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After having got gotten Garrus settled in the forward battery, Shepard returned to Omega alone. Some datapads Jacob had apparently found in the merc base indicated a hit was being planned on Aria T'loak. Shepard thought she was ruthless sociopath but her time in the Reds had quickly taught her that it was far better to have one large crime figure in charge than three squabbling factions. Less innocent bystanders were caught in the way.
After in her cabin, she started stripping. Shepard felt desperate to be clean. The releases on her armor made her tired fingers clumsy and thick; the ache for Kaidan's deft fingers to help her throbbed through her body. Was it possible for longing to become physical? She was being stupid. It was just her ugly scars healing. Back then, those few short weeks they had together; he would meet her by the lockers after a mission and begin the ritual of stripping each other's armour. Half the time they didn't even need the help, but it was an excuse to be close. A hand brushed against a sweaty neck, a lock of hair tucked behind her ear, a touch to his temples.
Shepard shook her head sharply, spots dancing in her vision. Now was not the time to slip into foolish daydreams. Almost violently she jerked the catches, not caring at her roughness and stripped in record time.
She took her time in the shower, scrubbing the harsh military grade shampoo through her hair three times. Eventually the stench of Omega was washed way but she could feel the squeaky dryness left, all the natural oils stripped. The dirt on her body took less time but she had to work to avoid the patchwork of glowing, still-tender scars. Chakwas said they should eventually fade, but what if they didn't? They were awful. Shepard wasn't a vain woman but before all this she'd taken a sort of basic pride in her body. It was hers, all hers. She shared it with Kaidan willingly and joyfully and took pride in the things she could do with it. Her biotics, athleticism, her small scars, her network of freckles scattered like galaxies – all the things that had defined her before were gone, wiped clean. The biotics, an intrinsic part of her, were unrecognizable.
How dare they? Everything was wrong.
Shepard stepped out, dripping water all over the floor to examine herself critically in the mirror. The cold air raised goose bumps along her skin. Her eyes raked the blue veins standing out against the pale skin, and it occurred to her that the newly regrown parts had never been touched by the sun. Her hair was choppy and limp, her eyes dull and her skin almost translucent. How did Garrus even recognize her? She was a zombie. Her blue eyes were stark, sunken in her skull.
Desperate to look like her old self, she grabbed the sharp utility scissors from the sink and took them to her hair. Shepard was a soldier and very obviously not a hairdresser. She snipped her and there at random, hair draining down the sink's plug. It was a mess; she even managed to make it worse than before.
She had tried to even it out into the old neat bob but now it was shaggy and inexpertly layered falling messily to her shoulders. Little bits fell into her eyes and she felt like a stupid child messing around with things she didn't understand. To her utter horror she felt tears welling up and couldn't quite choke back a sob this time. In the mirror her eyes were wide and swimming with tears, the sight of her own naked body sending a wave of repulsion to her stomach. It curdled there like bad milk and brought more tears rushing, a harsh lump forming in her throat.
"F-fuck..."
Unable to stop, she gave into the black feeling in her chest and slid to the cold, wet floor. Drawing her knees to her chest, she sobbed in earnest. Shepard threaded her fingers through her hair again and again. It was just hair, why was she even crying? Miranda, with her perfect hair falling in waves, perfect body, perfect skin and perfect biotics would look at her and scoff. She dreaded leaving this cabin, Cerberus eyes on her, EDI's 'eyes' on her. Shepard had never felt like this before; the Lazarus Project seemed to have awakened a sick self-loathing within her.
She could feel snot and tears on her face, the dry skin uncomfortably tight and stinging. This wasn't her. This wasn't. Commander Shepard did not sit on the floor naked bawling like a baby over a bad haircut. Her sobs were broken and stuttered. She tried to muffle herself, her hands pressed to her lips. No one except the AI would be able to hear but the sound of it panicked her further. Shepard desperately wanted to silence herself, stop the crying. Maybe Miranda had crossed some wires in her brain… she'd gotten through the deaths of her whole squad back on Akuze with less freaking.
What if she had?
Shepard had never felt like this before. Maybe she was brain damaged? They'd already screwed up her body shape, maybe her brain was the same.
She shoved awkwardly to her feet, limbs cold and shaky. Shepard stepped into the shower again, this time blasting the heat and washing her face. She still looked terrible but the crying had seemed to relieve some pressure inside. It couldn't happen again; she needed to pull it together. She was probably being watched all the time, more material for the Illusive Man to hang over her head like a dangling sword. She needed someone impartial to look her over, scan her brain for defects. Chakwas was good but advanced brain surgery was probably beyond her skill level.
Mordin. He was the answer. She was suddenly glad she'd braved the plagues and stench of Omega to pick him up.
Mordin would know if there was something wrong. He wasn't Cerberus; he would have no reason to lie.
She quickly dressed, the glare from the empty fish tank bathing her blue. It was a ridiculous Cerberus excess, along with the massive CO quarters. Her old cabin on the SR1 was much better suited, this felt ostentatious. Shepard never had liked being singled out so obviously, years of being discriminated against for her biotics encouraging her to keep her head low. Until Akuze she was mostly successful. Her hair was unsalvageable; it would just need to grow in more. A few hair clips and an elastic band managed to tie it back out of the way and disguise the damage.
Leaving the cabin, she jammed her fist into the elevator call button, scrubbing her hand across her face hoping the flush had subsided. The crew were like jackals, any signs of weakness and they'd be on her. The CIC was bustling and she felt like everyone would be watching her face.
'This ship is too clean, too well lit,' she thought, and not for the first time. The bright lights reminded her uncomfortably of the feeling of being thrust onto a stage. She hated that feeling, she could go her whole life just being an Alliance grunt, never being promoted if she could avoid being singled out or idolized. It was what had initially attracted her to Kaidan, they had similar quiet personalities. She was far more irreverent of course, but in each other they'd found someone who would look past ranks, biotics and her negative reputation from Akuze. On Arcturus, they would whisper behind their hands, wondering why she had survived when so many other good men were killed. Her postings on various frigates were usually lonely endeavours, no one particularly wanting to serve with someone seen as a bad luck charm. On the old Normandy, Kaidan had said he was honoured to have served with her. No one had said that since her old squad were dragged to their deaths. The best part was, he had no idea how much that meant to her. Shepard wished he was here but she first had to pick up the prisoner from Purgatory, it was on the way to the Citadel. Shepard hoped Kaidan would understand the delay; the Collectors needed as many specialists as possible. She'd explain. He would have to be concerned about the Collectors too.
The unfamiliar faces with Cerberus logos emblazoned on their chests made her steps almost falter on the way to the tech lab. On the Normandy SR1, she had liked to walk from deck to deck, getting to know the crew and collect her thoughts for the next mission. Pressly was a competent XO, a little old fashioned but experienced and reasonable. Kaidan was a damned good officer who sometimes tempered her more wild ideas. The dingy military lightning was perfect for quiet discussions on the next move and its implications. Now this new crew was just another irritation, potential spies and the ship was a gaudy eyesore. Not to mention the ghost in the shell to boot. Only this ghost had the power to shut down life support and report back to her dungeon master.
The tech lab in contrast was blessedly empty save for Mordin. The old salarian was typing away on his holographic keyboard.
"Mordin," she greeted.
"Ah! Shepard. Good to see you. Need something?" Mordin asked, glancing her way and did a small double take. 'Damn, I must look as bad I feel.'
"Shepard. Pale. Feeling ill?"
"Yes Mordin. Actually, I don't feel right. I wanted you to scan me, my brain. I think Cerberus messed it up when they were rebuilding me." Shepard moved closer to him, leaning against his work bench.
Mordin studied her with curious, overlarge eyes. "Not human doctor. But can take a look. Cerberus work impressive. Curious, why not ask Ms Lawson?"
"I don't trust her. Do you?" He couldn't be serious, she'd rather live with a messed up brain than put herself under Miranda's care again.
"Hmm. Yes, agree. Was just checking." He raised his omnitool and waved it slowly down her whole body. Readings chirped out, endless scrolls of numbers and symbols she couldn't make any sense of.
"Brain appears normal. No damage. Neural pathways clear, expected element zero nodules and biotic implant. Otherwise normal." He was muttering almost to himself, intent on the readings.
"Interesting. Some small hormonal, chemical imbalances. Can be indicative of depression, various causes. Can give medication to correct."
"Depression?" She was surprised.
"Yes. New environment. Traumatic ordeal. You were damaged, yes?"
"You could say that."
"Hmm. If unwilling to take medication, suggest talking. No good myself. Empathy skills low. Your pilot, Joker. Turian. Old friends?"
"Yeah, yeah they are. You think that will help? Mordin, I feel like I'm going nuts," she whispered, shamefaced.
"All feel that way sometimes, Shepard. Talk. Will help. If not, come back." His thin little mouth stretched in a close approximation of a smile and Shepard felt herself return it. She wasn't exactly comforted but the advice had given her something to work with. At least she wasn't brain damaged. Well, no more than she used to be anyway.
She decided to speak to Joker, he was closer and Garrus was always a little awkward with feelings and human messy crying. 'Well, Joker was shit at it too,' she amended mentally. At the very least he could understand what it felt like to be alone, like your body wasn't your own and failing you. The walk to the bridge, weaving around white-clad crew members was like that first trek on the Normandy SR1. Only this time she was the Spectre, a disgraced Spectre. And there were no puppy dog eyed Lieutenants snarking back at Joker in the co-pilot seat. Back then, she had to put on her tough Commander face to keep from laughing at them. Now there was an AI spy, private sector leather seats. She'd take cold hard metal and plastic any day over leather bought with blood money.
"Hey, Joker. Got a minute?" She slid into the spare seat next to him.
"Hey,Commander. Yeah, the AI will take care of it for a sec. Right EDI?"
"I am capable of flying the ship at all times, Mr Moreau." EDI's cool voice answered.
"Yeah yeah. Shush. What's up, Commander?" He swivelled in his chair to face her, eyebrows raised expectantly.
"Nothing really." She twisted her hands in her lap, feeling stupid. "I just wanted to see how you were doing with all this. Cerberus, you know? They did some messed up shit - hell we stopped a lot of it two years ago."
"I know, Commander. Miranda says that was rogue cells though. Taking stuff too far."
"And you believe her?"
"Shit no. Like I said before, only an idiot believes the official story."
"How can you work with them, then? You joined over a year ago right?"
"Yeah well. After the Alliance took away my wings, what else was I supposed to do? Cerberus knew about the Reapers and was actually giving a damn." Joker was slightly defensive, she thought. "After a while they told me about you, and I couldn't leave then. They wouldn't tell me where you were, said your body was too messed up to see."
"Thanks, Joker. I like being reminded of my mangled corpse."
"Er yeah, sorry." Joker rubbed the back of his neck. "Sorry about the whole 'killing you' thing, too."
Shepard was surprised. She hadn't even considered Joker would look at it like he got her killed. She got her self killed, really.
Slow reflexes and a shoddy airline. Panic slammed into her like a brick wall.
– a flash of stars, cold, burning pain –
STOP IT.
'You idiot. You'd think you were a green recruit. You don't get panic attacks. You are Commander Shepard.'
She was safe. She was breathing. The leather was comfortable and cool; she could hear it squeak as she shifted. Shepard bundled that memory of stars and cold away in a tight dark corner in her brain, shut the door and threw the key away. With effort she re-focused on Joker.
He was speaking again and she hoped he hadn't noticed her breathing pick up. She was trying to feel better and not end up a weeping ball on the floor again.
"Joker. It was my fault ok? I should have been quicker."
"Heh. Not what Alenko said." Joker protested, clearly having been wrestling with guilt for a while now.
"Kaidan? You have some kind of problem?" As far as Shepard knew the two men had been friends, verging on very good ones.
"No ma'am. Not really...It's just-" Joker broke off, struggling to word something.
"After you died...Well like I said, everything fell apart. Alenko and I, we didn't see eye to eye anymore. That's it. He could have done something more about the Reapers. Something more than just go along with the party line." Joker's eyebrows were raised, absolutely serious for once. Shepard got the impression he'd been wanting to say this for a while.
"I'm just saying, Commander. Don't get your hopes up. I don't think he's the man you think he is anymore. After you died, he was different, ok? And I don't think he'd be too glad to see me anyway..." Joker mumbled the last part, as though by spiting it out she wouldn't notice.
"Joker...First off. I know him. He was a good friend and I know he's a good man. He'll see these colonies need help. And secondly, what did you say to him? Alenko doesn't get pissed easy." Shepard told Joker, purposely avoiding the fact that she and Kaidan were more than friends. EDI didn't need to know. That was something she couldn't afford, the Illusive Man with more knowledge. He already had too much power in the galaxy over her.
"Why do you assume it was me who said something?! It could have been him, you know! I'm a nice guy too!" Joker protested.
Shepard just narrowed her eyes to gaze at him doubtfully, slightly amused that he was even protesting innocence.
"Fine. Ok, I might have said some things. Maybe I was a little upset over getting you killed and all...He wasn't thrilled about it either."
"Joker. You didn't..." Shepard said, exasperated.
"So your funeral wasn't the best place for it! I admit...But he shouldn't have been such a dick!"
"Wait, wait, wait. Back up there, Moreau! You started a fight. At. My. Funeral?!" Shepard was sure she should be offended, who even did that?!
"It was a very emotional time in my life, I'll have you know! So… maybe I didn't handle it with grace and dignity. It's overrated anyway- dignified grieving. Why have that have when there are sweet theatrics? Crying Italian windows and wailing? Gotta love that." He smiled what he clearly thought was a winning grin.
"Hmm hmm. Italian widows? Did you suddenly turn my widow and Italian while I was gone? So what you're saying is, you just made it awful for everyone. Aren't you?"
"Pretty much. You're a very mourn-able person, you know. You should be flattered! It means I cared." Joker teased her, but she sensed he was partly telling the truth in his own way. He often covered his true thoughts with sarcastic jokes, mostly offensive. He had missed her.
"Yeah yeah, fly boy. I'm gonna remember this one! You so owe me." Despite herself and the topic, Joker had managed to get her smile at his irreverence.
"But seriously, it doesn't bother you? Working with them? Because I gotta say, the grey area is scaring the shit out of me. This crew, the ship, it isn't the same." Shepard got to what was bothering her.
"Nothing is I guess. It can't be. The Normandy was lost. But maybe someday, this one can be a good one too. You've just gotta give it a chance." He leaned forward slowly and touched her hand. She looked at it in surprise, her skin having forgotten the warmth of another human body. She turned her palm around, gripping it gently. Joker looked alarmed for a moment, the sheen of tears back in her eyes surprising him.
"I know things are strange, Shep. Ok? But they'll get better. You, me Chakwas, and Garrus. We got this. Tali too when she finishes her quarian thing. Maybe you'll track down Alenko and Wrex." His voice for once had lost the sarcastic edge.
"You think?" Shepard knew they were probably pretty platitudes, but right now she'd take what she could get.
"I know. Ok?"
"Ok."
"Now, let go. You'll break my hand."
"Right, sorry!"
Things were strange, but they wouldn't always be. She was still confused and hateful of the restrictions and new ship but hopefully, after picking up 'The Prisoner' quickly they could get to the Citadel. He was mentioned to be a powerful biotic in the Dossier. Shepard hoped this 'Jack' would leave his criminal past firmly behind. She didn't like working with criminals anymore; it was something she avoided since the time with the Reds on Earth.
It would be ok, once on the Citadel she could join back up with the Alliance. Anderson and Kaidan would join her cause, together they could free her of Cerberus and get things back to the way they were meant to be. She'd just have to play along, let the Illusive Man think he had her docile cooperation.
