Missed WIP Wednesday yesterday, so here's a snippet of Caleb Shepard from the ME2 timeline. It's a continuation of something I've previously posted - on the Normandy shortly after he joins in ME2 - when he finds out he now has biotic powers...
~~~
Thunder echoes in his ears; no, not thunder, not on board this copy of the Normandy, but his blood pounding through his veins.
A calm, gentle touch on his arm anchors him unexpectedly. “Shepard, come with me,” Dr. Chakwas murmurs, but she waits for him rather than tugs.
Caleb’s gaze narrows on Miranda. “You and I aren't through, Lawson. I want answers.”
She snorts, a soft sound accompanied by a small smirk at the corner of her lips. “I have given you all the answers I have for that. The rest will have to come from elsewhere.”
As she turns and walks towards her cabin, the doctor’s hand tightens on his arm when he takes a step as if to follow. “Shepard.”
Her voice offers calm in an otherwise raging sea of doubt and turmoil. “Doctor…”
“Come along.”
He allows her to lead him inside the Medbay, but it isn’t until after she closes the blinds on the window that he gives in to the growing disquiet inside him that has been building since he woke up on that surgical table on Lazarus Station. Leaning against the closed door, he slides to the floor, hands wrapped in writhing dark energy covering his face. One traces the unfamiliar scars that now spiderweb across his skin while the other slides around to the back, touching the unfamiliar mark and the implant lying beneath.
“Shepard?”
“Aye…?” His voice is barely audible, even to his own ears.
Dr. Chakwas drops to a knee before him, reaching over to tip his chin upward so their eyes meet. Sober and solemn, a small smile of reassurance works across her lips. “We will get through this, Shepard. I promise.”
Shepard. A name that is as much him as it isn’t. His lips move, but words do not form and he stares back at her blankly. Her smile warms and widens. Finally, he finds his voice. “Karin… who am I?”
Her fingers tighten on his chin, just enough to catch his attention. “You are Commander Caleb Shepard of the Alliance Navy. N7. The first human Spectre.” He shudders visibly; her hand tightens a fraction more. “You are the survivor of Akuze, and,” she adds as she releases her hold, “you are the Savior of the Citadel.”
It'd been a couple of days since the night of drinking and watching ships and stars. The Commander had barely had time to slow down since, jumping from one fight to the next in preparation for the Omega-4 Relay journey that continued to get closer.
Having gathered all the crew, Buck focused on getting to know the newer members as best he could. Forging bonds. Making friendships that ensured everyone watched each other's backs when it was time to hit the Collector homebase.
With some free time on his hands, he headed down to the engineering deck to check on her. "Hey, Tali. Finally recovered from the other night?"
Buck teased, reflecting on his own crushing hangover the morning after.
[Oh hey look what I’m updating after months ty N7 day for some lovely inspo! Also on AO3! ♥]
2183, 6 Months After Shepard’s Death, Omega
Afterlife is in full swing by the time Teegan gets off for the night, losing Takmor in the crowd of drunken patrons and grinding bodies as he heads straight for the back bar.
The Krogan gives a loud guffaw and a wave as he disappears towards the private rooms with a figure tucked under his arm, and Teegan only rolls his eyes and chuckles, feeling the music and the air tugging at his own senses.
Life with the Talons - life since getting his tats - had been damn good.
The three main Merc gangs are constantly at each other’s throat, which allows them to move mostly undetected - making smaller shipments of less hazardous goods, taking smaller bodyguard or hitman bounties.
Never going after Civilians. A keypoint that Tak had stressed upon Teegan’s first arrival on Omega: “We’re still Mercs, but we ain’t Murderers.”
Being a biotic and a damn good sniper, Teegan’s usually sought for bodyguard rolls alongside Tak; the Krogan plays the brute, visible muscle, while the turian is nearby and out of sight, ready to snipe.
It’s worked well. For his Merc Rep and, well… other things.
Teegan flares his mandibles as he reaches the bar, slipping into a seat as he grins as the Asari. “Evening, Vey’ra. What’ve you got for me tonight?”
That first time, back when he’d first gotten his tats and needed to let out some steam, the Asari had been more than happy to show him the ropes - and while there’d been several repeats since then, she’d been sending others his way, as well.
He’d earned a bit of a reputation as a good lay, it seemed - Teegan certainly wasn’t going to complain.
Vey’ra grins, but there’s an edge to it - her usual bubbliness is doused, somehow, as her eyes flit from him to the bar.
“Hey, Teegan - I’m, um. Not really sure.”
“It’s not another salarian interested for ‘research purposes’, is it?” even as he pretends to groan, he watches her face carefully, “I mean, I’ll do it, I’m just-”
“No no, nothing like that.” Vey’ra pauses, bites her lip. Then jerks her chin off behind his shoulder, eyes pinned, “A turian. But he said he wants to talk to you.”
A chill runs down his spine, making him straighten in his seat, hackles raising at the sudden feel of eyes on his back.
Teegan turns his head slightly, glancing - easily spotting the man Vey’ra had gestured to, sitting alone at the booth tucked way into the back of the bar.
Secluded, mostly hidden from view and eavesdroppers, easy to be overlooked.
He’d done some incredibly lewd things in that booth. He’d also heard of people murdered in that booth, right beneath the noses of the bars ‘security’.
Truthfully, he wasn’t sure which way he would rather this go.
“Keep an eye on us.” he mutters, meeting eyes with the Asari as he stands, “Any sign I’m about to get shanked - send some help, would you?”
Vey’ra nods, leaving Teegan to turn and make his way across the bar - slipping between several drunk couples and a few booths that will definitely need cleaning before they can be used again.
He studies the other man as he approaches, his features coming into better focus the closer he gets; older than him, probably. Grey plates and blue markings, a visor streaming constant activity across one eye. A sniper rifle strapped to his back.
“Evening,” Teegan greets, sliding himself into the seat opposite the unknown turian - wishing, suddenly, that he’d thought to get himself a drink, “Vey’ra says you wanted to speak to me?”
The man chuckles, taking a sip of his drink before studying Teegan for a moment. “I’m not your usual caller, I take it.”
“I’m a bit out of my depth here, I’ll admit.” Teegan crosses his arms, watching him right back, “Call me curious. What do you want?”
“I’m building a team.” the man says, sitting straighter, “I’ve noticed you have skills - skills I can use. I wondered if you’d be interested.”
“A team?” Teegan’s mandibles pinch in, processing the words, “What sort of team?”
“Omega is a pile of filth - crime is everywhere. I want to help the civilians, where I can.” the man tilts his head, visor still scrolling, “The Talons are the one Merc gang that don’t harm innocents - so I thought I’d make an offer.”
“Why don’t you join us, then?”
Visor chuckles. “I wouldn’t do well as a merc - it’s better I work with a small group, on the sidelines. Plus, any feathers I ruffle aren’t connected to any groups, this way.”
Something clicks in Teegan’s head, then, eyes narrowing. “Ah. I know who you are. You’re the Ghost everyone’s been talking about, lately.”
“The Ghost, huh? That’s not the nickname I’d heard.” Visor smirks, “But then, I know better than to say that aloud in Omega.”
“So, are you interested?”
“I am - but I think I’ll have to stick with the Talons.” Teegan flares a mandible, “They’ve been there for me for years - they’re like family. But… the Talons have no quarrel with you. There’d be no harm in sharing information, should we find out anything that would help you.”
The Ghost is quiet for a moment, staring at him with hard blue eyes. Then his jaw twitches, and something on his visor flicks - a ping sounding from Teegan’s omni a second later.
“My contact info - encoded, and if you try to share it with anyone else, it’ll destroy all of your information. Just a warning.” The Ghost stands from the Booth, slipping out - and now Teegan can see just how tall he is, “I’m disappointed, but maybe this arrangement can work. May this be a lasting partnership, Teegan.”
He’s gone without another word, disappearing so easily it’s no wonder the Talon’s have taken to calling him the Ghost instead of Archangel.
It’s only once Teegan’s returned to Vey’ra that he realizes just how careful he’ll need to be with this information… and wonders how the hell the Ghost had known his name.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
2185, Omega
Teegan spends a year and a half ‘bumping into’ the Ghost - trading information in back alleys, well away from prying eyes and ears.
The only people that know about his connection are Vey’Ra and Takmor, neither quite approving but not outright disapproving.
Life is otherwise normal - he still does bounty runs, still works as a bodyguard, still helps with supply shipments and keeps himself busy with various partners.
It all starts to get… a little boring, if he’s honest. Spending only a few hours with a person, entirely focused on the physical, is lonely.
But soon, there’s no time to think about that - the station turns into a quarantine zone.
A plague takes over half of the lower living quarters - one that affects every species except humans - and the Talons pull back from missions for a time, not wanting to lose any members.
At the same time, Teegan overhears plans in Omega - plans related to the Ghost.
The very last time Teegan sees Archangel, the other man looks tired, angry, and like he’s been through hell.
And Teegan’s news only makes it worse.
“They’re coming for you - the Blue Suns, Blood Pack, and Eclipse. They want you dead, Ghost.”
Garrus asked idly as he took a moment to look to his side as she walked into the battery. He was used to her coming to see him every now and again, even if it was just to see how he was doing or for a casual chat. He’d gotten used to her company again now that he was back on a ship with her.
A lot better than the fear of constant death or misstep on Omega. Plus he could let his mind really go wild with all this new Cerberus tech.
“How’re you holding up? All that shit with your sister…well, must’ve given you a lot to think about.” Shepard stood in the doorway to her cabin, leaning against the wall. Family dynamics got complicated at the best of times. Everything they’d done to make sure her sister was safe took it to a whole new level.
She’d asked him for help and he’d done everything he could. All he could do now was get a measure of how she was feeling.
"Almost don't recognise the place. It's weird not having mercs shoot at us around every damn corner." Shepard quipped, soaking in the peace and quiet of the ship that had once belonged to the old Shadow Broker.
The new one was much more his speed.
"How're you settling in, Liara?" A bright smile adorned rugged features, warmth mixing with the thick Irish brogue that fell from his lips.
The shuttle groaned and rocked from the turbulence outside. Lightning flashed, wind raged. The storm was in full swing. Shepard found the racket comforting. He found the noise helped focus his mind. Concentrate on the more important thoughts.
Twenty four hours had passed since coming back through the Omega 4 Relay. Before he left for Earth, before he returned to his son he wanted to check in with an old friend. He appreciated Liara’s need for space, to regain her bearings. It wasn’t every day you became the head of a massive spy network.
The Broker’s ship came into sight amidst clouds of intense heat. Buck entered the vessel through one of the side entrances. The long corridors were silent, save for the occasional humming from masses of complex technology. He half expected another mercenary to jump from cover and open fire. It was a welcome change of pace.
During the firefight they hadn’t had much chance to talk. Now that he trusted she was settled he planned on having a moment to breathe with her. The doors opened with a smooth hiss.
“You around, Liara?” Shepard call out in his thick Irish drawl. He waited for an answer.
Skylar could still feel that rush of endorphins pumping through her veins as she walked back through the streets of Omega. She wiped her prints off the bloodied knife before tossing it carelessly next to an over turned trash can.
The man's eyes were still in her mind, how she watched that small disgusting spark fade into nothing as he drew his last breath. He was scum, even on Omega, and she had gladly taken and carried out the job. Jobs like this one were a dime a dozen on this station, and she was more than happy to be paid to do it. It also made it easier to work, what she jokingly called her "day job", at Afterlife. Bar tending was almost as second nature to her as killing those she was hired to.
Skylar was still riding the high as she entered the club and practically bounced her way around the customers to reach the bar, and once she crossed over to behind the counter it felt like coming home. No doubt there was probably the faint smell of blood coming from her, though it was hard to imagine almost anyone around her not smelling of it. Or if anyone could smell anything over the red sand in their nose or over the smell of sweating bodies around them. She wasn't worried, hardly ever was about it. Sky cast a quick glance around, gauging the crowd and allowing herself to linger above to where the Queen normally stayed. She didn't allow herself long before she started to get ready for her shift.
