#(but even worse here because I Understand why people might not see what batarians are based on/so hateable I sort of get it)

[rawliverandgoronspice]

oh nooooo not me forgetting to not go on zelda youtube and being forced to reckon with the sheer magnitude of its fanbase's unchecked racism

[nothisis-ridiculous]

Take Me Home Now: Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen: What's In Your Head

Set after the events of ME3.

A rewrite.

FemShepxKaidan

"So, I'm in the presence of the Commander Shepard?"

She snorted, politely forcing her eyes away from the beer he set on the side table. Focusing her sights out the large picture window, it was a nice day, so she had the glass door open onto the balcony. Roy already headed in that direction, leaning over the balcony.

"Nice view for a brig!"

"I'm not-," she huffed, of course, he was teasing, "it feels almost like the brig."

"But it's Captain Shepard now," her eyes rolled, "I suppose I should reintroduce myself. My name is Mary."

The name still felt thick in her mouth, she struggled to allow it to belong to her.

"Jane wasn't much better," Roy grumbled, looking over his shoulder and at the table, "you're still Recruit to me. Grab us a beer, and get out here."

"Aye, Aye Sir."

Mary slid beside him, taking in the view of the city under them. Her gaze found what she thought would be the direction of the Alenko residence. They drank quietly for several minutes, enjoying the silence.

"Am I getting that lecture now?"

The man snorted, "no, because I am one of those assholes that hoped you would come out of this alive. As Jane, as Mary."

It was Mary's turn to snort, "I was such an ass."

"A little," he let time drag out between his words, finishing half his beer in that time, "how did you manage to return to the Alliance after going MIA and walk out with two promotions?"

She grinned, elbowing the man, "you fucking- apparently commendable duty during a time of distress. I don't completely understand how they- I suppose." Her tone flipped, her head falling.

"Kid," it was like being called by her middle name, his shoulders drew, "you had problems, but everyone did. Everyone lost someone. The difference was when it mattered; you were there—doing what had to be done. Hell, I don't know why anyone looked up to me like I knew anything. Sure, some old Alliance training kicked in- but I was way in above my head. Setting up patrols, security, duty rosters- that wasn't me, that was you."

"I remember things differently."

Roy sighed before a half-laugh tumbled from his lips, "it all came that easy to you? I may have been the friendly face, but they knew you were the one running the show. Remember when that damn krogan attacked? Korvac didn't even bother with me, Wrex either. I was a useless old man," he flicked away her attempt to soothe him, "that's why everyone vouched for you."

Mary blushed, chugging down the rest of her beer, "I knew you had something to do with it."

"I really liked that Bailey guy," his amber eyes pointed at her until she met his gaze, "I would have liked to hear firsthand how you singlehandedly brought down the Illusive Man and restored the Citadel."

"That, that- that had hardly anything to do with me. I didn't know who he was, and he just attacked me. I just happened to throw him over a ledge and incapacitated him," Mary broke eye contact, staring at the empty bottle she rolled around in her hands, "the Keeper did most of the work. If you've heard anything honest about me- you'd know I'm shit with the technical side of things. I simply placed the spike."

"After jumping through the beam blind."

She shrugged, letting him grab the next round.

"Saving the Galaxy might have been a small part of it too."

Roy toasted to that.

"I owe you an apology for not coming clean. I should have, I just- I wasn't," Mary faltered again, her voice wavering, "it was wrong. Everything I was going through-"

He placed a hand on her shoulder, "I don't need an explanation. Or to hear why you acted the way you did. It's okay; you did what you could at the moment."

"What I could wasn't enough."

"How so?" he grasped that this wasn't about her time on Earth, not entirely.

She gestured out to the scarred city below them, luckily liquid did not spill from the bottle, "I should have made them listen better."

"You alone could force an entire Galaxy to listen to one person?"

Mary grunted, "but I could have saved more people. I'm sure you heard about the Alpha Relay mess. 304,942 Batarians. Thing is, I-"

"You what?"

"Part of me doesn't feel that sorry, watching those bastards kill my parents. My friends, everyone I knew- I," she shuddered, attempting to pull away from him, but he brought her in tighter, "did I not try hard enough because of my history?"

"That would be difficult for anyone," Roy kept his tone even, "but did you originally course the asteroid for the Relay? If you had not been there, would the same thing have happened? Worse, the Reapers would have gotten here earlier."

Mary was seeking condemnation. Hearing everything spat back at her with utter acceptance and truth was frustrating, almost patronizing at this point, "So I'm just freed from consequence? Because of some moral loophole? Letting morals get in the way of alliances and troops was worth it? Of allowing my love for the Krogan to be a wedge between the Salarians joining the war effort? It was all at the price of a simple lie. My distaste for Cereberus could have waited- I could have swallowed my pain, and maybe he wouldn't have gone looking for Reapers to give him answers.

It's all fucked, and I thought I was doing the right thing. But is sometimes doing the right thing, wrong? Like a friend said, 'Stand in the ashes of a trillion souls, and ask them if honor matters. The silence is your answer.' I could have saved more people. I should have swallowed my pride and done the smart thing!"

"You ever think the galaxy put too much of a burden on one person? You put too much of the burden on one person," Roy held her out at arm's length, trying to catch her eyes even if she would avoid it, "you learned an important lesson in all of this. Even the right actions have consequences. It won't make you feel better, but it's something to remember."

Mary sighed, deflating, "you're annoying."

She needed time to digest that, time to talk it out further.

"Right back at you, Recruit. You know how many of your friends I have been fighting off?"

"Can't be worse than the press, I'm glad they have me on lockdown." Her smile returned. Her messages must be going crazy, but she had to take reentry slowly. The constant evals and talking to counselors was enough to drive anyone mad. It was helpful but maddening. Mary couldn't deny she needed it to work out the guilt, disassociation, and convergence of indoctrination playing on her grasp of reality and the past.

It was more than she could handle when she was forced to take visits from councilors, delegates, and top military brass. Hackett could only stop so much. He wore out most of his favors during the war.

Her first interview, done after immense political and public pressure, had left her reeling for days.

"Tell them," her crew, her family, "I'm sorry. I just- I need more time."

With all her heart, Mary wanted nothing more but a happy reunion. To hug, dance, and cry with every single one of them. But seeing them all at once would be far too much to handle, and she didn't have the space to let herself ruminate (with guilt) over who she would allow back in first. With the flurry of her emotions so unpredictable, she had to wait. It tugged at her but it was for the best. Mary had to be selfish.

"I can pass that along," Roy smiled softly, finishing his second beer, "thanks for letting me visit. At least, I'm waiting patiently for the day you can be back with us. Evelyn, not so much."

"And Kaidan?"

"He's a little hurt. But hopeful."

Mary flinched, pulling her eyes closed tight, "if anything deserves you getting mad at me..."

"It's a cliche line, but loves makes us crazy."

"Tell him- I'm sorry too. That I'm working on it," she drew in her bottom lip, "feels stupid to say if this doesn't work out."

"He knows."

[bigasswritingmagnet]

When History Comes Calling ch 2/14

Fandom: Mass Effect Rating: Teen Pairing: none, some background Fshep/Garrus

Summary: In 2170, Mindoir was attacked by slavers. Hundreds were taken  captive, hundreds more were slaughtered. Kiryn was the only Shepard to  make it out alive. For years, he buried his grief, kept his head high,  and did whatever he needed to survive.He survived Mindoir and the batarians and when the Reapers came he survived them too.

But  when the war ends and he escapes his batarian masters to the Citadel,  the discovery that his twin sister is alive and well might just be the  thing that breaks him. The Hegemony's greatest assassin will remember  what it means to have something to lose.

AO3 link in notes!

belated and special thanks to @reblob-blob for beta-ing, and @snuffes @thehumantrampoline for their assistance <3

---

His plan had been sound - find the largest assortment of refugees in the safest location. Keep a low profile. Get the lay of the land in the world outside batarian space. He remembered the Citadel being touted as a beacon of safety and civil obedience, but after 15 years in his… particular profession, Vondur had learned that there was always a seedy underbelly. Sure, he was going to have to start from scratch, but with his skills it wouldn’t take long to rebuild his reputation. 

In practice, though. 

In practice, it was hundreds of shipping crates stacked on top of each other, the smell of unwashed bodies and dirty laundry, a constant jumble of voices crying and shouting and arguing, bright lights glaring down like spotlights. Guards at the exits, eyes suspicious and watchful; dull-eyed bureaucrats processing the new comers without sympathy or interest.

It felt like the slave pens. 

He found a dark corner out of sight of the main crush of people. It looked out over one of the Citdael’s arms, the orange city glow dotted with spots of black where the power was lost or the buildings crushed to rubble -- the night sky turned inside out. He wrapped his hands around the railing and tried to find the moment. 

It was a technique his very first instructor had taught him, and one that he had come to rely on heavily. Ignore the past, ignore the future, ignore even the present. By the time you acknowledge the present it is already the past. Find the moment you are in. The breath in your lungs, the beating of your heart. The feeling of cold metal warming against his palms, the light reflecting off passing ships lighting up the insides of his eyelids...

The feelings that the present was stirring up - old fear, nausea, memories of being helpless and alone -- all faded, leaving him clear headed and calm once more. 

When Vondur opened his eyes, the world had righted itself. He was still here, but now he could think. And he could notice, consciously, the person coming up behind him. He’d been aware of their presence, but only by instinct. Now he could analyze the clues he’d picked up -- perfume, the rustle of clothing, the weight of the tread -- and know not to attack the civilian human female coming up behind him. 

“Excuse me?” 

He pretended to be surprised when he turned. The human gave him a shy smile. She was small, about five foot even, with her blonde hair pulled up into a high ponytail. Younger than he’d been expecting - maybe 16 at the most. Either fashion hadn’t changed in the last 15 years, or the colonies were more fashion forward than he remembered them being, because her clothes would have been considered retro when he was her age. 

Most interesting, however, was the lanyard around her neck. From here he could see the word ‘volunteer’ in big orange letters on the ID card that hung from it. 

“Hi there! My name is Sarah. I’m a volunteer for the Citadel Refugee Project. I help new arrivals get settled in after they’re processed.” 

Her words had the patter of a memorized script, but suddenly she hesitated. 

“So, um, I’m not sure if anyone told you-- and I’m sorry if I’m wrong, but I’ve been seeing a lot of them and-- I thought, if it was me I’d want someone to make sure I knew-- I just-- it’s just that I--” 

“It’s okay,” he said, giving her a casual, nonthreatening tilt of the head. 

She straightened up and cleared her throat, and didn’t quite meet his eyes when she said “administration can get you in touch with a doctor who can deactivate and remove batarian control devices.”   

Vondur, having only just righted himself,was once more knocked off course into a whirl of unpleasant memories.

Like all slaves, Vondur had received the implant when he was first captured. At first, he had been constantly aware of it, perpetually afraid that any bump or electric shock would set it off. As the years passed it had become normal, a part of him the same way his biotic implant was. Filomet never had cause to threaten him with it, let alone put it to use. Most of the time, Vondur didn’t think of it at all. 

Vondur reached up a hand and touched the back of his head. In the soft place at the base of his skull was his implant. Just above it, a thick ridge of scar tissue that did not completely hide the small, hard lump of the device.  

Remove it? 

Why shouldn’t he? He was a free man, now. Able to choose his own path. He would never need to answer to anyone else ever again. Yes, he’d planned to keep up his… profession, but now they would be his jobs, his choices. The payment would be entirely his, not whatever sliver of a percentage Filomet felt generous - or frightened - enough to pass his way. 

He could choose who he would kill. 

Sarah was looking up at him nervously. He did a mental check of his expression - impassive, neutral, displaying no trace of the shock she’d given him. Good. 

“Thank you,” he said, his voice as level as ever. “I would like to see the doctor.”

 Sarah said she would walk him to the office -- a handful of desks -- located in one of the courtyards -- the squares of space the shipping containers opened into. It was staffed by actual employees of the CRP. They managed identification paperwork, locating families, finding temporary housing, medical support, ensured steady supply delivery, and in general jumped the bureaucratic hoops Citadel administration demanded be jumped.  These were the souls who actually solved the problems, Sarah said. 

“The Citadel set up the camps and they send food down but they don’t really care. They spend more time making sure nobody gets into the rest of the station than they do helping people.” Her voice held a heavy bitterness that surprised him; the kind that came from experience. 

“You’re a refugee,” he said, and she gave him an awkward half smile and a one-shoulder shrug.

“Yeah. I mean, I was. I guess I’m technically a citizen of the Citadel now. But I came in on one of the shuttles. I made a lot of friends down here, and I knew what it was like. It didn’t feel right to just… leave and never come back” 

“Understandable,” said Vondur, who didn’t understand at all. He had made friends - or at least bonded - with some of the other slaves in the pens. When Filomet had taken him away, Vondur had not looked back. He wanted to get as far away from that part of his life as possible. 

I did help them, he thought, irrationally defensive, I saved them in the arena. I stopped Filomet from using bait slaves. There was nothing else I could have done. It’s not like slaves can buy slaves, or free them. I needed to focus on survival. There's nothing wrong with that.

Sarah was still talking. She was, it seemed, quite the chatterbox. And very… peppy. 

“It’s not so bad down here. Especially now the war is over. The Reapers were kind of a major bummer, y’know?” She flashed him a grin. 

‘Major bummer’. Billions dead, worlds destroyed, your understanding of galactic history and your place in it completely upended… 

“Mmhmm,” he said. 

“They do holiday celebrations, and you can go to virtual classes- oh, and we have vid nights now. You should definitely submit a suggestion, because they’ve played Fleet and Flotilla like a billion times. What kind of vids do you like?” 

Vondur floundered for an answer. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d watched an actual film. It would have been on Mindoir, but he couldn’t think of a single title, couldn’t even remember what kinds of vids he used to watch. 

“I don’t watch a lot of vids,” he said. That was a legitimate response, right? Plenty of people out there didn't watch vids.

“Oh. Well what do you like to do?” 

This one was even worse, because Vondur did have answers, and not a single one of them was something he could say to this girl. He liked working on upgrades for his sniper rifle. He liked to spar and train to improve his skills in killing people. He liked to practice shooting. 

He liked to work. Not to kill. But everything up to that point, the challenge of it, the rush of adrenaline. There was, in his heart, a grim satisfaction in a difficult task completed.  

“I like to read,” he said, lamely. Desperate to change the direction of the conversation, he said "And you?"

“I love vids. I want to make my own when I’m older. I especially like the classic stuff. Did you know the Blasto vids are based on a human series from the 1970s? It’s called Dirty Harry; you should check it out. Blasto wishes he could be that cool.” 

“Definitely,” he said, wondering what the hell a Blasto was. An argument broke out ahead of them, catching Vondur’s attention. And oh, by the glorious Pillars of Strength, there was a familiar face in the crowd. 

Vondur stopped suddenly. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, “but I think I see someone I know.”

Sarah beamed up at him. 

“Of course! I’m so glad for you! I’ll see you around-- wait! I forgot to ask you your name!” 

“Thomas,” Vondur said. He'd chosen the name as one that was average and inconspicuous, but not too average or inconspicuous. Then, because it was a thing he remembered people said, added “Call me Tom.” 

“It was nice to meet you, Tom,” she said, and stuck out her hand. It took him a moment to realize what she was doing, but just a moment. He shook it, and gave her what he hoped was a friendly smile. It wasn’t a very big one. 

“Same to you.” 

He waited until he was sure she wasn’t going to stick around to watch, and headed for the group of arguing batarians. They’d lowered their voices, but their body language told him they were barely holding on to their tempers. They were too busy to notice his approach, and Vondur liked that just fine. 

It was so much more fun this way.

“Hello Ukarem,” he said, and watched the batarian go rigid. Very, very slowly the batarian turned and looked up at him. Vondur felt no small satisfaction seeing all four eyes go wide with stark terror. 

“Vondur,” he rasped. 

“Isn’t this a funny coincidence. Glad to see you made it to safety.” 

The batarian opened his mouth, but all that came out was a strangled groan. Vondur glanced at the other batarians. He didn’t know them, but from the looks on their faces, they knew him. 

He put a hand on Ukarem’s shoulder, dug his fingers in. He could feel the batarian trembling. 

“Let’s take a walk. I’d love to hear all about it.” 

“But…” one of the other batarians tried, braver than the rest. Vondur looked at him, focusing his entire attention on the lone soul who dared. Holding eye contact, Vondur tilted his head back ever so slightly. You are so beneath me, so little a threat, the movement said, that I do not need all four eyes to watch you. 

It didn’t matter that Vondur didn’t have another pair; body language was body language, and Vondur knew how to send a message. 

The batarians edged backwards, and Vondur steered Ukarem away. 

They walked in silence for a minute or so, as Vondur led them to a less crowded area. 

“I have money,” Ukarem said. 

“That’s good,” Vondur said, mildly. “Financial stability is very important.” 

“If this is about that job on Camala--” 

Ukarem had provided wildly inefficient intel on the state of the target’s security. Vondur had been shot several times, and very nearly died. His target had managed to escape; one of Vondur’s few failures. Because the target was human, rumors started that Vondur had botched the job on purpose out of species sympathy. He’d had to kill several humans in very nasty ways to repair the damage to his reputation. 

“Clouds long cleared,” Vondur said, in that same mild tone. “How long have you been on the Citadel, Ukarem?” 

“I was in the Terminus system on business,” he mumbled. “Came here as soon as I heard they were taking people in.” 

“Really? Why not Omega?” 

“Seemed safer. The reports that were coming through…”

Vondur walked him over to the railing where they could watch the ships go by, hidden behind several large potted plants. Ukarem tried to dig his heels in, babbling nervously. 

“Look, Vondur, you don’t have to do this, I can make it worth your while, whatever it is--” 

“I need a favor, Ukarem.” 

The batarian froze, then relaxed, relief pouring off of him in waves. 

“Oh! Oh, yeah, sure, sure. Name it.” 

Vondur leaned casually against the railing, looking out at the ships rather than at Ukarem.

“I think my least favorite thing about the Citadel is how suspicious they are. You can’t just walk in and out. You need paperwork. An ID card, birth certificate, background checks, proof of citizenship…” He looked over at the batarian. “You know what I mean. You have to be in the system if you want to get anywhere out here.” 

“Yeah” he said, but his expression was puzzled. “But… you were born out here. Couldn’t you just…?”

“I wouldn’t want to raise a fuss,” Vondur said. “A lost child, presumed dead, escaping his dreadful masters and regaining his freedom, rising from the ashes of destruction to take back his old life? That would attract a lot of attention. The kind of attention that could be very…  disadvantageous for someone in my field of business. But most importantly, Ukarem, I don’t want to.” The last was said in a voice hard and cold and full of dark promises.

“Right, right, sure, of course.” Ukarem was nodding very hard. 

“Besides, if I went the legal route, well, I wouldn’t need your help. You’d become rather useless to me. And you like to be useful, right Ukarem?” 

More nodding, Ukarem having apparently lost the ability to speak. 

“You have friends on the Citadel, right? Friends who can get me what I need?” 

The nodding continued. 

“You should let them know I’m willing to pay a little more for express delivery. I’m in a bit of a rush.” 

Nod nod nod. Vondur worried Ukarem’s head would go flying off.

“Oh, and before I forget… I’m still getting settled in, but once I am, you can let your friends know that my services are available. On a case by case basis, of course.” 

Ukarem froze mid-nod, his eyes very wide. 

“Really?” he blurted out. “But-- but you’re not-- you’re--” 

Vondur patted him on the shoulder and turned to leave. 

“If your friends could get back to me in the next two days, I’d really appreciate it.” 

As he mixed in with the other refugees, following the herd towards the daily food distribution, Vondur wondered why he didn’t feel as light as he’d been expecting. He’d just solved several major problems in one go. Now he had the right connections, he was going to get the documents he needed, he’d be able to find some work…

So why was there some deep, biting dissatisfaction in his mind? 

It was Ukarem’s surprise that he was looking for work. The sentence he hadn’t dared to finish. ‘But you’re not a slave anymore.’ Idiot. This was his trade, his craft. Throw away fifteen years of work honing and perfecting his skills just because he didn’t have to? What else was he supposed to do? He didn’t know how to do anything else. He didn’t need to know. And this life had been his choice. Filomet had stood in his cell and given him options, and Vondur had chosen. A short, brutal life in the mines, or the best weapons and training Filomet’s money could buy. 

It had been an easy choice, and it had been his. 

It had.