves. Corners of his shiny new medal dig into his thigh, and he’s gotta get this damned jacket off before it chokes him. His fingers shake on the buttons, and Shepard keeps his eyes closed so he doesn’t catch sight of it. He removes the jacket by feeling alone, throwing it off to the side so the medals clang off the base of the lamp standing in the corner. Moving to his neck, he undoes the buttons there as well, the whole time feeling his pulse beat wildly in his neck below fumbling fingers. One gasping breath makes its way through once his collar is loose, then another. Shepard curls back in on himself, arms wrapping again around his legs, forehead resting on his knees as the tears start. 

Kopp is still screaming. 

~~~~~~

28 May 2177

Alliance Therapy Center

“What would you prefer that I call you during our discussions, Lieutenant?”

Dr. Bailen speaks softly, but not in a way that makes Shepard think she’s doing it on purpose or specifically treading carefully. No, this is her regular cadence, and knowing that fact helps calm him a bit. She’s not treating him delicately – not yet anyway. 

“Um, Shepard is fine, ma’am.” He’s sitting ramrod-straight on the synthetic leather couch that occupies one wall of her office, hands clasped in his lap with the scarring out of sight. The freshly regrown skin on his left side and lower back pull with his posture like this, but he’s too fucking tense to relax. This is his first therapy session since the Alliance pulled him off of Mindoir. Back then, they had given him enough time to make sure he was stable before scheduling the surgery for his implant. The Alliance was willing to keep him on Arcturus for Biotic training, but he had to prove he wouldn’t be a danger to himself, or the station, first. 

Funny, how history tends to repeat itself. 

“Okay, Shepard it is. I would tell you to relax, but I’m sure your body will allow you to once it’s ready.” Her smile is genuine and warm, crinkling the corners of lips and bright green eyes alike as she watches him. There's kindness in those eyes, so much so that it almost hurts to look at, like it's too nice for a man like him at the moment. “I’ll start us off slowly: tell you a bit about myself, about how I like to approach our discussions here, and then we’ll work towards a conversation about our time together over the next two weeks. If you have any questions for me after, please ask them. Your thoughts and concerns are all encouraged here, even if those concerns lie with me, okay?”

She’s laying it out for him, and while simultaneously soothing and terrifying, it does sound okay so far. “Yes ma’am.”

There’s another warm smile sent his way. “I’ll begin by saying that you can address me in other ways during our discussions, depending on what you would prefer. I can handle all of this “ma’am” business if that is what’s most comfortable for you, but you can also call me Doctor, Dr. Bailen, or heck, even Carol if you want.” It gets a corner of Shepard’s mouth to raise, and Carol makes a mental note. 

“Thank you, doctor. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Good. Now, I mentioned that I’d start with a little spiel on me.” She proceeds to tell him about her work, her studies at some university in Paris that he can’t pronounce (he never could quite get the hang of French), and what drove her to join the Alliance as a psychologist. It’s just enough to make her not feel like a complete stranger without revealing all her cards, and enough to show she’s willing to share bits of her story as well. Dr. Bailen explains that over their time together, they need to talk about Akuze. Full stop. Maybe not today, or even tomorrow, but there had to be a serious conversation about that day and its impact in their allotted time before she could consider clearing him for duty. 

“I will be honest with you throughout this process, Shepard. All I ask is that you do the same for me, and for yourself. Okay?”

He allows himself a deep breath before answering. Honest with himself? He’s not sure what that looks like here, but if he’s going to get through this, he knows there is going to be actual effort required on his part. 

“Okay.”

“Good, thank you. So, now that we’re halfway through our time today, let’s get started.” Shepard fidgets under her kind gaze, unable to stop himself from wringing his hands together. It’s either that, or he’ll start calling up dark energy to play with, and he doesn’t think they’re quite comfortable enough for that just yet. 

“Now, we both know why you’re here, but I think it’s important for you to say it aloud. So, in as many or as few words as you want: what brings you to me, Shepard?”

The familiar tightening of his chest starts up again, and he can feel his hand twitching under phantom acid. He takes his time working towards what’s been repeating in his head for the last two weeks. Dr. Bailen is a saint for not pushing while he's getting his breathing back under control. One last long exhale, and he meets her eyes. 

“Akuze.”

Chapter Text

Squad 107- Phoenix Squadron- was based out of the SSV Athens, a cruiser that had seen her fair share of crew filter their way through her airlocks over the years. Her current lot consisted of the regular running crew, a relief and medical crew, and two large squadrons, each composed of 50 Marines ready for larger scouting duties, SARs, and whatever else Alliance space had to offer them. 

This time, it offered the chance to check in on an up-and-coming colony whose comms went dark in the previous week, and the Athens volunteered. 

Captain Haider and his crew would regret that, soon enough. 

Phoenix Squadron received their initial briefing on Arcturus before takeoff and were filled in with pertinent details before the drop ground side. The shore party was split into 5 teams, Alpha through Echo, and were to drop at the landing zone south of the colony to spread out. Alpha and Echo would report to the west and east sides of the colony, respectively, to provide a sitrep. Bravo and Delta were to split southwest and southeast focusing on scouting the surrounding plains and craggy hillsides for abnormalities. Charlie would head straight into the colony from the south and locate the comms building, with two of the squad members being comms specialists and another two engineers. Anything that could be wrong with the system wouldn’t stand a chance of staying broken.

It was a straightforward plan, covering the situation from multiple angles for optimal information gathering and efficiency. It was a strategy they'd practiced and executed dozens of times prior. 

~~

“We had boots on the ground for just over 10 minutes when the gunfire started. Over to the West, Alpha or Bravo or both started firing at an unknown target. Their shouting was audible from our position over a klick away.”

Shepard has his sights locked on the coffee table between himself and Dr. Bailen, focusing on their coffee mugs, the coasters, the tissue box, anything he can lose himself in the details of. 

“Staff Commander Marshall was leading the Op.”

"Contact on Alpha! Repeat: contact on Alpha! Unknown threat, creature, fucking huge! Uh- shit! Gotta be 25 meters high. Came straight outta the fucking ground! Weapons seem ineffective, and-"

“He was on the comms with an update when he was cut off by a… a roar. I swear, it’s like it cut straight through my head, literally sent a chill down my spine.”

"Christ! Fuck, it’s- oh God-"

Shepard adjusts to maintain balance as the ground shakes under Charlie. If that thing is causing this…

The gunfire quiets down, and Marshall doesn’t finish his thought. 

“We lost contact with them.”

“Commander, this is Charlie. Repeat your last.” Shepard waits for a response, but one doesn’t come. “Marshall, it’s Shepard! Repeat your last! What the fuck is going on over there?”

Still nothing, and then the western gunfire stops. The ground begins to shake again as another roar screams out in the distance, this time from the East. 

“Fuck! Charlie to Delta, confirm your status.” They need to coordinate, and Lieutenant Commander Seyfi appears to now be in charge here. There’s no verbal response, just gunfire starting up again, drowned out by that fucking roaring. 

“Charlie to Echo, someone confirm your status, dammit!” They’re running into the comms building now, Shepard hoping that they can reach one of the squads from here instead.

He calls over his shoulder to the comms specialists. “Neri, Kopp, give me a status.”

“We could barely hail the teams on the Eastern side. Then we found out that off-world comms were a no-go.”

“Sir, everything’s good from a software perspective on this end, but all off-world signals, inbound and out, are blocked. Looks like the towers are down, all located to the east-southeast. They haven’t checked in for the last week, matching the date of last contact they mentioned in the briefing.”

“Shit, okay, how far away, Neri?”

“Just over a klick, Sir. Delta should be right around them.”

“Still no status from anyone?”

“Only a brief check-in from Echo, sir” Kopp responds. He’s got a hand flying around the haptic interface of his omnitool. “I’ve been trying different methods and channels, but haven’t received a response from Delta yet. Let me pull up Echo again and put Corporal Evans on.”

“There was still gunfire from the East, so we headed toward it while we tried to hail Evans again. But the ground… kept shaking.”

Just like his hand was, now. Shepard pauses for a moment, steadying long enough to take a sip of his cooling coffee and readjust on the sofa. He tries leaning back into the material, hoping somewhat that he could just sink in and disappear, and finds a moderately comfortable way to position his back and side. Dr. Bailen has been taking quiet notes across from him, allowing Shepard to set their pace. He wonders how long that’ll last, considering how little he’s giving her to work with so far. 

Dive back into it. 

“We were most of the way to the comm towers when… we uh, got our first look at the…”

It bounces around in his head, rattling a path through and searching for a way out, but he can’t bring himself to say it. 

“...The Thresher Maw?”

But the doctor can, after a minute. She notices him tense at the name, shoulders pulling up and in, fists clenching, breath stuttering… and of course, his damn hand starts shaking. 

“Shepard, I need you to breathe for me. Have you ever done breathing exercises before?” The nod in response is rigid but visible, and Dr. Bailen acknowledges it. “Good, then this should be familiar to you. Follow my count, please. We’re going to inhale for eight counts…” The breath shudders its way in. “Good, now we hold for eight… there you go, nice and easy. Okay, now we exhale over eight counts. Slow, keep it even. Good, good. Once more for me, please. Follow my lead.”

He throws all his focus into keeping her instructions front and center. Three -or was it four?- rounds in, Shepard can feel the blood returning to his fingers. That seems like a good sign, so he switches focus to unclenching his jaw, then his shoulders. When he opens his eyes on round six-ish, Dr. Bailen is assessing the status, testing the waters to see if the shift of energy in the room was as positive as she thought.

“That method seems to work well for you, Shepard. Why don’t we take a few minutes to stand and stretch our legs, hmm? I’d like to refresh my coffee, and I’m sure yours is getting just as cold by now. We can pick back up in say, five minutes?”

Bless her. 

“Yes, doctor. Thank you.”

~~~~~~

He should be relishing the taste of decent coffee -- far from the sludge that would await him when his boots hit another Alliance Vessel -- but it’s still bitter flowing over his tongue. Dr. Bailen was waiting for him to finish the current sip, waiting to ease back into the story, waiting to see how he’d composed himself. At least he was steady placing the mug back on the table. 

“So, Shepard, while we do need to hash through the rest of that day, I was wondering if you’d prefer to discuss something else for the rest of our session now?”

An out, temporary as it is, could be a welcome change. Depending on what she has in mind, anyway. 

“Did you have anything in particular, Doctor?”

She’s choosing her next words carefully and tries to not let that set him on edge from the gate. What details are stored in his Personnel Record? What horrible little bit of his past or gritty detail would she ask to dig up now? The list of things he’d prefer to not revisit is probably longer than the list he’d enjoy. 

“You’ve had quite the experience with the Alliance since your enlistment five years ago. Even more so when you include your time as a minor.”

Wary of the multitude of directions this could go, Shepard nods, “you could say that.”

“The military being what they are, I’m sure this is not the first time that you have found yourself thrown out of the frying pan and into the fire. Would you agree?”

Unable to stop the huff that escapes him, he meets her gaze properly. “You could say that, too.”

“Hmm, I thought as much.”

And what the hell does that mean, exactly? Dr. Bailen must be able to read the thought on his face, and she doesn’t leave him waiting long. 

“You have a history of being pushed right back into the thick of it- straight into action, training, the next mission to focus on- right back into the fire your pan was just pulled from. Now, it’s obviously not news to either of us that this is standard military practice. A soldier’s thoughts can’t linger too long on past horrors when it has new ones to keep its focus.”

She had a hell of a point. Kopp’s screaming had held his attention in every quiet moment of the last week. Years before, Mindoir was pushed from thought by his Alliance rescue: the Commander in charge reporting the aura of dark energy raging around him when they pulled up for SAR procedures. The thought of his sister, dead in his arms and consumed by his corona, was pushed aside with questions from the surgery team finger-deep in the back of his neck and skull. One fascinated nurse ensured they didn’t hit anything they shouldn’t while installing his implant and amp port, wiring it to his cerebellum and nervous system as he listed off his math times tables to them. Surgery was then dwarfed by recovery, questions on his previous schooling, assessment of his biotic abilities, more surgery to ensure the entire eezo node network was wired in, and on and on… 

And then, it was the armful of supplies he walked to his bunk in the minor barracks before his first day as a biotic guinea pig, assisting the Alliance in determining how to move forward with biotic training after BAaT. 

“No, no they certainly can’t.” Shepard's unable to meet her gaze now, worrying his hands together and rubbing the scarring in what is quickly becoming his new nervous habit. 

“I only bring this up to ask: do you feel that you’ve just been tossed from the pan? Do you know what the next fire they have in store for you is?”

There had been whispers, for sure. Somehow they’d been convinced that Shepard was N-school material, and the next class was scheduled to begin ICT in just over two months. Shepard’s class, from the sound of it. It took Captain Haider and Captain Anderson telling the brass that he needed time to recover to even get him in with Dr. Bailen. 

Once they look at his psych profile after this session, he wonders if they’ll still want him in that class. 

“Yes. ICT. Pretty big fire, from what I understand.” Shepard allows himself a glance up at the Doctor, her face composed but for the hint of- annoyance maybe? Or maybe disappointment? Either way, he hoped it was aimed at the brass and not himself. 

“Quite big, yes. And that’s why you were actually brought to me, isn’t it? To prove you’re ready to be thrown in that fire?”

Shit. Could he argue that point? “I- when you put it like that, I suppose so.”

He can’t get a solid read on her, and it’s frustrating when she’s studying him like this: like he should be squished in a microscope slide. 

“Alright then, Shepard. Same time tomorrow?”

~~~~~~

He prefers the muscular exertion of physical therapy over his sessions with Dr. Bailen, even with his other assigned therapist being the cranky bastard he was. It was easier to focus on fixing the sting of pulling skin, stretching muscles, and shaking extremities than it was fighting the invisible monsters plaguing his sleep schedule.

If only the two combined could exhaust him enough to knock him out for a few hours.

By this point, at least, he could make the walk back from the medical center to his room with his eyes closed if the need arose. He gives a silent thanks as he makes it inside the assigned quarters without a single interruption, locking the door and going straight to the shower. The mirror is still avoided while he strips down and cleans off the sweat of another taxing morning. 

His shower is quick, and he dries off even faster. The stash of protein bars on the desk is dwindling faster than he'd like, but there's one for his lunch now. Flopping down onto the bed, Shepard focuses on eating the bar- corrugated cardboard with a hint of honey - before crawling under the covers once again. Jim had gotten him to agree to meet for dinner later, but he had a few hours to rest until needing to head out. Pulling up his omnitool, he scrolls to Alenko's conversation and re-reads the messages once more. 

14 May - 14:37

> Shepard, what the fuck happened with Akuze? Please tell me you're okay. We're not getting any details over here and I need to know if you're okay.

14 May - 18:41

> Jay, please, give me something here. They haven't confirmed anything yet. Please tell me you got off of there?

15 May - 03:19

> Fuck, Jay, please.

15 May - 06:38

< I'm here, Kaidan. I'm okay. Back on Arcturus now getting patched up. Talk later.

And here he is almost two weeks later, still avoiding his friend like a fucking coward.

He pulls the blanket up higher. 

~~~~~~

"Word's making its way around everywhere now that the medal ceremony is over. You gotta talk to your friends, Johnny. Tell the people who give a shit about you how you're doing, for fucks sake."

Jim's barely touched his food, spending his time trying to coax something out of Jay instead of enjoying the probably now-cold meal. He means well of course, but that doesn't stop more bile from settling at the back of Jay's throat with every mention of that day.

"... Sorry, Jay. I'm just… worried about ya." 

It's the name more than the change in tone that takes him off guard, has him setting down his fork and giving the sculpted pile of mashed potatoes a damn break from his toying. It's the heartbreak on Jim's face that resigns him to the discussion. 

"You and Alenko are the only two that have asked how I'm doing." The realization hitting Jim's eyes forces Jay’s focus to move over the man's shoulder before he can continue. "I'm in therapy. We're making progress on talking through the… events, and once I'm done they'll decide what to do with me."

Background noise from the diner fills the silence between them, but it's not enough to keep his focus. The fork returns to potato sculpting once again, smashing the current volcano flat to be transformed anew. 

"... " What to do with you" meaning… where to send you?" Jim knows exactly what he means, trying to coax it out of Jay instead.

"Where to assign me, depending on my psych eval. If they want to throw me straight into N school, or if I need more time to glue myself back together." 

Bile tries to make its way forward, tainting words and tongue and threatening to bring forth every thought on the subject that he absolutely can't be shouting in the middle of a fucking diner right now. Jay swallows it down, smushes the potato pyramid he can't get quite triangular enough, and looks back up to Jim.

"They're talking about having me start ICT in the next run and… I just don't get it. Why in the hell do they want me now ? Right after I've just proved that when everything goes to shit, the only thing I'm capable of is saving myself, and I barely managed that?!"

Bringing his voice back down – you're still in public, asshole – he continues.

"I failed all of them, Jim."

What's the old saying? If looks could kill- ? Jim's look doesn't portray murder quite yet, but Jay sure gets slap some sense into you energy from across the table. One look in his eyes says that's covering up protective anguish, though, and that's almost worse. 

"We're talking about why that's bullshit later, Jay. But not here. Now eat your fucking potatoes before you squish them into a new state of matter."

~~~~~~

The couch in Dr. Bailen’s office remains just as uncomfortable even as his back heals further. Or maybe it’s just his inability to relax. Either way, Jay makes an effort to settle in with his mug, preparing for the next round of… this. 

“So, Shepard, I’m sure you’re anticipating this, but I’d like to pick back up with the events on Akuze from your point of view. Can we start with that today?”

“Jumping right in, huh doc?” It’s hard to swallow, literally, and he takes a sip of his coffee hoping it will help.”

“Into the fire, right Shepard?” Her smile is grim, but boy is he glad she’s able to read him well enough to know he appreciates the humor. He returns the grin and nods his assent. 

“Into the fire… Alright, well, I think I remember where I left off. Trying to make it to the comm tower while the ground shook beneath us, when we got our first good look at the… maw, I guess.” Another rough swallow, but at least he can get the word out this time. 

They’d made it over halfway when the creature came into view: low to the ground, mouth open and huge blue tongue protruding, it was the closest thing to a horror vid monster Shepard had ever seen. Worm-like with huge… mandibles? pincers? – it was still unlike any alien creature the Alliance had cataloged so far. 

“It was… massive…”

They slowed to a stop, and Corporal Haru was the first to voice what they were all thinking. 

“What the fuck is that thing?!”

“It rose up high and spit out just an incredible volume of something green , right as Kopp called out asking for Evans.”

“Yeah- shit, Corporal Evans reporting. Delta is gone, eaten by that thing-'' there's a pause as they watch Evans dive behind one of the towers, dodging whatever had just flown out of the monster. “Came out of the ground and got them all in one go. They were huddled, talking about how to get the towers to send a message out. Had just shared with them and me a way to link an omnitool up for off-world comms. Then screaming. The fucking screaming!” His voice cracks there, and Shepard takes the moment to cut in, ushering the group forward, slowly, trying to work their way closer to the towers while giving the thing a wide berth.

“He told us he was working on getting out an S.O.S. and to keep our distance. There’s no way we were going to just leave him there, though…” 

Shepard wishes, not for the first time this week, that there was something he could spike this coffee with. Something that would burn on the way down, maybe break up the lead in his stomach while it’s at it. 

“I told him we’d provide cover fire, give him a distraction so he could make a run toward the rocks behind us. Get to safety. Our engineers found a generator to blow that they thought would do the trick.” 

“Do it, Brumski. Sanderson, Kopp, come with me. Toombs, lead the rest and stay out of range of that generator. Blow it on my signal, and keep your distance from that thing. Fire on it if necessary, but Keep. Your. Distance. Head for the rocks once its attention is grabbed. We’ll get Evans and reconvene on your position. I’m hoping that fucker won’t be able to reach us if there’s enough rock in the way. Understood?”

“We get everyone moving into position to blow it, pull up Evans on the comms again, and…”

A blood-curdling scream comes over the comms just as Kopp gets ahold of Evans. The spit from that thing had landed all around him and on the tower.

“The fucking thing spits at him again, hitting him this time.” His grip on the mug is getting dangerously tight, stretching the scarring on his left hand. Another sip and he sets it down on the coffee table. “Once we heard him yell, I told Brumski and Haru to blow the gen. It actually hit the fucker and drew its attention long enough for me to get closer to Evans, who’s trying to not make too much noise and scanning a massive hole in his suit on the right thigh.”

Shepard forces himself to look at Dr. Bailen for the next part. 

“It was acidic, the spit. And it was all around the fucking tower. All over Evans. Everywhere.”

Her face is as grim as he’s seen it thus far, understanding trying to drain the color from her face. She sets down her stylus to focus her attention solely on Shepard, waiting for the horrors she knows are next, for him to fill in the details where she only has bullet points. 

“Sanderson hadn’t realized that yet. I warned him to stop, but I don’t think he heard me over the gunfire. He had medic training. Said he was going to assess Evans’ injury… Ran straight into that shit and slipped on it. Face first-” 

His voice breaks at the end, but he continues, clearing his throat.

“Started eating through his armor as soon as it made contact. I lit up and lowered his mass, lifted him out of it, and brought him back to clear ground but he was… Fuck…”

His head is in his hands, elbows on his knees, as the acid bubbles in his ears. Threading fingers through his hair, Shepard starts on the grounding exercises before the good doctor can even suggest it. 

Five things I can feel. The couch, clean hair, scratchy BDUs, solid ground below, boots too tight.

“He didn’t even have tags left to grab. Toombs came on the comm, saying he thinks there’s two of those fuckers, movement coming from the West. Evans had gotten the S.O.S. out, confirmed by Neri before she and Ferrera were… And then we found out Toombs was right. Second one bursts out of the ground right under him and the rest of Charlie.”

Four things I can hear… Heartbeat. Breathing. Air recycler…

And then it was quiet, just as it is now. But the quiet never lasts. Dr. Bailen gives him a moment before breaking the silence. 

“So, that left you and Kopp?”

Screaming. I can hear screaming.

“Yeah…”

“Shepard?” Still screaming. “Lieutenant?”

“Hmm?” 

“Would you like to take a break here?”

Fuck, does he. But they’re almost at the end now.

“Not yet, Doctor. I… I’m almost done. Think I need to just…” Shepard tries once more to clear his throat, the bile from the night before rearing its ugly head once again. He doesn't want to make the comparison between stomach acid and… Yeah. 

Three things I can see. Coffee table. Ugly carpet. Tissue box.

“They just towered over us. 20 or 30-odd meters high each, and probably 15 meters away. We weren’t noticed at first. It wasn’t long enough for me to get my hopes up, but I had started trying to plan our next move. And maybe those fucking things wouldn’t have noticed us run away, but I doubt it. We were literally surrounded by death, and where I froze, Kopp collapsed… Honestly, I’m not sure how I didn’t do the same. But I can still hear his ablative rattle against itself when he landed on his knees, when he fell forward and started slamming his fists on the ground. I can still hear him screaming, right before the, the fucking- .”

His voice cracks, the words cut on the edge of it as he closes his mouth, trying to hold in the pieces. Kopp’s quivering cry threatens to recreate itself here, through him, and Jay shakes with the effort of holding it in. 

Two things I can smell. Coffee. …Acid.

"He caught their attention, didn't he?"

If the fear consuming Shepard was given even a chance to begin dissipating, it does an about-face at that moment. As quickly as Kopp lifts his fist to pound into the dirt again, Shepard watches two huge heads turn towards them and shriek. Kopp's gauntlet barely makes contact before the uninjured beast unleashes another torrent of acid straight at the Corporal.

“And you tried to save him.”

Shepard is diving towards the marine before he can think, corona blazing, but makes contact as the acid does. He can hear their armor clash off each other on impact, and Shepard slides down the slope of Kopp's back. There's sizzling for just a moment before he can feel the flesh on his hand, side, and back melting, burning. His barrier didn't stand a chance. 

He nods his head.

One thing I can taste. Salt.

He doesn't wipe his face, letting the tears stay.

The screaming from below him doesn't last long as Kopp faints into the dirt and muck. Shepard tries, fuck does he try, to roll back and pull his friend with him away from the threat. But that threat is already eating away at Kopp. And the ground below him shakes violently. His body screams, aches, as he listens to the creatures submerge themselves once again, the force of his own rapid breathing taking over as his vision blurs. 

“I tried.”

He fumbles for Kopp's tags as his eyes close, but the armor is craggy and his hand doesn't want to work. 

“I failed.”

Then it’s quiet.

Chapter Text

2 June 2177

Arcturus Station

"David, we both know he’s capable." The vid-comm feed was subpar, but it translated the pain on his face well enough. "But you have a far better idea of what he's in for than I do. Then tack on the strain of his biotics…" The beer isn't helping like Jim had wanted it to, but he sure as hell wasn't going to waste half a bottle. 

"He needs more time, Dave. Time to process. To heal."

Yeah, Jim would appreciate something stronger right about now. Something that would kick his ass a little, to match the emotional beating he'd been taking. He felt for the kid, and really, really hoped the doc was getting more out of Jay than he had over a beer at the store the last time he'd tried.

Anderson had been quiet for most of their call; the low light illuminating his tiny cabin on the Tokyo accentuating every shadow over his features. Whatever he was drinking – probably scotch if memory served – didn't seem to be helping any more than Jim's sad excuse for beer. There was that, anyway.

"I know you're right, Jim. I do. I hope that convincing them to hold off for another class before shipping him off to Rio is easy enough, now that I have a suggestion for the interim."

Well, that has Jim's attention. "You did find something, then?"

The holo warbles his acknowledgment, but David is nodding his head as well, so the confirmation makes it through. "Yep. Marathon's new Head of Marine Detail is getting on Volk's nerves already. When I heard, I suggested a swap. I think a fresh start on a frigate would be good for Shepard. You agree?"

Smaller crew, more responsibility, and a chance to get back in the game without having to go back to the Athens ?

"Agree. I think that'll be perfect for him." 

Anderson had come a long way since they served together last on the Hastings. Service often hardened people from the outside in – every rough mission, lost crewmate, injury, and impossible choice beating at you until thick skin influenced the building of walls and barriers within. But David… David softened in a way. Some of the thickest skin he'd ever knocked heads with kept a kind of gooey center hidden inside. It was part of what made David the exceptional leader he was.

Giving a shit also made a difference, and David gave a shit about the kid Jim had taken in all those years ago.

"I really appreciate you helping him out like this, Dave. He's made great progress, he really has – but Rio right away still seems like a bad call."

David nods into his glass, solemn as hell when he looks back up to Jim. The Captain is back now, all business, and Anderson wears the new rank with the professionalism of an old pro.

"It would be a bad call. Shepard taking time to get himself together after Akuze is not a weakness. It's acknowledging a need for additional prep before a voluntary mission. Prep time that, if not utilized, puts himself and every other classmate of his in danger to some extent…"

Anderson goes for another draw from his glass, momentarily breaking their shaking blue eye contact over the vid-comm. "The courses are no joke. Anyone taking them on, even for N1 designation, needs to be in peak shape. Physically and mentally. It's not all solo work; every training partner or squad he's assigned to needs him at his best for their own safety. If that means deploying him to a frigate for six months and moving him into January's class, then so be it."

They're running short on remaining call time and as nervous as he is to know the answer, Jim has to ask.

"You think they'll go for it?"

David nods, looking up.

"I do, but I'll make sure."

~~~~~~

4 June 2177

Anderson manages to get all of them together on a vid-comm two days later, over halfway through Shepard's mandated therapy. Captain Haider could almost be considered a friend these days; with the Athens and the Tokyo under their command, Anderson knew how Haider operated and trusted he'd understand. He wasn't the concern here. 

Major Campos is the wildcard. 

By far one of the fiercest marines he's ever encountered, the Major had graduated more N7s than any other instructor in Rio, and more than most of them combined. She was a hard person to stare down – all rough edges and sharp eyes that cut straight through you. Her buzzed hair was kept neat, allowing the myriad of scars dancing around her skull to stand out amongst light brown hair. The imagery, the intimidation , had kept her from trying to get them treated, preferring to use them as another weapon in her arsenal. And damn if it wasn't effective.  

Campos was told she'd be getting Shepard in July. She'd wanted Shepard last July. Now, Anderson gets to tell her that her star pupil, the one set to shoot her career to the next level, isn't ready despite the transfer paperwork being two signatures from done. 

After last year’s shot to the leg had required him to pull out of the program just two days before his flight to Rio, Campos had remained silent to maintain decorum, but her eyes betrayed the annoyance behind them. Shepard is good. The kid has damn near unlimited potential; he could be the best graduate Campos has ever put out, and she knows it. She wants it – out of a desire for another name on her list or to prove she was right, Anderson doesn't know. Doesn't care, if he's honest, as long as she understands now. 

"Captain Anderson, Captain Haider, what can I do for you, sirs?" Her salute is as crisp as her uniform and is promptly returned by both men.

"Major, I have a feeling you know what this is about," Anderson starts.

"Or 'who', Sir?" She remains perfectly stoic, eye contact deliberate and fierce.

"Yes, 'who'. Major, we need to delay Shepard's deployment to Rio once more."

The slightest crack in her perfect facade shows when her lips purse at the news. 

"Why is that, Captain? If I may?"

Did she really not know, or did she just want to hear his spiel? Either way, it looks like he's giving it, and he did practice it for a reason.

"Akuze, Major. He needs time to recover after that, or at least time to process and come to terms with it before being thrown into ICT. You know as well as I do what'll be required of him there to succeed."

She deliberates momentarily, but her demeanor gives away little. "What do you propose then?"

"Give him time to regroup. Send him on a 6-month deployment with another ship, lead a crew, and make sure he can take the heat. Then you can have him in January."

She's quiet, considering, so Anderson expands on his reasoning.

"Shepard has the potential to be exemplary, to accomplish more than many of his squadmates will ever dream of, and we should be encouraging that however possible. And if that means giving him time aboard another vessel to clear his head, to get his shit together, and to pick up whatever pieces were knocked loose on Akuze, then we need to do it. Because you know as well as I do that if we throw him straight into ICT as he is, he won't make it. Let's let him heal, let him put himself back together properly , and then when the time comes, you'll see the best damn N7 to ever emerge from the other side. He will surpass me, and he will surpass you. I’m sure of it."

Still quiet, still considering, and though it takes longer than Anderson is comfortable with, the Major adjusts her stance and tilts her head.

"Agreed. It's no use sending him to me now. Why waste the time on someone who won’t cut it? Let him get his shit together first, sir, and then let me know once I can get my hands on him."

Well shit, okay. Maybe there's more to the Major than just rough edges.

"Excellent. We'll have his transfer papers updated and forwarded to you for sign-off."

~~~~~~

5 June 2177

He fucking hates running. Let him lift, spar, or even repeat biotic drills until he passes out for fuck's sake, but Jay's convinced that you have to be a masochist to actually enjoy running. So what does that make him now? 15 km in, every inch of his PT clothes soaked through, cursing himself in-between each panting breath, he can focus solely on the task at hand without other thoughts forcing their way forward. Concentrate on the cramp fighting to form in his calf, the sweat streaking down off his hair and into his eyes, the blisters swelling on his heels, and the burn in his lungs. He doesn't enjoy any of it, but he still feels like a bit of a masochist. 

The priority notification from his omnitool breaks both his focus and his stride, feet stuttering back into the flow as he instructs the treadmill to slow. 

5 June 2177

13:26 GST

> Lieutenant, we have a few things to discuss. Meet me in my office at 15:00.

There's only one thing Captain Haider would be asking to discuss in person.

< Yes sir.

There's only one reason the Captain is even still on the station, anyway, and he's part of that. 

He closes his omnitool and heads to the showers, stripping off shoes and socks, PT shirt and shorts, boxers, and drops everything but the shoes into the wash. The station allows all Alliance members on leave an extra minute of hot water, but he's not interested in the offer today. Cold drops beat down his back, streams leaving paths through his hair that run the length of his body until he's shivering. Soap finds its way where it's needed and is rinsed off before the timer runs out. Little foamy whirlpools catch his eye, circling the drain, slowly being pulled down into the waiting pipe for reclamation, filtering, recycling. 

Out of the faucet, and into the drain. 

But at least it wasn't a fucking fire. 

No, that's what his omnitool was for, chirping at him from its place on the bench in the center of the room. Signaling his reminder that he'd been in flight for weeks now, flung out of that damned pan and set on a direct path toward the flame. God, how he tired of the flame. 

He dries quickly, missing half of the water still clinging in droplets to frigid skin, and checks his messages. It's Kaidan, and the juxtaposition of excitement and melancholy pulls at him as he reads.

5 June 2177

13:36 GST

> Hey, sorry if I'm bothering you, and tell me if you want me to fuck off, but I'm checking in again, Jay. You never messaged me back. Just wanna make sure things are going okay on the station? I don't know, just… hope you know people have your back here, when you want. Think I could swing a quick vid-comm if you're up for it? Let me know.

-Kaidan

Shit, now he's freezing, and he feels like an asshole. 

13:37 GST

< Sorry for the radio silence. I could go for a call when you have the time.

Could he, though? He doesn't send it yet, considering first, closing the omnitool and heading back to the locker he's been using. Jay gets his skivvies and pants on before he's stopping again, staring at the omnitool, at the words he wants to send, but doesn't know how still. What would Dr. Bailen say? 

He picks it up, opening to where he left off with the cursor still blinking. 

13:39 GST

< Sorry for the radio silence. I could go for a call when you have the time.

The message stares back. Cursor blinking. He sends it before he can change his mind but promptly follows it up with another. 

13:39 GST

< Thanks, Kaidan.

~~~~~~

The question hits him about halfway down the hall of temp offices – the ones reserved for docked officers – if the situation had been as weird for Captain Haider as it had for him. The office was sparse, utilitarian, lacking the warmth and comfort that Haider had put into his small space on the Athens . Their conversation felt so impersonal surrounded by blank white walls lit by those awful overhead bulbs Haider refused to use. Jay never thought he'd miss the bookshelves, star charts, and reading lamps that the Captain accumulated; what had previously felt so foreign on the ship would have been a familiar comfort now. 

Then again, it probably wasn't just the room that had him thrown for a loop at that meeting. A quiet blue glow projected to Haider's right had displayed Captains Anderson and Volk, calling in from their respective ships, while Dr. Bailen sat on his left. Three captains in one room was usually not a good sign, even if you knew two of them well. Factor in the addition of your mandatory appointed shrink and the knowledge that leave was up in less than a week, and Jay's heart had been in his throat, his stomach knotting around itself. Turning out of the Command offices towards the barracks, said organs were finally working on nestling back into their appropriate spots.

Lieutenant, thank you for joining on short notice. Please, sit. 

Even the plush chair he'd been offered had felt cold, impersonal in the space it attempted to occupy. 

Dr. Bailen tells us you're making great progress in your discussions, from what she's allowed to share. We're very pleased to hear that you've been able to detail out the events verbally with her, to work through them. Your willingness to cooperate is greatly appreciated.

He had nearly sweat through the fatigues that he'd donned post-shower, spots hopefully not fully betraying his nerves to the outside world.

We'd like to give you some more time before you head to Rio. Assign you back to a ship through the upcoming class, and then have you return to join the next. 

Maybe it was time for civvies tonight, while he still had the chance. 

We agree, though, that you shouldn't come back to the Athens with me. 

Civvies, dinner, and a call with Alenko. He could do that.

Captain Volk here received a new Head of Marine Detail a few weeks back that isn't meshing with the crew. We thought a little trade could be in order. I need a new Head, and if I steal Volk's, she'll need one as well. 

He didn't quite have the stomach for dinner. 

So, how do you feel about a promotion, Lieutenant?

He didn't have the nerve to answer Alenko's call. 

I'd be honored, sir. 

He'd force himself to do both. 

~~~~~~

Most of the station's food supply was lab-made, dehydrated for shipment from Earth, or cultivated on one of the nearby colony worlds. The rest was grown on-site – larger fields spanning some levels and small gardens littered elsewhere across the station, dotted amongst sections of greenery or the occasional fountain and sitting area, and maintained by everyone from farmers to students and chefs to Marines. A true group effort, with the added benefit of a morale boost from the fresh oxygen and artificial sunlight. 

Knowledge acquired growing up on a farm had made him a natural addition to the group maintaining a plot near the academy. One of the larger ones, they needed more heads and hands keeping things in order, and Jay had welcomed the distraction on arrival. 

Sense memory hits him when the familiar smell of fertilizer, grass, and budding greenery does. Days filled with picking green beans and tomatoes while his dad worked to repair the damned harvester, his sister tossing zucchini and moss melons from the patch into his waiting arms for stacking. How Grace would always talk him into switching, complaining that his stacking technique was "subpar", and telling him to leave it to the professionals. 

Sitting with a thunk against one of the little fruit trees they had here, Jay lets himself run his hands through the grass and just... reminisce. Mom teaching him how to can the produce, and the best way to calibrate the sprinklers for maximum reach and water efficiency. Testing his biotics with dad by tossing hay bales with them, then spending 20 minutes raking it all back up where it belonged. Racing Grace through the cornfield to the river and back, never once beating her despite his longer legs. Even if he had known how to use his biotics to cheat, he wouldn't have; Grace was a courteous winner and grinned ear to ear every time. 

There were days he'd give anything to see them again. To have his mom reassure him it's not a big deal, Jay when the flare of his corona knocks over a shelf of jars and breaks half of them. To hear his dad tell him he's so fucking proud of you, Jay, and share stories of his childhood in Guatemala and Canada, so different from Jay's own on Mindoir, yet so similar. To let Grace call him little shit one last time, even though he'd finally outgrew her when he hit 15. 

Jay doesn't notice the tear until it hits the corner of his lip, licking away the salt before wiping evidence of its trail from his cheek. He lets himself go, actually losing hold on his train of thought long enough to exist in the moment. It's just him, the tickle of grass blades, rough bark poking skin through hair and shirt, the earthy, sweet scent of growth around him, and he focuses on all of it yet none of it. 

At some point, his omnitool chirps, drawing him back to the present, and guiding him to unlock it. 

5 June 2177

19:27 GST

> Alright, my window is almost here. Still free?

Free? Yes. Ready? He doesn't know. But Kaidan had been easy to talk to, an actual friend amongst casual acquaintances that he'd looked forward to conversing with weeks ago. This would be good for him. 

19:27 GST

< Still free. Call whenever your window opens. Arcturus routing. 

He hadn't had a chance to properly shoot the shit with anyone since their last night at the bar. Hadn't talked about anything besides Akuze, other than a couple of half-assed biotiball comments passed between himself and Jim over a beer. 

This would be good for him.

The ringing still takes him off guard, and Jay throws the alert back to vibrate before answering. 

"Staff Lieutenant Shepard speaking."

"Staff Lieutenant, you have an incoming call from Second Lieutenant Alenko. Please confirm the transfer."

"Confirmed, please transfer."

"Transfer confirmed. One moment." 

There's the tell-tale crackle of the connection switching over from local routing to comm buoy, and something in Jay's chest tightens in anticipation of the change, the indicator beep of a successful transfer, the voice on-

"Second Lieutenant Alenko."

Fuck. The something in his chest loosens itself, but now his stomach is flipping. 

"Kaidan, hey."

As much as he wants to see his friend, take comfort in the familiarity of a kind face, kind eyes meeting his, it's a good thing they're audio-only right now. He can't tell what he'd give away through facial expressions.

"... Jay, hi. It's good to hear from you."

Definitely a good thing, then, if Kaidan's face would share the concern his voice did. 

"Yeah, you too. I, uh- well… Thanks for reaching out to me. Sorry I didn't respond much, but, I did appreciate you… checking in."

He's unsure what he expected to feel here, but what's formed is almost… embarrassment, mixed with relief and an almost comforting calmness. It doesn't make much sense, but does it need to? Can't he just allow himself a moment of respite in the warm familiarity of that gentle raspy voice on the other end?

He tries, leaning back onto tree bark that finds new areas of skin to prod at, closing his eyes so that the grow lights bleeding through his lids are tinted orange from the glow off his wrist. 

"Of course. That's what friends do, right?"

"Right. You're right."

The silence is comfortable for the first time in weeks, interrupted only by the soft trickling of a fountain off to his left. Like it or not, their clock is ticking fast on Kaidan's allotted time, and he wants to make the most of it. 

He starts to ask, "How goes the-" while Kaidan begins with, "So do they-" , and they cut themselves off, laughing. 

"Go ahead, Alenko."

"Heh, sorry. I was just wondering if anyone had brought up what's next for you? I'm not gonna pretend to know you that well, or know what kind of hell you went through that day, but I know that if it were me, I'd want to be back out somewhere as soon as possible. I'd want the… distraction, I guess."

Starting off strong, huh Alenko…  

"Shit, I'm sorry if that's too forward, or too much. I should have let you start. You-"

"No, no you're fine, Kaidan." He pauses to rub at the corner of his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose and breathing deeply. "Just gathering my thoughts." And it's the truth. 

"Okay, yeah no problem."

Jay picks back up after a moment, dropping his hand back into his lap. "They're moving me off the Athens , thankfully." He pauses to let Alenko respond, but the line remains quiet. "Working on restaffing… But they found a spot on a frigate for me. A promotion to Marine Detail Head, which I'd been hoping for over the last few months. It'll be nice to work with a smaller squad, I think."

"Well good, I hope you like it. I prefer serving on frigates. Less daunting than a cruiser, but that's just me. I feel like you'll make a hell of a better Head than the one I've been assigned to. She'll kill me if she hears this, but… she's a hard ass, and not in the way that makes a good leader. So far, anyway. I'm sure with time things will get better."

The description calls him back to earlier… Captain Volk here received a new Head of Marine Detail a few weeks back that isn't meshing with the crew.

"Hopefully. I'll keep my fingers crossed for you."

"Heh, yeah, same for you Shep."

That earns a scoff. "Shep, huh? Been a while since I heard that one."

"Yeah, it just kinda… came out, I guess. Is it better or worse than 'Johnny'?"

He rolls the hem of his shirt sleeve between forefinger and thumb, debating a retort. "Well, it doesn't make me wanna chuck you into the fountain… but I don't exactly love it."

A laugh crackles over the comm, and it sounds like Alenko is trying to muffle it. "Wait, wait, did you say fountain? They have fountains on the station?"

"Yeah, and if you call me 'Johnny', I will give you a guided tour of one." He can't help the smile this time, and fuck, it feels good . 

"See, now, that sounds like you'd also be in the fountain, which doesn't make it much of a threat in comparison."

Jay can feel himself flush, and he's once again grateful that they're not on vid-comm right now, unsure how the tint of his cheeks would display over holo. 

"Heh, yeah." His free right hand rubs the back of his neck. "Suppose that's true. Fine, it'll have to be self-guided then. Your loss, Alenko."

If a comm connection could blush, Jay swore he'd see it then, and probably transmit it back. If we ever meet up again, I've gotta say something.

Said connection chirrups in the silence, indicating five minutes remaining on the call limit. 

"I needed this, Kay… a familiar voice. A laugh. So, thanks again." 

"You're welcome, Jay. And don't worry, 'Kay' won't wind you up in a fountain, either." The tease is soft and sincere from that raspy lilt, bringing a hint of a smile back to Shepard's face. "Ah shit, what were you going to ask me earlier? When you let me go first?"

"Oh, was just wondering how the new ship was treating you?" He's moved on to finding a suitable grass blade to toy with, honing in on one slightly longer than the rest up against the trunk he leans on. "We've been over the Head, but what about the rest of the crew? Interesting runs? Whatever." He plucks the blade of grass with two fingers.

"Oh, yeah. Squad is good so far. Eclectic. The other tech is a bit of a hothead, but she knows when to reign it in. Then we have a jock engineer, the loudest singing sniper I've ever met, a strangely domestic jarhead, and a weapons tech that can literally put together our guns blindfolded. I wanna see how they fare with a rubix cube."

"Hah! Good, sounds like a group you'll never have a dull moment with." He starts wrapping the grass flat around the middle of a finger, thumb keeping the end in place until it's taught enough to do it alone. "What else?"

"Uhh let's see… nothing crazy in terms of missions or runs yet. We've not actually jumped out too far, and I think I heard talk of heading back towards Arcturus? I dunno. Too early for shore leave, so I guess they need us somewhere over there."

The grass blade is unwound from his finger, and Jay moves to flatten it out once more. "Well, good luck with whatever they have you running around for."

"Yeah, thanks. Otherwise, everything's been pretty standard. Crew is getting used to each other, Captain is fairly easy-going, morning PT is still morning PT, and we finally figured out that it's Romeo who snores like a damned Krogan." It gets a laugh out of them both before the realization that they're almost out of time hits.

"Glad to hear it's going well out there, Alenko. Find someone to watch your six, and let me know when you find yourself with some leave. I'd like to hear some of these stories over another ridiculous drink."

"Deal. Same goes for you, Shepard. Good luck with the new ship! Message me whenever and we can shoot the shit."

Kaidan's cut off by a voice behind him. "Alenko, time's up! Captain Volk needs the comm." 

The blade of grass is stopped mid-twist in Jay's fingers. Volk?

"Sorry Shep, gotta go. Talk soon!"

"Yeah, uh- talk soon, Alenko."

The connection is cut right at their 15-minute mark, blade of grass still mangled between two fingers as Jay's brain diverts full power to processing.

Captain Volk. Heading towards Arcturus.

"Carajo. "

He lets his head fall back against the tree with a thunk .

Chapter Text

9 June 2177

Jim’s Hobby Shop, Arcturus

Jim's back office is quaint, cozy, and smaller than Jay remembers it being even just a couple of months ago. The same furniture has filled the space for at least the last seven years, but Jay suspects moving any of it would reveal colors that hadn't seen the artificial light of the station since Jim placed it there back in '67. Now the room is bordering on constricting, and between the forgotten feel of jeans clinging to his legs and the sense memories of his late childhood surrounding him, it's damn near claustrophobic. 

He's momentarily 16 again, the musty smell of Jim's old plaid couch in his nostrils when he awakes from a particularly bad night's sleep – sleep plagued with the memory of that last night in his old bed – to find himself safe in that little back room. No slavers, no gunshots or fires or screaming in the distance, just a borrowed pillow and blanket and the scratchy cushions below him. Safe. 

The first time it had happened by chance. Shepard found himself pacing familiar halls at 03:00 after another nightmare, not wanting to wake his bunkmates again and opting for the surefire way of preventing it: not sleeping. He'd found his way over to Jim's Hobby Shop probably out of nothing more than habit, no conscious thought involved, and was turning around when he noticed the light still on at the counter. Jay almost kept walking, almost retraced his footsteps back towards the barracks to start again. He stopped instead, looking in at the hunched form leaning over the counter, tinkering with something under the close light of a desk lamp and shaking his head. Jim tossed down whatever tool he'd been holding, seemingly frustrated, and looked up with a sigh forcing out enough air to puff his cheeks. 

Dark as it was, Jim and Jay made eye contact, and the man stood to approach the boy at the window. His newest regular, in his PJs, at 3 am, looking far too beaten and worn for a kid his age.

He'd learned his name was John, and that he couldn't sleep. Learned the kid was a biotic, an orphan, and a natural with fixing those little fucking remote-controlled Alliance ships he kept out for kids to try, and break. Within an hour the boy was conked out on the couch, limbs splayed about such that the blanket couldn't cover them all no matter how he tried to arrange it. Jim left him a note and a spare key next to the fixed RC ship, turned the lights low, and headed to his apartment. 

Jay let himself in whenever he needed a place to let the nightmares play out in peace. He started helping out at the shop as thanks, making little repairs and showing the younger kids what they might like. One evening found him spilling his guts and his history to Jim over his first beer, the hoppy film left on his tongue still more pleasant than speaking about that last night at home. Others had him learning the rules to biotiball with a couple of kids from his classes: watching the game and commenting on what Alice would have done differently. Another ended with Alice in his lap – tentative hands on her sides not straying in either direction – the pair caught making out when Jim walked in to see if he'd eaten dinner, and Jay watched Alice rush to leave, embarrassed as hell. Jim had just laughed as Jay scrambled to put a pillow over his lap… 

Damn, Johnny. Should have let me know you had company so I didn't interrupt!

Then, of course, coming in a few nights later to find a box of condoms left on the table with a note pulled up on a datapad.

Not sure what all they teach kids about sex in school these days but… If you have any questions, you know you can ask.

The few extranet sites pulled up with information on how to talk to your child about sex were both endearing and embarrassing. Jay was tomato red for the next few days whenever they were in the same room, but Jim never brought it up.

Jay holds that pillow in his lap again, all these years later. The only thing it helps hide this time is his nerves: a loose thread offering its services to fidgeting fingers. Same pillow, same musty couch, same brand of cheap beer leaving a film on his tongue, and same Jim. Everything was as he remembered it but just a few years older, and a bit more worn.

He winds the thread tight around a finger, then unwinds it back to start over, occasionally twisting it until his fingers lose their grip and it spins all the tension out. Jim is letting him fidget, patient as ever while he pieces together the hard words into sentences he can push out. Homework from the doctor: talk to Jim, express both his gratitude and his fears, and let the man in.

It's easier to carry a weight when you let others help, Shepard, and they can't help you bear that weight if they don't know you're lugging it around in the first place.

Another swig of beer rebuilds the film on Jay's tongue, and he doesn't stop himself from grimacing for once. 

"You'd think after all this time that you'd have stopped drinking this fucking swill, Jimmy."

"If you have a problem with my swill, don't drink it. How the hell you even still have taste buds this long into your service is a mystery I can't figure out, my boy."

My boy. It feels good to hear Jim say it. My boy. He's not his boy, but Jim was his family now, like that crazy 'uncle' you're not related to but is still invited to family reunions, for some fucking reason. 

"Yeah, well, unfortunately for my tongue, they're still there."

He takes a swig for his nerves. And another. One last day on the station tomorrow before the Marathon docked, and Jay's nervous. Excited too, absolutely, since any commission will be better than twiddling his thumbs here. That doesn't change the fact that he's been off duty for two damn months, and now they want him leading the Marine detail for the frigate. No pressure. He can handle it. He wants it, but it's big.

Jim's picking at the label on his beer like he wants to say something important, something that requires careful wording and a few run-throughs before you put it out there. Jay fidgets enough for the both of them usually, but the nervous energy radiating off of Jim is cranking them both into high gear. 

There's the sound of the label flaking off, of Jay's leg bouncing, the air filtration humming above, and silence everywhere else. Jim is supposed to be solid ground, but their current atmosphere doesn't allow Jay to breathe through the nerves. So, if Jim won't break the silence, he will. 

"What's on your mind, Jim? Or did the label just insult you when I wasn't looking?" Another swig. “Fuck, it’s somehow better as it gets warmer.”

Jim snickers at the contorting of Jay’s face – the drawn brows and tight lips pulled into a grimace relaxing just long enough for another questioning sip. Either the kid’s taste buds are dying in real-time, or he was starting to like the swill. Jim stops to really take him in while he’s distracted. His boy looks a hell of a lot better now than he had a couple of months ago. There’s color in his cheeks again, and his face is less gaunt. The bags under his eyes are back to indicating a lack of sleep that could be passed off as normal to those unaware of recent circumstances. 

He’s a little worn, a little beaten, but Jay looks okay again. It's a huge relief, a weight off Jim's shoulders that has him breathing easier.

“I’m fucking proud of you, kid.”

Jay just… stops. The leg stills, his finger pauses half-wrapped in thread, and if it weren’t for the rise and fall of his chest, he’d look frozen in time. A thumb slowly begins to run back and forth along his nearly-empty bottle, and he takes another pull from it before answering, quiet and reverent. 

“Thanks, Jim.” 

There’s a hint of a smile there, and he’ll take it. “I mean it, Jay. You've always been a tough little son of a bitch, but you've grown and matured into a hell of a man. You better keep in touch though, you little bastard. No more of this “months without talking” shit, okay? I wanna hear all about how you’re kicking ass and driving your crew insane.”

“Hey,” Jay shoots him a dirty look, “I don’t drive anybody insane, thank you very fucking much.” He aims for an indignant look over his bottle during the next sip, but that’s quickly shut down when he over-pours, beer dribbling out the side of his mouth. It gets Jim sputtering, spraying part of his own sip out through tight lips before his hand catches the rest. He’s doubled over, chuckling through the moment and wiping his mouth.

"Ah fuck, I'm gonna miss ya, son. Miss that wit of yours."

He moves to dry the coffee table with the end of his sleeve when he notices his seat shaking. 

Jay has his head thrown over the back of the couch with his left hand over his mouth. There are wet spots on his chest marking the fabric with evidence of his little mishap, and it sets Jim off again. He looks up to the kid– the man – next to him, but that’s not beer leaking from his eyes. That’s not laughter shaking the couch. Jay’s pinky is twitching over his mouth with a mind of its own, and it strikes Jim just how severe the damage from the acid had been. A jagged, mottled patch of skin starts at the base of his thumb and covers most of the back and outer side of his hand, extending down onto that pinky. And for it to only have healed to this extent in two months? 

Jim grabs the beer bottle from Jay’s other white-knuckle grip where it rests on the pillow, prying it from his fingers to set it on the coffee table along with his own. The kid doesn’t move his hand as Jim grabs him by the back of the neck and pulls him into a crushing hug. He doesn’t placate, doesn’t move otherwise, because he knows that’s not what Jay needs. Jim sits there with arms squeezed around Jay’s shoulders and lets him cry because that’s what parents do for their kids, and legal or not, Jay is his boy , dammit. 

"I gotcha, son." 

~~~~~~

All the tears Jay could manage were shed into the shoulder of Jim's sweater, now thrown over the back of a chair to dry. He'd ordered from their old favorite noodle bar and set out the spread on the coffee table after discarding warm bottles of beer. 

Jay sits on the floor across from Jim's seat on the couch, breaking apart chopsticks with practiced ease. 

Least his hand didn't shake at that, Jim thinks.

They eat in a strangely comfortable silence; the air in the cramped office is somewhat lighter after earlier. It's almost like they've been cleansed by the breakdown – by letting out two months' worth of pain between them – and are now existing in the aftermath. It's the first Jim's seen the boy cry since he was 16 and finally sharing the details of that night on Mindoir with him, and he can't help but hope that Jay lets himself cry at things other than memories of the worst moments of his life.

"Jim?"

He's still looking down at his noodles, picking through for the right bits to put together a Perfect Bite. But his voice is stronger than Jim's heard in months.

"What's up, Jay?"

He brings his eyes up to Jim, chopsticks still stuck in a mound of noodles, and actually has a bit of a smile on his face.

"Thank you. For everything. I couldn't have gotten through this without you."

Fuck, if that doesn't break his heart and mend it all in one… "You're welcome. But Jay? This was all you, buddy. You pulled yourself out of it."

Jay lets the smile falter as his eyes get serious. He shakes his head, saying "no, I dragged myself out. You and Dr. Bailen did the pulling. Without either one of you keeping up that hold on me…" there's another shake of the head, "it wouldn't have happened. Thank you, Jim."

Were circumstances different, Jim probably would have pushed back and argued with Jay until his noodles cooled to a tangled mess. But if more time with the kid has taught him anything, it's when to shelve a topic for future review. They could blow the dust off this argument once dust actually had time to settle, but for now, it hung thick in the air around them – agitated but not actively provoked. 

That elusive Perfect Bite he'd been working on seems to have come together in Jay's carton – chopsticks working overtime to grab one of everything from the ridiculous mess of veggies he always chooses – and pile them atop one another. Jim watches him cautiously lift the mound, impressed to see only a slippery carrot slice fall off. It's tossed into his mouth at the end, cheeks bulging with Jay's old family ritual. The Bite was something his dad had apparently started as a way to trick Grace into eating her veggies during a picky eating phase. Jay latched onto the idea and still did it for most meals. This is the first Jim's seen him do it after Akuze.

Good sign. 

"So chipmunk, any plans for your free day tomorrow?"

He's timed the question perfectly. Jay shifts, telegraphing his next move but catching himself before he opens his still full mouth. Eyes widening, he tries to chew faster as Jim just… sits and waits with a grin. He knows he's being an ass, but it's the kind of teasing they're good at, that they’re familiar with. 

Glowering, Jay swallows the bite down.

"You did that on purpose."

"That I did."

"You're an ass, Jim."

"That I am," he grins again.

Thinking the query over, Jay stirs his noodles around in the carton, eyes cast down towards his dinner while not actively seeing it. 

“Um,” he begins, cutting himself off while he grabs a piece of zucchini to examine. “Need to pack, I guess.” Sauce begins dripping off to rejoin the rest before he takes the bite, giving himself more time to consider. “Want to get one more good meal before it’s back to ship food. Pick up some snacks, too. Not sure if requisitions or the mess sergeant have experience feeding multiple biotics. That’ll be interesting.” 

Jay punctuates the sarcasm with a bite of broccoli, chewing it thoughtfully and poking at his noodles before continuing.

“Thought we could end the day with some Rummy… if you felt like getting your ass kicked?” 

Jim just chuckles, shaking his head and watching Jay relax that little bit further – his softer smile peaking its way out and leaving Jay looking damn-near content. Happy , even.

“Yeah,” he chuckles, “suppose I could let you sweep the floor with my ass again. It’s been long enough since the last round that I think my pride has recovered. Carly is set to close tomorrow, so we can play here in the back in case she needs a hand with anything. Don’t wanna leave her alone on shift.”

“Yeah, of course,” Jay shrugs as he brings a bundle of noodles before his mouth. “Gotta look after your own.”

He shoves the whole wad of noodles in, leaning over to keep sauce splash to a minimum – the only sign that the kid hasn’t completely forgotten his manners. 

It’s said so casually, like Jay doesn’t realize he’s included in that sentiment. Jim’s looking after his own right now, watching him struggle against the mass of gluten fighting back at every chew. Soon enough, it’ll be Jay’s turn to watch after his own. A squad of Marines looking to him for guidance, direction, camaraderie, help – and Jay will provide it all. He knows that Jay will do anything for one of his own, no matter what it means for him.

And that scares the shit out of Jim. 

~~~~~~

10 June 2177

Jim’s Hobby Shop, Arcturus

“Have you always been this fuckin’ ruthless?” 

Jim throws down another lost hand – six cards still left at the end of this round – and replaces it with his beer. Jay’s had the same shit-eating grin plastered to his face all night. Right now it’s flashed at the table as he works to gather the deck together, shuffling them up to either be dealt again or shoved back in their box. No matter how gracious of a winner Jay was, a guy could only stand to get his ass handed to him for so many rounds before he called it quits. 

The smile is audible in Jay’s reply. “Not always, no.”

Watching him shuffle was oddly mesmerizing, the way he turned and bent the cards to flutter together exactly as intended before being cut and repeating the process. There's a quick twitch of his left hand, barely enough to notice.

“Or, not in comparison, anyway,” he smirks. “My mom was the colony’s Card Shark. Good as I got, I was still never able to beat her at anything. Especially Rummy. That was her specialty. You think I’m bad?” He’s still grinning as he shakes his head at the memory. “I learned from the best.” 

Jim takes another swig from his bottle before responding. “Well, that explains Rummy, but what the hell went wrong with teaching you poker?”

At that Jay erupts into laughter so throaty and full it shakes his torso with its force. “Even the best teachers can be stumped by a lost cause occasionally. We tried. Frequently. I just never got the hang of it the same way I did Rummy. Got good enough to beat Dad, but he also didn’t put up much of a fight on that front. Was always shit at cards.”

"Hmm. Better or worse than me?" Jim crosses his fingers, hoping that he's not pushing his luck with questions about the parents, but is pleasantly surprised to see Jay still with a fond smile on display.

"Worse. By far." Jay looks up from his cards to meet Jim's gaze. "You're at least a challenge sometimes." 

"Hah! Cheeky fucker… and here I thought I was doing okay today," Jim shakes his head, amused. He studies Jay as the cards are straightened to slide back into their box: hands surprisingly steady, shoulders lax, demeanor calm, comfort in messy hair and civvies… the kid looks content, present. Jim finally has him back just before he's forced to let go again. 

How the fuck did people raise kids from birth and not lose their minds at moments like this? 

"We calling it quits? You taking pity on the old man?" Jim leans fully into the couch and stifles a yawn with his arm.

"Mmm… yeah," Jay hums. "I need to hit the rack soon. Gotta be at the dock by 07:00 and need to finish packing, after a load of laundry. I never sleep well the night before a deployment, but maybe if I'm in bed and trying I can get a few hours." He finishes tucking the deck in its box, an old metal thing with rounded corners and a hinged top – the same set he's always had – before continuing.

"You uh, feel like grabbing breakfast together before I leave? Meet at the diner at 06:00, maybe?"

“Have I ever said ‘no’ to breakfast, Jay?”

“Heh, yeah that’s fair. Alright, cool, sounds good.”

Jim stands, stretching out his lower back and bad left knee with an exaggerated groan – the one that makes Jay scoff at the theatrics – and steps around the ancient coffee table to meet Jay as he raises to his feet. Pulling the kid into a bear hug and smacking him on the back, Jim is careful to avoid the fresh scarring down his side. It’s not a mistake he wants to make again. 

“Go to bed, kid,” Jim mumbles as they step apart, stifling another yawn. “Sleep here if you want, or go back to your rack, I don’t care. I’ll meet you at 6.”

A hand is waved over Jim’s shoulder as he walks out to Jay’s goodbye. Alone once again in what once acted as a childhood room, Jay inhales deeply, fully, expanding his lungs to the point of pulling in his chest before exhaling. He considers the door for a long moment, debates heading back to the barracks now to properly ready himself for bed, but can’t take that first step towards the exit. Opening his omni-tool, he ensures that the store is locked up, lights off, sign set to Closed, before removing his jeans and t-shirt and hanging them over the arm of the chair still holding Jim’s sweater from the other night. 

There’s still a pillow and blanket stored in the cabinet over said chair that he pulls out for the night’s use. The familiar scratch of old plaid fabric runs across his skin as he lays down, that same musty smell filling his nostrils before lingering detergent on the blanket masks it, mingling just the same as it always has. 

Jay settles in, yawning as alarms are set for the next morning and falling asleep in the quiet serenity of what might as well be home. 

Only one nightmare comes that night: Jim standing amongst the sands of Akuze, acid at his feet, while a Thresher Maw rises behind him for one final spit.

“I’m proud of you, son.”

For once, he doesn't scream.