4: When I Looked at You Differently: Normandy SR-1

"You know, when we went to Antibaar, we found a maw."

Garrus' mandibles flickered slightly as he stared at her. "Sulking doesn't suit you, Shepard."

Shepard pouted. After everything she had faced, boredom was proving her undoing. "Alchera and Antibaar aren't that different in terms of surface temperature and gravity, so we know that they could survive there."

"Where can't a thresher maw survive?"

"And, if you remember, we found geth on Antibaar too. Lots and lots of geth." She looked maniacal; Garrus was almost scared. He edged away slightly. She sighed. "I miss the geth." Again she pouted; again Garrus stared at her.

It had been but one month since the glorious Battle of the Citadel, and the glorious hero Commander Shepard and her glorious ship had been reassigned to other, surely glorious things. Only there seemed to be little glory left over in a galaxy which seemed saved; there was nobody important left to kill, nobody to protect, no obvious threat to destroy. The geth still existed, but compared to the month previous, they were nothing but irritants, their apparent enthusiasm for Reaper domination quelled thanks to the destruction of Sovereign - not that said destruction had been shone in quite the right light to begin with. Shepard had experienced intense feelings of déjà vu back to her pre-Spectre days, stood in front of an ignorant Council who had presumed to tell her that no, there was no such thing as Reapers, and yes, she was obviously lying and/or deluded, and no, they would not be indulging her crazy fantasies. It wasn't that difficult to comprehend their point of view, in a way; what she had been telling them was horrifying and terrifying and nothing that any mortal would want to deal with. There was a very important point though - it was all true, and if they didn't deal with it, who would? Never mind the fact that Shepard had been proven consistently right again and again - yes, it was geth, just as I said; yes, Saren is a traitor, just as I said; yes, the Citadel is under threat, just as I said; yes, you can all just go to fucking hell, just as I said.

She wasn't going to deny that she had felt a spike of malicious pleasure at the thought of the Destiny Ascension crumbling. She knew that her order condemned them, that their deaths lay on her conscience, but the memory of every snide insinuation came crawling back and she couldn't help but shrug off the guilt. They had been weak, blind sighted, and ultimately they had failed to secure the loyalty of the one person who could save them, the one person they had specifically tasked with the duty of saving everyone. They had deserved to die. People could try telling Shepard she wasn't judge, jury and executioner, but their actions defied their words; nobody had really tried to contest her decisions, nobody reprimanded her, and in the end, the galaxy was a better place. She didn't kill the wrong people. That truth she held onto tightly, perhaps with an edge of desperation; she would never publicly (or privately) doubt herself regarding her decision with the Council. Udina would lead a new one, with new councillors, and it would be better. Except it wasn't.

They had sent her after geth. The geth weren't the problem; the Reapers were. It boggled Shepard that everything could change, and yet remain the same; civilisation as they knew it wasn't saved, merely prolonged. Shepard had not faced off against Sovereign and Saren only to clean her hands of the whole affair and declare it over. Nothing she had uncovered suggested that the galaxy was safe. One destroyed Reaper was like one murdered human; there was still an entire population out there, who was probably all the more angry for it. Sovereign had only ever been a glorified scout, the head of a much larger, more vehement snake.

But glory didn't factor into anything anymore. She had stopped the tide from falling on schedule, and was rewarded with geth. One human against forces which declared themselves even above nature, and she had won - and now she was cast aside. So wasted. So useless. She hated to admit it, but the original Council had been useful; they had provided her with valuable leads with which to begin her assault on Saren. Their view of the real threat may have been dimmed, but they had proved useful. Now, though, they had nothing, partly because they wished to believe nothing, and instead of concrete leads, she was sent to clean up geth that were maybe in this cluster but maybe not. She was being treated like a common fucking marine, and not only was it insulting, but her brains were ready to melt and dribble out of her ears.

In short, it was infuriating.

"-seem to have forgotten that the Mako's combat capability is still negotiable," somebody said, and Shepard realised that she had utterly lost track of the conversation. Since when did she just fall into a pit of rage and internal ranting? Since when did she have time for that? Where had the urgency of life gone?

What had they been discussing? Oh yeah - thresher maws. Shepard considered Garrus' very valid point and then deliberately licked her lips, aware that he was still looking at her warily.

"Oh, I wasn't planning on using the Mako anyway. Where's the fun in that? Besides, I heard Wrex has taken one on before - I'm sure we can repeat the experience. Better."

The turian laughed, but shook his head. "This is really getting to you, isn't it? If you want to go out in a blaze of glory, be my guest, but I won't be joining you."

That thought hurt a little. He never left her side; she made sure of it. "Scared, Garrus?"

"No, just sane." There was something in his eyes, something which hinted at his comprehending the excitement of battling a thresher maw on foot. Shepard's accusation was unfounded and she knew it; he was no coward, nothing proved that. It didn't stop her poking fun at him.

"I guess that settles that argument," she said flatly, leaning back on her chair. Garrus was leant against the divide, standing on the far side of the table. "Wrex will be delighted." They were just kicking back and wasting time because there was nothing to do, and Garrus had happened by her as she sat, mulling furiously over her situation. Something on her face had prompted him to ask the matter - but as it turned out, it was the same matter as ever. She simply couldn't reacclimatise with the tedium of unimportance.

There was the familiar whoosh of a door. "Why will Wrex be delighted?" a soft, feminine voice asked, and Shepard glanced over her shoulder to see the familiar figure of Liara, who had just left the medibay. The asari didn't normally interrupt private conversations, but boredom and idleness wasn't only affecting the commanding officer. Shepard gave the question a moment's thought, then glanced back at Garrus, who remained quite unreadable. She grinned maliciously.

"We've just scientifically proven that krogans kick turian ass. Isn't that right, Vakarian?"

"I'm not sure that's quite what was decided, commander."

"Seems pretty clear to me. Garrus," Shepard explained, pushing her chair back so she could swing it around and face Liara, who was looking both amused and bemused at the same, "has been trying to put me off the idea of hunting a thresher maw because he's afraid he'll spoil his pretty face."

"Hunting a thresher maw?" Liara repeated breathlessly. "Isn't that rather irresponsible?"

"As compared to what?" Shepard said, pulling herself back to the table, growing irritated with everybody's inherent sensibleness and lack of interest in her marvellous ideas. "Rushing all over the galaxy gunning down synthetics which don't matter anymore? We've been here four days, and what have we found? We don't even know that they're here, only that they maybe-perhaps-possibly were here recently, or not so recently, and who really knows if it was geth at all? I lose track of time when I'm not shooting people." It was times like these that she almost regretted not smoking. Even an artificial cigarette would have sufficed; she felt like one of those old, wizened, grumpy generals who complained about the glory of their past and the inadequacies of their contemporaries. She really wanted to just take a long, intimidating puff, then lean back and blow smoke into their faces.

Damnit, her mind was wandering again.

"-to her head," Garrus was saying, somehow aware that Shepard had drifted off. She decided not to care. Behind her, Liara chuckled.

"Perhaps we should mention to XO Pressly our commander's restlessness. I know he's skeptical about geth presence too, so perhaps it is time to move on?"

"To the next dead end," Garrus said, and Shepard could tell that it left a bad taste in his mouth too. Liara responded with non-committal optimism and made her excuses. Silence fell across the mess, since the majority of crewmembers had cleared out upon Shepard's decision to relax in it. Her temper flared all too often these days, and even if the rest of the galaxy had forgotten what a dangerous creature she was, the people she worked alongside had not. Some of them, of course, were plenty dangerous in their own right, but even ones like Ashley chose to no longer seek her company.

She would have been able to talk to Kaidan. Sure he was awkward and slightly dull, but he had been sincere. It almost made her regret turning down his 'advances'; in truth, they probably stemmed from her own inability to create personal boundaries at the beginning of their relationship, and so she only had herself to blame. The conversation regarding Liara's attraction had been enlightening, though. Though aware that it wasn't technically homosexuality, there was something just... not-quite-right with her being with an asari. They could preach their lack of genders all they wanted, but they had all the right curves in all the right places, and though Shepard had had little chance to explore her own desires, she knew that wasn't it. No, she wasn't quite sure of what she wanted. Or was she?

"Shepard," Garrus said, dragging back the nearest chair so that he could sit opposite her, which he did despite the fact that the ergonomic design didn't quite suit his turian frame. "I understand your frustration. I do. I just - ah..." He rubbed the back of one talon with another; Shepard said nothing, content to lean back and pretend she was puffing smoke. "I wonder if there is... really a thresher maw on that planet." The obvious fact that he had changed his thoughts mid-sentence was quite unimportant in comparison to this little glimmer of hope for some action. Pointless, meaningless violence was exactly what she needed. Garrus laughed at the way her face lit up. "You need some target practice, anyway. Otherwise who will compare with me?"

Shepard smiled. Garrus returned the gesture, though in his own curious, multi-mandibled way. There was something oddly alluring about the way those things moved, a facial expression entirely alien and yet so instantly noticeable. She hadn't yet cracked their code, but it was an active assignment. "Does this mean you're joining me?" she asked lightly, trying not to be obviously keen.

"Of course," he said softly, and for a curiously comfortable length of time, nothing needed to be said.


The Normandy literally shuddered.

For all of five seconds, it didn't seem real. Though sense dictated that, for the moment at least, her duties as a soldier would not be useful in what was clearly a struggle for the ship herself, inaction was not an option. Armour, breathing units, escape pods, beacon - all the protocol surrounding a breach of the ship's defences was put into immediate action, and there were no thoughts but the thoughts of a commanding officer whose crew were in trouble.

The ship seemed to take hit after hit, and not long before Ashley appeared the power gave out, leaving them in the ominous glare of red emergency lights. She could hear them screaming, crewmates she had already failed but could do nothing for, but she could not fixate on the loss, not now.

"Shepard!"

"Distress beacon is ready for launch," she said, bringing her helmet into place, mind only on the now.

"Will the Alliance get here in time?"

Another hit - another violent shake - something exploded to her left, and the necessity for action increased.

"I'm not doing this just so they can find our frozen corpses! Get everyone onto the escape shuttles, Ashley - now."

She hesitated - "Joker's still in the cockpit, he's not abandoning ship - and I'm not leaving either!" - so Shepard merely had to insist. Another rumble - another piece of Normandy torn asunder, coming crashing down over Ashley's position - a ripple of feeling and it was contained, the soldier saved a wasteful death, and Shepard's body began to tune into its own power as it always did when she started. But this wasn't a fight. There are more important things.

"Get to the fucking shuttle! I'll haul Joker's crippled ass out of here if he likes it or not," she growled, and Ashley finally complied.

"Commander," - a two-fingered hand on her arm, a fleeting gesture, gone in an instant - "I'll see you on the other side."


Everything was destroyed. Her only comfort was in the knowledge that she had done all she could. Even as she had watched the last shuttle eject without her, the world suddenly very cold and quiet in the space just beyond a planet's atmosphere, she did not feel defeat. Her beautiful ship was broken, and there were other bodies in the air, limp and lifeless as they were. She took comfort in their small numbers, though the recognition of each face stung. Commander Shepard did not apologise to anyone, but she apologised to these. She did not feel pity for herself. There was no end she wanted more than one in battle, and as she gazed at the behemoth of what must be their attacker, she knew that it could not have ended any other way. It should not have ended any other way. After all, what was Shepard if not a barrier between the enemy and her people? Her life wasn't important; the lives spared by risking her own were. She was nothing if she could not be their protector.

And yet, she could protect no further. The escape pods ran their straight path, far too small to be detectable amongst the debris of the once-glorious Normandy. They were safe. They were safe.

Her body... ached. The glare of the explosions left bright spots on her eyes. Whiplash left her neck and limbs sore and uncomfortable. She fell like the broken pieces towards the planet below, a part of the ship to the end, and even as the air prematurely escaped her suit she only had eyes for the shuttles.

Let them be safe. Let them be safe.

There was nothing so important. She did not struggle as her lungs gave up, as the first pricks of intolerable heat lashed against her suit, as her vision faded and her body began to go limp.

She would protect them until the end.

I'll see you on the other side.