Chapter Text
Image by learielle
Prologue: Confinement
Three months. They kept Jasmine locked in a little room for three months. The vid screen behind reinforced, bullet proof glass only picked up Earth channels, and half of those were blocked. Heaven forbid she watch porn or some violent flick to pass the time. She just left it off most days. She never found anything on worth watching, and without a remote or an omni-tool, she needed to ask the guards to change the channels. Half the time they ignored the request anyway. They let her have a few old books, but she already read them all—twice.
At least the ventilation system worked well; lingering smells from food and bodily functions would drive anyone mad. The days between showers, she made do with giving herself a sponge bath at the sink, but it only made her long for the days of spending forty minutes beneath the steaming spray of a private shower whenever she wanted. She slept, exercised, ate, and relieved herself in her cell, but hey, they had the decency to put the toilet behind a partition and they took her out every other day for a shower.
Every few days or so, a guard would open her door, shackle her and take her to another room to sit her down in a chair across from the blond woman, whom Jasmine was only ever allowed to call Langston. Although, in her mind, the uptight woman simply became 'The Bitch'. Every time they brought her out, The Bitch spent the first few minutes staring at Jasmine in silence, the only sound in the room the increasingly annoying tap, tap, tap of her fingernails against the tabletop.
Then the questions started. Demanding. Accusing. Leading. Designed to trip her up.
"When did Leon Harding first make contact with you on the Citadel?"
"Who were the people you went to Illium to kill?"
"At what point did you realize Leon Harding was related to Jassar Solomon?"
"Who is Nevas T'sera?"
"Why did you abandon your post on the Citadel?"
"Why did you kill twenty-one people inside of the RetCorp building on Illium?"
"Who are Drulius and Laeria Canso?"
"What was the nature of your relationship to Leon Harding?"
"Why were you and Leon Harding at the residence of Nevas T'sera the night you killed Leon Harding?"
"Did you learn Leon Harding fabricated the dossiers for the alleged job before or after you killed twenty-one people on Illium?"
"Who is Saman Naol?"
"Why did you kill Leon Harding?"
"What did Leon Harding tell you about Jassar Solomon?"
"Did you take part in the killing of Drulius and Laeria Canso?"
"Where did the altercation between yourself and Leon Harding take place?"
"Did you kill Leon Harding because of a personal conflict between the two of you stemming from a past romantic relationship?"
"How did Leon Harding die?"
"Who else was present besides yourself, Leon Harding, and Nevas T'sera the night you killed Leon Harding?"
"Where are Nevas T'sera and Saman Naol now?"
"Were you present when Drulius and Laeria Canso were killed?"
"What caused the altercation between yourself and Leon Harding?"
And on, and on, and on. Still, it gave her something to look forward to. A break from the white walls and her own, never-ending thoughts. They never let her call anyone; she never got to write anyone. If not for Thane and the call she placed to Geoffrey before her escorts picked her up on Illium, she might die there, and no one would ever even know what happened. She didn't even really know anymore if they planned to actually put her on trial; maybe she already was and they just didn't bother telling her. Apparently things like civil rights, law, and due process didn't really apply to her anymore. And why should it? The Phantom program didn't officially exist. She'd be lying if she said being there didn't make her start to wonder why she didn't just cut her losses and run; why she ever thought turning herself in was the smart thing to do.
Thane lay in the hospital bed, a thin tube trailing between his arm and the machinery measuring out and administering a steady dose of saline and pharmaceuticals through the IV. His chest ached, each breath a struggle, but the doctors assured him this was to be expected. In a while, the nurse would come in and place the nebulizer mask over his mouth and nose before turning on the machine and leaving him to his memories of Jasmine once more.
He'd tried, at first, to engage in the idle conversations the nurses seemed trained to hold with their patients, but it took only a week for him to grow weary of them. Now, after being there for four weeks, he only answered their questions with politeness and waited for them to leave him again. He promised Jasmine he wouldn't close himself off from others, and he didn't, not completely, but he had little in common with the rotation of doctors and nurses, and one could only speak about the humidity levels within the domed city or the progress of the course of treatments so many times before they lost all taste for such mundane topics.
One of the nurses, a man named Hemot, would sometimes spend a few extra moments with Thane discussing religion and philosophy, or even reading to him from his prayer book while he underwent breathing treatments and couldn't speak himself. Those times were few, however, as Hemot was not always assigned as Thane's nurse, and when he did look after Thane, other patients required his attention as well. Even during those moments, Thane yearned to be left alone so he might think of his siha and pray for her safety.
Rone called, nearly every day now, and twice—much to Thane's surprise—he'd woken to find his brother-in-law sitting at his bedside. The visits were strained, awkward; they never had much to talk about. Still, it meant a great deal to him to see Rone in person, and Thane loved hearing about his son. Kolyat never spoke more than a few words to Thane, but he didn't think it coincidence the boy more and more frequently decided to enter his uncle's study during their conversations.
A gentle tap at the door announced the arrival of the nurse, and he turned his attention toward the noise. "Yes, come in."
The door slid open, and instead of the nurse, one of his doctors walked inside. Thane pushed himself up on the bed, the change in routine sparking concern, cold in the pit of his stomach. Dr. Sheal smiled at him, the gentle curve of her mouth reassuring him.
Moving to stand over him, she glanced down at her datapad. "It is good to see you again, Sere Nuara. I am told you have no interest in pain medications, I wonder if you are experiencing discomfort."
He relaxed back against his pillows. "The pain is manageable, thank you."
"This pleases me to hear. You seem to be taking well to the treatments, your progress is very promising. I believe we can move you to a rehabilitation facility to continue your treatments within a few days." She looked up from the datapad, meeting his gaze once more. "Your records do not indicate an address on Kahje. I would like to make arrangements for you, but I am uncertain if you have a preference in location."
Thane smiled, the idea of leaving the hospital pleased him immensely, even if a rehabilitation center didn't afford him the same level of privacy as if he rented his own apartment. "Anywhere in Enkindler's Pass is acceptable, thank you."
"Very good, I will make arrangements for you." Dr. Sheal looked over the readouts from the machines hooked up to him before nodding to herself. "I will leave you to rest, the nurse will be in momentarily to administer your triheptate."
He dipped his head to her. "Thank you."
"Of course," she said, making her way to the door. "You are quite welcome." With one last smile, the doctor left the room.
The guard shoved her down her into the chair, even though she didn't put up any resistance. She could kill him. Even in shackles, she could still kill him. Maybe even The Bitch, too, before anyone else made it to the room to stop her. Not that she would, but the thought helped keep her sane some days. Whereas The Bitch limited herself to glares and endless questions, the guards didn't restrain themselves quite so much, making their feelings for Jasmine perfectly clear. She'd killed one of their own when she shot Leon, and to them, it didn't matter why.
Oh, they didn't beat her or starve her, nothing so blatantly criminal. No, but they made sure to put the cuffs on a little too tight, grip her arm a little harder than necessary while moving her from room to room, and shove her in the direction they wanted her to go. She'd heard more than a few derogatory remarks about her passed back and forth between guards while changing shifts, and most nights a random, loud noise outside her cell woke her from sleep every couple of hours. On one occasion, a guard spit in her food right in front of her before handing her the tray. Jasmine grinned in his face and took her first bite—spit right on top—while he watched. It didn't happen again. Hell, there existed a time in her life when she'd literally eaten out of garbage cans and snorted red sand off the back of toilets in dirty truck stop bathrooms. She could handle a little spit.
They had to let her out eventually—at least it's what she kept telling herself—and then she'd keep her nose to the ground until her service contract expired. She wouldn't be renewing, no matter what terms they offered. The whole thing with Leon was fucked, but it wasn't her fault. She did the right thing—whether she loved Thane or not—he and Nevas didn't deserve to be wiped out to cover up Leon's mess. Drulius and his wife … Jesus, there's no other word for what Leon did to them other than cold-blooded murder. The turians weren't even tangentially connected to RetCorp, they died for no other reason than because Leon decided to pick a drunken fight with Drulius one night and then let the trashed turian crash on their couch. Yet the Alliance kept her locked away in a little room, not because of the mess with RetCorp, but because she stopped a psychotic killer who happened to be one of their own.
The Bitch began her tap, tap, tapping, and Jasmine took a slow, steadying breath before meeting her gaze and waited for the questions to start. Instead, a moment later, the door opened and a man in a suit walked in. He didn't say anything, only handed The Bitch an open laptop before turning around and walking out again. Setting the laptop on the table, she pressed a button and spun the laptop around to face Jasmine. A surprised hiss ripped its way free of her throat before she caught herself, reining in the sudden flood of grief and remorse.
Leon's face appeared on the screen, fresh blood smeared beneath his nose and across his chin. His nose, an angry shade of red and swollen, sat a little crooked on his face; new bruises mingling with old. He lifted a blood soaked washcloth to his face, wiping beneath his nose before sniffing, the sound wet and phlegmy. "This is Leon Harding, Phantom H35." He sniffed and wiped more blood from his face. "I'm on Illium with Phantom ACH35. She's here on my orders." The camera shifted to show Jasmine's prone form, unconscious, and with a fresh cut on her temple—Medi-gel still drying. He turned the camera back to his face. "Everything that happened here … everything that's still going to happen here, it's on me. Just me. I'm cleaning up the mess, tying up loose ends. Won't be anyone left to point the finger at us when I'm done."
His attention turned down, the camera shifting a little, showing his bare chest and the knife wound she'd left there. "See, love? All taken care of." Lifting his omni-tool back up to focus on his face, he smirked at the screen. "If she were awake right now, she'd tell you I've lost it, but she can't because I had to knock her out. She tried stopping me from finishing this thing, and I couldn't let her do that. She's smart, my Jasmine," he said glancing back down and away from the camera again, "she figured the whole thing out, she just got it a little too late to keep things from happening." He lifted his head, wiping at his face and sniffing once more before turning his attention back to the camera. "She's loyal to you assholes; maybe to a fault." He snorted and winced, a fresh trickle of blood starting to seep from his nose again. "See, she doesn't know yet—"
The Bitch leaned forward, hitting a button and pausing the vid, cutting Leon off mid-sentence. She turned the laptop back to her, her nails clicking against the keys. Jasmine clenched her jaw but said nothing, her mind spinning as she tried to figure out what angle The Bitch was playing and what she'd do next.
Doesn't know what yet? What the fuck did he say? What aren't you letting me see?
"Our files do indicate Harding was Jasser solomon's son, and with Harding's own confession as well as what other evidence our investigation has turned up … you appear to be telling the truth, Shepard. At least part of the truth." She turned the laptop back around and pushed it a little closer to Jasmine.
Leaning against the table, Jasmine skimmed over the report on the laptop's screen, carefully guarding her expression. The report contained information about rumors of a cyberattack on RetCorp, thought to have occurred during the shootout. Whoever wrote the report stated they weren't able to verify the attack; RetCorp never filed an official report on the matter. They did, however, claim to have an inside source.
Jasmine forced a look of confusion on her face. Furrowing her brow, she jerked her shoulders up before letting them fall again. She shook her head as she returned her gaze to the older woman. "I don't know anything about this. Leon never said anything about messing with their systems, just asari targets."
"You expect me to believe it's a coincidence? RetCorp just happened to be attacked on two fronts, at the same time?" The Bitch cocked a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, but her expression didn't give much else away. She dragged the laptop back to her.
"Not what I said. I said I don't know anything about it." Jasmine shrugged, flopping back in her seat. "Might've been Leon, might've been someone else. Hell, by this report, might not of happened at all." She nodded her head at the laptop. "So … if you have the evidence you need to prove this thing was Leon's doing … why am I still here?"
The Bitch leaned forward, slowly pushing the laptop aside before clasping her hands together on the table in front of her. "You killed your handler, Shepard. You shot him three times, the final shot—the only lethal shot—at point blank range."
Jasmine clenched her jaw and sucked in a slow, deep breath. "He tricked me into going to Illium to kill people not sanctioned by the Alliance, caused a shit load of collateral damage, kicked my ass when I figured it all out, and then left me lying there, unconscious, to go kill innocent people who had nothing to do with his fucking vendetta." She leaned forward, her jaw aching with the restraint of keeping her tone level. "I saved the life of an innocent woman, after we already potentially ruined her life and career by using her as a means to get inside RetCorp. Tell me … if Nevas was human, would you be questioning my actions?"
"Sere Nuara, you have visitors." Hemot, pressed his back to the doorframe, turning to gesture out into the hall.
A moment later Rone stepped through, dipping his head at Hemot as he passed. After a few steps, he stopped, turning to look back over his shoulder. "Kolyat? If you have changed your mind, we do not have to stay."
Kolyat? He's here?
Thane pushed himself upright, his stuttering heart making the machines beep enough to draw a concerned glance from the nurse at the door. And then, there he was, his son, stepping through the door. The strength of the urge to throw the covers off and rush to Kolyat, sweeping the boy up in his arms and crush his son to his chest, surprised him and nearly overwhelmed Thane's good sense. Kolyat cast a furtive glance at Thane before stopping next to his uncle and dropping his gaze to the floor. Hemot smiled at them before leaving the room, closing the door behind him.
Kolyat glanced at Thane, but again his gaze shifted away as he reached up, taking Rone's hand. "Hello, Father."
Thane swallowed, his mouth and throat dry. His voice croaked when he spoke, the undertone of longing and grief painful even to his own ears. "Hello, Kolyat. I am—I'm so very pleased to see you." He glanced at Rone, finding his brother-in-law watching the boy closely, a soft smile on his face. "Please, come in, sit down."
Rone pointed to the chairs next to Thane's bed, and Kolyat started walking, taking slow, hesitant steps until he reached the first chair—furthest from Thane—and sat down. When Kolyat let go of his uncle's hand, Rone moved to the other chair and took a seat, too. Thane shifted in the bed, as much as the monitors and IV allowed, to face the two of them. He hated being there, tied to the machines when his son sat just a meter away.
Kolyat took a deep breath and squared his shoulders, meeting his father's gaze. "Uncle Rone says you will be leaving the hospital soon."
"I will." Thane nodded. "I'll be moving to a rehabilitation center tomorrow to continue my treatments for a few months."
The boy's jaw tightened. "Then you will leave again." It wasn't a question, or even an observation, but an accusation—putting fire in Kolyat's eyes. "You always leave."
Thane winced, pressing his fist to his chest, dropping his gaze to the floor at his son's feet. "Kolyat, I …."
"Kolyat," Rone said, his voice soft but chidding, "we have spoken about this."
"No." Thane cleared his throat, forcing himself to meet his son's gaze. "He's right to be angry with me. Kolyat … I'm sorry, deeply and truly sorry. I failed you, and I failed your mother." Tears began to fill his eyes, and he swallowed, fighting to keep his voice level. "I wish I could give you answers, explain myself to you, but I can't. Perhaps, one day, when you are older, I'll be able to and earn your forgiveness." He blinked, and the tears began to fall. Clenching the sheet in his hand, he wished desperately Jasmine was there with him, lending him her strength through her presence. "My apologies, my son. I love you and always will, but yes, when the doctors have finished with me, I will leave Kahje again. I must. Just as you must stay with your mother's family where you will be looked after, cared for, and kept safe."
A soft whimper escaped Kolyat, tears rolling down his own cheeks. His lip quivered, and he turned to his uncle. "I would like to go now, please."
"Kolyat …." Fire exploded through Thane, the worst his chest ever felt. He knew air entered his lungs, but it felt as if he couldn't breathe, the flames threatening to consume him completely. Still, all he cared about was the child sitting across from him, just out of reach in every way that mattered. His hand lifted aimlessly, pulling the sheet with it before dropping back to the bed beside him. "I'm so sorry," he whispered, unable to find the strength to give the words more force.
Rone's gaze shifted from Thane to Kolyat, and then to his clasped hands in his lap. "If you are certain, Kolyat, I will not force you, but know I believe your father is sincere and wants nothing more than for you to stay. He loves you and has missed you dearly."
Kolyat jumped up from his chair, his little hands forming tight fists at his sides as he turned on his uncle, his voice raised and full of pain and fury. "Then why does he keep leaving me?"
Thane's bare feet touched the floor before he even realized he intended to move, detaching the IV feed from the catheter taped to his arm and tossing the monitoring devices aside. Both Rone and Kolyat's heads jerked up to stare at him, their lips parted in stunned silence. Somewhere in the back of his mind—the part of him that'd never be silent—he heard the door open, and in his peripherals he saw Hemot rush into the room, only to stop and stare a moment before shutting off the monitoring devices, silencing their incessant beeping and leaving them alone once more.
His gaze never left Kolyat's, though. Nothing and no one else mattered. He took a couple of steps forward, stopping only when able to reach out and touch his son, resting the palm of his hand against the boy's cheek. The feel of Kolyat's scales beneath Thane's fingers ripped an anguished sob from his throat, but he lifted his other hand to the opposite side of the child's face anyway.
Kolyat squeezed his eyes closed, his entire face distorting with his misery, walls crumbling as he began to keen. Thane sunk to his knees in front of the boy, and Kolyat threw himself into his father's arms, clinging to his neck with a desperation that rocked Thane to darkest depths of his soul.
Rone stood, resting a hand on his shoulder before caressing the back of Kolyat's head. "I will wait outside, give the two of you some time alone."
He glanced up, giving him a slight nod. "Thank you, Brother." It was all the notice he spared for Rone at the moment. Sliding an arm around the back of Kolyat's thighs, the other wrapped firmly around the child's back, Thane stood, lifting his son with him. Frantic sobs filled the air, the child's high-pitched whine, cutting into Thane worse than any blade ever could. Holding his son a little tighter, he slid his hand from Kolyat's back up to cradle his head. "I'm so sorry, Kolyat. I'm so sorry."
"I do not want you to leave, Father." Kolyat wailed, pressing the side of his face deeper into the crook of Thane's neck, his grip around his father tightening, as if he could hold him there forever if he only tried hard enough. "Please do not go. Please."
Thane carried him over to the bed and sat down, pulling Kolyat onto his lap. The boy had grown so much since the last time Thane held him, he didn't really fit on his father's lap anymore, but they made do.
"I must, my son." Thane began a gentle rocking motion, hoping to calm the child. "Staying with you is not an option for me, much as I wish it were."
"Why, Father? Why?"
"I—Because …." Thane squeezed his eyes shut, biting down on his tongue hard enough to draw blood as memories pushed their way to the surface, threatening to pull him back under with them. He would not relive the day he learned assassins were after his family because of him. He would not let his son hear how he'd dropped everything and fled, running with everything he had to get back home, hoping, praying, begging every god and goddess he knew the names for that he wouldn't be too late. How when he finally arrived, he only found they'd already been there and killed his wife, while his son hid in the next room.
He shook his head and cleared his throat. "I can't give you a better explanation right now, Son. I promise I will tell you everything when you're older. Just know … after what happened to your mother … I knew … I thought it best for you, safer for you, if I left."
Kolyat stilled, his breathing beginning to slow as he seemed to mull over Thane's words. After a moment, he started whispering. "'Kolyat!' Mother grabs me, picking me up from the floor. Runs to the bedroom. 'Mother?' She opens the closet, shoves things aside. Wipes tears from her eyes. Opens a small door, hidden in the back of the closet. 'Kolyat, get inside. You must stay here, no matter what you hear—'"
"Sweet Arashu," Terrified, Thane sucked in a breath, shaking his son a little, trying desperately to pull him away from the living nightmare. "Kolyat. Kolyat, you're here with me now. Be here with me now." Pulling his son, back he held the boy's face between both hands, rubbing his thumbs over the child's cheeks. " Look at me, look at your father, Kolyat."
Kolyat blinked several times, his gaze settling on his father in the present moment, an eerie, detached calm settling over his features. "I heard them, Father. I stayed in the closet like Mother told me, but I heard them. They told her they were sending a message to you." He swallowed, lowering his gaze. "They killed her, but I stayed in the closet like Mother told me to."
Jasmine lay on the cot, hands under her head and her ankles crossed. She turned her head to look at the door, curiosity piqued, when she heard a key in the lock. It's been weeks since anyone came to take her to see The Bitch. It'd left her with a whole lot of time to brood and ponder Leon's confession vid. It left a bitter taste on the back of her tongue, the warning of 'something big'; something The Bitch didn't want her to know. Which naturally made Jasmine really, really want to find out. It sounded like he intended to say something about the Phantoms, or maybe just the Alliance in general. Something, if Jasmine heard, might make her question her loyalty. A few months ago, she would've sworn it'd never happen, no matter what … now, after spending four months alone in a cell without so much as a hint of what they planned to do with her … she wasn't so sure.
The door opened, but instead of revealing a guard, ready with cuffs, a man in a sharp, navy suit stepped inside. She cocked an eyebrow, pulling her hands from behind her head and paused, her mind racing to figure out who the newcomer was and whether she needed to stand and salute. A guard pulled the door closed behind him, locking them both inside.
"Jasmine Shepard?" The tall stranger asked, tucking his hands into his pockets.
She pushed herself to her feet and started to lift her hand to her brow in salute, but he pulled a hand back out of his pocket and waved her off. He stood there a moment, not saying anything, just looking at her; so she looked right back. She swept her gaze over him, top to bottom and back again. The fine hairs on the back of her neck tickled, standing on end. The man man practically screamed 'dangerous', no doubt about it. He might look soft in his expensive, well-tailored suit and manicured nails, with subtle hints of spicy aftershave wafting off of him, but the carefully constructed, intentionally casual stance and the shrewd, assessing look in his eyes belied the rest of the picture he presented.
No, he wasn't a pencil pusher; he didn't spend his time behind a desk looking at numbers and reports like The Bitch and her lackeys. She could almost smell the Phantom training on him. She didn't think he meant to kill her, though. The guards carried guns, and they kept her locked in a room with no other exit. They wouldn't even need to unlock the door to shoot her, just slide open the observation window and take aim. Sure, she might be able to press herself against the wall next to the door, force them to enter, and she might even take down one or two if she got lucky, but she was outnumbered and stripped of weapons. If they wanted her dead, no way she'd make it out alive.
So, who the hell are you and what do you want?
He smirked when she met his gaze again and nodded his head toward the one chair in her cell. "Mind if I sit down?"
She snorted. "You're the boss here, Mr. …."
He surprised her, taking a few steps closer and holding out his hand. "You can call me Isaac."
He's confident. Or at least wants me to think he is.
She shook his hand, noting his firm, solid grip. "You're the boss here, Isaac."
Chuckling, he nodded his head, the light catching on the small, gold studs in his ears. "Maybe. That's what I'm here to see." He walked over to the desk built into the wall and pulled the chair out, turning it around to face her cot. Unbuttoning his jacket, he sat down, crossing one long leg over the other. He threaded his fingers together, resting his hands in his lap and watched her. "Feel free to sit down, Jasmine. Is it alright if I call you Jasmine?"
Sit? Uh, no. Come on, guy, what do you want? I get it, you're trying to put me at ease, want me relaxed. Why?
She narrowed her eyes, remaining standing for the time being. "Is it really my choice?"
He raised his thumbs, turning his palms out a little. "It is."
"Then it depends." She paced back a few feet, and leaned her hip against the wall, crossing her arms over her chest.
The corner of his mouth twitched, amusement dancing in his dark brown eyes. "They weren't lying when they said you were defiant." He chuckled, his head bobbing a little as if to a tune only he heard. "What's it depend on?"
Jasmine raised an eyebrow and gestured toward him. "On who you are and why exactly you're crashing my pity party."
He put a hand against his chest. "I'm a handler. Maybe your handler."
"My handler?" She pursed her lips and nodded. "So, they're not planning on throwing away the key. Good to know. Why maybe?"
He shrugged, his gaze steady on her, giving nothing away. "I haven't decided whether or not I want to work with you, yet."
Okay, you want to play this game, I'll play.
"Why? Because I'm 'defiant'? Oh, no, that's not it." She scoffed, pushing away from the wall and returned to her cot, sitting on the foot of the makeshift bed to rest her back against the wall. "Let me guess, you're not sure if you want to work with me because I killed my last handler." She sucked in a deep breath, and held her arms out to the sides. "So, what? You decided to size me up before you make the call?"
He gave her a slow shake of his head. "I'm just here to talk."
She snorted, moving over to stretch out on her cot, tucking her hands back under her head and crossing her ankles once more. "I've been here for four months now. The only person who ever wants to talk is The—Langston." She turned her head to look at him. "I could use the change in scenery. You want to talk, we'll talk."
This relaxed enough for you? Nonthreatening?
He raised an eyebrow at her, pursing his lips. "Jasmine or Shepard?"
"Shepard," she said, pausing before adding, "For now. Why you?"
He nodded, apparently accepting her choice, even if the sharp focus of his gaze told her he didn't buy her act. "What do you mean?"
"Why'd they choose you?" She pulled a hand free to wave around at nothing. "Of all options, why'd they want you to be my new handler?" She tucked her hand back behind her head.
"Honestly?" He raised his eyebrows. Leaning forward in his chair when she tilted her head, he put both feet on the floor and rested his elbows on his knees. "I think they chose me because I'm gay, and you had a romantic history with Harding."
Jasmine snorted, rolling her eyes. "Langston still thinks it has something to do with why I killed him."
He turned his palms up. "Does it?"
"No." She shifted her gaze back to the ceiling, watching him out of the corner of her eye. "I killed him because he went off the rails, taking out innocent people on a job he fabricated because of personal reasons."
"I read the file." He made a thoughtful humming sound, glancing down at his hands; the first time he'd taken his eyes off of her since he sat down. "Do you regret killing him?"
Jasmine's brow furrowed and her head jerked back towards Isaac, but nothing in his expression said he intended to wound her with the question. She considered his words for a moment before shaking her head. "I regret I had to. I regret he didn't listen to me when I confronted him. I got my ass handed to me when I tried to stop him, and because of it he killed two more people while I napped on the goddamn floor." She swallowed, choking down her grief—grief she didn't have the right to feel—and sucked in a breath, holding it in her lungs for a few seconds before letting it go in a noisy rush. "I regret the fact his sister is waiting for him to come help her deal with their father's death, and now he'll never show, and fuck all if the Alliance will tell her anything because officially … officially he wasn't a part of the Alliance."
"They already sent his sister a letter. I don't know what they said, or who it's supposed to be from, but the Solomon family knows he's dead." He shrugged when Jasmine looked at him again, hints of what felt like genuine sympathy in his eyes. "Langston didn't tell you?"
"Langston doesn't tell me things, she asks me things." Jasmine paused for effect, dropping her voice to a droning monotone. "Over, and over, and over again." She closed her eyes, turning her face back to the ceiling and took a few slow breaths while she listened for any sign of movement from him. She'd started to forget what it felt like to be talked to like a person, to be offered some grain of information capable of putting her mind at ease even just a little. "Thank you." She smiled to herself.
Not bad, Isaac. Not bad.
"Mhmm." He made the same humming sound again. "Would you do it again?"
"What?" She opened her eyes, letting her gaze roam over the ceiling tiles and locked door, still tracking him in her peripherals.
"Kill your handler again? If you found yourself in a similar situation with another handler, would you kill them?"
Jasmine turned her head to look at him and gave him the simplest, but truest answer, "Yeah." She did the right thing when she killed Leon, and she'd stand by that, no matter what they decided to do with her.
"Good." Isaac stood, buttoning his jacket. "I'll get the paperwork going to get you out of here."
What? Seriously?
Jasmine sat up, staring up at the man, guarding her expression so the hope didn't show through, just in case. "You're taking me on?"
"I am, and I already have an assignment for you." He picked up the chair, carrying it back to the desk. "A month's leave of absence." He sat the chair down and turned to look at her, tucking his hands in his pockets. "Go someplace new, Shepard. Take in the sights. Deal with the hot mess you've got going on in your head."
She stood, pulse racing. He was getting her out. She could see Thane, call Geoffrey and Karin, talk to Rift … see Thane. She'd have to be careful, of course; make sure they didn't have someone follow her when she left, but she'd actually be able to see him again and the thought made her heart swell in her chest. She started to lift her hand in salute but Isaac waved her off again and shook his head.
"Don't. Don't do that. I don't want to hear 'yes, sir', either. Remember that, and we'll do fine." He crossed the floor, banging the side of his fist against the door three times. "They'll re-outfit you before you leave and return your personal effects." Isaac nodded to her when the door opened. "I'll be in touch, Shepard. One month."
She broke, unable to hold back the stupid grin or the joyous tears anymore. "Thank you, Isaac."