This story has been kicking me in the stomach for the last few months. I'm completely stuck in a rut, no lie. I know what I want to happen, it's just that the next few chapters are all jumbled up in my mind (and on the page). The new DLC forced me to rewind and re-evaluate what I wanted where. Even posting this, I looked at the next two chapters (both written) and was still switching them back and forth. Oh well, I hope that you enjoy this chapter! Finally (a little bit of) some action!

Chapter Ten: Shards of Desire, Spikes of Regret

Dahlia,

It seems really strange to think "I knew it" about something like this, but, well, I did. I never passed it on, never mentioned it in my medical reports. I was Shepard's physician for years. After joining Cerberus, she had me do a full physical. The birthing process leaves marks that can't be erased, marks that can't be caused by anything else. I tentatively broached the subject with her. She answered, "That girl who had a baby, she doesn't exist anymore."

I thought it prudent not to pursue the line of questioning.

There are many things I could tell you about Shepard. How she had a knack for getting herself in the worst possible positions. How she came into my infirmary more times than I can count with bullet holes, knife wounds, burns. How whenever we drank, she held her booze in a way that would make a krogan jealous. She made the Normandy a home, and we all felt it terribly after she'd gone.

I've worked with many soldiers over the years, but there will never be another Commander Shepard. I think that's all I can say.

I wish you all the best,

Dr. Karin Chakwas

o-o-o

James and Estaban were sitting near the procurement console when they elevator opened up. He'd been giving Estaban a hard time, since the other guy clearly didn't know how to hold his tequila, and really, what sort of soldier didn't? James knew it wasn't really healthy. He'd been drinking with Alenko – now officially dubbed Whiskey, in James' head if not aloud – a few nights ago, and since then, there'd been a little pick me up every night.

It wasn't that Shepard was hurt – okay, fuck, yeah, it was, happy? But the memory of her blood all over him had combined with the memories of his squad dying, of their blood, in the dreams of that first night and he'd needed something to push thoughts of both away.

So that's why, when he saw Shepard moving gingerly out of the elevator, he stood up and without even thinking said, "What the fuck are you doing, Lola?"

And man, the glare he got in return should've made him want to wrinkle up and die, but he was onto her. She wasn't really mad, she just wanted him to leave her the hell alone so she could continue on with her crazy fucking antics. Well, that sure wasn't going to happen. He could tell from the way she was walking that she was not fine, so he crossed the bay and tried to lace his arm under her pits to hold her up.

She snarled, backing away and nearly falling over in the process. Now she was mad, and as she took a few steps away from him, he found that he was too.

"You should be in bed," he said, "resting like Stitches said."

"Can't," she said with a firm shake of her head. "There's too much work to do."

"Let someone else deal with it for today," said James, his hands coming to rest on his hips.

"There is no one else," snapped Shepard, before rubbing her temples. Even that made her wince. James could see the strain around her eyes, and he knew damn well that if it were anyone but her that was injured, she'd be making them rest instead of making it ten times worse. Hell, when Whiskey got that scratch on his side – no, not even a scratch, a nick – she pretty much handcuffed him to the medbay despite the fact that flimsy metal cuffs were little use against someone who could smash shit with his mind.

He suddenly hated the whole fucking galaxy. It could all burn as far as he was concerned. It was this damn war, and all the bastards in it, who were making Shepard this reckless.

From the reports, she'd always been reckless but she'd never been stupid. This… this was stupid.

He saw blood dotting her Alliance blues and that only confirmed it. "Jesus, Shepard, you're bleeding," he said, with a gesture. "If we don't bring you back up, Stitches is going to go berserk."

But still she shook her head, even as she looked down at the blood seeping through her fatigues. When her fingers came away red from that spot, her hand shook slightly. She gripped at James' forearm, even though her hands were tinier than you'd expect and didn't even come close to circling. "You need to patch me up and then you need to get prepped for a mission."

James was torn between picking her up and shaking her, or ripping the console from its position and hurling it at something. It was one thing to continue shooting in a warzone when it was all about survival. It was quite another to go out injured, looking for a fight. He should know. He'd done both, and from personal experience, the latter always ended fucking badly.

"Shepard," he said, and he had no idea what he was going to say beyond that.

Turned out, he didn't have to say anything, because she held up her hand to cut him off. She was determined, and grim and was that – was that anxiety? She took a deep breath. "It's the Rachni, James. Wrex had reports of them near the Perseus Veil. And you remember what we saw on Tuchanka? The bug thing?"

Boy, did he. That thing was disgusting and a half. Not only was it a giant ass bug itself, but then you shot the wrong part and, boom! Fucking Reaper-ized spiders crawling up your leg. Bugs didn't usually bother him – he usually liked playing the part of the big man and squashing those fearsome spiders with the palm of his hand – but man, freaky cyborg bugs were another thing entirely.

So yeah, Rachni wandering around was sort of a big deal – but that didn't mean that Shepard was the one who had to deal with it. She wasn't babysitter to the whole galaxy.

"Reapers," he deadpanned, crossing his arms. "It's like you've got the opposite of a horseshoe up your ass, Lola."

"Trust me, I don't like it either," she muttered. There was this moment where she opened her mouth, but she snapped it shut and he wondered what she'd been about to say. "But they're my responsibility. I have to deal with them."

"Why?"

Oh, there was that frown of hers again. She really didn't like to be questioned did she? Well, too damned bad. James was getting sick of it. She hefted up her hand as though to lecture him but she lilted left instead. He caught her and steadied her, and he didn't have to pretend to be concerned, it was true. He couldn't he lp himself from running the pads of this thumbs over her bare skin.

"Fuck this," he snapped. "Not everything in the galaxy is your concern, Shepard."

Shepard glared up at him. "Are you going to mend me or am I going to drop onto Utukku already bleeding?"

They stared at each other, and James wondered which of the two of them was more stubborn. Usually, it was hands down him. He'd never met anyone as pig headed as himself before, but now there was Shepard, and she was bringing stubborn into the territory of suicidal.

"I don't like this," he said, dropping his voice.

"You don't have to, James," said Shepard, but she flinched first, dropping her gaze. "Just patch me the hell up so I can get out there and do what I do best."

He knew this was a bad idea. Jesus, you'd have to have only one brain cell between your ears to think this was a good idea. But if he didn't do it, he didn't doubt that she'd do exactly as she threatened. After all, who else could she coerce into doing her bidding like this? Not Scars – he'd totally call her on her bullshit and wouldn't budge an inch. Not Doc – she would flat out refuse and still make it seem like it was Shepard's own idea. Definitely not Major Whiskey, who'd probably turn on that concerned expression that probably got a whole slew of women some wet panties. No, he was the only schmuck she'd come to. And if she didn't get help, and she couldn't go to anyone else, he was becoming increasingly aware that she might take on the whole damn mission herself.

Honestly, he didn't know how he felt about that.

"Please," she said, and something in the way she said it, small and quiet like a child afraid of the dark, it broke his resolve.

He tightened his hands on her arms. "On one condition."

"What's that?"

"You gotta live long enough to show me these terrible dance moves of yours."

Her eyes fluttered shut and her lips curved upwards. One of her hands moved to James' arm again, softer this time, holding it to her shoulder. "I promise," she breathed, giving his arm a squeeze.

His heart was beating like a woodpecker in the morning. James cleared his throat, nodding to himself too many times, unable to say anything when she looked at him, his voice clogged. To pretend at casual, he put his hand in the small of her back – like he had the time she wore that dress, and oh god the sight of her bare legs and her tiny waist were enough to – and led her to his work area, peering around suspiciously to see if anyone was paying attention. Most people weren't around, except for Estaban, but he'd carefully extricated himself from the situation.

Shepard pulled her shirt over her head, and pulled a tightly bound bandage and gauze from her pocket. James gave her a look, but she just shrugged and held it out to him and shrugged. She tried to pull her shirt off but her whole body contorted with pain. Something stretched long between them as James' hands descended down to the lip of her shirt, pulling it upwards. He would swear to anyone to who asked, then or later, that he really didn't mean for his fingers to skitter across her bare flesh, but once her breath came in a sharp gasp, he wasn't sorry – especially since it wasn't pain he saw on her face then.

Her words from Arrae came back to him, but he shoved that away for now. Shepard lifted her arms up and he pulled her top off so she stood before him in her sports bra. Blood soaked through her bandages, and James used a knife from his workbench to cut them off. She'd torn open her stitches, and while the wound wasn't big, the jagged edges of her flesh hadn't knitted together yet. A hiss escaped him before he could stop it. She quirked her lips at him and moved over to the bench, making as if to hoist herself up.

James beat her to it, picking her up and setting her down as gently as he could. He couldn't meet her gaze as he unrolled the gauze. "Should we stitch it back up?" he asked.

"Nah. Slap on some medigel and a bandage and it should hold."

He could feel her eyes on him, but he kept his eyes on his work. He put a square of the gauze on her wound and began to wind the bandage around her shoulder and around her torso, his fingers large and awkward. It was way more personal than it should've been, and he didn't know why. Something was different, something he couldn't name. Something had shifted, something that couldn't be put back and, if it meant what he thought it meant (what he hoped it meant), he didn't want it to. Still, he felt like he was confronted with his first crush again, all elbows and vowels and awkward feelings.

When he finished, he inspected his handiwork. It wasn't pretty, but it would do. He nodded, once. "You're taking me with you so I can guard your crippled body, right Lola?"

Her expression made her look like she'd been sucking on limes. "You were on the roster to come, but not to get yourself killed protecting me."

James shrugged and scratched at his cheek. "There are worse reasons to die." He swivelled his eyes to look at her again, finally. "This is really fucking stupid, Shepard."

She sighed and leaned back gingerly. "I know."

He placed one hand on either side of her thighs. "Then why are you doing it? You're the best damn soldier I know."

Her bottom lip disappeared between her teeth, and she worried at it while her eyes turned upwards. He waited, and still she said nothing. Something fiery hot sparked inside him, pinwheeling through his veins.

"I deserve to know why you're endangering yourself and the mission," he said, pulling the soldier card. She might doubt it, but he still remembered her little bit about backing off their… well, whatever the fuck this was. If she wanted to tango, he had a nice pair of dancing shoes, thanks.

"I let them live," she said finally. At his confused expression she took a deep breath and clarified: "The rachni. We discovered a queen on Noveria years ago, and I let the queen go."

Now, James had seen Shepard be ruthlessly efficient. Udina's headless corpse could attest to that. She tried to find a peaceful solution, sure, but if there wasn't one, if the risks outweighed the benefits, too bad. So to hear that she'd confronted a species that nearly overran the galaxy and then let the queen go, that rocked his world a little bit. If it had been him, he'd have riddled that sucker so full of holes, it would look like swiss cheese. Only, you know, not, because swiss cheese doesn't look like insects and…

Whatever. Not the point.

"You encountered the queen of a homicidal race and you.. let her go?" he said, and couldn't help the judgemental way it was said. He couldn't even feel bad about it.

Shepard frowned up at the ceiling. "It was right after I found Toombs. These people, they'd been doing experiments on her – the queen, I mean. They took her children away and made them into monsters. I mean, they were no pin-up models to begin with, but still." She made a helpless gesture. "And who was I to judge her? She hadn't killed anybody. How could I condemn her for that?"

He could see what she was saying, though he was sure she couldn't guess that. This was another of those things where she said one thing and meant another. He was getting to be a real pro at picking them out, even if deciphering them was way ahead of his pay grade. Maybe that was the reason the Reapers always seemed to be a step behind Shepard – she was just too unwieldy, too unpredictable to calculate. Yeah, that must be it.

"Still, Shepard," said James, and because he couldn't find the words he wanted, he just added, "Jesus."

"I know," she said, and he was startled to hear she seemed close to tears. "I fucked up. I let her live, and who knows what damage I may have caused? The Rachni were dangerous before the Reapers got to them, and…"

"Hey, hey," said James, running a hand up her arm and god were her arms soft. Usually, she kept herself together, but something… something was off with her today. "We'll go and deal with it. If it wasn't the rachni, it would be something else, yeah?"

Shepard nodded, and turned her eyes on him, a small smile playing on her lips. "Seems like you can't get rid of me. You're going to be listening to my problems until the day I die at this rate."

"I can think of worse things," he said, the words falling from his lips. He waited for that overwhelming feeling of embarrassment, of anxiety, but it didn't come. Sure, his throat felt like it was lined in sandpaper and his heart was banging against his chest like it was trying to break free, but he couldn't regret what he said.

And the surprise that coloured her face was so real, was so unexpected. He could see the whites of her eyes, and her mouth was drawn into a small O. It only lasted half a second, before she bottled it all up and made herself force a laugh – James could tell because it was way too cheerful.

"You don't mean that," she accused him, putting her hands on his shoulders and shuffling forward on the workbench, her feet twitching to get back on the ground.

That was when James did hands down the bravest thing he'd ever done. He cupped her cheek, his thumb stroking tracing her cheekbones. "What if I do?" he said.

"James," she breathed, putting her hand over his but not moving his away, which was a good thing, right? But she wasn't going to let it lie forever, knowing her, so he did the only thing he could think of to shut her up before she ruined whatever moment they were having.

He kissed her.

It lasted only a second before it was broken. She pulled away, and he'd never seen her eyes so wild. She was like some feral animal that had been cornered. She put both her hands flat on his chest and pushed him away, sliding off the workbench and wrapping her arms around herself, back to him. His stomach sank down to his toes. On a scale of one to ten of fantastic reactions, this was fucking terrible.

"Belay that order about going out into the field," she said, her voice steady. "I'll take Kaidan instead. He was on Noveria the first time. He'll have a better idea of how to deal with rachni."

He decided to be cautious. "Shepard…"

"Make sure my Mantis is prepped, Lieutenant." She picked up her shirt, stained as it was, and put it on, skirting out of his reach when he tried to help her, despite the obvious pain it caused her.

"If you're not taking me, you should at least tell someone you're still badly injured," he said, angry at everything. Angry at himself, angry at her, angry at those Cerberus fuckers who managed to get a shot on her, angry at the rachni who couldn't manage to stay dead. He added one last shot too, because when he got pissed off, that's what he did. "That hole will be a liability in the field."

She clenched up so tight he swore he could hear her shoulder blades clack together. Her hands bunched at her sides, and she said, "I'll take it under advisement."

The second she left the cargo bay, he slammed his fist down on his workbench hard enough to draw blood. Now, now it didn't even fucking matter if he was transferred or court martialed or any fucking thing. What got him the most was that she was pissed, and if those things happened, yeah, it would suck to leave the Normandy, but more importantly, it would kill him to leave Shepard, especially since she was veering dangerously close to the edge and nobody seemed to notice but him.

He drummed his fingers along the edge of his workbench and considered. With a frown, he all but sprinted up to the elevator and rode it to the crew deck. Stitches was in her lab, looking at something through her microscope. She smiled at him he entered, but the smile slid slowly from her face when she saw something on his face.

"Shepard's going on a mission injured," he spilled, and he couldn't stop himself from pacing back and forth. "I tried to patch her up as best I could when she wouldn't come to you, but…"

Stitches sighed and stood, pressing the back of her hand to her mouth. Her other hand rested on her hip. "I know," she said.

Wait, did he hear that right? James stopped pacing and stood in front of the doctor. "What?"

She raised a weary eyebrow at him. "Do you really think I don't keep tabs on my patients, James? I knew where we were headed and I had EDI monitoring her condition."

"Then why the hell didn't you stop her? Why didn't you demand she come back here and lay her ass down and get better?" James felt like all the blood vessels in his head were about to pop. Surely, if anyone were going to be on his side, it would be the damn doctor.

"Do you honestly think she would've listened to me?" replied Stitches with a snap in her voice. "Don't you remember what I said about her becoming defensive whenever anyone tries to look after her? If I'd brought it up, she would've been more determined than ever to head down. To prove that she can take care of herself. I've been with her a long time, James. I know how she operates." She sat down. "But if I could do things like say, supply everyone's medigel replacements with a more potent batch – the sort that would knit flesh together for a good few hours even under duress – she would get her way and I would get the best alternative to keeping her in my medbay for the foreseeable future."

"You mean…?" James stared down at his omni-tool. Damn, but his estimation of the doctor rose by a kajillion points. She should be with like, the secret service. Hell no, Chakwas the Spectre. Chakwas with STG. Something. Her subterfuge skills were being wasted in the medbay.

He thought of Shepard and her wound, and reconsidered.

Stitches smiled. "If she were going to go to anyone, it would be you. You've become rather close these past few months, haven't you?"

Ha, if only she knew. "Yeah," said James quietly. "Something like that."

Next Chapter: Shepard searches for Leviathan, and James' perspectives are challenged.