Author's Note:

Real life has interrupted the creative process a bit, so my updates have been sporadic at best. With that in mind, I want to thank those who are still following this story. I greatly appreciate your interest and continued feedback.

Also, I want to thank my beta reader, Lyaksandra, who tirelessly continues to offer aid to my stories.

Chapter 10

The doors of the Alliance armory swooshed open and Lakota walked through the threshold slowly with a controlled, deliberate grace, a deadly way of moving that precluded unnecessary or wasted motion. While she had been working out, Garrus sent an invitation to join him and Javik—the only known survivor of the ancient Prothean race—at the armory for target practice, a favorite activity of the Spectre's. So, after cleaning up, she changed back into the comfortable navy blue cargo pants and matching blue and white short sleeved top with the N7 patch on the shoulder and headed out to meet with them, happy to be distracted from her brooding. As luck would have it, they were the only ones at the firing range ensuring that they would have their pick of weapons to choose.

Twenty minutes into their range time, Lakota took her weapon of choice, the Black Widow sniper rifle, to the modifications bench and began installing a concentration module and thermal scope. Her previous sniper rifle, which she had named 'Dama de las Sombras' or 'Lady of the Shadows', had either been lost or destroyed during the last battle while running toward the Citadel beam. That meant she was currently looking to replace the rifle, but the process was never simple. Every sniper knows that no two rifles are the same and they each live or die by the motto "know thyself, know thy rifle." Being aware of how a weapon responds in different environments, how it handles in extreme situations and even its durability is all life-saving knowledge, and Lakota applied this motto to every piece of weaponry she used. Every weapon had its own uniqueness and she had to find the one that felt right—the right weight, the right texture, the right essence, because on some level it was an extension of herself. She trusted her life and the life of others to its performance; therefore the rifle she took into battle had to be of superior quality, had to pass a rigorous assortment of stress tests and most importantly, had to feel right in her hands.

Garrus was running through his rack of assault rifles calibrating each one's kickback and accuracy as Javik stepped away from the firing line shelter with his submachine gun in hand, quickly crossing the distance to the bench where the Spectre stood. In Prothean society, Javik was considered elite amongst the elite. He was an Avatar of his people, one of the few who were chosen to embody a single virtue for their society, and vengeance was his virtue. After his stasis pod was discovered on Eden Prime and his body revived, the Prothean joined the fight against the Reapers, but his integration into the Spectre's squad was not a smooth transition. The difficulty was mostly due to the vast cultural rift between the ideals of the Prothean Empire, an imperialistic society, and those of the current cycle, a collective of independent races.

The Protheans—and therefore Javik—believed that evolution, or the "Cosmic Imperative" as they termed it, was the driving force in the universe and that the strong must flourish by dominating the weak for the greater good of all. Although Lakota logically understood the merits of Javik's belief, they had many heated discussions during which the Spectre argued against the Prothean. He believed that mercy was a weakness, not a strength; she agreed when it involved her enemies, but not when it involved intimate relationships whether it be friends or lovers. He was generally dismissive of morality and friendship and viewed allies simply as a resource to use against the Reapers; she disagreed, believing that in this cycle all races were going to have to trust in each other and join together on a united front in order to stop the Reapers.

Regardless of their arguments though, the two respected each other's abilities and in the end, while in battle, Javik followed the orders that Lakota issued without hesitation.

The Prothean laid the submachine gun down on the bench, then turned to the human. "Commander," he said curtly, "have your memories returned?" The dark burgundy armor he wore added to his stoic countenance.

Lakota remained focused on upgrading the rifle on the bench as though she hadn't heard the Prothean's question. Normally she appreciated his straightforwardness, but today the trait grated on her nerves. "Not yet," she replied, her voice toneless and flat.

"I can help you."

"Help?" Lakota said incredulously as a sharp sting of irritation lanced through her body. How dare he be so presumptuous to assume that she wanted or needed his help. She ground her teeth tightly together, feeling the dull ache of a migraine begin to blossom at the back of her head. Taking a controlled, deep breath, she reined in her ire, then exhaled slowly, forcing her tone to be neutral, masking any indication of annoyance. "How?"

"With a simple touch, I will be able to recall what you have forgotten."

Although not common knowledge, Prothean's had a unique physiological attribute, an experiential exchange system that was based on physical contact. By touching something or someone, a Prothean could recall its experiences. Javik had performed such a reading in the Normandy's cargo hold. He had touched the room's floor, reading the biological markers left in the residual DNA of the previous occupant, accurately recounting Grunt's life as a tank bred Krogan.

Lakota shook her head, a cold ruthlessness coming into her eyes. "No, I don't think so."

"It will only take a moment," Javik explained, his tone imperious. "Primitives are easy for me to read."

"No," the Spectre repeated, her mouth twisting into a snarl as she turned, squaring her shoulders to meet him face to face. She could sense the fission of anger, a slow burning in her stomach beginning to spread through her body.

"In my cycle, weakness was not tolerated."

"Weakness?" There was a brittle, caustic quality to the Spectre's tone.

Javik's four eyes narrowed in skepticism as he struggled to comprehend the human's hesitation. "Your refusal is born of fear," he said condescendingly.

"I'm not afraid," Lakota stated coolly. Her distaste for this conversation was growing exponentially and in the back of her mind the Spectre knew she needed to remove herself from this situation and from the Prothean before she did or said something imprudent.

Without warning Javik's hand made a movement toward her.

Before it connected, Lakota took a step back, just out of the Prothean's reach, her body colliding with the weapons bench. "Don't touch me!" she snapped, outraged that he would attempt physical contact without her permission. Then, her voice grew sharper, harsh with barely suppressed rage. "My memories, whether I recall them or not, are my own! They are not for you to judge!"

Arrogantly, he replied, "I do not judge, Commander."

"Bullshit!" she yelled, her tone laced with venom. "That's all you've done since stepping out of your stasis pod!" Resentment and spite seethed within each of her words. "I am so goddamn tired of your 'holier than thou' attitude!"

"Your irritation is irrelevant. I can retrieve your memories." Javik took a step forward, closing some of the distance to the Spectre.

"Back off, Javik," Lakota growled, her face contorting in rage. She was losing control quickly. She had to get out of this room and get away from Javik, but the Prothean was blocking the only path to the entrance, making her feel cornered.

Ignoring the Spectre's warning, Javik stated, "It will only take a moment." Then, he took another step forward.

With no room to retreat, Lakota's body instinctively settled low into a protective crouch. Fury illuminated her icy green eyes in an animal-like savagery as her breath hissed between clenched teeth. "I said… back off!" As the words slipped past her lips, a sudden blast of biotic energy erupted from her clenched fists which slammed into Javik, hurling him through the air and against the wall four meters away.

Lakota stared dumbfounded at the slumped Prothean who was now sitting on the floor with his back against the wall. He was only slightly dazed, his armor having absorbed most of the impact. She then glanced at her hands, stunned by the aggressive biotic energy they had produced. As the color and fury drained from her face with the rapidity of lightning, confusion and uncertainty sprang forth. Without saying a word, she gave a fleeting glance to Javik and then quickly departed the firing range.

Garrus, who had turned around in time to see Javik catapulted into the wall and the Spectre leave the room, walked over to the Prothean as he struggled to stand. He held out his hand, but Javik refused the help and instead used the wall to steady himself as he regained his footing.

"What did you say to her?" the Turian asked, knowing full well that the Prothean's haughty attitude could be difficult to endure at times.

"I said nothing."

"Uh-huh…" Garrus replied, his tone disbelieving. "Then what the hell happened?"

"Apparently, the Commander is content to be without her memories," Javik stated sardonically. "I will never understand primitive logic."

Chuckling, the Turian said, "On a positive note, one of my theories was just proven."

"Which was?" Javik grumbled.

"Given sufficient thrust even a Prothean can fly."

Javik muttered something unintelligible, grabbed an assault rifle from the weapons bench and then moved over toward a firing line shelter to continue testing.

Frowning, Garrus watched the Prothean strut away, then activated his omni-tool and began to type a message. "Liara has got her hands full with you," he muttered under his breath as he pressed send.

…

After leaving the armory, Lakota resorted to something she had only done as a child: she fled. As quickly as her long strides would carry her, she made her escape from both Javik and the moment of her undoing. The moment she lost control of herself.

How did that happen? Why did that happen? What the hell happened?

The early afternoon sun was high in the now cloudless New Zealand sky brightening the day and warming the salty air blowing in from the sea, but with her attention fully rooted on the sense of disequilibrium and questions peppering her mind, the Spectre barely noticed the beautiful scenery. Ten minutes later, she arrived at the nearby arboretum which was run by the Institute for the purpose of scientific research, conservation and education. Without thought, she headed down a wooded walking trail not slowing her pace until she came upon a bluff overlooking the bay. Close to the protective railing outlining the safety perimeter was a worn wooden bench, a lonely fixture, solitary and forsaken on the backdrop of a rippling watery background.

Before she even registered what she was doing, Lakota had activated her omni-tool and initiated a vid call to Liara, the Asari whose voice was the one balm that always soothed her nerves. After the fifth ring the call went to an automated vid mail system, but Lakota terminated the connection before leaving a message. She needed to talk with her lover, not leave a distraught video communiqué.

The Spectre stood for a moment, trembling uncontrollably, hoping the calming vista would help her regain her composure and rebuild her self-control, which seemed startlingly tenuous and fragmented. Then, she was suddenly sitting down on the bench, her right hand clutching at her chest as her heart beat frantically and her breath came in short, sharp gasps. She was afraid, panicked. She had only meant to verbally threaten and intimidate in order to make Javik withdraw, but instead her reaction to him turned into a wild and violent physical display, saturated in an anger she had been unable to contain, unable to satiate. Her body shuddered involuntarily as she sensed the wisp-like tendrils of the anger's remnants continuing to flow along the edge of her perception like a foul, but intimate caress.

Logically, she knew the instinctive, natural way to express anger was to respond aggressively. It was an innate, adaptive response to threats and inspired powerful, often aggressive, feelings and behaviors, which allow individuals to fight and to defend themselves when attacked. A certain amount of anger, therefore, was necessary for survival. But as a sniper, she had been trained to control every emotion she had. Qualities such as patience, concentration, and emotional discipline were paramount for her to be successful and she had invested years in mastering her emotions, especially anger. That specific emotion triggered all of those effects that were detrimental for a sniper—adrenaline flowed, the pulse quickened, muscles tightened and careless or irrational behavior was more likely—the exact bundle of combustible ingredients that mixed right before the explosive interaction with Javik.

How had that happened?

Since joining the Alliance, she had never lost control of herself or lashed out in an emotional display, verbal or otherwise. She had been angry and infuriated many times, but never to the extent that the emotion controlled her and her actions. She prided her herself on responding, not reacting in those circumstances, and as such her backlash was usually cold, controlled and calculating. Growing up in the slums, she had seen too many people act without thinking, and the consequences were always severe. But while facing Javik it was as though all of those childhood lessons, all the Alliance training she had undergone meant nothing as her self-control faded away—like grains of sand slipping between her fingers.

Why did that happen?

Since waking in the hospital, Lakota had felt unsettled, ungrounded. Her perception and effect on the events around her gave the impression of being just out of reach, so she watched as moments unraveled instead of investing in them directly, like a spectator to her own existence. All that surrounded her—people, places, and events—had a surreal quality, and at times, she questioned whether her understanding of them was fully rooted in reality. She felt detached, split in two, connected to nothing, like she had one foot still in the dreamscape and the other in the real world, but her psyche was still traveling the plane between the two realms. The effect was disorienting and she wasn't sure if she could trust what she was being told or what she saw. What was true, what were lies? Her mind questioned everything, putting all facts through a rigorous litany of questions and counter-questions. The meticulousness was exhausting, but being the only sanity check at her disposal, it was necessary. She was not ready to share this information with anyone else. She was barely making sense of it on her own.

What the hell happened?

The powerlessness she had felt in the aftermath of her shattered composure had frightened the Spectre and she hated being afraid almost as much as she hated feeling out of control, so she fled trying to recoup her lost poise and peace of mind.

She needed to relax, to calm down. She needed to center herself. She needed Liara.

Activating her omni-tool once again, she initiated another vid call but this time when the call went to an automated vid mail system, she mustered her impassive command mask and left a message.

"Hey, Liara, it's just me. No emergency, just wondering where you are. Call when you can."

Regardless of her current distress, Lakota couldn't bring herself to willing expose her vulnerability, to voice her need for comfort. Not even to the one whose presence could soothe her anxiety and quiet the fears within.

Where was Liara? Why didn't she answer? What was so important that kept her from showing up at the medical facility this morning, from answering her calls now? An ache blossomed in Lakota's chest as hurt and frustration dripped off her like beads of sweat. Had Liara's work become so essential that her importance in the Asari's life had begun to dwindle? Did the researcher no longer care enough to see or talk to her unless it was convenient?

In that moment of doubt and rejection, Lakota's shoulders sagged and she hunched over, elbows on her thighs, her face resting in both hands. Her body shook violently as a chill overtook her followed by a wave of nausea and then her stomach muscles clenching.

She was used to fear, she had dealt with it her whole life and had learned from an early age to recognize it and contain it. This feeling that was currently assailing her senses was something else entirely, it was desperation mixed with the wretchedness of vulnerability. In this moment, she didn't want to be alone.

She reactivated her omni-tool and initiated another call. This time, the recipient answered after the first ring.

"Shepard!" The tone of the voice sounded genuinely happy.

"Hey, Miranda."

"How are you feeling?"

Lakota smiled, just happy and relieved to be talking to a friendly face. "I'm either tired or hungry. Still can't tell them apart."

"Since you slept the week away, I am going to guess that you're hungry."

"Don't confuse me with your logic." She grinned playfully, her mood shifting drastically in light of the easy-going distraction.

"Well, you look tired, too."

Noticing the concern in Miranda's eyes, Lakota replied, "I'm fine. Probably overdid my morning workout." Then she pinched the bridge of her nose, fending off the start of a migraine that flared unexpectedly behind her eyes.

"Bloody hell, Shepard! We just put you back together."

"I was just making sure everything still worked." Her friend's concern seemed out of proportion to the situation, but then the Spectre begrudgingly admitted that she wasn't in the best frame of mind to gauge someone else's emotional state.

"You need to take better care of yourself."

"Probably."

"Liara wouldn't appreciate your lack of care."

Lakota snorted in disbelief, but didn't comment on her lover's would be concerns, instead she attempted to change the subject. "How are things going with you?" After living with the other woman for almost a year on the Normandy, she knew her moods almost as well as Liara's. Something was bothering her.

The ex-Cerberus officer opened her mouth to speak but closed it just as quickly, her face contorting into a pained expression.

"Miranda? What's wrong?"

"Jacob's dead."

Lakota stared at the image on the omni-tool, grateful that she was already sitting down. Her eyes narrowed, looking at the holographic image of the woman thoughtfully, as if unable to discern the truth of her words through sound and instead, complex visual scrutiny was needed for comprehension. "What?" she finally choked out after the lump in her throat dissipated.

"When I arrived, I put the word out that I was looking for him. Damn war made a mess of all communication." Miranda took a long, slow breath. "He was a casualty of the last battle. I just found out this morning."

Everything seemed to start moving in slow motion as shock resonated through the Spectre's body, dulling her senses, making her shake uncontrollably once again. She breathed heavily, fighting the mounting sensation of the two worlds in her psyche colliding, leaving a path of devastation in the wake of their mutual annihilation. The validity of death was irrefutable, no doubt or second guessing existed for her in its revelation, just an oppressive sadness. "How?"

"Apparently he was protecting a group of civilians from Reaper ground troops."

Silence followed. Lakota was consumed with a myriad of thoughts, through which confusion abounded and bred. Hadn't she just seen Jacob a few weeks ago on the Citadel? He was so happy and excited about being a father. She recalled the way his face lit up when he spoke of his unborn child, a girl, and how he wanted to wait for the perfect moment before he proposed to Dr. Brynn Cole. The former Alliance marine and Cerberus Soldier had so much too look forward to, so much to live for.

"Shepard?"

Lakota's gaze shifted to the ground in front of her, studying the various blades of green grass. She sighed heavily. "I was just thinking of Brynn. Their child."

"I know."

"He had so much going for him and was so determined to be a better father than his own. He wanted to be around for his kid, to watch her grow up."

"I know."

"Ironic, I suppose," Lakota muttered bitterly. "This blasted war has destroyed so much."

"Shepard?"

"I'm fine," she lied. "Just took the wind out of me."

"I've got some free time. Do you feel like joining me for lunch?"

Miranda was offering to fill the void just as Lakota had desired when she placed the call, but when the offer was made she realized that the only one person could truly fill the empty space. Any other would be a shadow in comparison.

"No, I'm not hungry. Thank you, though." To ease the other woman's concerns, she added, "I'm heading over the apartments. Time to see what accommodations a Spectre is allocated."

"Okay, but if you change your mind, you know how to reach me."

"I do. And thanks… for telling me about Jacob and the offer of lunch."

"No problem, just remember to take care of yourself, ok? Don't push yourself too hard or soon I'll have to start charging you."

Miranda's attempt at levity fell flat but Lakota appreciated the gesture nonetheless. "Noted."

After the call ended, she kept her omni-tool active and initiated a new call, to the one whose company she truly desired. Third time's the charm, right?

The call went unanswered once more, automatically being transferred to vid mail. Lakota terminated it before the greeting had ended.

She sighed heavily, feeling as lonely and forsaken as the bench beneath her, saturated in her own desolation and sorrow regarding Jacob's death. Not to mention her own sense of abandonment. She closed her eyes, taking in the smell of the salty air and, there in the distance, heard the distinctive metal rattling of the rigging on boat masts swaying to the movement of the waves. Above that, she could hear the gentle ebb and flow of the sea casting a hypnotic rhythm as it crashed against the rocky cliff below.

In the natural symphony of combined sounds emanating from the seascape, the serene melody of tones and harmonies blending together in the creation of something greater than the sum of their parts, she felt completely and utterly alone.