Duty-Bound

Chapter 4--New Beginnings

The insistent thump of the speakers made Kaidan's drink vibrate against the bar-top, creating a humming noise that grated against his ears. He lifted the glass and gulped its remaining contents in one large swallow, barely noticing the burn in his throat as the whiskey warmed his insides. "Another?" the barkeep asked him, making his way toward Kaidan after serving a trio of girls.

"Yeah," Kaidan replied, raising his voice to be heard over the music. The Dark Star was busy for a Wednesday, but that was just the way he liked it. He pushed his glass toward the bartender, a quiet male turian who was regarding him with mild curiosity as he poured him another glass of whiskey, neat. It was good quality, an Earth import, and Kaidan tried to sip this one more slowly as he met the bartender's stare.

Kaidan knew why the man looked at him that way-he had become something of a celebrity as a result of the media frenzy surrounding Shepard's death. The Alliance had essentially martyred Shepard, publicizing her murder along with a laundry list of her good deeds in an attempt to bring her (and, by extension, humanity) back into the galaxy's good graces after she had allowed the old Council to perish in the fight against Sovereign. She'd done it for the right reasons, of course; but that hadn't mattered to humanity's more vocal critics, particularly amongst the salarians.

It had been a month since Shepard's memorial, but her death had left a wound on Kaidan heart that had only bled and festered as days went by. Every night, he had grisly nightmares in which he watched Shepard die in a hundred different explosions, or watched her get caught in Alchera's gravitational field and fall, terrified, to her death. In each variation, one thing remained the same-Kaidan would be paralyzed, watching helplessly from a shuttle and doing nothing to save her. Waking in a panic from these disturbing dreams, he discovered that it was just as hard to escape the crushing guilt and grief by day: Shepard's face was everywhere-and, it turned out, so was his.

The inspiring story of the late Commander Shepard and her dedicated, ragtag crew of aliens and Alliance soldiers had taken the Citadel by storm. As Shepard's closest companion, Kaidan found his image alongside hers on vids everywhere he looked, heard his name on the lips of journalists as they embellished the already riveting story of Shepard's life with steamy, mostly made-up details of his relationship with her. The heartfelt eulogy that he'd almost failed to deliver at her memorial only served fuel the fire.

But the limelight only intensified his pain, so he'd actually been glad to receive the news that he was being put on mandatory leave. It was no surprise, really-not after he'd attacked Joker over Alchera. Not after he'd broken down at Shepard's memorial service. In the absence of his military schedule, his carefully disciplined routine had crumbled. He spent most of his days sleeping and most of his nights trying to drink his memories away. While he had failed at forgetting her, he definitely succeeded in earning himself a bad reputation at the local bars by starting fights and refusing to leave after last call. So when he'd received an official Council summons a few days prior, he naturally assumed that he was going to be chastised in the form of Alliance dishonorable discharge for his less-than-exemplary public displays of dejection.

Oddly, he'd felt nothing at the prospect of being discharged. He'd reached a stage in his depression where no emotions managed to get past the numb sort of haze of sadness that cloaked him day and night. For the past few weeks, he hadn't shaved, hadn't pressed his clothes once. He'd lost weight, and his pale skin and frequently red eyes were only slightly covered by his unruly black hair. The Council summons was a necessary motivator to at least try and look presentable. So that morning, for the first time in a long time, he'd woken early, eaten breakfast, and cleaned himself up. His newly-shaven face felt unnaturally smooth. He'd combed his hair into place, surprised by how long it had gotten. Regarding his reflection in the mirror that morning, his freshly-pressed uniform looked starchy and foreign. He just hoped that it would fool the Council into thinking he was handling his grief with some degree of dignity. Kaidan told himself that was what Shepard would have wanted.