"There is only one God and his name is Death. And there is only one thing we say to Death: 'Not today.'" – Syrio Forel, Game of Thrones

Chapter Thirty-Six – Shadowy Connections

The Plain Dealer landed in the cargo hold of Cerberus Outpost Number Five with very little fanfare. Two guards were posted on either side of the exit, each of them wearing identical looks of disinterest on their faces, as if he were just another boring visitor in the course of another boring day. Either having ships constantly coming and going was a regular occurrence—which was doubtful, considering that Outpost Number Five was one of Cerberus' most top-secret bases—or they were paid well enough not to care.

Feron suspected the latter.

"Gentleman," he nodded as he walked down the ramp and into their view.

Definitely the latter. The pair didn't even flinch when he peeled back his hood, revealing that he was a drell. Normally the presence of an alien on a human-centric station would have caused a little stir. He shrugged. At least he wouldn't have to worry about being stopped and questioned at every corner.

"I'm looking for the medical lab," Feron announced. "I'm here to pick up a package."

The guard on the left motioned over his shoulder with his head. "Down that hall and to the right," he replied gruffly. "Dr. Morris is expecting you."

"And no funny business," the other called out. "We're watching you."

He smiled. "Wouldn't dream of it."

A short time later Feron found himself standing outside the large doors leading to the medical lab. He pressed the intercom next to the red door panel and waited.

"Identify yourself."

"Agent Feron. ID number seven-four-oh-nine. I'm here to pick up the package."

He waited while the person behind the door checked out his credentials. Finally, the panel turned from red to green. A few seconds later the door opened and he was greeted by a pretty blonde human in a white lab coat.

The corners of her small mouth lifted into a disdainful grimace as she regarded him, her gaze traveling from his face to his feet and then back up again. Unlike the guards in the cargo hold, she did not make any attempt to hide her suspicion. However, if she disagreed with his presence on the station, she didn't let on. Instead, she flicked her head back in the direction of the medical lab and merely stated, "This way."

The area in front of him was easily larger than the outpost's cargo bay. Part research facility, part operating room, the lab was filled to capacity with all sorts of sophisticated medical equipment. Cerberus had obviously spared no expense in funding their little research projects. Over the years the organization had developed a rather sordid reputation for all the appalling experiments they performed—both on other species and on members of their own race—and an involuntary shudder worked its way up Feron's spine as he contemplated just how many had taken place in the sterile, brilliant white room he was now standing in.

The doctor led him to the center of the lab. The smell of antiseptic greeted him as he approached, the scent stinging his nostrils with its potency. He sniffed, rubbing his nose to rid himself of the by-product, until his focus was drawn to the operating table placed under the bright lights.

His mouth went dry. Blood from their latest experiment still covered the surface of the stainless-steel table. Scalpels and clamps and a litany of other unidentifiable pieces of surgical equipment had been haphazardly discarded, as if now that they had served their purpose, they were not even considered valuable enough to warrant proper cleaning and storage.

A mobile stretcher sat next to the operating table. His "package." Feron slowly approached the bed, his fingers curling around the metal rails as he looked down at the fragile human who lay there. This couldn't be the same woman; she bore almost no resemblance to the fiery redhead in the picture. Her once vibrant hair was now a dull, mottled mess. Her cheeks and eyes sunken and sallow.

"Is she…dead?" Although he hadn't been given too many details, aside that he was supposed to facilitate the exchange, Feron was fairly certain that both the Shadow Broker and the Collectors expected to her to be alive.

"No," the doctor said. She held out a datapad. "Sign this."

"What is it?" he demanded warily.

The woman let out a patronizing sigh. "A transfer form. I cannot give you custody of Shepard's body without it."

Shepard? As in Commander Shepard?

Both sets of eyelids blinked with shock, but he immediately shuttered his surprise as he tore his gaze away from the doctor and centered them once more on her patient. How had he not realized her identity sooner? There had been something oddly familiar about that picture the krogan handed him on Omega, but he had brushed off the nagging feeling at the time in favor of keeping the meeting short and to the point.

Schooling his features into a more neutral expression, he grabbed the datapad, signed it, and handed it back to the doctor without another word. She nodded and waved her hand to indicate that their business had ended.

That was all the dismissal he needed. Releasing the locks, he wheeled the stretcher out of the med lab and down the hall toward the cargo bay.

What had Cerberus wanted with Commander Shepard? What sort of sick and twisted experiments had she been subjected to? And most importantly, what interest did the Collectors—of all species—have in her now?

.x.x.x.

"Garrus."

There was a buzzing in his ear. He groaned, trying to hone in on the sound. "Mm?"

"Garrus!"

He shifted his weight. Stretching out the stiff muscles in his arms and legs, he inhaled, pulling cool air deep into his lungs. As soon as he did, her flowery scent instantly overwhelmed him.

Jane?

Garrus scrambled to sit up. "Jane!" Casting his eyes around he frantically tried to find her. "Jane?"

The grogginess faded, and although his heart still beat rapidly against his ribcage, the room around him gradually fell back into focus. He was still in Jane's quarters. Letting out another groan, one that almost bordered on a sob, he leaned forward and gripped the edge of the mattress with his hands, trying to catch his breath.

"Garrus, for fuck's sake, where are you?"

He brought his hand up to his ear and keyed up his radio. "Shepard? Go ahead; I'm here."

"Jesus, it's about goddamn time. What the hell were you doing?"

Garrus looked down at the floor to where the now empty vial had fallen. "Sorry. I was asleep."

"Oh," John replied, his voice somewhat contrite.

He pushed off the mattress and rubbed his hand over his face and mandibles. "It's okay. I'm up. What's going on?"

"I need you to meet me in the debriefing room."

"All right," Garrus turned, his eyes lingering on the rumpled sheets on Jane's bed a moment longer. "I'm on my way."

Judging by the expectant looks on all the faces when he finally walked into the debriefing room, Garrus figured that he was the last to arrive. John was standing at the head of the table, his arms folded across his chest. Liara stood to his left, and Kaidan to his right.

"I've called the three of you here," John began as Garrus approached the table, "because each of you are among the brightest and most reliable of both the crews. You've also had a good handle on things since the Cerberus attack, and you've all stepped up to help shoulder the responsibility of taking care of the crew during the aftermath." Resting his palms on the tabletop, John let his head drop below his shoulders and sighed. "I'm hoping that together we can formulate some sort of game plan."

Kaidan glanced at Liara and then Garrus. "I think I speak for everybody when I say we're with you, Shepard. You can count on us."

Liara nodded. "Definitely. What do you need us to do?"

"It's no secret that we're basically dead in the water," John said. "Cerberus may have not been successful in ambushing us and commandeering the Normandy, but they've castrated us just the same when it comes to Jane." He flicked his eyes to Garrus. "All attempts at tracking the Illusive Man's signal have failed. Tali and Thane can't remember anything that specifically stood out at the base that could give us any clues as to where they took her. All we do know is that the Illusive Man plans to use Jane's DNA to recreate the Lazarus Project."

"The Lazarus Project?" Liara echoed.

Garrus shifted all his weight to one hip and leaned back. "I remember the Illusive Man taunting us with that during our last call with him, but it still doesn't answer the question of 'why.' The Lazarus Project was created because you died. The only reason Cerberus resurrected you because the galaxy needed you alive to stop the Reapers. But in this timeline the Collectors didn't succeed in killing either one of you. You're both still alive. So again, why? Why invest the billions of credits in a project that isn't needed?"

"The tech." John gestured to his body. "Over half of me is comprised of cybernetics. Add to that the complex skin weaves, faster healing abilities, increased strength…well, you get the picture. I made a stupid mistake and let it slip to Miranda during one of our missions, and she obviously told her boss about it."

Liara's brows furrowed into a deep frown and then sprang up toward her scalp. "They're going to use that technology on someone else, aren't they?"

"Yep." John crossed his arms again and pressed his lips into a thin line. "Cerberus is going to try to build their own super soldier. I'd stake my life on it. And I'm willing to bet they're using Jane as their guinea pig."

"Certainly fits in line with their MO," Kaidan grumbled softly.

"And what happens to Jane when they have what they need?" Liara asked, reluctantly giving voice to their concerns.

All eyes turned to Garrus.

"She expendable," the turian replied. He hated having to admit something so cruel was even a possibility, but that was the reality of it. As painful as acknowledging that fact was, ignoring it would be so much worse. "Cerberus isn't going to keep her around once she lost her usefulness."

Everyone fell silent as they processed the information.

Thane was right; there was a very good chance that he would never see Jane again. The drell's words had been like a finely sharpened dagger, and they had hit their mark with startling precision. The battered muscle in his chest lurched just thinking about it.

"There has to be something else we can do!" Liara exclaimed. "Who else besides the people on your crew would know anything on Cerberus?"

"I could go look through our old mission reports," Kaidan offered. "See if there's anything in them from when he disrupted some of their operations that might help."

Liara eyes widened, her face practically lighting up with the idea. "What about an information broker? We could ask Barla Von if he's heard any rumblings through the network about Cerberus or Jane."

John and Garrus exchanged glances. A knowing smile spread across John's lips.

"If anything big is going down, the Shadow Broker's sure to know about it. Good thinking, Liara," John said.

Garrus shoved the knot of self-loathing into the farthest reaches of his stomach. As long as there was even the slightest chance that they could still find Jane alive, he refused to give up hope. "I have some old contacts in C-Sec. I'll follow up with them and see if they have any records on Cerberus operations and if they're aware of any going on right now."

"Sounds like everyone's got their assignment. In the meantime," John continued with a small sigh, "we can't continue to hang out here in limbo." He looked at Garrus, his expression a mixture of I'm sorry and but don't argue with me. "Until we have some viable leads, we're going to have to get back to business as usual. You don't have to like it, but that's the way it's gonna be."

The three crew members nodded solemnly.

"All right. You're all dismissed."

.x.x.x.

Like a feral rat gnawing on a dead carcass, uneasiness ate away at Feron's insides. He squirmed in his chair and pulled up the navigation interface for what felt like the eleventh time in the past hour. The ship was still on course for Omega, just like it had been every other time he checked. He'd been fighting off the discomfort and restlessness ever since he looked up the Collectors on his omnitool.

Pushing away from his console in disgust, he swiveled around and stood to stare at the stretcher that filled up most of the available space behind him. The Plain Dealer was a small one-seater. The ship barely had enough room for him to move around comfortably let alone hauling any sort of cargo. But that's exactly what he was doing. Hauling cargo. Or trafficking, to be more specific.

The Collectors, he had read, were a reclusive race. They were rarely seen, sticking mostly to the Terminus Systems, and when they did appear, it was usually only to negotiate the trade of members of certain races that held high intrinsic value in exchange for the Collectors' advanced technology. Salarians, batarians, turians—it didn't matter. If a certain group stood out as being particularly exceptional, they soon became the interest of the Collectors. Rumor had it that they were currently interested in the human race as a whole.

Feron had done some shady work for the Shadow Broker in the past, but never in his life had he smuggled another living being.

Although, the term "living" might be an overstatement. The Commander was in bad shape. Jagged lines of crude stitches and staples formed a patchwork over her neck, arms, and the exposed area around her collarbone. He guessed that they continued underneath the flimsy hospital gown. The skin around the incisions was swollen and a bright, angry red. She had yet to regain consciousness, which frankly, he considered that to be a mercy. It wouldn't do her any good to know that she was about to be turned over to the Collectors for only gods know what, and it would make his task easier to complete in the long run.

That same suffocating feeling rose up in his throat again, latching itself firmly around his windpipe. The air inside the tiny ship felt heavy and thick. Suddenly just taking a breath was an impossible task.

Turning his back on the Commander, as if that simple action alone could minimize the crushing feeling of guilt, Feron slumped back into his chair and pulled up the navigation interface again. Thirteen hours until he reached Omega.

He leaned forward, keying in the commands to enlarge the map of the Terminus Systems. The Hourglass Nebula wasn't too far behind him. Slender green fingers tapped against the side of the terminal as he weighed the consequences of his next actions. After another moment of agonizing deliberation, Feron deviated from his current heading and charted a course for Alingon. Consequences be damned. The base hidden on the planet's surface would hopefully provide enough protection for Shepard to heal while he sought out a way to contact her crew.

.x.x.x.

"I'm not so sure this is a good idea, Joker."

"Oh c'mon, Commander. I'm going stir-crazy in here!"

John shot a wary glance at Dr. Chakwas' sleeping form. Once again, she had fallen asleep at the small desk across from the row of beds. The doctor steadfastly refused to leave the med bay for any longer than a few minutes, citing that she needed to be there and readily available in case any of the injured crew members needed her for something. As a result, sleeping in the med bay had become more or less a routine thing.

"She'll be out for hours," Joker whined encouragingly. "She'll never even know!"

"I don't know…."

"Ugh. It's not like I'm gonna get any worse; my ribs will stay just as broken here in the med bay as they would in the cockpit."

John frowned. "Yeah, except then you risk breaking even more bones while I try to move you back and forth."

"I don't care. It'll be worth it." Joker puffed out his bottom lip and fixed Shepard with his best puppy-dog stare. "Pleeeeeease, Commander? Just for a few minutes?"

"Oh, alright," John sighed. "But just for a little bit, okay? I don't want to hear you complaining about how much you hurt afterward." He motioned with his head to Dr. Chakwas. "And if you get caught, you're dealing with her on your own. I know nothing, understood?"

Joker beamed. "Yes sir! Now help me up."

John came around to the side of the bed and slid his hand behind the pilot's back, helping him to sit up. Once they got his feet over the edge, he crouched down, and in one fluid motion placed his shoulder underneath Joker's arm and lifted him into a standing position, making sure that he bore the majority of the weight.

Joker grunted, but didn't make any sort of comment.

They continued the half-limp, half-carry pace until they reached the elevator and then again across the CIC. By the time they reached the cockpit, Joker was out of breath and wheezing.

"You sure you're okay?" Shepard asked.

"I'll be fine," he wheezed. "We're almost there. There's no way I'm turning back now."

John shook his head and chuckled. Lifting Joker's arm from his shoulder, he carefully guided him down until he was seated as comfortably as possible in the leather chair.

Joker ran his hands lovingly over the console. "Can I have a minute, Commander?"

"Of course. Radio me when you're ready to head back down."

Once he was alone, he spun his chair in a circle and gazed around the cockpit.

"You know," he whispered, "there was a moment when I never thought I'd see this place again, EDI."

The blue orb popped up at her station next to him. "The bridge hasn't been the same without you."

"Awww," he teased. "Did you miss me? 'Cause it kinda sounds like you missed me." The smile slid off his face as he grew serious. "You saved my life, EDI. I don't know how I can ever begin to thank you."

"Your gratitude is not necessary, Jeff. You are part of my crew. It's my job to protect you, and…." She paused, allowing a slight loll in their conversation.

Did she just hesitate? Were AIs even programmed to hesitate?

"I am relieved that you're okay. I was very worried."

Okay, he definitely knew they didn't know how to be worried.

But EDI wasn't the average, run-of-the-mill AI, and that's exactly what made her so damned special.

"I know," he said quietly. "I was worried about you, too."

.x.x.x.

Very few things stung as much as reopening old wounds. Except maybe having to crawl back to someone to ask for their help. It must have been his lucky day, because Garrus was about to cross both those things off his list. He hadn't spoken to Pallin since the day he resigned from C-Sec and left for Omega. There had been bad blood between them, stemming not only from him taking leave to help Shepard track down Saren, but also because of the comments Pallin had made about John after he died. Honestly, he wouldn't have cared if he ever spoke to the Executor again.

And yet, here he was.

For Jane, he thought. I'll do anything if it means finding her.

His terminal screen lit up as Pallin answered the vid call.

"I'll be damned," the Executor said. "Garrus Vakarian. This is quite a surprise."

Garrus dipped his head in a polite, albeit tense, greeting. "Pallin."

The other turian leaned forward and put his elbows on his desk, bringing his talons together to form a steeple. "I haven't seen or heard from you since you ran off with that Spectre. What's it been, now? Eight, nine months?"

Eight or nine months? It had been well over two years. What the hell—?

Oh, sweet spirits! Oh shit. How could he have been that stupid? How could he have not thought this through. This wasn't the Pallin he'd exchanged heated words with. This was the Pallin from Jane's universe. He had no idea what kind of rapport they had, because he wasn't that Garrus. He hadn't been there for any of it. Judging by the way the Executor was talking to him right now, it was painfully clear that he didn't know Jane's Garrus was dead.

His stomach twisted. He felt the bile rising up in his throat and for a moment he thought he was going to throw up all over his console. Was this how Jane felt? If what he was experiencing now was even a tenth of what she went through…. Spirits. She had tried to explain it to him, but he had been bent on being a stubborn asshole and refused to listen. Now that he was on the other side of the equation, it suddenly all made better sense; her avoidance of him, her constant hesitation, the nagging uncertainty she must have struggled with every single time she looked at him.

Presently he became aware that the Executor was staring at him, waiting for an answer. He could have an existential crisis later, when he was in private. Right now, he needed to speak up before Pallin suspected anything was wrong. The irony that he was about to lie about his identity was not lost on him.

"Something like that," Garrus muttered noncommittally. "It's hard to believe that it's been that long since we took down Saren."

He couldn't help it. Different universe or not, he knew Pallin's views about humans and Spectres wasn't likely to change, and he couldn't resist throwing it in the Executor's face that the first human Spectre had accomplished everything she set out to do and more.

"I get the feeling this isn't a social call. What can I help you with?" Pallin prompted when the silence droned on to the point it started becoming uncomfortable.

"I'm looking for any information on a group called Cerberus; locations of bases, knowledge of covert ops—that sort of thing. I was hoping that if you did have something on them, that you'd be willing to pass it along to me as a favor."

"Cerberus? The human's first organization?" He leaned back in his chair. "From what I hear, they keep mostly to the Terminus Systems nowadays. That's a little far from Citadel jurisdiction, don't you think?"

"I'm out of leads. A few weeks ago, Cerberus attacked our ship. They took Shepard. I haven't been able to track down even the tiniest of clues as to where they might have taken her. It's as if they've disappeared into thin air. I'm at a loss here, Pallin." Garrus spread his arms out before him in a helpless gesture. "Any help you can give me would be greatly appreciated."

"Well…." Pallin scratched his mandible as he rolled the decision around in his head. "Okay. She did save all our asses when Saren and his geth attacked the Citadel. It's the least I can do, I guess. If I find anything, I'll send it your way."

"Thank you."

The Executor nodded in acknowledgement. "Pallin out."

Garrus rested his hands on the edges of the console and as soon as the screen went dark he breathed a sigh of relief. Finally. Maybe now they would finally make some headway.

"Hang on, Jane," he whispered. "I'll find you. Just…please. Hang on."

A/N: Two chapters?! Not only in the same year, but two in the same month?! I have posted like this in years! I don't want to get too ahead of myself and make any promises, but I'm encouraged with how fast I got this last chapter written. I'm going to try to keep up this pace for as long as this sudden burst of inspiration lasts. ~J