Author's Note: It's been waaaay too long in the works. I finally finished my second semester and this chapter just inched along. Holy crap. Also, I'M GOING TO COMICON OMG!!!
I'm still on track… I think… I just need a few more chapters to get me back into a comfortable place. Thank you for being patient with me. Not gonna lie, I'm incredibly distracted with an idea for a new Mass Effect story, NOT Shepard-related. I'm not going to touch it or do anything remotely word-y with it until I wrap MO up.
I tried to edit this time around. I did this late at night though, so… preemptive "whoops" for whatever I missed.
I follow Mass Effect 2 on Twitter. I don't own Bioware, but it certainly owns me. Thanks for giving me these terribly tough choices, B-Ware.
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Time slithered across them, snaking through the icy fissures and deep into the cracks of their glacial confines. Even the lifeless rock beneath them aged with each passing millisecond; another inch of the planet's rotation. If in that moment, their orbit ceased and the course around the sun became a thing of the past, life would move on. Existence would continue with or without that solar body and they would be none the wiser if the flaring star failed to rise. Shepard was no astrophysicist, but the permanence of such a concept was very deeply instilled within her. Despite this concrete knowledge, she still could not believe that the faint glow of her HUD's clock continued to change with each passing second, though she and her partner remained motionless. Time should have been relative to action, a counter of movement and achievement. It was, however, unforgiving and relentless, an unchanging tempo in the universe's grand chorus. She eyed the helmet, which now sat beside her, upturned to show off the frequency display, just in case the impossible rescue occurred. There was a vicious-looking crack in the visor that she attributed to the failure of her advanced tracking unit. The cave might as well have been made of lead- she had virtually zero visibility on her sensors. Her life support and damn clock seemed to be the only things functioning properly on her Guardian model. Garrus, however, seemed worse for wear.
The turian suit's once-illuminated life support reader had gone dim and quiet. Shepard had been checking his vital tracker obsessively, fidgeting with the hardware every few moments and hoping to illicit some kind of response. The system seemed shot, though, despite all her fussing. She had taken to making intentionally destructive changes in the thing, just to see if she could work out even the faintest of alarms, but it was all in vain. For all the tinkering she had once done in her spare time, she couldn't raise a turian support system from the dead. Instead, she had to settle in place as a watch dog, sitting awkwardly cross-legged beside Garrus as she waited for him to awaken. It wasn't just the concern for his well-being that had her itching to shake him and speed up the process. He had failed to explain long ago why exactly the ERC had it in for her, or how he could have obtained this information in the first place. She had discerned long ago on the Citadel that he was an exceptional agent and apt detective, but Noveria was way off C-Sec's radar. Someone would have to be intentionally targeting the system and siphoning specific information from a planetoid of some kind. She doubted he was making frequent trips to Hanshan… There was always the possibility of some kind of remote collaboration. After all, the ERC was, in essence, a security task force obligated to maintain the peace in the port. Shepard wanted to believe that there was at least one agent who had resisted going crooked. Her speculations would remain until the turian could make sense of it all.
She couldn't remember the last time she had wanted to talk to someone so badly.
Earlier, she'd been afraid to move Garrus for fear of exaggerating any injuries he could have sustained during the fall. Turians were hard-plated creatures, but she was unsure of the extent of such protection. The armor couldn't have just been for show… otherwise she would have done… something more, something endearing-like. However, the hours were passing regardless and she was restless. Shepard uncrossed her legs and inched towards him, knee caps scraping against the ice as she knelt at his head with a soft exhale.
"Wake up, Garrus. You've got a lot of explaining to do."
Her own voice seemed offensive, an intrusion on the sacred silence of her brand new ice palace. She'd never enjoyed the rather deep-set, plain tone. Shepard would never be a shrill bird sitting at a desk, taking calls back in the Sol system, nor would she ever don the dress skirt of a working woman. She was military, N7, and better off for it. This was her mantra and it would do her well… Very well in the years to come, if she ever saw them.
Garrus' was much less abrasive. But she couldn't stop.
"I don't know how you did it… actually, I have… ideas… But a little foresight would have been wonderful. This cave would have been especially nice to know about. I'd have packed dinner or something."
'Not that we could share the same meal what with your biology being all… weird.'
The mental image was far more amusing than it should have been. Either the cold was having some adverse effect on her sensibilities, or she was sporting psychological cracks much deeper than she could have possibly anticipated. Perhaps Shepard really was losing her grip. How else could this have happened? She was trapped in an ice pocket with an unconscious turian without an operating radio. Why would she have left Wrex alone in the-
' Wrex…'
Her stomach lurched forward, bile churning as she grasped her knees. For a moment, Shepard thought she might wretch as the weight of her mistakes struck her. These operatives were her charge; not agents for hire. She had thought Wrex to be highly capable; a dying breed of formidable warriors. He had overcome great odds, taken countless lives. She was allowed to let him venture out on his own, right? Or did the lessons of the past weigh in everywhere? Was everyone so desperate for a rescue? And why, of all people, was she the only lifeline in sight? There were no alternatives out here. It always seemed to be a cold sun that illuminated the day out on the fringes of space… Vacant and alone with no laws save for the ones they created and lived by. She had to be the authority and her credentials supported this, but never had she felt so unprepared for a responsibility. She answered to the Council, but they would not shield her from her own mistakes, nor would they offer guidance that did not eventually serve to satiate their own needs. The Alliance forces weren't quite sure what to do with her. Hackett and Anderson seemed to be the last two officers in the entire navy that remembered her humanity, though they held so fast to their own agendas that she scarcely knew whether or not they understood that she was not invincible. Anderson's crusade to destroy Saren could be blinding at times, forcing Shepard to measure his words when emotion seemed to get the best of him. And Hackett, well… a high-ranking Alliance admiral had more pressing matters. To him, Shepard was an invaluable tool with an aptitude for silencing the galaxy's noisier pests. She had countless duties to perform and distress calls to answer, but the crew that gave her the nerve to follow through was falling apart while she sat idle.
She had invested too much into independence and instinct. She had survived too much to go down quietly, to die as the woman lost in the planet that time forgot.
"Time's up…" She muttered, reaching for the collar of her hardsuit.
Shepard found the fastener and hastily wrenched the protective layer down, revealing the form-fitting, insulating suit. The skin below Garrus' plating was cold to the touch, a death sentence if that low temperature was maintained. She knew enough from her years of touring to understand that the turian core temperature needed to be quite high by human standards if they were to function. If he was cold, he'd never awaken. She had to find a way to jump start life support if this was going to work… or at least get him warm enough to wake up and fix the problem himself. Body heat was out of the question; it wouldn't transfer through the suit and she had no way to remove his entirely. There had to be some way to make this work without charring flesh or melting the cave around them.
The idea came swiftly and vaguely at first, but the concept alone seemed like enough to warrant an effort. She pulled her arms from the sleeves and removed her gloves. It took a good deal of effort and she found that the suit's interior seemed to radiate heat; proof of just how screwed she would be without the temperature control in the freezing world. Still, it was capable of more. She had a small console on the interior of the collar meant for minor adjustments before entering the intended environment. She changed a few variables and manually reset the exterior temperature, though the suit found this complicated. Still, she managed to override its most basic function and soon enough, the waves of heat began to spill over. She fumbled with Garrus' outer shell for a moment, but found that the insulation came away after a few moments of her urging. It was a complicated mess and she was almost positive that she had broken a hinge or fastening of some sort, but she had the credits to buy him three replacements if he was that distraught about it.
Shepard was taken aback by what she found, though she had only a moment to examine his anatomy. Garrus had no real plating to speak of and his chest cavity did distantly resemble a human's in some respect, but it was virtually all sinew and muscle; a compact cage protecting the vital organs within. There was something undeniably fierce about it, though she knew well enough that prolonged exposure to radiation had made it more fragile than the eye could perceive. With little time left for ogling, she crawled over him, arms braced against the ice on either side. It was an oddly exposed position, but it seemed to be the most effective method for heat transfer. Her palms slipped as the ice beneath her fingers grew slick; the surface layer of ice melting. The next few moments were guaranteed to be brutal and probably awful… but the time had come to reap what she had sown. It would just feel like hell's skillet.
It was a steady pressure first, then it exploding into something fierce and unforgiving. While her upper body had the opposing cold factor, anything left within the suit boiled. Her legs felt as though they were being seared while spandex top she wore grew damp with sweat. Shepard practically collapsed on top of Garrus, breathing heavier as her tried to fill her lungs with the cold air while the molten heat transferred to Garrus. She didn't know the exact temperature necessary to revive him, but the flashing collar console told her that one hundred degrees was getting particularly dangerous to maintain. She began to pant softly while she baked, her weight now resting completely upon Garrus while she let her head rest just below his collar, trying to remember why she had deemed this a good idea.
In the back of her mind, she wondered just how ridiculous she looked in the compromising position. The rest of her mind screamed, begging to know why it was so damn hot. With a defeated groan, she relented and fumbled for the collar, frantically reducing the temperature to something much lower and much more human friendly. Shepard lay in a heap atop Garrus, heaving for a moment as she waited, reluctant to test her legs lest they wobble and fail beneath her. Suddenly, the surface shifted as the chest beneath her rose and fell sharply. A croak and gasp heralded Garrus' triumphant return to the living. A desperate eye drifted upwards, watching as the turian gaped, saying nothing. Her own lips failed to connect as she continued to pant softly. She pushed herself up, palms finding the ice once again. The surface was just as slippery as before and she faltered, collapsing once more against him. This time, an armored limb found her and draped across her back, talons splayed across the hot outer layer of her overworked hardsuit. It was unconscionable, unseemly, and so inexplicably comforting that in that moment, something deep within Shepard softened. A part of her so resistant to the sweltering heat, but malleable under an alien touch. It did frighten her minutely, but God, something in the unconscious touch assured her that no matter how dark the night, dawn would always break.
Damned be the soul who dared challenge her moment of poetry. She had earned a few seconds of weakness after so many years in the service, even though the solace came at the hands of a species once thought to be the scourge of humanity… for two whole months.
"Can you speak?" Shepard asked as she tried once more to prop herself up with renewed insistence. Still, the weight of his arm remained her back.
"Ah… yes…" he rasped before clearing his throat, the vocal flanging amplifying the words and filling the cave with the welcome sounds of life. He finally reclaimed his limbs as she sat up and back on her knees. The warmth disappeared quickly, leaving her to rapidly chill outside the protective cushioning of her suit. Her teeth began to chatter as she wriggled back into the sleeves, sweat quickly freezing against her. Shepard began to put herself back together.
"We have to find a way out of here. I'm not picking up any local frequencies… Normandy's out of range… and we've got to get Wrex."
Garrus absorbed this in silence as he sat up with a groan, eyeing the evidence of Shepard's ingenuity while he put his suit back together, talons deftly reaching for controls she never knew existed.
"… But first, you're going to tell me why the ERC wants me dead. I know there's more to this than you're letting on, so let's just cut right to it."
Garrus was composed and ready; recovering much faster than she had anticipated. Meanwhile, she was still on her knees, finding the strength to rise. The turian was beside her almost instantly, gloved fingers encircling her upper arm as he pulled her up, urging her to find her footing. When she stumbled, he offered the support of a hand at her waist, straightening her in an unusually domineering manner. There was something slightly mechanical about his movement and his silence suggested he was still not entirely himself.
"Garrus…?" She tested, eyeing the brave hands he'd placed on her person. She lacked the nerve to call him on it. Frankly, Shepard believed she could use the physical support in that moment.
"The Second Strike," he stated calmly as he let her slip from his grasp, steel blue eyes still locked on her form, sending a chill down her spine that had nothing to do with the cold. There was something very predatory there that she hadn't seen before; a viscous intent she couldn't quite decipher. Shepard knew very well there was a line between them, but that look whispered threads, a desire to cross it and she wasn't sure what sort of motivation compelled him to do so. It made her wary, uncertain of the turian she once thought to be a beacon of safety.
But then the ghosts of her past came charging in; an unwelcome cavalry.
"They were neutralized years ago. How could that-" Shepard began, but Garrus was unusually curt.
"You cut off a vital limb long ago, Shepard… didn't sever the head. You merely taught them the value of subtlety. I intercepted a hit list shortly before I relayed the warning to you… and I believe they've infiltrated the ERC and are trafficking steroids to Salarian separatists in this system."
Shepard hesitated, working through the spiking rage that seized her.
"Would you mind explaining to me why this story and the one you told me back there are so very, very different?" Her voice strained.
Garrus chose not to look at her and instead busied himself with the purposeless task of reintegrating his suit's exoskeleton module.
"You're at the top," Garrus muttered, evasive.
"That doesn't surprise me. Why did you keep this to yourself?" Shepard didn't skip a beat.
But Garrus dithered, letting the silence descend once more. Just before Shepard could bark demands, he relinquished.
"I'm not entirely sure. Maybe it was some effort on my part not to add to the burden of the mission. If the situation was contained, then why make an issue of it," he seemed earnestly downtrodden.
"Garrus, if something's on my six, tell me to check my six. Don't ever assume you're doing me a favor by keeping me in the dark."
He was suddenly staring at her as his head snapped around, the flanging of his voice increasing with his agitation. "I made a mistake. I threw my better judgment out the window and I regret the decision I made. I'm trying my damndest to stop beating myself up for it, Shepard. It just isn't something I take lightly. I'm sorry. You're going to have to give me this one."
She didn't know what to make of his sudden change of demeanor or the electricity rippling in the air that had her so fascinated. For once, it was Shepard who let her gaze fall, unexpectedly discomfited by the intensity of his stare. A complete pardon was not something she took lightly. In this case, Garrus had erred and the result looked like worst case scenario. He hadn't earned a pat on the back and she didn't believe she owed him any forgiveness. She could merely offer an understanding that would hopefully satisfy whatever validity he needed. Shepard just wasn't the hand-holding type.
"I'll trust you not to make the same mistake twice," she grunted.
Garrus' mandibles twitched as he turned swiftly once more to gaze at their frozen enclosure. Her answer appeared to have appeased him, as he seemed to be evaluating matters of greater importance.
"We better get out of here. I'm not a big fan of the cold," he sighed, removing a small, handheld device from his back bracket.
Shepard arched a brow as he lifted the device to the wall, where it stuck and began to pulse softly.
"Aren't you full of surprises?" she ventured at humor, though her words seemed painfully deadpan.
"Sonar meters aren't exactly standard issue at C-Sec… but this always seemed like it might come in handy someday," Garrus activated his omni-tool and began scrolling through various screens and readouts until he was satisfied with a luminescent grid.
"You're a regular boy scout," she muttered just under her breath, retrieving her frost-spattered helmet from the cavern's floor.
"We don't appear to have fallen too far. There's a considerable lacking of any kind of solid mass through here… but there should be a reserve generator station running parallel to us. We just have to blow through this wall… which should be south if my instrumentation is still calibrated," he removed the device and took a step back, offering the ice an appraising stare.
"I got a couple of nades on me," Shepard reached for her belt, removing the first explosive. She wasn't an expert in this field, but she had a damn strong hunch that anything stronger than a single-source explosion might send their quaint little prison crashing down on them.
Garrus didn't challenge her, taking the offered grenade without asking for the second.
"This should be fine as long as we can concentrate the blast," Garrus said as he removed a generous amount of omni-gel from his side canister, slathering the device with adhesive and placing it firmly against the wall.
Shepard trusted Garrus' technical expertise, having seen him in action on multiple impressive occasions. He could overload a geth blaster from yards away while the thing exploded in the AI's lifeless claws. Still, she was always standing a safe distance away when the blasts went off and there wasn't a whole lot of cover inside the cavern. She engaged her shield boost as subtly as she could manage, but the soft hum of the power cells coming to life had Garrus craning his head around to give her an indiscernible look. Shepard might have called it indignation had he possessed the facial muscles to express the human equivalent.
She shrugged, "No offense."
Garrus shook his head and punched in the timer. He hesitated before activating his own shields and hustled back to Shepard, muttering.
"None taken."
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"What the fuck was that?!" O'Callahan shouted as the entire humvee swayed sharply to the right.
The blow knocked Toombs into the side of his door, wrenching a surprised yelp from him as Shepard shot upright, hands braced on the console as she squinted into the bleakness on the other side of the windshield.
Again, something impacted the side of the vehicle and the sound of straining metal sent Shepard's red flags flying. She swept up her helmet and pulled her visor down. She spun around, pulling herself up to see the four marines in the back scrambling to get a secure position. Toombs' two boys were swarthy-skinned marines who typically only expressed boredom, but the violent rocking of the humvee had them wide-eyed and noticeably paler. The colonel had assured her that these soldiers held their own and kept cool heads, but a quick glance at Lao and Aguila was enough to make her throw out Toombs' testimonial. O'Callahan, however, was stern-faced and strapping in. She had given the servicemen little thought and knew virtually nothing as to their training and background; all she knew for certain was they had passed basic and qualified for something more glamorous than mess service. But they were fumbling around, unprepared and helmet-less.
"Buckets on! Masks up!" Shepard shouted over the din of the storm, gripping the back of her seat tightly as a milder thrust shoved them sideways. She tapped against the surface of her own when the boys in the back didn't seem to get the message and closed the support mask, opening her close-range channel. O'Callahan was in her ear first, fully-suited up and plugged into to reserve oxygen.
Toombs was multitasking with the console's readouts as he struggled with his own bucket. He was in her ear soon after.
"I'm picking up seismic activity here. We'll have to hold until it passes. I can boost the shields to-
"
"Belay that," Shepard ordered, "We're scrubbing this mission. O'Callahan, is your short-wave working?"
Toombs turned to her sharply, but she waved him off as O'Callahn clicked in, "Barely, ma'am."
"Try to make contact with Goldberg or Brahams. We're getting out of here," She didn't expect much would come of it, but the effort had to be made.
"Roger that," O'Callahan obediently began adjusting his frequencies as he cut out of her channel. Toombs took his place shortly after.
"Shepard, we can't just-"
Whatever else Toombs had to say was swallowed up by the terrible clamor of the humvee. It felt as though the reinforced walls around them were caving in and the entire vehicle lurched forward. Shepard had her lap belt on, but failed to fasten the seat harness in time for the barrage that followed. The car pitched sideways and the pressure of her fastening barely held her in place. She was jerked violently downwards and she caught a fleeting glimpse of flailing limbs. The windshield shattered and shards of glass rained every which way as they tumbled through the violent mess. Shepard's head rattled as they spun, her stomach hurtling along with the vehicle. They came to rest sideways and Shepard was braced hard against the seat divider. Her limbs were unsteady, shaking in the aftermath of the most brutal strike against them. Sand billowed in and the humvee was no longer a secure place. She craned her head around. Aguila's head was slumped and he looked dangerously, blood splattered across the inside of his visor. Lao and O'Callahan were thrashing violently against the seats, working at their belts. Shepard unclipped her own as Toombs prepared to abandon the vehicle. When she remembered her place in that moment in time, she screamed into every open channel.
"Bail out! Move, move, move!!" and O'Callahan needed no urging. He leapt over the front seat as soon as he was free of his restraints. Toombs was soon to follow as they spilled through the front of the humvee, paying no heed to the glass scraping the paint from their shoulders. As soon as Lao leapt through, she braced herself for the flurries ahead and jumped from the console, shattered windshield crumbling beneath her armored fingers.
Shepard had no idea what lay beyond the confines of their armored car, but the vehicle had been compromised and they couldn't risk dying a crushing death underneath compressed steel walls. Her heart had been in her throat since they'd lost radio contact and it hadn't left. It threatened to suffocate her now as she stood upright, recovering from the jump as she experienced the sheer force of the wind against her body. The weight of the weather was terrifying; she felt as though she might have blown away had her hardsuit not weighed so much. The visibility was God awful. She could barely make out the silhouettes of the three conscious soldiers. O'Callahan was virtually screaming into his short-wave, she could hear the strain in his voice but the volume was swallowed up by the storm.
"I've got Goldberg, ma'am! They're less than a click north in the dunes!"
Gradually, they converged on each other and she could barely make out eyes behind visors, darting back and forth. Lao's voice came through.
"What about Aguila!? We have to go back!"
Shepard turned, but there was nothing. The swarm of red and brown sand had completely obscured it and she wasn't about to let anyone wander into the chaotic sea. She did have a bias; she knew her people and understood their capabilities. She put their needs above others in just about any situation… but Aguila was an active part of this outpost as well and deserved more than she could offer right then and there. At that moment, Shepard considered Aquila as good as dead and the abandon scared her. But the situation had escalated… None of these soldiers were prepared for this and priorities had changed in an instant.
Shepard tried to keep her voice stern when it threatened to crack, "He's gone, Lao."
The soldier's channel wavered, but she could hear him muttering through feedback, 'Oh God, oh God, oh God…'
"Shit…" Toombs growled.
Shepard turned to O'Callahan, "What's their status?"
"First quake snapped their axel... I think I can patch you through, ma'am!"
The tightness in her throat loosened suddenly as she prepared to make contact, quietly thrilled to hear of their survival. Static faded in and out until a clear, feminine voice came in.
"Shepard to Goldberg, do you copy?"
Hisses and clicks interrupted the formalities, but sure enough, she was alive, "-We're alive, The humvee's no good. We think we're within walking distance, ma'am…"
The line crackled, destroying precious facts. Still, she managed to break through.
"-Bannon and Brahams! No go on th-"
Shepard viciously wanted to punch a skull in when Goldberg cut out. But at that point, fate decided to reveal its twisted smile as the storm waned and visibility improved. The ground beneath them instantly felt more stabile and the terrible roar of the winds died down. Her instrumentation showed little improvement, but she at least could make out a horizon line and that was enough to chase away a fraction of the panic.
"We gotta get Aguila… we gotta get him!" Lao was already one foot ahead of himself, eyes wild.
Shepard cut him off before Toombs could answer, "Do you have visual?"
The four of them turned in step and sure enough, everything from the front doors up was visible, sprouting up from a thick bed of sand.
"Get the body, Lao," Toombs grunted, shooting Shepard and acid glare, which she ignored. It wasn't that she didn't respect the dead; quite the opposite. It was one of the traits that set humanity apart from the geth. It was simply a matter of survival. She still wasn't convinced that they were in the clear and instinct was compelling her to drive them onward. They could spare no time for prayers or tears.
Goldberg burst through, snapping her to attention, "-You copy?"
"I read you, Goldberg. Can we locate Brahams' humvee?"
"We found them, ma'am. We're up on the dunes… damn if that storm didn't give us hell though. Sounds like some of the squad are concussed, but their humvee's still intact. I can see them from here…"
Shepard didn't need to hear any more, "Regroup with Brahams' squad and we'll rendezvous at your coordinates."
"Roger that, ma'am. Goldberg, out."
Shepard was already breathing easier, but the pit in her stomach didn't pass. Something irked her and a shiver struck her despite the uncomfortable heat.
"Orders, L.C.?" O'Callahan asked as he opened his face mask, sand leaking from the cracks of the shifting gears.
Shepard watched with narrowed eyes as Lao stumbled towards the ravaged vehicle.
"Get Lao from the humvee and help him with Aguila… if he can be helped. Don't know what we're going to be able to do with a body… We're hiking up to squads one and two while Toombs explains to me what the fuck just happened."
"Honestly, Shepard," Toombs snapped, visibly shaken, "I have no idea."
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