The whole situation on Eden Prime, the failure of their mission made Shepard a little upset. Anderson kept saying it wasn’t a total loss, because they managed to save the colony, but for Shepard? The Butcher of Torfan? Ruthless, who got the job done every time? That wasn’t enough. He didn’t blame anyone on the Normandy, though – except, perhaps, Ashley, who activated the beacon because of her curiosity. But that was another subject for another time. Now, he was talking to Kaidan, and for some reason, he wasn’t sure why. Shepard was a very private man, he would talk here and there to his crew, but not… like that. Speaking his mind.
He had never imagined himself in that situation, even though he sought for challenges during his whole life. If you kept poking the bear, you would eventually get it mad, right? The same thing happened with his life. Seeking for hard missions, and he ended up with an impossible one – but that made him thrilled. The adrenaline pumping into his veins, he needed that.
Although he looked serious, even cold while Kaidan spoke, he was actually excited to get his hands on these Reapers, after he became a Spectre. They didn’t know what kind of enemy they would face if Saren managed to achieve his goals. But no, Shepard didn’t intend to allow him to do such thing. He would kill him first, no matter what.
“It’s okay, Lieutenant. I guess we all deserve some informal chat.” He leaned against a wall nearby, crossing his arms over his chest. “But I’m far from being a hero, a protector. I’m a soldier who gets the job done, and I may even use methods you’ll disagree. It’s fine, we don’t need to be friends, though I just ask you to stay focused on the mission.”
A pause as he sighed, frowning lightly. “I find it amazing, though. The adrenaline of chasing something dangerous and unknown.”
Somewhere in the galaxy, Saren was creating an army— meanwhile, aboard the Normandy, here they stood discussing the blooming threat residing somewhere outside the airlock door. Irony at its best and yet, Kaidan couldn’t find an ounce of himself to mind. Informalities had never been his thing; it was one of the first rules they taught at Alliance training. Do not fraternize with your superiors— they have more important things to be doing with their time. And yet, even with Shepard’s cold eyes looking at him, Kaidan found the slightest ounce of solace.
The weight of the galaxy had been lifted off his shoulders long enough for him to be able to breathe. He could exhale without feeling like his lungs were going to collapse at any given second. He could blink without seeing Jenkins’ lifeless body in front of his feet, opened surprised eyes staring directly into his, speaking to him as if he were to blame.
Commander Shepard was right, though. He’s a soldier— a soldier first, hero second. They’re all soldiers; that’s their mission. Even with a heart of gold, you can’t save everyone. There will always be a battle and blood on someone’s hands. (The best Kaidan can do is avoid it as much as possible.) If that’s Shepard’s prerogative, he’ll turn the eye until he can’t. It doesn’t stop the male from questioning where the line is, though. He hopes he’ll never have to see the day where the line is drawn, or even crossed for that matter. It’s a thought he can’t quite shake, even while nodding at the Commander’s words.
❝ I’ll remain focused on the mission, Commander— you don’t have to worry about that. Your methods are your methods, and I’ll respect them. I ask for the same courtesy in response, though. I have personal boundaries for myself, some that I won’t cross, even if you were to ask me. I’m a soldier too, but I have a line between being a soldier and being a hooligan. ❞ He acknowledges, an eye-roll following his words. Hooligan, he sounds like his mother. It’s hard to find the adrenaline side of the situation, though. All he feels is a pile of growing anxiety weighing down in his chest, making its way down to the pits of his stomach. He has a bad feeling about all of this— Saren, the beacon, the discussion of the Protheans and Reapers. Something feels off about it all, but he can’t quite place his finger on it. (He’s not the only one who feels it, though— he hears the chatter aboard the Normandy; everyone can sense it. Something is brewing and it’s dark, consuming, and soul-crushing.)
❝ My whole life has been unknown. Being a biotic— it comes with the unknown territory of perception. Everyone always giving you the side-eye, wondering if you’re going to explode because they know what you can do. Maybe that’s why I don’t find the adrenaline in all of this. I’ve seen things, but this is different... It feels different, if that makes sense. ❞
