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Post by wynterrogue on May 14, 2013 2:54:24 GMT 1
Chapter 1 - Ruin
Everything was black.
The darkness pressed down on her, suffocating her. And yet there was a strange comfort to it – like slipping into a silken cocoon. It enveloped her, numbing her mind and body. She fell into a dreamless sleep – images flashed before her mind, confusing her.
She tried to make sense of them and failed. But somehow they seemed familiar – the quick glance of laughing blue avian eyes, a beautiful smile with pearly white teeth and soft dark lips, and a gentle touch that promised comfort and friendship.
There were other images too – more disturbing images, a massive ship descending from the sky that exuded power and menace, decimating buildings and cities in its wake. Red flames licked along once grand edifices, laying claim to their destruction and ruin, and great black clouds of smoke billowed upward into skies blackened with soot and ash. Everywhere silence reigned. It was the silence that unnerved her. A silence that had never existed before and it was deafening.
Slowly, as if waking from a deep and troubled sleep, she became aware of her surroundings. A faint light fell upon her face, allowing her to see the fleshy pink behind the back of her eyelids. She waited to feel its warming rays, but it didn’t come. Instead it felt cold, driving deep into her skin and suddenly forcing her to shiver. She fought against the uncomfortable chill, but her efforts were in vain.
Where was she? Why was she so cold?
And then the pain came. It washed over her like a tidal wave, robbing her of her breath. She squeezed her eyes and gasped against the agony that even drawing in that single breath of air wrought on her chest and lungs. And as suddenly as the torturous pain had come, it abruptly slackened, the chill dissipating to be replaced by a burning fire – a hot blaze that started at her abdomen and spread outward until her head hurt near to bursting and even her toes felt bruised and tender inside her armored boots.
Groaning against the mounting agony in her head and chest she managed to shift her weight to her side, only to realize her body was trapped under a very large and heavy piece of debris. Gasping and coughing against the fiery burn that small movement caused, she fell back to the ground. Helplessly pinned beneath the steel beam she opened her eyes and quickly shut them against the blinding light that invaded her skull.
Squinting against the harsh light, she opened her eyes again and slowly took in her surroundings. She was forced to blink a few times before her vision cleared enough for her to make out the objects around her.
Directly above she quickly discovered the source of the uncomfortable brightness. A couple of fluorescent lights swayed loosely on their exposed wiring, casting alternating shadows and illumination on the walls and scattered debris below. Dust settled thickly in the air, and she could see multiple swirling motes dancing in the dim light.
The amount of destruction around her was staggering. She wasn’t sure where she was – there was nothing immediately recognizable in her direct line of sight. Everywhere her eyes fell there were blackened pieces of furniture, and where walls may once have been there were now awning gaps leading into the darkness beyond.
If only she could remember . . .
Somehow she half expected to hear Miranda’s voice penetrating the thick fog that clouded her brain, telling her to get up - grab her gun and gear. Strangely, it all seemed familiar . . . like she had been here before . . . and then the memories came swiftly tumbling back.
The Reapers.
Anderson . . .
She closed her eyes in anguish. He hadn’t made it. She had always looked up to him. He had always seemed invincible – nothing could touch him. He had seen it all, been through it all, and still he survived. And now, just as victory was within their grasp he had been taken from this world. It wasn’t fair! she wanted to scream.
How could a man such as he perish?
Yes, he was only human. But there had been something about him, an indomitable strength that persevered. And it was this thought that drove her and motivated her onward.
On your feet soldier . . . she could almost hear Anderson’s voice through the darkness threatening to smother her, commanding her to move.
She would survive. She would not perish quietly.
And it was this last thought that kept repeating in her mind before she sank into sweet oblivion.
The Citadel
The weeks dragged by slowly. Two months had passed since Commander Shepard’s body had been recovered from the debris of the Crucible, and work on repairing the Citadel was around the clock. The areas that had been mainly affected by the blast were C-Sec Headquarters and the Presidium Commons. Large sections of the Wards and Huerta Memorial Hospital had been heavily damaged, but for the most part were still functional. Silversun Strip and the lower wards had remained largely intact, and it was at Shepard’s apartment where Hannah spent her nights when she wasn’t sitting vigil at her daughter’s bedside at Huerta Memorial.
"How much longer do you think it will be?” Looking up with worried green eyes, Admiral Shepard directed the question to Dr. Chloe Michel as she entered the sterile, white suite that provided the necessary medical care for Commander Shepard. At present, Hannah’s soft brown hair was pulled back from her face with a silver clip pinning it in place, and her features were even more drawn and pale than normal. “It’s already been two months.”
Dr. Michel looked up from examining the medical chart in her hand and turned a sympathetic look toward the distraught mother. Shaking her head slowly, she sat in the vacant chair beside the one Hannah had pulled up next to her daughter’s hospital bed.
“Honestly, I don’t know. Shepard’s injuries were severe and the drug-induced coma allowed her body to overcome most of the trauma she had endured . . .” Chloe trailed off, the French accent in her voice melodic. She stared down at her patient, a slight frown marring her forehead.
“I’m sensing a ‘but’ here,” Hannah prompted quietly, her green eyes intent, not missing the subtle catch in the doctor’s voice.
Chloe shifted her attention back to Hannah. “I thought that she would have come out of it on her own by now. The drugs we administered to keep her in stasis have long since worn off,” she explained. “It’s almost as if she isn’t ready yet . . . I’m not sure,” she paused and gave a small shake of her head. “Her vitals are strong and other than continuing her on antibiotics and getting her started on routine physiology, she should be alert and on her feet.”
“So why isn’t she?” Hannah murmured, more to herself than the woman seated next to her. She gazed back down on her daughter’s face and couldn’t help but notice how peaceful she looked in quiet repose. “Maybe after everything her body’s been through over the past three years, it’s doing some catch-up,” she said softly, answering her own question.
A rueful smile crossed Chloe’s lips as she stared over at her companion. “I couldn’t agree more.”
Hannah lifted one slender hand and placed it against her daughter’s cheek, gently smoothing away a lock of dark brown hair that had fallen there. “After her father died, she had become my pillar of strength. She saw me through one of the darkest times of my life,” she spoke quietly. It was rare for Hannah to open up to anyone else other than her daughter, but there was comfort in the doctor’s presence and Hannah knew that she was a close friend of Shepard’s. “I already lost her once – mourned her for two years . . . The thought of losing her all over again after I had just gotten her back . . . I don’t think I could bear it. And there have been too many close calls.”
“There certainly have been,” Chloe agreed emphatically, fondly remembering the first time she had met the commander. She reached out then and placed one slim hand upon Hannah’s, offering comfort. Lifting pale green eyes to the other woman’s darker ones, she spoke firmly, yet reassuringly. “She’s a fighter. You above all people know that. She’ll get through this and soon we’ll all look back on this as just a bad dream.”
The corner of Hannah’s mouth lifted. “I know.” She reached out and grasped Chloe’s hand as the doctor started to rise from her chair. “Thank you for taking care of her. It helps me rest easier at night knowing that my baby girl is in safe hands.”
Dr. Michel shook her head, her short brown curls brushing her cheeks. “There’s no need to thank me, Admiral Shepard. The commander is a good friend of mine, and I am honored to be the one caring for her.” A small smile curved her soft lips. “I’ll check in on her in another few hours. Don’t hesitate to call me if you need me.”
Nodding, Hannah turned her attention back to her daughter once Dr. Michel had left, her ears barely registering the muted click of her low-heeled shoes or of the door quietly whooshing closed behind her. She brushed one hand over her daughter’s smooth brow.
"Wake up soon, my darling. There are people out here waiting for you.”
* * *
“That doesn’t sound like my girl . . .” Did she imagine the voice? She tried to concentrate – tried to focus on the faint sounds penetrating the thick fog clouding her brain. But all that greeted her was silence – deafening silence. She wanted to open her eyes, wanted desperately to hear anything but this thick quiet that engulfed her. She would give anything to hear the sound of sky cars zooming past the floor-to-ceiling windows of her high-rise apartment, or the constant clamour of crowds littering the wards, or even the sound of the pulse-throbbing bass of dance music pounding from the many various clubs on the Silversun Strip. “When this is over, I’ll be waiting for you . . .”
There it was again. That voice . . . so achingly familiar . . . It couldn’t be real. He couldn’t possibly be here . . . He was miles away from her, and in his absence she was only imagining she heard that precious voice. “No matter what happens here, I’ll always love you . . .” “Shepard I . . . I love you too . . .” She had seen him get onto the Normandy and watched its safe ascent into the fiery black sky. She had watched as it raced away – leaving Earth and its destruction in its wake . . . leaving her alone to face the enemy as she had ordered. Was it worth it? Had she really accomplished what she had set out to do? Had she saved him? Had she saved her friends and their worlds? EDI’s face flashed before her eyes . . . and the answer was startlingly clear. No. She hadn’t saved everyone. She had made a selfish sacrifice because she had hoped she would see Garrus again one day . . . and she had sacrificed EDI to do so . . . And the cost of that decision? Would it be too much for her to bear? And what if she had chosen otherwise? Would that mean husks and cannibals would be waiting on tables at her favorite restaurants? Would brutes replace the krogan bouncers at the popular nightclubs? It seemed outrageous, but what else would become of them? All of a sudden she felt very small and vulnerable. She was Commander Shepard, a name that was revered and spoken with awe. But she was still a woman – a real, flesh and blood woman that would bleed just as surely as any other. And like any other woman, she had loved – and she needed Garrus more than ever now. She longed to feel his arms around her, holding her close and whispering sweet endearments against her ear. She longed to feel him next to her – his solid strength lending to hers. How she needed his strength now. His words came back to her again . . . “I’ll be waiting for you . . .” And she knew, just as surely as she drew her next breath, that he would keep that promise. She had to keep fighting – just a little longer . . .
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Post by wynterrogue on May 14, 2013 3:11:47 GMT 1
Chapter 2 - Recovery
Artificial sunlight streamed in through the large glass panes, falling across the floor and over the white counterpane covering the bed. No curtains hung at the wide windows, and so the pale yellow rays were allowed unlimited access into the room, bouncing off the stainless steel and white equipment placed strategically about the room. A small monitor closest to the bed gave off a series of soft beeps at equal intervals, while another showed the steady rhythm of vital signs on its large, flat screen. She felt, rather than saw the light as it fell on her face and neck – a gentle warmth so at odds with its artificial source. It touched the back of her eyelids and moved across her cheeks and lips. She could hear the faint sounds of passing sky cars and the muffled sound of voices nearby, but none that she recognized. She longed to open her eyes – move her limbs, but they felt weighted down and she was helpless to move.
She choked back a small cry as pieces of memories came flooding back with startling force.
Garrus! Was he here?
She tried to remember what had happened, but her muddled brain refused to work. How much time had passed? Would she see him again? Feel his arms about her?
A pair of pale blue eyes invaded her thoughts – smiling gently down at her. Mentally, she reached out to touch him – wanting to run her fingers over the scars he bore. She allowed herself to slip into an exhausted sleep, but the memories followed her even there. Strong arms held her close as she was swept about in a dance as old and erotic as time. She could hear his gentle chuckle as he held her closer still, his warm breath brushing over her ear . . . I love your hair, he had whispered.
She struggled against the soft tendrils that held her down – fought against the velvet darkness that cloaked her mind as she tried to rise above it.
“Garrus . . .” she murmured, unaware that she had said his name aloud.
“Sweetheart?” a voice crooned close to her ear. “It’s all right. I’m here.”
Blinking against the soft light invading her eyes, Shepard came slowly into wakefulness. Turning her head on the pillow, she looked in the direction the voice had come from.
Hannah moved to take one of her daughter’s hands in her own; tenderly rubbing the back of her thumb over Shepard’s scorched knuckles in a soothing gesture.
“Mom?” Shepard managed to rasp out. Her voice was dry and scratchy. It ached with the effort to speak.
A glass suddenly appeared before her, and Hannah slowly tipped the water to her daughter’s lips. The cool liquid soothed her dry throat, and she swallowed a few more drops before exhaustion took over and she fell weakly back to her pillow.
Placing the glass on a table beside her, Hannah reached back out and brushed a lock of dark brown hair off of Shepard’s forehead. Shepard managed a faint smile before falling back into a deep sleep – where tender blue eyes and strong arms followed her, offering comfort to her battle-ravaged mind and body.
Assured that her daughter had fallen asleep again, Hannah looked over to her companion. “She said a name,” she murmured. “Garrus.”
Steve Cortez stretched his long legs out before him as he reclined in a chair at the foot of Shepard’s hospital bed. He raised one dark brow. “Shepard never mentioned him to you?”
Hannah shook her head. “No,” she replied. “I mean, the name sounds familiar . . . he was the turian on board the Normandy, correct?”
Cortez nodded slowly.
“But why would she ask for him?” Hannah gazed back down on her daughter and a startled look of realization crossed her features.
Cortez cleared his throat uncomfortably. “They’re . . . uh . . .”
Hannah raised her dark green eyes to Cortez’s deep blue ones. “They are together,” she concluded astutely. Gazing back down at her daughter, her eyes gentled. She reached out to touch Shepard’s cheek. “I never knew . . . I never asked if there was anyone special in her life. I guess with everything going on . . .”
“You can’t blame yourself for not knowing,” Cortez said softly. “Things were always a bit hectic where Shepard was concerned.”
The corner of Hannah’s mouth lifted. “Still,” she said. “I should have known – guessed even. She’s my daughter, my only child.”
“She knew where to find you whenever she needed you. She knew that you would always be there for her,” he reasoned gently.
Hannah sighed softly. “You’re right, of course.”
Cortez unfolded his tall frame from his chair. “I’ll head down to the cafeteria and see about getting us something to eat. How does a sandwich sound?”
Hannah smiled over at him. “A sandwich sounds fine,” she said. As Cortez turned to leave, she added, “My daughter is lucky to have you for a friend.”
“I think I’m the lucky one,” he replied quietly. “Without her I think I’d be in a very different place now.”
He was just about to go through the door when Dr. Chloe Michel stepped through. Exchanging a quick pleasantry, he disappeared into the hallway.
“My readings tell me that Shepard regained consciousness a short while ago,” Dr. Michel stated professionally as she came further into the room. She stopped beside Shepard’s bed and reaching out, placed two fingers on the inside of her patient’s wrist, reflexively taking her pulse. Looking up at the monitors, she nodded, pleased with the results.
“She was only awake for a minute or two,” Hannah confirmed.
Chloe smiled down at Shepard. “Did she seem lucid? Did she recognize you?” she looked over at Hannah as she asked this.
Hannah nodded firmly. “Yes.”
“That is excellent news. We will continue to monitor her for a few more days. But she should regain consciousness more frequently now, and the more she does the better. Then we can see about starting her on a physiology routine. She’ll be very weak at first, but if I know Shepard, she’ll be up and on her feet in no time!” she assured Hannah.
Hannah smiled tenderly down at her daughter, silently agreeing with the doctor.
Chloe quietly assessed Hannah then, seeing the dark circles beneath her eyes and the fatigue etched into the lines of her face. To anyone else these telltale signs would not have been noticed, but Chloe had spent much time conferring with Hannah and she knew the Admiral was getting very little rest.
“Have you been getting much sleep, Hannah?” Chloe asked gently.
Hannah lifted one shoulder in a weary shrug. “When I can,” she admitted.
Chloe quickly penned something on a small slip of paper, then tearing it off she handed it over to Hannah. “Take this and get some rest,” she instructed. “I can’t have you falling ill as well.”
Hannah tucked the prescription into her pocket and nodded.
Chloe sent her a firm look. “Now that the Commander is out of the worst of it, she’ll need you more than ever now. You need to be at your best.”
“Understood, Doctor,” she assured her.
Chloe nodded. “Good.” She moved to the door then. “I’ll check back in a little while. In the meantime, think about what I said. Mr. Cortez is a good friend of Shepard’s – he’ll keep a close eye on her while you get some sleep. And we’ll let you know when she wakes again.”
Hannah smiled at the doctor – a woman who had become a close friend in the months she had sat beside her daughter’s hospital bed. “I know. Thank you, Chloe.”
“My pleasure,” she replied before heading out the door.
Hannah looked down at her daughter when she was alone again, and for the first time in three months she felt hope blossom in her chest . . . an emotion she thought she would never again feel.
Six Weeks Later
“One more time,” Dr. Chloe Michel ordered. “Is this really necessary?” Shepard groaned as she complied with the doctor’s wishes, obediently standing on one leg while she held the other at a ninety-degree angle, all the while keeping her arms stretched out on either side. She half expected Chloe to further instruct her to touch her nose with alternate index fingers, and almost failed in keeping the smirk from stretching across her lips as she stood before the doctor’s cool, professional gaze. Chloe gave a curt nod, firmly assessing her patient’s form for any weakness. “Yes. Now switch to the other side.” Shepard bit back another groan and had to stop herself from rolling her eyes as she moved her body in the desired position. In the beginning, such a simple movement would have had her falling over – her balance precarious at best. But after weeks of vigorous physiology, she could now perform these tasks, and more, effortlessly. Slowly, but surely, she was gaining her strength and starting to feel more like her old self. “Very good!” Chloe praised. “You have been doing well, Commander, and I am pleased with your progress.” “Does this mean I can stop now?” she asked hopefully. Chloe allowed a small grin to curve her lips. “Yes, you may stop now.” Shepard immediately lowered her raised leg to the floor and stretched her arms above her head, easing her tensed muscles. After so long being bedridden – a state that didn’t sit well with Shepard – the freedom of moving was wonderful. Chloe moved away to stand before a desk on the far side of the room. She quickly typed away at the terminal there. No doubt updating her progress, Shepard guessed correctly. Turing to pick up her hooded sweater from the chair behind her, Shepard lowered herself into it and bent over to deftly lace her sneakers – a feat that took many tries in the early stages of her recovery for her to accomplish. She stared down at her hands now as they worked quickly over the laces – they were no longer reddened and burned. The cream Dr. Michel had prescribed had worked wonders on her skin, along with appropriate doses of medi-gel. Standing back up, she pulled her black N7 sweater on and zipped up the front.
Finished with her report, Chloe shifted her attention back to her patient. “Before you go, I want to scan your implants one more time.”
Nodding, Shepard stood still before the doctor as she lifted her omni-tool and rapidly scanned the synthetic implants placed deep beneath her skin.
“Even you are partly synthetic . . .”
The voice came out of nowhere – suddenly popping into her brain. An image of the human boy from Earth on that day a year ago flashed before her mind’s eyes and she inadvertently shivered.
Chloe noticed the small movement and raised one slender brow. “Are you all right, Shepard?”
Shepard shook her head, trying to dispel the disturbing thoughts. The boy had often haunted her dreams since she had awoken from her coma, but had never followed her into her waking hours.
Why now?
And deep inside, she knew the answer to that question - refused to acknowledge it. She feared the guilt those memories would bring back - along with the heartache.
“I’m fine,” she murmured, but Chloe was not convinced.
“Are you sleeping at night, Commander?” Chloe was all at once professional again – all traces of humor gone.
Shepard thought about lying. In truth, she wanted to go back to being normal – not having to carry around so much guilt. For once, she wanted to fall asleep at night and not have Legion’s and EDI’s faces appear before her eyes, see the censure written deep within their eyes. She didn’t want to relive the moment on the Crucible – watching Anderson die all over again. But most of all, she didn’t want to be the one to make the decision she had made. It had been selfish – and for what?
They had little news of the Normandy. Other than learning of their survival, they still had no idea when they would be able to rejoin the fleet. They were somewhere in the Horsehead Nebula and with the Mass Relays in various stages of disrepair; there was no telling how long it would be before she saw her crew mates again . . . before she saw Garrus.
“No,” Shepard finally answered.
Dr. Michel nodded sagely. “I thought as much.” She moved back to her desk and jotted something down before returning back to Shepard. “I had written the same prescription for your mother a few weeks back . . .” she said slowly. “Now it seems you’ll need it too.”
Shepard smiled fondly at the mention of her mother. A few days ago, assured of her daughter’s improvement, Hannah had gone back to join the fifth fleet. The apartment had seemed empty and lonely without her at first, but at the same time Shepard was glad for the peace and quiet.
As any loving mother would, Hannah had doted on her daughter – at times almost stifling her, and Shepard had often felt like screaming the more and more she recovered. But now, in her absence, Shepard missed her mother’s gentle reprimands when she felt her daughter had taken on too much – she missed their quiet evenings together as they talked about things only mothers and daughters shared – something that Shepard never had time to enjoy before she enlisted in the Alliance. If there was one good thing that she could take from this, it would be the time she was allowed to spend with her mother during her long recovery.
“Take two before going to bed,” Chloe was saying, interrupting Shepard’s train of thoughts.
Abruptly brought back, Shepard reached out and took the prescription from the doctor’s outstretched hand. She glanced down at the elegantly scrawled note.
Shepard looked back up at the doctor. “Surely this dose is too high,” she murmured.
Chloe shook her head and her short brown curls brushed her ears. “Try the recommended dose for the first few nights before weaning down to one, if you wish.”
“Okay,” she agreed.
The doctor smiled then. “I’m officially releasing you from your daily physio. You’ve done exceptionally well and your progress has been beautiful. There’s no reason why I should continue to see you,” she continued. “As long as you do your daily strengthening exercises and get your rest, I don’t want to see you back here!” she grinned. “Take time for yourself and relax, Shepard.”
“I’m done?” Shepard questioned, stunned.
Chloe nodded. “Of course, Admiral Hackett has been made aware of your condition and as a result it will be some time before you return to active duty. In the meantime, take my advice and rest up. For the first time in a long while the galaxy is at peace – no Reapers to worry about. Take care of yourself – you deserve it.” Shepard looked down. She wasn’t sure how to react to this news - relieved, maybe. But coming here every day for the past few weeks had become a sort of ritual for her – it gave her something to do and took her mind off of the thoughts that often plagued her when she was alone. What was she to do now?
She lifted her head and stared over at Chloe. What had the doctor said? Take care of herself – she deserved it? Her mouth twisted as she realized how much the doctor had been wrong about that statement.
An image of Legion suddenly rose before her . . . the gaping hole in his chest oozing a thick, greyish liquid. His life essence slowly drained from him and he stared blankly ahead – seeing through her, his light dim and weak, flickering a faint red before fading out completely.
“Shepard-Commander . . . do we deserve death?”
“Commander Shepard,” Chloe’s soft, accentuated voice intruded on the disturbing thoughts. “Would you like for me to arrange a ride for you?”
Shepard glanced up, the image of Legion’s lifeless body slowly vanishing from her mind. She shook her head. “I appreciate the offer, but Cortez will be picking me up today,” she explained.
Dr. Michel nodded. “Okay. Well, I’ve got other patients to see to,” she smiled reassuringly at Shepard and moved to open the door leading out into the hallway. “Remember what I’ve said, Shepard. Take the time you’ve been given to let your mind and body heal.”
“I will,” Shepard assured the doctor. “Thank you for everything, Chloe.”
“You do not need to thank me, Shepard,” she replied. “Take care now and stay in touch,” she ordered again. At Shepard’s nod, the doctor turned and left the room.
Not wanting to be left alone, Shepard quickly picked up her bag from the floor beside the chair and followed in the doctor’s wake. Once outside in the brightly lit corridor, she headed down the long hallway, passing doctors and visitors and patients alike – all of them various species; turian, asari, salarian, human, and even the odd hanar, krogan and elcor were mixed in with the crowd.
Since the destruction of the Reapers, most of these species’ homeworlds were destroyed and the Citadel was the only place offering the medical care needed, as well as room and shelter for these refugees. Amazingly enough, the batarians were now commonplace since the war first began as they had previously been a rarity on the Citadel. As a result of the conflict, most of their colonies had been completely wiped out when the Reapers had first appeared and the future of their species was still uncertain.
Some of them turned to look at her, recognition slowly coming to their eyes as she hurried along – others were too absorbed in their daily routine to notice Commander Shepard passing them by, inches from where they stood. No one tried to stop her, and she was grateful for the small concession. Right now, all she wanted to do was get to her apartment where everything was familiar and offered the comfort she needed right now.
Cortez was waiting for her at the sky car parking lot. His broad smile reached his dark blue eyes as he spotted her through the crowd of people. Holding the car door open for her, she rushed inside and settled back against the soft leather seat as he moved around the hood of the vehicle and settled himself behind the driver’s controls.
“How was your day?” he asked noncommittally as he expertly maneuvered the sky car in with the other traffic.
Shepard shrugged. “Good,” she replied. “Dr. Michel has officially released me. I’m a free woman,” she joked half-heartedly.
After having spent so much time together since Shepard’s recovery, Cortez had become more attuned to her personality and subtle body language. “And you’re not sure how you feel about that . . .” he said, his eyes perceptive as he concentrated on the merging traffic before them.
Shepard absently played with one of the strings on her hooded sweater. “I’m not exactly sure how I feel,” she admitted. “It’s been part of my daily routine for so long . . . I don’t know . . .” she trailed off, sighing.
“We should celebrate by going out for drinks tonight,” Cortez suddenly declared and the grin he sent across to his companion was infectious. “I found this great little place on the strip – not far from your place.”
“Why the hell not?” Shepard murmured, and for the first time in a long while she was looking forward to spending some time doing something that was absolutely non-productive. And maybe, just maybe, the nightmares would cease to visit her – at least for tonight.
“Great!” Cortez replied enthusiastically, “I’ll pick you up at eight.”
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Post by wynterrogue on May 14, 2013 3:23:13 GMT 1
Chapter 3 - Return
After Cortez dropped her off outside of Tiberius Towers, Shepard made her way into the large skyscraper that housed her apartment. A pair of turian guards stood sentinel inside the large foyer at opposite ends of the large, glossy concierge desk. They stared straight ahead as she silently passed by in front of them and she couldn’t help noticing the C-Sec grade assault rifles held nonchalantly in their hands. Even after all the destruction and chaos wrought on the galaxy by the Reapers, there was still threat in the world – would there ever be such a thing as peace in a universe where multiple species co-existed?
As she made her way over the highly polished tiles of the floor, the pretty asari receptionist behind the desk smiled and acknowledged her as she passed by. A small smile touched her lips as she walked over to the elevator – silently returning the polite gesture. She waved her ID card in front of the elevator doors and after a few seconds the polished stainless steel doors parted gently open. Stepping inside, she hit the button for the twenty-ninth floor and the doors immediately closed again, shutting her inside its sleek, glossy black and steel designs.
She leaned against the back wall of the elevator, silently watching the numbers on the key panel ascend. A minute or two later the doors opened again to a long, wide corridor. She entered the hallway and made her way to her own apartment at the end of the line of doors. She was only mildly aware of her surroundings in the quiet corridor – the neutral paint colours blended in with the neutral, high-end sitting chairs and side tables placed strategically along the high walls; a pleasant contrast to the glossy sheen of the dark hardwood running the length of the hallway. It was all greys and whites with hints of dark browns, the only splash of color being the pink exotic flowers placed in vases on the side tables. Their fresh scent gently perfumed the air as she walked by, lending a calming effect to the entire atmosphere. Stopping before her apartment door, she waved her ID card again. The panel flickered green and then prompted her for her handprint. She raised her right hand and placed it against the cool surface. The panel flashed green again and the door to her home gently whooshed open, granting her access. Once inside the safe confines of her apartment, she locked the door behind her and strode into the kitchen, tossing her bag onto the glossy white counter. She moved across to the fridge and peered inside, finally deciding on a bottle of water and some grapes that she had recently purchased from the market in the lower wards. Tucking the bottle beneath her arm, she popped a couple of the succulent fruit into her mouth as she slowly ascended the staircase into her bedroom – their bedroom. The one she had shared with Garrus whenever they had spent time on the Citadel before . . . before . . . She shook her head, firmly dismissing the depressing thoughts. But no matter where she went to in the apartment, traces of him were left everywhere – his clothes hanging next to hers in the large closet, his toothbrush resting unused next to hers, his toiletries in the bathroom vanity – and that was just in the bedroom. The bookshelves downstairs housed some of his favorite literature, along with models and a few pieces of turian art.
A smile touched her lips then as she thought of his unique fondness for the turian books and artwork. She never would have guessed he would be one to enjoy those things – thinking he much more preferred his weapons and electronic music to the former. Then again, there had been much they had learned about each other during the countless battles they had fought together side by side, and of course the many nights spent between the white, satin sheets of their bed.
She needed to move – focus her mind and body on something else. She shed her hooded sweater and dropped it onto the bed, and then popping the last few grapes into her mouth she exited the room and made her way downstairs. Once at the bottom landing she entered the room that housed the gym equipment and jumped onto the treadmill. Placing her water bottle in the holder on the machine she pushed a button located near the controls. Music immediately filled the room – energetic and pulse thumping. Turning it up on bust she started the treadmill out at a slow walk, gently stretching her calf muscles and thighs before turning it up to a more punishing gait.
For forty-five minutes she kept up the grueling pace before finally slowing down to a more sedate jog before finally walking it off. She hadn’t felt this good in a long time – she missed being able to push her body to its top endurance, missed the simple feeling of having sweat pour down her face and back due to pure physical exertion. She felt exhilarated; her adrenaline pumped though her veins.
Finally stepping off the treadmill she tipped the bottle of water to her lips, felt the refreshing coolness make its way down her throat to her belly. She took pleasure in even that small movement too. A few weeks ago she had been sipping from a tube – the fact that she could now exercise normally and maneuver her body to perform simple daily tasks was indeed liberating.
And then EDI’s voice invaded her thoughts.
“I would risk non-functionality . . . I am not like that. My core programming should reflect that.”
“Oh, EDI,” Shepard murmured and closed her eyes as she remembered the moment EDI had confronted her on the Normandy. She replayed the conversation in her head – had replayed it over and over in the weeks she had spent recovering.
EDI’s voice . . . Legion’s voice . . .
Would she never be free of them? Would their voices continue to haunt her into her grave?
Maybe she deserved it . . .
* * *
“What did I tell you?!” Cortez had to shout to be heard over the loud base pounding from the many speakers suspended from the surrounding walls. Lights flashed overhead within the crowded bar – alternating between red, blue, green and yellow. The effect was mesmerizing. Shepard loved it.
“Good choice!” she agreed, leaning close so he could hear her. He smiled broadly. “Come on, I’ve got us a table near the back wall! It’ll be a bit quieter there!” Shepard couldn’t stop the laugh that burst forth from her lips. “Really?” she asked, unconvinced. Even from outside, the music could be heard pulsating down the strip. He expertly maneuvered them through the large crush of people before they finally reached their destination. Slipping into a chair at a small, private table they quickly ordered drinks from a nearby human waitress. She gave them a wide smile before disappearing to relay their order to the turian bartender busily mixing drinks with impressive flourishes behind one of the two long, black bars. “You look good, Shepard,” Cortez remarked as he leaned back in his chair. “Your hair is longer.” The corner of Shepard’s mouth lifted into a small smile as she lifted one hand unconsciously to her hair. In the past she had normally kept the dark brown tresses at chin length as she had found it easier to manage that way, but since her recovery she had never paid much heed to it, and now it spilled down over her shoulders in smooth, silky waves. A small blue and silver hair clip held the right side back from her face, showcasing her slender neck and the delicate curve of her cheek. “And that dress . . .” he trailed off, giving a low, admiring whistle. His eyes crinkled at the corners as he grinned across at her. “I may prefer members from my own gender, but one look at you would have me changing my mind,” he said, half-seriously. “Are you flirting with me, Shuttle Pilot Cortez?” Shepard replied smoothly, matching his smile with one of her own. In truth, she was glad that she had gone with the short, strappy black dress instead of the casual look of flowing pants and tight-hugging shirts adopted by most female humans and the willowy asari. It showed her slender figure and long legs off to her advantage while the silver heels she wore gave her added height. “Always,” he replied with a deep laugh. She smiled across at him, completely at ease in his company. She recalled the first time she had met him; he had still been in grieving for his husband while blaming himself for not being with him at the time of his death, and the difficulty in trying to let him go. How far he had come since then, she thought quietly to herself. She admired him, his perseverance though what must have surely been a very dark time. She reached over the table and rested one hand on his. He looked up, somewhat startled at her touch. “Thank you for being here for me,” she said deeply. “Well, I couldn’t very well leave you, Commander. After all, you helped me through a very tough time as I recall,” he replied in kind, his blue eyes smiling into her dark brown ones. “So, tell me, just how did you find me so quickly?” Shepard asked, curiosity lacing her voice. “I would have thought the Normandy would have picked you up before the Crucible was deployed.”
They were interrupted by the return of their waitress. Placing their respective drinks in front of them, she smiled once more before leaving to wait on another table. Shepard reached out and took a sip from her drink – the sweet, alcoholic beverage left a pleasant taste on her lips and she felt warmth blossom over her cheeks. Cortez shook his head. “It was a war zone, Commander. The Normandy only had time to land to pick up your team before you rushed off into that beam. I was shuttled off of Earth only after the Crucible detonated. By then, the Normandy had already been caught in the blast and was too far away to make it back before they crash-landed,” he explained. Shepard nodded. She had read Hackett’s report on the aftermath of the detonation; the destruction of the Citadel and Mass Relays along with all other AI technology simultaneously shutting down. Destruction ultimately caused by her . . . her decision. “I later learned a team of Alliance soldiers were deployed to your last known location and that you had been recovered. You were immediately moved to Huerta Memorial and, well you know the rest,” he finished. Shepard kept her eyes downcast and wrapped one hand around the slender stem of her glass. She toyed with the cherry resting on the sugared rim beneath a rather sunny, yellow umbrella. The drink looked cheerful and happy – so at odds with what she was feeling now. “Have you heard from Hackett?” she asked, trying to force the depressing thoughts from her mind and failing. Cortez shook his head. “Not since we learned the Normandy was space-flight again. That was three weeks ago now,” he added. She nodded, silently acknowledging the information. She wanted to open up to someone – anyone - about what had happened to her on the Crucible. She wanted to hear that she had made the right choice – that destroying the Reapers had been the only logical and sensible conclusion. So why, when the opportunity now presented itself did she choke? Was it because she didn’t fully believe it herself? Was it because she was afraid of what Cortez’s reaction would be? Would he respond in anger or cold silence? Would he agree? And either way, she was afraid of the outcome because she knew she was wrong. She had killed EDI along with the geth and all for her own selfish reasons. “Shepard?” Cortez’s voice interrupted her bleak thoughts, and she realized that she had missed part of the conversation. “I’m sorry,” she quickly apologized. “My mind was elsewhere.” He laughed then, easily forgiving her lack of attention. “I can’t say that I blame you,” he joked. “How about we hit the dance floor – for old time’s sake?” his grin was infectious and Shepard couldn’t help smiling in return. “You do remember my two left feet, right?” she grinned across at him. “Yeah, but with someone as beautiful as you, it’s easy to see past that!” he laughed, shamelessly flirting with her. She stood up from the table, “Don’t say I never warned you!” she responded lightly before moving onto the crowded dance floor. Cortez followed close behind. The heavy base pounded deep into her blood – the effects of her drink loosening her limbs. She forcibly pushed all thoughts from her mind, determined to enjoy herself for tonight. Cortez moved before her, his body quickly adapting to the pulsating rhythm and Shepard felt all her thoughts and despairs slowly ebb from her limbs as she lost herself in the music and bouncing lights.
* * * It was late when Shepard arrived back to her apartment – maybe around two in the morning if she had to guess. Darkness poured in through the floor-to-ceiling windows in her living room – bright lights from the hovering street signs and occasional passing sky car peeked in through the partially closed blinds.
Sighing heavily, she kicked off her silver heels and let her feet sink into the plush white rug in front of the leather sofa before she allowed her body to fall into it. The cushions felt cool against her fevered skin and she closed her eyes, her head falling back to rest against the arm while her hair tumbled over the side of it.
Exhausted from the day’s activities along with the drinks she had consumed alongside Cortez at the bar, she gradually felt herself sliding into a deep, relaxed state, and so she was slow to register the soft pad of two-toed feet across the dark hardwood floor, or of the gentle weight of a hand tenderly stroking her hair, removing the clip she had fastened there. The faint smell of sandalwood invaded her senses – a smell she was all too familiar with. Garrus!
Her eyes snapped open and she abruptly pushed herself up into a sitting position. Swinging her head around, her gaze was immediately caught and held by a pair of pale, blue eyes - eyes that could see right into her soul.
Wide brown eyes stared disbelieving at the visage before her – soft greys and blues. Slowly, as if afraid he would vanish before her eyes; she reached out with one hand and cradled his jaw. Tenderly she stroked the scars there, assuring for herself that he was really there – tangible.
His mandible moved beneath her hand as his throat worked for sound.
“Shepard,” Garrus whispered.
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Post by wynterrogue on May 14, 2013 3:40:17 GMT 1
Chapter 4 - Reunion
“I was afraid I’d never see you again,” Shepard whispered softly, her eyes remaining steadfast on his. Garrus remained hunched down before her. His hands were braced at either side of her hips, pressing against the soft dark leather, effectively caging her between his body and the couch. He turned his mouth into her hand, gently placed a kiss against her palm. She noticed that he wore his casual clothes – a black and white coat over a dark blue undershirt. Black pants molded his sinewy legs. “I told you that I’d be waiting for you,” he murmured, his voice sounding like rough velvet. “I remember,” she replied softly, feeling a familiar ache stretch out from her belly to her limbs at his subtle touch. She wanted him to take her in his arms, press her back against the cushions and make her forget all that had transpired four months ago. He raised one hand and brushed it over her hair, smoothing a few wayward strands from her face. His eyes touched on every facet of her visage – his gaze gently caressing her wide, luminous eyes, the sweeping cheekbones, the graceful line of her jaw, and the delicate curve of her ear. But no matter how much cream she applied to her skin, no matter how much medi-gel she used, those sniper eyes didn’t miss the small flaws left by the blast – the slowly fading scars that marred her skin. A muscle ticked along his mandible, and Shepard knew that he was bothered by something. “Were you badly hurt?” he asked, and his voice gave nothing away. She dropped her eyes, finding a spot along his collarbone to stare at. She had the sudden impulse to lean forward and kiss the tough skin between the plating, but she held herself back. She recognized the Garrus in front of her now – he was not the tender lover, but C-Sec cop – turian leader. He was worried about her, she realized with sudden clarity, and he wanted answers. “I was in a coma for three months,” she revealed. “I don’t remember much about what happened,” she replied evasively. She could never lie to him, but she wasn’t ready to tell him everything just yet. She needed time . . . time for her to adjust, to come to terms with the decisions she had made – and the consequences of those actions. “I was taken to Huerta Memorial almost immediately after and Dr. Michel took care of me during the interim,” she explained. “I was told the injuries that I sustained were substantial . . .” she trailed off softly. She felt his hand come to her jaw, tilting her head up. Her brown eyes collided with the piercing pale blue of his. He smoothed his thumb over her lower lip and she couldn’t help the small sigh that escaped her mouth. He leaned closer and she felt his warm breath brush over her cheek. “I went through hell – not knowing if you were alive or dead.” She picked up on the uneven tone that lay just beneath. She swallowed convulsively. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. He shook his head slowly. “I kept thinking about the last time I saw you, held you. I refused to believe that I would never be able to touch you again . . . or do this,” he moved closer still and then he was on her, his mouth touching gently – questioningly to hers, as if asking for permission. She gasped against his mouth and gave herself over to him. His arms came around her then, lifting her up against his chest and she raised her hands to smooth them over the rough planes and angles of his face and neck. She missed this – missed being held by him. He became more passionate in his ardor – the time that had separated them only added to their need for each other. His mouth moved roughly over hers, his hands played over her body – sweeping along the sides her breasts to the curve of her hips and slender thighs. She moaned impatiently against him, feeling her passion rising to meet his. “Garrus,” she murmured against his cheek when he finally released her. Her eyes were dark and heavy-lidded beneath his knowing gaze. “I’m right here,” he replied very quietly, “I’m not going anywhere.” She nodded mutely, not trusting herself to speak. He stood up then and held out one hand to her. She looked up at him and placed her hand in his. His fingers closed gently, firmly over hers. He looked down at her. “Are you well enough?” he asked, letting the question hang in the air. A small smile touched the corner of her bruised and swollen lips. “You won’t break me, Garrus,” she assured him. That was all the encouragement he needed. He immediately swept her along behind him as he headed up the stairs to their bedroom. Her heart thudded excitedly in her chest and her breaths came in short pants now. She wanted this – had longed for it ever since she had laid eyes on him downstairs, but now that he was here she was startled to discover some trepidation thrumming through her veins.
They had never paid much heed to their past intimate and more than tender embraces. He was still a turian and she human – they had been careful with each other in the beginning of their relationship, but since then they had become more comfortable with each other, and they had blended together as well as they did at night as they did during the days. They had learned to fit together, his rough plating to her soft curves.
Maybe it had been practice – or maybe it had become natural for them. Either way, she loved him – wanted him. She wanted his rough kisses and his less than gentle touch. Tonight, she wanted all of him – no holding back. She wanted to feel alive again. Maybe that was the trepidation she felt – knowing that she loved him, knowing how she had almost lost him.
He stopped beside their bed and sat down on the edge of it, tugging her gently between his spread thighs. He rested his hands on her hips and caressed the soft indent of her waist. She leaned into him and rested her hands on his wide shoulders. She could feel the play of muscle beneath the black fabric there.
Lowering her head, she rubbed her cheek over his forehead and lifted one hand to remove his visor. He didn’t move beneath her hands, and she became bolder. Laying the visor on the bedside table she returned to slowly unbutton his shirt. The material fell open at the neck and she swept it to one side, bending slightly so she could press kisses along his collarbone as she had ached to do when she had seen him downstairs.
“I don’t want you to be gentle,” she whispered bravely against his skin.
Garrus inhaled sharply. “Shepard . . .” he groaned as she touched her mouth to his.
She shook her head, and her soft dark hair fell over her shoulders and brushed his face. He inhaled the sweet perfume of it, closing his eyes as if in pain. “Not tonight . . . please,” she implored quietly, drawing back to look at him.
He nodded once, mutely staring up at her.
A small smile touched her lips as she reached behind her to unzip her dress. It slid down her body to pool at her feet. Garrus raised his hands and ran them down the length of her arms, then gripping her hand he tugged her over onto the bed beside him, stretching out next to her. She turned her body towards his, stroked the scars along his mandible.
"I love you, Garrus,” she murmured.
He suddenly rolled her beneath him and grinned at her startled gasp. “I love you, too,” he replied and his voice was deep and smooth, following through her like rich chocolate. “Never forget that.”
“Never,” she whispered back.
That night he held the nightmares at bay.
Shepard awoke the next morning to the smell of bacon and eggs wafting through the bedroom. Sighing, she rolled over in the wide bed and stretched her limbs, subtly noting the soft twinges her body elicited during that small movement. She smiled against the pillow, inhaling Garrus’ scent as memories came flooding back of the previous night. She didn’t need to wonder where he was – the delicious smell emanating from the kitchen was a telltale sign.
They hadn’t talked much during the night, but now she suddenly realized that she had much she wanted to ask him. She needed to know how the Normandy was – how the crew was. She wanted to see Liara, Tali and Kaidan. Needed to know about EDI . . . And Joker? Was he okay?
Throwing the covers off, she slid off the side of bed and stood up. Moving into the bathroom, she turned on the shower and stepped behind the clear glass panel. Hot water cascaded down over her body and soaked her hair. She quickly washed the dark tresses and lathered her body in a sweet-smelling soap before rinsing and shutting off the water. Wrapping a large, fluffy white towel about her she walked back into the bedroom feeling refreshed. Pulling on a blue lacy bra with matching panties, she was just heading into the large closet when she heard Garrus enter the room behind her.
She turned to smile at him and froze at the look of shock on his face. “Garrus?” she murmured raising one slender brow.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, and she could hear the thread of unease in his voice, underlying the question.
Shepard shook her head in stunned amazement. “Tell you what?” she asked.
He covered the distance between them in three easy strides. He held her arm up before her eyes. “This,” he indicated.
She followed the path of his eyes, only then seeing the tender red marks and faint bruises marring her skin. She looked over his shoulder into the mirror behind him, seeing for the first time what he had seen. Similar marks and scratches covered both of her arms, her chest, belly and thighs. “They don’t bother me,” she said honestly.
Garrus’ mouth tightened and taking her hand he led her back to the bed. “Sit,” he commanded.
Smiling patiently up at him, she complied and watched as he reached into the bedside table where she kept the salve Mordin had recommended long ago for such an event. A wistful look crossed her face and was gone before she had even realized it was there.
“What’s this?” Garrus asked, breaking the sudden quiet that had filled the room.
She looked over to the bottle he held in one hand, immediately recognizing the prescription Dr. Michel had given her. Memories swept unbidden through her mind’s eye. She fought them back, but she wasn’t quick enough. Garrus had seen the torment on her features – haunting her eyes. He settled down before her, his eyes tender on hers.
“What is it?” he asked softly, gently.
Shepard shook her head. “It’s nothing,” she evaded. “I’ve been having trouble sleeping.” It was not a lie . . . just an omission, she thought, trying to comfort herself and failing.
A look passed over Garrus’ face, and Shepard knew that he knew she held something back. Her heart cried out to tell him, but she couldn’t – not yet . . . not yet. He remained silent, his mouth firm and his mandibles twitched slightly. He didn’t like her silence, she knew. But he respected her privacy and he would not push.
Turning his head he replaced the pill bottle and picked up the salve instead. “Lie back,” he commanded again and she obediently complied. She heard him twist the cap off of the jar – smelled the softly perfumed cream. And then he was rubbing his hands gently over her body, tenderly applying the silken cream to the red scratches and bruises left from their passionate lovemaking. When he was done, he put the cream away and leaned back down to brush a kiss over her jaw.
“There’s breakfast downstairs,” he finally said, breaking the quiet, intimate spell between them.
Shepard moved to sit on the edge of the bed. “It smells delicious,” the words had no sooner left her mouth when her stomach let out a disgruntled growl.
Garrus responded with a wide grin. “Hurry up and get dressed. Your crew are eager to see you again, Commander,” he joked and the brief moment of disquiet between them was forgotten.
She jumped up off the bed and was rewarded with a sharp, playful slap to her bottom. Laughing, she tossed her dark hair over her shoulder and disappeared into the closet. She didn’t see the look that crossed Garrus’ face – a look that revealed his worry and concern. He lifted one hand to his jaw and his mouth twisted thoughtfully.
She was keeping something from him, he knew. And he knew that when she was ready, she would tell him. He just had to be patient. That was something he was good at.
* * *
It was strange – stepping aboard the Normandy again. Shepard half-expected to hear EDI’s voice over the intercom – cheerfully welcoming her back, but the silence that greeted her was unnerving. It threw into stark reality that EDI really was gone – it’s hadn’t just been some mind trick played by the entity on the Crucible. It had spoken the truth – EDI would die. Was dead . . . The thought barely had time to register before she was assaulted by the grinning faces of her crew mates. They teased and hugged her, accepted her into their fold again – no questions asked. If only they knew, she thought dejectedly, would they be so forgiving? Garrus stayed by her side the entire time, his solid presence a welcome strength which she needed. Jokes and friendly camaraderie surrounded her. For a time it was easy to forget. But then he was suddenly before her – his baseball cap pulled low over his eyes, a five-o’clock beard shadowing his cheeks and neck. His eyes were haunted as they stared across at her, but even though she saw the emptiness there – the heartache, they were completely devoid of any censure or hate. He didn’t blame her . . . he didn’t realize that she had knowingly sent EDI to her death, she realized startlingly.
Joker stepped forward, his usual stride hitching and uneven. He stopped before her.
“Commander,” he finally said.
She recognized that voice – strong and sure even though his emotions were in turmoil. The smile she had kept on her face cracked a little under that gaze. “Joker,” she whispered, her voice sounding hoarse, even to her own ears, “I’m sorry.” He lowered his head, nodded. “It wasn’t your fault.” Those four words sent such anguish tearing though her chest that she let out a small involuntary sob. Not her fault? Oh, but it is, she wanted to cry out. She felt Garrus’ arm come around her then, and she leaned into him. All of a sudden she felt tired, exhausted. Her body still needed rest – still needed time to recover from her injuries. Although most of her exterior wounds were healed, her physical exertions over the past twenty-four hours were taking their toll, and her body demanded rest. “I’ll take you to your cabin,” he said and his voice brooked no argument. At that moment, she wanted nothing more than a few hours of sleep. Quietly acquiescing, she allowed Garrus to lead her up to her room. Once there, Garrus dimmed the lights and pulled back the soft, white counterpane. Stepping further into the room, she glanced around and her eyes immediately fell on the small cage on the lower shelf behind her desk that housed her hamster. A smile curved her lips and she glanced over at Garrus. “You took care of him for me,” she said softly. Garrus’ mandibles twitched as he grinned across at her. “And your fish, too.” She looked over at the large fish tank built into the wall. A blue light glowed comfortingly from it. She watched, mesmerized as the fish within swam about leisurely – the soft sound of bubbles and gentle hum from the motor lulling her senses. She felt herself sway, and would have fallen forward but for Garrus’ arms about her. “I’m beginning to think I may have forced too much on you last night,” he half-joked. “I wanted it,” she softly assured him as she allowed him to lead her over to the bed. “I wanted you.” He smiled down at her, his eyes tender. Pulling her shirt over her head and kicking off her pants, she quickly dove under the covers and pulled them to her chin as the chill from the room swept over her warm skin. Satisfied to see that she would get some rest, Garrus turned to leave. She reached out with one hand and grasped his before he could move away. “Please stay,” she softly implored him, her eyes wide on his. Garrus narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, seeing the fear that had flashed briefly in her dark eyes. Nodding, he moved around to the other side of the bed and quickly divested himself of his clothes before joining her beneath the covers. She immediately moved her body closer to his, shaping her curves to his angles. Resting one hand over his heart, she closed her eyes and allowed sleep to overcome her.
Shepard awoke sometime later. Looking to the skylight above her, she watched in quiet contemplation as sky cars passed overhead, their bright, reflective surfaces glinting in the artificial sunlight – silvers, blues, and reds. It took her a moment to realize that they were still docked at the Citadel – and would be for some time. Most of the major repairs had been done during the time the large frigate had been grounded on the garden world, but there were other systems on board that needed to be worked on before it was back up to speed.
A movement beside her had her shifting her attention. Glancing to her right, she smiled tentatively over at Garrus. He leaned up on one elbow and reached out to brush a lock of hair away from her face.
“You seem to have no trouble sleeping when I’m around,” he quietly observed, his eyes intent on her face.
She smiled wistfully up at him. “It seems it’s the only time I don’t dream at all,” she replied, her voice soft. She reached out to tenderly trace the scars on his injured cheek.
He didn’t say anything, just gazed back at her in that way of his. His sniper eyes quietly assessed her – seeing past the defenses she had erected. Not against him – never against him, but for another reason altogether.
“I think I’d like to explore the Normandy,” she finally said after a long moment. “Alone . . . please.”
His eyes narrowed on hers, and she could read the concern behind those pale, blue eyes. She half expected him to argue, and was surprised and relieved when he didn’t. She needed time to herself – time to re-explore the Normandy. Maybe find some peace within the sleek grey and black designs of it.
Garrus may keep the nightmares at bay for a time, but she knew that they would return. Every waking moment she relived the scene on the Crucible – the small boy from Earth, EDI’s haunting questions and Legion’s unadulterated gaze, almost hating, as the red light on his helmet grew brighter and brighter, condemning her.
“Shepard-Commander . . . do we deserve death?”
A look passed over her face – apprehensive and uncertain. Garrus noticed the fleeting expression and his mouth tightened. “Shepard,” he murmured. “What is it that you’re not telling me?”
She raised herself into a sitting position and wrapped her arms about her legs, resting her chin on her knees. She was silent for a long time before she spoke. She kept her eyes fixed on the white counterpane spread before her. “I . . . I’m not,” she shook her head, feeling tears start to rise. She blinked them back harshly. She felt Garrus’ hand come to her face, turn her head toward his. She couldn’t bear to see into his eyes – piercing blue that could see right into her soul, bearing all to his gaze. She closed her eyes against him.
“Look at me,” he commanded. And he was suddenly all authority. He may have left C-Sec, but the training he went through – the years he spent working there - was something that had become innate to him. He would not be denied this time.
She lifted her eyes to his, dark brown melding into frosty blue.
“Tell me,” he said gently.
“I need time, Garrus,” her gaze never wavered from his.
He narrowed his eyes. “Time?”
She shook her head, and she felt her hair brush over her shoulders. “I can’t . . . not now,” she swallowed thickly. “Everything is still fresh.”
Garrus gave a small sigh, and his mandibles twitched. “All right.”
She reached out and touched his hand. Bringing it to her mouth, she placed a soft kiss against the back of it. His fingers moved, caressing her jaw, brushing her hair back.
He moved then, climbing off the bed. She watched as he swiftly donned his clothes – a similar outfit to the one he wore last night, except this one was blue and green with gold tones. She wasn’t used to seeing him in his casuals – in the past he normally wore his body armor about the ship. It was a nice change, she decided.
He leaned across the bed and placed a kiss on the top of her head. “You know where to find me if you need me,” he said.
A knowing smile curved her mouth. “Calibrating?”
He chuckled low. “You know it.”
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Post by wynterrogue on May 14, 2013 4:07:02 GMT 1
Chapter 5 - Ripped
She wasn’t sure how she came to be there, but she suddenly found herself in the AI Core. The room was empty – devoid of the familiar hum created by the machines used to power EDI. For a long time Shepard stood there, glancing about the room before she finally moved to a spot near the back wall. Just over a year ago she had stood in this same spot with another crewmember of her team – Legion. A voice, a conversation from the past, entered her mind and she opened herself to it, allowing the nostalgia to rush through her.
“Shepard-Commander.”
She recalled her own voice – authoritative, yet laced with uneasiness.
“When we took you aboard, I noticed you have a piece of N7 armor welded to you. Where did you get it?”
He stood still, analyzing the question. His red light twitched, and she could almost hear the shifting of his machinery as he struggled for a way to reply. There had been something about him – something real and tangible – so at odds with what she had previously discovered about the geth. He was different.
And for some inexplicable reason she felt loneliness, as though he had witnessed bitter strife during his immortal life. It had touched upon each of her nerve endings, something akin to pain coursing through her – and she was at a loss to understand why.
His red light flickered. “It was . . . yours,” Legion had finally replied and his voice was mechanical, reverberating eerily about the room. “When you disappeared, we were sent to find you. We began where you first encountered the heretics.”
Shepard’s eyes had widened in amazement and disbelief. “Eden Prime,” she murmured. She narrowed her eyes. “You’ve been looking for me for two years?”
“We visited Therum, Feros, Noveria, Vermire, Ilos . . . a dozen unsettled worlds. The trail ended at the Normandy’s wreckage,” he rapped out the planets’ names in military fashion and his voice echoed off the walls. “You were not there. Organic transmissions claimed your death. We recovered this debris from your hard suit.”
Confusion swept over her. She didn’t want to hear this – didn’t want to believe what he was telling her. The geth were dangerous. They couldn’t be trusted – she had learned that from her days chasing Saren. But there it was again – that feeling she had discovered when they had first spoke. The way he moved, his shifting weight and twitching headlight – the subtle emulations reminded her more of an organic than a machine. He stared at her – his red light appearing to watch her curiously, waiting for her to speak. And for a brief moment she felt as if she were the one under interrogation.
“That doesn’t explain why you used my armor to fix yourself,” she had replied steadily, gathering her whirling thoughts and emotions.
“There was a hole,” his response was straight-forward and honest, something an AI would say. He continued to regard her, and she felt uneasiness sweep over her. His gaze was impassive, giving nothing away.
“Shepard-Commander . . . do we deserve death?”
And a vision like the one that often visited her in her nightmares took over, except this time she wasn’t dreaming. It was as if he stood before her now – his question hanging on the empty air, and she watched, horrified, to see a greyish liquid seep from the hole in his chest . . . drip to the floor. Useless. And she realized that he was dying. It was her fault!
“No . . . data . . . . no . . .” his voice glitched in and out. His red light flickered and grew dim. “No . . . data . . .”
He suddenly lurched forward, his body creaking and shuddering. She was frozen – helpless to move as he fell.
“No data . . . available . . .” his light flickered once more, burned bright then went black. “You are responsible for this, Shepard-Commander.”
His voice echoed in her brain – over and over.
* * *
The days passed and Shepard found herself following some semblance of a routine. Wake up, eat, report to the Normandy, return home, sleep. And all this she tried to do while pushing the thoughts that continued to haunt her from her mind. Somehow she pushed through – somehow she managed to not crack beneath the building pressure, but it was becoming too much. She needed to find some atonement for her actions. Then one day it all came crashing down – leaving her to founder in the wreckage of it all.
She happened to be in the AI Core, a place where she had often found herself returning to again and again. After her initial visit there, she had gone in search of Tali – drilled her for information, hoping to discover something that she had not thought of - something that would bring EDI back to them. But there was nothing – Tali had left no stone unturned. With the help of Liara and Glyph, they had dug through every possible scenario, attempted every possible procedure and had gone through the AI core circuitry time and time again. EDI was lost to them, Tali had replied gently and Shepard could still see the haunting glimmer of the quarian’s eyes beneath her purple face-plate. The entity on the Crucible had not lied . . . Shepard had told herself repeatedly, but she still clung to some hope that maybe they were wrong.
She stood staring at the wide, slim panel before her. She hunched down in front of it and pulled the cover open, revealing the intricate wiring beneath. EDI’s voice came to her then – a voice that seduced with it smoky undertones . . . that beckoned, and she was helpless to resist. “The Reapers delayed the executions of prisoners who informed them about other prisoners’ escape attempts,” she had said, regarding Shepard with curious eyes. “The more escape attempts reported, the longer a prisoner would live. But few of the prisoners would report,” she added, and disbelief had been clear in her voice. “Some fed misinformation to the Reapers, at the cost of their own lives, to help prisoners who were not even relatives or friends.”
Her questions had become more complex – requiring more complicated answers. Shades of grey interfered and it was no longer simple questions or simple answers. Had it been the conversion to Dr. Eva Core’s body that wrought such curiosity, or had EDI simply evolved during the time she had spent among them – coming into herself? Had the Normandy and its crew been a reflection? And somehow, Shepard knew it was the influence of the crew and their morals that had been the cause. Shepard had shaken her head, disturbed by the information EDI was relaying to her. The Reapers were ruthless, cold and calculating, to achieve their goal. It didn’t matter to them how many innocent lives were taken, as long as their mission was fulfilled. “It's not just about living until tomorrow,” she had quietly explained, her voice taking on a hard tone that was directed more to the war, or the Reapers than EDI. “Sometimes you take a stand,” she added more softly.
EDI had tilted her head to one side – a very human gesture, Shepard decided. “But the probability of success was near zero. And ultimately, they failed. No prisoners escaped.”
Shepard had narrowed her eyes – unsure of were EDI was going with this. “Are you saying submission is preferable to extinction?” “My primary function is to preserve and defend the . . . no,” she stopped, her eyes suddenly thoughtful behind her orange visor. “No, I disagree,” she had replied firmly. “Shepard. I'm going to alter my self-preservation code now.” Shepard couldn’t help but raise her eyebrows, a question on her lips. “Why?” “Because the Reapers are repulsive,” she had explained matter-of-factly. “They are devoted to nothing but self-perseveration. I am different,” her voice softened, reflecting. “When I think of Jeff, I think of the person that put his life in peril and freed me from a state of servitude. I would risk non-functionality for him. And my core programming should reflect that.”
“Sounds like you found a little humanity, EDI,” Shepard had replied, smiling. “Is it worth defending?” “To the death,” and her voice had been firm, her resolve unshaken. “Welcome to the crew, EDI.” Shepard turned her attention to the circuit board in front of her. Wires criss-crossed and overlapped each other – a complex maze of technology.
Where did she even attempt to start? she thought with a sinking feeling and she sat back on her heels, burying her face into her hands.
"Oh, EDI,” she murmured quietly to the room at large. “I’m sorry.” She lifted her face and stared up at the steel beams supporting the ceiling above her. “I couldn’t save you . . . I’ve failed you . . .” She looked back to the panel and without thinking she suddenly thrust her hands amongst the wiring, pulling haphazardly at the blue, orange and yellow cables within it. They tangled in her hands, eliciting sparks as she tore heedlessly through them. She could no longer think straight – her only thought was to bring EDI back.
There had to be a way . . . there had to be a way . . . “Commander?” a voice sounded behind her, a scuffed footstep. Lost in her own anguish, along with the noise she was making – sobs choking her throat as she focused on the circuitry before her, she failed to hear the door open. Slowly, she lifted her head and her dark eyes clashed with the light blue of Joker’s. She dropped her gaze. Now it would come, she thought in despair, now she would see the hate in Joker’s eyes – the bitter revulsion. He came further into the room and stopped a few feet away from where she sat on the floor. “What are you doing?”
She shook her head, brushed at her cheeks. “I thought . . .” she choked, her voice suddenly dry. “I thought . . .” she tried again, and failed. Understanding flashed across his face. “You thought maybe we had missed something. That maybe there is a way to bring her back,” he finished for her quietly. Shepard looked over to him them – seeking his eyes beneath the shadowy brim of his baseball cap. How he must have suffered – still suffered . . . “I have to find a way, Joker,” she paused. “It’s my fault she’s dead,” she finally revealed. She expected to hear him scream at her – rush at her with hated, but she saw nothing in his eyes, only a deep, aching sadness. “There was no way you could have known,” he slowly allowed.
She shook her head roughly, “No!” she denied, and she could no longer hold back her silence – the words rushed from her, tumbled from her lips. “I was given . . . choices . . . I chose organics – I killed the geth,” she sobbed out and tears spilled unchecked down her face. “I killed EDI.” Joker’s eyes widened perceptively beneath the brim of his cap, and he was silent for a long time as he watched his commander break down before him. “You knew she would die and you still made your decision?” he repeated, disbelief was etched clear in his voice. Shepard dropped her eyes, no longer able to look at him. The censure she had feared that she would see there was slowly coming into focus. “I’m sorry, Joker,” she choked out. “I failed her . . .” She heard his scuffed step and she flinched, half-expecting to see him hovering over her, but when she looked up she saw him turn his back to her – leaving her alone in the room. She stumbled to her feet, reached for him. “Joker,” she beseeched him, her voice pained and raw. “Joker . . . I’m sorry,” she said lamely. He didn’t bother to look at her. He kept moving forward, his steps firm as he walked away from his commander. Shepard finally managed to reach him, raised one hand to touch his arm as he stepped into the med-bay. Dr. Chakwas looked up in alarm as they passed. Joker spun around, shaking her hand off roughly. His eyes burned through her and Shepard gasped at the revulsion she saw within those dark depths. “Don’t touch me!” he cried angrily. “It’s because of you that she’s dead! I’ll never see her – or hear her voice again because of you!” He turned around again and stumbled out of the room. Shepard saw the stiffening of his spine as he left. She sank to the floor in misery. Tears streaked her face as she gave herself over to the painful memories – the events that she had keep bottled inside her for the past five months. Her heart felt like it was breaking, but she didn’t care. All she could see was the bitter hatred in Joker’s eyes. Would he ever forgive her? Would she ever forgive herself?
Dr. Chakwas knelt in front of her commander, but Shepard was oblivious to the tender hands that comforted her or of the concerned green eyes that watched her quietly. Gentle hands took her then. Familiar hands reached out to touch her face – smooth back her hair. After a long time she finally looked up. Pale blue eyes bored into hers – Garrus.
He helped her to her feet and he led her out of the room and over to the elevator. She never spoke – neither did he. She didn’t know where he planned to take her – her cabin, probably, she thought dejectedly, but he stopped the elevator at the CIC and stepped out. She followed quietly behind him as he led her off of the Normandy and to his sky car. Moments later they were zipping through the air, coming to stop at their apartment.
She never paid attention to her surrounding – her thoughts still whirling with her encounter with Joker – and it came as a surprise when she found herself standing before the fireplace in her living room. She stared down at the dancing flames and felt the heat emanate to touch her suddenly chilled skin. She shivered despite the heat in the room, but didn’t move from where she stood. She felt drained – exhausted. Memories of the final moments aboard the Crucible washed over her mercilessly. Anderson stood in front of her – a pistol in his hand. The vision replayed itself in her mind’s eye – shots fired, and each step he took – each pull of the trigger - and the Reapers were steadily and effectively weakened. “ . . . I’m proud of you, child . . .” The boy from Earth flashed before her. Somehow he had made it to the Crucible – followed her there. What was he? Machine? Organic? Reaper? She didn’t know anymore. His voice came to her again, warning her. “Others will be destroyed . . . The Crucible will not discriminate. All synthetics will be targeted. Even you are partly synthetic.” So why was she alive? What had she done to make herself immune? Garrus moved before her. He bent his head, watching her face closely, seeing the remnants of tears that had streaked her cheeks and soaked her eyelashes. He remained silent, not touching her, waiting for her to open up to him. She stayed like that for a long time, her eyes staring through him - past him - lost in her thoughts. “How?” she murmured after a long time, and her voice was so quiet that he had to strain to hear her words. “How did I survive?” Garrus narrowed his eyes and a muscle twitched along one mandible. The firelight illuminated the deep blue of his clan tattoos. “We don’t know,” he revealed. “The Alliance sent up teams almost immediately after . . . we heard that you were found amongst the rubble . . .” his voice trailed away. “Joker couldn’t get us back – the blast had forced us to crash-land on a small planet in the Horsehead Nebula,” he reached out to touch her shoulder and his fingers trailed down her arm to her hand, leaving a warm, tingling feeling behind. He raised his eyes back to hers. “I thought you were dead . . . we all did,” he shook his head against the memories that assailed him. “But when we received transmissions about your survival . . .” “I thought I was dead,” she whispered. “I never should have survived . . . I was supposed to die too, Garrus.” His mouth tightened. “No. That’s not true.” “But it is!” she stepped back and his hand fell away. “He told me I was synthetic. He told me I would die too, but I didn’t!” she cried angrily and stared beseechingly into Garrus’ eyes. She saw herself reflected in them – her fear and uncertainty. “Why?” He reached out and grabbed her upper arms, pulling her close to him. “Who?” he demanded and his voice was strained. She fought against his hold, but he was too strong and she was held easily within his grasp.
“Who, Shepard?” and his voice was all authority, demanding answers – the C-Sec cop and turian soldier returning. His blue eyes glinted in the light – determined. “I am not going anywhere, and I am not going to lose you again so you may as well start telling me what is going on inside that head of yours.” She went limp in his arms and she dropped her head against his chest, surrendering to him. Her hair fell forward, curtaining her face. He raised one hand and gently tucked it behind her ear. “There was a boy on Earth,” she said quietly. “I couldn’t save him . . .” she halted, the words choking her voice. “He was there – on the Crucible, but it wasn’t him – it was something else,” she tried to explain. “I was given choices . . . I . . .” “You couldn’t have known.” Shepard felt his mandible move above her head, against her hair. “But I did, Garrus.” He held her at arm’s length and stared firmly into her eyes. “Listen to me. You did what you had to. No one is to blame here,” he comforted her gently. Her eyes were pained – bright with unshed tears as she looked up into the face of the man she loved. “I . . . I did what I wanted to,” she allowed softly. “I didn’t want to die . . . I didn’t want to lose you . . .” “You’re not going to lose me,” and his voice was firm, deep, willing her to believe him. “But now Joker hates me,” she finally said and the sound was wrenched from her throat. “And I don’t blame him.” His blue eyes softened. “He’s just hurting right now,” he reasoned. “He’s needs time, but he’ll come around.” “Time,” she echoed. But how much?
* * *
She sat in the middle of her bed; her back resting against the downy pillows as she scanned through the recent debriefing Hackett forwarded to her on her data pad. The soft blue glow from the floor-to-ceiling fish tank gently illuminated the room, lending a tranquil aura to her surroundings – comforting her despite the recent events. The Reapers’ attack on Earth – the young boy dying – Kaidan’s hospitalization at Huerta Memorial – and now Cerberus’ involvement in the whole messy business.
She sighed heavily and uncrossed her legs, stretching them out before her. She tossed the data pad to one side and rested her head back on the pillows. She was quietly contemplating the ceiling, watching the ripples created by the water in the fish tank dance over the steel expanse, when she head the door to her cabin silently whoosh open. Dropping her eyes to the entryway, she smiled widely as Garrus stepped through.
“I wasn’t sure if you’d come,” she said honestly as she pushed herself back up off the pillows. He came further into the room. She noticed that he had shed his blue and silver body armor in favor of a black and white outfit. The coat fit him snugly across his broad chest and shoulders, hugging the sinewy strength of his arms, clasping diagonally at his right shoulder with three grey buttons. His long, lean legs were gently encased in black and she shivered in anticipation as he grinned knowingly at her. She stared up at him as he stepped closer to the bed, watching his blue eyes all the while and seeing the faint display playing over the blue and silver lens of his visor. “I’ve got an actual job now, remember? Expert Reaper Advisor,” he retuned, grinning over at her. “I came as soon as I could. Besides, I got the distinct impression that there would be hell to pay if I failed to put in an appearance,” he joked. She licked her suddenly dry lips. “And you would have been right,” she agreed softly.
She still wasn’t used to seeing him on board – in fact, she wasn’t used to seeing him at all as she had been grounded on Earth for the past six months. And during all that time, while she was glad to be on her home planet, she missed him during the long nights and dreamed of the day when she would be able to see him again.
And now he was here.
“I was afraid that you had forgotten where I slept,” she teased playfully.
He sat down on the edge of the bed and leaned over her, bracing his arms on either side of her. His weight on the bed forced her closer to his lean frame and she felt heat emanate from his body, warming her through her black and red N7 sweater and pants. She leaned back and felt the pillows press softly against her back.
Pale blue eyes gazed intently into hers. “Never,” he whispered.
Her throat had gone suddenly dry at his nearness. She reached up and caressed his injured cheek – trailed her fingers lovingly over the scars that marred the dark blue tattoos there. “I missed you, Garrus,” she murmured.
He closed his eyes, leaning into her hand. “I’ve missed you, too.”
“So what are you going to do about it?” she impishly returned and then gasped as he reached out and pressed her back onto the mattress, his body molding firmly to hers. She laughed up at him, but the sound was abruptly cut off as he lowered his mouth to hers . . .
* * *
It was late. Shepard blinked as she tried to adjust her eyes to the darkness, the dream slowly fading from her memory. A faint light spilled into the bedroom, falling across the white covers from the hallway. Slowly, she shifted her weight to the side of the bed and she glanced over at Garrus sleeping peacefully next her. A smile touched her lips as she gazed down at him and she had to resist the urge to reach out and touch him. Placing her bare feet on the cool floor, she stood up and pulled her discarded sweater over her head before she quietly padded out of the bedroom. She made her way down the stairs into the living area. The black piano across the room beckoned her – the orange, yellow, green and pink neon signs from outside skimming over the glossy top. She never bothered to use the beautifully designed instrument – in fact, the only time she had ever heard it played had been from Liara’s fingertips. That day seemed so long ago now – a distant memory . . . A flash from outside the wide windows - a passing sky car – briefly illuminated the picture frame that sat on top of the sleek instrument. Her eyes were drawn inexorably to it and she couldn’t help picking it up – her fingers delicately tracing over the dark wood frame and the smiling faces beneath the glass. EDI’s face captured her gaze, and her eyes seemed to stare up at her – somehow knowing. “The Reapers have destroyed thousands of civilizations. But they have never destroyed ours. Nor will they.”
EDI’s voice came to her – silent and soft with a determination that would not be denied. Shepard remembered her reply . . . “I couldn't have put it better myself.” EDI had spoken again – her voice reaching out to grab a hold of Shepard before she could turn away. There was an edge of urgency in her voice, and Shepard knew that whatever EDI was about to tell her held great meaning to her. She had turned back, a smile on her face.
“Shepard, there is something I want you to know. The Illusive Man ordered my creation years ago, Jeff was the one who allowed me to think for myself. But only now do I feel alive,” she had paused and a pregnant silence had hung between them. “That is your influence . . .”
Shepard reverently placed the picture back down. She wiped at her damp eyes as another memory assailed her.
It had been after one of their many missions aboard the Normandy and Shepard had been standing in front of the galaxy map, carefully plotting their next course of action when EDI had carefully approached her. The CIC had been empty, devoid of all activity as it had been late at night – a night much like this, she reflected.
“Shepard,” EDI had intoned in that soft, dusky voice of hers. “I was wondering if I may speak with you?”
Shepard had glanced up from her perusal of the map and shifted her attention to her crew mate. She stepped down off of the platform and leaned against the desk on which her terminal sat, crossing her arms over her chest. “Of course, EDI. What would you like to know?”
EDI shook her head and the overhead lights had bounced off the smooth silver and black curves of her form. There was a hint of something in her eyes behind the orange visor and Shepard had been at a loss as to what that emotion was.
“Should the Normandy be captured by the Reapers, my code will be re-written like that of the indoctrinated – like the heretics Legion mentioned,” she had explained.
Shepard had shaken her head. “That may be true, but I will not let that happen, EDI.”
EDI had tilted her head to one side, and she stared over at her commander – her eyes uncannily certain. “You may not be given a choice in the matter,” she replied matter-of-factly.
Shepard had dropped her eyes, knowing full well EDI spoke the truth. Nothing was ever certain in times of war – choices were ripped from people, often leaving them to founder in the turmoil of it all.
“I want you to know that I would rather die than become joined with the Reapers. They are repulsive – they take away the ability to think for ones’ self. That goes against everything that I have assessed by watching the Normandy. You taught me that I am able to think freely for myself – to have that taken away . . . I couldn’t bear it,” she had finished softly. And when she looked over at Shepard, there was firmness in her eyes – a resolve. “That is worth non-functionality . . .” “Shepard?” Shepard turned then – startled at the deep, male voice spoken behind her. She whirled around and came face to face with Garrus. Light from outside the windows slanted over him – leaving him partly in shadow. “What are you doing up?” he asked and his eyes narrowed. She saw the concern reflected in their blue depths. “I’m sorry,” she quickly apologized. “I didn’t mean to wake you.” He held out one hand to her, silently beckoning her to return to him. “It’s all right,” he replied gently. “Come back to bed.” She moved across the room and slipped her hand into his. His fingers curled around hers and he pulled her close to him. He buried his face into her soft cloud of hair, inhaling her scent. “I’m glad you’re here,” she said into his neck. She felt his chest rise in a deep sigh beneath her cheek. “Is there something you want to talk about?” she heard the concern in his voice – recognized the strain present in his eyes and around his mouth even without looking. He still worried about her, she knew. “I’m okay,” she said bravely and wrapped her arms about his lean waist, hugging him closer to her body. “Just thinking old memories,” she added quietly. He raised one hand and ran it over the back of her head to the base of her spine. “Anything in particular?” She shrugged against him. “Mostly EDI,” she revealed. “Before then I had a dream of when you first came to me after Menae.” He tilted her chin up and gazed tenderly into her eyes, remembering the time also. His fingers caressed her jawline, teased the delicate flesh behind her ear. “Anything good?” and he smiled wickedly down at her, a small grin curving his mouth. She leaned up on her toes to press a kiss against that wonderful mouth. “Always.” But as she led him back up the stairs to their room, she couldn’t help thinking of the conversation she had had with EDI.
“ . . . that is worth non-functionality . . .” Was it?
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Post by wynterrogue on May 14, 2013 4:30:33 GMT 1
Chapter 6 - Reconciliation
Days passed into weeks until a full two months had gone by. The Normandy had officially been declared free for space-flight as well as Hackett’s formal acknowledgement of Shepard’s return to active duty. Between the Council and the Alliance, Shepard had her hands full – transporting much needed items such as food and medical supplies to those who needed it – often traveling to various species’ home worlds. As a result, the Normandy had docked at Palavan, Thessia, Tuchunka, as well as Rannoch. In some ways it felt like old times, but things had changed and in other ways it was anything but.
The Mass Relays had not been completely destroyed and some were even repaired due in part to the brilliant minds of the Asari and Salarians, making space travel once again possible for those who had been stranded after the attack. For the first time in centuries the galaxy was at peace and everyone was striving to bring back some sense of normalcy – returning their worlds to what they were before the Reapers attacked. And to help with bringing their galaxy back to order the Council Officials had organized a fundraising gala –partly to celebrate a new beginning and to remember the many lives that were lost during the conflict. As a tribute to the Normandy and its crew, a statue of the large frigate was to be erected in the Presidium Commons and similar models were commissioned to be placed on Earth, Palavan and Tuchunka. Shepard stood once again on the bridge, watching the Citadel docks come into view as the Normandy pulled up alongside. The massive docking clamps slowly extended and she could feel the subtle shift as they latched on, holding the Normandy in place. She turned to leave the bridge, satisfied with the smooth docking procedure – then again, there was no need for her to supervise the Normandy’s new pilot. He had proven himself time and again to be more than capable – maybe it was that she missed Joker, the years they had spent together – their friendship - that made her uneasy.
He had requested a leave of absence a few days after their encounter in the AI Core. He had cited family matters and the Alliance had granted permission. Shepard knew that he had lost family in Tiptree and that he needed time to grieve, but she also knew that that hadn’t been the only reason for his sudden departure. Stepping off the Normandy, she came into the Citadel docking bay and passed by the long, wide windows that overlooked the many bays and holding areas. She watched in silence as ships – frigates and private cruisers – passed by. She placed her hands on the railing and leaned into it. She had stood here many times in the past, silently contemplating each next mission – never knowing if she would ever stand here again. Now, as she stared out on the Normandy, seeing the artificial light reflect off the silver and black sleek contours, she took pride in the blue Alliance emblem emblazoned on its side. She had taken the pills Dr. Michel had prescribed, pushed on through each day and slowly it became easier. She once again slept at night with no nightmares to plague her, and she knew that eventually things would begin to get better, but all that was needed was time. Time to heal the hurt – time to accept the decision she had made on the Crucible months ago and come to terms with it. She didn’t want to retire with doubt still haunting her – didn’t want her days on the Normandy to be numbered by her uncertainty. When she retired, she wanted it to be on her terms. A soft footstep beside her brought her back to the present. Shepard turned her head and automatically smiled over at Tali. The small quarian stopped beside her and leaned one hip against the railing. Crossing her arms over her chest she tipped her head to one side. “You plan on going to that big party tonight, Shepard?” “I’m told it would be in bad form if I didn’t,” she replied smoothly, and the corner of her mouth tilted in a small smile. “Admiral Hackett has informed me that it would do good to have the citizens see me there,” she shrugged and then murmured, “Politics.” “Keelah,” Tali agreed whole-heartedly. “I know what you mean.” The two exchanged knowing glances before they were smoothly interrupted by Garrus. Shepard smiled widely over at him as he stepped closer to her.
“I was thinking we could try out a new little restaurant on the Silversun Strip before we head to the apartment,” he said in that deep voice of his that never failed to melt her heart.
“Oh?” she asked and raised one slender brow. “I might be persuaded.”
“Really?” and she could hear the smile in his voice. “I had better not tell you the name of it then,” he added mischievously.
Shepard frowned. “Why not?”
He made a small noise in the back of his throat. “How about I tell you when we get there?” he hedged.
“I think you had better tell me now, Garrus,” she threatened playfully.
He smirked then. “You remember that sushi restaurant you broke the floor of some time back?”
“Ryuusei?” her eyes widened in surprise. “You can’t be serious. I don’t even think they’ll let me near the place again after what happened last time!”
“I’m sure I can convince them. Besides, they have great food and I’ve finally got us a reservation,” his grin was full blown now.
Shepard sent him a teasing glare. “Just so long as you don’t make any jokes about what happened.”
His eyes smiled down at her and he curved one arm about her waist as they walked away from the docking bay. “I promise.” Shepard shook her head. Some things never change, and that was a good thing.
* * *
Two weeks later Shepard stood in the Presidium Commons overlooking the calm blue lake that was often the focal point of the Citadel. It was still early in the morning on Citadel Time; most people were still asleep in their beds. The commons were quiet – only a few people milled about as they waited for their favorite shops to open, while others took the opportunity to jog around the vast lake or walk their dogs before the crowds began to gather for the start of another busy day on the Citadel. She took a deep breath, feeling the recycled air pass gently through her lungs. It wasn’t the air she was used to on Earth, but it was clean and fresh and free from soot and ash. Around her she could smell fresh cut grass and the deep perfume from the red and purple exotic flowers that bloomed nearby, coloring the Presidium in brilliant splashes. How different it was here since she had first stepped foot on the Citadel five years ago. Then, she had shared the experience with Ashley and Kaidan. It was here were she had first met Garrus and Wrex - where she had become a Spectre. So much had happened since then – changed. How young they had all been then. Time and experience had forged them into the people they were now – taught them the meaning of friendship – and the pain of loss . . . She was an old soldier now. She remembered her conversation with Hackett a few days ago – he had offered her a position as Admiral, and on the heels of that came the Council’s recommendation as Human Ambassador. She had turned them both down. In fact, the more she thought about it the more she was looking forward to retirement – not anytime soon, but somewhere in the near future. The galaxy still needed healing, and she still wanted to aid in its reconstruction and help those who needed it most. The Normandy was an excellent ship for that sort of work. A small movement to her right caught her attention. Without looking around, she knew who it was. The time they had spent together had made her more attuned to him. She smiled softly as he stepped up beside her and wrapped one arm about her waist. She leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder. He was back in his silver and blue armor and the smooth metal felt cool against her cheek. “I thought I might find you here,” Garrus said in his familiar, deep voice. “The Normandy is just finishing loading up. We’ll be ready to leave soon.” Shepard sighed wistfully. “I like it here. It’s so quiet this time of day,” she replied softly. “I’m going to miss it here.” Garrus made a small sound, agreeing with her. “We’ll be back before you know it.” He had never thought that he would enjoy spending time on the Citadel, and if someone had told him so five years ago, he would have laughed them right off the station. Maybe it was because he had put his days of C-Sec behind him – or maybe it was because of the woman nestled against his side that had changed his mind. In truth, he would be happy anywhere where Shepard was. They were silent for a long time as they both looked across the still lake. It was almost like a sheet of glass, reflecting the many tiers of the Presidium on its glossy surface. “What are you thinking?” he asked into the quiet. He had seen the far-off look that had come into her eyes and knew she had something on her mind. She turned then and wrapped her arms about his neck, pressed her body lightly against his. She smiled affectionately up at him. “I was just thinking how much I’m looking forward to relaxing on that beach you mentioned, and raising a couple kids of our own.” His blue eyes darkened as he stared down at her. “Retirement?” he asked softly. “You think you’re ready for civilian life?” She lifted one shoulder in a small shrug. “Not today,” she said, “but one day soon.” She smiled then, “As long as you don’t think you’ll become too bored with living with me every day.” His arms came around her suddenly and he held her closer to him, never breaking eye contact. She felt the length of his body against her own – felt the sleek contours of his armor press into the casual clothing covering her slender form as she was lifted up against him. “Somehow,” he mused thoughtfully, and Shepard could see a hint of a grin playing about his mouth, “I don’t think life will ever be boring with you in it!” She reached up and placed her mouth against his. “I love you, Garrus Vakarian.” He groaned softly against her lips. “I love you, Commander Shepard.” They stayed that way for a while longer, their bodies fitted perfectly together as they shared the early morning silence. How far they had come since those early days, Shepard reflected. It was Garrus who eventually broke the silence. “If we don’t get to the Normandy soon they might be obliged to send out a search party,” he grinned ruefully. Shepard sighed heavily, but nodded. “Okay.” The crowds were starting to gather in the commons as they made their way to the docks, and maybe it was only her imagination, or maybe a trick of light, but she thought she saw a familiar baseball cap in the slowly accumulating crowd. And each time she looked back to make sure, it was gone. She frowned, shaking her head. Garrus had noticed her subtle motions. “Do you see something?” he asked, astute as ever. Shepard looked once more behind her, ascertaining for herself that what she may have seen wasn’t really there. “No,” she replied firmly. But a niggling doubt remained. Surely Hackett would have informed her if Joker had returned to duty, wouldn’t he? As they approached the Normandy’s docking bay, Shepard could see the familiar faces of Vega and Cortez as they playfully bantered with each other while loading supplies onto the Normandy. She knew Tali and Liara would already be on board along with Dr. Chakwas and Samantha Traynor. Surprisingly, Javik had agreed to stay on as well – claiming the want to see the rest of the galaxy, and of course, Kaidan would be there too.
But she didn’t expect to see one person – a slightly bowed form with a frayed, familiar baseball cap that had seen better days. She wasn’t aware that she had halted – wasn’t aware of the fingernails she had dug into Garrus’ hand as they neared the large frigate.
Garrus had noticed Joker the same time Shepard had, and he placed one hand over hers – silently reassuring her. Shepard took a deep, steadying breath and braced her spine. But the hand that Garrus held trembled and her mind was suddenly a dizzying whirlwind of thoughts – emotions. What could she say that she hadn’t said already? How would he react? It was a confrontation that scared the hell out of her, and if it hadn’t been for Garrus’ solid presence beside her, she feared she would have turned tail and fled.
She was uncomfortable and her throat was dry – devoid of all use as they came nearer.
Joker turned to face them. He straightened his back and stared across the distance that separated Shepard and himself. His eyes reflected uncertainty, and the faint grin that tipped his mouth revealed his weariness.
“Commander,” he finally said, breaking the silence that loomed between them, and Shepard heard the familiar tone that underlined it – a sort of peace offering.
“Hello, Joker,” and she was surprised at how her voice sounded – calm and confident, completely lacking any of the anxiety she felt.
He gestured toward the Normandy with a nod of his head. “I’ve missed her.”
“She misses you, too,” Shepard replied softly.
Joker swung his head around and stared at her with blue eyes, deep and mysterious. And Shepard knew that he saw the hints of weariness that lined her face, the subtle anxiety that was present in her own dark eyes. To anyone else, they wouldn’t have noticed the small differences, but he had worked and stood beside her for years – their friendship and camaraderie had allowed him to see her exhaustion, because it mirrored his own.
A look passed over his face and he snapped off a smart salute. “Permission to come aboard, Commander?”
She felt something seep into her bones – something foreign.
Relief.
She smiled widely and nodded once. “Permission granted, Flight Lieutenant.”
He returned the smile and headed into the ship – the Normandy once again his to fly.
As Shepard followed her crew mates into the softly lit interior of the CIC, she couldn’t help but think on EDI and Legion. Although this time it was without guilt or sadness – instead she felt a quiet calm steal over her – a peacefulness.
“What is the purpose of synthetic life?”
“It’s not that different from organic life.”
Shepard could almost feel her presence now – soothing and free from torment. Her eyes were soft behind her orange visor.
“The Illusive Man ordered my creation years ago. Jeff was the one who allowed me to think for myself. But only now do I feel alive. That is your influence, Shepard.”
Shepard slowly made her way past the many monitors that lined either side of the CIC. She could almost feel Legion beside her – his quiet presence falling into step with each of hers. Blue lights glowed gently from him.
“Shepard-Commander . . . You were the first organic to openly cooperate with the geth since the end of the Morning War.”
His voice came to her now – free from its condemning tones. She felt comfort where before she had felt fear and guilt. She had been responsible for their destruction, but he had held no blame – and never had. She knew that now . . .
“You proved that organics could live alongside synthetics without fear or threat of war. You gave us the chance to prove that we are not the monsters our Creators had first believed us to be.”
His blue lights grew brighter – remaining steadfast and sure.
“Your decision could not have been made without some sacrifice. It is due in large part to your efforts that we will now be remembered for our sacrifice and not the war with our Creators. Without your help, we would not have mattered – nor truly lived.”
Reaching the galaxy map, Shepard punched it up. Samantha Traynor looked up from her terminal as she passed by and smiled broadly.
“Welcome back, Commander,” she said, smartly saluting.
“Traynor,” she replied in her cool, professional voice. For the first time in months she felt at peace – felt something akin to hope as she stood staring at the star system displayed before her. Garrus stepped up behind her. He bent his head and she felt his warm breath against her hair. She couldn’t help the small, delicious shiver that raced down her spine.
“Your cabin, later?” he whispered, and the lopsided grin he sent her made her blood pump heavily through her veins. She would always love her battle-scarred turian.
“Definitely,” she whispered back. She felt his mouth brush her cheek and then he was gone. Smiling secretly, she turned back to the map before her.
“Joker,” she intoned in her most authoritative voice. Commander Shepard was back - she had returned from the dark place that had haunted her for the past five months. She felt hope blossom in her chest – hope for a new beginning. “Set a course for Earth,” she ordered smoothly.
“Aye aye, Commander!”
“I’m proud of you, child.”
A soft voice – Anderson’s voice - washed over her. She closed her eyes and thought fondly of him. “Thank you,” she whispered quietly, too quietly for Samantha to hear. Those she had lost – had felt personally responsible for - came to her then – as if they too wished to say farewell.
A vision of Mordin rose in her mind – his sagely demeanor offered comfort as he smiled warmly, and even then she knew the hint of mystery that forever lurked behind his wizened eyes. Thane bowed low – his grace and integrity flowed from him, lending to hers.
“May the Goddess Kalahira guide you . . .”
And Ashley – her strength and honesty bared to all in her knowing eyes. A true soldier.
She would miss them, but they would never be truly lost to her. She was the woman she was today because of them – because of her crew.
She was Commander Shepard. A legend.
It was a new beginning – one to be shared by all.
End.
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