Ch. 22: At Any Cost
Garrus
Today's the day. I winced as I shoved the last piece of my newly cleaned rifle into place with a snap that reverberated through the battery before slinging the gun onto my back. It felt heavier than it ever had, settling like a solid lead weight between my shoulder blades. I sighed and pushed through the battery door towards the mess hall.
Breakfast was in full swing by the time I arrived, and I grabbed a tray and made room for myself at the table next to Tali, who was right in the middle of a retelling of a story I intimately recognized.
"No," I gasped, interrupting her with a frown.
"What's the matter, Vakarian? I thought you loved this story," Tali replied.
"Don't you dare…" I warned, but my threat sounded flat in the face of Tali innocently cocking her head. I rolled my eyes. I knew what she was doing anyway: trying to distract me. She was worried that I would regret killing Sidonis, but she'd also refused to come on the mission. Supposedly I 'needed to do this alone.' Whatever that was supposed to mean.
"So there he is, sprawled out on the ground after being headbutted by a krogan. He comes to and looks like he's going to cry, and we all thought he was injured. Liara rushed over with a first aid kit, and Shepard was holding his hand...It was all very touching," Tali continued. She shot one last glance at me, and I glared at her.
"I'll have you know that turians do not cry," I objected. "And there was no hand holding. You change the story with every retelling!"
"But it turned out that he was perfectly fine," Tali said, ignoring me. "Garrus was upset over a crack in his visor."
"That visor was custom designed by me!" I protested. "Do you know how long it took to replace it?"
"Yes," Tali deadpanned. "Because that's all you talked about for weeks afterwards."
"You two are nothing like what I expected from Shep's old team," Kasumi mused from across the table. "She always looked so buttoned up in the pictures."
"And don't even get me started on the shit we had to put up with from Shepard…" Tali began, trailing off when she noticed Shepard herself entering the mess hall. "Keelah."
"She's...smiling. This early? That's never a good sign," I observed in shock as Shepard made her way over to our table.
"Good morning crew! Please, don't stop on my account," Shepard said with a smirk. "I'd love to hear what 'shit you had to put up with.'"
Tali recovered faster than I did.
"Well, my favorite was the time with Ashley's armor–" Shepard's eyes widened, and she waved her hands in a panicked gesture for Tali to stop– "when we all woke up to the sound of someone yelling on the crew deck."
"Tali, you promised never to tell that story. Promised," Shepard muttered.
"You can't swear an entire frigate to secrecy, Shepard. And everyone heard because Ashley was screaming so loud I heard her down on the lower deck. Turns out Shepard had the brilliant—" Tali cupped the speaker over her mouth and added– "drunken idea to paint Williams' armor yellow in the middle of the night. Because...oh do tell the reason again, Shepard?"
I noticed Miranda enter the mess at the far end and make for the coffee, a small quirk of her lips the only sign that she was listening to the story. Shepard saw her too and turned an even brighter shade of red.
"You do realize that I'm the commander of this ship, right? I don't have to answer if I don't want to," Shepard answered stubbornly.
"Shepard's reasoning was that if Chief Williams insisted on looking like a Power Ranger, she should at least be the 'decent' one," Tali revealed anyway, not even flinching at Shepard's glare.
However, even Shepard had to smile at the startled laughs pulled from the human crew members listening in, Crewman Matthews ribbing his partner, Hadley, when the man's gaze stayed too long on the grinning commander. Shepard made room for herself at the table with a raised eyebrow for me, and it was almost like the last two years fell away. I didn't miss chasing Saren, but I had missed this, that warmth that filled the room when everyone was happy together.
Tali, at least, seemed to bring that feeling with her, no matter whose company she was in. She had set to explaining the Power Ranger reference to the non-humans with animated movements when Miranda approached the table with a food laden tray. I rolled my eyes at Shepard's star-struck expression, practically drooling as she reached for the plate of chocolate chip pancakes nestled in between piles of eggs and veggies.
Miranda slapped her hand away. "Protein, Shepard. Your body still needs help rebuilding your muscles," she chastised. "These are for…"
Miranda trailed off when Jacob left the table with only a muttered, "Excuse me," then she sighed and wordlessly handed the plate of pancakes to Shepard, who sat down happily after filching a fork off the tray.
"You didn't make these yourself, right?" Shepard checked, lifting up the edge of a pancake with her fork.
Miranda frowned at her, just barely dragging her eyes away from Jacob's back. "No, Shepard. They're safe," she waved Shepard off with a small motion of her hand.
The atmosphere between Miranda and Jacob had been hostile since their return from scouting for Jacob's father. Unfortunately, all I knew was that they'd found the man in dubious circumstances, and Miranda killed him after Jacob asked her to make the decision for him. It was probably safe to say he regretted the choice, but why he thought it would turn out differently was beyond me. Don't put the life of your asshole father in the hands of someone who'd gladly kill her own asshole father, is all I was saying.
However, considering that Shepard was steadfastly ignoring the rising tension (unless it began to affect the mission, I assumed), I wasn't likely to hear much more on the subject. I let the matter drop for my mind, much like the rest of the crew as they awkwardly turned back to their conversations.
"Shepard," I said, scrolling through my messages on my omni-tool after pushing away my empty tray. "Liara is messaging me that you haven't responded back to her."
Shepard choked on the bite of pancakes she'd just popped into her mouth. "She broke up with me and then sent a message with the subject header of 'Personal.' I deleted it," she replied after clearing her throat.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Miranda's wrist fall slack, and she would have dropped the entire tray of food had Shepard not caught the end. She rested a hand on Miranda's arm with a raised eyebrow.
"You okay?" she asked, frowning.
"Yes. Perfectly fine," Miranda replied. She made to turn, seemingly to escape the room, but whirled right into Jack, who'd come up behind her. Shepard reached up and steadied the tray of food for a second time, this time nabbing one of the plates of eggs with a grin.
"Cheerleader, why the hell is my mission the only one that keeps getting pushed back?" Jack demanded, shoving a finger in Miranda's face. "I was promised a trip to Pragia weeks ago."
"If you wish to discuss missions, Shepard is sitting…"
I tuned out the now daily disagreement between the Cerberus officer and the convict with a dismissive sigh, leaning in to continue my conversation with Shepard. "She said it's something important about your mother."
"Well, now I'm doubly glad I deleted it," Shepard retorted, not bothering to turn from where she was watching and listening to the argument between Miranda and Jack with intense focus.
I rolled my eyes at her, but otherwise continued on until I was stymied by two messages from my father. The first was a stilted request for a call. My mother was getting worse. And the salarian research facility cost more money than my father could make. I frowned. Shit.
Jack's voice distracted me, and I looked up, surprised to see her nose inches from Miranda's.
"Oh please. Shepard may be the commander, but everyone knows she doesn't do the fucking scheduling," Jack snarled.
"She's makes a valid point," Shepard murmured to me as Miranda took her own step into Jack's space with a retort about the hierarchy of the ship.
I nodded absently to Shepard that I'd heard and read my second message, which quite frankly, didn't make any sense. Not an hour after the first message, my father sent me a message thanking me for the wire transfer (with a postscript from my sister making a less than subtle dig about what I'd had to do to get that kind of money).
I never sent my family money.
"Fine, yes, I moved your mission back. Garrus' request was time sensitive," Miranda replied, the mention of my name pulling at my attention again. "You, on the other hand, want to blow up a Cerberus facility that, I might add, is made of concrete. It's not bloody going anywhere."
Jack's face turned an interesting shade of purple, but Shepard cut in before she could explode.
"Jack," Shepard said, her voice soft but firm. She and Miranda both froze, and I had to stifle a smile at Miranda trying to recompose herself into some form of professionalism. "Miranda may do the scheduling, but she sends everything to me for approval. I apologize for not telling you the mission was moved, but look, I promise we'll go to Pragia next, no matter what."
Jack's pointed finger curled into the rest of her fist before she dropped it sharply into the tray Miranda still held, scattering the contents to the floor with a clang of dishes, before storming off towards the elevator.
"I just can't win today," Miranda said dryly, staring down at her now soiled uniform.
"Good thing I saved these," Shepard replied, shoving more eggs into her mouth, and Miranda's grimace turned into a half-smile, exasperation melting into fondness as she shook her head. That same smile disappeared the moment Shepard looked up at her again. "Don't worry so much, Miranda. I'll have a talk with her."
I stared between the two of them and noticed Tali doing the same, and we shared a confused glance over the table as Miranda disappeared into her office, Shepard's eyes very obviously trailing after her.
"Are you ready to go, Shepard?" I asked finally, grabbing the commander's attention. "I'd like to get this over with."
She gripped my arm with a grin. "Absolutely. I've been looking forward to a mission with just you and me. Shepard and Vakarian: Going Solo."
That made one of us. Working with Shepard was great, but the prospect of finally confronting Sidonis today was making my stomach feel ill.
Or maybe that was just the usual uneasiness from watching Shepard eat like an animal.
"Sounds like a bad porno," Zaeed added.
Shepard grimaced at him. "Thanks for that, Zaeed. Real classy," she grunted, pushing up from the table and depositing her tray and multiple plates by the industrial dishwasher.
XXX
Within the hour, we were geared up and raring to go, the prospect of an ending to this mess with Sidonis making me fidget with anticipation. Surprisingly, everyone but Miranda, Samara and Jack met us on deck, milling about as if waiting for Shepard's permission to leave even though she'd dismissed everyone this morning. I was pleased at the little smile that blossomed on Shepard's face again when she saw them.
Shepard's smile didn't last long, wilting and curling up into tight impassivity the moment the opening airlock door revealed a woman standing at the end of the platform. The gleam of her Alliance stripes was visible even from the distance, and Shepard's back stiffened immediately while I echoed the tension in my own spine as we stepped closer. I recognized this woman's face.
"What are you doing here?" Shepard hissed as soon as the rest of the team shuffled by, sneaking glances at Shepard's tight frown and the woman's straight shoulders. However, no one need guess at the woman's identity: the resemblance was clear.
"Is it so strange that I might want to see my daughter after she's been miraculously raised from the dead?" Hannah Shepard asked, eyes narrowing around green pupils. Hm, green, I noticed with a flash of concern.
"What, did you come to ask me to refund my funeral? I'm sorry the arrangements must have been so inconvenient for you," Shepard snapped. "Because you're certainly not here just to check on my health."
Hannah's lips thinned, but otherwise gave no reaction in the face of Shepard's taunt. "You're angry. It's understandable, and working with an organization like Cerberus can't be helping. I thought you knew better."
"Listen, if you've just come to be condescending, I have things to get done today," Shepard replied, an arm out readying to push past her mother.
"I'd like you to come back to the Alliance," Hannah said, stopping Shepard cold in her tracks. "I can't make an official offer because of your new affiliations, but I know for a fact the Alliance would take you back. If you asked."
I took a step closer to Shepard while my mandibles flicked in irritation. My family's high position in the Turian Hierarchy meant I was well versed in these kinds of politics—well versed even if I hadn't liked it—and this blunt attempt by the Alliance to gain Shepard's loyalty again was easily recognized. Offensive, even, in its lack of subtlety. Can't make an official offer, my ass.
"The word is starting to get out," I said, gripping Shepard's shoulder. "That the Hero of the Citadel is alive and working with Cerberus." I shared a glance with Shepard and added, "Horizon."
"The Alliance doesn't like that I made a difference while they were ignoring the problem out in the colonies," Shepard said, finding confirmation in the tightness around her mother's eyes. "And they think you could convince me to come back." Hannah nodded, just barely, and Shepard blew out a sigh. "Well, they sure as hell sent the wrong person," she growled, turning her back on her mother to lean on the dock railing.
"Anderson wasn't available today," Hannah replied. Shepard's eyes flashed at the offhanded quip.
"Even if I wanted to come back...what's the catch? I'm not going to stop helping those colonists; someone needs to acknowledge what's happening," Shepard demanded.
"Of course. The Alliance cares about the colonists as well, but resources are stretched thin after the battle with the geth. Too thin to have pledged support to you when you first resurfaced," Hannah replied.
Shepard's lip curled up as she stared hard at her mother. "No doubt you're about to tell me how I can fix that problem."
"We received word that a very high ranking Cerberus operative is, in fact, working with you on the Normandy–"
"–received word?" Shepard interrupted. "From whom?"
"The unofficial report from your former crewmate, Chief Williams. Not that it matters. You aren't known for keeping secrets," Hannah dismissed. She pushed a strand of blonde hair away from her face, the action emphasizing the age lines spider webbing from her eyes. It was eerie just how similar she would look to her daughter without those lines to distinguish her. "This woman, however, I'm sure is the reason you've been so hard to find. Mass relay jumps erased from the records within milliseconds of the Normandy passing through, our IT techs stymied at bank accounts that are seemingly untraceable...I could go on."
"Ash never met the whole crew. I don't know who–"
"Don't get coy," Hannah snapped, eyes flashing in a way I'd seen hundreds of times when Shepard was angry. "Miranda Lawson has been a thorn in our side for years. And now she's gone and brought someone back from the dead...that kind of potential used in service to Cerberus..." Hannah trailed off and stared straight at her daughter. "She's the shadow behind the Illusive Man, his top agent. All of our information indicates that if we acquire her, we could completely dismantle Cerberus. To say nothing of bringing down a terrorist organization...they also have a lot of money that could be redirected to other efforts."
Shepard looked strangely pale, and when she spoke, it had a strangled quality to it. "What did you call her?"
"The Illusive Man trusts her, likely intends for her to take over when he's gone. You can see why she would be the key, and why our Alliance task force has so far been unsuccessful in apprehending someone so well protected. She hasn't been this vulnerable in five years," the captain continued as if she hadn't heard. "So that's the deal. Full pardon and reinstatement back into the Alliance. You'll remain in command on the Normandy. All you have to do is hand over Miranda Lawson."
Shepard blinked slowly, a fist curling at her side. She looked up at me, and it was like I could see the war playing out behind her eyes. Then she sighed, the breath dragging ragged from her lungs, and began walking farther down the dock.
"It was lovely to see you again, Mother," Shepard said dully. I hurried to follow but looked back to see Hannah Shepard's mouth slightly ajar in surprise. Her hand reached out in an almost helpless gesture before she curled it up at her side again, mirroring her daughter's.
"The offer will remain open. Not forever, but you have time, should you change your mind," her mother added quietly as we retreated.
Shepard didn't look back and didn't slow until she'd hastily shoved me around the corner, submerging the two of us in the anonymity of the crowd around the main docks. I knocked shoulders with a salarian, and he grumbled at me before pushing past. I lost sight of Shepard in the distraction, finding her a moment later leaned up against a wall with her knuckles pressed loosely to her mouth.
The crowd formed a little bubble around us as different species all went shuffling by on their own business, careful to skirt around the two of us. Then again, we looked suitably intimidating decked out in full armor, not that Shepard looked it at the moment. She continued to stare at the ground, hand still at her mouth, while a spark of panic crept into her eyes when she looked up at me.
"Shepard," I started.
"Wait, don't," Shepard ordered, straightening. "I'm fine. Yes. Today is about you and your mission. I'm fine."
"You aren't fine," I stated, frowning. "If you need–"
Shepard looked up at me, shaking her head, but her eyebrows were still furrowed, worried.
"What did I just do?" Shepard burst out, pushing her mouth back into her fist again. "She offered me exactly what I've been wanting. A chance to go back to how things were. And I walked away. What is wrong with me?"
"She was probably lying," I offered. "They just wanted Miranda; they wouldn't have been bound to follow through on the offer once they had her."
There was more I could say, like how I didn't think, in a million years, she would have given Miranda over to the Alliance, not knowing what they would do to her. Shepard's mother might have been impressed by Miranda's capabilities, but they would never trust her. The Alliance wasn't looking to recruit, just to destroy, and the Shepard I knew wouldn't value her place in the Alliance over Miranda's life and happiness. She just wouldn't.
"Please tell me you aren't honestly considering this," I said, letting my distaste color my tone when Shepard's gaze held fixed on the direction of the Normandy and her mother.
Shepard's eyes shot to mine. "No, no. Of course not," she answered, shaking her head with a jerk, but her shoulders were just a bit heavier as she pushed away from the wall.
I followed as she elbowed into the crowd, leading the two of us to the coordinates set, but there was no more bounce to her step and she avoided my eyes by walking slightly ahead. I frowned, but horrible as the thought was, I didn't mind the change. This day had been long in coming, but I'd never expected to enjoy it: didn't want to enjoy it. My vengeance on the turian who betrayed me was as much my punishment as it was his. I'd been the one to accept Sidonis; I'd trusted him.
It was that break from loyalty that made Sidonis' actions that much harder to swallow. Victory, at any cost. That was what I, and every turian, had been taught at birth. Sidonis should have died rather than betray us. It was why I was here, to make things right, to deal out justice on a traitor.
My eyes drifted to the back of Shepard's head.
"Alright, these are the coordinates," Shepard announced.
"You're late," a large krogan rumbled, his heavy steps announcing his presence before his words.
"I'm not late when my resources are what transported you off Omega in the first place. Time for Aria to pay up," Shepard demanded.
The krogan's eyes narrowed, and I heard a quiet growl in the recesses of his chest.
"The one you're looking for was hidden by a forger named Fade. He's here on the Citadel," he revealed.
"I smuggle Aria's infamous Patriarch off Omega so it doesn't look like she's protecting him, and that's all I get? That tiny scrap of information?" Shepard growled.
The Patriarch gave a loud bark of laughter and leaned in to look at her better. "You also get to use the infamous Patriarch. What better way to lure a forger out than the promise of a high profile, high paying customer?"
Shepard settled next to me, and I nodded. "That's perfect. They'd probably flee at the sight of me or you, Shepard. No doubt Sidonis knew I'd be looking for him. And you can't seem to go anywhere without being recognized, though it would probably help if you took the obvious N7 off your chest plate," I said to Shepard.
"Hey," she scoffed. "I worked hard for that. And it's not like I'm wearing the Spectre wings. I could be any N7 operative."
I blinked at her in disbelief, and she shrugged.
"I'm guessing you know how to contact Fade? Or did Aria expect us to do all the work?" Shepard asked.
"This is Aria being generous," Patriarch replied, rolling his shoulders back. "She must like you." Shepard raised her eyebrows. "And yes, contact has been initiated. They're meeting me at the warehouse, just over there."
"And if Fade doesn't show up in person?" I inquired, glancing at Shepard.
"I think the usual methods will suffice to find his location," Shepard deadpanned.
"I thought we were trying to resolve this without a firefight on the Citadel. Under the radar, remember?" I pointed out.
"Who said anything about guns?"
I grinned at her.
Shepard and I settled in to wait at the taxi stand, and Patriarch ambled off to make the connection after being patched into our comms to signal when he was ready. Shepard brought up the video from Patriarch's suit and kept an eye on it. Neither of us mentioned how we were going to be able to tell if the person who showed was actually Fade or not.
"So, uh…" My eyes darted to Shepard, who was biting her lip. "Why did you never mention Sidonis?" Shepard asked. "I mean, before now. You were just so tight lipped about it all."
"What was there to talk about?" I snapped, and Shepard's eyes widened. "I'm getting revenge for the deaths of my team because I trusted the wrong person. End of story."
"You were betrayed, Garrus. It's not the same thing. It isn't your fault," Shepard argued.
"I was in charge. Of course it's my fault," I growled, staring at her. "We can't all be you, Shepard."
I was surprised at the bitterness in my own voice, had never considered that I might be slightly jealous of what Shepard had accomplished. But the words came out anyway because I'd killed my entire team while Shepard was gone. I'd had the opportunity to make a difference on my own, and instead...my mandibles flexed in distress.
"What you're forgetting is the number of lives you saved before Sidonis. Your men knew what they were getting into, and I'm sure they were proud of all that you managed to do. And, remember, I've killed—and gotten killed—more people than I can count at this point. More than just ten people, I assure you. But I sleep at night because the number of people I've saved outnumbers those I've killed. Bloody arithmetic, Garrus. You taught me that," Shepard said.
Silence filled the gap between us until I sighed.
"Was that supposed to make me feel better?" I asked.
"Did it?"
I levelled my eyes at her. "I don't know. I don't think so. It wasn't one of your more inspiring speeches."
Shepard gave a sad smile and then her head cocked to the side as we both caught something on the comms. She looked up at me. "Think this is our guy?"
The next hour passed in a blur. Fade turned out to be Harkin, an old washout from C-Sec that I'd never liked. He was a deadbeat, a crook. He was exactly the kind of person who would run a small-time forgery business—small enough that the offer from Patriarch was high enough to agree to a personal appearance.
Most importantly, Harkin was weak. He broke with mild physical violence and a threat to break his spine. I pushed a little too hard with my foot on his neck, and one hand drifted to the gun at my hip to kill him. One shot and no one would have to deal with him ever again. That's what Archangel was for, after all: to kill criminals. So why shouldn't I do it?
Yet, something about having Shepard there, though she'd made no moves to restrain me, stilled my hand. I thought darkly of all the criminals that had been removed by that same hand in Shepard's absence and couldn't decide if I was grateful or resentful of her influence.
I was still trying to decide an hour later when Shepard and I sat up in the maintenance rafters of a Citadel walkway, staring down on Sidonis. Patriarch had parted ways long ago to settle himself on the Citadel for a few days until Aria summoned him back, though I didn't understand why the krogan didn't go establish himself somewhere else. Aria may have kept him like a trophy, she also didn't prevent him from leaving. Yet, Patriarch gave no indication that he wouldn't return when called.
"So…" Shepard trailed off and glaced at me sideways. "You just want to look at him all day? Because I'm assuming at some point he's going to get suspicious and leave."
The crosshairs of my scope laid perfectly over Sidonis' head. All it would take was the pull of the trigger. My vengeance could be deal in a matter of seconds. I just had to move my finger.
"Do you remember Dr. Saleon?" I asked her, sighing and leaning back from my gun.
"Crazy scientist that grew organs inside people to harvest? How could I forget?" Shepard replied.
"Killing him made sense. He was going to continue his experiments," I mused. "Sidonis–" My voice cracked, and I tried to cover with a cough– "is responsible for the deaths of my team. He deserves to die, just like Dr. Saleon."
"Are you trying to convince me? Because this isn't my mission, Garrus" Shepard observed lowly.
"It was easy with Saleon," I said, watching her from the corner of my eye. "It was easy because I didn't give the order. But you've barely said a word today."
"I won't make this decision for you," Shepard asserted, not unkindly.
I stared at her, thinking of the days when she would have gladly taken this call as her own. The gun wouldn't even be in my hands because Shepard would have decided by now whether this mission was right or not. However, the cool, green eyes I looked at now gave away nothing, no hint as to what she wished me to do.
I took a deep breath and said a small prayer to connect with the spirit of my team, the team that now had dwindled down to two people, but where once that prayer made me feel strong, inspired by the fervor of my men to do good, I now felt hollow. Hollow because I couldn't draw inspiration from a team that had long been extinct. Or at least, was soon to be extinct.
I looked through the scope again at Sidonis' face, and I pulled the trigger.
Slowly, I scratched out his name on my rifle, blocking out the sound of startled screams from the crowd below.
"Did it make you feel better?" Shepard asked.
I began to put my equipment away, avoiding her eyes.
"Not even a little bit."
XXX
Miranda
Once my clothes were changed after their encounter with Jack, I double checked the list and itinerary I'd written out for the day and hastened toward the airlock. Joker's eyes shifted to me from the cockpit, widening as I approached the airlock, and the crease between my eyebrows deepened when he hurriedly refocused on the control panel in front of him.
"Access denied," EDI's voice informed me as I pressed a palm to the door controls.
"EDI, open the door," I ordered, frowning.
"Commander Shepard has ordered that you are not to leave the ship," EDI said, her mechanical tone mimicking regret but failing to capture it completely.
"Did the commander specify a reason?" I seethed, fixing my glare on the back of Joker's head. Shepard clearly knew I planned to leave the ship today. We'd spoken about it only this morning. In bed. Together. Where we'd talked over the pillows like waking up next to each other was becoming perfectly natural.
I forced my thoughts away from that line of memory.
"The commander did not specify a reason," EDI said.
"Joker…" I said, my voice neutral as I approached his chair slowly. "You always listen to the comms."
"That doesn't mean–" My sneer snapped into place, and Joker shrank back into his chair with a grimace before he spilled– "Shepard's mother is here. And looking for you, apparently."
"That's hardly news," I replied, irritated, especially when Joker's eyebrows shot up. Why did Shepard think I was keeping our trail hidden? Did she think I was doing it for my own amusement? "Besides, EDI should have hidden our signature from their docking records almost immediately. How did they even find us?"
"That's something to ask the commander," Joker answered, and my eyes flickered back to his face instead of on the frustrated wringing of my hands.
"I'll be having a look at our security," I sighed, turning to leave only to be met by the asari Justicar approaching through the CIC.
"I heard," she said, prefacing any explanation I might have. "We'll make due. With so much of the crew gone, we could simply start your training in your office. It won't require much room."
I hesitated but nodded quickly when I felt Joker's curious eyes burning into the back of my neck. I'd liked the sound of starting my first attempt at reaving far away from the ship, where we would have privacy from any crew, but Samara was correct that most of them had eagerly grabbed at the chance to be off the ship.
I led us back to my room, retracing the steps I'd made just a few short minutes ago. Samara took in the surroundings quietly while her eyes glided over the austere black and white furniture. She turned to me with the barest hint of smile before gesturing forward.
"It's best if we're comfortable," she explained, taking a seat on the couch Grunt usually claimed as his own (so often that there were the beginnings of an imprint where he sat). Samara rotated sideways and crossed her legs on the cushions, watching me expectantly until I mirrored her. I shifted until my legs were pressing atop my ankles softly.
Samara reached out and took my hands, and I tried not to cringe away from her touch. Yet I still flinched, and she noticed (of course she did). Samara smiled kindly and let go.
"This is why I asked you to wait and prepare yourself. In order to connect on a level that would share pain between us, I have to meld deeply with you. I promised I would not go looking at things you don't wish to share, but there is a necessary...intimacy involved in this." Samara stared straight into my eyes, unblinking even when I wished she'd look away, show some sort of vulnerability to the idea of being in my head. "Teaching someone this skill has great meaning, even if you wish to learn only for practicalities' sake."
I swallowed the lump in my throat, clenching down on my teeth. "Humans have learned reaving before. Never has it been treated as something sacred."
"Humans have also killed the targets they were meant to be practicing on. The asari way eliminates those kinds of accidents," Samara explained.
"Because I wouldn't be able to kill you without killing myself," I caught on.
Samara nodded. "You must be certain you wish to proceed," she urged.
"I am," I replied, steeling myself with a deep breath.
Samara nodded again, but this time a wave of uneasiness rippled across the serene surface of her face.
"It has been many years since I was a teacher," she confided, taking my hands once more. The statement was simple, but something about the forced evenness of her voice hinted at a deeper meaning, one I wasn't in a position to press for.
"It's my honor to learn," I said after a beat.
"Then relax," Samara said, swirls of inky blackness beginning to cloud her eyes, "and embrace eternity."
The initial onslaught was too much: four eyes, four ears, two heartbeats, and colors that I didn't know existed. Then I could feel the silent command: close your eyes. I did, and it helped, helped me sink into the calm pool that was Samara's mind wrapping around my own. She felt like warm stone, unyielding and ageless, and her senses blocked out mine until, finally, I seemed to remember how to breathe, locked there in the depths of a person who knew the true meaning of the word stop. Because stop it did; the whole galaxy stopped. A flicker of worry about Shepard and her whereabouts was batted away by Samara with an almost effortless expression of will, and she repeated the feat until my mind was quiet, noticing only the two of us breathing in tandem.
The meld will be more intense as I deepen the connection. Are you ready? Samara asked, the thought drifting across like so many leaves in the wind.
This isn't it? I replied. Samara tamped down my anxiety with a wave of her own reassurance, and I straightened my back at her subtle squeezing of my hands. Any other time, she would never know my emotions, never know how uncertain I felt, but in my own mind...My jaw clenched.
This connection is only deep enough for you to be aware of my presence. Once we are deep enough, you will feel my body as well as your own.
Samara gave me no further warning, submersing me until it felt like falling through a well that had no bottom. Nothing could have prepared me for the breathless, stomach aching sensation of being connected to a second body, to feel like I could move Samara's arms as my own, even when my mind knew that I couldn't.
Soon enough, the blank, black void fell away until I felt grass tickling the skin on the underside of my legs and could smell the cloying sweetness of some fruit on the breeze. I took in the picture being projected by Samara's mind with more than a little hesitation.
Where are we? I asked, 'looking' around at a park filled with mostly asari. There were other species as well, but they were few and far in between and stuck close to the side of their asari partners.
A memory, Samara provided, Thessia. Near the estate of a good friend of mine.
A high pitched shriek sounded nearby, and my, no, Samara's, attention was drawn to two young asari giggling as a third pouted. Samara's pride saturated the memory until I felt the emotion welling up in my own chest.
My daughters, Samara explained. The thought came tinged with sadness, but further explanation was sealed behind the remaining walls of Samara's mind.
Why are you showing this to me? I asked. The sun on my face was hot, and I found myself tilting my chin to catch more of the warmth. It'd been so long since I'd been on the surface of a non-hostile, real planet. Missions and the simulated environments of space stations couldn't compare to this feeling.
Nevermind that it was only the memory of a sun. However, Samara's memory proved remarkably detailed, only blurring once I tried to see too far away. It made me wonder at everything she'd noticed on the Normandy.
I hoped it would make you feel more comfortable.
That isn't necessary, I said.
Not everything needs be by necessity. Samara let her response hang in the space between us until I sighed out a thank you. The majority of the memory fell away and I was acutely aware of the how my hands felt in Samara's. Not the roughness of Samara's palms, but the sensation of my own hands as felt by Samara. It was disorienting.
We will now begin, Samara said, refocusing me. Reach out with your biotics. Search for me. I did, and Samara seemed pleased. Good. Now, it is commonly misunderstood that reaving attacks the nervous system. It does but the nervous system is not what you're reaching for. You will be using mass effect fields on your enemy's circulatory system. By decreasing the mass of their blood volume, you decrease their blood pressure.
But if I decrease the mass of their entire blood volume...they'll simply die. The heart won't be able to pump, oxygen doesn't get to the brain. They'd most likely die of a stroke. I protested, though my mind was whirling with the possibilities. I'd never thought to attack such a basic system directly.
Samara gave a mental shake of her head. You must go slowly and direct the reave where you want it. Start with extremities: arms, legs. The pressure drops only in those areas, and the body works against itself, constricting the blood vessels to try to increase the pressure again. But the vessels can only constrict so far, eventually cutting off blood flow altogether. Without blood flow to the nerves…
Intense pain, I finished for her. It made sense. By acting slowly, there would be more to it than just a stroke. Blood pressure affected everything. The target's heart rate would pick up to try and increase pressure, the blood vessels would constrict, and the body's first response when something was wrong was to signal with pain. Pain in the chest when the heart started to compensate, then pain in the limbs targeted, followed by a massive headache when the brain started to become oxygen deprived. All of this supposing the person didn't pass out first. I could feel Samara agreeing with my conclusions. I can't possibly practice this on you. What about permanent damage?
You will not be holding it long enough to hurt me. But this is also why a meld is safer to practice. If you don't control where the mass effect fields are, you could affect my whole body causing, as you said, death. However, with the meld, we would both pass out should that happen. Your biotics would release, my blood flow would return, and we would both be fine. Samara squeezed my hands in her own. Go ahead and try.
I focused only on Samara's right arm and engaged my biotics, letting them ribbon out until they overlayed her blood vessels before creating the mass effect field. Sweat beaded on my forehead as I struggled to hold it, fighting even as an unpleasant tingling started in my own arm. The pain began as I focused harder: a burning fire down all of my arm that had me biting my lip. I released it with a gasp, panting heavily.
Samara pulled away from the meld slowly before severing it completely, depositing me back in my body in a disorienting heap.
I stared across the couch at her. "What, that's it?"
"We have been in a meld for several hours," Samara replied. "That was excellent for your first attempt, but we should not push your progress. This is not a skill that responds well to overexertion."
My eyebrows furrowed down of their own accord. It was unfathomable: stopping before any real progress had been made. Had she given me the choice, I would have pressed on. I was certain I could have done much more given another chance.
Samara squeezed my hands, still holding them gently in her own without my notice. "You have done enough."
It was a simple enough statement but one that rang true enough to twist sickeningly in my stomach, wondering how much of my thoughts had been available to Samara through the meld. Or perhaps she was simply perceptive, I managed to concede with a small frown. Samara was an asari in her matron stage, after all.
"I didn't realize you two would still be training," Shepard interrupted, preceded by the whirring of the door lock as it yielded before her.
It was a good thing Samara wasn't still privy to my feelings—even though I was fairly certain she could feel the quickening of my pulse through our joined hands—considering the flush that colored my cheeks at the sound of the commander's voice. I didn't cherish the thought of someone in the crew knowing just how flustered one mess of a woman made me, and I didn't turn to face Shepard until I was certain my face was back to its normal color.
"We had just finished," Samara said, raising from the couch and giving me a small smile. "I'll be taking my leave."
"Thank you," I remembered before she disappeared through the door. Samara gave a nod in acknowledgement.
"First session go well?" Shepard asked.
Her question was followed by a quirk of a smile as she dropped into the vacancy left by the asari. (A vacancy left in more ways than one. The end of the meld had left me feeling surprisingly open. Empty, even.) Shepard twined her fingers together in her lap and let them rest on the top of her leg, watching me expectantly.
I stared at that simple motion far longer than was necessary, caught in the remembrance of those same fingers fisting in the loose material of my shirt this morning, holding me near. Much as Shepard had been trying to maintain space between us during our new sleeping arrangement, I'd woken up the past three mornings always with some small contact to Shepard: a hand, a knee, her nose buried in the space between my shoulder blades.
I'd been sure to start my mornings early instead of ruminating on how that made me feel. How the very concept of someone being in bed with me and wanting nothing more than a simple touch made me feel.
"Yes," I answered finally. "Not as much as I would have liked, but there was some progress made."
Shepard smirked at me knowingly. "An asari meld is definitely an experience. I'm glad yours wasn't an unpleasant one," she said.
"Not at all. It…" I trailed off, looking for the words. It hadn't been unpleasant, but it wasn't something I would actively search out beyond the purpose of my training. Samara was a strong, soothing presence, but any foreign presence in my mind made me wary. I wasn't used to that kind of vulnerability. "...was useful."
"It also takes a lot out of you, and it's already late. You're tired," Shepard stated. When I opened my mouth to protest—there was still plenty to do. I hadn't planned on the training taking so many hours, after all—she added, "I can see it on your face, Miranda."
I was certain she could see no such thing. I was tired, of course, but it wouldn't show. It definitely wouldn't show once I'd retrieved the coffee I was so used to grabbing at this hour. But then I saw Shepard's eyes slide longingly to the bed behind me, and I wanted to sigh in exasperation. She was tired.
"Considering someone barred me from leaving the ship this morning, I have work still to do double checking the crewmen I was forced to delegate my task list to. I'll be up later," I insisted, already moving to my desk.
If I thought my offhanded comment would spur Shepard to elaborate on why a visit from her mother required my quarantine to the ship, I was wrong. Instead, Shepard just frowned at me before walking to my bed, kicking off her shoes and pants as she went before pulling back the covers.
"Shepard, I thought we'd agreed–"
"–I can sneak back to my cabin in the morning, just like you've done the past three days. Except maybe this way, you'll actually come to bed faster," Shepard grumbled, burrowing into the covers. My stomach swooped low at the offhanded, innocent comment, even more at the sound of bare legs sliding across my sheets.
I focused on my computer instead, but the first notification in my inbox had me frowning back at the commander again. Shepard had now perched a datapad on her chest, the light shining on the half of her face that was above the covers, and her eyes danced quickly across the lines. Her eyes moved to me once when she realized I was looking, then darted away again.
My lips thinned as I pushed a sigh through my nose, turning back around. Instead of being bothered by what she was reading, I checked inventory and filed a report for our stop on the Citadel with an attached estimate of how long our stay would be. Instead of thinking about how I could hear her swallow in the quiet of the room, I drew up the budget for the next week, using the previous week as a baseline and comparing it to last month's expenses with adjusted values for added crewmembers to ensure accuracy.
Then, instead of concentrating on the way Shepard had been biting her lip the last time I'd chanced a look behind me, I quickly vetted the ground crew's emails. I hadn't had cause to withhold any messages as of yet, but it did give me valuable insight. Like that someone had found a way to contact Jack, but she hadn't replied to them. Or the revelation about Garrus' mother. That one had been surprisingly difficult to send on, almost as if I were getting attached to these people. However, I shoved that notion straight from my mind, continuing in spite of the gaze I felt hot on the back of my neck until, finally, I could justify standing from my desk and preparing for bed.
"What is it?" I asked eventually, secured on my side of the bed. I looked across at Shepard, her drooping eyes still stubbornly glued to what she was reading. "You opened my dossier, and you've been staring."
Shepard's lips thinned, but it didn't stop the color that flooded onto her cheeks. "Something my mother said has been bothering me," Shepard said, voice soft but strong in the dim lamplight that had flickered on once the overheads had been switched off. "Miranda, what exactly is your position in Cerberus?"
"I've explained this already," I said with a frown. "We don't have the kind of hierarchy that you're used to. There are multiple cells and, above that, the Illusive Man. Granted there are a handful of intermediaries between the cells and the Illusive Man, but their position is mostly administrative, and they're kept under lock and key. One man can't read everything required to run an organization that large."
"No, I understand that. But what if the Illusive Man were to die today? Who would run Cerberus?" Shepard asked, more insistent this time.
My heart gave an uneven flop in my chest.
"That's what I thought," Shepard continued in my silence. "Which begs the questions of why the Illusive Man wouldn't fill in his successor on all of Cerberus' operations?"
"I haven't been lying," I asserted. "There are certain things that only the Illusive Man has access to, no matter my relation to the organization. I've told you this before."
"But could you have stopped it?" Shepard's eyes locked onto mine, brimming with anxious light.
"Could I have stopped what?" I asked.
"Any of it: Akuze, Elise—I finally opened that file too—the experiments on husks, or the ones with Thorian creepers?"
Shepard's breathing had quickened now, waiting for my answer.
"No," I stated, and if a small amount of annoyance seeped into my voice, well it wasn't completely unwarranted. "If you opened Elise's file, then you know my name is nowhere in it. Nor would you find it on any of those other operations."
The silence was tense between us. Shepard's hands were bunched in the blankets as she kept her gaze on me, and it was the way she bit her lip that told me she didn't completely believe me.
"Shepard, I've been telling you the truth. I never even knew some of those existed until recently. The ones I did...I believed the Illusive Man when he told me to clean up the cell because they'd disobeyed orders. And that was still after the fact. The rest were carefully hidden," I answered.
"I was afraid to open it." Shepard confessed into the space between us, then clarified, "Elise's file. I was terrified you were involved. I didn't want you to be. Didn't want to go back to hating you."
Maybe it was because Shepard had offered up a confession of her own, left just one small piece of herself vulnerable, that prompted me to do the same. Perhaps it was because it was easier to whisper hidden thoughts over pillows than speak them over desks.
"I'm starting to believe the Illusive Man hid certain things from me on purpose. This mission, and the revelations that come with it, are starting to feel like a test," I murmured.
"And are you passing or failing?" Shepard asked, turning so she was on her side and fully facing me.
"I think I might be failing," I almost whispered, the epiphany strange to my own ears.
Shepard's only response was to slide her hand under the sheets to hold mine, a low hum sounding in her throat. Her thumb brushed over my knuckles, and a shiver went through me that I hoped Shepard didn't notice. Then my eye caught a familiar face smiling back at me from the datapad Shepard had set aside. I reached to grab it before she could put it away.
The headline 'The Elusive Lawson Heiress' was in bold across the top. There was a picture posted underneath. It was of my first presentation to the public during Lawson Pharmaceuticals 75th Annual Gala, just after my fifteenth birthday. (It was the first time I'd ever felt safe because once everyone knew I existed, it would be much harder to dispose of me should my father wish to restart).
I stared over at Shepard, whose cheeks were coloring. "How did you find this?"
"Liara may have sent some files over after Illium. On everyone. But mostly you," Shepard admitted. "You barely look like the same person."
She was right, of course. My teenage self was wearing deep blue silk and dripping in a tasteful amount of diamonds at my ears and around my neck. A matching bracelet shimmered at my wrist, a beautiful contrast to my dress as that hand held the cloth of the garment up, just the smallest amount, to avoid tripping as I descended the stairs. I was smiling, and Niket held my arm, his own smile noticeably more uncomfortable.
"This was long ago. I'm no heiress now," I pointed out.
"Liara included an extensive list of charities that you donate to, as well as their amounts. It's not really my business, but there's no way Cerberus pays you that well," Shepard replied.
"Fine. I stole a large portion of my father's money when I left with Oriana. I invested it, and it makes excellent returns," I said in a clipped voice. "And the charitable donations are simply useful tax deductions."
"I didn't realize terrorists paid taxes," Shepard quipped.
The comment grated on my nerves, rubbed them raw until my mouth had twisted into a snarl and I was sitting up in the bed and swinging my legs over the side. I glared out of the window, festering anger welling in my chest.
"I wish you would stop doing that," I snapped.
"Doing what?" Shepard asked, straightening behind me. I felt more than saw her come close behind me.
"I don't pin all of the Alliance's misdeeds on you, but you pin everything Cerberus has done on me." Shepard stared, wide eyed, at my outburst, but the words kept coming anyway. "I am not a terrorist, Shepard. I am not Cerberus," I growled, the anger flowing up to heat my cheeks until I paled at the realization of what I'd just said.
"But you do work for a terrorist organization," Shepard barrelled on. "Just because I think more of you than anyone else in Cerberus, doesn't mean I don't know you're capable of doing some of those horrible things. You and I both know that if you thought the cause was great enough, you wouldn't hesitate."
"Like you haven't done horrible things? Did you know that half of the Zhu's Hope colonists died from medical complications after you left Feros without looking back? Still, that's not counting the ones who never lived past your firefight through the colony, though, perhaps, they're the lucky ones," I bit out, regretting it only once the words had passed my lips and dealt the blow that was sprouting horror on Shepard's face. All because the one thing I could think of in that moment was to inflict pain, to hurt her as much as her words had been hurting me. "You of all people should recognize that we are more than the organizations we work for. Look at you: working for Cerberus even as you condemn it."
"I do not work for Cerberus," Shepard growled. She was out of the bed now too, glaring at me as we stared each other down.
I looked around pointedly, eyes stopping on the Cerberus logos decorated liberally throughout my room and office.
"Yes," I enunciated slowly, letting every syllable land with perfect precision. "You do."
A muscle in Shepard's face twitched as she worked her jaw, and red light began to peek out behind the green of her eyes as her cybernetics reacted. She stepped closer, pushing into my space in a way that would have been intimidating until I heard her breath catch in her throat when I tipped my chin up and looked down to meet her glare. Her eyes roved my face, pupils large. I wasn't imagining when they flickered, just briefly, to my lips.
"That doesn't mean I have to," Shepard muttered, jerking her face away and letting her eyes slide to the floor.
Shepard turned on her heel and walked heavily from the room, and I lowered myself to sit on the bed, staring at the closed door as a weight settled into my stomach. I doubted it would open again tonight.
Here we are again. I hope you all liked the latest chapter! First off, for those of you who are disappointed that Garrus' loyalty mission is so short, don't worry. I have plans for him. I just don't think Garrus' biggest problem would be the loyalty mission itself; I see him having major issues with accepting his decision and finally letting himself notice that his team is completely gone (notice that his team and what happened hasn't come up in his POV very often? Because he was purposefully not thinking about it. That changes now). What do you think? Agree or not?
As for Miranda's section, I did my best to research to make my explanation for reaving believable. However, I am not versed in medical anything so it still probably isn't accurate. I was trying to give background to an ability that wasn't explained very well, especially since biotics are supposed to be manipulating mass, not somehow magically causing pain and giving health back. Did you like Miranda's first session with Samara? What about her fight with Shepard at the end? Girl has some pretty bad timing.
(Also, I did decide to go ahead and put Tali/Garrus in the fic. However, it will be a more of a pre-relationship. I like the idea of building them up to ME3).
Thanks for reading, and I love hearing from all of you. Reviews make a stressed writer smile!