Nihlus
Over the next few days, Nihlus spent more time than he cared to admit observing Shepard. Not overtly, of course—he was a Spectre, after all. Observation came naturally to him. Professional curiosity. That’s what he told himself.
Shepard’s interactions with her crew were as varied as the personalities aboard the Normandy. She was confident and composed, her sharp wit keeping conversations engaging while still maintaining the authority expected of her rank. But there was one crewmember whose behavior stood out: Lieutenant Kaidan Alenko.
Nihlus noticed the subtle way Kaidan’s posture shifted when Shepard was nearby, how his tone softened when he spoke to her, the way his gaze lingered a moment too long. It was obvious the biotic soldier was infatuated. Humans often wore their emotions openly, and Kaidan was no exception. What caught Nihlus’s attention, however, was Shepard’s response—or lack thereof.
It wasn’t that Shepard dismissed Kaidan outright. She was polite, friendly even, but there was distance in her demeanor. Subtle, but unmistakable. Her smiles didn’t linger, her body language remained neutral, and she rarely initiated prolonged conversations. For someone so perceptive and commanding, it was clear Shepard was aware of Kaidan’s interest. Yet she chose not to engage with it.
The opportunity to observe further came when Kaidan approached Shepard in the cargo bay one evening. Nihlus had been working at a terminal near the back of the bay, well out of earshot—or so the crew believed. He watched as Kaidan hesitated before speaking, his stance betraying his nerves.
“Commander,” Kaidan began, rubbing the back of his neck, “I was wondering if you could help me with something.”
Shepard raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. “What’s on your mind, Lieutenant?”
“Hand-to-hand combat,” Kaidan said. “I hear you’re one of the best, and I could use some pointers. Thought maybe we could spar?”
Shepard regarded him for a moment, then nodded. “Sure. Let’s set up.”
Kaidan’s face brightened slightly as they moved to the mats. Nihlus shifted his position subtly, pretending to focus on his omni-tool while ensuring he had a clear view.
At first, the match seemed straightforward. Shepard moved with precision, keeping her stance light and fluid, her strikes measured and deliberate. Kaidan was slower, his movements more predictable. She pulled her punches, adjusting her technique to avoid overwhelming him. That much was expected—he was no match for her skill.
But something else caught Nihlus’s attention.
The distance.
Shepard maintained unusual space between herself and Kaidan. Even when she advanced, her movements were calculated to avoid prolonged close contact. When she threw him to the mat—which she did multiple times—she never followed through to pin him. Instead, she stepped back and told him to submit.
The contrast to their sparring match was stark. She’d thrown herself at him with intensity, closing distance without hesitation, pinning him with that triumphant grin. With Kaidan? All restraint. All distance.
Nihlus tilted his head slightly, mandibles twitching. Was this difference due to human customs or Alliance regulations? Did Shepard’s reluctance to fully engage with Kaidan stem from professional boundaries?
Or did she simply not trust Kaidan the way she’d trusted him?
That thought stopped him cold.
She’d extended trust to him—a turian Spectre she’d barely known—but not to her own crew. Why?
Kaidan stood, brushing himself off after another throw. He smiled at Shepard, clearly trying to mask his frustration. “Thanks, Commander. I’ve got a lot to work on.”
Shepard returned the smile, but it was brief, polite. “You’re improving. Keep at it, Lieutenant.”
As Kaidan walked away, Nihlus replayed the memory of their match. The way her gaze had locked onto his, sharp and unflinching. The faint smirk when she’d pinned him, her voice confident as she’d demanded his submission. With him, she’d been unguarded. Playful, even.
With Kaidan, she was all business.
He exhaled slowly, crossing his arms as he leaned against the workbench. Was it professionalism keeping Kaidan at arm’s length? Or was there something deeper?
And why had she been so at ease with him?
The thought unsettled him—not because she kept distance from Kaidan, but because she hadn’t with him.
She’d trusted him. Immediately. Instinctively.
And he wanted to understand why.
More than that—he needed to.
The realization was uncomfortable. Understanding Shepard might mean unraveling something in himself he wasn’t ready to face.
But he couldn’t look away.
Nihlus
The Normandy was quiet at this hour, the usual bustle of the crew reduced to only the faint murmur of engineers making their late-night rounds. Most of the ship had retired for the night, but Nihlus wasn’t ready to. His thoughts were restless, his questions unresolved. He found himself wandering toward the engineering section, drawn by an idle curiosity—one that quickly sharpened into interest when he saw Shepard standing alone, watching the drive core.
The core pulsed with a steady, rhythmic glow, casting soft blue light across her face. She stood with her arms crossed, her gaze fixed on the massive engine that powered the Normandy. The light illuminated her features in sharp contrast, but her expression was unreadable. She looked contemplative, maybe even a little awed.
Nihlus hesitated for only a moment before stepping forward.
“Shepard.”
She turned her head slightly but didn’t look startled. If anything, she seemed to have expected him. “Nihlus.”
“Am I interrupting?”
She shook her head, her lips curving into something that wasn’t quite a smile but wasn’t far from one. “No. Just thinking.”
Nihlus stepped up beside her, glancing at the drive core. The massive, intricate design was undeniably impressive, even to someone like him who had seen his fair share of advanced technology.
“It’s a remarkable piece of engineering,” he admitted.
Shepard nodded. “A collaboration between turians and humans. The Normandy’s drive core is based on turian stealth technology, adapted and improved by human engineers.” Her gaze lingered on the pulsing light, a contemplative edge to her voice. “It’s strange when you think about it. Twenty-six years ago, humans and turians were at war. Now we’re building ships together. The best of both worlds.”
Nihlus tilted his head, intrigued. “You sound like you actually admire it.”
“I do,” she admitted. “It’s efficient, powerful, and elegant. The kind of thing that wouldn’t exist if people—if species—hadn’t been willing to work together.”
He watched her carefully. There was something about the way she said it, something unguarded in her voice. It wasn’t just about the ship. She believed in the bigger picture, in what cooperation could achieve. Maybe that was why she had defended him so openly before.
She glanced at him. “You probably know all about it, though.”
“I know the reports,” Nihlus said. “I know the project was greenlit as part of the Alliance’s integration into Citadel military structure. Funded by the Council. A major technological breakthrough for human engineering.” He paused, mandibles twitching slightly. “But I doubt I know it as well as you do.”
Shepard smirked slightly. “You’re right. I make it a point to know my ship.”
Nihlus considered his next words carefully. The conversation had flowed naturally to this point, but he had come here for answers, and this was as good an opening as any. “You said something interesting,” he began. “That this ship is the best of both worlds.”
She turned her head fully toward him now, brows lifting slightly. “Yeah?”
He met her gaze. “That phrase carries more meaning coming from you.”
Something flickered in her expression, but she didn’t look away. She didn’t ask what he meant, didn’t pretend to misunderstand. Instead, she exhaled lightly and looked back at the drive core. “You figured it out, then.”
Nihlus nodded. “I did.”
For a moment, she was quiet, then she smiled faintly. “So… tell me. What does a Spectre find when he looks up my father? I’m guessing the records are thorough.”
“They were,” he admitted. “Blackwatch operative. Decorated. On track for Primarch…” He paused, watching as Shepard flinched—almost imperceptibly, but he caught it. He opted not to press. “But they don’t explain everything.”
Shepard gave a dry smile. “They never do.”
“They don’t explain how you carry yourself the way you do. How you understand turians in ways no other human I’ve met does.” His voice lowered slightly. “They don’t explain why you looked at me the way you did after our match.”
Her lips curved slowly. “How I looked at you?” She tilted her head, eyes glinting with something between amusement and challenge. “How exactly did I look at you, Spectre?”
For the first time in a long while, Nihlus felt himself at a loss for words.
Shepard watched him for a moment, clearly enjoying his discomfort, then smirked. “You thinking too hard about it, Spectre?”
He huffed a small laugh, shaking his head. “Maybe.”
The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. If anything, it felt like an understanding had been reached, an unspoken thread woven between them.
Finally, Shepard pushed off the railing and stretched. “Well, if that’s everything, I think I’ll turn in for the night.”
Nihlus nodded. “Goodnight, Shepard.”
She gave him a last look, something softer than her usual confident smirk. Then she left.
Nihlus stood alone, watching the drive core’s steady pulse.
Selvek gave up Primarch for a human.
The thought had haunted him for days. But standing here now, he understood something he hadn’t before.
It wasn’t about understanding the choice.
It was about whether he could make it himself.
Joker
Kaidan dropped into the co-pilot’s seat with all the enthusiasm of someone reporting for latrine duty.
“Morning, LT,” Joker said, not looking up from his console. “You’re early. Or late. Hard to tell with that face.”
“Morning,” Kaidan muttered.
Joker glanced over. “Wow. You look like someone told you shore leave got canceled. Or—wait, no. You look like someone who got dropped on their ass six times in the cargo bay.”
Kaidan’s jaw tightened. “It was sparring.”
“Right, right. Sparring.” Joker grinned. “That’s what we’re calling it when the Commander puts you on the mat like a tutorial boss?”
“She’s good,” Kaidan said tersely. “I knew that going in.”
“Good?” Joker scoffed. “LT, she’s scary. There’s a difference.” He tapped a few keys, pulling up a diagnostic screen. “But hey, at least you tried. That’s very brave of you.”
Kaidan didn’t respond, just stared out at the stars streaking past.
Joker let the silence hang for a beat, then added casually, “Personally, I think I’ll stick to just sitting next to her.”
Kaidan’s head turned. “Sitting?”
“Yeah. She slips in when no one’s around. Doesn’t say much. Just sits, stares out the viewport like she’s waiting for the galaxy to blink first.” Joker shrugged. “Says she’s just making sure I’m not flying us into a sun. I think she just likes the lighting. Makes her look all mysterious and glowy. Very sci-fi noir.”
Kaidan frowned. “She sits up here with you?”
“Well, not with me. More like… near me. In the general vicinity of me and my sparkling personality.” Joker shot him a look. “Why, you keeping tabs?”
“No, I just—” Kaidan stopped himself. “Never mind.”
“Uh-huh.” Joker turned back to his console. “You’re not the only one trying to crack the Shepard code, by the way. She’s got layers. Like one of those fancy desserts with a French name and a war crime’s worth of calories.”
Kaidan shifted in his seat. “Does she ever… talk about anyone? On the crew?”
Joker raised an eyebrow. “You mean does she talk about you?”
Kaidan’s silence was answer enough.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Joker leaned back in his seat. “Look, whatever she feels? If it’s there, it’s locked up tighter than a Spectre’s personnel file. I mean, hell, she might have a whole poetry phase and we’d never know. Probably writes in cursive.”
He hesitated, then added with a shrug, “Plus, let’s be real—someone like that? Already has the perfect boyfriend stashed on some forgotten colony or classified comm channel. The kind of guy who just walked off a film set, writes poetry, and never misplaces his socks.”
Kaidan’s expression darkened. “You think so?”
“I know so. Just look at her out of uniform sometime—tank top, no rank insignia, hair down like it’s trying to start a mutiny. You think either of us stands a chance?” He snorted. “I’m the guy with the bone structure of a breadstick.”
Kaidan frowned slightly. “Didn’t know you were in the running.”
“I’m not,” Joker said, too quickly. “I’m just not blind.”
Before Kaidan could reply, Anderson’s voice interrupted from behind.
“Moreau. Alenko. Status report.”
Both men straightened immediately. Joker’s hands flew across the console with exaggerated focus.
“All systems green, Captain,” Joker called. “ETA 15 hours.”
“Notify the Commander and Nihlus when we’re an hour out.”
“Aye, aye, Captain.”
They listened to the fading echo of footsteps as Anderson moved on.
Kaidan said nothing, just stared out at the viewport.
Joker turned back to his diagnostics, but his mind was elsewhere.
She does come up here. Late nights, tank top, bare shoulders, quiet thoughts.
And she talks to me.
He wasn’t dumb enough to think it meant anything.
But he liked it all the same.
Nihlus
The Normandy’s comm room was dimly lit, the holoprojector casting a faint glow over the central console as mission data flickered across the display. Shepard stood with her arms crossed, her sharp green eyes scanning the information on the screen. She had been reviewing the brief on her own when Nihlus entered, his presence as smooth and composed as always.
“Commander,” he greeted.
She glanced over her shoulder. “Spectre. Something on your mind?”
He approached the console, hands clasped behind his back as he scanned the projection. “I wanted to discuss the mission. Hear how you’d approach it.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Figured you were going to tell me the plan, Spectre.”
His mandibles twitched faintly. “Humor me.”
She eyed him for a second, then gave a dry chuckle. “Alright. Let’s take a look.”
He keyed up the tactical layout—station blueprints, last known comms, and a flicker of intel reports. A remote research outpost near the edge of the Attican Traverse, recently gone dark. Initial theories ranged from mechanical failure to sabotage. The station housed sensitive data on next-gen biotic amplifiers—valuable enough that several parties might want it to stay missing.
Shepard studied the map, quiet for a beat. Then: “We don’t go in blind. Long-range passive scans first—heat signatures, EM readings, see if the place is even powered. If it looks clean, standard docking. If not—controlled breach.”
Nihlus nodded slightly, intrigued. “And if they’re waiting for us either way?”
Shepard’s lips curved slightly. “Then at least we know what we’re walking into. Better than announcing ourselves and hoping for the best.”
“A measured approach,” Nihlus said. “Some would argue for overwhelming force—breach fast, secure the facility before anyone can react.”
“And if it’s just a generator failure?” Shepard countered calmly. “We blow the airlock, terrify the researchers, damage equipment we’re supposed to recover. Too messy.”
She folded her arms again. “Scans give us intel. Intel gives us options.”
“And if the intel tells you it’s hostile?”
“Then we go in hard.” Her gaze flicked to him, sharp and assessing. “But at least we’re not surprised. That how you’d handle it?”
Nihlus considered her words before answering. “It’s practical. Minimizes risk to your team and the objective. But it requires patience—something not all commanders have.”
Shepard smirked slightly. “You think I’m too cautious?”
“I think you’re strategic,” Nihlus countered. “There’s a difference.”
Her expression sobered slightly, but she didn’t argue the point. Instead, she exhaled quietly, turning her focus back to the map. “There’s always risk. But we mitigate it where we can. It’s about balance.”
Nihlus watched her carefully. There was a certainty in the way she spoke, in the way she analyzed situations without hesitation. She wasn’t reckless, nor was she overly cautious. Strategic, adaptable, decisive.
“You think several moves ahead,” he noted. “And not just how to win—how to avoid unnecessary losses.”
Shepard gave a small shrug. “Every life has weight. Crew, civilians, yours, mine. If I can keep them standing, I will.”
He had read her file. He’d seen flashes of it in the field. But this—watching her dismantle the problem with such even-handed precision—this was different.
“You’d make a good Spectre,” he said before thinking better of it.
Her head turned, eyes narrowing just slightly. “That what this is? An evaluation?”
Nihlus allowed a flicker of a smirk. “Just an observation.”
“Uh-huh.” She studied him for a moment, those green eyes too perceptive. Then she turned back to the display. “We’ll know more when we’re in range. Let’s see how the scans come back.”
She moved toward the exit, pausing just briefly at the doorway. “You coming, Spectre?”
Nihlus watched her go, his mandibles twitching thoughtfully. He hadn’t meant to say that. Not yet.
He followed after her, realizing just how easily she could get information from him without trying. He’d have to be more careful in the future.
Nihlus
The research station was a graveyard. Shepard, Nihlus, and Kaidan advanced through corridors littered with burned-out terminals and scattered debris, weapons raised. Scorch marks from heavy gunfire scarred the walls. Whatever had happened here, it hadn’t been an accident.
“Data cores are fried,” Kaidan muttered, scanning the remains of an access panel. “Whoever hit this place knew what they were doing.”
“Mercs or terrorists,” Shepard replied, her voice low.
The doors at the far end of the hall hissed open. A squad of armored figures in black, white, and yellow tactical gear poured through.
“Don’t recognize the insignia,” Nihlus growled, narrowing his eyes. “Mercenaries, but not Eclipse or Blue Suns.”
Gunfire erupted. Shepard dove behind a lab table, rifle barking controlled bursts. Kaidan’s biotics flared blue, yanking a mercenary off his feet and slamming him into the ceiling. Nihlus ducked behind cover, each shot he took precise, deadly.
Amid the chaos, he caught sight of their objective—a secured console at the far end of the room. Their only hope of retrieving the research data before the mercenaries wiped it clean. The problem? At least a dozen hostiles standing between them and their goal.
“We need to get to that console,” he called out, ducking as a barrage of gunfire slammed into the crates beside him.
Shepard’s eyes swept the room—hostiles, cover points, firing lanes. “I’ll cover you. You make the run.”
He turned his head sharply, mandibles twitching. “That’s a lot of open ground.”
She pulled her sniper rifle from her back and locked eyes with him. “Trust me.”
He hesitated. Barely knew her. Had no reason to believe she could pull this off.
And yet… he did.
He exhaled sharply and gave a firm nod. “Make it count, Commander.”
The moment he broke cover, Shepard fired.
The first mercenary dropped before he could raise his weapon. The second ducked behind cover—she’d already moved her aim. Third target, center mass. Fourth, headshot through a gap in his armor.
Nihlus sprinted through the killzone. Not a single round came close.
He reached the console untouched, sliding into cover before accessing the terminal. Fingers flying over the controls, transferring critical research data while Shepard continued to thin their numbers, ensuring no enemy got close enough to disrupt him.
Kaidan moved up, his biotics flaring as he launched a soldier across the room into a wall. “We’ve got incoming reinforcements!”
“Almost done,” Nihlus responded. “Hold them off a little longer!”
Shepard reloaded swiftly, shifting position to take out a pair of approaching enemies before they could flank him. “You good back there?”
“Transfer complete!” He disengaged from the console. “We move—now!”
Shepard dropped two final enemies as they retreated toward the exit, Kaidan throwing up a biotic barrier to shield their escape. By the time they reached the rendezvous point, the research station was in full lockdown, and any remaining forces were left scrambling.
As they boarded the Normandy, Nihlus turned to Shepard. He didn’t say anything at first, just looked at her—really looked at her. Then: “You meant it when you said I could trust you.”
Shepard smirked, slinging her sniper rifle back over her shoulder. “Of course. I don’t say it if I don’t believe it.”
He chuckled quietly, shaking his head.
With her, he wasn’t sure how not to trust.
And that should have worried him more than it did.