Chapter Text
Kaidan had been awake for six days, nearly blinded by an odd pain in his head that flared up from his neck and which was slowly spreading across the back of his skull. Waking up after a couple of weeks in a void, his last fractured memory the feeling of his helmet cracking like an eggshell around his skull, the spidery hand of the Cerberus AI closing over the visor, was more than terrifying. For the last three night cycles, he’d been afraid to close his eyes, knowing he might not wake up again, but so exhausted he was starting to see things out of the corners of his eyes he knew weren’t actually there. He thought he remembered seeing Liara T’Soni’s face, hovering over his, and flashes of Karin Chakwas as well, but other than that, it was just black.
He knew Shepard had been to see him, but had no actual memory of it. She’d left a note on the little table next to his bed:
Kaidan,
So much to say, but we’ll save it for when you’re back on your feet. I’m not sure where we’ll be when you wake up, but send me a message as soon as you do, and I’ll be there the second I can. I promise.
You can fight this.
-Mariah
A month ago, if anyone had told him he would be reading her words over and over and over again, memorizing the shape of each letter, he would have said they were nuts. He had made peace how things had ended…moved on…hadn’t he?
But after seeing Vancouver decimated, and knowing that there was a very real possibility that he would die here, alone, not knowing where his family or friends where or even if they were alive or not—messages sent to his parents and a few friends from Vancouver had all gone unanswered—he felt himself clinging to memories he wasn’t even sure he had a right to cling to anymore. He hadn’t contacted Mariah, nor anyone on the Normandy. He couldn’t figure out a good way to say “Hey, I’m awake, but might die of head trauma any second.”
He couldn’t work out if that meant he was being selfish or not.
And his head…God. His head. It felt like every particle of brain matter was being inflated, creating a sense of building pressure that grew worse by the hour.
Describing this to Dr. Michel, he saw a distinct flash of alarm in her eyes today before she caught herself and said, “I’m sure it’s still just residual trauma from the impact, but…I’ll monitor that specific area for the next couple of days, just to be sure.”
She reached behind his head and pressed on the area around his implant node gently. He tried to stop the hiss of pain from escaping, but failed.
“Has that gotten worse since yesterday?”
Kaidan thought. “Maybe. Actually, yes. Definitely worse.”
She slowly brought her hand around his head in a full circle, scanning it with her Omni-tool.
Sitting back, she opened a screen and typed, read, typed again.
A line appeared between her eyebrows.
“Doctor?” Kaidan asked.
“Kaidan,” she began, softly, “While your neck, spine and muscular injuries are healing nicely, and the initial swelling we saw directly following the incident has gone down, the pain—more specifically, the pressure—you described surrounding your implant site does worry me. I’m afraid that whatever is causing your pain has more to do with the L2 than the actual injury.”
“Okay…”
“Like every physician, I learned about conditions that can arise from damage and malfunctions to Biotic implants when I was a student. But I’m no specialist. Particularly in the L2 complications.”
She paused, not meeting his eyes.
“It wouldn’t surprise me if your program didn’t even cover L2 complications in the first place. Researching a few thousand irreparably damaged killing machines in their thirties hardly rakes in the endowments.”
He bit the inside of his cheek. The bitterness he heard in his voice was real, but he hadn’t meant to direct it at her. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Doc. That was out of line.”
“No,” she said quietly. “It wasn’t. There’s no excuse for…any part of what’s happened to you. Or anyone living with an L2. But at the moment, we need to find a way to relieve the pressure on the implant device without causing it to malfunction. And unfortunately all of our physicians who do specialize in Biotic implants have been deployed to areas hit by Reaper forces, where most human biotics have joined the fighting.“
He digested that for a minute. No biotic doctors or specialists available.
Throughout his adult life, he’d had hundreds of conversations with doctors about his implant; horrifying complications he might face as he got older, potential treatments for the seemingly endless symptoms of the L2, and the like. But ultimately his knowledge was rudimentary at best, and he didn’t even know where to begin figuring in the head trauma.
“Karin Chakwas might have some kind of insight. If she could spare the time.”
Dr. Michel smiled sadly at him. “Dr. Chakwas would drop everything to come if she knew you needed her. But she has resigned her post here on the Citadel and is now serving on the SSV Normandy. She was my first thought yesterday when you described the pain at your implant site…unfortunately, the calls I’ve made to the Normandy have gone—“ she paused, not seeming to to want to finish the sentence, “Unanswered.”
Kaidan’s stomach gave a little lurch. Unanswered. Like everyone else.
But…no. The news would have been all over it if the Normandy had gone down. Hackett at least would have been in touch.
“Hm. I’m sure they’re just out of range. From what I’m reading, comm-buoys are taking hits all over the place,” he said, with more optimism than he actually felt.
Goddamn it, his head hurt.
Dr. Michel nodded, her eyes far away, fingers hooked over her mouth.
“I have an idea,” she said after a minute or so. “It’s not…I would need you to consent to have your medical information disclosed to a third party. Not on the medical staff.”
“You can disclose it to whoever you want.”
“Very well,” she said slowly. “There is another Biotic patient here, who at the very least, might be able to offer us some insight.”
“And they’re…an evil scientist? An alliance traitor? I’m really not picky…”
She smiled again, and looked down at her Omni tool again. “Not exactly. But their situation is unusual.”
“Like I said, Doc…beggars can’t be choosers.”
“Very well.”
Two hours of increasing pain and mind-numbing anxiety later, he had actually started to doze. Just as he finally felt himself drifting off, he felt a light touch on his shoulder.
“Kaidan?”
He started, blinking, his eyes feeling raw with lack of sleep. The silhouette of Dr. Michel stood over him, accompanied by another blurred figure he didn’t think he recognized.
“I’m sorry for startling you.”
He rubbed a hand over his face, having to work far too hard to clear his vision.
“This is Tannor Nuara. He is the one we spoke about earlier today,” he blinked one more time, and focused on the person standing next to Michel; a taught, lean figure with hands clasped behind him, emerald-bright skin coming into focus after a third blink. A Drell.
Kaidan held his hand out, and Nuara grasped it briefly, his huge black eyes searching Kaidan’s own.
“A pleasure, Major Alenko,” he said as he stepped back. “I’ve heard of your heroism…I’m humbled to be in your presence.”
“I—thank you…” Kaidan said, not quite knowing how to respond to this.
“Mr. Nuara is a biotic himself, and says he may be able to provide some insight on how to proceed,” Dr. Michel said, and the two of them met each other’s eyes briefly. “Although he is not a physician, he is someone I trust. He says he may be able to relieve some of the pressure on your implant.”
His vision fully cleared, but still over-bright around the edges, Kaidan looked at her, then at Nuara, considering. If the last two hours hadn’t caused a very real panic about lasting brain damage or worse, he might have asked some questions.
Michel had called Nuara’s situation unusual. That was the case merely by him being a Drell on the Citadel. He could count on one hand the number of Drell he’d met in his entire life. And a Drell biotic? All of this on top of the fact that his and Michel’s body language, and the familiar way she spoke about him made it clear that they had some kind of history. He knew Michel was a bit of a maverick, but always in the interest of getting the best outcomes for the people she treated. And his faith in Karin Chakwas was longer lived than his faith in…well, anyone but his own family, really. She vouched for Michel.
What did he have to lose?
“At this point, try anything you want.”
Nuara stepped forward, hands behind his back. “I believe I can use a small biotic pulse to simultaneously neutralize the swelling that is causing the pressure on your implant and stabilize the implant device itself.”
He glanced over at Michel. “Dr. Michel voiced a concern that the surgical staff might not be able to do both, lacking a biotic medical specialist. Rest assured, Major. If it is ineffective, no further harm will be caused, and we can reassess.”
Kaidan took a steadying breath. Another stab of pain sliced through his head and blurred his vision again.
He looked at the Doctor. “That sound okay to you?”
She nodded. “Without doing as Mr. Nuara suggests, the next step would have to be an emergency surgical procedure. As he also stated, lacking a biotic specialist would make that very risky.”
“Let’s do it, then.”
Nuara stepped closer. “If you could sit up, Major.”
Kaidan complied, wincing and feeling a sense of vertigo creeping over him.
Nuara reached out with both hands, placing one palm on Kaidan’s forehead and cradling the back of his skull with the other.
“You may wish to close your eyes,” Nuara said, his voice quiet.
Kaidan did so, and heard the other man take a breath in. After taking one himself, he felt dry, overwarm palms press inward.
Instead of the jolt he’d anticipated, Kaidan felt a warm prickle of energy pour into the back of his head at the implant site and spread upward. It was like a barrage of tiny needles, all working together to deflate the balloon of pressure-pain that had been building since he’d been awake.
Nuara held onto Kaidan’s head for a full fifteen seconds, the biotic current never wavering or fading. The softness and focus of the mass effect field was unlike anything Kaidan had ever experienced. Even the new, more stable implants his recruits had were designed for creating powerful bursts of energy, rather than sustained fields.
When the Drell eased his hands away, Kaidan’s head didn’t stop hurting, exactly, but the leftover pain was much closer to a normal headache. His vision had normalized, and the terrifying feeling of pressure was gone. He let out his breath, doing the mental check-in he conducted from time to time after particularly bad migraines. He still knew his name, rank, hometown, birthday, parents’ names and enlistment number. All good signs.
Dr. Michel came over, checked his vitals, and did another scan with her Omni tool. “How do you feel?”
She was fighting to keep anxiety out of her voice.
”Better. Much better.”
Slowly, he tilted his head from side to side, waiting for the pressurized feeling to creep back up with the movement.
Nothing.
“I will continue monitoring the implant site for the next couple of days. If this holds, you’re well on your way to a full recovery, Major.”
“Doctor…thanks. Really.”
Michel smiled and put a hand on his shoulder. “I did nothing more than my job. Now, I must go check on my other patients. Do you need anything else?”
Realizing he couldn’t actually remember his last full meal that hadn’t been intravenous, Kaidan replied, “Something to eat or drink would be great.”
“I’ll have someone bring a tray up as soon as possible. Mr. Nuara,” she turned from Kaidan to face the other man, who had stepped back and was standing quietly by the door, hands clasped behind him again. “I can’t thank you enough for the assistance you provided today.”
“Those of us unable to serve on the front lines must also do our part,” he said, nodding and gesturing to her to leave before him.
As Dr. Michel exited the tiny room, the Drell gave Kaidan a small bow, and began to follow her.
“Wait,” Kaidan said.
Nuara turned back, stepping back inside the door as it hissed closed. “How did you do this?” Kaidan asked with no small amount of wonder, running his own fingers over his implant node. “I guarantee, if I tried that I’d have blown my head to bits.”
Nuara ‘hmmed” as though in agreement, walking slowly back toward Kaidan. He seemed to be considering his answer.
“Our implants are developed by the Hanar. As I’m sure you know, the majority of their communication is through bioluminescence. When they came to Rakhana and discovered that a number of us are born with at least some biotic ability, the Hanar developed implants specifically for Drell to be able to communicate more effectively with them through different light patterns. In the two and a half centuries since, as the language barrier has been breached, they have refined and expanded the implant technology to be able to function in ways similar to humans and Asari, depending on one’s occupation, but their emphasis has always been on focus and sustainability.”
He hesitated, then continued, his voice quieter, “we are fortunate the Hanar cared more for our physiological well-being than they did about turning us into biotic killing machines.”
Kaidan looked at him, surprised. As far as he knew, Drell and humans didn’t have have much to do with one another, and Nuara’s knowledge of humanity’s L2 debacle caught him off guard.
“I beg your pardon, Major. I meant no offense.”
“No, no” Kaidan said, quickly, “It’s just that…well…there are plenty of humans who don’t know about the L2s.”
Nuara stopped a few feet from the bedside, and made the same hum he had a few moments before. “Drell are unique in the galaxy. Our world was happened upon by a spacefaring species when we were well-along our final journey into chaos. Our society witnessed the inevitable outcome of planetary exploitation and subjugation of certain sects. Then, a tiny percentage of the population, largely the privileged and the remarkable were given the opportunity to remove themselves from the slaughter. Two hundred years later, the parts of galactic society that don’t see the remainder of my people as slaves to the Hanar, dismiss us as a lost, primitive race not worthy of representation. Or trust.”
He had begun walking slowly around Kaidan’s bed to face the window, looking out on the stark, white contours of the Presidium as he spoke.
He turned back to face Kaidan as he continued. “I don’t presume to speak for all Drell, but the others I know tend to be especially aware of the…injustices…faced by certain members of more populous races; human biotics, for example, have been exploited at the whims of your own military industrial complex, pureblooded Asari are openly excluded from the so-called higher elements of Thessian society, and Turians tend to regard anything other than physical and psychological strength and conformity as genetically inferior. There are days I feel that most sentient races don’t need a massive invasion to ensure destruction.”
Despite the bleakness of the man’s words, Kaidan found himself transfixed by Nuara’s musical inflection, the lyrical measure he used when speaking.
”Again, I beg your pardon. I have become…reflective…these past few months.”
“I can understand that. And no need. I generally prefer listening anyway.”
“An admirable quality,” Nuara said, turning, his mouth quirking up in a half smile. “One only a few humans I’ve known have shared.”
Kaidan chuckled, “Most of us do like to hear ourselves talk. Seriously, though…I have to admit I haven’t known many Drell. Thank you for sharing your perspective. And…well…for working to understand us when I’m sure it hasn’t been reciprocated. And…”
He paused…how did you thank a total stranger for saving your life?
“I don’t quite know how to thank you for what you just did. I have to ask, though…why help me?”
Nuara’s black eyes focused on a point above Kaidan’s shoulder, contracting ever so slightly and remaining in place for a few seconds before he bowed his head and spoke.
“I—am observant. I saw the doctors rushing you through the inpatient wing a few days ago and heard someone yell something about an implant. I asked around, discovered who you were, and that you’ve been an important part of the human resistance to the forces that have threatened your people over the past three years. I inquired after you with Dr. Michel, and even though she was professional in her answer, I could tell she was worried. I offered to assist in any way I could.”
Something about the way Nuara said this made Kaidan think that he wasn’t telling the entire story. His other explanations had been so thorough, and this one seemed vague, and hadn’t really answered the question.
Maybe he thought he was protecting Michel? If she had revealed more than she let on to Nuara before asking Kaidan’s consent to disclose his medical information, perhaps he thought Kaidan would react badly. He decided not to press the issue. Everyone had their own reasons for doing things, and really…who was he to complain?
“If we weren’t sitting in the middle of a hospital I’d at least offer to buy you a drink,” Kaidan said, smiling.
Nuara searched Kaidan’s face for a moment, before his mouth quirked up. “And if I were not on a very strict diet that unequivocally excludes alcohol, I would accept.”
More questions rose in Kaidan’s brain. Michel had said he wasn’t on the medical staff, which had to mean he was a patient.
“I have to admit that spirits are one of the things I miss most about not living in a hospital room.”
It was Kaidan’s turn to bow his head, and look down at his hands. He wasn’t going to pry into this man’s life with insipid questions, but…he could read between the lines. Life had never been fair, but the idea of someone like this wasting away in a hospital room seemed impossibly cruel.
Nuara said “I developed a taste for some human wines long ago, though the appeal of drinking something that tastes like burned tree bark escapes me…Bourbon, I think you call it.”
Kaidan laughed. “I have a friend who used to say the only thing Bourbon’s good for is cleaning your gun after a firefight.”
“A smart man,” Nuara said, not laughing, exactly, but the sound of the words made it clear he was joking.
”A woman, actually. Yeah she used to shudder at the smell of it.”
“Used to?”
”I—haven’t heard from her since I’ve been awake. She’s on an Alliance frigate. Somewhere.”
”Ah. A fellow soldier, then?”
Kaidan nodded.
“I imagine the invasion of Earth has thrown your military into chaos.”
“She was alive…” Kaidan counted back in his head. “Let’s see…three and half weeks ago? That was the last time I saw her. I mean, if anyone could withstand a Reaper ambush or…something like that…she could. But it seems like they’ve started knocking out the comm buoys…”
Kaidan trailed off, back to replaying scenarios in his head.
“It’s been tough not knowing where she is.”
Nuara looked down at the floor, his pupils contracting again as he seemed to freeze in place. Kaidan wondered if he was working through his own calculations of when the last time he’d heard from a loved one or family member.
After a few moments of silence, Nuara said “It’s disquieting to think how quickly they’ve been able to disrupt our communications…and to think of how many have succumbed to despair in isolation.”
Kaidan looked at him for a long moment, giving him time to continue.
When he didn’t, Kaidan said, “I guess…the only thing we can do is not jump to conclusions. And some hope couldn’t hurt…although I do know that can be hard to come by these days. Listen. If there’s any way I can help you get in contact with whoever you’re missing…maybe my alliance clearances could help things move a little faster depending on where they are.”
Nuara seemed to consider this. “A kind offer, and one I will keep in mind.”
More silence. Then, he walked back over to Kaidan’s bedside. “I don’t know if you are a religious person, Major Alenko…but the only help I can offer you in return is a prayer from from one of our older religious texts: as the days darken into endless night, may Arashu and her angels protect all glimmers of light on your horizon.”
Kaidan sat for a moment and let the image form in his mind. Beautiful. Sad. And there was something about the way Nuara spoke the words that felt almost…intimate; as though the prayer was a gift not granted to many others. “I’m…not particularly. But I appreciate that. Truly.”
The door hissed open again, and an orderly stepped in carrying a tray.
“I’ve overstayed my welcome,” Nuara said, quickly. “You should rest. If I can be of anymore assistance with your implant, do not hesitate to tell Dr. Michel. She’ll know where to find me.”
He spoke the last part of this wryly, casually. But the pain behind it was clear as day.