Beta-read by Saberlin.

-J-

"Here's your charge."

It was with those words that Miranda dumped Shepard with a whole new battery of doctors, headed by a no-nonsense doctor who introduced herself as Crystal Curtis—and appended what sounded like half the alphabet to Shepard to that name.

Shepard was in no angelic mood, and was not inclined to try to hide it. She had no sense of time—she'd napped in the shuttle, but only lightly. Truly sleeping with Cerberus operatives present wasn't likely to happen. While on the shuttle, every time she got close enough to sleep to skim her toes across REM, her dreams were disturbed and incoherent. 'Prothean dreams' she'd once called the ones she believed to be resultant of the Cipher. They'd had that sort of feel to them.

"Before we let you get mopped up," Dr. Curtis said practically, after scanning Shepard up and down with her omnitool, "I'd like to take a few samples."

"Hair? Skin? Blood? My firstborn child?" Shepard asked grimly.

"Charming and I wouldn't bank on children just yet—your reconstruction is still full of unknowns," Dr. Curtis returned amiably. "Blood, yes. I'll also want a cheek swab."

"Why?" Shepard's expression crumpled in confusion.

"Shepard."

"It's Commander."

"Commander, your eyes went out of focus when I gave you my credentials—do you really want me to let a wall of medical tech-speak stand between you and getting a nice, hot shower? With real soap? I expect some of those muscles are getting…painful."

Shepard's eyes narrowed, and she took a step back. It was true: a lot of muscles seemed to be pulling tight, almost to the point of cramping, from the abnormal use. But behind her reticence was fear—they could do just about anything, tamper with her, maybe put her back under for modification purposes…

…she had seen some of what Cerberus cells did. She did not want to be on the receiving end.

"I've been forwarded your medical files. The blood tests will help us determine—among other things—whether your blood chemistry is still balanced. You've had a rough day. The cheek swab is for comparative purposes, to be compared to some of your older records." Dr. Curtis produced the tool needed for the blood draw. "Arm, please?"

Shepard didn't move, though she cast around hurriedly for anything she could improvise as a weapon…

…but no, that wouldn't work. She was on a space station at an unknown location. She couldn't leave until she found out where, exactly, she was and she couldn't do that if she was in lockdown.

"Commander, this doesn't have to be difficult."

"If you think I'm going to let another Cerberus lackey lay one finger on me, think real hard before you try it."

Dr. Curtis sighed. "Commander, you're a medical miracle. No one wants to do anything to ruin that. But if you do go into rejection, and we don't catch it, you may not have to worry about much in future. Fine, you want out? That way."

Shepard mistrusted the pointed finger indicating a door other than the one she came in. "You first."

Dr. Curtis shrugged, pocketed the device, and strode out, her assistants falling back. Shepard eyed the two brawny operatives flanking the door through which the doctor passed—clearly they were ready to jump at her and sit on her if Dr. Curtis gave the order.

Shepard slipped into the hall, turned left to stay behind Dr. Curtis and then stopped dead.

Her eyes widened, her breath momentarily caught as she found herself turning into a long hallway with a spectacular view of deep space. The black seemed to reach out to her, the stars seemed to call her. Her breathing sped up, sweat began to pour down her face. Her mouth trembled as her sense of equilibrium began to tip.

It was not the white blankness of screaming panic, but it was immobilizing, paralyzing.

She couldn't protest when Dr. Curtis took hold of her arm and pressed the device to it. The pain shocked her, but did not pull her out of this first experience with what the shred of rationale remaining defined as 'psychosis'. Except for the convulsive tremors shaking her, she couldn't move. Her feet felt like blocks of ice, her brain seemed to reel within the confines of her skull. The only thing warding off sheer terror, pure panic, was the fact that she knew, incontrovertibly, that she was inside, and that the panoramic outside did not alter her perception of the top-down orientation of her present environment.

"Space psychosis. You've always had a touch of it, according to your file, but I'm afraid your last…experience…has made a real, debilitating condition out of it. We'll try to mediate it, of course, but that will have to wait."

So that was how it would work: until she could get this paralyzing psychosis under control, they wouldn't need to lock her in at night. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if the panoramics looking into space weren't quite so…big. This was an observation deck, built to afford the maximum view with a minimum of visual interruptions…maybe more moderated outlooks wouldn't be so bad…

Instinctively, instantly, she knew she really had been dead.

"Come on, now, sit down." Dr. Curtis took her by the upper arm, turned Shepard towards the nearest solid wall.

Shepard's shoulders moved but her hips didn't. The momentary split between motion and stillness was all it took: her knees crumpled, sending her to the ground, tearing her attention from the terrible empty blackness.

Her hands shook so violently against the floor that she half expected them to shake to pieces. Pressing them against the solid surface simply sent the muscle tremors up her elbows to her shoulders.

Shepard couldn't stop the question that jumped to her mouth. She looked Dr. Curtis in the eyes, "I'm in trouble, aren't I?"

"I think you'll feel better after a hot shower to get the muck sweat off of you. Bartholomew?"

-J-

And Shepard used to think space-walks were bad. ^_^