Chapter 34. Epicinium

Garrus winced as Dr. Chakwas ran a dermal regenerator over his forearm. Pale white streaks from the medigel patch she'd removed still stood out against his skin, forming a sharp contrast to the ugly glower of the contusions he'd taken away from Noveria. He felt naked without his armor. Well, he was naked from the waist up, and in front of the human doctor he felt strangely self-conscious. But the fracture in the curve of his bony carapace couldn't exactly be treated with the hardsuit on, despite his protestations.

Wrex, on the other hand, had no compunctions about shucking off his armor in its entirety and depositing it in a smoldering heap at his feet. Dr. Chakwas had calmly handed him a sheet, with only a slight widening of her eyes and a noticeable spike in her body temperature betraying any sense of horror she may have felt about being trapped in a room with a naked krogan. Wrex had proceeded to wrap the sheet around himself like some kind of toga that didn't leave nearly enough to the imagination.

Burns from the rachni's acidic spit crisscrossed the krogan's scaly arms, face, torso and even his hump where it had eaten through the kinetic padding. Wrex seemed almost reluctant to have them repaired.

"Stop moving," Chakwas ordered, a deceptively authoritative tone creeping in to her usual melodic lilt. Garrus stilled, then hissed through his teeth as she made another pass with the regenerator.

"Suck it up, turian."

Garrus shot him a glare, then swiftly regretted it when the krogan shifted in a way that wasn't favorable to the sheet. Dubyansky and Pakti were supposedly en route with the spare armor Wrex kept in the cargo bay, but appeared to be taking their time.

Dr. Chakwas gave Garrus a stern glance that very clearly said don't move, and stepped over the pile of Wrex's prized Mercenary armor. By the time they'd gotten back to the Normandy even the transponder had been fried, but Dr. Chakwas' attempts to have it removed and recycled had been rather violently rejected.

"This is victory armor," he snarled, the sheet slipping dangerously. "It can't be discarded. It should be mounted on a wall as a trophy!"

"Not in my medbay," the doctor replied, ignoring the sheet as she hooked him up to a bone knitter. Wrex had apparently broken about four ribs sometime after the roof incident but before the asari commandos. And it hadn't even slowed him down.

Wrex leapt off the bed and pounded a fist against the nearest wall, Dr. Chakwas frantically chasing the bone knitter that nearly went with him. "If it cannot be hung, it should be burned!"

Garrus' mandibles fluttered. "I thought the vorcha were the ones who liked fire."

The krogan growled, but the glint in his eyes seemed more celebratory than lethal.

"Sit down," Dr. Chakwas ordered, grabbing his arm and jerking him towards the medical bed. Garrus braced himself for the inevitable retaliation, but it never came, perhaps making Dr. Chakwas the only person to ever physically order a krogan around and emerge without a dislocated shoulder.

"I'm having enough trouble programming the knitter to be compatible with your bone density and cell structure," she scolded him, showing zero interest in Wrex's agitation. "If you keep moving around you'll wind up with incompatible osseous tissue and these fractures will not heal."

Wrex's lip curled, rippling with a low growl. Dr. Chakwas planted her hands on her hips. A nervous thrum echoed from Garrus' subvocals.

A laugh ripped from the krogan's throat, and he sat back on the bed. Garrus rubbed at the burn on his arm Dr. Chakwas had been working on, earning disapproving eyebrow as the silver-fringed doctor reached for the antiseptic a third time.

Garrus' plates tightened. Damn humans and their eyebrows. It had the equivalent effect of being lectured by his mother. "It's a burn, doctor. I can't help that it's painful."

"Grow a quad!" Wrex bellowed, catching the bone knitter with an errant hand. This time Chakwas was ready, smacking it back in place. "We conquered the best Saren had to throw at us! The blood enemies of my ancestors rose from the grave and we ground them to dust and spat on their corpses. Your wounds are the mark of a warrior!"

Chakwas said nothing, merely hefted a dermal injector loaded with a sedative and brandished it like a sword.

Wrex chortled, then glanced from the imperturbable green stare of Dr. Chakwas to the battered bone knitter. "You do good work, human. When this is done, the turian and I plan to celebrate."

Garrus' mandibles flared in alarm. "Wait, we do?"

"You should join us!"

The corner of Dr. Chakwas' mouth turned up in a smile. "I do appreciate the invitation. However I have a few more patients to see after I'm done with you two."

"I think that's her subtle way of asking you to kindly leave her medbay intact," Garrus informed him. "And I don't know about you, Wrex, but if that woman's patience ever cracks I think she'd be more dangerous than you are."

"Why, thank you, Garrus. Now, Wrex? Don't move." She switched the bone knitter on, eliciting a roar of pain.

"I will burn this medbay to the ground!"

"After I'm finished!"

The medbay door swished open to reveal a wary Lt. Alenko on the other side, with one hand on his sidearm.

"Is…everything ok in here?"

Dr. Chakwas gestured. "Assistance restraining Wrex until this knit cycle completes would be much appreciated."

Alenko's eyes fell on the mostly naked krogan, and his skin paled. "Wait, what—"

Wrex snarled, and Garrus' subvocals reverberated with laughter.

"Poor bastard. And you thought it couldn't get worse than rachni."

Shepard could hear the sounds of the uproar taking place in the medbay even from his quarters. It brought a brief smile to his face. Victory celebrations on Tuchanka were likely something to behold.

But to Shepard, little about it felt like a victory. He gazed down at the finished report in his hands. The last thing he wanted to do was talk to the Council, but he could only put it off as long as he could delay the paperwork. Once the report had been filed they would want to hear from him.

Freeing the rachni and murdering a prominent asari Matriarch. That should make for pleasant conversation. He sighed and tossed the datapad on his desk.

They had gotten what they came for. Or gotten something, anyway. But the feeling that the mission had ultimately been a failure gnawed at him.

Isn't that the kind of thinking that lead Saren astray?

Shepard planted his hands on the desk and stared down at its glassy surface, his reflection glaring back up at him. At what point had it happened to the turian? Did Saren even know?

Shepard thought he might.

Of the litany of crimes the former spectre had committed, the one that stood out to him wasn't his betrayal of the Council. The destruction of Eden Prime. Even his apparent alliance with the reapers. It was the murder of Nihlus.

Shepard had poured over the records of both turians with a fine-toothed comb, memorizing every detail, looking for hints, clues, anything that would help him. Saren, it appeared, had been the primary endorser for Nihlus' admittance into the Spectres. Their paths had intersected often, one always for the betterment to the other. In fact, Nihlus was the only other name that ever appeared in Saren's dealings.

Yet Saren had shot him in the back of the head.

Somewhere along the way, Saren's mind had rewritten his friends into enemies. Had it been an abrupt change, or a slow downward spiral into some kind of unrecognizable hell? Did he know and not care? Did he somehow feel that he didn't have a choice?

Isn't that the kind of thinking that lead Saren astray?

Liara's voice, so laden with accusation, made him almost physically ill. He put a hand to his head and closed his eyes, letting the memory of her brush through his mind like a caress. With Shiala, the meld had been about nothing more than an exchange of information. Academic. But he could not pretend it had been that simple with Liara.

The vision from the prothean beacon, so vast, so powerful, had overwhelmed every barrier he had ever erected in his mind. Mindoir, Elysium, Torfan…all of it had been swept up in one churning, bloody tide that she had not only withstood, but helped him piece back together. In those agonizing moments he'd unwittingly laid bare his very soul, and she hadn't turned away.

Isn't that the kind of thinking that lead Saren astray?

He couldn't help but wonder if she'd seen something in his mind that he should truly be afraid of.

With a sudden swipe of his hand he sent the datapad flying, the sound of it clattering against the floor oddly satisfying. At least until the fresh bruising on his ribs screamed as he bent to pick it up. He straightened with a grimace. A few more bullets than he'd realized had found a way through his shields. By morning his chest would be a starburst of purple and blue. One more thing to look forward to.

He looked at the datapad now in his hands and sighed. No sense in putting it off any longer than he had to. Before he could change his mind he strode out of his quarters, nearly plowing into Dubyansky and Pakti on their way to the mess. Both corporals threw up hasty salutes as they hopped out of the way, nearly in unison. Shepard nodded, offered a thin smile, and kept going towards the stairwell. His stomach flipped at the possibility of running into Liara, but she was nowhere to be seen.

It was impossible to miss the sudden quiet in the CIC when he arrived, the casual chatter immediately subduing into hushed whispers. Shepard nodded, offered a few greetings, but did not deviate from his course to the cockpit. Pressly eyed him but didn't try to stop him. Not yet, anyway. The grizzled XO hadn't taken long to figure out when Shepard could be waylaid and when it was better to just let him pass. It was a subtle, unspoken understanding that did not go unnoticed.

When he reached the cockpit he slid into the seat to Joker's right without comment. The pilot glanced over at him as though he'd been expecting his arrival, offering a tilt of his chin and a tug on the brim of his hat.

"I know space is considerably colder than Noveria, but the great black void feels like a tropical getaway after that place," he said in lieu of a greeting.

"Just wait 'til I talk to the Council," Shepard muttered, queuing up the comm systems. "That should bring the temperature down a few notches."

Joker raised an eyebrow. "What, you think they're going to be pissed you turned the rachni loose? And here I thought they'd have the welcome mat all rolled out."

Shepard let out a disgruntled huff as he pinged the nearest comm buoy. After he got a response he uploaded his encrypted report and fired it off, Council priority.

"I assume you want to be notified once they demand your head on a platter?" Joker asked. "Or should I just tell them you're conveniently busy?"

"After facing down batarian pirates, the thorian, asari commandos and the rachni, if the Council thinks they're going to intimidate me they're sorely mistaken," Shepard said darkly. "I'm out here to do a job. If they don't like the way I do things, maybe they should have been a little more concerned about the reapers in the first place."

Joker chuckled. "I work for one of the only people in the galaxy willing to tell the Council to fuck off. To their face."

Now Shepard smiled a little, leaning back in the chair, hands folded in his lap as he gazed out at the stars.

"Speaking of the reapers…any idea where our next destination might be?"

"Well," Shepard said, "We know he wanted the location of the Mu Relay. We just don't know why. I want to see if the Council can shed any light on what he might be after. In the meantime…we keep our ears open and look for leads."

"So in other words, we stay on course for Century and proceed with mineral scanning until something interesting happens."

"Frankly, I wouldn't mind a few quiet missions that don't involve being shot or bioticallly smashed against a wall.

"Just remember, Commander. You're living the dream."

Shepard rolled his eyes, but made no move to leave. Joker said nothing, merely went about his business making calculations for the relay jump while Shepard watched the stars form small silver peals of light outside the shutters. Somewhere out there in the blur was Mindoir. Earth. He tried not to think about what lurked in the interstitium, and shifted uneasily in his chair.

"So where's home for you, Joker?"

Joker glanced up, almost as if he'd forgotten the commander was even there. He took a moment to consider the question. "Where my footlocker is."

Shepard smirked. "That's probably the most military thing I've ever heard come out of your mouth."

"Yeah, well." Joker shrugged. "My parents did a lot of contract work for the Alliance. We didn't exactly have much in the way of roots."

Shepard nodded sagely. "I imagine that's rough, growing up. Military brat without the actual military."

"Sort of, yeah." Joker's glance slid sideways. "I think this is the part where I'm supposed to ask you the same question, but If it's all right with you sir, I'll pass on asking you about home right after a mission like Noveria."

A small smile creased his lips. "I appreciate that. Though I guess people are curious."

"Curious? Commander, with all due respect you're an Alliance poster boy. You know that dreamy idealism that makes everyone enlist in the first place? Flying on spaceships, saving the galaxy? That's you. Of course people want to know everything about you. Though I'm going to take a wild guess that between you and Alenko, our resident boyscout is the one who had dreams of getting out here to right all the galaxy's wrongs."

Shepard snorted. Joker grinned.

The pilot turned back to his haptic terminal. "You knew how the galaxy really worked before you got out here. I'm betting your motives were a little more…"

"Desperate?"

"I was going to go with simple, but whatever floats your boat."

Shepard shrugged, drumming his fingers lightly on his knee. "You might be right. I appreciate the…frankness, by the way."

"I don't have much use for bullshit, sir."

"That's why I like you."

"I thought it was because I'm a goddamn amazing pilot and the only one who can fly this gorgeous piece of tin the way she was meant to be flown."

"That, too," Shepard acknowledged with a nod.

A light flashed on Joker's console. "Hey, look, Commander. The Council would like to speak with you."

Shepard muttered under his breath and pushed to his feet. "Put it through to the conference room."

"Can I listen in?" he pleaded.

"Only because if I give the signal, I want you to cut the transmission. I'm not dealing with this shit any longer than I have to. I have a madman to catch."

"Yes, sir."

Never had Liara more fervently wished for the quiet and isolation of a dig site, to lose herself in abandoned ruins where her only company was the whispers of a vanished race. They were peaceful, empty, so blissfully removed from the present. On places like Therum, Juntuama, Alrumter…she could breathe. Here on the Normandy a scream had been welling in her throat ever since her return from Peak 15, and she had nowhere to go to release it. Even the Mako was off limits; Tali and Williams were in the process of inspecting and repairing every inch of it after the fiasco with the NDC.

Everywhere she went, invasive eyes followed. Some contained pity, others scorn. You are the daughter of a traitor. They knew Benezia as the woman who'd tried to kill their commander. Whatever her sins may have been before that, to the crew of the Normandy that was the one that was truly unforgivable, and nothing she said would ever convince them that the monster they had met was not the woman who had shaped her life. That Benezia had died long before Liara met her on Noveria. The person waiting for them in the lab had merely worn her face like a mask.

But those eyes. Those eyes would haunt her for the rest of her life, cold and luminescing with hate as she raised that wall of biotic energy meant to destroy them.

And Liara had done nothing.

In the end she not only hadn't been able to strike Benezia down, but hadn't even summoned the courage to save their lives. Instead Shepard had been forced to cut her down while Liara watched.

It should have been you.

Her mother had known she would blink. She'd dropped her barriers, summoned every spare ounce of power she had, and turned it on them, leaving herself vulnerable under the belief that her daughter would not strike. And she'd been right. Liara stood and watched while Shepard had taken her down with nothing more than a pistol.

You should have been the one to pull the trigger.

A sob threatened to rise in her throat. She took a deep, ragged breath, clenching and unclenching her fists. Her attempts to sleep in the crew pods had failed. But upon exiting she did not know where to go. The lights on the crew deck were too glaring, too bright, and too many people milled about, some preparing for second shift, others grabbing something to eat from the galley. She needed to get out. But on a ship this small there was nowhere to go.

She sat at the far end of a table, head down, ignoring the looks that shifted her way. Her breathing hitched, tears brimming anew at the corners of her eyes, and she bent her head into her hands. All she needed was a minute. Just one minute. Breathe.

Someone tapped her on the shoulder. Liara jumped, barely restraining a scream. Mess Sergeant Greico stood over her, shoulders hunched, expression unsure, proffering a mug with steam curling from the rim. Amber liquid sloshed over the sides as he reacted to her start of surprise, a hiss escaping through his teeth as it hit the hand holding the cup.

"Sorry," he said, hastily wiping the offending moisture with his other hand. "Didn't mean to startle you. I, uh, thought you might like some tea."

Her gaze went from him to the cup, now outstretched once more. Tentatively she took it, a strange but soothing scent greeting her nostrils. "Thank you," she said, voice catching. Her hand trembled, but before she could use her other one to steady it the cup slipped through her fingers, contents hitting the table with a splash, soaking the front of her uniform and burning her skin. She gasped, shooting to her feet, swiping at her lap. Grieco's eyes went wide, skin paling a little as he stuttered an apology.

It was the apology that got her. It hadn't been his fault, it had been hers. All of it was her fault. Tears blurred her eyes, and this time she wouldn't be able to stop them. Not trusting herself to speak, even to reassure him, she pivoted on one foot, not knowing where she was going, not caring, not even looking. As long as it was somewhere else.

She didn't get two steps before running into someone's chest. Two hands settled on her shoulders.

Shepard.

"Liara?"

She looked up to see Alenko's brown eyes searching her anxiously, concern etched across his features. "Hey. It's all right. Let's get you out of here, okay?"

He put a hand to her back and guided her towards the medbay, a slight sting of static electricity passing between them. His fingers were light, shorter than Shepard's, more hesitant, and he placed them between her shoulders instead of the small of her back, as Shepard had done after Feros.

She had been so sure it would be Shepard standing there. But then she remembered the look on his face in the labs, when she had all but accused him of becoming Saren, and felt even emptier than she had just a moment ago.

When they reached the doors of the medbay Alenko paused. "Okay, it's been a little crazy in there, but I think things are somewhat back under control. Just…don't be alarmed by the shirtless krogan. Well, shirtless and pantsless."

In spite of herself Liara stared at him, wondering if she'd heard right. He ducked his chin slightly to offer a reassuring glance. "Just trust me, okay?"

She nodded once again, this time unconvinced.

A weary, somewhat disheveled Dr. Chakwas rose as soon as they entered, fluid stride bringing her to them in an instant. Garrus sat on one of the beds, a thick bandage on one arm. A mandible quivered at the sight of her, but he said nothing. A snoring krogan lay across from him.

"Oh, good," Alenko said. "He's finally out."

The doctor nodded. "It took twice as much sedative than any of the krogan literature recommended. If he goes into arrest we may just have to depend on his backup heart to kick in." She turned her attention to Liara, the lines of stress creasing her brow vanishing in an instant. "How can I help?"

The lieutenant nodded towards the back of the room. "Do you think she could take advantage of your office for a little while?"

"Of course," she replied in her usual smooth cadence. Within a moment her smaller, gentler hand replaced the pressure of Alenko's on her back. Dr. Chakwas steered her past the med tables through the small door into her office. Liara sat down on the cot still set up beside her desk.

Chakwas pulled her chair out and took a seat, resting her elbows on her knees and looking Liara in the eye.

"You're welcome to rest here, if you need some time to yourself," she said. "I'm so sorry, Liara. That kind of thing…shouldn't happen to anyone."

Liara drew in a shaky breath. "I knew when I got here this is how it might end."

"Knowing something doesn't make it any easier to do. Or experience."

"No."

Dr. Chakwas reached out and took her hand, her kind features creasing in a wan smile. A silver strand slipped out from its place behind her ear. "You're a strong young woman, Liara. You'll get through this. But there is nothing wrong with crying. Or mourning."

Liara wiped at her eye. "Even if the woman I mourn for died a monster?"

Chakwas gripped her hand a little tighter. "I'm guessing that is not the person you're grieving for."

(Liara settles her mother's elegant headdress over her brow, the metal shanks hanging so far below her shoulders she cannot even turn her head. The hood fastened to it tumbles down her back in waves of gold. She straightens proudly, beaming at her mother, trying to imitate her proud, peerless stance.

"Do I look like you?"

Benezia taps her on the nose. "No, Little Wing. You look like you. And that's even better.")

"No," she said softly.

Dr. Chakwas gave her hand one last squeeze before letting go and getting to her feet. "I'm going to give you something that will help you rest. Take as long as you need. I'll be right outside if you need me. If you hear a commotion…ignore it. I don't imagine I'll be keeping Wrex here long, whether I want to or not."

Liara offered a half smile that faded almost as soon as the door slid shut. She curled up on the cot, taking the small pillow at its head and clutching it to her chest. A torrent of grief, regret and shame rushed from her body in one, long exhale.

Silence filled her ears, and she closed her eyes.

The stern visage of Councilor Tevos did nothing to improve Shepard's mood. Her graceful features turned down in a scowl that supplanted her usual aura of serenity with one of irritation bordering on distress. Normally unnervingly still, she radiated a nervous, kinetic energy that Shepard felt even through the viewscreen. Councilor Sparatus ground the plates of his jaw, talons drumming on his podium, his inherently sharp features only amplified by his poorly concealed displeasure. Of the three only Valern did not appear agitated; the elderly salarian's hands clasped loosely in front of him, his wide, black eyes wide and attentive. The salarian's natural curiosity undoubtedly made the reappearance of the rachni more interesting than threatening, at least for now.

The turian councilor did not share his sentiment.

"Commander, is this report accurate?"

Shepard folded his arms across his chest. "Do you think I would lie?"

Tevos raised a peacekeeping hand. "Please, Commander. You must realize that rachni are an entirely unexpected development. One that demands careful consideration."

The salarian shifted, eyes blinking. "And you are certain it was rachni? The klixen from Tuchanka can bear a resemblance—"

"Urdnot Wrex confirmed it," Shepard interrupted.

Valern nodded. "Well, I will trust the judgment of a krogan battlemaster in this matter. Regardless of the galaxy's history with the rachni, this is a fascinating discovery. For an egg in cryostasis to remain viable after three thousand years is quite remarkable."

Sparatus made a noise of disgust. "I don't give a damn about the science. Where is the queen now? She needs to be brought in for questioning. We need to assess this threat for ourselves. You may not be as familiar with interstellar history as we are, but—"

"I'm quite familiar with history, thanks," Shepard said. "And I don't know the location of the queen."

The turian's mandibles quivered, and Shepard almost, almost, enjoyed it.

"What do you mean you don't know?"

Shepard gestured with one hand. "It's in the report. I set her free and left her to her own devices. I arranged for her to get a ship, but I don't know which one or where it went. I told her that if she left us alone, we'd do her the same courtesy."

The scrape of Sparatus' talons across his podiums was audible even over the feed. "Do you have any idea what you've done! Why wouldn't you at least hold her until the Council could assess the situation?"

"Because the NDC had their finger on an antimatter warhead," Shepard countered. "If they knew what Saren was doing down there they would have launched it without hesitation. The queen isn't a threat. I made the call and I stand by it. I wasn't about to let her be destroyed just because someone who wasn't in the room decided to take matters into their own hands."

It was a convincing argument, he thought. Perhaps even enough to convince himself.

Tevos placed a hand on Sparatus' arm, expression calm. "This does not help us," she said. "What's done is done. Saren was breeding a rachni army on Noveria. We need to know why, and what he wants with the Mu Relay."

Valern, who had remained pensive during the heated exchange, put the pad of a round finger to his chin. "I will have to consult our archives to see what systems that relay can access. Presumably his interest is related to the protheans."

"We can't assume anything," Shepard replied. "I need solid leads, not guesses."

Sparatus lowered his chin. "It's a shame you killed the best lead we had. Lady Benezia was closer in his counsels than anyone we are aware of. I'm sure she could have provided some helpful insight."

Something twitched at the corner of Shepard's eye, and he flexed his fingers in a failed effort to keep from clenching them into fists. "It wasn't a matter of choice."

"Bringing along Benezia's offspring was a mistake," he continued, the disdain in his voice sending Shepard's nails digging into his palms. "You forced her hand. Not every scenario you encounter can play out like Torfan, Shepard. Sometimes it requires a little more…finesse."

The glower growing on Shepard's face deepened. "Watch your tone, turian."

The turian councilor's eyes flashed. "I am a member of the Council, human, and you will treat me with the respect I deserve!"

"I'm doing the job you chose me to do," Shepard shot back. "If you've got no assistance to offer I don't have time to debate things that can't be changed. Benezia is dead. Saren is still out there. Call me when you have something I can use." He pivoted on his heel.

"Shepard, don't you dare—"

"Joker, lose this channel."

The projection of the Council vanished with the turian in mid-shout, the sudden absence of sound ringing loud in Shepard's ears. He exhaled, shaking fists slowly uncurling. Three thin, red crescents tattooed his palms where his nails had dug into the skin. In his mind he could see Anderson's disapproving glance, hear the baritone rumble that always preceded a lecture.

He wandered to a chair and sat down, resting his forehead in his hands. Politics is not your forte, the captain had told him. You can't bludgeon your way through bureaucracy, Parisini had said. Maybe they were right, but he'd be damned if he let the Council jerk him around. If they weren't going to offer assistance they were useless to him.

That he may have privately agreed with Sparatus about the rachni was beside the point. The decision had been made, and regardless of whether or not it was the right one made for the right reasons, there was nothing he could do about it now. Not looking back was a lesson he'd learned a long time ago.

With a sigh he shoved back to his feet, but before he made it to the door of the conference room Joker interrupted him over the comm.

"Hey, Commander. Everything all right in there or do I need to send in a fire team?"

"Fine, Joker," he replied. "Thanks for the backup."

"You realize we just hung up on the three most powerful people in the galaxy, right?"

"I can handle the Council."

"Wasn't worried about you, sir. I'm the one who can't run."

In spite of himself, Shepard laughed. "Then I guess it's a good thing we've got a stealth ship."

"It felt good, though right?"

Shepard jammed his hands in his pockets. "It felt great."