Chapter 3
Miranda looked up in surprise as her door hissed open and Vakarian strode through. The turian paced up to her desk like a panther about to take down a deer. He planted his hands firmly on the edge of her desk, hard eyes boring into hers, and gritted out, "I don't like being used as bait, Operative Lawson. I don't like being turned into a big fucking target. I really don't like being lied to by your boss when I've taken this job in good faith."
Alien cultural guides, Miranda recalled vaguely, said quite explicitly never to antagonize a turian when he started growling. Which Vakarian was. She noted the tension in his rigid shoulders, and saw his talons digging into her desk with an inward grimace. I really hope he doesn't leave dents.
Miranda sighed and stood, putting them on equal footing. She propped her hands on her hips, but her attitude was resigned rather than arrogant, studying her terminal screen. "I understand where you're coming from, Vakarian. In your position, I'd be upset." Her mouth twisted in irritation as she looked up at him. "Hell, I am upset. I left my father because I was tired of being manipulated. But the Illusive Man isn't pulling our strings for his own amusement, and he genuinely believes in our mission. If he acts like a puppetmaster sometimes, it's because he's convinced there's no other way." She moved to the chair by her window, invited the turian to sit.
He didn't, but he relaxed somewhat under her agreement, leaning a hip against her desk. His eyes never left her face. "We both know the Collectors would love to get their hands on Shepard. The Illusive Man withheld information and sent us into that ship blind."
And that, Miranda realized, was the crux of it. Shepard. Garrus understood that their mission was dangerous, and knew that all of them, the commander included, had to put themselves in harm's way, but hell if he was going to allow her to be endangered unnecessarily.
"I know you care a great deal about the commander," Miranda began, noting the turian's hard, near-black eyes. There was an undercurrent to his anger, and it tasted like fear to her. His face-plates glinted like bone under the soft white lighting of her office. "She's important to all of us. I can't promise this won't happen again, but I do share your concerns, and I will include them in my report." She hesitated, then extended a hand. "And I, at least, will never withhold information from Shepard."
She smiled as he took her outstretched hand, shook it once. "And I'm damn glad you were with us when the Collectors dropped that Praetorian on us, Garrus."
He paused. Miranda was relieved and pleased to notice that the turian had stopped growling. His voice sounded much calmer, even reluctantly friendly. "You know, I have a few books on turian tactics I could loan you. You might find them interesting."
She smiled. "I'd like that. If the commander hasn't purloined them already."
Garrus grinned back at her over his shoulder as he left. "They're a few of her favorites. Miranda." With that parting shot, he left.
Miranda seated herself at her desk again. "Who says we can't learn anything from aliens?" She smirked as she imagined the look on her father's face if he knew she was giving so much credence to a turian.
Shows what he knew. Ass.
Still with the hint of a smirk on her face, she went back to work.
ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME
She woke up gasping for air.
Commander Shepard stared blankly into the blue-lit darkness of her quarters. The fish tank hummed quietly, shimmering and empty. Shepard put a hand to her throat, reliving the burning in her lungs. The fear still filled her mind as the Normandy burst into flames before her eyes once more, the fire a terrible and beautiful light in the consuming darkness. The sheets were tangled around her legs and one pillow had fallen to the floor as she thrashed in her sleep. Strands of hair clung to her face damply, with sweat or tears, she couldn't say.
Cerberus had wanted her memories as intact as possible. The moment of her death was as vivid now as it had been two years ago. She crossed her legs, sitting in the center of her bed and tried to steady her breathing the way Samara had shown her. Her hands clenched on her knees and her temples throbbed with the force of her concentration. Her heart was still pounding painfully against her ribs and her throat was dry and hoarse. Shepard hoped she hadn't been screaming. Kelly would have a field day if she found out about these night terrors. Hopefully EDI wouldn't take it upon herself to tell her.
Silently, she slipped from her bed. The air was cold on her bare legs. Shepard splashed cold water on her face, but the icy chill failed to dismiss her nightmares.
She sighed. Like a dash of water is going to make me feel better about reliving my own death. She stepped into loose black pants, ignored the sharp ache where the Praetorian's beam had sliced across her thigh. Her quick regeneration had ceased to upset her weeks ago, now she could almost accept it as normal, along with her heightened muscle definition, and the improvement of her strength and reflexes.
I doubt anyone will be up to see the commander snatching a cup of tea. Hopefully if they saw her, they would think that she had been up looking over reports.
Yeah. At 0348. Good luck selling that one. Barefoot, she stepped into the elevator.
Silence. Slightly relieved, she went to the kitchen, wiping the fine sheen of cold sweat from her brow. She normally sweetened her tea, but now she wanted to wash the taste of fear out of her mouth. Shepard stood in Gardner's usual post, leaning back against the counter and trying not to think about anything beyond the hot tendrils of steam caressing her face.
"Shepard?"
She blinked, and looked up. Good, not Kelly. "Samara. I'm surprised to see anyone up."
The asari inclined her head. "I do not require a great deal of sleep. I was meditating when someone's – distress – disturbed my concentration."
Shepard smiled crookedly. "Ah. Sorry. That was probably me."
"The sensation was very . . . intense. May I ask?"
Shepard gestured to the mess table and slid into a seat across from the justicar. "My memories are much more vivid since I've been . . . revived. I was dreaming. Reliving my last few minutes after the Normandy 1 was attacked by the Collectors." She studied the swirl of steam rising from her cup. "I tried to use some of those breathing techniques you've been demonstrating, but I think I need more practice." She looked up and met the asari's pale blue eyes. "How did you know?" she asked. Her curiosity was almost enough to distract her.
The justicar smiled. "Do you remember what the asari courier told you on Illium about sensing your aura? My senses are just a little keener, perhaps due to the training I underwent. "
"Like mindreading?" Shepard hazarded.
Samara smiled. Why did Kelly ever call her cold? "Asari are not telepathic, commander. I would explain it as sensing fluctuations in your aura. The stronger the person, the farther those fluctuations emanate. Your great distress, and your great presence, were sufficient to alert me that something was amiss." The light glinted, jewel-like, over her dark crest. "I imagine that reliving your own death would be traumatizing. I am sorry." She did not reach across the table, or extend any other gesture of support, but the sympathy was there in her serene face. "If you like, I could continue to teach you meditation." Her eyes darkened briefly. "I know what it is to live with memories you would rather forget."
"Thank you," Shepard replied softly. She finished the last of her tea and stood. "I'd like that. I'll make sure to stop by later today." She placed the cup in the dishwasher. "And thank you for listening, Samara."
The asari dipped her head. "I am always here to talk, commander." The heels of her boots echoed quietly as she retreated to her contemplation of the star-strewn emptiness.
ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME
In the end, she ended up showered, dressed, and in the Normandy's shooting range until 0600. Targets on the other end of the cargo bay, nearly thumb-size at this range, were all lined up, sporting identical wounds in the center of their foreheads. None of the shots were further than two centimeters apart. Shepard blinked, still surprised that the glide of eyelids over cybernetics should feel so natural. There were perks to being a cyborg. She smiled sardonically.
At least her eyes no longer glowed around the pupils. She set down her pistol, picked up the assault rifle lying next to it.
She toyed with the Vindicator she'd picked up on the Collector ship as the targets glided closer. For a moment, she felt his hands on hers, guiding her through a crash-course lesson on the weapon. Her fingers tightened momentarily around the gun and she sighed.
As though the thought had summoned him, she heard light footsteps behind her. For such a tall man, he moved in near-silence. The turian came to stand beside her, watching as the ship set up new targets.
"Still not sleeping, commander?" The new targets rustled into place and he drew his rifle, sighting down the scope.
"What makes you say that?" she asked lightly, placing her gun on the dividing wall. The recoil of the rifle barely jogged his shoulder as it tore a neat hole through a target's heart. She noticed he varied his shots a little, sometimes aiming for the head, other times for vital organs or a thigh, intending to lame. She noted that last one with a twinge of unease. She rarely shot deliberately to cripple a target, unless she needed to slow or interrogate him. The turian's perfect familiarity with such a shot told her more than she wanted to know about his time on Omega.
He glanced at her sidelong when the chamber was spent. "You have shadows under your eyes that would make a drell jealous, Shepard."
At least he didn't say "green with envy." She could never take bad puns with less than six hours of sleep. Nettled, she shot back, "You sure know how to flatter a girl, Garrus."
He nodded to the assault rifle she'd set down. "Let's see how you're doing , Shepard."
She smirked. "You want to arm me after insulting me?"
He smirked back. "Impress me, commander."
She scowled, picking up the rifle and bringing it to bear on the targets. Her first shot took it through the shoulder. She exhaled, missing the familiar grip of her pistol. The commander's next shots were closer to the midline, and at least she never missed.
However, she had only to look between Garrus' targets and her own to see the difference. She shrugged. "At least I've got biotics, right?"
"Mmm," was all he said. He stepped behind her, turning her toward the targets again when she shifted to look at him. "You're not firing a pistol anymore, Shepard." He nudged her feet farther apart, widening her stance before his hands slid up her arms, shaping them. "So stop thinking like you are," he said into her ear.
Her breathing shallowed. His armor pressed against her back, her arms, his head bent towards hers. "Right," she replied, aiming for a flippant response.
She missed.
He chuckled and guided her arms back, bracing the butt of the gun firmly against her shoulder. "You know the drill." His voice was practically a purr in her ear. "Inhale. Exhale. Fire."
A string of bullets ripped through the target's chest. She paused, hyperaware of her surroundings, as she always was around gunfire. Garrus' breath was a steady heat against her neck, barely stirring the small fine hairs at the nape. She shivered.
"Again," he said.
He kept her there until she's had five consecutive rounds of headshots. "Perfect," he breathed into her ear with quiet satisfaction. She turned to face him, looking up the scant inches into his face before smiling slyly.
"I knew you had some flattery in you."
ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME
Shepard had eluded them again.
Once again, he felt the dissatisfaction of working through puppets. His hold on the vessel tightened until it shredded nerves and neurons, punishing the adapted brain. Its mindless chirps and screeches were gratifying, but not profitable. He released it, leaving it a twitching mass on the floor of the ship. The pain was purely psychogenic. It would recover.
You will contact the Shadow Broker once more. What they did before, they may do again. Instruct him to ensure the doctor will not be in a position to aid them.
The vessel's many legs whirred and it lifted its large, oblong head to look at the blinking terminal.
A/N: I took some liberties with asari abilities, but I've tried to keep it believable. Hope you liked it!