"It's just for a couple of weeks," Hackett frowned at her.
"I understand, sir." Shepard wasn't sure she could handle being off the line—something enforced by Hackett's declaration that the Normandy needed some serious diagnostics and probably repair work if it was going to keep functioning properly.
"Also, I have a message for you from Anderson. Streaming it to your ship."
"Shepard, I have received a datapacket from Admiral Hackett," EDI announced. "I shall send it to your omnitool immediately. Done."
Shepard looked at her omnitool as it flared, resisting the urge to open it up and listen to it immediately.
"Enjoy the shore leave, Shepard."
"Yes sir." She was caught, again, by the sense that she had no right to kick back on the Citadel while Anderson and countless others were huddling in war torn hollows on Reaper-held worlds, trying not to end up as husk-feed or Brute-fodder, drinking water out of muddy footprints or…
She shook herself. She couldn't be much help to them if the Normandy tanked out unexpectedly, either. And EDI deserved the attention. EDI's injuries weren't something medigel and sugar cubes could fix.
When Shepard looked back up, Hackett had severed the connection. With a sigh, Shepard delivered the new orders over the all-call, then headed up to her quarters. Her presence to report to the Council had not been requisite at this time; rather, Alenko had been charged with presenting their joint reports.
Charitably, she accepted this as Esheel and Quentius not wanting to needlessly add anything to her already full plate. She wouldn't complain about less bureaucratic stuff, and the thought smacked so much of Garrus that she found herself smiling grimly.
Shepard opened the message from Anderson, gently rubbing Minsc's back with free finger.
"Hey, Shepard. You remember that voodoo thing you told me about? Well, I think it's lost its potency. Bad things are happening whether you're on vacation or not. Hackett told me the Normandy's in for repairs and that he's grounding you. Just take it. There's nothing you can do." He suddenly chuckled, the sound brittle with disuse. "And there's no point scowling like that."
Even in a prerecorded message he was giving her that 'old soldier mentor' look, and she didn't like it. She recognized what Anderson was getting at.
"Listen, I have an apartment on the Citadel. I want you to take it off my hands; put it to good use."
While still trying to work out an answer—in spite of his not being able to hear it or respond to it—she shook her head. She wouldn't. She couldn't.
"The thing is," Anderson continued, "the longer I'm here on Earth, the less I want to leave. And you need a place of your own, space where you can decompress, clear your head. Even assuming I survive, there's going to be too much to rebuild. I'll need to be here for that. I'll want to be here for that. And there'll be too much rebuilding that can't be done with a hammer—that'll be your business."
Shepard bit her lower lip.
"I guess I just want as few loose ends out there as possible." Then, in the same tone of command he would use for any skittish private first class, "Come on, don't make me beg."
The look he fixed her with, prerecorded as it was, sealed the matter. Alenko's 'you don't say "no" to the Admiral' echoed in her mind. "Yes sir. Thank you, sir." The answer was simply a response to the tone used.
Ironically, the pause between his command not to make him beg and his next words just comfortably accommodated her dutiful answer. "I'm including the passcodes to get you in with this message. Go home. Take some care of yourself. Anderson out."
Shepard closed her eyes as the message shut down. "Just remember that your will doesn't go into effect until after you die."
"Shepard," EDI announced. "Barring Major Alenko, the crew has disembarked; the technicians are waiting for you to stand down."
Strictly speaking they didn't have to, but Shepard appreciated the gesture.
Anderson's 'go home' rang in her head, coupled with an internal scream that the only home she had, the only one she wanted—ungrateful as it sounded, but Anderson would have understood—was her cabin on the Normandy.
"Thank you, EDI." Shepard squared her shoulders, picked up her sea bag from where it waited, shouldered it, and picked up Minsc's tank. "Tell the techs they can come aboard. If you need me, call. Or come by yourself."
"You would allow me to visit you at your new domicile?" EDI's own arrangements had been made just after putting out the all-call about shore leave.
"Of course. I'm always at home to my crew." Shepard headed for the airlock, trying to suppress a sinking feeling. The last time she took a vacation of any kind, she ended up in a shit-fight that secured her a Star of Terra and the label 'hero.' It was not an experience she wanted to repeat. She ended up in enough shit-fights on the Citadel without adding vacation-voodoo to the mix.
Again, she had the uncomfortable conviction that she shouldn't be taking it easy for an extended period of time on the Citadel when so many others had to sleep with one eye open when they could sleep at all.
If any of the rest of the crew shared her feelings, they hadn't shown it. She could justify their needing time to decompress, even if she couldn't justify it for herself. After all, most of them were desk jockeys drafted into service on the frontlines. It would be good for them to have a little time to step back and examine their situations.
Shepard returned the salutes of the Alliance techs who waited respectfully for her to exit the ship, then stepped into the docking bay. The air wasn't any colder here than it was elsewhere on the Citadel, but she felt chilled.
