0915 LCDR Williams: Are you coming?
The Commander squeezed her eyes shut tightly as the ping of her omni-tool sounded, alerting her to a new message. She could already guess who it was from. With a huff of defiance, she turned onto her back and yanked the sheets up to her chin, refusing to verify the sender's identity.
0918 LCDR Williams: Please, Lil. I need you to be there.
At the sound of yet another ping, Shepard released a breath she hadn't known she was holding and reluctantly opened her eyes. Her makeshift cabin in Starboard Observation was dark, thanks to the closed shutters lining the wall, though she knew it must be light outside. She lifted her arm up in front of her face and opened her messages, the glowing orange omni-tool illuminating her face and causing her to squint at the sudden brightness.
The Normandy had been planet side for two days after crash-landing during the final push against the Reapers. It had been two days since the Crucible exploded with Greg inside of it, and two days since any member of the crew had seen the Commander outside of her quarters.
She hadn't felt the need to leave. This wasn't her ship, her crew, or her responsibility… It was before, once, when it had been a Cerberus ship, and saving humanity had been her task. Before the Reapers attacked, before she turned herself in to the Alliance, before the wind was taken out of her sails. Now it was Greg's ship, and Greg's crew, and she'd be damned if she was going to step forward and inherit his mess.
The Omega-4 relay had left her a shell of the woman she'd been before, and she was grateful for the solitude being placed under house arrest demanded. It was during this time that her superiors decided she was no longer mentally fit for active combat. But she was still smart as a whip and a damn good engineer, so when the Reapers swarmed the galaxy like a horde of ants at a picnic, she was commissioned to assist in constructing the Crucible. And the fate of life as everyone knew it was placed back in Greg's overly-capable hands.
He raced from planet to planet uniting the various species and resolving their idiotic disputes, like the Universe's own knight in shining armor. He was a beacon of hope not only for the humans, but for all races. And just like that, Lillian was back to being the younger, less impressive sibling. Who could even care about her annihilation of the Collectors when Greg was single-handedly recruiting the galaxy's largest army to annihilate the Reapers? She understood it, but it still had her grinding her teeth whenever she thought about it.
After the Normandy's surprise landing, Williams didn't even wait a day to begin funeral preparations for Greg… what few preparations could be made without an actual corpse, or one-hundred percent certainty that there even was one. Shepard couldn't blame her for wanting to get it over with as soon as possible, but the incessant messages she'd been receiving were another story. The Commander wasn't known for her patience.
She stared into the blackness for a few minutes before she received another message, prompting her to sit up and swing her legs over the edge of the bed. Soreness was prevalent in most of her body, the result of being inactive for only a couple of days. Her joints all but creaked as she uncurled and stretched out. It felt like her muscles had been replaced by lead and it was all she could do to keep herself from falling back onto the mattress and burying her head under the pillows.
Surviving a war of such caliber should be a relief. Everyone had watched the Crucible erupt with a neon green beam of light. Her brother had obviously done what he'd set out to do, but whether or not it had destroyed the Reapers still remained to be seen. The relief she should be experiencing over the galaxy's supposed victory was cancelled out by a feeling of insurmountable anxiety. Part of her wished she had been the one to blow up inside of the Crucible, or better yet, the Collector base. She didn't even have the strength to get out of bed, let alone help rebuild civilization.
0925 LT Vega: Come on, Lola. You know this is important.
0926 LT Vega: Do it for Ash.
She used to do things for people, didn't she? She was a goddamn well of selflessness. Hadn't she done enough… for her brother, for the crew, for the Council, for all of mankind? Did she really have to go downstairs and pretend that she wasn't bitter or disappointed to get her goddamn omni-tool to stop beeping at her?
The frown on her face was deepening by the second as she stood up and stumbled over to her closet. She was only wearing a tank top and panties now, and she wasn't planning to improve upon it much. Pants and boots would suffice. Her short dark hair could remain uncombed, forced into a submissive bun on the top of her head with rebellious strands hanging all around her face. It was a funeral, not a beauty pageant.
She glared down at her omni-tool as she punched a reply to Williams and Vega into the holographic keypad, marching towards her cabin door with newfound, annoyance-fueled confidence.
0933 CDR SHEPARD: I'm coming.
When the door opened, she was met by numerous sets of eyes at the end of the hallway where a morose gathering of individuals were looking over the names adorning the memorial wall opposite the elevator. A few of her comrades silently nodded in greeting, and more than a few crewmen saluted her as she approached the crowd, nearly making her laugh. She sure as hell didn't feel like a Commander.
"Shep… ah… Lill…" Ashley muttered, choking on Shepard's last name and looking down. Everyone knew the reason for the outspoken Lieutenant Commander's sudden inability to speak, and James reached out and clapped a comforting hand on her shoulder. She collapsed against him, her sturdy frame buckling under the weight of the loss she was feeling. She looked fragile and small. Emotional and physical exhaustion was evident on her face.
Ashley Williams was Greg's only reckless decision. The Alliance was clear in its rules against fraternization and he had put a lot at risk by pursuing her on the old SR-1. He'd taken a liking to her instantly. What first began as a mutual respect for each other's abilities turned into an honest friendship that he'd eventually become hell-bent on turning into something more. Perhaps the right military officials never found out about their relationship, or perhaps Greg's reputation made them untouchable… Whatever it was, they'd managed to stay together for three years. Before the Reaper attack, Greg had frequently talked about wanting to marry her – when the time was right. Unfortunately his time had run out.
Just as Shep opened her mouth to say something semi-comforting, she was cut off by a familiar voice across the room.
"Here, Shepard…" Tali wove through the bodies to get to her former Commander, clutching something in her gloved fingers. Something long, rectangular, and flat. Shep knew what it was before it was offered to her and she didn't want to accept it. No, no, no. Anyone else on the ship would be better suited for this. She didn't think she should even be at the memorial, let alone orchestrating it!
Sensing the Commander's hesitation, Tali sighed. "You have to do this. He was your brother," she reminded quietly. When Shepard still refused to take the plate, Tali reached out with one of her hands and took hold of one of Shepard's, forcefully opening it. She quickly placed the item in her hand and curled her fingers around it before taking a step back to ensure that she couldn't try to give it back. Hopefully she wouldn't throw it, or attempt to break it, or injure anyone with it… Tali was wringing her hands imagining all of the possibilities.
The Quarian was soon relieved, and a little bit surprised, to see that instead of trying to get rid of it, Shepard merely looked down at the name plate in her hand.
Admiral Greg Shepard
A hard knot swelled in her throat as she ran her fingers over the lettering. Part of her wanted to laugh, and part of her wanted to cry. She had never been close with her brother, and a tiny piece of her would always feel sad about that. It wasn't possible for them to be friends in this life. Maybe in an alternate universe where they were both normal children, in a normal family, without growing up under the scrutiny of military parents, constantly competing to be the better child, the favorite… Maybe they could have been friends in a life like that, but not this one.
She had lived her entire life in his shadow. She was good, but he was better. At everything. He'd received better grades, he'd been more popular among their peers, and after enlisting in the military, he'd excelled there too.
Yet here she was, alive... She was alive, and he was almost certainly dead. She couldn't fend off the sick sense of victory that washed over her as she considered that. She was no longer second best. She was the only Shepard left. She wasn't thinking about the fact that he died saving her, saving everyone. Every breath that entered her lungs was another notch in his belt of good deeds. He sacrificed himself to save the universe, because he was better. But that was irrelevant to her right now.
She blinked down at his name for a moment longer before looking up to find that all eyes were on her. Feeling awkward and unprepared, she squared her shoulders and cleared her throat. "Does anyone want to say anything?"
A strange noise escaped Ashley then, a sob maybe, Shepard couldn't tell. Everyone looked so expectant, waiting for her to say what they were all thinking, but she didn't know what they were thinking and she had nothing to say. After an uncomfortable silence passed, Liara took a step forward and spoke softly.
"Perhaps you should be the one to give the eulogy, Shepard. The only individual who knew him as well as you do is…" Liara's blue eyes swelled with sympathy as she glanced towards Ashley. "… Indisposed," she finished carefully, folding her hands behind her back.
Lillian nodded and cleared her throat, now certain that there was no way to get out of this. "Uh… Well… He was my brother…" she began, wincing at her own words. They sounded as hollow and contrived as they felt. "But he was more than that. He was a hero, too," she murmured, vision blurring as her eyes went out of focus. "He was a loyal partner," she continued, blinking and looking towards Ash. She swallowed hard, struggling to think of more to say. "He took a lot of pride in what he did, and he died doing it. We owe him our lives… and much more."
She sighed as she slowly approached the wall and reached up to place Greg's plate smack in the center, underneath one she hadn't seen yet: Anderson's.
"He'll be missed" she whispered, the words leaving a sour taste in her mouth that she knew shouldn't be there. "But he won't ever be forgotten."
Shepard didn't move away from the wall when she was finished speaking. She continued to scan over the names of her late companions, watching each of their deaths replay behind her eyes, the memories all too vivid.
Maybe out of respect for her, or Ashley, or Greg himself, everyone else remained quiet and that uncomfortable silence returned. Ashley could be heard crying against James, but there was no other sound as each crew member paid their wordless respects to the deceased before walking off to get on with their day. Shepard was thankful for Ashley's eventual departure, and vaguely aware of everyone else's. But when the hallway had cleared out, she could still feel a presence lingering behind her, one set of eyes still glued to the back of her head.
"You don't appear to be very upset about your brother's passing."
His voice was like melted butter on asphalt, and Lillian could practically feel his subharmonics rumble through her, even from across the room. She tore her eyes away from the wall of names and frowned down at the floor, unaware of her fists balling at her sides. "I'm not."
The distinct clinks of armor rustling could be heard behind her as he pushed away from the wall and unfolded his arms. "Do you think he's still alive?"
"No," she snapped, feeling her earlier irritation return full-force.
His demeanor was always so calm, and there was an air of confidence about him that Shepard had only ever recognized in one other person: Greg. Every conversation Shepard had ever had with the Turian had left her feeling inferior and ignorant. And his witty remarks drove her up the wall.
"If you're certain he's gone, why aren't you grieving?"
That question had her spinning around on her heels as the pressure that had been building in her throat became too much for her to keep contained. Her hazel eyes were narrowed into slits and her lips were set in a deep, unintentional scowl. "What do you want me to say, Garrus? That I'm racked with sorrow?"
Though she had raised her voice, his remained soft when he answered… and it was enraging to her. "Not at all." He shook his head and moved closer to her, well aware of the white knuckles at her sides. "It just seems odd to me – pretending to mourn someone you don't care for."
"Chock it up to familial obligation. Humans do shit like that, don't ask me why." He was getting closer and closer to her, his tall angular form looming over her significantly smaller 5'7" frame.
"Does your attendance today mean that you're ready to come out of hiding?" he asked, staring down at her. To avoid making contact with his piercing blue eyes, she chose to keep her gaze focused on his mandibles and the way they would occasionally flare while he spoke. The question was asked out of curiosity, but met with defensiveness, as per usual.
"I don't know. Maybe. Maybe not. What does it matter?"
The Turian shrugged a shoulder up and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "I'm wondering if you're going to take control of the ship and assume responsibility for the crew."
There it was. That condescending attitude that she couldn't stand. Due to limited experience working with Turians, she had a hard time discerning between normal conversation and lecturing. It all sounded the same to her, and set a fire in her belly.
"We might be stuck on this planet for some time, while the ship is being repaired. We'll need to scout out the surrounding area, set up a perimeter. Sort out food rations, assign someone to –" He was interrupted by a tightly-balled fist swinging at his face.
Luckily he was anticipating it, and he managed to duck out of the way and take hold of her wrist before her knuckles made contact with his jaw. She was momentarily baffled by the fact that he'd managed to evade her shot before she reared her left fist back and launched it at his side in retaliation. He managed to stop that one as well by catching her fist in his hand and holding it firmly. They stood like that for a long time, Shepard looking like she was going to explode while he held one of her hands in the air and the other between them.
Rage bubbled up inside of her like a volcano about to erupt, and she began thrashing in his hold, a guttural snarl resonating from her throat. "You've got a lot of fucking nerve, Garrus! Who the hell do you think you are?!" She began shrieking at him mercilessly while his mandibles drew against the sides of his face tightly. He allowed himself to be a soundboard for her verbal abuse while she continued to rant, watching her eyes bulge and an aggravated flush spread beneath her pale skin. He could feel her pulse in her wrist, fast and erratic.
After her voice eventually began to crack and weaken, he let out a soft sigh and pulled her hands to his chest. The gesture shut her up long enough for him to lean down and press his forehead to hers in an attempt to calm her down, and much to his surprise, it worked. Not another sound escaped her, and she stood there panting, staring at him incredulously.
When he thought she might not pulverize him, he released his hold on her wrists and brought his hands up to cup either side of her face. For a moment, he could swear he felt her relax at his touch, and her pulse even out.
But the calm didn't last long. As soon as his thumbs began caressing her cheeks, she went positively berserk. She shoved him away with all of the force in her body and delivered a series of furious jabs to his midsection before storming off in the direction of her quarters. Her space. Her solitude. Away from idiotic, know-it-all, touchy-feely fucking Turians.
She was glaring at him while she waited for the door to open, and continued to do so after it opened and she slipped inside. He was doubled over against the wall, staring at her as the Starboard Observation door slid shut and she disappeared behind it. The lock promptly turned red and it was then that his mandibles flared with a small smile. He slowly straightened up and turned in the direction of the Main Battery to begin working on the ship's reparations.
Shepard could have screamed when she was finally back in the safety of her cabin, but she simply locked the door, set her omni-tool to privacy mode, and threw herself down on the bed instead.
Her head was reeling, trying to make sense of what just happened in the hallway. As if being confronted wasn't irritating enough, he'd felt the need to grab her as well. He wasn't even fazed by her screaming in his face, he just stared down at her with all of the patience she lacked and then some. And then… the face touching… and…
She shut her eyes and groaned, mashing the balls of her hands into her eye sockets.
What an asshole. What an absolute asshole. Screwing with her after her brother's memorial, telling her to get her act together for the sake of everyone else.
Why don't you, Garrus? Why don't you assume responsibility, you jerk? You've clearly got all of the answers.
She thrashed onto her side and hugged a pillow close to her chest. She didn't want to be in charge of anyone but herself, and she could barely manage that anymore. It was selfish and immature, but she was only twenty-seven years old. Visions from earlier began to slowly invade her mind again and she cringed, shaking her head as if the action would propel the memories out of her head via her ears.
How many had died under her command? How many had she failed? How many would still be around today if Greg had been their leader instead of her? There was a reason she was assigned to the Crucible. She wasn't fit to be a leader anymore… Maybe she never had been. Too many had lost their lives because of her… She could still see their faces; still feel them slipping away…
Garrus had been there with her, as a Spectre and as a Cerberus operative. He'd watched their squadmates die from right beside her. He'd watched her slowly come apart at the seams. And then he had the nerve to suggest that she take control again…
She was no more fit to command the Normandy than a rabid varren.
She fought against tightness in her chest that implied she needed to cry and proceeded to inhale and exhale slowly until she felt mellow enough to drift in and out of consciousness. She finally fell asleep thinking about that leathery grey forehead pressed against hers.
A/N - Alriiiiight! First of all, hello! If you've read down to this point, then thank you! I've never attempted to write fanfic before, but this idea recently popped into my head and I just had to give it a go. I know there are things that could be improved in this chapter, but I was eager to put it out there and see what people think. I love getting feedback, especially constructive criticism. If you've got any requests or suggestions for this story, I'd love to hear them! Especially since this is my first fanfiction. :P
Again, thanks for reading! I hope you enjoy my weird little Mass Effect mess. ^_^