Miranda entered the suite late the following night to find it dark. John was sitting in a high-backed chair, facing the open window, staring into the nebula. Garrus Vakarian was sitting beside him. The Turian had commandeered a chair of his own, the Asari designed chairs made ample adjustments for the awkwardly–shaped fringes of both Asari and Turian guests.
As a rule, Miranda had mixed feelings about the Turian. He had a tendency to bring out the darkness in John, just as his commander brought out the best in him. Miranda had to admit to herself that she was also a little jealous. If there was anyone in the universe who had a bigger impact on John's life and decisions than she, it was the Turian currently staring into the depths of space. For Miranda and the rest of the suicide squad, demolishing the Collector base had been an incredible accomplishment. An impossibility. For Garrus and John, it was simply another item checked off on their own private (and extensive) list.
As a fighting team, they formed an unstoppable partnership. She had watched from the sidelines as the two of them withstood assaults which would have brought down entire fireteams. She was a third wheel, the dead wood. Their partnership made her feel unnecessary, and it infuriated her.
Even so, she respected the Turian, and the fact that John thought extremely highly of him. The two of them had managed to keep a polite and professional relationship despite several trust issues. "Evening, Garrus."
"Miss Lawson." The Turian replied cordially.
She noted the wine glass in Shepard's hand and sighed, "I don't believe we had any Turian drinks in the suite. I do hope John ordered some…"
"I ordered him to sit on his scaly Turian ass and do without." John murmured, sipping his own drink and staring into the abyss.
Garrus chuckled, "Right. Because I'm the one with the drinking problem. You just put more stuff in the thing the stuff goes in…"
"Really?" John turned to his friend. "You're bringing that up?"
"It was your proudest moment, Commander." The Turian replied happily. The buzzer on the door rang and a bellboy shuffled in, carrying an extremely pricy bottle of Turian wine. HE handed it to Garrus and walked away without a word.
Miranda sighed. "Were the two of you thinking about anything in particular, or just sitting there, drinking?" she asked.
"We were actually wondering about you." Garrus said.
Miranda frowned nervously. "John?"
Shepard was still staring out into the nebula. He said, "The blood was Thane's. Zaeed couldn't identify the assassin, and he didn't show up on any of the citadel files…"
Garrus's omnitool flashed, followed shortly by Miranda's. She glanced down at it and winced at the picture.
"Just imagine him with more teeth and less shit." The Turian prompted.
"I don't need to." She snapped angrily, growing increasingly uncomfortable with the situation. She had recognized the face immediately, and that fact added an entirely new layer of anxiety. On top of everything else, she noticed the 'I told you so' look which Garrus flashed John. "The scar is enough. Kyle Gosling. A Cerberus wet-worker. I worked with him once in connection with a Turian general… but that doesn't make any sense… why would the Illusive Man want Shepard dead?"
"We did destroy the base." Garrus reasoned.
"No." Miranda shook her head, examining the picture. She felt a little of her old Cerberus Operative persona seep in, and for a moment she was standing behind the Illusive Man's chair, discussing mission details and potential scenarios, "That doesn't explain it. With or without the base, Shepard is our best hope of beating the Reapers. Besides that, this attempt was too dirty. If Cerberus really wanted him dead, he'd be dead. We'd use a sniper to eliminate the target. Or poison. A bomb, possibly, placed inside the suite. At close-range it would be a silenced pistol or SMG. True assassinations are meant to be neat, clean and surgical. It's preferred that the target administer the drug, or trigger the bomb himself. The best assassins are in another part of the galaxy when the target is killed. An attempted knifing in a bar washroom in the middle of the day is risky and unprofessional. Mister Gosling should have known better. He failed at his task and he deserved to get his teeth knocked out."
Garrus cleared his throat. Miranda looked up to see that John had twisted around in his seat and was watching her with a hurt expression. She sighed, "the point is that It couldn't have been a Cerberus job. The Illusive Man wouldn't have ordered it, and we- he wouldn't have allowed it to be carried out in such a sloppy fashion. Why on earth would he want you dead, John?"
John's expression turned from one of injury to one of grim determination. "I don't know." He said, standing up, "I'm going to go ask him."
John wasn't sure why he decided to dress in combat armour. It gave him confidence, he supposed. He knew perfectly well that the quantum communicator did not physically transfer him to the Illusive Man's inner sanctum, yet given all that had happened between them, he was still reluctant to step into the machine. They had not parted on the best of terms.
The hologrid crawled up him, scanning his image and sending it to the Illusive Man's private chambers. The glowing sun which lit his platform had turned bright red. It had been both blue and red during Shepard's brief employment with Cerberus, but had changed in recent days. The new colour scheme altered the mood of the entire setting, making everything that happened within it somehow more ominous.
The Illusive Man was facing away from him, watching the shifting patterns in the globe before him. Shepard cleared his throat and the chair swiveled around as if propelled by hidden motors. The Illusive man's face was hidden in shadow, darkened further by the contrast with the bright globe behind him. He was lacking both cigarette and drink. Shepard knew immediately that something was off.
"Shepard." The figure in the seat observed, "You live."
"Yes I know." John replied dryly, "Amazing, isn't it?"
"This was corrected." The figure told him, nonplussed.
Alarm bells began blaring in John's head. "…Corrected?"
"An agent was dispatched to terminate John Shepard."
Shepard's eyes narrowed, ice sliding down his spine, "That doesn't sound like The Illusive Man."
The figure straightened up mechanically and walked towards the Spectre. As he drew near, Shepard could make out the dreadfully familiar blue veins and sub-dermal machinery he had seen so many times in husks. A sign of indoctrination. Ice slithered up Shepard's spine. He resisted the urge to back away.
The Illusive Man stood face to face with him and spoke with a deep booming voice John recognized from many previous encounters.
"He is yet another conduit for our wrath. All the power of the universe is stacked against you. You cannot win. You cannot escape." Harbinger said, "Why do you fight?"
"If an assassination in a dirty bathroom is the best you can do, I probably have nothing to worry about." Shepard replied.
"Impudence! Your doom will come."
"I get the feeling this conversation is going to go around in circles." John replied evenly, "Do you mind telling me how you managed to indoctrinate The Illusive Man?"
"Jack Harper was known to us long before you encountered the Turian, Saren Arterius."
"Good thing I destroyed the base, then." John responded, trying to quell his growing sense of panic.
""You have become an annoyance. Punishment must be exacted upon you and your allies."
"I can hardly wait." Shepard kept his tone neutral. His calm face belied the gut-wrenching turmoil within. He placed his hands on his hips. On the surface it was a defiant pose, but in fact he didn't want them shaking. He felt adrift in a hostile ocean. Suddenly the citadel wasn't safe anymore. Neither was earth, nor any civilized planet. John knew from personal experience just how extensive Cerberus' network was. Just how long The Illusive Man's arm could reach…
Pictures began flickering behind Harbinger's puppet. Images of Shepard, Garrus, then original Normandy. They flickered by with blinding speed. Shepard saw images of Mindoir, the citadel, Akuze, Tuchanka. It scanned through every planet he had ever been on, then through every person he had ever seen. It paused briefly on Anderson, and then continued. John knew why: the Councilman was too high-profile a target. His death would be noticed. The flashing images settled on a face he knew very well. Beautifully structured with captivating blue eyes, full lips, and long, dark hair.
She was speaking into the camera in her refined strayan accent, "There's been a… behavioral issue." The image flickered, "I believe he's come too close. Emotionally, I mean."
"Love." Said Harbinger, though John could barely hear him over the horror which was slowly taking over. "A profoundly tender, passionate affection for another being. Weakness."
"Miranda can handle herself." Shepard told him, barely managing to keep his voice level.
The pictures began to flicker again. A video clip played, and John recognized the hallway outside of Flux. His stomach churned as he watched himself and Miranda enter the bar, followed shortly by Oriana and Danner. Thane took up station behind them. There was a flash of light from off-screen and the drell hunched over as if in intense pain. Shepard watched as five men in heavy power armour approached the inert assassin, and beat him to a bloody pulp. This was shortly followed by a second picture covered the first. It was a school ID photo of Oriana.
Harbinger smiled, "This hurts you."
So yeah, it's been a while since the last update. I've been working on my Fallout fics.
Before you ask, it IS in character for the reapers to go after Shepard's friends and family. That's why the collectors landed on horizon, afterall.
This story will not be ME3 cannon. I don't know that for sure, but it's pretty likely.