It was one thing to resolve that she'd find her way out of this. It was another thing to figure out how.
The hospital stayed the same as ever: humdrum routine for Shepard in the midst of a harried, uneasy staff. But Shepard felt haunted now by the knowledge that her crew was here. Some of them, anyway. Liara and James and Garrus, and whoever else from the Normandy had survived. It felt like a fresh wound, always pulling at her attention, the way her physical wounds had before they healed, leaving shiny new skin in their wake.
Shepard couldn't exactly roam through the hospital looking for her crew, though. And to her frustration, the Alliance personnel database, didn't seem to update properly. Even if Val somehow found them, there wouldn't be anything to say, would there? She supposed she could thank them for their service, since John Shepard wasn't in a position to do so. Had he, she wondered? Had he known and appreciated what he'd had? Did he care about his people as much as she did?
She couldn't ask any of them. She didn't see any of the crew in her circuits of the hospital, either. Not even Liara, when she passed by John Shepard's room, though if Val knew Liara, Liara wouldn't have left her lover.
Even the thought of Liara being John Shepard's lover made Val feel a dark, formless kind of jealousy, even if there was nothing romantic between her and Liara any more. Val's own memory told her that she and Liara had ended things over a year ago. Still. Liara belonged to those memories, not at John Shepard's side.
Val went in her for next physical evaluation and drummed her fingers restlessly against her thigh while her mind wandered, wondering if Garrus took John to the top of the Presidium, too, and if James still had his N7 tattoo.
"I think you're ready to be released."
Startled out of her reverie, Shepard blinked at Dr. Menendez, a thin, short woman with weary eyes and streaks of gray in her dark hair. "Really?" The anticipation of being free and out of this building made her heart beat faster, but... here, at least, she was close to John Shepard's room. Val bit the inside of her cheek, torn between excitement and reluctance.
"Yes. Your physical progress is impressive." Menendez pursed her lips. "You're not cleared for active duty yet, and you'll need another evaluation in ten days or so. You can continue physical therapy on an outpatient basis. Frankly, I hate to say it, but we need the space."
"Ah." Shepard sent her a lopsided smile. "I'm not sick enough."
Menendez sighed. "No. We're still getting missing ships checking in, and some of them have seriously injured patients to transfer to us."
"It's all right. I get it." Shepard rubbed the back of her neck, wincing when her fingers brushed across her empty amp port. "Where do I go from here, then?"
"You'll have assigned quarters." Menendez handed Shepard a chit. "Not luxurious, I'm afraid, but you're authorized a space in the Alliance barracks. It's... relatively private, at least, and of course you'll be issued clothing and other necessaries to go with it. There's a mess hall on site."
Shepard accepted the chit. "Thanks."
"And you've been cleared for this." Menendez reached into her desk drawer and removed a small black case, of a familiar shape and size. Shepard had to restrain herself from snatching the amp case right out of the doctor's hand. She settled for holding one hand out imperiously, leaning forward in her seat. Menendez half-smiled as she dropped it into Shepard's waiting palm. "Eager?"
Shepard's mouth twitched, but she didn't answer, concentrating on breaking the seal and popping the case open. It was nothing fancy, just a standard-issue Alliance amp in sterile packaging. Val swept her hair aside from the port with one hand, and plugged the amp into the socket with the other, in one smooth motion. The amp slid into place with barely a snick, perfectly seated.
There weren't any words for the sensation of having her biotics come online. It was a new sense shivering to life — like suddenly pulling off a blindfold, or like losing your hearing to an explosion and having it come back all at once instead of gradually. Shepard's awareness of her own power twanged like a plucked string, crackling along her spine from skull to tailbone. She sighed, her lips spreading into a smile. "You have no idea."
"Your neurological scans have all come back clean," Menendez said. Shepard bit her lip, wondering if anything on the scans would answer the question of whether she was crazy. "You're cleared to begin biotics practice again. Please proceed carefully; it's just like exercising a muscle you haven't used for a while. It'll be easy to overdo it."
"I'll be careful," she said solemnly. Inside, Val could have danced out of sheer joy. She'd hardly even been thinking of her amp as a missing piece, but with it back, she felt more whole than she had in weeks.
Being released took longer than Shepard would have guessed. There was a lot of waiting while tired-looking staff processed forms on battered consoles and made her sign things, and then a corporal handed over a box and informed her that once she'd changed, a nearby private would escort her to her barracks.
The box contained a set of Alliance fatigues that mostly fit (the sleeves were a little short, and the uniform hung slightly loose on her), a set of pajamas, a couple changes of underwear, and a case containing basic toiletries. It was a step up from hospital pajamas, at least. Shepard had her omni-tool with its precious data, and it wasn't as if she had any other personal possessions.
She must have had, though, mustn't she? Where had they been? Maybe she'd lost them back when Earth was attacked, or... where had she even lived, when the war broke out? Was there any real point in speculating? Val shook her head, rubbing her forehead, and went out to meet the private.
Outside the hospital, they took an old-fashioned groundcar, not a skycar, to the Alliance encampment. The private pointed out landmarks along the way, but his voice faded into a drone. Shepard was far too enthralled by the novelty of being outdoors for the first time since she'd awakened. The air was fresh and damp, and open skies stretched overhead. It didn't even matter that the skies were gray and overcast. It was still sky, not dingy, pitted ceiling.
As far as Shepard could see, Terra Nova looked to have been lightly hit. The buildings near the hospital showed signs of weapons fire, but were still standing. They drove out of the city proper, along a road that soon turned muddy and bumpy. The ground car jolted along for a couple of miles, hard enough to snap Shepard's teeth together, and then the camp spread out before them, a maze of familiar gray prefabs among narrow dirt paths. Shepard grinned, without much humor. Typical Alliance. Practical, functional, ugly as hell. On the next rise, a mile or so away, she could see another camp, laid out with exacting precision. "Turian camp over there," the private said, waving his arm, "our HQ is over that way, officers' quarters to your right, enlisted quarters past that."
Shepard nodded and climbed out of the car, slinging the bag with her meager possessions over her shoulder.
She checked in at HQ first. There, an exhausted-looking second lieutenant appeared bewildered by the sight of her, then checked her chit, exchanged it for a handful of ration chits and the mess hall schedule, and pointed her toward the correct barracks. "You'll be called if you're wanted," the lieutenant said in a clipped accent that reminded Shepard of Traynor. "You'll be assigned to light duty within a day or two."
Good enough. Val supposed the Alliance was already well supplied with convalescent marines these days.
Her barracks consisted of ten tiny chambers, each big enough for a bed, a locker, and a desk that folded down from the wall. Not much more. All the quarters shared a common bath. Val checked her omni-tool, but the signal here was no better than in the hospital. The locker was empty. Shepard dropped her case of toiletries in and changed the code. She stood, hands on her hips, and looked around. Four gray walls, all hers, but nothing in particular to do. She hadn't any duties for the moment, and wasn't in a hurry to volunteer for desk duty, even if it was clearly needed. She could hear snores coming from a couple of bunks down, but there seemed to be no one awake on the premises except herself.
So she went for a walk.
On her own two feet, it wasn't hard to get the lay of the camp. She meandered through, noting the location of the mess hall, infirmary, and other useful services, trying to stay out of the way of anyone who looked busy or laden with baggage. Some of them noticed her rank and swerved to avoid her, casting a hurried nod in her direction, if not a real salute. No one, as far as she could tell, actually recognized her. That was something of a relief, even as the weight of her anonymity chafed.
Before she knew it, her feet took her to the outskirts of the camp. There was a gate and a guard, a young private who did no more than check her ID before waving her on. The camp lay on a ridge, on the outer edge of one of Terra Nova's larger towns, overlooking the plains that provided the colony with the bulk of its food. It was a good view, as long as you didn't mind farmland. Open fields had always reminded Shepard of Mindoir. For years, the sight of them had torn at her heart, at the same time giving her a raw kind of comfort. The sight of rolling hills, the smell of earth and grain, these were familiar, and settled something in her mind even when she remembered the raid. Mama said Mindoir was thriving when the Reapers invaded. What did it look like now, after another sixteen years of growth and development?
Chances were, Val could find out, if she wanted to. Go home, and see the rest of the family, and her childhood home. Take some leave, maybe, and try to forget about the crew that wasn't hers.
Shepard shook her head and kept walking. She was on—not even a road, really, merely a path that wound its way along the ridge. It was a cool day, with a tang in the air that made her think of autumn, assuming this part of Terra Nova had the kind of temperate climate she'd grown up with. The residual stiffness in her legs worked itself out quickly; it was good to stretch them out on something other than a treadmill, and before long she broke out into a run. The ground was flat, and Shepard fell into a rhythm more easily than she would have expected, legs and arms and heart and lungs all working together in synchrony. This rhythm, this working body, this they couldn't take away from her, no matter what the rest of her life had become. She kept running, even though her internal sense of how far she'd come was beginning to warn her that she ought to turn back soon, if she didn't want to push things too far. Soon, she told herself. She'd turn back soon. She could walk if she had to, drag herself if need be; it was worth it for the joy of being alone and in the open and in a body that worked the way it was supposed to. The cloudy skies stretching for miles in every direction made her feel smaller, more aware of her size and place in the world. So what if no one knew who she was, if someone else claimed her accomplishments. The sky and grass went on, the planets and stars spun on regardless. Whatever problems had loomed large in the confines of the hospital dwindled in the face of all that open space.
She reached the top of a rise, keeping a comfortable pace, and saw someone in front of her, perched on a rock. Turian, by the silhouette. If she remembered correctly, she'd been running in the direction of the turian camp. Someone else out for a stroll, maybe, or searching for some privacy.
As she got closer, she recognized him.
Her breath caught, disrupting her rhythm, and her stride faltered. She slowed down. She shouldn't, she told herself. She was a stranger to him. She should go right on by. Or she could stop. This was as good a place as any to turn back, back to the gray Alliance camp and her four gray walls and the life of Lieutenant Commander Shepard, 1st Special Operations Biotic Company. Either way, she should let him get on with his life.
She couldn't do it. Her feet kept slowing of their own accord, and finally she stopped. She took a moment to catch her breath before clearing her throat. "Nice day." Shepard suppressed a wince as soon as the words were out of her mouth. She couldn't have thought of anything more banal to say?
Garrus looked up at her, blinking. "Yes? Oh. Commander Shepard, wasn't it?" His mandibles flicked out in a wry expression. "Strange coincidence."
Val crossed her arms over her chest, shivering in the breeze now that she wasn't moving. "People usually just call me Shepard."
"Hm," he said, noncommittal. "It's hard to think of someone else that way."
She managed a brittle smile. "I suppose it must be."
"Is it a very common name?" he asked after a moment.
She eased into a stretch, using it as an excuse to turn her face away. Easier to pretend they were just acquaintances, in spite of the pounding of her heart. "It's not that rare, I suppose. I don't think I knew a lot of other Shepards before, uh. Before John went and got famous, though. Outside my family, I mean."
"It must be odd for both of you to be here, then."
He was using the sort of polite, neutral tone that unfamiliar Alliance staff got. Appropriate, she supposed, but it made her feel colder than the wind did. "Yeah. The hospital staff were polite, but I know they were thinking of me as the other Shepard." She lifted her head and stared off toward the horizon. She should just go, really.
"Ah," he said. "Yes. I see."
Her eyes darted sideways toward him. "Oh?"
One shoulder lifted in a shrug. His mandibles tilted out in amusement. "When I was a rookie at C-Sec, my father was a veteran. I spent a while being the other Vakarian. Drove me to distraction."
She smiled in spite of herself. It was easy to imagine a younger Garrus chafing against his father's long shadow. "I can imagine."
"I usually call the Commander 'Shepard,' though. I mean, you're a commander, too, but... ah, you know what I mean." He shook his head, looking down. The familiar gesture caught at her heart so painfully that Val had to look away.
"Yeah." She swallowed. "Val. My first name is Val." Almost no one called her by her first name; she was always Shepard, or Commander. The hospital staff had mostly called her by rank. She felt as though she were giving something up.
"Val Shepard. That's different."
Garrus — her Garrus — called her by her first name, but not often. Usually only when they were alone. Hearing her name in his voice, but without its usual warmth and affection, sent a shiver down her spine and left her feeling chilled. Val swallowed, easing down onto the corner of the rock. She stretched her legs in front of her and cast about for another topic. "What's he like?" she blurted out.
"Shepard? I mean, John Shepard?" Garrus was quiet for so long that Val glanced toward him, and found him looking down, reflective. He shook his head. "He's hard to describe. He's... a hard man, in general. He's had to be, I guess, to do the things that he's done. The things that needed doing."
Val pressed her lips together. Would Garrus, or anyone, have described her the same way? She hoped not. She'd tried to accomplish her missions without unnecessary loss of life. Without losing herself. "That sounds... difficult to work with."
"Sometimes." Garrus shrugged. "We got along. Get along," he amended.
She stole another glance at him, but if he was disturbed by John Shepard's current state, he didn't show it. His mandibles were still. She couldn't tell much about his posture in his armor, but he seemed relaxed enough.
"I used to work with Kaidan Alenko," she ventured. "Wasn't he on the Normandy?"
Garrus's mandibles twitched. "Yeah. Yeah, he was. Once. He was very... principled." The way he said it, it didn't sound entirely like praise.
"Was?" she asked.
Garrus gave her a sharp look. "You hadn't heard?"
Val shook her head, hoping she wasn't making a mistake. The cold feeling spread through her stomach.
"Maybe it wasn't widely publicized. Remember when Cerberus tried to seize the Citadel and assassinate the Council?"
"Yes," she said, almost surprised to find something the same.
"Well, Alenko ended up on the wrong side of Shepard's gun. He was trying to guard Councilor Udina, not realizing that he was the traitor behind the coup."
Val's hands curled into fists. "Oh. I see." In her mind's eye, she saw Kaidan facing her down, gun in hand, the confused Councilors behind him. One wrong word, a little less trust, and things could so easily have gone awry. One more life lost. Kaidan was a good man, no matter if they'd had their differences.
"Too many of us are gone from that mission," Garrus said. He sounded weary now, his subharmonics discordant, maybe shaded with grief or regret.
Val crossed her arms. It didn't seem to make her any warmer. "Really."
"Leaving out Shepard, I mean, because he's not... well. There's me, and Liara. Wrex. A few of the Alliance crew." Garrus shook his head. "Starting to seem like a long time ago."
"That's all?" she said. Her voice shook. Garrus gave her a curious look, and she winced, hunching her shoulders. She tried to steady herself. "I mean, I remember the vids. You had quite the crew. Wasn't there a quarian?"
Garrus looked down. "Tali... didn't make it." He was trying to keep a good grip on himself now, but she was used to looking for shades of emotion on him. To her, his sorrow was audible, almost tangible. She had to fight the urge to reach out to him.
Her throat felt thick. Tali, too. What had... what could have happened to Tali? "I take it she was a friend?"
"Yeah. We went through a lot together. But she..." His mandibles flexed, slowly, and he shook his head. "It's a long story."
Tali. Joker. Kaidan. All of them, gone. How many more, she wondered. How many of her people were lost? She wanted to ask, but it would be cruel, wouldn't it? "I'm sorry," she said through stiff lips. She had an irrational urge to go burst into John Shepard's hospital room and demand to know what he'd done, why he'd taken such poor care of her people.
Garrus sighed. "We've all lost people."
"That's true." She swallowed down the lump of grief she couldn't give voice to. "What about your—do you have family?"
"A sister," he said, his tone shading into something she couldn't read. "She's recovering, but she sent a message. My father... didn't make it off Palaven."
"Oh," she said, suppressing the urge to reach out and offer some kind of comfort. She'd deliberately sat as far away from him as possible, to curb any impulse to take his hand, or bump his shoulder with her own, or put her arm around him, armor and all... She shook her head.
"What about you?" he asked.
Val expelled a breath. "I'm... lucky. My parents are alive, and my three brothers."
Garrus nodded. When he spoke again, he'd returned to that polite, noncommittal tone. "That's a good-sized family."
"Yeah." Val forced a chuckle. "Dad and Mama wanted a big family, so they went out to the colonies. I was born on Earth, but they had Alex and Misha and Ivan out there."
Garrus turned his head toward her sharply. "Alex? You have a brother called Alex? Is he a tech? Cybersystems and genetics?"
Val blinked. "Um, I... yeah?" She was guessing, since she didn't really know what Alex had been doing, but it fit the child she remembered. "Why do you ask?"
"Huh." Garrus rubbed the back of his neck. "There was an Alex Shepard on the SR-2 crew during... ah, before. Always said he wasn't related to the Commander. John, I mean."
"We're not, as far as I know," she said slowly. "Before what?"
His shoulders shifted. "Before the war."
"You mean, on the Collector mission?" she asked.
Garrus gave her a measuring look, suddenly sharp, and she froze. "I assume you heard about that through Alliance intel?" His voice was sharper, too, with a slight undertone that felt like a threat.
Hell. She'd stepped in it now. She'd forgotten that the fight against the Collectors might not be public knowledge. She moistened her lips and put on a smile. "Yeah." With any luck, he wouldn't be in a position to check up on her lie.
Garrus relaxed minutely, though his eyes were still locked on her. "Yeah. Alex was on our science team then."
"Freelance, or...?" Val asked.
"No, he was part of the Cerberus crew."
"Part of the Cerberus crew," she echoed, trying to fit her head around that. "You're telling me my little brother is with Cerberus?" Goddammit. If she had the little shit in front of her right now, she probably would have punched him. For his own damned good. Cerberus? She'd teamed with Cerberus out of a lack of options, and that was all, no matter what anyone said. She hadn't volunteered, she'd been conscripted. What the hell had Alex been thinking?
"Was, I think," Garrus corrected her mildly.
She laughed, a harsh noise that scraped her throat. "Well, that makes it so much better." How many ethically dubious projects had Alex been involved in? Her own brother.
"As far as I know, he left Cerberus before they started going all-out with the indoctrination," Garrus ventured.
"Good for him," she said, teeth bared. "I'm still going to kick his ass. What was he thinking, getting involved with those bastards?"
Garrus's mandibles twitched.
Shepard caught the movement, and her eyes narrowed. "What?"
He shook his head. "You reminded me of someone, that's all."
"Who?" Her eyes narrowed. "Your Shepard?"
He chuckled. "No. I was thinking of my sister, actually."
That was oddly deflating. "Oh."
"Don't take it the wrong way. She's not someone to mess with."
"Thanks, I think." She tucked her hands under her thighs, pressing her palms against the gritty stone surface. She reminded him of his sister. Fantastic. "Do you have any idea where I can reach him?"
"Hm." He tilted his head, thoughtful. "The crew broke up after that mission, and I haven't talked to him since. I know someone you could ask, though. We assisted a group of Cerberus defectors during the war — I didn't see all of them, so he might have been there, or they might at least know how to contact him."
It didn't take more than a moment to transfer the data to her omni-tool. Contact info for Jacob Taylor. She should have guessed. "Thanks."
"No problem."
Something moved in the distance, and they both looked up. Gradually, the dark bulk of a Reaper appeared over the horizon, its vast, narrow legs picking their way across the empty landscape. Two more, smaller, followed it. Val couldn't suppress a shudder as she watched the inhuman shapes methodically pacing along.
"I wonder where they're going," Garrus said. There was a burr in his subharmonics, telltale sign of tension. Shepard felt as though she was vibrating along with him.
"I don't know. I guess they're repairing infrastructure? I hate it," she added quietly.
"It's unsettling," he agreed.
"We spent all that time fighting them, and now we're supposed to accept their help? As if none of that ever happened? As if they didn't nearly destroy us?" She shook her head. "I can't stand it."
"I agree," Garrus said, his subvocals sounding tight. "Not even a clue what they're really about."
"I don't understand why he chose this," she burst out, quietly.
There was a moment of silence before Garrus spoke. "What?"
Val glanced at him and swallowed, suddenly keenly conscious of what she'd said, of the sharp gaze boring into her, and of the blue screen of his visor measuring... something. "What?" she repeated, trying to buy herself time. The back of her neck felt cold.
"Who? What choice?"
She turned her gaze back toward the Reaper, dark and ponderous, afraid Garrus' piercing glance would see right through her. "I only meant, I don't understand why anyone would choose this. If there were alternatives."
"Hm," he said.
Val wanted to steal a look at him, but didn't quite dare. She thought he was still looking at her, picking up who knew what from her biometrics. Just like Mama said, she'd never been a good liar. She'd especially never been good at lying to him. With any luck, he'd write off her agitation as discomfort with the presence of the Reapers. "Sorry," she said. "It's just... they bother me."
"I can certainly understand that." His voice dropped into its lower registers. There were a lot of things she'd normally read into that tone. None of them were probably true right now.
Val stood abruptly and turned to go, needing to move, needing to get away from the towering black shapes and the scrutiny that felt anything but loving. She heard Garrus shift his weight behind her, and he spoke before she got more than a few steps away. "You know, there's a little place to get drinks not far away, if you want."
Val stopped in place and blinked back the heavy feeling around her eyes. She could still see the Reapers in her peripheral vision, and it left a shiver of unease creeping down her spine. She thought of her four bare gray walls, and even Garrus's measuring gaze seemed more welcome. "Sure. Why not."