Author's Note: Just wanted to thank everyone who has taken the time to leave such lovely reviews for Silence. I started this story as my personal Shepard's emotional catharsis after the end of ME3, and to see so many readers wanting to know what happens next is just lovely and very encouraging. - TE
Home. The Normandy is coming home. Shepard watches Hackett work through the cheering crowd of scientists, dignitaries and military to shake hands with the Primarch and Admiral Raan. She can't breathe, throat closing over and lungs pinched shut against the sudden influx of fact, of hope and reality and the future all crashing over her solid walls of long-held denial. She misses Garrus with a keenness that still surprises, still catches her unawares. If he were here they would be celebrating with true fervour. But James and Steve are at her side, Vega's hand over her shoulders, Steve leaning forward to rest his palms on the desk, staring intently into the hologram, showing the restarted, living mass relay. Liara is called away, to Councillor Tevos and the other asari matriarchs.
"We did it," Steve says, softly.
"Hell yeah," Vega crows. His joy is so powerful it unbalances Shepard. She shouldn't be this happy. "We got our galaxy back."
Shepard just shakes her head in disbelief, her fingers digging into her ribs, mouth clenched shut. Five months ago she stood on the Citadel and chose the genocide of millions over the control or union of all, and expected to die for her pains. She has not allowed herself to think of the future, because she has none. But now?
What does she do with a future – with the future she never dared consider?
She swallows against the dizziness, the ringing in her ears, and leans against Vega's solid shoulders for support. They will be here soon.
A movement catches her eye; Coates, looking straight at her. He has the familiar expression of a man listening to news he does not want to hear. One hand strays to his sidearm. Shepard straightens, heedless of the ongoing celebrations, and watches the Major. He says something into his comm piece, and pushes his way toward Shepard.
She hears the familiar crack-crack-crack of the M-8 Avenger, blunted by the thick walls of the Archives and the chatter of those around her, because she was expecting it. Coates hears it too, and by the way he stiffens beside her, Vega. Steve straightens, and looks to Shepard for confirmation. They have been waiting for this since she limped out of the hospital, months ago.
Coates is still trying to get through the crowd. He gestures to Shepard, pointing to the east door. She nods, and forgets everything but the knowledge of what she was and what she did. The ringing in her ears vanishes.
Wrex has noticed. Shepard waves him over: the krogan bulls through the crowd to join her. She turns to her two men. "Lieutenants, you and Wrex will get Liara and the mass relay data out of here."
"I'm not leaving you, ma'am," Vega says, watching Coates approach.
Her voice drops an octave. "Lieutenant, do as I say. Get Liara and the data to the eastern passages and keep her safe. Do not lose that data. Go now."
Wrex rumbles with satisfaction. "All today needed was a good fight. Let's go."
Steve salutes without saying anything and drags Vega away. He allows himself one quick concerned look at Shepard: she nods to him. The three men push through the crowd to Liara; a moment later the hologram vanishes. Shepard doesn't stop to see that they get Liara out, but turns to meet Coates. He holds out his hands: an earpiece in one, and in the other, a shotgun. Her own Wraith, as scarred and battered as she is, minus an explosive rounds mod.
Shepard takes the earpiece and sets it in place, staring at the shotgun the whole time. She wants to ask where he found it, how it survived the blood-scarlet explosion she created, but there's no time. Her fingers wrap around it with the familiarity she's relearned with Garrus' sniper rifle. She hates it.
"How long?" she asks.
"We've lost the north passage and landing zone," Coates says. "Batarians from north, west and south. They've got all the dignitaries pinned in here."
"And the east?" They're moving through the quietening crowd now, flashes of blue Alliance uniforms increasing through the more colourful dignitaries.
"Military quarters in the eastern sector. They're clear and holding."
"Good. Keep everyone in here." She stops talking and checks her shotgun, then says, "My apologies, Major. Where do you need me?"
Coates shakes his head, a wry grin on his face. "I'm taking orders from you, ma'am. The batarians are out for you, not me."
They reach the doors, and Shepard pauses to look for Hackett. He's approaching them, two guards at his shoulders.
"Admiral, the batarians have made their move," Coates says. "Doctor T'Soni and Shepard's old crew are moving to the eastern quarters for safety, with the mass relay data."
Hackett nods, as unsurprised as Shepard and Coates. "Shepard, take command here."
Why are they deferring to her? She's been out of action for months, barely speaking, hasn't shot anything worth shooting since ... since before. But behind Hackett she sees the eyes, the watching eyes, following her movements with hope. Commander Shepard, mascot and salvation. She doesn't like it at all. This is wrong.
For a moment she cannot move. The panic crashes into her, stuttering through her biotics, her heart: what is she doing, so willingly accepting fresh bloodshed, the rough grip of her shotgun in her bare hands, the hopeful, almost reverant eyes of all her allies? She told Hackett she was done, but now with her heart hammering in her chest and the panicky knowledge of her own inadequacy wracking her patched and glued body, she knows she won't ever be done.
She is Commander Shepard: that is all. There are batarians to shoot, and who else but Commander Shepard, the Butcher of Torfan, the destroyer of Aratoht, should shoot them?
She checks her shotgun again, out of habit, and accepts a few spare clips from Coates. They want Commander Shepard. They shall have her.
She remembers her voice. "Admiral, keep everyone in here. Set up choke points on each door and watch the air vents. We'll send any civilians we come across to this room, so tell the men to watch their targets. The Major and I will attempt to reach the airfield and secure the AA guns. We'll keep in contact."
Hackett salutes her. She blinks, and he gives her a small, almost apologetic smile, before turning back to address the waiting Alliance and turian soldiers.
Shepard slips through the door ahead of Coates, shotgun leveled down the long, silent hallway. The thick glass windows are punctured with bullets. Two Alliance soldiers lie dead by the door; four batarians further down the hallway. Shepard and Coates move past them without stopping.
"Had any communication from the batarians?"
Coates is surprised. "How'd you know?"
"Batarians like to boast." They move quickly down the corridor to the tram, passing several more dead – turian, in Alliance uniform, and batarian. A scouting party, not the main guard. She checks the turian for life, and moves forward.
"They sent a message twenty minutes ago, announcing their intention to take you and the mass relays."
Shepard snorts, but says nothing. She's been waiting for this attack for months – it's surprising that the batarians haven't attempted this before, but then, she wasn't Commander Shepard until she reappeared on Mars. She follows Coates onto the tram, and they rush across the divide to the other side of the base. As they flash past, Shepard sees a dead Reaper, resting like the skeleton of an ancient monster, washed by the Martian sands. She checks her Wraith and flicks her commlink on.
"Cortez, report."
"On the move, Commander. All clear."
"Copy that."
She turns to Coates, who looks so much more at home with an assault rifle resting in the crook of his elbow than escorting dignitaries through the Archives. "How many men do you have on the airfield?"
"Not enough."
She realises that she's wearing no armour, and neither is the Major. This could be difficult. Fifty-five minutes until the Normandy drops into orbit. If the batarians have the AA guns online, she will lose them all over again.
No.
The tram reaches the airfield section of the base: there is more gunfire, cut off with the ominous silence Shepard has heard too often. She and Coates slip through the lobby in silence, hugging cover, seeking any sign of the batarians. Nothing.
A small part of her mind notes the return journey, going back through the Archives with only Coates at her side, going to meet Kaidan instead of feeling his distrust at her back, the innate caution that first made her think he was someone worth knowing. She has always liked history. But perhaps not the history of Torfan. She could do without that.
They climb to the top walkway. The door into the security room is locked red. Coates sets his omnitool to unlock it – passcodes, encryption. Shepard waits, fingers restless on her shotgun. Her breath hitches in her throat, not sinking deep into her lungs. She thinks of Miranda's patient lessons, and checks her shotgun again. She has to stop doing that.
"Got it." Coates taps the door open – and is met by a rifle in his face. "Friendly!"
The soldier on the other side of the door collapses, sweat dripping down his face. "Fucking hell, sir."
Coates points to his own face. "Two eyes, Lieutenant. No more."
The Alliance soldier salutes, standing back to let Coates and Shepard through. "Sorry, sir, ma'am."
"Report." Shepard watches the security cameras as she listens. No Cerberus this time: one blessing, at least.
"We've pushed them back to the other side of the security hallway. Lost too many men in the process, though. Jackson and Santra are the only ones left. They hit us hard." He indicates to the battle zone around them: dead batarians, dead Alliance soldiers, scattered through the room. The batarians always move fast, but Shepard thinks she has not seen them move with such desperation before.
She looks away from the ugly scene. "Injured?"
"They're not taking prisoners, ma'am. Neither are we."
Shepard tears her eyes away from the cameras and notices the soldier's bloody forearm. "We're going through to the airfield. Reinforcements may be coming from the tram, so don't shoot them."
The soldier gives her a lopsided salute. "Jackson and Santra are holding them at the main security gun."
"Copy." Shepard tosses another clip to Coates, and together they make for the opposite door. The next room is empty, punctured by the heavy rat-tat of the big security gun. It fires directly down the hallway, and Shepard is relieved to notice that someone has updated its friend-foe VI to not target Alliance soldiers this time. She pushes forward, leapfrogging Coates through the room, cover to cover. At the hallway entrance, she spies two Alliance soldiers – human male, and asari commando – crouched behind fragile cover. Smoke from their spent thermal clips wreaths around their feet. Coates whistles sharply: the human looks up, relief spreading across his face. Shepard gestures for covering fire: the soldier nods, stands, and sets to firing down the hallway. She and Coates dash for the soldiers, ducking under the main gun's firing range to join them on either side of the hallway.
"Report," she snaps to the asari, giving her another clip.
The commando sets the clip into her heavily modified Mattock and shrugs one shoulder, blue eyes alight with defiant bloodlust. Her tattoos suggest an Eclipse background, but her armour carries the Alliance badge. "Batarians every-fucking-where, ma'am. No reports from the south or west passages. We've got them pinned down here, but they've still got control of the airfield and hangar. They're regrouping."
"We've got ships coming in within the hour, soldier. We're taking that airfield back."
The asari looks at Shepard. "What, the four of us?"
Shepard grins suddenly, the heady feeling of finally, finally doing her real job settling over the panic and unsettlingly-close fear. "You got something else to do?"
"Wouldn't mind a shower, Commander." The asari rubs one blood-spattered hand across her face and grimaces.
Shepard chuckles, breathing in the familiar scent of sweat and blood and gunfire. She has to admit, some part of her has missed this. She is what she is. "You can shower once we clear out the batarians."
"Fine. Let's go take that airfield. Never liked batarians anyway."
The four of them move quickly, and again Shepard fights the deja vue of knowing that not so long ago, she and Kaidan bickered their way through here while Liara did her job and the three of them began the long road to killing the Reapers. The heavy security gun punches bullets straight down the hallway, keeping the batarians pinned at the far end of the corridor as the four soldiers duck and roll from cover to cover. Shepard is the first to reach the other end: she crouches against the flimsy entrance and fires into the shadows. The asari moves ahead of her: there's a bang, a thump –
"Grenade!"
The explosion hits the asari full on: she screams, half-rolling, half-thrown out of cover as her shields collapse. Shepard leaps forward, fires again, Wraith kicking back into her arms with the fury of a charging krogan. The explosive round crashes into the waiting batarian. Coates takes his chance and dashes forward, dragging the asari back into cover.
"She okay?"
"I'm fucking fine," the asari yells, shaking her head with the compulsive flick of a concussed and angry soldier. One arm hangs useless at her side.
Coates and his following soldier duck out of the corridor into the next room, rifles flaring hot against the batarian advance party. Shepard hands the asari her fallen Mattock and they follow, the commando launching a harsh biotic attack. Six batarians, lightly armoured, have taken cover across the room. If this is all they have here, they must have a great number on the airfield – or else this is far smaller than Shepard initially thought, and the batarians truly are desperate.
The asari makes good use of her biotics, pulling the batarians out of cover for the others to shoot. Shepard is unbalanced, using her shotgun from a range longer than she is – was – used to. She thinks about trying her biotics, but having seen the consequences of her own inability, she decides it's safer to be a Vanguard without the Vanguard. She fires steadily, reloads from scavenged batarian weapons, and pushes forward where Coates and the others would have held back. She will take that airfield back.
Six batarians down. Shepard and her little crew move faster now, holding close together through the next few empty rooms.
"Commander."
"Come in, Steve."
"Package secured. Reinforcements headed your way."
"Move fast."
The next three rooms are chaos. A batarian sniper takes out Jackson within the first few seconds. The asari swears and launches fresh biotic attacks, ripping through the room with rage and adrenaline, tearing the sniper in half. Coates covers from the back, his assault rifle merciless against the furious batarians, blood from a glancing shot streaming down his head. Shepard draws on all the lessons she took from Thane and Kasumi, breathing lightly, ducking and weaving through cover, ripping batarians out of cover and sending them to their end with one swift bullet, a kick, a punch. She's uncomfortable out of her armour, dangerously exposed, but at the same time she's moving faster than usually possible. Her shotgun is everything, an old friend, an old enemy, part of her and half of her. She does not let the enemy pause, does not give the batarians a moment to think. They've recognised her: they know she's come to meet them. She lets the adrenaline run through her and forces herself to keep moving, against the rattling gasp of her lungs, the blood in her mouth. If she stops for a second, they will have her.
"I'm out!" The asari's cry is full of pain; she's blown her amp, and slumps behind a crate to recover. Coates runs to join her, Shepard covering his back with the heavy snarl of a bullet sent straight to a batarian chest.
Only two batarians between she and the airfield now. They're dug in deep, tucked behind thick stacks of crates, hard to get to. Shepard pauses, flicks a spent clip out and reloads. The dead batarian sniper lies close by: she waits for her chance, ducks out, grabs his rifle, and retreats back into cover. It's a good rifle, strong enough to punch through crates, and she's had plenty of practice recently.
Crack. Crack.
She learnt from the best.
Word comes from Cortez: reinforcements are close. Shepard rejoins the asari and Coates, and says, "Catch your breath, we're heading out again soon."
The asari just rolls her eyes, one hand pressed against the base of her skull. "Don't suppose you've got a spare implant?"
Shepard half-smiles, taking a seat beside her. "You wouldn't want mine. It's not pretty."
"What, L2? L3?"
"L5x."
The asari coughs. "No shit. Yeah, you can keep that one."
Shepard chuckles, but stops as pain stabs through her ribs, unused to such abuse after months of being a civilian. The taste of blood is harsh and familiar on her tongue. Doesn't matter. Nothing matters now. She could take down every batarian here on her own, and smile at the end of it.
But sometimes the way a thing goes down does matter. So she doesn't smile, doesn't let herself become the red-eyed master of death Cerberus wanted her to be – but she allows herself a tiny amount of satisfaction. She is herself, the parts of herself she still knows as Shepard, and that Shepard can still do her job.
Footsteps from the room they've just cleared break her moment of reverie. She lifts her Wraith out of habit, Coates mirroring her move.
"Commander?"
It's Vega, his own brutish shotgun in hand, batarian blood staining his uniform. He's followed by six Alliance soldiers, four turians Shepard recognises as the Primarch's personal bodyguard, and two more asari commandos.
Shepard stands up, leaning against the wall. She wipes her mouth with one hand, swallows down more blood. "Is Liara safe?"
Vega nods. "Wrex has her. Most of the krogan are there. No way are the batarians getting that data."
"Good."
Coates is busy organising his troops. An asari hands Shepard a breath-mask: the Mars airfield is merciless to oxygen breathers. She straps it on and grimaces against the sudden claustrophobia, tests the seals. Vega follows suit, still talking.
"But we've got a problem. The Normandy has just cleared the relay early. They'll be here sooner than we thought."
Shepard lifts her head to stare at him. "How soon?"
Vega shrugs his broad shoulders. "Fifteen minutes, Hackett said. We're trying to hail them but the batarians have knocked out comms. Cortez is on it, with that quarian marine."
"Kal'Reegar?"
"Yeah."
"Alright. We need to get this airfield cleared, give Cortez time to get communications back up." She glances around the determined faces of the soldiers she has collected. Final push. There's always another final push. Shepard wraps her fingers around her Wraith, tests her breathing, and nods to Coates. "Let's move."