19 Days ASR
"I need you to get Al approval to leave his room," Shepard declared, dropping into the chair across the desk from Miranda. Before the operative could speak, she continued. "He's wasting away in that dark hole. Even when it's clean, it reeks of decay and death." She slouched into the leather, tossing her cane into the air as she lifted one leg up over the arm. Catching the cane and slinging it casually over one shoulder, she bounced a little. "Comfy chair. Nice. Could I get one like this?"
Miranda took a deep, highly controlled breath, the slight roll of her shoulders and press of her breasts against the catsuit the only sign that she'd even taken it. "Shepard, you know I don't have any say in what goes on within his program. The best I could do is make a suggestion, but even that would be seen as interference, which is against company policy." She shifted in her chair and leaned forward to rest her forearms on her desk and clasp her hands. "Is this about your grand escape plan?"
Shepard grinned and flipped around to sit in the chair properly. As she moved, she twirled her cane through the fingers of one hand then looped it around her neck to twirl in the other hand before the foot thumped to the floor between her legs. "This is about someone rotting away in your prison when he doesn't need to be. My escape plan will go ahead regardless of whether you let me take him down to eat in the mess or sit in the atrium, but don't worry, you have a couple of days yet." She grinned, a curled wound across her face that contained no mirth, just challenge. "I still have a couple of ducks refusing to take up line dancing."
The smile that Miranda sent back actually did seem amused, but amusement of an arrogant sort, as if she believed the whole plan either an elaborate ruse or doomed to failure. "You're on a space station, Shepard. Even if you do free your little band of lab rats … ." The operative's face stiffened, and she bowed her head even as Shepard bristled. "I apologize, that was unworthy." She sighed, this time audibly. "But that does not change the fact that even if you do break the subjects loose, none of you have anywhere to go."
Shepard nodded. "You're right. Space station." Her shoulders popped in a loose, marionette shrug. "What was I thinking? I'll call the whole thing off." She thrust herself out of her chair to lean, elbows braced against her sides, both hands on her cane. "Meanwhile, Al. Get him permission to go for walks so I don't have to break him out and then hurt people when they try to stop me." She headed for the door.
"Shepard, it's impossible." Miranda rose and strode over to stand in the captain's path. "I already violated policy taking his case to my employer." Her expression softened to what Shepard was fairly sure was supposed to be a plea—it couldn't have found pleading with a lighthouse, a pack of hunting dogs, a deerstalker, and a scanning program. "Please don't make me regret authorizing the level of freedom you currently enjoy."
"Impossible?" Shepard threw up a hand, letting the veiled threat slide past. "What's he going to do? He weighs less than you do, and can barely stand up once they strip out their implants. And you're keeping his biotics off line, right? Some sort of injections?" Narrowing her eyes, Shepard stepped inside Miranda's space. To her credit, the operative didn't step back. "Which is another cruelty, by the way. A lot of biotics actually go mad when they're cut off from the source of whatever-the-hell-it-is when they're injured or burn themselves out. Chalk up another monstrous practice you just pretend isn't going on. And I know that you know that I know there are other biotics being held here." She pressed in tighter, leaning in. "It makes me glad I'm not biotic, I tell you that. I swear when I get out of here, I'm going to come back with—"
"Enough, Shepard!" Miranda's hand sliced the air between them. "I've had quite enough of taking abuse for figments of your imagination. The injections don't work that way. If he wanted to use his biotics to meditate, he … ." She snapped her mouth shut, a slight tightening around her eyes the only sign that she knew she'd stormed straight into the quagmire.
Shepard let out a long, slow breath. She'd forgotten how draining she found the whole crazy and rabidly annoying thing. Still, she couldn't give up, not until she got what she wanted. Hobbling past Miranda, she called, "I'm going to go to my room, do some more plotting, and then I am going to take Al down to the mess for supper. I'll do this with or without permission, Doc Frank. And trust me, the 'without permission' part comes complete with injuries on all sides if you try to stop me." She hit the door control. "Just tell his torturers that he'll live longer this way. Besides, they need to get used to him being gone. A couple days tops and we're out of here."
"You know," Miranda called after her, "your Al is no saint, Shepard. From what I saw of his file, he was a monster before the organization picked up his corpse. He's murdered humans, Shepard. A lot of them."
Shepard nodded. "I know exactly what he is, Operative Lawson," she answered without turning around. "He's me, except that you just need bits and pieces of him. I guess I should be thanking the sweet baby Jesus that you needed me intact, huh?" She took a breath to thaw the ice that stabbed down through her spine. "You have two hours to get him permission to leave his room."
Shepard grinned as she headed down the hall, so pleased with herself that she almost forgot her limp. Almost. Miranda would punish her, she harboured no illusions about that, but she was a good two days past caring. Most of what she needed, she possessed. Someone less savvy and careful than Miranda, would have given it all away. No matter. Now that they knew how the drug worked, they could narrow down the options and find out how long it would take before the biotics could use their gifts. She'd made it a good four days past the level of naivety that allowed her the luxury of thinking they'd get off the base without fighting even if, or maybe especially if, Miranda and her employer danced to Shepard's tune.
On her way down the seven corridors and two elevators between Miranda's office and her room, Shepard made covert scans of the security grid. She'd pillaged her scanner parts from five different printers, three coffee makers, and a handful of palm scanners. Although, almost certain the entire station knew where all the missing tech ended up, about seven … ten days … mmm … no, she hadn't even woken up caring about that. Her plan came together a little at a time, strand by strand knotted together right under Miranda's nose.
The operative knew almost ninety nine percent of the plan, Shepard knew that as well. The important bits, the part that would see her off the station and back out into her life … those bits resided in the other one percent. She and Al could never hope to break the rest of the subjects free and actually escape. Not without that vital one percent. For that ... well, she just had to hope Miranda brought her A game.
Before she returned to her room, Shepard headed for the kitchen to practice her sleight of hand. Al had dropped his cloak when he got up off his bed earlier, and what she saw had made her guts ache. It told her that the corporation had nearly accomplished their goal. They'd started letting him kill himself.
Not on her watch.
She lingered at the counter, picking out an apple and banana for herself, smiling at the cashier as he rang her through. After sticking the fruit in the side pocket on her trousers, she wandered back along the counter, browsing until the cashier headed to the back for a moment. The second he left the counter unattended, she ducked around the end and into the kitchen. So far so good. Next objective. She grinned to herself as she crept along the wall, keeping to the camera blind spots, making her way to the employee locker room. All one needed to slip beneath the radar in the massively staffed kitchen was a set of the uniform overalls—preferably stained—and a hairnet.
Dressed the part, her hair under a kerchief and net, Shepard stowed her cane inside her overalls and strode out into the kitchen. As much pleasure as she took in her covert activities, Shepard felt an equal part embarrassment. An N7 applauding herself for infiltrating a kitchen and stealing sweets … pathetic.
Take your joy where you can, Janey, and keep your eye on the goal.
Staff pushed and shoved, hurrying past without sparing her a glance. Just before supper always proved the best time to raid. Extra people came and went all the time, and with the rush, she attracted zero notice. The only challenge came in avoiding the cameras through the choke point between the levo and dextro sections. Still, it remained a sad challenge.
The dextro kitchen never failed to weird her out, like looking at a levo kitchen through the looking glass—everything just slightly off. Still, armed with the knowledge of what he liked and the fact she had to squeeze everything between the slats on the grate, she managed. As for what Al liked … she would never have pegged him for having a sweet tooth, but he packed away turian cookies and candy like he couldn't get enough. His favourite was a chewy sort of fudgey-looking pre-packaged thing, but the organization must have had to import them from the Palaven planetary treasury or something, because the staff guarded them like crown jewels.
"Ha! Score!" Damn, has she said that out loud? She winced and hurried over to the trays of cooling, unguarded cookies. Working quickly, she managed to squirrel half a tray into a plastic bag and down the front of her suit before anyone got close enough to catch her. At the other end of the kitchen she knocked over a stack of pots, using the distraction to search out the day's hiding place and grab a handful of the fudge things.
Although it was no N7 mission, Shepard nonetheless allowed herself a small measure of pride in pulling off her daily caper. No doubt Miranda and management knew what she was up to and allowed it—all part of her rehab—but the kitchen staff remained oblivious to where their supplies went each afternoon. Or, at least she hoped they did. If it was all staged, she'd kick someone's ass. Even the undead could only allow a certain level of pathetic before everything just got sad.
Satisfied that her haul would get Al through the evening, she beat a hasty retreat. Taking off her overalls, she leaned heavily against her cane and hobbled back out into the main corridor. Poor, damaged Shepard, so crippled by pain … so weak.
Her room greeted her like a cool, silent hug as she entered. Odd how, even behind enemy lines, familiar territory could begin to feel like home. She stuffed the overalls, kerchief, and hair net under her mattress along with the others. "Hey, you still hanging in there, big guy?" she asked as she sank onto the side of her bed.
"I smell cookies." She heard him moving around on his bed.
"Yep, fresh from the oven, too." She laid down and started sliding the sweets through the slats. "You ready to go walkabout in a couple of hours?"
Those pale, rheumy eyes stared at her from the shadows of his hood. "This isn't a good idea, Shepard."
She grinned, excitement coursing through her cells like narcotics. "That's the beauty of it. It's such a bad idea that it kills two birds with one stone. It'll give me a chance to see how far they're willing to let me push in the name of getting my cooperation for their mission, but it'll also nail home that I'll do what it takes."
Sucking in a long breath, she winced, the cookie aroma making her stomach growl. "Damn, I should have stolen cookies for myself too. I just got some fruit." She fed the bag through the grate. "Here, put them back in the bag so rats don't move in and start gnawing your toes off while you sleep."
His mandibles spread. "What?"
She laughed at his gobsmacked tone, but the smile drifted away in favour of something that wrapped nettles around her heart, a dollop of bitter mixing with the sweet. "My mama always told me that was what would happen if I kept food in my bedroom." She passed him the candy. "She was a fierce woman, but … " Shaking her head, she folded her arms and rested her chin on one. "... there was no real sting there. She shouted and blustered, but I think it was just because she wanted so much for us." Wincing, she added, "Of course, it didn't hurt that I centered my life around driving her crazy."
"Nothing's changed. You still torture those you see as having power over you." Wrappers crackled on the other side of the wall, and when Al spoke, the words came out muffled as if he'd stuffed the entire confection in his mouth. "My mother was a member of the cabals most of her life, fighting all over turian space." He paused. The slight smacking sound of sticky sweets and pointed teeth locked in an epic battle slid a grin back onto her face.
Something about the battered turian chopped back the tangle of emotional thorns that seemed to ensnare her entire life. Maybe he provided a reminder of the people she'd left behind, or maybe it was just the purity of the moment. No looming battle against impossible forces, no evil empire keeping her away from her loved ones, just a soul who possessed nothing finding a couple of seconds of enjoyment in his candy.
After a moment, he made a happy little grunting sound and continued, "She said she married a carpenter so that her children would have at least one parent there for them."
"The cabals … ." Shepard rolled over on her side and pulled her pillow under her head. "That's rough."
He murmured a soft agreement. "When it became obvious that I'd inherited my mother's gifts, she insisted that I keep them hidden. My father hired an asari tutor to teach me control. Eventually, it was discovered, as these things always are, but by that time, my brother had obtained a position of sufficient power to pull some strings and keep me from the cabals. Of course, I also possessed a prodigious talent for destruction."
Shepard chuckled. "I like that. I think I'll steal that every time someone tells me I've fucked up yet again. I'll just blame it on my prodigious talent for destruction." She shoved herself up to sit cross-legged in the middle of the bed. "Did the hack finish compiling while I was out?"
The orange glow of his omnitool appeared on the other side of the grate. "It did."
The compiled program appeared on Shepard's omnitool. "Excellent. This will get us into the other cells when the time comes."
Al appeared behind the grate again. "You seem extraordinarily confident about how this escape is going to go down, Shepard."
She grinned. "Only because I know my enemy. Right now, all the right cogs are turning. Well, actually, right this second, they're listening to me and wondering what cogs I plan to use. Then they'll have a meeting to discuss turning different cogs, but those ones will be the right ones too. The more they second guess themselves, the better."
Al laughed, a soft, raspy chortle. "You're completely insane."
Shepard looked over at him and wiggled her eyebrows. "Crazy like a fox, my friend. Crazy like a fox." She opened the interface on her omnitool and started working on a tunnelling program to get her past the organization's lock out on her computer. She needed to get past it and into the network to ensure she knew exactly where the other prisoners were. When she left, everyone was going with her.
"Talk to me," she said, tossing a quick grin over at the vent before diving into her work.
"What about?"
She shrugged. "Anything. It helps me think." Her grin widened, sliding into her tone as she said, "Ever been in love?"
He chuffed, a rough snort of sound. "Nothing like going straight to the invasively personal."
"It's my thing. So? How about it?" Shepard took a long, slow breath, letting go of the tension that invaded every muscle and held every tendon rigid even when she slept. His voice really did help her relax and concentrate. Her fingers flew over the haptic interface.
He made a show of grumbling, but then sighed. "Yes, a long time ago. Well twice. Once a very, very long time ago."
Her eyebrows rose when he didn't continue. "Well? Come on, I want details. Dates, names, positions … frequency." Cackling merrily, she spun to face the grate at the foul curse that greeted her demand. "Holy blessed Enkindler buttocks, that was quite the naughty word. I hope you didn't kiss your mother with that mouth."
"Turians don't kiss," he grumbled. Despite the growl laced through his voice, the ill humour didn't touch his eyes, in fact she swore she saw a gleam in their battered depths.
A wistful smile drifted across her face, a wisp of cloud dancing on a breeze. "Some do." She closed her eyes, the sensation of tough, textured plates brushing against her lips, a tongue that tasted of mineral and summer rain caressing hers.
"How about you?" he countered.
"What about me?" She pressed her lips together, biting down on the inside of her bottom lip to control her smirk.
"Don't be obtuse. Have you been in love?"
She nodded. "I am. Well, I guess I should say, I was. It's been two years for him. Who knows where he is. For all I know, he's moved on, met someone else." Her head tipped off to the side. "I can hear him talking to me sometimes, a voice that feels like home—safe and warm. I'll swear I catch a glimpse of him, but … I'm still locked out of those memories."
"They know there would be no stopping you if you remembered him," Al said, his voice every bit as soft as his words sounded certain. "You would have found a way off this station as soon as you could move."
Shepard shrugged. "You don't know me that well, Al."
"Of course I do. We aren't that much different, Shepard. You think if I had anything left out there, I'd be mouldering in here?" He let out a long breath laced with a curse. "Spirits, I'm pathetic." He laughed, softly at first then gaining momentum until he roared with it. When he calmed a little, she heard him shift, his shoulder or brow brushing the wall. "You ever wonder if it's all just some sort of hallucination? That we're actually dead, and some part of us is just too afraid to let go … even if it means living like this?"
"It's occurred to me," she replied, the words a soft whisper. Shepard shook her head and stretched her back, grunting a little with the pain. Almost time for meds. The agony climbed slowly from a ten to an eleven on the Shepard scale. She knew from yesterday that it would hit a solid fifteen before Miranda came in. Although the cracks, caverns, and canyons in her flesh had healed up by a whopping four percent, that left ninety-six percent of unbearable.
"You all right?" Al asked. "You went quiet."
She shook her head and clenched her trembling hands into fists. "Yeah, no worries, buddy. It's just getting to be close to med time. Things are starting to complain more than usual." Glancing back she gave him a firm nod. "Talk to me. Tell me about the love long, long ago. Listening to you helps."
"Not much to tell. I rescued her from a pirate base. She'd been snatched from a local colony. That spirit-cursed rock was so fucking cold. I nearly shattered my teeth chattering them together." He chuckled. "I burst into a church looking for stragglers, found her curled up between the feet of a massive stone angel."
"Don't start with me. Our only job for the next couple of days is keeping our delicate, magical turian flower safe from the frost."
Shepard smiled as she listened, knowing that somehow, she'd also found her love in the cold.
"I'm coming back," she whispered, her voice not loud enough to interrupt Al talking about unloading a shotgun into a man who came looking for the woman who had reached out to him for help and stolen his heart. Longing swept through her. A spark when it started at her toes, it built to a roaring fire by the time it escaped through her vocal chords. "I am coming back. Wait for me."
(A-N: Okay, so first of all apologies for the wait. I wrote Chapter 91 from Garrus's POV, then realized for my super-secret evil plan to work for Chapter 94, I needed Chapter 91 to be Shepard POV. So, yeah. Here we are Shepard POV. Then, yesterday I received a review that said I hated asari with a NeoNazi level hatred, which, as any of you who know me would guess, threw me into a panic that I'd been unintentionally bigoted, so spent yesterday searching out asari hatred. Still working on that, so yeah. Another day behind schedule. Sorry. There is good news though. Three chapters are now written and ready to go. Shepard will be putting her endgame into action on Thursday, then Garrus will be returning to deal with his stowaway on Sunday.
As always, all the love to the readers and reviewers. thebluninja, FORD B, dracohalo117, RoaringGamer, Alpenwolf, Master of The Blood Wolves, SilverBladeStar, and Lady Velvet C. Peterson. You guys rock! I never guessed when I started this story that 17 months into writing it, it would be at nearly 1300 reviews and 165K views. It blows me away, and I never cease to be amazed and humbled. So yeah, thank you. Everyone. Now, let's get these crazy kids back together and get the Collectors taken DOWN! See you Thursday.)