Author's Notes: Please note this is the chapter that actually has description of interrogation/torture in it. PLEASE skip if that's not your thing. There's also more trauma denial (though it's not supported in the slightest).
"It's been too long," Shepard fretted as the vine slid through their hands. "Has it been five minutes?"
"Give him time," Samara said, though her jaw was tight.
"Are you keeping track of time?"
"Of course I am." Samara eyed her, as if disbelieving that Shepard would disbelieve her.
Both women tightened their grip as the line abruptly went taut.
"Pull it in," Shepard said hurriedly. "Pull it in! NOW!" Both women grabbed the vine and began to haul at it. After a few moments of work, Shepard muttered, "Shit, Mordin, I swear, if you - "
She never finished her sentence. The end of the vine popped out of the pipe and surfaced, floating on the water. Both Samara and Shepard stared at it.
"Shit," Shepard said hollowly.
"So, why're you here?"
Mordin's captor leaned back, chewing on a toothpick. Mordin, calm as ever, regarded him coolly.
"Not gonna talk, then, eh?" The turian pushed off the wall, leaving the toothpick sticking out of his mouth at an odd angle, jutting out beside his mandible. "That's okay. I'll figure it out one way or another."
Mordin stayed silent, sitting without resistance in the uncomfortable chair. The turian came back into view, tapping a baton on one hand, and Mordin resisted the urge to roll his eyes. How cliché.
"How about now?" the turian asked, grinning, as if bravado would impress Mordin.
Mordin, on the other hand, sat impassively.
The turian's smile faded slightly, and he tapped the baton on his hand harder. "You've got to say something sooner or later," he taunted, but Mordin ignored him.
"Fine," he muttered, and circled around out of view again; Mordin heard him shuffling with more equipment. Again, the turian asked, "Why are you here?"
This time, Mordin inhaled quickly as his good horn was seized again, and the turian pressed a blade to his throat.
"Spit it out."
Mordin sat quietly, counting backwards from fifty by threes, and the turian threw his head forward harshly.
"I'm gonna lose my patience," the turian said in a low voice. "Tell me why you're here."
Mordin inhaled through his nostrils, then exhaled through his mouth, and continued counting.
"Fine." There was a rustling behind him, and Mordin hissed as the turian lashed out, slamming something hard into his broken horn. He listed to one side, disoriented, until the turian propped him back up again. "Talk."
It took Mordin a moment to reorient himself, but when he did, he glared. "Sao," he spat at the turian.
"See? Knew I could get you to say something," the turian said with a sly grin. "Now tell me why you're here."
Mordin went back to silence.
"Tell me."
More silence.
"Tell me." There was a crack as the turian targeted his broken horn again; Mordin leaned forward, breathing evenly.
Shepard. He just had to wait for Shepard.
"Why are you here?" The turian grabbed his good horn and pulled his head up, yanking him up until they were nose-to-nose.
Mordin eyed him dispassionately.
"You got time for this?" the turian asked, releasing him, and Mordin slouched forward. "Because I've got all damn day." He picked up the knife he had used earlier, turning it over in the light. "So buckle up."
"He's gone." Shepard paced, running a hand through her hair. "Where did he go? This should have only been a runoff pipe!"
Samara stayed quiet, thinking hard, then finally stated, "Clearly it isn't. If he got caught in a current that he couldn't swim out of, he was probably swept further in."
"We can't go in after him," Shepard said grimly. "He won't run out of air, I know, but…"
"Trust him," Samara said firmly. "We must find another way in."
Shepard grimaced. "How do you feel about throwing me up a tree?"
"I can do so," Samara told her.
"Mordin said there's trees with lower branches back that way."
After a few minutes' walk in the direction Mordin had previously indicated, Shepard spotted a tree with branches as low as ten feet. "How about that?"
"I can do that," Samara murmured. "I will need you to climb partially under your own power, however."
"Not a problem," Shepard told her. "Boost me up."
Samara held up a hand, shifted her feet into a firm position, and allowed the blue glow of biotics to envelop her. "Ready?" At Shepard's nod, she gestured upward, and Shepard felt herself lift off the ground.
Shepard climbed from branch to branch; then, when she was high enough to see the sky, she started her comm. "Shore party to Normandy," she called. "Shore party to Normandy!"
"We read you, shore party," came Joker's voice. "How's it going?"
"It's a long story. Mordin's stuck in the base," she reported. "How's the rear team?"
"Still unable to push through. Did you say Mordin is stuck in there?" Joker's voice sounded incredulous.
"Yeah. It's a long story that I don't have time for right now. Can the rear team get to us?"
Joker's comm stayed silent for a long moment, then static crackled. "They'll be at your location in two hours. They're having to route all the way around the base."
"That's fine," Shepard assured him. "I'll try to climb back up here every thirty minutes. Keep me posted." Once signed off, she jumped from branch to branch, relying on Samara's biotics to slow her fall, then she leaped to the ground. "Joker's having the rear party route to us," she told her.
"Good," Samara said, relieved, staggering slightly with the strain of the biotics. "That much control is very difficult to maintain."
"Well, sit down," Shepard demanded, raising a hand as Samara closed her eyes and breathed evenly. "We've got a two-hour wait."
"Still not talking?"
Mordin raised his head, blinking greenish blood from one eye, and glared. They had been at this for an hour, with neither party budging. Mordin maintained his silence no matter what the turian did - poking, jabbing, slapping, even using the blade the turian kept playing with. The only sound he made was a yelp of pain when the turian had once burned his leg unexpectedly.
"I'm getting pretty frustrated," the turian told him flatly, circling back out of view again, and Mordin rolled his eyes - only half for the moisture.
Mordin sucked in a breath as the turian grabbed his good horn yet again.
"Tell me."
Silence. Then, Mordin quickly stifled a yell as the turian pressed a welding wand - an electrified, red-hot spike typically used for welding plastics - against his head. The initial pain was over as quick as it started; a dull, throbbing pain remained.
"Tell me, or I'll do it again."
Mordin took a deep breath, then began to sing under his breath.
"What?" The turian yanked his head back, but Mordin kept singing at a whisper.
"I am the very model of a scientist salarian, I've studied species turian, asari, and batarian…"
The turian stared. "You've gone mental," he declared, and pressed it against Mordin's cheek.
Mordin hissed, but kept singing. "I'm quite good at genetics, as a subset of biology, because I am an expert…"
The turian busied himself out of Mordin's sight. "Fine. If that's all you'll say, I've got something that'll maybe loosen your tongue." The turian checked the ties holding Mordin to the chair, then left the room, and Mordin was left to wait.
"Glad you all made it," Shepard said once the rear team approached. "We need to get in there."
"They've got Mordin?" Tali asked anxiously, stepping from one foot to the other. "That's not good. Do you think they'll find out we're here?"
"I doubt it. Mordin's clever," Shepard said reassuringly. "Now. Look. The best way to get in here, with three biotics, is probably jumping the wall. I know," she said, holding up a hand, "it's a ridiculous height, but if we climb the trees and make a jump, we can get it. Samara, I want you going first; stay at the top of the wall to help people up and over. Jack, you go second over the wall and help people down."
Jack - silent, for once - exchanged glances with Samara, then nodded.
"Miranda, you're going third. Tali, you go fourth. I'll go last, then Samara will jump down and join us."
"What if we get caught?" Tali asked. "Maybe you should go first."
Shepard considered this. "I'll go third; Miranda, you go fourth, Tali last. Got it?"
The group nodded.
"All right. Move out."
The turian was gone for a while, and Mordin was left with his thoughts.
The last time he'd been in a situation like this had not ended well, he reflected. But he trusted Shepard; if anyone could get him out of this, she could.
He'd actually been in situations like this too many times for his liking, not least of which was the incident leading to his recruitment with the STG. At least this time, there was no translator to turn off.
He could hear footsteps outside, and he tensed, anticipating the turian to come back, but the footsteps faded; whoever it was had walked right past.
They hadn't just forgotten him, had they? That would have been convenient.
Mordin sighed wearily. He was tired; he should have slept before embarking on this mission. Ah, but Shepard was using his cot again, he remembered. Ah well. He could've slept in the bunks.
Even so, he began to slide down in the chair as much as was comfortable. After time, his head lolling forward, he began to doze fitfully.
There was a loud bang! as the door was flung open, and Mordin jerked awake.
"Got something for ya," the turian said with a very unpleasant smile.
"Is that everyone?" Shepard asked quietly, counting heads, then nodded. "Good. Now, the main compound is over there, but if I'm reading the landscape correctly, if Mordin got sucked into a current, assuming the pipe doesn't take too many turns, it would lead to that building there." She pointed; her translator informed her that the squiggled writing on the side of the building read POWER PLANT.
"The power plant?" Tali said curiously. "Actually, that would make sense. They likely use water turbines for power."
"That's our target, then. Let's creep around the back, close to the wall, and hope nobody sees us. Samara, I want you at the back. I'll take lead. Rest of you, take up position in the middle, and keep your head on a swivel."
With that, the group began to creep along the outer wall, taking care to step lightly. As they drew closer, Shepard held up one arm, her hand closed in a fist, elbow bent; silently, she pointed out two guards near the door.
"I can get them," Miranda whispered. "Biotic slam. Throw them into each other; knock them out."
Shepard shook her head. "Too loud," she whispered back. "Tali?"
"Hm?"
"Can you send out a combat drone around the building to the front? Make it look like an actual attack."
Tali tapped away at her omni-tool, then nodded. "Ready."
"Go."
Tali hit the omni-tool's trigger, and a combat drone sprang to life. She quickly directed it around the building the opposite way. "Okay. It'll start shooting in three… two… one…"
Shepard watched as the guards jumped. Only one ran off to deal with the drone, however, so Shepard gestured to Miranda, Jack, and Samara.
"Can you three do something to take him out silently?" she asked. Miranda and Samara nodded.
"Could do much more than that," Jack muttered rebelliously, though she also nodded in turn.
"Do it, then."
The three of them coordinated silently, then Miranda gestured; the guard dropped like a stone, hardly a flash of blue in sight, and Jack waved, pulling the body back towards them and out of view.
"Well done," Shepard said approvingly. "Let's hurry before that other guard comes back."
Mordin sat, impassive as ever, as the turian set the wooden box down on the table behind him.
"You're STG," the turian stated. "Guessed so."
Mordin suppressed a twitch of surprise; he set his feet flat on the ground and sat up straight, determination redoubled.
"So you've probably been through something like this before," the turian continued; Mordin heard the light clink of glass, then a click that must be the wooden box. "And any STG agent being here… Well." He came into Mordin's view. "We don't take to that lightly."
Mordin glared up at the turian, then his eyes were drawn to what the turian was holding - and he stiffened, his heart leaping into his throat, then quickly tried to hide the reaction.
The turian noticed, and grinned wider. "Got someone to give me this special for the special STG agent." He held up a thin hypodermic needle. "Don't worry. It won't hurt."
Mordin didn't know if he believed that, but he wouldn't tell the turian so. He breathed through his nostrils, then out through his mouth, and began to sing once more.
"Oh, shut up," the turian muttered, darting forward to grab his arm; Mordin shifted with effort, the chair squeaking over the floor, and the turian missed.
Heart threatening to pound out of his chest, Mordin stared him down; the turian leaped forward again, and Mordin shifted again, heaving the metal chair across the floor.
"Fucking stay still," the turian grumbled. "Don't make this any harder." He took the needle carefully in his mouth by the thicker, round plastic cylinder, and slowly stepped forward. Mordin's breath came in quick bursts as the turian leaped again, and he shifted once more; the turian grabbed him by the knee and yanked, toppling Mordin over. He wriggled, trying to roll over, kicking the turian in the face, and threw himself to the side, awkwardly rolling over the back of the chair, wrists pulled at an uncomfortable angle.
The turian recovered and lunged forward, pulling on the chair as Mordin struggled with the ties. Mordin reared back, but was dragged forward by his wrists as the turian pulled the chair, and before he could roll away, he felt a prick at the curve of his elbow - and he froze.
Panting, the turian took advantage of his stilled movement and yanked Mordin forward by the shoulders, then forced his head down, flipped him over, and righted the chair, dragging Mordin along with it. "Well," he said breathlessly. "Now that that's taken care of…" He sat back. "Just wait until that kicks in." He grinned again, that same, unpleasant expression. "Shouldn't take long."
Mordin sat silently, head forward, his heartbeat roaring in his ears, hypervigilant of any change in his internal sense. Just as he began to feel dizzy, he began to sing again. "Keikia bemke baw ra, shia ziaebia, noh ilusheiak shah, noh iluban bat, laroh bat, laroh bat, laroh bat, sehk, ilubemak shat…"
Shepard crept along the hallway, gesturing for the crew to follow.
"He's not here," Tali said desperately, keeping her voice low. "Did we pass him?"
"All that was back there was private rooms," Shepard replied, voice equally low. "Maybe he went to another building - " She cut off as they heard a scuffle, then a dull thud and a yell; glancing from one person to the next, she nodded and hurried in the direction of the noise.
The door was locked, and she wasted no time taking her rifle and slamming it into the lock until Jack raised a hand. Blue enveloped the lock, then it crumpled, sucked in under gravitational force, and Shepard rammed her shoulder into the door.
"Mordin!"
"Hey!" A turian started forward, but Shepard shot him without even breaking her stride before he could take more than a step. Shepard and several squad members rushed forward, and Shepard knelt down, trying to look Mordin in the eye.
He returned her gaze, albeit unsteadily, and she cursed, standing back up.
"Back up," she told them. "Back up! Give us some room!"
"Shepard," Mordin muttered, and she dropped to his side.
"Hey," she said, seizing her utility knife from her belt and beginning to cut the ties. "Hey. Are you okay?"
"Mm." Mordin leaned forward, and she caught him, then propped him up as she started on the other tie.
"Can you all clear out for a moment?" Shepard asked as she worked. "Give a moment for him to reorient. Stand guard."
The rest of the large squad began to file out, with only a moment's hesitation on a few folks' parts. Samara gripped Shepard's shoulder as she walked past. "Say if you require something," she said quietly, and Shepard nodded.
Once they were gone, she leaned Mordin back in the chair; his head lolled back, and he closed his eyes and groaned.
"Mordin, what happened?" she asked softly. "Are you okay?"
Mordin looked down at his hands, his movements unsteady and uncoordinated. "Turian," he said.
"Yeah. I shot him."
"Wanted to know why I was here," Mordin stated softly, and Shepard gritted her teeth.
"Did he hurt you?"
Mordin glanced down at his elbow; the prick of the needle, the cold feeling, like plunging his arm into an ice bucket, making him -
No, that wasn't here, here was burning, he knew - he looked around for whatever the turian had used to burn him and spotted the sharp, red-hot electric spike. He grimaced. "Behm buhp pymehd salaria, momi zia kahw turia, asaria, bataria…"
Shepard glanced up as he began to sing, hoarse and breathless. "Mordin?"
He was cold; shivering, he drew his hands up to his arms, rubbing at them against the chill. They'd likely be back any minute now that it took effect -
But no, he was being investigated by a turian, and just one, not several, which meant - was he somewhere else? Where was he? Unless they'd given him something hallucinogenic…
Well, they could have, he supposed. It wasn't out of the question, although it would be risky. That might explain it, though.
"Mordin?"
He looked down again, eyeing the small, bruised injection site, and swallowed.
"Hey, Mordin?"
"Qehte heit genesiat, chieh genesi, qukeht behm lemn, me behm lefehlogi…" He sang, his voice shaky and uncertain, as someone gently lifted his chin; he jerked away, and continued to sing, searching his surroundings, determined to find something certifiably real, until his eyes landed on the hypodermic, discarded and thrown to the side by the turian.
(Or was it the turian? Was the turian a fiction?)
And his breath caught in his throat; he began to sing faster.
"Mordin?"
Ah, that's right. They knew his name. Had he told them that?
"Mordin!"
There was a pounding in his head; was someone knocking on the door?
"Mordin!"
He felt someone catch him as he tilted sideways, but he slipped through their arms and continued to fall.
"Is he going to be okay?" The first words spilled out of Shepard's mouth before she could quite get her tongue around them, but Dr. Chakwas smiled serenely, nodding.
"He's going to be fine," she assured Shepard. "He's old, but he's remarkably strong."
"Okay," Shepard breathed, eyeing Mordin's slight form curled up on the bed. "Can I stay in here?"
"Don't wake him," the doctor told her firmly, then nodded once more. "If you're quiet."
"Thanks," she murmured as the doctor left, and she sat down.
She wasn't sure how long it had been when Mordin cleared his throat and whispered, "Hello."
She fought the sudden urge to cry. "Hey."
"Okay?" he asked; she laughed weakly.
"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" she asked.
Mordin didn't answer, shifting on the bed, then said, "Knew you'd come."
Shepard swallowed, still fighting back tears. "Not fast enough," she said quietly.
Mordin looked at her. "Knew you'd come," he repeated.
"Mordin," she began, "you got hurt. I - " She took a breath, then continued. "I know some of what you've been through, Mordin. I can't even imagine how hard that must have been for you."
Mordin remained quiet, then stated, "Still, knew you would come."
Shepard let out a hollow laugh, swiping at her eyes. "I'm sorry."
"No," he said, his voice breathy but firm. "No apologies."
"Mordin, I should've been there sooner. I shouldn't have ever let you go down that pipe." She let out a shaky breath. "I'm sorry. It should have been me."
"No," Mordin repeated, reaching out one hand. "Better me. Experience."
"That experience caused that… that episode, or whatever, when we finally found you, though." Shepard gripped his hand, the skin soft and tacky; despite the swimming, he was dehydrated, she noticed.
"Episode?" His voice was still soft.
"Whatever you call it." She took a deep breath. "And I was there to see it. Don't deny it." After a moment, she added, "Please."
Mordin was silent long enough she thought he might've fallen asleep again when he finally said, "Reminder."
"What?"
"Reminder. Salarians have good memories."
It took her a moment to figure out what he meant. She looked at him, appalled. "Mordin, I saw you. You hyperventilated and then… and then passed out. We had to half-carry you back to the shuttle. That is not just a 'reminder.'"
Mordin stayed quiet for another long moment. "Not the point," he said finally, and Shepard let out a heavy sigh.
"I'm going to throw something at you," she muttered.
"Just saying," Mordin said, moving as if to pull himself up on the bed, then hissed as he brushed his injured shoulder on the pillow. "Salarians have better - "
Shepard let out an explosive breath, standing, and he stopped as she began to pace; eventually, she stopped and pointed at him. "Mordin, I've just about had it with this," she said quietly, her raised hand shaking. "I don't know what to do. You won't talk about anything, and it's hurting you, and I just…" She made a frustrated noise. "I just can't figure out what to do. I know you'll talk about it when you're ready, but at least acknowledge this, okay? You've been through literal torture before, and what you just went through was literal torture, okay, that's what interrogation is, and it makes sense that would be a psychological trigger, Mordin! That's what that was! You literally passed out because you panicked!"
Mordin listened to her talk. "Could have been injection," he said, his voice almost a whisper.
Shepard let out a strangled noise and tugged at her hair. "Dr. Chakwas reviewed what it was," she told him. "She says it would've just made you rather loopy. It's supposed to be some truth serum stuff."
"No such thing," Mordin muttered. "Only hypnotics and sedatives."
"Well, either way, it wouldn't have caused you to pass out in a dead faint," she stated.
"Was still weak from swimming," he said.
"You panicked."
"Interaction. Reminder, weakness, drug." He inhaled through his nostrils, then exhaled.
"Why are you so against this?" she asked him desperately. "Mordin, I can't imagine you to be one that insists against it because you think it's weak."
"Not weak," he murmured.
"Then what is it?" She threw herself back into the chair by his bedside. "Please, tell me. After all these nights we've spent chatting and playing chess and - and after you told me about your translator incident…"
Mordin didn't reply immediately. "Different," he said.
"How?" she wanted to know. "Mordin, answer me this, truthfully - are you okay?"
Mordin laid there, staring at the wall. "Yes," he said eventually.
"Liar." Her voice lacked any venom.
"No," he murmured. "Am okay now. That is what matters."
"What? So just because you feel fine at the moment means everything is sunshine and daisies?" She swiped at her eyes again. "Mordin, you're clever. You can't tell me that things in the past don't affect us now."
Mordin hummed thoughtfully. "True. Still - reminder."
"No, it isn't. That's a trauma response."
"Why do you want it to be?" he challenged, and she rolled her eyes.
"Mordin Solus, I don't want it to be anything, except not hurting you."
"Then leave it alone."
She blinked, not expecting that response. "Mordin, you've seen me after a panic attack before. It's nothing to be ashamed of."
"Not a panic attack."
"Then what was it?" she asked, leaning forward to look him in the eye. "Because you could've fooled me."
"Reaction under stress," he said evasively, and she took a deep breath, as if willing herself to be patient.
"That is literally what a trauma response is," she told him. "A reaction under stress."
"Not what I mean," he muttered. "Different."
"How? How is it different?" she snapped. "I don't see any difference between this and my panic attacks. Except mine are triggered by maybe less intense stuff than literally being tortured for information."
Mordin sighed. "Memory stored differently. Salarians - memories have biological tags marking as memory. Cannot get lost in them the way other species do."
"A trauma response is not getting lost in a memory," she hissed. "It's a pretty complex thing. You're a biologist! You should know this. Autonomic nervous system - "
"Activates fight or flight response, yes," Mordin finished, then met her gaze. "Different in salarians."
"So salarians don't get trauma responses?" she asked him sharply.
"Not like that."
"Liar."
"Not lying," Mordin insisted, narrowing his eyes. "Only - "
"No, you are lying," she interrupted, standing once more. "You're lying and I don't know why - because you can't face this? Because it's too painful? Shameful? I don't get it!"
"Am fine now," he said forcefully as Shepard began to pace again.
"Liar," she muttered again. "I'm not a psychologist - you don't have to tell me anything. But we've got a psychologist on the team, and - "
"Not trained for salarians," he replied simply, and she let out an aggravated breath, tugging at her hair again.
"That doesn't matter, Mordin, she's trained in general psychology and biology, including alien species."
"Cerberus employee," he noted.
"Not everyone who works for Cerberus always worked for Cerberus," she told him.
"Point taken. Still - unnecessary."
She stopped, and watched him impassively. "You're damn irritating at times, you know that?" she muttered; instead of being insulted, he merely smiled, and her sour expression deepened.
"You can't keep denying this."
"Why do you want it to be a problem?" Mordin asked, pulling himself up on the bed, careful not to bump any injuries.
"I told you, I just want it to not hurt you any more. And repressing this stuff can't be healthy."
"Not repressing," he reasoned. "Prefer to move on."
"So that panic attack was just 'moving on?'" she challenged, and he regarded her stiffly.
"Not everyone panics in response to memory triggers," he finally stated neutrally; Shepard stared.
After a few tense moments, she muttered, "I hope you don't mean that."
Mordin pressed his lips together tightly. "Don't mean like that," he insisted. "Memory works different for different species - "
"You were in a traumatic situation that reminded you of another traumatic situation and you panicked!" she hissed, pushing his hand away as he raised it. "Don't lie to me, Solus!"
Mordin inhaled, then exhaled. "Not listening to me," he told her. "Works differently."
"Then explain it to me," she snapped.
He held her gaze for a moment, not blinking, then rolled his eyes to moisten them.
"Don't - " Shepard started, but he raised a hand.
"Eyes dry. Not rolling eyes at you," he assured her, and she leaned back, watching him suspiciously. She didn't say anything, however, so he continued. "Trauma response in salarians different. Memory tags mark things clearly as memory - cannot interpret them as happening now, unless suffering from disorder of memory." He nodded. "Cannot get mixed up like humans."
"So you're telling me you didn't pass out and we didn't have to carry you back," she growled. "Salarians still have trauma responses. I know they do. I asked."
Mordin paused. "Asked who?"
"Kelly."
"Ah." He frowned. "Not salarian psychologist."
"She's studied salarians, Mordin!" Shepard exclaimed, throwing her hands out. "And frankly, this sounds like denial!"
Mordin furrowed his brow. "More objective than that."
"You're not being objective," she retorted. "You're not acknowledging things that have happened."
"Know they happened. Merely do not affect me as strongly."
"You had some sort of episode there, Mordin, and Chakwas said it wasn't from the drug. So I'm telling you, you're missing something here."
Mordin sat with an unreadable expression on his face. "Missing something?"
"You're not considering the full picture."
He was quiet; then, "Don't panic over memories."
Shepard glared, and took a breath. "Don't you dare get all high and mighty and act like you're above the rest of us poor folks with trauma brain," she said harshly. "If you won't talk to me, then fine. But for the love of all that is good, please talk to someone." She brushed her clothes off and linked her hands behind her back. "I'll talk to you later. You're off active duty until you recover. Dr. Chakwas will be the one to reinstate you."
Mordin opened his mouth, but Shepard held up a hand.
"No. Talk to Dr. Chakwas about it. It's not up to me. She's the medical officer."
Mordin stared, then crossed his arms. "Upset because not talking to you?" he accused.
"You think this is some sort of petty revenge?" she snapped. "You're injured."
"Been injured before." His voice was low and steady. "Still have access to lab?"
"That's part of active duty, so no."
Mordin sat back, eyes narrowed. "Unfair," he told her sharply.
"Talk to Dr. Chakwas about it," she spat, and turned to leave.
Mordin leaned back and rested his head against the wall, closing his eyes and breathing deeply, and listened as the door slid shut behind her.
He didn't need to be a genius to know that went horribly. But salarians stored memory differently, which led to the concept that their trauma responses were different.
Memory. He sat back, reviewing the mission - the pipe, the turbine, the grating, getting captured. He sighed as he mulled over the events of the day, trying to note any unusual sensation or change in his own rhythms, whether that be physical or mental.
Nothing. Well, it was worth a try.
And yet, as he sifted through memories, there was another one. Unbidden, the memory rose to the surface, and he took a breath.
Different trauma responses.
He dove in, ruthlessly examining and discarding any part of the memory he could get his thoughts on. He had been separated from the team, captured by another group; the day or two spent holding his ground as they questioned him. He was proud of himself, he remembered, for not breaking even after days of interrogation by people who had to be ex-STG.
Cold. He'd been told what it felt like - a freezing sensation, like being injected with ice, which spread until it reached every corner of the body, then held like that in a daze.
He expected something like plunging his hand into ice water, and that was how it started. It crept up his arm slowly, freezing his veins, and as the temperature dropped even further, he had tried to relax and stay calm.
After a few moments, it was painful, like holding onto ice for too long, the pain shooting up his arm. The sensation continued, crawling up and through his shoulder, and his heart began beating harder; he felt his muscles involuntarily tense, and his heart beat faster and faster, the cold coming closer and closer -
- and it hit, his breath caught in his throat, rendering him hardly able to speak or breathe or even move as the cold made his muscles seize. Helpless as it spread, he could only count in his head - first by twos, then by threes, then by fours as it slowly crept past his heart, curled around his lungs, and seeped into his limbs, making them tense and stiff.
"Feeling all right?" asked someone - one of his captors - and he wheezed.
"Don't worry," the person said conversationally. "The first hour or so is the worst. You'll even out."
Hour. How long had it been? He tried to remember how long it took the substance to take full effect, hazily recalling days taught by STG mentors. Thirty minutes, he thought, thirty minutes to seep into every corner of his being, then another thirty minutes, if his captor was to be believed; then hours, possibly days, of being stuck hardly able to breathe or move, on the verge of passing out, completely at the mercy of his captors.
He had a while to wait.
Mordin ripped himself out of the memory, shaking, and he leaned forward, willing himself to breathe calmly. Different trauma responses, he thought to himself, and repeated it like a mantra; he sucked in a breath, held it for a count of four, then exhaled, also counting to four; then held his breath for another count, and inhaled for another count.
Slowly, after several minutes, the tension eased out of his shoulders, and he leaned forward further, his breathing slowly returning to normal.
Different trauma responses.
Shakily, breathlessly, he maneuvered until he was lying down, taking care not to bump any of his injuries. Once settled, he inhaled, held it for another count of four, then exhaled.
"Keikia bemke baw ra, shia ziaebia, noh ilusheiak shah, noh iluban bat, laroh bat, laroh bat, laroh bat, sehk, ilubemak shat…"
Author's Notes: If you've stuck with me this far, thank you.
The second song Mordin sings (first one in Covus) is Light at the End, written by my friend Alec. In English: "There's a light at the end, and if we don't bend, we'll get there soon, just take a breath; just take a breath, just take a breath, just take a breath, yes, we'll be all right."
The second Covus song Mordin sings is Scientist Salarian (translated into Covus).
That "inhale, count to four, hold your breath, count to four, exhale, count to four, hold breath again, count to four" thing that Mordin did at the end is called "square breathing." It does actually genuinely help with some anxiety and panic attacks.