12 Days ASR
Shepard awoke shivering, teeth chattering, heart thrashing against her ribcage. Slapping a hand over her eyes to ward against the sudden, searing glare of her regen field, she flopped over on her back and let out a hearty, discontented grumble. "Thanks so much, people. I didn't need these retinas anyway." Peeking out through the cracks between her fingers, she glared up into the violet, hazy light. "Where are the goggles?"
The chill intruded upon her annoyance and sent a shiver racing down her length to lodge in her right calf muscle. Yelping, she bolted upright, scrambling to grab her foot and stretch out the back of her leg. "And for the love of the freaking Enkindlers," she called, looking up at one of the cameras, "I could use a quilt in here. Sweet baby Jesus, it's cold."
"The goggles were right next to your head, and the temperature inside your regen field is seventy-eight degrees, Shepard," Miranda's even voice spoke through the intercom. "But I can see that you're given extra blankets." The intercom clicked off for a couple of seconds, then back on. "You appeared agitated in your sleep. Do you recall your dreams?"
Glancing up at the camera without lifting her head, Shepard said, "Agitated? Really?" Sarcasm snapped through every word. "Me?" Still, as she rubbed her relaxing charlie horse, she thought back, trying to recall any dreams. Nothing. A complete blank; a starched white sheet pulled tight, like so much of her life.
For long moments, she stared into the void, daring herself to push into that emptiness like a child gripping the doorknob of a haunted house. Miranda said it would all come back with time, that the cloning process replaced her memory cells with exact copies, ready to be triggered by the familiar. She prodded the gap in her mind, shining her trembling flashlight into the ghost-filled corners. The pale vacuity echoed back, taunting her.
"I don't remember my dreams," she said at last, her voice low, a thin sliver of bitterness traced through the words. She lowered herself back onto her pillows ignoring the protective goggles on the bed next to her. The violet light burned clean and honest. "How much longer do I have in this thing? I need to pee."
"I'm on my way down. The cycle will be complete by the time I get there," the crisp, efficient voice replied.
Shepard let out a small sigh and closed her eyes. From the cool tickle of her tears to the pulse throbbing behind her eyes, every sensation sharpened into a focus so exquisite that it became torturous.
Gradually, as the regen field warmed her, her senses reached out to follow the cracks in her flesh, the raw canyons of unhealed tissue. The pain— She opened her eyes as the door chirped then hissed, signalling Miranda's arrival.
Turning to look at her Dr. Frankenstein, Shepard scowled. "What have you done to the field? Did you tweak it?"
Miranda activated her omnitool and shut down the regen net arced over Shepard's bed. She shook her head, one elegant brow arching. "It's been on the same setting for more than a week." With a practiced flick, she killed the orange glow around her arm. "Why?"
With all the speed and grace of a geriatric elcor, Shepard sat up, dragging her legs off the edge of the bed. A shrug lifted one shoulder a couple of centimetres before dropping it. "The pain has backed off a little, that's all." She glanced behind her left arm at her pillows. She'd fallen asleep within seconds of lying down. "You didn't fill me full of drugs after physio, did you?" Staring at Miranda through narrowed eyes, she said, "I know how sneaky you are."
A flicker of annoyance escaped Miranda's control before she policed her expression back to careful distain. "I did no such thing, Captain. Perhaps getting off your backside and participating in physiotherapy stimulated endorphin production to combat the pain." Miranda held out her hand palm up. "It certainly explains your exhaustion."
Shepard stared at the waiting hand for a moment, but then dropped her wrist into Miranda's gloved grasp. A tiny, vindictive smile bolted across her face when the operative jumped, startled by the abrupt compliance. Shame recaptured the grin a half-second later.
So few hours after deciding to play nice and already failing. You truly are incorrigible, Janey.
Miranda pushed Shepard's sleeve up a little, her thumbs slipping under the material as she lifted it. A less bitter smile greeted the care Miranda took not to damage her company's biggest investment. Costing a large organization a few billion credits to resurrect came with a few benefits.
"This would explain the lessening of your pain," the operative said, lifting Shepard's arm a few centimetres. "Your wounds healed significantly in today's regen session." She activated her omnitool and ran a scan.
Shepard watched the back side of the screen, able to pick up the gist of the tests. The tissue rejection had eased back in the last few hours, and judging from the crinkle of skin between Miranda's eyebrows, the operative had no idea how or why.
Should we be encouraged by that or terrified?
Despite finding comfort in her body taking charge of its own healing, she would have hoped that Miranda—as the wizard behind the curtain—knew how it worked and could control it.
The crinkle deepened into a furrow. "I'll schedule a battery of tests for first thing in the morning," Miranda said, sounding more like she spoke to herself than Shepard. "I'm encouraged to see your healing accelerating, but I want to be sure it isn't a sign of nanite malfunction."
Shepard laughed, hard and bitter enough to abrade the back of her throat on its way out. "So … what? Your little machines just keep building flesh until I turn into the elephant man on my way to becoming Jabba the Hutt?" The confusion on the operative's face provided another shameful little victory, that one requiring some sort of apology. "I'm supposed to heal, right? That's sort of an integral part of the whole glory-hallelujah-she's-back-praise-Jesus miracle, isn't it?"
Easing herself off the side of the bed, Shepard tested the strength in her legs. As the soles of her feet hit the floor, she winced in anticipation of the javelins of agony stabbing up through her calves and thighs to embed themselves in her hips. A throaty sigh of relief tumbled out of her when they didn't appear. Pushing herself up off the mattress, she tested it. Pain arced between her joints and sizzled along the rents in her flesh, but it had dropped from a twenty-five to a fifteen on the Shepard Scale of Insane Pain Range.
One hand gripping the rail on the side of her bed, she took a single, tentative step. Her muscles and joints shook, but didn't drop her in a pile on the floor. Progress. She started to take another step, but Miranda clamped one hand on Shepard's shoulder while wrapping the other around her waist.
"Oh no, you don't, Captain." The operative eased Shepard back onto the side of the bed. "If you want to walk, that's fine, but not without a walker and an attendant. A single fall will set you back weeks, and I don't think the staff could bear that." She stepped back and activated her omnitool again, keying in commands. "They've begun petitioning me for your early discharge."
Shepard watched her for a moment, then sighed. "Fine, but I need to pee, so … ." She reached up to take hold of the bar hanging from the ceiling then nodded toward the bathroom door. "You're standing between me and where I need to be."
Miranda snapped her wrist, turning off her omnitool, then turned to the door. "Your guest has arrived and is waiting to see you. Make yourself presentable; you're representing one of the most affluent and influential organizations in the galaxy."
"A guest?" Shepard gripped the bar and took a couple of tentative steps. The pain eased back a little as her legs adjusted to holding her weight and numbed. Satisfied, she looked over at the door before it closed. "Are they the 'here to enjoy my sparkling company' kind of guest, or the 'yet more poking fingers, cutting knives and scanning omnitools' kind?"
"The 'came to assist your recovery so be bloody grateful and polite' kind," Miranda replied, the door hissing closed behind her.
Shepard grinned. "Ooo, someone's starting to bite back." As she hobbled to the bathroom, the grin spread across her face a little more with each step. Healing. Her stupid, stubborn, dead ol' corpse was actually healing. Hope ignited like a pilot light deep in her gut, stirring up embers she hadn't realized still existed. Her steps came lighter, less plodding and her death grip on the bar relaxed.
What is that, Janey? Surely that's not some fight coming back, is it? A little drive to stop wallowing in what they did to you and return to your life?
"Maybe I am ready. I certainly don't want to spend the rest of my life here."
The bathroom door opened as she approached, all thought of needing to pee evaporating as she caught sight of herself in the mirror above the sink.
Something's different about you today. What is that? It's not your wounds … you still look like shit, but … .
Something was different. She hobbled to the sink, releasing the bar in favour of bracing against the counter, and leaned close to stare into the reflection of her eyes. Some indefinable fire burned there, still shrouded but beckoning like a light shining in a distant window. If she could just get there … . She needed to get there.
Focusing back on her reflection, she smiled at the spark in her eyes, the flush burning under her freckles. "Well, look at you," she whispered, reaching up to press her fingertips against the cool, slick surface.
The starched white sheet erupted from its rest, flapping as if caught in a tempest before tearing loose and blowing away. Shepard blinked, her reflection changing before her eyes. She still stared into her own eyes, but she wore lipstick … well, sort of wore it. It smeared across her face as if she'd been … . The blush along her cheekbones deepened and spread to her neck. Well, it looked as though she'd been making out with someone.
She pushed into the memory, desperate fingers grasping for anything beyond what she'd seen. Who smeared that lipstick, and why did she look so sad?
Regret smacked into her like a runaway Mako. Sweet lord. Tears burned sudden and hot in her eyes as she struggled to see past the reflection to its back story.
"I'm trying to save a galaxy … we … we're trying to save a galaxy." She stared down at the floor. She'd never be able to keep talking, to do what she needed to do, if she looked him in the eye.
She pressed her eyes closed again, battering herself against the memory, her voice strained as it forced its way between clenched teeth. "Look up, damn you! Look up and let me see him." Instead, the sheet snapped across, and he disappeared back behind the impossibly starched, tight barrier.
"Shepard?" Miranda called from the other side of the door. "Are you all right?"
"Yeah." The word caught halfway out. She cleared her throat and shoved herself away from the counter, forgetting the bar until she took a step and her knee trembled. "Yeah, I'll be out in a few minutes. Do me a favour and stick a clean change of clothes inside the door? Please?"
"Of course." Miranda sounded surprised.
The memory—the certainty that she'd broken someone's heart—left behind a residue, thick and gritty. She needed searing hot water beating down on her skin, wounds be damned. Some things hurt worse than pain.
After finally relenting to her bladder's demands, she stepped under the water and pulled the barrier shut. A wavering moan greeted the stinging spray. Dangling from the bar, she let her knees and hips relax, holding herself almost entirely with the strength of her arms. Not that she needed much.
"You're what? Forty seven kilos soaking wet, in armour? Yes, you're freakishly tiny … ." The deep, textured voice paused, its absence a vacuum that grabbed hold of a loose thread of longing and pulled. "… and freakishly strong, but you're still too skinny." It spoke with such … such regard that when the memory vanished, she felt it drag along that thread, unravelling her from the inside. Scrambling to catch hold of her emotions, she pulled back, reeling herself in.
"Who are you?" she whispered, feeling an entirely different presence and spirit than her previous memory. "Come on, show me more."
"You're the bravest person I've ever met," that same voice whispered. Strong hands eased her back until she lay cradled against his arms. So safe. Had she ever felt as safe?
The memory vanished, a vicious slap of loss sending her stumbling. One hand slipped off the bar, almost dropping her into a heap on the tile. Reaching behind her, Shepard smacked at the water control until it turned off, then scrabbled at the barrier. Finally managing to shove it out of her way, she stepped out of the shower and collapsed onto the toilet. Elbows resting on her thighs, she let her head fall into her hands, wallowing in the absence.
"Who are you?" she asked. "Are you the reason I let them drag me back?"
"Shepard?" Miranda again, her voice sharp-edged and brittle. "I'm starting to get concerned."
"And I'm starting to get pissed off. Let a girl shower for fuck's sake," she snapped back, not lifting her head. Damn it. Her anger snapped all the threads tying her to the memory, leaving her adrift on the same, murky seas. Closing her eyes, she allowed that fleeting feeling of absolute safety to fill her. Her recollections up until that day consisted of growing up, the batarian raid, Anderson, and most of her early military. She couldn't draw a line where they ended, but it amounted to more than a decade … just gone.
But those … those brief glimpses were recent. She knew it as well as she'd once known her scars. They were recent, and they amounted to friendship and love.
A slow smile climbed up through the disappointment and loss. Yes, as much as she wanted her whole life back immediately, at least she'd remembered something. Even the smallest piece of the puzzle was better than an empty table. She reached for a towel.
"If you're the reason I came back," she whispered into that void, "I'll find you."
She hurried through dressing, a wide grin making her cheeks ache. Clutching the bar in one hand, she burst into her room. "Did you order that walker, yet? I want to start getting my—"
Two steps out the door, she stopped, her eyes riveted on the figure standing at the threshold between her room and the corridor. Her vision narrowed, everything outside the space occupied by that figure disappearing into darkness.
"Shepard?"
That single word—her name—drew all the air from her lungs, leaving her sucking vacuum.
She waved to the blue figure trapped like a butterfly in amber. "Hey, lady, focus on the cranky human. Are you Dr. Liara T'Soni?"
Giant hands clamped around Shepard's chest, squeezing until she swore she heard ribs creaking and her heart felt as though it would implode. Memories, like a flock of starlings all taking wing at once, erupted in a storm of sound and fury. She managed to capture a couple before they escaped and clutched them close.
An elbow smacked into Shepard from behind, but she didn't take the bait. "Your mother is Matriarch Benezia. We believe that she's helping Saren destroy the galaxy. Can you help me with that, or do I go back to my ship and look for someone who can?"
The asari in the net flushed a darker shade of blue, her mouth opening and closing like a beached fish for a second before an indignant squeal made it past her lips. "How dare you? I'm not some stripper in a seedy bar. I'm an archaeologist and an expert on the protheans."
Shepard backed up, making beeping sounds. "Ship for the people useful to Shepard now leaving. Last call for boarding … all those useful to Shepard please get aboard."
Both of Shepard's hands dropped from the bar, suddenly chilled and numb. "Liara?" Shepard stepped toward the door, sock-covered toes dragging over the tile. "Liara?" Brain and emotions short circuited, all she could do was gawk, and all she could think to say was the asari's name. As Liara stood there, silhouetted in the door, her features muted by the bright lights from the corridor, she seemed a portal … or perhaps a barricade standing just in front of a million important things. Shepard squinted, trying to see past her, to catch a glimpse of the promises whispering just out of earshot.
Move aside, damn it. For just one second, let me see.
"Shepard." Liara stepped over the threshold, shattering the illusion. She strode into the room, closing fast, stuttering to a stop when Shepard flinched away, one hand slamming up to fend her off. "Goddess. Is it really you?"
Shock, need, joy, despair, and hope all battered at Shepard's barriers. The great, dark sea, so still a few moments before, rose into massive breakers, swamping her tiny craft.
Too much. Sweet baby Jesus, too much, too fast.
"Yeah, I think so," she said, finally answering the question. Dizzy, the massive flock of starlings wheeling in circles around the inside of her head, Shepard reached out, stumbling toward her bed until the cold metal railing impacted her fingers. A fingernail bent backwards, but the pain barely registered through the fog. She sank onto the mattress, the numbness replaced by a virulent tingling as if her entire body had fallen asleep.
"Operative Lawson told me that they'd brought you back, but I didn't really believe it." The young asari's blue eyes shone with unshed tears as she stared, almost hungrily into Shepard's. "I couldn't believe it. It was impossible." A wide, beatific smile erupted as the tears broke free, streaking down her cheeks like rain on a window. "But, goddess, here you are." Clapping her hands to her mouth, she let out a slightly hysterical sounding laugh. "I can't believe this. I … I … . You're real."
Liara pressed a hand to her brow, her knees almost buckling. Almost as wobbly-legged as Shepard, she lurched toward the chair at the end of Shepard's bed, folding into it with a dramatic flair that Shepard recalled all too well. "Goddess … I was at your funeral … I held—"
"Dr. T'Soni!" Miranda practically jumped between them. "Please, remember what we talked about."
Liara paled, the brilliant smile dimming for a couple of breaths as she nodded. "Yes, of course, Ms. Lawson. I just got overexcited. My apologies." Sun glistening off new snow, the smile returned as Liara reached out, laying her hand over Shepard's. "You've been so missed."
Shepard slid her hand out and patted the asari's before withdrawing. Sweet baby Jesus. Her funeral. She shook her head. No. It was too much. So very, very too much. A fierce, primal scream of panic built in her chest as terror bullied her legs, trying to chivvy them into fleeing the room and running until she escaped someplace solitary and dark.
She wanted to remember her life, but Liara's presence—the desperation and hunger under the other woman's joy—felt like an avalanche set to bury Shepard in a landslide she wouldn't survive. Had her death formed a similar singularity inside everyone she'd known? Would she end up drowned by their love … their relief and joy?
"I … ." Looking up at Miranda, she cursed the operative for being right. "May I have a few moments?" Her stare flitted over Liara, afraid to look into those huge, blue eyes and see hurt there. "I just need to process all this."
"Of course, Shepard," Miranda replied, holding out an arm to usher Liara from the room. "I'll escort Dr. T'Soni up to her offices, give her the tour, then we'll return." Despite phrasing the plan as a statement, the inflection in Miranda's voice left room for Shepard to accept or refuse.
Shepard looked up, forcing herself to face Liara's disappointment. Reaching out to squeeze the slender, blue fingers, she said, "Yeah, that would be great." A tired, gentle smile eased across her lips. "I'm glad to see you, Liara. I am. It's just all so … ."
Disappointment turned to understanding and concern. "Of course, Shepard. Operative Lawson explained that you're still very early in your recovery." Her hand flipped over to hold Shepard's in a gentle grip. "I'm sorry I came at you too strong. I just ... ." She let out a quick, heavy sigh. "I just … I don't think I've ever felt so many things at once." Releasing Shepard, she stood. "I'll see you in a little while. Rest well, Captain."
"Thank you, Liara." Shepard smiled. "Good luck finding your way around this maze. Make Miranda give you a map." She lifted a hand in a small wave, then let it drop, sighing as the door closed, leaving her alone in silence.
Once certain Miranda wouldn't return, Shepard pulled her legs up onto the bed, rolling over to face the wall. Liara. Why had Miranda brought Liara of all people? She and the operative needed to have a talk about just springing people on her like that.
Liara. Shepard shook her head and closed her eyes. Well, at least the asari might be able to help her recall some of what happened before she died.
She wasn't there, though, was she, Janey? She'd already moved on.
A perplexed scowl creased Shepard's forehead. Liara had moved on. Where to? Damn all the little bits and pieces. She needed a corner piece, maybe an edge or two, so she could start fitting them together.
The last time she recalled seeing Liara … she remembered fear … she'd been really afraid, but not a life and limb sort of fear. A healthy dose of guilt tangled in there as well. Why?
Shepard grinned, surety settling in her gut as the squad of commandos blocked her path to Liara, their shotguns pointed at her belly. "Well, that's a good sign."
"It's all right," Liara said, letting out a nervous giggle. "That's Captain Shepard. Um … stand down." She stepped around her bodyguards. Despite claiming to be certain of her path, Liara held herself like someone facing execution. "Sorry, Shepard."
Shepard waved off the apology. "Don't be, I suddenly feel a whole lot better about you leaving." She looked into the eyes of each commando, the steel that looked back easing the prickle of her inner alarm. Addressing them, she bristled, trying to become as imposing as possible. "If any harm comes to Liara T'Soni, you'd all better be dead or start running the very next second." Some of them grinned, but her glare killed the smirks within a couple of seconds
Shepard took Liara's hands, pleased that young asari's grip had stopped trembling. "You're sure this is what you want?"
"Yes. You were right about using Mother's resources." Liara took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and smiled. "Consider me your Prothean Research Division. I won't be more than a call away." Her grip tightened. "Don't worry about me, Shepard. Even though it isn't what I thought I'd be doing with my life, it's so much more important."
Shepard pulled the asari into a hug. "I'm not worried about you. Not any more. Good luck, Liara. We'll always be here if you need anything."
Shepard backed up until a warm, solid presence pressed against her arm. A scent like sun-warmed sandalwood and spice enveloped her, setting loose a terrible, aching sadness. "Well, there goes the first one." She forced out a laugh when he gave her a gentle shove, but it died almost instantly as the fear bled through, stealing her reprieve. Time to face reality. Time to do the right thing, no matter how much it hurt.
Flopping over onto her back, Shepard stared up at the ceiling. She'd never had a boyfriend … never really wanted one. Then … two?
One of the corner pieces settled into place. As hard as it had been, she'd chosen.
Whoever he is, he lost you two years ago. He's moved on by now, Janey. Hell, he could have a big, pregnant wife by now.
Shepard closed her eyes, a sharp, thin wire cutting into her heart. "Shut up, Bunny. Please just shut up."