Gasin - Prothean male the age of majority. (Dropped from 20 to 13 over the course of the war.)
Takun - Prothean female the age of majority. (Dropped from 20 to 13 over the course of the war.)
21 Days ASR
Shepard awoke facing something that looked a lot like a medbay ceiling. A glance to her left confirmed her suspicion. Medbay. A young blonde woman in a medical uniform stood behind a desk in front of a bank of windows. The captain's twitchy inner bitch took in the doctor's youthful turnout and clicked over to its instant snark setting. Seriously, who dedicated that much time and effort to their hair and makeup aboard a warship? She couldn't remember the last time she actually brushed her hair.
Shepard hoisted her head, wobbly and weighed down, from her pillow, looking past the medical debutante to the uncovered windows, suddenly feeling naked as hell.
"What is this? The sick and injured freak show?" she said or more accurately, barked, her throat dry and rough. Nervous eyes glanced under her blankets to make sure they'd been considerate enough to dress her in something. A gown. Better than nothing. Yanking the surprisingly soft, cotton coverings up around her neck, she wriggled around until she managed to get her feet off the side of the bed without exposing herself anywhere. "Hey! Doc, close the damned privacy shades. I possess a very low tolerance for being on display."
The woman slapped a control and metal shutters rumbled down over the large ports. "Apologies, Captain. You were unconscious when you were brought down here, and my concern lay in preserving your vital functions rather than your delicate sensibilities." Was that an eyeroll? Shepard narrowed her eyes into a laser glare. Had the doctor just eyerolled her CO? The woman strode over and activated her omnitool.
Shepard bit back an acidic grin. The doctor had pluck. Reminded her a little of Chakwas. Although, Chakwas would have never forgotten the shutters, those small considerations just ingrained over the years. She wondered how the doctor fared … if she remained aboard the Normandy … a bolt of pain shattered that line of thought. Damn Miranda and her memory blocks. She pressed the heel of one hand into her eye socket. Had the doctor asked her something? One eye opened a slit to find an even and professional, but enquiring blue-eyed stare levelled on her.
The doctor cocked an eyebrow, waiting. "How are you feeling, Captain?"
How was she feeling? Closing her eyes, she did an inventory. Body … aching at about an eight—someone has stomped on my feet in pointy heeled shoes and slammed both hands in a door. Hmmm, that felt like a slight improvement. Head … throbbing at about a fourteen. What was that again? Sepsis has caused so much pus that the axe blade is actually rusting in the wound? Yeah, that sounded about right.
"Thirsty," she said aloud after a good minute, her priorities asserting themselves. She opened one eye. "And I could use something for my head. Feels like it's going to crack open and my eyeballs are going to spill out, riding a massive wave of brain puke."
A cackling laugh drew her attention to the bed across from her. "Gross," a young woman said, a broad grin showing perfect teeth behind equally perfect, full lips.
Shepard scowled. Had she been resurrected by the society for the advancement of stunningly gorgeous people? Seriously? Why had they bothered with her? Shepard fought down the urge to hate the newcomers based on their beauty alone. Not easy with the axe twisting in her head. The revoltingly perfect set of large, brown eyes that returned her gaze just made the job that much harder. She was going to need to recruit some normal people.
The young woman leaned up a little, revealing that she had been handcuffed to the bed. "If your head splits open, someone needs to take vid. We'll make a fortune."
Shepard's mouth quirked a little at the corner. She really was doomed to be surrounded by smart asses with far too much attitude. "Use half the proceeds to reassemble me again so I can come back and kick ass, we have a deal." She pressed both eyes closed again, waiting for the vorcha to stop rooting through her brain cells. "You have a name over there?" she asked without looking up.
A decidedly vulgar snort and a choice curse answered her question before the prisoner thumped back down onto the bed. "Yeah, a few. Go by Jack most of the time." She lifted her shaved head from the pillow, eyes in constant motion. She felt caged, vulnerable, and judging by the way her jaw clenched, hated it every bit as much as Shepard did. Maybe more. Maybe enough to be dangerous.
"You one of their experiments too, Jack?" Shepard asked. She didn't doubt it, but felt that given the manic, violent energy coming off the girl, tried to defuse a little of the volatility in that stare. It didn't take any special psychic powers to see that a lot of people had taken a lot of decisions out of her hands and taken a lot of liberties with her person. She screamed with a 'screw the entire universe' vibe that rang all too familiar.
"Yeah, and they aren't the first. How about you? That uptight cheerleader said something about having brought you back from the dead." The handcuffs rattled. "You do have a zombie cyborg creepiness going, with the glowing cracks and shit."
Shepard grinned and nodded, still not looking up. "Yeah, had the back of my head blown out just over a year and a half ago. Apparently Miranda's boss fished my casket out of space after my funeral and then ... " She stuck her arms out, stiff, her fingers curled into claws. "... ZAAAP! Bride of Frankenstein." One eye opened, meeting Jack's. "Captain Jane Shepard. Pleased to meet you, Jack." Her hand migrated back to press against the eye as it closed.
The doctor pressed a cold bottle of water into Shepard's hand, then gave her two injections. "You should be feeling better in a few moments, Captain," the woman said. "Lie back—"
"Excellent." Shepard emptied the bottle in a single go, letting out a loud, satisfied 'ahhhh'. Then, setting her jaw and pressing her lips into a thin, determined line, she moved to hop down. She had no intention of spending the first day of her new command lying around and playing the invalid. Crews needed to see activity, competence, and grit, not 'ow … my tummy hurts, I need some Pepto and an aspirin'. "Do you have clothes here, or do I have to do the walk of the full moon to find some?"
The doctor blocked Shepard's path, crossing her arms and cocking a hip, the very soul of stubborn determination. "Captain Shepard, you can't get out of bed yet. I'm not finished with my scans, and your treatment is days from being complete."
Shepard threw back her blankets despite the fact that every centimetre of her body agreed with the doc. In fact, she was pretty sure that if she got out of bed right then, she'd carry right on down to land in a pile on the floor. Still, points had to be made … lines drawn … all that crap.
"How long have you been a doctor?" she asked. Stretching carefully, she paused to rub all the particularly vicious aches and pains.
The doc shifted, and straightened, pride giving her bearing. "Three years, but I don't see—"
Shepard chuckled, cutting her off. "Wow, that long. Well, let me educate you on dealing with me. There's no way in hell you can keep me in bed if I'm conscious. Jack me full of drugs … " She glanced over at the tatooed beauty on the other bed … how had she missed the tats? Must be the axe in her skull. "—Sorry, no trademark or copyright infringement intended—and turn me loose, because you'll have to tranq me to keep me."
"Tranquilize you to keep you in medbay?" Horror sharpened the young woman's pale features, making her seem even younger. "That's unethical in the extreme, Captain. I can't do that."
Shepard lifted an eyebrow. "Really? Unethical? I could have used this info a couple of years ago."
"As in get my license revoked unethical, yes." The doctor opened her omnitool and tapped at the interface. "At least allow me to complete your scans. These readings look like someone took a wand blender to your brain."
Shepard grinned. "Are there swirls? Soft or hard peaks? If so, can I see?"
"Hell, yeah," Jack said. "I want to see those too." She laughed, hard and pointed, and tugged at her restraints. "And let me out of these fucking cuffs. Where the hell am I going to go?" A deep rumbling curse met the doctor's lack of response.
"We'll deal with that in a minute," Shepard promised. "Back to my brain meringue." Letting out a long sigh when the doc just stared, the captain slumped on the bed. "I'm the CO of this damned vessel, the least you could do is laugh at my jokes." Nothing. Damn … not even a twitch. "Fine, you have ten minutes to run your scans, but then I expect to get to work."
That settled, she turned her attention to the young woman with the tattoos and those huge, brown eyes. "So, what's your story, Jack? I take it you share a certain lack of love for our hosts?" She knew the answer even as she asked and a faint blue nimbus formed around the young woman.
"Hell, yeah. Bastards." Jack tugged at the cuffs again. "Let me loose, and I'll tell you." Her eyes tried for pleading and guileless, but so much rage poured through that it fell flat. As much as Shepard hated people trying to manipulate her, beneath the facade and the anger, she saw a sadness and a real vulnerability that Jack tried to keep locked away, even from herself.
"You want to get turned loose?" Shepard asked, dropping her voice to a 'no bullshit' register. "Play straight with me. I don't give a flying fig if you yell and throw things around. I don't care if you spend your days being an insufferable bitch, just don't try to play me." Her eyebrows lifted, her brow creasing into earnest waves. "Understood? I'm not your enemy, Jack, and there are other people on this ship who aren't, so I want your word … your honour … that you won't do anything to put the vessel or it's occupants at risk."
Jack's stare narrowed, dropping the pretense. "What's your story, Captain Shepard?" She threw a lot of weight and attitude on the captain part. Despite the barely controlled fury simmering in the girl's glare, it reassured the captain. At least the fury was honest. She understood it, and the young woman's mistrust of authority figures, all too well.
Only honesty and following through on sincerity would have any real, lasting effect, so Shepard asked, "Did you hear about the attack on Eden Prime? The dreadnought that attacked the Citadel?"
Jack nodded. "Fuck yeah, who hasn't?" Her face froze. "No, fucking way? You're that Captain Shepard? But … ." Shepard saw her connect the pieces. "Some asshole blew you away in an alley the day they made you a Spectre." Craning her head, she tried to see around behind Shepard. "Bet getting your brain blown out leaves a hell of a scar."
A slow, soft chuckle greeted that, and Shepard turned to show the young woman the massive scar on the back of her head. "Apparently, they brought me back to keep fighting the Reapers." Her shoulders drew up to her ears and then dropped. "And now entire human colonies are disappearing." Her gaze slid to the floor, snow melting down a window. "I'm in for a fight against bad guys so big and scary that I sort of wish they'd left me dead."
Jack bristled. "So, I have the evil aliens to thank for being here instead of being tortured and pumped full of drugs?" A soft growl rolled from her throat. "I should find them, sign up."
Shepard smiled, a weary, bitter rictus seizing her lips even as she let the rest of her face slump. "Actually, that would be me. Miranda's bosses moved you to the ship because I was about to spring my 'escape and take all their experiments with me' plan. The bad guys just took advantage of the chaos." A hard shake made her head screech in protest but helped clear the image of all those frozen people out of her mind's eye.
Looking up, Shepard raised one eyebrow. "If I let you out of those cuffs, you'll find a hidey hole for the rest of the trip? No sabotage? No vengeance against any of the organization's employees?" She stared into those eyes, discovering another layer … the desire to believe in something … someone. Then again, maybe she was just projecting. "Jack, I give you my word that no one on this ship will try to stop you from leaving when we make port." A wry grin twisted her lips. "If, by then, you haven't decided to stay and give me a hand taking on the biggest, scariest, most badass monsters in the universe."
Jack scoffed, but—and maybe it was wishful thinking again—Shepard liked the promising set of the young woman's shoulders and jaw. "Fine, but I have a condition, too, Shepard." Her eyebrows rose toward her shaved hairline, questioning … no, daring, Shepard to refuse.
"Hit me. If I can accomodate you, I will. Being the CO of this bird has to give me some ability to call the shots." She winked and let her head sag to one side a little … although the meds were starting to work, offering some relief. "What's your condition?"
"I was stolen from my home and raised in a Cerberus facility. They isolated me, tortured and experimented on me all in the name of creating a stronger biotic." Jack must have seen the flash of searing hatred that greeted her mention of Cerberus, because she leaned forward a little. "I eventually killed my guards, caused a riot, and escaped. I've spent my time trying to track down all the information I can find on that facility. I want to know what happened to it … to the bastards who did this to me … ." She tilted her head to reveal several scars along her scalp and neck, red through the tats. "I haven't been anywhere with a computer like this baby has to have. I want computer access so I can do some digging ."
Shepard nodded. "Not sure I can help with the access to everything Cerberus, although … ." She looked over at the doc and thought better of voicing her suspicions. Giving Jack a meaningful stare that the biotic met with a nod of understanding, she said, "But I'll give you unfettered access to the computers and you can go to town. Good enough?"
The door opened. "You have no authority to do that, Shepard," Miranda said even as she strode over the threshold. You can't just give anyone access to the computers and systems aboard this vessel. There are security concerns."
Shepard raised her eyebrows, a wicked grin sharpening to points. "Oh? Will Jack find all sorts of Cerberus information in the computers, Miranda?" After a few seconds of shooting dagger-edged glares at one another, Shepard shrugged. "Fine. If I'm not the captain of this ship, if my orders are not law, then let me out on … ." She frowned. "Where are we, anyway? Well, whatever. Jack, Al, and the rest of we lab rats will disembark at the nearest spaceport." She turned to the doctor. "I'm feeling better. Are you finished with your scans?"
"Yes, but … Captain … ."
Shaking her head, Shepard eased herself down off the bed. "Clothes, now." She met both women with steel. "I won't debate every last damned thing I say. Now, clothes and then Miranda will show me to the other lab rats." Two fingers stabbed toward Jack. "Uncuff her. She's not a prisoner."
"She's been responsible for more criminal activity over the years than most pirate gangs," Miranda protested, her voice moving into operative in charge mode and her face doing that … arrogant, 'I know what I'm doing, and you're just my patient' thing. "She's not—"
"Do you want to push this to where I have to do something unfortunate?" Shepard asked, shoving into Miranda's space. For a moment, she balled her fist, her entire limb trembling, muscles burning with the effort it took to remain at her side. "We had this discussion on the station. If you don't want to follow my lead, fine. I get off, but all your other victims go with me."
Miranda brought up her omnitool, opening the usual interface, but Shepard moved faster, grabbing her wrist. "Take all the fucking notes you want, but that's the way it is. I command this ship and its crew. I command my team. Or I leave." Squeezing hard enough to feel the bones in the operative's wrist grinding together, Shepard waited, keenly aware of the bright gaze watching them from the side. "I can fight the Reapers either way." Her brows knit together again, her shoulders pulling up, and she released Miranda. "Why do you want me anyway? It's not like my reputation for being a pain in the ass of universal proportions isn't well known."
Miranda took a deep breath and shut down her omnitool. "You put together a multi-billion credit portfolio, brought down the man behind one of the most powerful and covert private military companies in the terminus, brokered peace between the quarians and geth, started the krogan on a path to becoming a contributing member of the galactic community, rescued and apparently convinced the rachni to aid the fight, and brought down both a Spectre and a Reaper in the span of less than half a year."
"Well shit," Jack said, her expression almost respectful, if surprised. She whistled. "Aren't we the overachiever?"
"I do sound pretty awesome when you lay it all out like that." Shepard cast a quick wink and a grin at the biotic before dropping back to neutral and focusing on Miranda again. "Look, I can go far, far away, and still take down the Collectors and the Reapers without you and I butting heads over everything."
Miranda nodded. After a moment, she turned on the balls of her feet and strode over to Jack. A second's hesitation betrayed the operative's ongoing battle, but then she unlocked the cuffs and turned back to face Shepard, almost defiant. "You command this vessel, Captain."
Shepard flushed a little as she cast a petty, victorious glance at the doctor. "Clothes. Please." Sometimes, she really did act like a child, but even the small, petty victories remained victories.
Jack leaped off the bed and stretched, but then reached behind her head to her empty amp port. "Where is it?" she asked, rage flashing up to erupt through the demand. Those big eyes turned cold and hard as they moved from the doctor, to Miranda, and then Shepard.
Shepard in turn, stayed fixed on Miranda. "Are the psychos in charge of Jack's project on board?" She winced even as she finished the sentence.
Nice one, Janey. Let the slightly psychotic kid with the overclocked experimental biotic power know that the people who tortured her are present and ready for killing.
"No," Miranda replied, easing that concern. "She was slated to be one of your team members for the investigation into the missing colonies, so was turned over to me when you were activated." She sighed, a sound that came remarkably close to dread for Miranda. "As was one other project."
"I'm assuming you don't mean Al," Shepard turned to the doctor as the woman approached with an armload of clothing. "Thank you, Doctor." She set them on the bed, then began to dress, slipping underwear on beneath the gown. Glancing up, she cocked an eyebrow at the operative. "You don't expect Al to stay with us any more than I do, yes?"
Miranda nodded, and opened her mouth to respond but an indignant yelp of rage cut the woman off.
"Wait!" Jack threw herself between them, her face caught in a tug of war between panic, derision, and fury. "I'm supposed to answer to the uptight cheerleader in the rubber sex suit?" She laughed, but no trace of amusement ran through it. "No fucking way."
"While on board this ship," Shepard replied, slicing through the rant with a sharp cut of her hand and a bladed tone, "you answer to me." She lowered her head but raised her eyes. "And our deal stands. You're free to move around the ship and access the computer as long as you find somewhere out of the way and leave people alone. When we make port, if you want to leave, that's fine. If you stay, I'll find you an amp. You have my word on that."
Jack's head jerked in a single nod, her eyes sparking like a downed electrical line as she stared at Miranda. Then she straightened, still steel and fury, but easing as she looked at Shepard. "Deal. If you need me, I'll be somewhere down near the bottom where no one will stumble across me."
"Thank you, Jack." She watched after the biotic until the door closed behind her, then focused an open, speculative gaze back to Miranda. "Now, this other project?" Tugging on a set of ribbed leggings, she glanced down the room at the doctor, seeing that she wore them as well. What the hell was wrong with trousers? Her spindly little legs were going to look like plucked chicken parts dressed in those. Sweet baby Jesus.
The operative let out a short breath, actually managing to appear grateful. "Thank you for not making her any more dangerous, Shepard."
A short, sharp chortle greeted that and Shepard gave her head a quick shake. "I'm not an idiot, Dr. Frank, but I'll need that amp. I think Jack will end up sticking around." A wry, crooked grin followed that lasted until she stripped off the gown. "Okay, so the other lab rat?"
Miranda jutted her chin toward the door at the back of the room. "I had his project leaders put him in the server room for now. Honestly, I'm not sure we should activate him. He's far too volatile."
Shepard froze, not knowing where to start addressing all the things wrong with that statement. Volatility. Assess the risk first. "More volatile than Jack, Al, or me?"
The operative let out a very unprofessional grunt that answered the question. "He's a unique case, Shepard. I'm not sure we should take the chance."
Shepard tugged on the long tunic and fastened it across her chest. "We'll deal with his mood swings in a second." Dread coiled through her guts, copper and saline. Had this very discussion taken place at some point along her road back from the dead? Some detached, clinical assessment of her value versus her risk, as if she were a high-powered rifle with a tendency to backfire. Which, she freely admitted to being … part of her charm.
Anyway, Janey … .
Right, damn. Scatterbrained didn't even start to describe her since she came back. "What do you mean you aren't sure we should activate him?"
Then, after running her hands over her clothing, sorting everything more comfortably, she remembered the manners beaten into her by her mother. Meeting the doctor's gaze with a small, grateful smile, she tipped her head and said, "Thank you, Doctor."
The nod that answered her came off rusted and stiff. "I expect you back before you begin morning shift, Captain. Your implants and the damage from the indoctrination signal need constant monitoring." The woman drew herself up as if prepared to fight to the death over her medical supremacy, but relaxed when Shepard nodded.
The captain turned toward the server room door, the frown returning to pucker her forehead as she read the sign on the wall. "What the hell sort of system do you have in this boat that requires a server room? I thought the need for that sort of hardware went out with the twentieth century."
Miranda cleared her throat. "The SR2 has a very advanced cyber-warfare suite specifically designed to counter the Reapers' less overt attacks."
Mostly satisfied, Shepard walked to the door, rigid confidence keeping her strides strong until she reached the threshold. There, she hesitated, her head bowing as she closed her eyes, bracing herself. "Am I going to be horrified by what I see on the other side of this door?"
Miranda palmed the control. "It's a stasis pod, Shepard, and not one I or any of our people put him in." She shrugged and tilted her head a little, her expression very like she'd just bitten into rotten fruit. "The first time."
The door opened and Shepard understood.
"Liara's missing prothean from Eden Prime." She strode up to the pod, running her hands over the familiar lines. A small, hopeful smile blossomed that originated with Tashac. A living prothean. Shepard looked up, alarmed when she saw the dents and broken equipment on the casing. "It's been damaged. Was he all right in there when you opened it?"
Miranda lifted a datapad from the stand where the pod rested. Shepard left the operative to read, while she circled the pod, checking controls here, readouts there. The individual inside was in fair health considering that the pod had been opened with all the finesse of a crowbar each time.
"Who is it?" she asked, looking up as she bent over the control panel at the side. She popped it open, checking the date it was sealed originally, then the log of dates the scientists had opened it. "This was the end of the war. Literally months before the Reapers retreated back through the Citadel relay." She snapped straight, focusing on Miranda like a laser trying to burn through a tungsten-titanium alloy. "Is this—"
"It doesn't give any information about him," Miranda cut over her, tone blithe and professional. "He refuses to talk, although the researchers were convinced that he could understand them. Whenever they tried to touch him, he became violent and uncooperative." She let the datapad drop to hang at the end of a stiff arm. "Shepard, he killed two of his staff and injured another seven. We can't let him out of there."
Shepard nodded, a sardonic smile tweaking the corner of her mouth. "And you thought I was a problem child." As she spoke, the truth of her own suppositions registered. "It sounds like he was one of the last. They were all pretty brutal, and if he woke up to be tortured like Al … I can't blame him. He came from a terrible time … everything he knew was death and betrayal." She shrugged. "And he didn't want them to touch him because protheans have this sort of touch telepathy. They can read your electrical field."
Meeting Miranda's confused stare, she allowed a tiny flare of kindness to free some compassion from the icey dislike. "The beacons on Eden Prime and Virmire filled my head full of prothean data, memories, plans … a whole jumble of history and what they'd done to try to help us when the time for the harvest came around again." She closed her eyes against the nightmare images and Tashac's mourning cries, both tearing through her like a shuriken in a pinball machine until she slammed the wall back into place.
"Your head is filled with prothean data?" Miranda folded her arms. "This wasn't in your record, just that you can interacted with the beacon. Why?"
Shepard let out a couple of bitter chuckles, looking up from under heavily lidded eyes. "To keep the likes of you from slicing into my skull to get the data out. Anyway, a message came through the beacon system about a year before Tashac's—the prothean in my head's—team activated the plan to seal the citadel and other key relays." Spreading her fingers she leaned against the pod, its metal cool and familiar. "It said that the last program had failed. She never knew exactly where or exactly what, but considering how badly they had lost everywhere, she suspected it was either a stasis or genetic seeding program."
Miranda paled and staggered back a little. "Shepard … this is vital intel. You didn't preserve it anywhere? It would have all died with you. Who knows how much of it has been compromised by the Lazarus project."
Shepard pressed a couple of controls. "Oh, I shared it. Not telling you who I shared it with, naturally." She looked up, giving the operative a kind, genuine smile. "Just accept that we're going to walk a long road before I trust you, Miranda. We'll do much better that way." Pressing one last control, she stepped back, her heart racing as the pod opened, pressure hissing, the atmosphere inside turning into clouds of vapour as it hit the warm air.
"Shepard!" The exclamation shot across the server room like a bullet propelled by dismay. "I just told you that he's killed."
Shepard nodded. "Yeah, but he won't kill me. Well, at least I hope not." Looking up, she tilted her head. "Don't happen to have a gun on you?"
The operative spun on her heel and strode back into medbay. "Doctor Eis, I need your sidearm."
Shepard laughed, a crooked smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "Too easy." Lifting onto her tiptoes, she peered over the side. Too much vapour and frostiness hung inside to see the occupant. She turned her attention to the readouts. Vitals rising nicely. Surprising how much trauma could be avoided doing things the right way.
"You can read Prothean?" Miranda asked, returning to stand at the end of the pod. A pistol hung at her side. Somehow that didn't make Shepard feel any better. If this prothean came out fighting, unless his biotics were off-line, a pistol wouldn't save them. Her muscles tensed as she saw his vitals reach the green zone and a soft groan and mutter drifted from the pod.
Then silence. Complete stillness. She considered sticking her face back over the edge, but then thought better of it. Best not to place any body parts that she wanted to keep within smashing, pulverizing, ripping, or shredding range.
An explosion of green energy exploded out of the pod. With as much effort as it would take for her to flick lint off her sleeve, the blast snatched her from the decking and flung her head first across the room. Her skull cracked into the poly-metal of a server bank, making a hollow, sort of dropped coconut sound. Hitting the floor in a jumble of half-assembled parts, she slumped, head ringing, vision blurry. She tried to sort her limbs enough to stand, but just tipped over onto her side when she tried to pull a foot under her.
A vague shape climbed from the pod, and stumbled, going down on one knee. A pale green nimbus of flickering energy snapped and sparked around him. He staggered to his feet and backed away, putting a few metres between them. "Lulonik lel nawoya?"
Tashac sent a whispered translation. He wanted to know where he was. Shepard gritted her teeth and gave her head a hard shake, trying to clear it. She needed to get up before he turned her into red paste. Gathering her feet under her, she shoved herself up, gripping the edge of the server to keep from sliding back onto her side.
The prothean closed on her with ridiculous speed. One large, three-fingered hand closed around her throat, lifting her feet a half-metre off the floor. Desperate, furious gold eyes glared into hers, his twin-pupils dilated, his respiration elevated and tight, every cell of his being set to kill.
(A-N: This chapter got away from me. So much to do and get done, so I ended up splitting it in half. The other half will go up tomorrow for Sassy's Birthday.
Thanks to those who reviewed and of course, to the readers as well. I really do appreciate that you stop by to keep up with my story. See you tomorrow. )