Stagnant

Disclaimer: Mass Effect and its characters belongs to Bioware.

Summary: This really couldn't be called living. Rated R for sexual circumstances, very mild but just being safe.

Pairing: Kaidan/(fem)Shepard, Kaidan/other

Almost a year after the Normandy went down, taking its Commanding Officer with it, and he found it difficult to comprehend the loss. It was marvelling how easily, how effortless, the name Shepard rolled off of people's tongues. It's become an abstract word, Shepard, no longer pertaining to a woman but to some sort of Paragon goddess.

Kaidan still found her name loaded with meaning, but hearing it no longer made his tongue thick and stomach queasy. The first human Spectre. It seemed civilians and Alliance alike found it only natural that a living legend could become a dead legend. Her death didn't stop the universe from progress, if anything it was a tiny farce of a pause before the return to standard activities.

He still looks for her in a crowd, a by product her commercialized image. He was so used to being a few steps behind her (the woman jogged everywhere) that he finds it strange that he's no longer following her footsteps. He always seemed to be chasing her ghost; he could hear her voice and move irrationally toward it, as though there was still something to save, only to realize it was an old vid interview.

The Alliance utilized her death just as they used her life. How fitting that even her memory should be of service to them. They never could just let her rest. He remembered occasionally staying up to help her finish the various reports and surveys that the Alliance tacked onto her mission of finding Saren. No matter that the galaxy faced the threat of imminent destruction, no, they wanted her to lose vital sleep over documents that had to be copied and signed in triplicate.

Along with funding scholarships, human eligibility only of course, the Alliance funded radio plays, vid series and a few biographies based on Shepard's life. It was low brow propaganda, but the civilians ate it up.

Emily Wong tried to publish her own account of Shepard's life, an opus focusing on the civilian aspect rather than military. She took the time to speak to figures from Shepard's past but nothing really came of it. She still visited -plagued- him at his apartment on the Citadel. Kaidan quickly found himself running out of polite ways to turn the reporter down that he finally just refused to open the door to her anymore. Wong still made herself heard though, yelling through the door that if he truly wanted to "preserve Jane's memory" he would help. He's fairly certain that all the woman wants is the easy credits that would come with publishing another Shepard biography.

Jane. He still couldn't bring himself to say the name allowed. Hearing it on the radio, in the streets, made him nauseous and dizzy. He wanted to protect the name, since he could not protect the woman. The raw intimacy of her first name, so rarely used by her own friends and crew, it made him cringe to hear it so casually uttered by those that did not know her. That never fought alongside her, heard her laugh, and felt her love. Jane. It conjured memories of soft skin, breathy moans and the feel of her legs locked around his.

He had become an unwilling celebrity. He never sought the limelight, if anything it seemed to aggravate his migraines, and he sure as hell never wanted to be trailed by groups of Conrad Verners. But that's what he became, at least to those in the Citadel. Kaidan Alenko, poster boy of the Alliance. A shining example of law, order and morality. He never tells the brass that he questioned all three throughout his service with Shepard.

He's pushed to become a spokesperson for Biotic integration, a representation of what Biotics could become. Though there is a slight whitewashing of the level of his implants. Don't ask, don't tell. He never wanted that either. Perhaps he had once aimed to be a career man, but he saw how quickly politics coloured the decisions of the Alliance.

A publicity agent employed by the Alliance told him that he looked good in a suit. So with a closet filled with Alliance standard suits, Kaidan found himself pushed to socialize more, he was to become the new face of humanity. A representative of how far humanity had come and how it still retained all that made them intrinsically human. He never felt like less of a person than on the nights that he paraded him around the Citadel. A hero of Eden Prime, the saviour of the Citadel.

Tonight he was required to attend the Premiere of Code of Honour, a vid series loosely based on Shepard's logs. They wanted to give a statement that would inspire youth to watch and join the Alliance. A few weeks ago, he had a young actor sent to trail him for a few days to base a character on him. The end result, he realized, when watching the early rough edits of the vid was a severe and austere performance. The character of "Kale" ended up on the chopping block before the vid was released for the public premiere. The actor had been booted from the series and the role of eager lieutenant was quickly forgotten. There is no mention of romance, in part because he and Shepard never had the opportunity to disclose their relationship, to fight for their moment, and partly because, the vid was really just Alliance marketing. After all, a romance could never develop between two officers.

He bolted from the theatre before the end of the first episode. The overly bright screen and over amplified sound created such a strong feeling of nausea that he remained in the washrooms, trying not to die as he waited for the vid to finish. From what he could see from the finished edit, when his eyes weren't closed trying to fend off sickness, was a strange lack of aliens. There were the Council races represented of course, even a Hanar and Elcor that were supposed to provide comic relief. There was no mention of the integral role of Wrex or Tali. Kaidan supposed that, being from controversial races, the Alliance had no wish to include them. When he hears the over-enthusiastic applause, he knows it's his cue to emerge and provide a positive sound bite for the presses. He fights the urge to gag as he leaves the washroom, vowing to find himself a few stiff drinks after he finishes playing the role of good soldier.

In the dim lights of Flux, the actress portraying Shepard actually looked fairly similar to the real thing. Same sharp features, same brown hair and tanned skin. Though Kaidan was fairly certain that fauxShepard's jumpsuit was not regulation and that her curves were artificially enhanced. There is a certain lack of sparkle in the eyes though, a familiar warmth that had betrayed the woman beneath the Spectre title. The actress took a liking to him all the same. With the haze of alcohol and the desperation of loneliness, Kaidan found that if he unfocused his eyes, he could almost believe that it was Shepard across from him. That it was Shepard laughing softly and running her hand along his chest. He's pretty sure he's slowly going insane.

When she leans in, her hair brushes his neck. Dragging an unsteady hand through her hair, Kaidan briefly found himself wondering whether the actress also had hair that would inadvertently curl from the humidity of the space suits.

He brought her back to his apartment anyways. Kaidan wishes he could say it was because he was drunk and she was willing. But the lingering feeling of betrayal seems to suggest otherwise. (The hours spent retching the next morning seems to be an after-effect of disgust rather than inebriation). Deep down, he wants to hurt Shepard. It's illogical, but Kaidan hasn't really been focused on logistics every since he foolishly chose his heart over his head.

The actresses name is Kryssie; blatantly misspelled and ending with an "ie". As Kryssie giggles her name into his ear all he can think about is Ashley, and how she would have enjoyed seeing stoic, sensible Kaidan drunkenly groping a poor-man's Shepard. Ashley would have rolled her eyes and make a disparaging comments about his slumming it with a woman who spelled her name like an academy sorority sister. Man up LT. Or maybe Ashley would take on a more sisterly role, using the same concerned tone she used when she talked about her sisters. Where's the Romantic that was waiting for the perfect woman?

Up close Kryssie's resemblance to Shepard is even less than he allowed himself to believe. But her touch was warm and her smile inviting, so he closed his eyes and pretended anyways. His tongue probed her mouth, more rough and sloppy than he normally preferred. But it wasn't about proving himself, it was about proving he could be the type of person that could move on. Whose heart wasn't irreparably broken. He wondered if the cloying emptiness he felt was what moving on felt like. He ignored her breathy moans as he pushed inside her, covering her mouth with his. The more she spoke, the harder he found it to deceive himself that it was Shepard.

Shepard laughed easily as she pulled him back in for another kiss. He was eager to please her, to prove that the attraction they had been dancing around for months was substantial, that there would be no regrets. Her skin was flushed as she moved under him. She grinned as she hooked her legs around him, pushing him down against the bed. She gracefully rolled on top ensuring that no contact was lost between them.

He wanted the same easy intimacy. The instinctual ability to know and understand the other person because their desires were so close to your own.

But there was none of that. If anything, after he lay next to Kryssie, watching her sleep, he had never felt so empty. The competing desires to sully and cherish what he and Shepard had were overwhelming. He inadvertently acted on them both and found that all he was left with was a sense of guilt at the mockery he had made of their short relationship.

All he wanted was to fill the void that had been weighing him down for over a year. He wanted to feel something, anything besides the dark cloying rage that grew within him. On his good days he is merely bitter and sullen, on his bad days he's illogical. He lashes out at his lower officers, unwilling to tolerate even the smallest mistake. Mistakes are what get you killed. He maintains a wall around him, ensuring that no fraternization occurs, that no lines are inadvertently crossed. He's already transferred two officers that he suspected were growing too close. After all, he's learned that the rules are there for a reason.

This focus on rules has made him a better soldier, at least that's what his evaluation reports all say. However, Kaidan's fairly certain that it's made him less of a person. His actions are automatic, clinical, and emotionless. He remembers telling Shepard that he had wanted to be a career man, to carve out a better life for Biotics. But the Normandy's various missions throughout the system had shown him that morality was not nearly as cut and dry as Alliance regulations would permit. So, he vacillates from the need to feel something to a desire for numbness, taking every mission he can find. Part of him wonders if his strict adherence to Alliance regs is a means to spite the memory of Shepard. He wields the bottom lines of bureaucracy and politics the same way she used her pistols. He is a mouthpiece for the Alliance and he really doesn't care.

Kaidan threw out the rulebook once. All it left him was an ache inside and a choking bitterness. He's not quite sure what he expected out of the relationship, but he's pretty sure he should have expected this scenario. Soldiers die, lovers die.

He is so angry. So filled with rage that it becomes blinding. His migraines flare up and his vision darkens and all he can focus on is the desire for cathartic release. He's desperate for something to hurt as much as he does. It's why he didn't even blink when Joker severed their already tenuous friendship. The only things that connected them were Ashley, Shepard and the Normandy. Without any of those, Kaidan found his nerves too brittle to tolerate Joker's acidic barbs. Outside of the pilot's chair, Joker's pain and regret became too evident for Kaidan to ignore. He could barely deal with his own anger. He couldn't find it within himself to forgive Joker's role, just as he couldn't forgive himself.

What his days lack in emotion, his dreams made up for in intensity. He craves them just as much as he despises them. At first he dreamed of saving her. How he would have disregarded her orders and stayed behind, he would have helped her with Joker. They would have made it into the escape pods and joked about the close call they had. Joker would groan and call them on their relationship and Shepard would threaten to take him tap dancing if he ever mentioned it again.

But that never happened.

Then his dreams changed, no longer was he saving her. Instead he found himself yelling at her, telling her all the anguish she had caused him. The locations always change, Virmire, Feros, Citadel Tower, but the argument never did. He tells her how selfish she was. How putting her desire to save others over a desire to save herself harmed everyone. His frustration would increase until he could feel the loss of control building within him. He'd feel his powers gathering in his fingertips until there was a release.

The raw anger and power in those dreams frightened him, leaving him shaking. After Rayna, he fought so long to repress that kind of loss of control but it seemed like his control was less and less firm.

The dreams evolved again, no longer was he voicing his frustrations, but instead acting in a more primitive fashion. It was always the night before Ilos. Though the actions replayed over and over, he still felt them as intensely as he did on that night.

He crushed her against him, walking them backwards until she was pressed up against the wall. Her body melded against his perfectly as she pushed against him to get as close as possible. He gripped her hair tightly, exposing her tanned neck. As he trailed his mouth from her lobe to her nape, she gasped softly her hands stilling their exploration of his body. He lightly nipped at the faint scars that decorated her skin, he watched in fascination as her skin flushed. She moaned as he quickly pulled of her shirt, she shivered but he wasn't certain if it was from the rush of cool air. She was allowing him to take the lead and he knew it. He pulled back slightly, one hand gripping the wall to steady himself. Shepard's eyes cleared briefly, she bit her lip looking suddenly unsure of herself. He smiled, kissing her softly in hopes to alleviate any misgivings she had.

Shepard breathed deeply for a moment, for a moment Kaidan was certain she was going to put on her shirt and walk out. He was fairly certain that if she did that he would simply die. She grinned as she pulled him in for a searing kiss. Her hands roamed his body, and for once he was glad for the tight-knit Alliance uniformed. Shepard made a small noise of appreciation as her hands lightly brushed his chest. As her hands slowly settled on his waist, his stomach constricted as her nails lightly scratched the skin there, coyly picking at the waistband of his pants. She laughed lowly as his body leaned into her touch. Her tongue traced a strange slow pattern onto a sensitive spot behind his ears. He whimpered slightly as his knees weakened at the ministrations. She pulled off his shirt, tossing it carelessly onto the floor. He pulled her back towards him, revelling in the feel of their bare skin pressed together. He pulled her backwards towards the bed, shedding the rest of their clothes along the way.

He woke up then, as he always did; tired, hard, and alone.

It would be best if he took the pills that Chakwas gave him after the Normandy first crashed, back when his dreams were of a lifeless Shepard. Taking those pills would probably improve his mental acuity, hell, it would probably save his sanity.

But a thick dreamless sleep is not what he wanted. Though disorienting, he revelled in the first few seconds after he awoke. When he was confused and still felt the touch of her skin and the press of her lips. It was those brief seconds that give him the will to get out of bed.

He glanced at the sleeping form next to him. Wondering if it would be appropriate to wake her up and send her home. Instead, he slipped out of bed to check his vid-mail. He ignored the unopened messages from his family, bypassing the months old email that Joker had sent after Shepard's funeral, focusing on a cryptic vid-mail from Captain Anderson about an upcoming intelligence mission. He looked back at Kryssie, wondering exactly what the protocol was for this type of situation. As he watched her sleep, he felt nauseous and uncomfortable. In the light of morning, his actions seemed like betrayal.

Since brain camp he had a habit of reliving the past. Of questioning his actions and mistakes, always mediating for best possible alternative. For one night, he had lived and acted on the moment. He had thought that he wouldn't regret his actions, that the long-term effects of giving into the temptation Shepard posed were worth it. He wasn't sure if it had been naivety or bravery that drove him to her room that night. He wished he were a stronger man, able to take her death in stride and make something of himself.

Instead, he has retreated into himself, reverting to the safer cage of control and discipline. Shepard's legacy was a constant presence and at times it seemed to chide him for this cowardly relapse, after all, she spent a year trying to draw him out of his carefully constructed shell. But she was dead, so damn if he was going to let her memory judge him.

Her voice, her image, her name followed him throughout the day. It seemed unlikely that he would ever be able to move on when she remained a ghostly presence in his life. He ached for some sort of conclusion, a catharsis that was denied from him at her funeral. He wanted to be released from her grasp, just as much as he wanted to be pulled in. He wanted to resume his life, start over or even revert to who he had been before the Normandy. He was tired of only surviving, of barely making it through the day without remembering his loss. This wasn't living, not really.