(noun): an acceptable reason for doing something; something that justifies an action
#
One, two, three. One, two, three.
Sweat dripped down Alli's spine as she measured her breathing and moved through the steps again. She'd wanted to get in a quick practice before school started, but the morning was growing late and she would have to leave soon. One more time through the steps, then she'd go.
"If anyone says you can't do something, that's all the more reason to show them that you can do it ten times better than they ever could."
Unless everyone really is better than me, Alli thought. What am I supposed to do then, Dad? With every smooth step, she knew one thing for sure: she wished she could hear him answer her, just once.
The studio doors hissed open, but still Alli kept her focus. Only one other person would be here this early, so Alli wasn't worried.
"I appreciate your dedication," Instructor Maera said from somewhere behind her, "but I'm pretty sure I locked the studio when I left last night."
Alli kept her eyes closed as she maintained her pose. "Locked is a relative term."
Instructor Maera chuckled softly, and Alli felt the cool air shift as she walked by.
Alli did her best to keep her arms steady—one in front and one behind her—at the same time she kept her right leg extended behind her and level with her hip while she balanced on the ball of her left foot. In her mind, she could see the three foam blocks she had lifted with each raised limb as she counted down the seconds from ten. When she reached zero, Alli opened her eyes and let her pose and the blocks drop.
She wiped her arm across her forehead and turned to see Instructor Maera leaning against the balance bar. "Sorry, Instructor," Alli said, only slightly out of breath. "I guess I lost track of the time."
"It's fine, Alli," she said. Alli grabbed her bag and took out a towel to put around her neck. Instructor Maera's smile turned down as Alli turned to walk toward the door. "The invitation stands, you know. For the recital. You've improved tremendously and you should be proud of it."
Alli resisted an annoyed sigh and paused, looking back at Instructor Maera. "It's not a big deal," she said. "Mom said no. I get it."
She really did. And with just the two of them now . . . well, that would just make things worse for both of them if Alli got sent away, and standing on a stage and demonstrating her biotics for all to see wasn't the best way to make sure she stayed undetected by the Alliance. Mom was just barely starting to be okay again, ever since that night Alli called Ms. Dess. What would happen if Alli went away too? She shrugged that thought away, not wanting to entertain it too long.
Still, it felt so unfair. She'd heard from her classmates that some scouts from a few big schools were going to be there. When Alli started these lessons, she was so far behind everyone else and she had to work three times as hard just to catch up. And now, she was so sure she'd at least measure up with the rest. Show them that a human could master biotics just as well as anyone. Better even. But showing everyone would require, well, showing them. So she'd be in the audience the night of the recital instead of on the stage.
Instructor Maera nodded and walked forward to put a hand on Alli's shoulder. "It's natural to want to perform with the rest of the class. It's okay to feel disappointed."
Alli fished around in her bag until she found her water bottle and drank deeply. When her stomach grumbled, Instructor Maera pulled a protein bar out of her own bag and handed it to her. Alli took it but didn't open it. Despite the rumbling, she didn't feel like eating. She just wanted to get out of there and go to school before she was late.
"You need to keep your calorie intake commensurate with the amount you've been practicing," Instructor Maera said.
"I know," Alli said, pocketing the bar. "I think my mom packed food for me already. Thanks, though."
Before Instructor Maera could give her anymore well-meaning advice, Alli turned sharply toward the door and walked quickly to the locker room to clean up before hurrying to class.
When she entered the halls of the school, she turned down the hallway and half-jogged toward the library. A quick scan around the study area and she found Kardi with her face lit softly by the haptic interface of her 'tool, a small crease in her forehead as she concentrated on whatever it was she was reading. Alli sat heavily in the chair opposite Kardi and brought up her own 'tool.
"You're almost late." Kardi glanced up and half smiled before looking back at her 'tool. "Watch your hair. It's still dripping."
Alli shrugged one shoulder and navigated through a couple dozen levels of folders until she found the file she was looking for. Lines of code scrolled in front of her until she found the spot where she'd left off the day before. Her stomach rumbled again, and she reached into her bag for the protein bar Instructor Maera had given her while the code loaded.
"I've still got a few minutes before class," Alli said, biting into the chewy mass that fell disappointingly short of tasting anything like the chocolate its wrapper had advertised. "A little progress is better than no progress at all."
The crease in Kardi's forehead returned. "I'm pretty sure you're gonna get caught doing that sooner or later. I don't imagine the Alliance just doesn't notice someone playing around with the firewalls to their fighters' VIs."
Alli sighed. They'd already had this conversation more times than she cared to count. "Dr. Ramirez said I needed to take on a project that was for me and not for school, so really, I'm just following doctor's orders. And besides, I'm not doing anything to the code. I'm just reading it."
Kardi rolled her eyes—a gesture so new and human, it made Alli's stomach tie itself in knots. "I know you, and I know you're not going to stop at just reading. Eventually, you'll want to experiment. It'll be something small at first, but then your curiosity will get the better of you." She tilted her head and shook a finger at Alli, the tone of warning in her voice both mocking and serious. "It's just a matter of time before you get caught."
Alli frowned. "It's not all their fighters, just my mom's, Rosie Two. I'm not gonna do anything that could . . . maybe just tap into the camera feeds or something. Just so I can check on her when she's deployed. If I need to."
Just in case. Like, what if being away from home meant Mom started to get sad again? Alli might not be able to do anything about it, but at least she'd know. And what if she got in trouble during a flight? What if her fighter went down and no one knew about it, and—
Kardi reached a hand across the table and rested it on Alli's. The warmth of her palm on the back of Alli's hand made the skin there tingle, and Alli looked up, feeling a blush rise in her cheeks. Kardi held Alli's gaze, and her voice was low and steady, comforting. "She'll be fine. She doesn't face the same kind of danger your dad did."
Alli's throat grew tight and she swallowed. "I . . . I know. It's just . . . she just got back from her last tour, and the whole time she was gone I felt so useless. Like if anything did happen, I'd never know the details because they'd be classified like they were with . . ." Alli shook her head and frowned. "Drescher would just show up one day and say she's . . . If I can just get into her live feed . . ." Between the sudden urge to hold Kardi's hand and the dull throb of grief and the sharper stab of worry, Alli had to take a couple breaths before she could say anything else. "I don't want to spend another one of her tours feeling like that."
Kardi was quiet for a moment and then nodded, taking back her hand. "We can have an all-day study session on our free day. No one will be here, so it'll be quiet." She grinned. "You can be a criminal mastermind in peace."
Alli discreetly brushed the back of her hand as she closed her 'tool. "Yeah," she said. "That could work. I can figure out a lot of the code with a block of time like that."
Her heart pounded in her chest, and she readjusted her bag as she got ready to head to class.
"Alli?" Kardi's voice was a little higher than it had been, and a faint purple flush colored her cheeks. "What, um, what are you doing over the break? The one at the end of the year?"
Alli shrugged. "That's five months from now. I dunno. Getting ready to stay with Ms. Sana and Ms. Dess again? I think my mom is shipping out around that time."
"Would you want . . . I mean, would your mom be okay if . . ." She took a deep breath and started again. "Mom and I are going to Thessia. Some big food festival thing in Armali. I don't know anyone there, so she said I could bring a friend. Do you . . . do you want to go?"
Alli's voice got stuck in her throat and she had to clear it to say anything at all. "Me? You want me to go?"
The flush in Kardi's cheeks deepened almost to lavender. "I mean, you don't have to if you don't want to, but I thought it would be fun."
Alli couldn't remember the last time her feet had been on solid ground, but that possibility paled in comparison to the prospect of getting to spend so much time with Kardi. "Um, yeah," she said, feeling a wide smile pulling at her cheeks. "I have to ask my mom, but yeah, I think that would be a lot of fun."
A relieved smile spread across Kardi's face, making Alli's heart jump. A million questions raced through her mind, but the bell warning the start of first period rang before she could get any of them out. Then they were off in different directions to different classes, and Alli knew her concentration would be completely shot for at least the morning, if not the rest of the day.
Why had Kardi invited her? She could've asked Segundus. Well, he was dextro, so maybe not, since it was a food festival. But Lessa was an asari too and would've blended in better—or maybe not since she didn't like crowds of people. That had to be it. Alli could eat the food and handle the crowds.
But Kardi had looked really happy when Alli said she wanted to go. And she'd blushed the whole time. Was she . . . did she, maybe, like Alli? Like, like like? Alli had done her best to ignore her crush on Kardi ever since the Gerald incident, but maybe . . . Alli saw human and asari couples on the Citadel all the time. Maybe Alli could ask Kardi to be her . . . girlfriend? She'd have to figure out a better word, but the thought that Kardi might like her back had Alli's heart pounding and her cheeks burning in a blush she just knew everyone could see.
The day passed in a haze. Even at lunch, she and Kardi were hesitant around each other. She was still trying to figure out her own thoughts and feelings when she got home and sat at her desk. Doing any kind of homework was impossible, though, and she had no idea how much time passed before the smell of dinner broke through her consciousness and made her stomach grumble.
She hopped down the stairs and found Mom and Ms. Dess in the kitchen, separating food onto a row of three plates. On the counter, steam curled out of the open bags of take-out. Mom's shoulders shook, apparently laughing at something Ms. Dess had said.
Mom turned around and smiled brightly at Alli. "There she is," she said. "I was about to call you to dinner. Why don't you set the table while we get the rest of this ready?"
Alli was about to ask why Mom and Ms. Dess weren't out running like they usually did on Thursdays, but then she caught sight of the brace on Mom's knee and decided against it. That explained the take-out too. On days when Mom's knee hurt too much to run, Ms. Dess usually picked up something to eat for everyone, and tonight it was tacos from this levo place on the other side of the ward. They made this spicy pink sauce that made Alli's mouth water just thinking about it. Ms. Dess was getting pretty good at picking out human food.
Alli hadn't known what she wanted to happen when she called Ms. Dess that night so many months ago. Part of her had wanted to hear yelling and see some dramatic display of explosive emotion. Mom might as well have been a corpse after Dad died, and Alli just needed to see her react to something, to know that she still could. She'd already lost Dad; she couldn't lose Mom too.
But that's not what happened—not like that anyway.
She'd paced her room, her stomach twisting itself in knots, while she listened to the muffled voices on the other side of the wall. It seemed like they talked for hours, but it was probably only half an hour or so. Then they'd grown quiet, and after another ten minutes, she ventured a peek outside her room. Ms. Dess was coming out of Mom's room and closing the door behind her. She'd glanced up to see Alli watching her and nodded in her direction.
Ms. Dess had walked down the hall to her side and rested a comforting hand on her shoulder. "She'll be okay," she'd promised, her voice low and quiet so that they didn't wake Mom. "Han is the most determined person I've ever met." She paused before continuing. "She won't be the same, but she will be okay."
Alli had felt like a dreadnought lifted from her shoulders, and she smiled weakly. If Ms. Dess said Mom would be okay, then she would be—no one knew Mom like she did. And after that night, after Mom started sleeping and eating again, she really did seem to come back to life. She'd even started laughing again.
Like she was right now with Ms. Dess.
Mom bumped her shoulder into Ms. Dess's arm playfully before reaching for one of the bags and pulling out another container. When she opened it and started to arrange the food the third plate, Alli quizzed herself to recognize it: talaka, which was, as far as Alli could tell, kinda like tacos but with more meat and no cheese.
Alli took a deep breath and inhaled all the different aromas mixing in the small kitchen. It hadn't taken long for the strange scents of the food Ms. Dess ate to become some of Alli's favorites; there was something about them that smelled homey, something sweet and even spicy and warm, and Alli was disappointed every time she couldn't have any of it. The one time she'd let her curiosity get the better of her was not an experience she wanted to repeat.
As Mom and Ms. Dess finished putting the food on the plates, Alli started gathering utensils and cups to set the table in the dining room. They'd gotten some turian dishes too, since Ms. Dess ate dinner with them about half the time now, as long as she didn't have a late shift at C-Sec. Alli got the feeling Ms. Dess was still afraid Mom might crumble again if she looked away for too long. Sometimes Alli saw her still looking at Mom even when Mom was turned away, like she wanted to stay ready to catch Mom if she fell again.
Mom really did seem to be doing better, and she also seemed happiest whenever Ms. Dess was around. Everything felt like it was starting to go back to normal—whatever "normal" was without Dad around. Alli had exactly zero regrets about making that call in the middle of the night.
Mom came from around the corner holding two plates, Ms. Dess close behind her with her own meal. "How was school?" Mom asked as she set down the food and went back to the kitchen.
"Fine," Alli said. She tried to stop it, but her thoughts started to turn toward Kardi again. Well, no time like the present to deal with at least one question. "Um, so I guess Kardi and her mom are going to Thessia during the break, and, uh, she wants to know if I can go with them."
Mom reappeared around the corner with a look of surprise on her face as she used a dish towel to dry her hands. "To Thessia?"
Alli nodded. "Yeah, there's some kind of festival."
"That must be the Festival of Janiris," Ms. Dess offered. "It only happens every three hundred years. You'll never get another chance to see it firsthand. Sana plans to go too."
Mom hummed and took a drink of her water. "I guess if Sana will be there, I feel better about you going." Alli jumped up from her chair ready to throw her arms around Mom, but Mom held up a hand to stop her. "Before I say yes, though, I have a question for you."
Alli's breath caught in her chest and she felt her muscles tighten as she slowly sat back down. "Yeah, okay."
"Rosie Two told me someone has been trying to breach her firewalls," Mom said. "But none of the other fighters seem to be having that problem. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"
"Rosie Two?" Alli said weakly, knowing full well the name of her mom's fighter. Her mind raced to cling to some kind of explanation or deflection. "Maybe she needs a diagnostic check? I hope no one is trying to hack into her."
Her attempt at evasion failed miserably.
Mom sighed and leaned forward, resting on her elbows and folding her hands together. "You're not in trouble, Alli. But you could be. If someone besides me found out what you were doing, it would look like cyberterrorism, not curiosity." Alli started to respond—she wasn't doing anything! she just wanted to see the code!—but Mom held up her hand to stop her again. "Promise me you'll drop it and you can go to Thessia with Kardi. I'll forget what I saw and clear the alert from Rosie Two's logs."
Alli nodded vigorously. "Yes! Okay, I promise!" She nearly tripped out of her chair in her excitement that it had been so easy to get Mom to agree. "I'm gonna go call Kardi right now!"
She was nearly to the stairs when Mom called after her, "What about your dinner?"
Alli's stomach rumbled and she froze in her tracks. And wow, those tacos really did smell good. She turned and slid quickly back into her chair, already scooping up and biting into one of the tacos before she'd settled. As much as she wanted to tell Kardi everything immediately, Alli's hunger demanded satisfaction first.
Ms. Dess chuckled as Alli crunched through one taco after another. "Slow down, kid. Eat your food, don't breathe it."
Alli didn't have time to respond, and with a mouth full of food, it probably would've been messy if she'd tried. As soon as the last bite of her fifth taco was gone, she sprang from her chair and bounded up the stairs to her room, completely ignoring Mom's warnings against running while eating. She did slow down enough to swallow the last of her food and wipe her face of any crumbs before pinging Kardi, though. Alli's heart raced, and she wasn't sure if it was excitement or nervousness. Can it be both? she wondered.
Kardi squealed when Alli told her the news, and after a few moments of mutual excitement, Kardi started to list all the things Alli would have to do before they left. A passport, visa, vaccinations—it was a good thing she had months to get ready. By the time they disconnected, she had started to come down from her pleased high, and the promise she'd made to stop messing around with Rosie Two's VI codes decided to push its way to the front of her mind again.
Snag.
She'd have to review her notes to see where she might've tripped Rosie Two's security. It must've been a low-level error, something that the VI classified as nonthreatening, for the alert to go to Mom only. If Alli was just a little more careful, she could probably avoid that mistake again. As much as Alli didn't want to jeopardize her trip to Thessia with Kardi, she also knew she'd never be able to stand being left at home waiting and wondering if she'd ever see Mom again. She needed access to something. Anything.
But those thoughts started to weigh down her mood like gravity boots, so she decided to put them away for now. She could deal with them later when she had a clearer mind.
Alli bounced down the stairs again, wondering idly if there were any tacos left. The dining room was empty, though, and the table was only half cleared. Alli wandered back to the kitchen and found Mom leaning against the counter with her fingertips against her lips. She looked pale and didn't seem to notice that Alli was there. Alli's stomach began to twist.
"Mom?" Alli's heart pounded hard against her chest as she tried to fight off the worst thoughts about Mom falling back into how she was before. She waved a hand in front of Mom's face to get her attention. Mom shook her head and looked at Alli. "Is something wrong? You look . . . sick."
Mom blinked and shook her head. "Yeah. I mean no. I'm fine. Sorry, I was lost in thought I guess."
Alli looked around. "Where's Ms. Dess? Did she leave already?"
Mom turned and busied herself with cleaning the dishes in the sink. "Yeah," she said, her back to Alli. "She got a call from work and had to leave. Sorry you didn't get to say goodbye. What did Kardi have to say?"
Alli wanted to smile and be excited, but there was something in how Mom looked that was too much like how she was after Dad. Alli felt sick. "She, uh, she gave me a list of things to do before we go." Alli bit her lip and hesitated before continuing. "Mom, are you sure you're okay?"
Mom took a deep breath—not annoyed, but maybe steadying?—and turned around. She didn't have that put-on smile she sometimes had when she didn't want Alli to know how upset she was, so at least that was a good thing. She put a hand on Alli's hair and kissed her forehead. "You don't have to worry about me," she said. "I have a few things on my mind, that's all. Nothing too serious, I promise."
Alli wasn't sure if she fully believed Mom, but that line of anxiety in her shoulders had seemed to relax. Alli decided not to press the issue, but she'd keep an eye on Mom for a few days.
Maybe she didn't need to hack Rosie Two, after all. Maybe she should focus on Mom's hard suit's on-board computer. Then she'd know if Mom was okay by checking her vitals, even from the Citadel. She could even stream any video the suit recorded. Mom hadn't said no hacking at all, just no hacking Rosie Two.
Yeah. She'd start that project tomorrow.
#
Michael bolted awake, gasping and coughing as freezing water splashed across his face.
"Stop sulking and get the fuck up, Shepard." Greenwood was obviously talking loudly on purpose to aggravate the pulsing between his temples. "Jack's got an assignment for you."
If it hadn't been for the sudden sense of vertigo and nausea that hit him like a brick wall, Michael was sure he could've murdered Greenwood right then. It's not like anyone on Omega would care about another dead human in the gutter.
"Fuck off, Greenwood," he muttered and lay back down, not especially caring that the cold water made his pillow smell like a wet dog and alcohol-infused sweat. "Tell Jack to fuck off too."
He closed his eyes, but he heard her walk away and start banging around in the kitchen. Bitch.
"You've got quite the palace here, Major," she called, again talking much louder than was strictly necessary. "Jesus-fucking-Christ. I thought N7 types were supposed to be neat freaks. Have you even washed a dish since you got here?"
"Don't you have a date with a pole you have to get to?" Michael called without opening his eyes and winced as his head pounded at the sound of his own voice.
"It's called a shift, asshole, and it's good work. Any job on Omega that comes with Aria's protection is fucking gold," she said. Something crinkled and the sound of plastic containers opening told him she must be attempting to cook something. "You wouldn't believe the sensitive shit people tell dancers. Which is how you have an assignment in the first place. Seriously, Shepard. You've wallowed enough. It's time to start justifying that stupidly obscene stipend Jack keeps sending you for some reason."
Michael scowled. "I consider it payment for services already rendered." The smell of butter melting reached him and he had to close his eyes and swallow about a dozen times to keep everything on the inside.
"Listen here, motherfucker," Greenwood said, her voice raising another octave. "You're not the only one who's never going to see their family again, who's never gonna see their—" If it had been anyone else, Michael would've thought he heard her voice break. Then she cleared her throat and went on, a little quieter but still too loud, "Boo-fucking-hoo. Get the fuck over yourself and get back to work." The sound of eggs cracking and sizzling filled the flat. "And clean this place up, for fuck's sake."
Michael groaned and sat up slowly. He couldn't give less of a shit about whatever or whoever Greenwood might've lost when everything went tits up, but it was clear she wasn't going to let up any time soon. It took a moment before his equilibrium returned, and then he shuffled into the kitchen and slumped onto a stool at the island.
She pointed to a glass full of some kind of thick, red liquid and said, "Drink. No complaints. Then no more drinking. You need a clear head for this assignment—which I think you're gonna like, by the way. You get to kill as many batarians as your poor little wounded heart desires without the Alliance jumping up your ass over politics or some shit."
He took up the glass, smelled the liquid, and immediately regretted it. There were hints of chili and honey and raw egg, but if he thought about it too much he'd have to start dry swallowing again. He opened his mouth to protest, but Greenwood held up the spatula she was holding to stop him.
"No. Fucking. Complaints," she said. "You've spent more nights than I can count sitting in that fucking booth at Afterlife putting God knows how much poison in your body. You can take five minutes to drink this shit to get it out."
Michael grimaced and looked at the contents of the glass. Whatever. He knocked back the largest gulp he could and covered his mouth to keep the spicy, slimy, viscous substance from coming back up. After a few deep breaths, he did it again, and then repeated until the glass was empty. Fucking finally. By the time he was done, Greenwood slid a plate of scrambled eggs and a pile of sausage links toward him.
"Grease and protein," she said, grinning. "Food of the hangover gods."
He squinted at the food and then at Greenwood. "Where did you get all this? I didn't have any of this before."
Greenwood piled food onto her own plate and took a bite of one of the links as she leaned against the far wall, holding her plate close to her chest. "I have a guy," she said around the food in her mouth. "He's a turian, but he's the only one who can get fresh apples with any kind of consistency around here. I figured you didn't have shit here besides boxes of that godawful nutrient paste and maybe some canned vat meat." She opened the tall cupboard to her right with her foot to reveal exactly how desolate his shelves were. "Guess I was right. What the fuck do you do with all those credits Jack pays you? At least get a cleaning service for this shithole."
Michael pushed the food around on his plate and took an experimental bite. When it stayed down, he felt more optimistic about the rest. Come to think of it, it really had been a while since he'd had any kind of real food like this.
Greenwood was right: he had a pretty healthy bank account at this point and didn't have to live in his self-imposed squalor. Well, healthy minus the twenty grand some fucking salarian made off with after promising he could get Michael real-time access to the security feed of Han and Alli's neighborhood on the Citadel. If he ever saw that salarian again, he'd put a bullet between his eyes without a second thought. Fucking salarians. He supposed it served him right for trusting something that's literally slimy.
When his plate was empty, Michael pushed it aside and got up to use the bathroom.
"Whoa there, Major Messy," Greenwood stopped him. "Where does that dish go?"
He waved her away and continued onto the bathroom. "Go fuck yourself."
"I would," she said, glancing around the apartment with a look of disgust, "but I'm afraid I'd get a UTI if I did it anywhere in this fucking sty."
He stayed under the spray of the showerhead until the water turned cold, and he had to pause occasionally while getting dressed as his sense of balance fluctuated in functionality. By the time he finally pulled a shirt of dubious freshness over his head and ran his fingers through his wet hair instead of brushing it, he hoped Greenwood would've gotten bored and left, but no such luck. Instead, she sat at the kitchen table with datapads and a white envelope spread before her. His dirty plate was still where he left it, so he sighed, put it in the sink to deal with later, and sat opposite her, taking up the envelope and tearing it open haphazardly.
He read over the mission briefing quickly, skimming the details to get at the meat of his assignment.
"Recon," he said, his tone flat and unimpressed. "The point of recon is to gather information undetected. I thought you said something about killing batarians."
Greenwood chuckled. "Slow down there, killer. Recon is just the first part. If you'd kept reading, you'd know that. If you behave yourself, you just might even get to assassinate someone." She pushed forward the first datapad. "Batarians are building a lot of classified shit too damn close to a human colony. We're pretty sure they're preparing an operations base for large-scale raids." She slid forward another datapad, this one with a lot of blurry images taken from too high up to be clear. "Note the huge fucking cargo haulers. I reckon they could hold quite a few humans if they pack them in like fucking sardines."
He glanced at the intel in front of him and huffed. "Sounds like you guys have it all figured out. Why do you need me? Just bomb the shit out of the fuckers."
Greenwood shook her head. "No can do. Jack's getting pretty chummy with some Alliance higher ups. He does them a few convenient favors, they owe him. Right now, the guy asking for a favor doesn't want it looking like humans—Alliance or otherwise—had anything to do with it and wants an expert touch. And besides," she said and reached for the packet in front of Michael and tapped her finger on a bullet point. "We want to know specifics. Munitions. Troops. Plans. Specific orders if you can get them. But mostly who's in charge and where everything's coming from."
"Ah," Michael said. "I'm guessing that's where the assassination comes in."
Greenwood nodded. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a phial of a semi-clear liquid. "Premium STG shit right here, my friend."
Michael frowned. Fucking salarians. "STG? Since when is Cerberus in the habit of collaborating with those overgrown salamanders."
She barked a laugh. "I wouldn't call this a collaboration. It's closer to a frame-up job. Like Jack's friend said, no connection to humans. If you get sloppy or decide to drink on the job," she paused and looked at him pointedly with a raised eyebrow, and he rolled his eyes at her just as pointedly, "this little baby is the failsafe that wipes our trail clean."
Michael sneered. "I'm pretty sure I've heard that line before."
Greenwood set the phial down in front of Michael and leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. "Go fuck yourself, Shepard. I already said I was sorry things went sideways on Geneva. I'm not gonna beat my chest over this shit forever. You were a big boy mole and you damn well knew the risks. You don't think I did my best to get you off clean anyway, whatever. That's your business. Just do your fucking job." She stood and picked up her bag. "Your transport leaves in ten hours. Get your shit together and your head on straight. You have a week to complete the assignment. If you don't get it done, Jack's going to reconsider your usefulness."
Greenwood finally left, and Michael breathed a sigh of relief. A part of him wanted to continue to be petulant and not care what Jack thought of him. But that hangover cure must've sobered him up enough for him to appreciate that would be a bad thing—for him, for Hannah and Alli, and as much as he wanted to not give a shit, for Greenwood.
He took up the phial and scanned it with his 'tool. No results. Must've been classified seven ways from Sunday. One of those datapads Greenwood had left behind probably had instructions for how to use it.
Almost on impulse, he pushed himself away from the table and went to the cupboard above the refrigerator . . . and was only mildly surprised to find it suddenly devoid of any of the bottles he'd had there. Greenwood must've cleaned him out before deploying her oh-so-gentle wakeup method. He took a deep breath and grudgingly admitted she was probably right. The next day or so was going to be fucking awful.
Well. More awful than his days already were. He'd lost everything so quickly his head was still spinning, and not just from the hangover that had become a constant state.
If only Han hadn't found that 'tool and started asking questions. Granted, it was stupid of him to lose it in the first place, but why did she have to assume he was doing something illegal with it? Why couldn't she just have trusted he was only doing his job? Hell, she hadn't even considered that maybe he was having an affair, like a normal person. How could she have had so little trust in him?
If only she hadn't pushed him—pushed Cerberus—into this situation. Knowing what he did now about the roots Cerberus had set down throughout the Alliance, he was certain Greenwood was being genuine when she said she'd tried to get him off. He could've been a free man. He could've been at home with Han and Alli instead of keeping his head down in a shithole at the edge of the Terminus. He could've been helping Alli with her homework or cooking Han's favorite meal instead of rotting his insides with nutrient paste and whiskey. He could've been going to bed every night with his arm around his wife instead of drinking himself into a stupor heavy enough to chase away all thoughts of what he could've been doing right about now. And he'd never get any of that back.
He'd fucked up. He'd gotten sloppy and he got caught.
He sat heavily at the table and scrubbed his hands over his face. The mission debrief caught his eye and he pulled it back toward him. This time, he read it carefully and started to visualize the resources he would need, methods of ingress, contingencies, everything. It felt a bit like knocking rust off a wheel, but once he got started oh his mission prep, it felt like slipping into an old pair of comfortable clothes.
The datapad with the aerial photographs showed an interesting story; Greenwood was probably right about the batarians' plans for creating an operations base for raids.
The other datapad told another story—a horror story if no one did something. Greenwood had mentioned a human colony; according to the dossier, it was still incipient and primarily agricultural. The colonists were still trying to keep wildlife from their sapling crops; slavers who attacked quickly and mercilessly would make quick work of them. Worse, if some admiral or member of parliament was coming to Cerberus for help? Clearly, the Alliance either wasn't interested or wasn't equipped to help. Either way, the future looked bleak for the colonists if someone—if Michael—didn't do something.
Besides, wasn't the whole reason he'd lost everything and everyone he cared about because he was trying to protect people like this?
Michael closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Greenwood was right.
Time to get back to work.
/
As ever, I am forever grateful to pagerunner, servantofclio, and thievinghippo for their brilliant beta work 3