I Know This Hurts You
She smiled sleepily at his touch, fingers deft and gentle, as he towed with the uneven locks of hair at the back of her neck. His murmurs were too soft to actually understand, but she didn't care—the warmth of his voice and its slight roughness was enough for her. EDI's dispassionate voice shattered the cozy haze with an abrupt finality.
"Shepard. Doctor Solus has an urgent message for you in the Tech Labs."
The harried salarian's voice broke in over the intercom, "No time. Shepard, most unfortunate. During Collector raid on Normandy, employed experimental weaponry."
Her stomach dropped sickeningly, somehow subconsciously anticipating his words.
"Indoctrination ray. Initially undetectable, but effective. Enhances effect of Reaper technology in a concentrated area. Perhaps time-release. All crewmembers exposed. Suggest…" he hesitated, and Shepard knew why.
"I will not have my people executed, Mordin," she said flatly.
"Did not think you would. Logically regrettable, but personally understandable. Recommend a quarantine, at the very—" The hiss and crackle of static replaced the salarian's clipped tones.
"Dammit, EDI! Fix the connection!" Shepard slapped her hands against the metal consoles.
"Connection remains fully functional, Shepard. The error is not technical."
"Patch me through to Engineering," she commanded, unwilling to accept what her instincts were screaming. EDI wordlessly established communication, and the sounds of screams and muffled impacts filled the cockpit.
"Shepard!" Jack's snarl was filled with her usual rage but was undeniably weary. "What the hell is going on? Your people killed Tali and Grunt before we—" she grunted in pain and Shepard clung to the railing helplessly. There was a spate of static and the biotic's less than dulcet tones returned. "—ed's out of heat sinks and I haven't heard from any of the others. Get your ass—" There was a loud report, and the Normandy bucked.
Shepard slammed against the hard walls; her shoulder popped ominously but she felt nothing. EDI's cool tones filtered through the fog of shock.
"Multiple hull breaches in Engineering. Damage is critical. I have sealed off the Engineering decks to protect the structural integrity of the rest of the ship."
Shepard's hands shook as she tried to pull herself up. She couldn't grieve now—she had to focus on what was left. She was dimly aware of the Normandy "leveling out".
"Get Garrus," she demanded hoarsely, futilely searching her casual uniform for her weapons.
The communication channel opened in the middle of a high-pitched scream. Miranda.
"I have to—I have to—" Shepard struggled to form a coherent thought. Why was this happening? Why couldn't she—
"Shepard!" Garrus was panting painfully, "I—"
There was a sharp crack and then an awful silence.
"G—Garrus?" Shepard was a child again, in the dark of her parent's root cellar, listening to the screams of her friends and their families during the Batarian raid on Mindoir.
"Hello, Shepard." Her heart froze. "I know this hurts you."
She signaled EDI to cut the communication and ran desperately in the direction of the elevator. She heard him follow, turned to tell him to go back to the cockpit—back to safety—but a vicious blow to the head sent her sprawling to her knees. Her lip—she put a hand up to it. It came back bloody.
Kelly stood over her, a section of railing clutched in her white-knuckled hands. Tears were coursing down her earnest face and her eyes were glazed with an inner madness.
"I don't want to hurt you, Shepard!" She cried, red hair swishing as she shook her head emphatically, "We need you. How could you have done it?"
"Done what, Kelly?" Shepard was taken aback. Why would Chambers—
"You committed genocide!" Kelly wailed, "There were millions of Protheans in that Collector base, millions of captured colonists in those awful pods, and you just—"
"They weren't really alive, Kelly, they'd been brainwashed," Shepard got to her feet with difficulty. "Harbinger and the Reapers were using them like drones or like resources to be drained."
"Harbinger and the Old Machines preserved their species! The Protheans would have died out without the protection of the Old Machines, as will all species in Citadel space!"
"Kelly…"Shepard could feel tears burning, "I know what's wrong with you, Mordin can—"
"There's nothing wrong with me, Shepard!" Kelly brandished the metal pipe, "It's you—you and your team of psychotic misfits. You're a danger to yourselves as much as to the galaxy. Harbinger wants you alive, but—" she swung the pipe up over her head "It's for your own good, Commander."
Shepard tried to dodge, but her muscles were unresponsive. She imagined the pipe coming down at tremendous velocity towards her head, calculated the force that the slender yeoman mustered as she arched her back and bent her legs in preparation for the delivery of this final blow.
Then the makeshift weapon came hurtling down and—CRACK! He had stepped protectively in front of her, had raised an arm up defensively. He gritted his teeth in pain, but used his greater height and body weight to wrest the pipe from the yeoman and bore her to the ground. Shepard pulled him behind her, mindful of the broken arm, and took the weapon from his hands.
Chambers snarled from the floor and Shepard knew the indoctrination had irrevocably taken her. She distanced herself as best she could, built a shaky mental wall around her pain, and raised the pipe.
"I'm…I'm sorry Kelly," she whispered, and with one clean stroke, ended her administrative assistant's blind and corrupted existence.
She dropped the ugly weapon and staggered back. It wasn't the most gruesome death she'd ever dealt, but it was the first time she'd directly killed a friend. Shepard turned to him, needing his embrace, but was stopped by his expression.
His shoulders were hunched defensively, broken arm cradled close to his chest, but his green eyes were angry, confrontational.
"What the hell did you just do, Shepard?" He demanded flatly.
"I—she wasn't Kelly anymore." Shepard turned back to the body, unable to meet his eyes, and noticed a small handgun at the yeoman's belt.
"Don't! The old Shepard would have found a way. None of this would have happened."
"Oh, you…" Shepard made the connection too late, "You were exposed to the…"
Despair overwhelmed her, and she sank to her knees. She shook her head listlessly. "I killed Kelly, I can't…I can't kill you too."
"You don't have to," his voice was gentle again, almost the way she remembered it. He touched her shoulder but she couldn't look at him. "Come with me. Harbinger needs you. You can make things right again."
Tears spilled down her cheeks. "My crew is dead, my team is dead, my friends are dead, and you…" Her fingers traced the cold gun Kelly had never used.
"I'm what? I'm fine, Commander, I love you and I'm telling you to look at things from a different point of view."
She looked up at him, "From whose? Harbinger's? You're indoctrinated, just like the others."
He snorted, "Since when have I given a flaming varren's ass about what people tell me?" He staggered but quickly regained his footing, shaking his head.
Suspiciously, she took the hand he offered her. "Why can you fight it?"
He frowned, "I can hear the ugly squid-bot in my head, but it's like it's very far away. It's like—"
A deep and ancient voice assailed Shepard's eardrums, and she felt his fingers being torn from her grasp.
"I will direct this personally."
His familiar shape was thrown bodily into the air and held in an unnatural display, painfully bright light radiating from his entire being.
"Assuming direct control." He dropped to the floor. Patches of skin had blackened, or been seared to the brilliant glow that signified possession. His green eyes had been burned away, replaced by twin pools of cruel bright gold, and his wide mouth was distorted—splitting the mockery of what had once been her friend's face.
Shepard fought the urge to scream, then to vomit. The grotesque parody of her pilot limped towards her, growling at the pain of movement.
"This form is fragile." Harbinger's voice was derisive—the first real emotion Shepard had ever heard it express. She blinked away tears of anger and despair, seized Kelly's gun in a steely grip, and swung it up to bear on—on—on…Her hands trembled; she told herself he was gone, that the Reaper had killed him just as surely as it had killed Kelly.
But he had fought, she thought desperately, maybe—She couldn't kill him, or whatever he had become. Harbinger, from whatever sector of cold black space, saw the defiant fires leave her eyes, saw her body slump in resignation, and laughed—a slow, grating, unnatural sound. He was close now, she had to do something.
Shepard closed her eyes, then brought the muzzle up against her temple. Fired.
"Nooo!" screamed the Reaper, its rage the last thing she—
Shepard gasped and sat bolt upright in her bed. The sheets were sweat-soaked and had twisted around her legs. She started to kick at them, but they were too tightly wound. She cupped her face in her hands, took in some deep, shuddering breaths.
Just a dream, she told herself, just a fucking—she twisted and fell off the bed, vomiting on the floor. She stayed there for a moment, palms braced against the cool metal, until she was sure it was over.
Shepard pushed herself up to a kneeling position and wiped her mouth. She studied her hands, steady and unwavering in the soft blue light of the aquarium.
That's N7 training for you, she thought numbly, keeps the body sound, even if the mind is…not. Of course, she traced a long amber scar on her forearm, that could be part of Cerberus design.
She flipped to her side and roughly untangled the sheets from her calves and ankles, got up, cleaned up the mess, dressed, washed her face three times, and left the cabin. Couldn't stand being alone now.
The elevator opened to the command deck and Shepard couldn't disguise her relief at seeing the many crewmembers at the duragel stations, heat station monitors, and around the Galaxy Map.
"Hi Commander," the yeoman chirped, "You have unread messages at your private terminal."
"Oh, Kelly," Shepard saw blood, felt again the jarring impact and heard again the sick, wet report. She quickly hugged the other woman, pulling her close and tight. Kelly tensed at the initial contact, but responded warmly, gently stroking Shepard's shoulder blades.
"Commander, are you feeling okay?" Shepard could hear her switching into psychiatrist mode.
They broke apart and she managed a somewhat confident smile. "I just had a…really bad dream."
"Well, if you want to talk," offered Kelly wither sympathetic smile, genuine concern in her eyes.
Shepard waved her off, "Maybe later, I just…need to see some people right now."
She forced herself to walk at a passingly normal pace, eyes fixed on the pilot's chair in the cockpit ahead. As she drew closer, she could hear him bickering with EDI, prompting a small smile. Unbidden images from the dream wiped it from her face. It had all been so real.
Her knees felt weak, and she grabbed at the metal supports at the end of the walkway to steady herself. The chatter in the cockpit broke off, and she looked up to see him swivel to face her.
"Heard you coming this…" his triumphant grin gave way to one of the rare unguarded expressions she usually felt privileged to witness, but the worry in his green eyes only made her feel ashamed. "Are you okay?" He started to get out of his chair, but she shook her head and straightened up.
"I'm fine, Joker, I just…" She stopped and stood awkwardly, twisting her hands uncertainly.
Joker, sensing her discomfort, settled back in his chair and adopted a cavalier grin. "You look like shit, Commander."
That was it: the lines were redrawn and Shepard knew where she was again, the familiar role reintroduced.
"Flattery will get you nowhere, Lieutenant." She sat cross-legged beside his chair, watched his fingers dance expertly across the glowing consoles.
"Huh, don't need it—I got the Normandy back." He looked down at her, suddenly serious, a sad smile at his lips.
"Don't kid yourself, Joker, she's different than the old one." Shepard felt ancient and unbelievably tired.
"I don't care. I still love her." He dropped a hand on her head and ruffled her hair.
They sat silently for a long time, looking out into the vastness of space.
"Jeff?" She rubbed the fear and fatigue from her eyes.
"Yeah?"
"Make me laugh. Please." She shut her eyes and leaned against his chair.
"You can't rush art, Commander," she could hear the smile in his voice, "but if you wanna wait here…"
"I'd like that."
"Me too."