Abigail Shepard

If this moon had a better atmosphere my helmet would be in my hand. The thought crept into her mind as she sat there, motionless, her arm hanging just above the ground as she sat curled up on a rock, looking straight down.

Around her she was just aware of the cleanup forces which had come down from the Hawking and its task force to sweep through the area and police the battlefield, chronicling the Batarian casualties, tallying their dead, and ensuring everything was in its proper place in the aftermath.

She had been like this for hours, just sitting here, numb, letting the pain eat away at her until there was nothing left. Her part in this operation was over and all she could do now was sit here and let her mind shut down, brief flashes of everything she had done intruded on her attempts for peace every now and then, occasionally making bile rise up into her throat.

Snorting after a moment behind her faceplate she brought one of her armored hands up as if to wipe her nose but the faceplate got in the way and all she achieved was smearing more blood on it. She blinked at it and sighed of course.

The movement led to more, as for the first time she was ready to gaze around the battlefield. Her eye was drawn almost immediately to the triple row of body bags just placed next to her, forty of them for Alliance soldiers and twelve of them for the hostages.

Only eight of my strike force survived the battle.

The body bag closest to her, the tag on its front read "Mendez", her last casualty had succumbed to his wounds as she and no medic could save him.

"You!"

The yell of pain and rage drew Abby's attention as she noticed the long legged gait of the only other surviving member of her squad come over to her. Before anyone could stop the fellow N7 she had grabbed her leader by the shoulders and was shaking her.

"How could you!" Grace wailed in her face. "We trusted you, the Alliance trusted you and you did this! You turned us into...this!"

At a loss for words Abby felt tears well up in her eyes as finally a Marine latched onto the other woman and dragged her away. "Easy there, this is not helping."

"She should be killed for what she did, let go of me!" Grace gestured to her, "God damn you to hell Abigail Shepard...damn you!" She was dragged away.

Abigail reached up again and once more her gesture was intredicted by her face plate, she almost cursed the thing and wanted to take it off, but hesitated knowing she would die if she did.

Would that be so bad though?

Before she could dwell on it further three other soldiers walked up to her, "Abigail Shepard?"

She nodded, "That is me."

The woman stiffened in a posture of respect but there was enough of a tightness around the eyes to indicate that it was only out of propriety of her orders and not out of any personal obligation.

"We have been ordered to take you into custody by Captain the Hawking to be delivered to the JAG office on Elysium."

Shepard nodded before getting up, I had to know this was coming.

Even though the Hawking and its associated battle group had settled into a low orbit with the suppression of the pirates on the moon's surface the trip still seemed to take hours. Her stomach worked in knots around itself, dreading what was coming, but knowing it was inevitable. She lost track of everything else.

They docked though and her guards were the first ones out, flanking out ahead of her. She stepped onto the Hawking's flight deck and gazed around, something was blocking her view.

The assembled officers and crew which seemed to take up every inch not immediately in front of the shuttle was a study in contradictions, every single emotion known to man was on display around the crowd.

Finally she was able to spot Major Kyle standing on the second row, his expression bleak, he was pale, and it looked as though he were leaning over on the Lieutenant next to him for support.

As if feeling her gaze his eyes met hers and he flinched.

It was then she realized what she had forgotten, her helmet was still on...her helmet caked in blood.

She brought her arms up and twisted the device around until it snapped off with a hiss. She brought it around and held it to her side, now she felt even more ridiculous as her hair was a mess from the helmet head, hanging out in frizzy strands.

A woman she recognized as the Captain of the Carrier approached her. Abigail regarded her approach with a certain weariness, fearing the next inevitable chain of what was sure to be a months long process.

Instead she flinched in surprise when Chang offered her hand, Abigail took it and gave it a tentative shake.

"Damn shame what happened down there, the loss of the hostages was not your fault and mine and Major Kyle's report will indicate that. If I had my way I'd pin a damn medal on your chest, but the JAG office wants you taken into custody pending your full court martial for war crimes."

Abigail blinked but then felt a wan smile across her lips, "I appreciate it."

"And I will be testifying to that effect should I get called to take the stand. You have a friend here Chief, believe me, if there is anything you can do?"

Abigail stiffened in realization, "Just make sure that Grace Holloway gets immediate medical attention. She took events down there...hard."

Chang nodded and snapped her fingers before gesturing over. "It will be done."

"And I suppose a last meal wouldn't hurt." Abby offered, when her stomach started to rumble.

"Lieutenant please take the Chief to the mess hall, keep her under guard but do not interfere...am I clear?"

The Lieutenant nodded, "Yes ma'am," and then to Shepard, "Please, this way." Her respect this time seemed genuine.

Abigail led her up the ladder up the gangway. As she went the mood seemed more polarized than before. Anyone who looked supportive of her actions grinned brighter now that they knew they had their Captain's support while those who disagreed watched her go, not daring to make full eye contact.

She opened her mouth to speak as they crossed Major Kyle but stopped herself. His expression was the darkest yet, and she couldn't bring herself to say anything.

Her escort led her to the mess hall, it was empty, and she sat down and poured herself a cup of coffee and got a plate with a croissant. But she couldn't keep it down, not really, she felt hungry enough to eat and yet didn't feel like she could.

Instead she felt her head go down to her crossed hands, tears streaming down her face.