Chapter 1

Calm Before the Storm

Shepard stood by the cargo bay door in silence, watching his platoon of forty-seven Cerberus marines finish final combat preparations at the armory. He still could not help but grin mockingly at the SR2's designers; whoever had the idea of placing the original armory on Deck 2 near the Combat Information Center clearly never worked on a military vessel before. It made absolutely no sense to force ground teams to supply themselves on an entirely different deck from which they depart for a mission from. That illogical problem was immediately fixed by the spectre soon after he first took command of the ship. It was a priority in his eyes and he wasted no time using Cerberus engineers and finances to relocate the entire setup to the cargo deck. Seeing the current situation they now endured, he was more than happy to have made the decision, regardless of the fact any weapons and supplies not strapped down were spaced when one of the pursuing Oculus' shot holes in the sides of the cargo bay.

Even after the entire ordeal with Saren, he still felt awkward in his position as the highest commanding officer. Shepard was a marine, never the captain of a naval vessel. Having a single person be in command of both the ship and its marine contingent felt wrong. One man could never be two places at once; if the spectre was on the ground, he could not command the ship. If he was on the ship, he could not command the ground team. And in the final days of the Collector campaign, his worries proved not to be without good reason. Thanks to what some of his crew considered paranoia, the Collector's surprise attack on the Normandy after the Reaper IFF testing was successfully repelled. Cerberus might not have understood why before that encounter, but Shepard was not going to be reckless enough to test an unknown alien technology, especially that of the Reapers, on the Normandy without docking with a highly secure facility. When the Collector cruiser appeared out of FTL, it met face-to-face with the Illusive Man's personal fleet and the docking station's heavy defenses. It was unfortunate they were not able to completely destroy the vessel, but the prospect of what could have happened had they not sought the security of a dock meant it was a greater victory than most fathomed.

"You seem distracted," said the familiar voice of a woman, synthesized through an electronic vocalizer. The spectre turned to his right to see Tali standing beside him, her arm inches away from brushing against his. He did not realize when she had actually walked up to his side, but a warm smile spread across his face nonetheless. Her beautiful almond shaped eyes, illuminating through the purple visor, stared back into his. "What's on your mind?"

"Thinking of the past," Shepard said truthfully. "Thinking how much more desperate this mission could have been had things not gone the way they did."

Tali noticed his gaze drop through the see-through visor of the N7 breather helmet and gently put her hand on the man's shoulder, returning his eyes to hers. "You shouldn't stress yourself over it, John. It's not healthy."

The commander chuckled and took hold of her hand with his. "Look at you, telling me what is and isn't healthy. It's a bit ironic," he declared teasingly.

Blushing behind her visor, she lightly pushed Shepard in the chest with her free hand, knocking him back a few inches. "Boshtet. Keep that up and I'll have to start seriously considering my own health from this point on."

He looked at her with mock disbelief. "You wouldn't dare."

"Jonathan Shepard, are you saying you care more about my body than my wellbeing?" The Quarian engineer placed both of her hands on her hips and glared at the spectre with fake anger. "I knew you were a dirty man, but this is a new low."

"Now hear me out," he added as he raised his open hands in surrender. "Of course I care about your wellbeing. Your body is part of that equation, after all."

To that they gleefully laughed and gently came to hold each other in a loving embrace. Eventually they returned to the silence, disturbed only by the background sounds of marines loading their equipment and NCOs occasionally barking out orders or yelling at the screw ups of their troops. Though they stood there for only a minute, arms tightly wrapped around each other, to them it felt like an eternity. At some point, Tali spoke softly into her lover's shoulder. "I don't want to let go." She sounded as if she were on the verge of shedding tears. "I want to stay like this forever."

Shepard could feel her shutter in his arms and he pulled their bodies closer together, sharing his warmth with her own. "Tali..."

"If I let go..." She took a deep, somber breath as a tear stretched down her cheek. "I feel like I'll never get the chance to hold you again."

"Hey..." The spectre lessened his hold only to allow room for his right arm to squeeze between them. He reached his hand under her hood and placed it along the side of her neck where the layer of the environment suit was among the thinnest. At the same time, his other hand came up to his neck, released the helmet clamps, and gradually lifted the armor piece off his head. Shepard knew he was not the most attractive man in the galaxy. In fact, he was very average looking, with short, dark brown hair styled in a clowlick and a nasty scar that cut down from the forehead, across his right eye, and halfway through his cheek. If there was one redeeming factor, however, it was his pair of emerald green eyes. "I'm not going anywhere. I will never leave you."

Tali lowered and shook her head with small, solemn smile. "You don't understand. I never really..." She rested her head on his shoulder again and continued in a low, soft voice. "I haven't told you what it's like for Quarians. How we 'bond' with the ones we love."

Jonathan Shepard suddenly felt ashamed. He had never truly taken the time to consider how topics such as companionship could be different for other species, especially that of the woman he came to love. The spectre pulled away from the embrace and once again locked eyes with Tali. "How is it different? Did I do something wrong?"

She reassuringly put her three-fingered hand on his cheek. "No, not at all! Well, maybe a little... but we are both at fault for that." The Quarian sighed a little annoyingly as she tried to find the words to explain what was on her mind. After a few moments, she finally managed to find something to say, her eyes never leaving his. "Many Humans often have several partners throughout their lives, right?" She waited for him to nod before continuing. "Well, it's different for my people. Quarians very rarely have more than one lover in their life. We don't 'choose' our partners; we 'mate' with them."

Shepard's face gradually displayed more confusion as he continued to think about her explanation. "I... don't really understand."

"Keelah, it's not something easily explained." Tali gently played with his lips with her pointer finger. "Imagine the emotional and physical attraction you feel when in love, times ten. The need to be with your partner. When we fall in love, we do so for life. Because after spending enough time together, the 'bonding' doesn't allow us to be with anyone else."

The commander spent the next long moments giving what she said serious thought. Eventually, he gave a small nod and responded. "I think I'm starting to understand."

"Good." Tali pulled the spectre into another embrace, a hug stronger than the last. A few seconds in he began to feel her shake in his arms, but before he could say anything she spoke instead. "John... if I die today, you will probably move on with time. You'll eventually find love again, even if it takes years."

Shepard tried to pull back to the words, but her grip stopped him. "That's not..."

She interrupted him almost immediately. "You know it's true, so don't lie to me. That's just how you Humans are."

A pained expression of gloom was on the commander's face. "Not all of us," he mumbled just loud enough for her to hear.

The Quarian finally loosened her grasp, allowing him to take a single step back, and slowly shook her head before bringing both of her hands to the man's cheeks. "I am already bonded to you, my dear Saera. If you were to die without me... I don't think I will be able to go on."

To these words, Shepard's eyes widened in fear and his hands shot up to her arms. "What are you saying," he asked warily.

Tali hesitated to answer. "I will do everything in my power to finish the mission if you don't make it. But after everything has come and gone... I would rather take my life than live on without you." As she spoke the last words, she was no longer able to hold in her emotions and tears quickly began running down her cheeks.

The spectre could not see it through the purple shaded visor, but he had long spent enough time with her to know when she was crying. He clung onto her like their lives depended on it and whispered in her ear. "No... that can't happen. It will be a cold day in hell before that happens."

—

Garrus collapsed his M-92 Mantis sniper rifle and slid it onto the magnetic locks on his back, all the while shaking his head with what Turians pulled off as a smirk. His best friend and the Quarian girl he considered to be a second sister. The two love birds ‒ a human term ‒ hiding in the back of the cargo bay, ignoring everyone else's worries, was both a humorous and, quite frankly, adorable sight. Adorable. That was most definitely not a word often used to describe Jonathan Shepard, savior of the Citadel. Tali'Zorah, maybe, but not him. And here he was, Garrus Vakarian using it anyways. He could not help but feel the utmost happiness for the two people he considered his closest friends, even if he did want to vomit from time to time due to the sheer amount of physical contact shared between them. Nothing erotic, but by the spirits, they seriously needed a room and several days of leave. It was excessive. They could never go on for more than five minutes without holding themselves in each other's arms. The Normandy's all powerful Commander Shepard was starting to look like a deprived schoolkid. Tali, even worse, was seeming more akin to a cat in heat. Another Human saying.

The former C-SEC officer noticed movement to his left and instantly turned to see Mordin Solus, the Salarian scientist and doctor, walking up to him. He had a large smile spread across his face. "Love, a powerful motivator," he said in regards to Shepard and Tali after he stopped at Garrus' side. As per usual, he spoke at a speed nearly too fast for most to keep up with. "Brings out great strength and emotions not normally seen in its absence. Many wars in history fought over love. No doubt Shepard and Miss Zorah fight for similar reasons." He took a deep, but hasty breath and his smile faded during the brief pause. "Fear horrible consequences should one perish without the other. Indeed, would be very tragic."

The grin on Garrus' face turned into a half smile as he continued to sit on the large ammunition crate beneath him, quietly and carefully watching the two lovers in the distance. "I'm sure they'll be okay. The Collector's already killed Shepard once, and all that did was piss him off. And Tali's got her shotgun. Yeah, they'll be fine. Not even the Reapers can stop them when those two are together."

Mordin's smile returned and his gaze shifted to the Turian. "Do you seek companionship as well?" Before a response could be made, he hastily continued his train of thought. "Not surprising, Turians can be very intimate under tough façade. Perhaps would have found partner had not spent large quantity of time calibrating Normandy guns. Possibly even notice Miss Goto's unusual attraction."

Garrus nearly coughed on air when he processed Mordin's last statement. "What," he asked incredulously.

The Salarian, however, either ignored his sudden shock or simply did not notice it. "Yes, very unfortunate. Vakarian an excellent Turian specimen, with obvious exception of facial scarring."

"Alright, doctor, I get the idea," Garrus declared aloud with a hand raised in surrender. "We can all agree I'm a lonely Turian."

"On the contrary, hold great respect with Normandy crew. Even admiration." Mordin looked back to Shepard and Tali, the two now holding each other's arms and talking about one thing or another. "Better yet, have Shepard and Miss Zorah as close friends. The two will stand with you for more adventures to come."

The ex-vigilante chuckled at the Salarian's optimism and shrugged. "I guess I'm stuck with them. Could be worse." A few moments later, he turned to Mordin with a questioning gaze. "Have you ever... you know, had an experience with the opposite gender? I know Salarians don't have sex drives like other races, but..." He left the question at that.

Mordin looked back at the Turian with an enthusiastic smile, clearly pleased in the Turian's sudden interest. "Indeed. In fact, had especially memorable occasion on Omega. With an Asari."

Garrus was honestly a little surprised and crossed his arms. "Really? How did that turn out?"

"Let's just say..." Mordin's voice suddenly changed to something similar to a noir detective's, his smile having spread into a smirk the former C-SEC officer had never seen on the scientist. "I broke Omega's one and only rule. In more ways than one." No more than a few seconds later did the Salarian begin walking away towards the nearest weapons locker to collect and prepare his own equipment, leaving a very stunned Turian staring at his back with wide eyes and a slacked jaw.

—

Private First Class Nathan Kennedy, Cerberus marine of Bravo squad serving aboard the Normandy SR2, felt like an ant about to be crushed under the weight of a sledgehammer. The reptilian eyes of the Krogan warrior standing in front of him seemed to pierce into the depths of his soul, belittling his very existence. Of all the people and aliens on Shepard's team of deadly individuals, Grunt had to be his fire team's NCO. As if Humans and Turians were not bad enough in that position, the Krogan had all the qualities of an average staff sergeant plus the crazy bloodthirstiness of his species. It made training and combat prep an absolute nightmare for the marines under his command.

"Do I scare you, human," Grunt asked in an unnervingly calm voice as he stood inches from Kennedy's face. He never bothered using his marines' names when he felt they did not deserve it.

The marine was standing in attention and keeping his gaze straight, trying to imagine the nearly seven feet worth of Krogan was glass. Easier said than done. "No, Staff Sergeant!"

Grunt angrily and loudly growled in the man's face. "You reek of fear! Why, Human?"

"Because I have over three hundred pounds of Krogan standing in front of me, Staff Sergeant!" Sweat began to accumulate on the marine's forehead and neck. He swore at any moment he was about to be clocked out by an unstoppable punch. When it did not come, however, he sighed in relief.

A disgusted sneer escaped through Grunt's breath as he stomped backwards by several feet, preparing to address all five of his fire team's members. "If you pyjaks fear me, then I should throw all of you on Tuchanka and feed you to the varrens! We don't disgrace our battle master with fear. We show him we deserve to be part of his Krantt by drinking the blood of our enemies!" He roared powerfully, gaining the attention of almost every person in the cargo bay, as he punched his fists together.

"Yes, Staff Sergeant," Kennedy and the other four marines to his right and left yelled back in unison.

"Imagine that is your clan inside the base of our battle master's enemies! Believe it is your mates and offspring! Will you be afraid, or will you be angry?!"

At that moment, when Kennedy imagined it was his family being held by the Collectors, something clicked inside his head. It was like a hidden switch that could only be activated under the most specific of circumstances was finally flipped on. And the image of his mother, father, and sister being experimented on by the insect-looking bastards was the necessary trigger. His blood felt like it was boiling under his skin and every emotion besides rage and hatred was tossed out of his mind. In less than a few seconds, PFC Nathan Kennedy and his four fellow marines were no longer afraid. They were impassioned as their newfound fury bellowed out a mutual eruption. "Angry, Staff Sergeant!"

—

"If there is one thing Grunt excels at besides killing things in the most creative ways possible, it is riling up a group of Human marines with a bloodthirstiness you would normally only see in a pack of Krogan berserkers." Samara had just finished fitting into her armor when the outburst of Grunt's troops echoed throughout the deck. It was a custom design of the standard issue Justicar armor set, ordinated by a similar color scheme to her normal crimson clothing. It appeared like any other lightweight Human/Asari armor, only it carried the addition of several biotic based modifications and completely lacked a helmet. "With time, he may become a far greater leader than even he likely believes."

"I don't think the Dinosaur's gonna be leading armies any time soon," Jack snorted. "But fucking with a man's head before a battle always works. That adrenaline can keep you alive." Samara eyed the ex-convict, forcing a sigh out of her. "Yeah, yeah. Sorry."

"You have been making great progress, whether you see it or not." Though she did not show it, the Asari Justicar was proud of the human biotic. Since her arrival aboard the Normandy, Samara noticed the woman's potential almost immediately and took her in as a student. Besides teaching Jack to hone her powers and emotions through meditation, she further served as a counselor for the human and her afflicted past. The woman could still use much to learn in her use of language, but otherwise she had improved dramatically as both a biotic user and an overall person. "Don't stray from the path now."

"No promises when the bullets start flying." Jack kicked a torched scrap of metal lying on the floor with a grunt, sending the piece flying about twenty feet in the direction of the empty space leading to the back of the cargo bay. When she looked up from where it landed, a wicked grin spread across her face under the combat helmet now encompassing her head. "Buckethead and poster boy." She shook her head not in disapproval, but in place of a chuckle. "Their lovey-dovey bullshit makes me sick."

"Jack..."

Samara was cut off almost immediately. "Dammit, I know. The hazing can wait until after we're done kicking the living shit out of the Collectors." The biotic chose that moment to walk back to the company of her own designated squad, eliciting a final sigh from the Justicar.

—

"Jacob, get over here and help me with these fucking launchers." The thick, gruffy voice of Zaeed Massani echoed from the corner of the cargo bay to the right of the elevator. The mercenary was carrying two long, rectangular weapon crates over each of his shoulders, both held in position by his arms and hands wrapped around them.

The dark skinned man approached without hesitation or objection, now too wearing the white and gold of the standard Cerberus combat armor. Though he technically outranked the aging veteran, he never dared to directly order him around. He did, however, wonder why the mercenary never forced anyone else in the squad to aid him with the dirty work. "The Commander said to bring AT?"

Zaeed grunted, visibly showing a bit of disbelief. "You're guddamn right he did! Those Praetorian pricks are armored like tanks! We get two launchers for each squad."

That meant the Cerberus marine needed to grab two additional crates. He nodded in acknowledgement and began walking to the weapon cache in the back most part of the armory. "I'll go get them."

"Hurry your ass," the mercenary declared. Jacob thought it was his imagination, but he swore the man bared the faintest hint of a smirk. "We don't have all day. Marines to command. Collectors to kill."

Jacob could not suppress a laugh as he found the nearest rocket launcher crates and tossed them over his shoulders in the same fashion as his companion. "I'd hate to be the poor bastard standing in your way, old man."

Zaeed turned around in his custom yellow armor to face the Cerberus marine as if taken aback, a humored smile stretched across the heavily scarred face. "Just because I was gutting Krogan warlords when your mum was still changing your diapers doesn't mean I'm old. It means you're just a guddamn kid playing cowboy."

"But at least I'm still young."

"You know what they say," the mercenary countered before turning to continue transporting his cargo. "Age before wisdom, kid."

—

Safeties were off and weapons were hot. A nervous silence for the coming storm engulfed the entirety of the cargo bay as all four squads of Normandy's marine contingent prepared for the final departure. They all stood in formation and at the ready, guns up and aimed at the large bay door in anticipation for the moment it opens to reveal the world outside the safety of the ship. Shepard felt an eerie chill crawl up his spawn, but a three-digit hand placed itself on his shoulder before the effects of the rising nervousness could take hold. He glanced behind him to lock gazes with Tali, her glowing, almond shaped eyes the greatest comfort he could ask for. With a hand canon in her other hand, she gave a single brief nod before releasing her touch.

"Alright," he began softly before quickly raising in volume. "Open the door." On cue, the cargo bay door began steadily lowering. When it finally touched down on the surface of Collector station's outer hull, the commander did not hesitate to proceed passing down orders. "Spearhead and Tomahawk, set up a three-sixty the second you get outside. We're Oscar Mike as soon as we secure the area and the door closes behind us. This is it, ladies and gentlemen! I'll see you in the field!" With the most trustworthy group of friends beside him and the love of his life standing at his side, Commander Jonathan Shepard took the first step off the ramp.

Index

NCO: Non-Commissioned Officer. A military officer who has not earned a commission. In the English-speaking world, they normally obtain their position of authority by promotion through the enlisted ranks. Ex. Sergeants, Staff Sergeants, etc.

Three-Sixty: A specific form of a military defensive formation. Also called an 'All-Around Defence'. Consists of soldiers forming a wide, circular perimeter around the highest-ranking individual.

IFF: Identification, Friend or Foe. An identification system designed for command and control. Enables military and civilian interrogation systems to identify aircraft, vehicles, or forces as friendly or hostile.

FTL: Faster-Than-Light.