"Releasing control... "
"Commander," the comm channel crackled. Shepard bolted upright, reaching for the familiar feel of her sheets. Sweat laced her brow, her body warm and uncomfortable underneath the formal Cerberus uniform. The Commander glanced about nervously, wiping at her forehead with the sleeve of her coat. She had forgotten she was sleeping in the portside observatory, given the unexpected damage report she received earlier.
"We're coming in on Omega, thought you might want to know," Joker's voice continued on the line.
"Thank you Joker, I'll be right up." She had boarded the elevator after her little chat with Garrus. Shepard had jabbed at the controls with one finger, fidgeting impatiently. "All access to the Captain's Quarters has been restricted," she was informed by EDI. "Severe impact fractures have resulted in a depressurization risk." Apparently, the protective shielding had activated a moment too late and a loose, high-velocity ship fragment, hurtling about through space, had slipped in at the correct moment. The shielding had sealed off the room, but not before the debris had fragmented the glass. It didn't take much for the constant jostling of their crash landing to fully shatter the pane, blanketing shards throughout the room.
Naturally, all the other spaces aboard the Normandy were otherwise occupied, and so, the Commander found herself dragging her carcass down to the closest thing to a resting spot. She'd ended up slinking her way through the hallway, loathe to let the turian see she had erred. Of course, Shepard had merely turned herself into an idiot; the turian had retreated to the forward battery, replaced by two ensigns with cups of coffee. The looks they had given her, as if seriously questioning her sanity, made her wish the ground would have just opened up and swallowed her whole there and then.
She couldn't recall falling asleep. Then again, watching the aurora of the FTL drive did not differ much from watching paint dry. There was no surprise she had nodded off. It didn't take long before her over-imaginative mind had proceeded to invent delirious nonsense about canal racing Saren in a macaroni ship on Tuchanka. It had taken an even shorter time for the dream to turn dark and insidious; the morbid images had crawled into her dreams like parasites. There truly was no respite.
Regardless of the hours that had passed since the injury occurred, Shepard's ankle still felt sore as she worked it into her boot, bandage and all. Her bio-suit was damaged beyond repair – a shame, given that it was an N7 commissioned garment. She tugged on the collar of its replacement, a standard model pinned at the neck with a Cerberus logo clasp. Shepard was loath to admit that even the cheapest of Cerberus garments held a luxury to them. The material was smooth against her skin, neither tugging uncomfortably, nor too loose. 'For once I find a reason to provide the bastards with a compliment.'
The Commander steadied herself against the cold armoury table, taking one last moment to breathe a sigh of dread. The cup of coffee next to her hip had long since gone cold. She eyed it with apprehension, swatting the leftover drink further away. The cup slid across the table with an audible rasp. 'Lazy,' she thought to herself, feeling a mild tinge of guilt at leaving her mess in someone else's space. 'I'll deal with it later; and Jacob.'
There was no splendour in her trek to the bridge. Exposed wiring protruded from the ceiling, large, thick cables as wide as her arm littering the floors of the CIC. Most had simply come undone from the brackets that held them in place, but there were numerous lines that were severed brutally, the shielding jagged and torn. She spotted a piece of the outer hull lying on the ground, lodged against the side of the research lab. The Commander watched the shimmering motes of dust crackle as they hit the kinetic barrier; a simple field separated her and the vast space on the other side.
Fear rose up in her, shivers running down her spine. Shepard managed to pry her green eyes away, arms folding carefully behind her back. Her fingers clasped together, the picture of military discipline. She couldn't ignore the snide remarks her mind was throwing at her all throughout her walk along the bridge to the helm.
Chicken, the voices had concluded, harassing her until she stood behind her helmsman, EDI's cold, emotionless voice driving her own chills away.
"Some measure of finesse would be appreciated, Jeff. I don't appreciate being handled like a toy truck."
"Yes, mom. Quit worrying." Joker's arrogance brought a smirk to Shepard's lips. Hell, he had every right to each and every ego-stroking sentence that he lavished upon himself. He was a damn good pilot and he had demonstrated it time and time again. Their approach to Omega was something of little comparison given the more 'illustrious' moments of his career, despite their lack of one engine burner, damaged in the crash. While it served to skew the Normandy's balance considerably, the ship had no difficulty navigating the asteroid field blanketing Omega's outskirts under Joker's deft touch.
Regardless, Shepard found it interesting that the dynamics between pilot and AI had developed to such an extent. Symbiosis, she recalled EDI stating matter-of-factly. More so, the AI had taken to referring to the Normandy as Shepard would to her own body. It was most intriguing, admittedly, yet somehow disconcerting at the same time. The Geth served as a sound warning.
"On approach," Joker chattered. "All up to you from now, EDI."
The list of tasks to accomplish was being formulated in Shepard's mind as she watched the station loom ever closer in the viewscreen. Repairs were at the top of the list, yet virtually impossible until she secured some means of labour and a material supplier. There was no way the Normandy would be refitted completely while in dock on Omega. It wasn't that Shepard did not believe she could find the necessary materials – she had an amazing talent for getting her way with a little sound persuasion. She simply did not trust the delicacy required in bringing the Normandy to operational status to some two-faced contractor with a gang-banging load of screwballs garnered off the street. And that was putting it nicely, she realized.
She sorely regretted not being able to get to Ilium from the start, but with their current hull integrity, maintaining the FTL drive and the numerous mass effect fields to seal breaches would overload their core. Even now, with only the trip through the Omega 4 relay and the short distance to Omega itself, she estimated the discharge time* would require hours.
"EDI, keep me updated on how the Normandy fares once we dock," Shepard spoke at length, one finger stroking the bridge of her nose. She realized she had been lost in thought. They were already on approach for the hanger. "Also, inform Miranda and Mordin that they are to come ashore with me."
"Acknowledged. Logging you out, Shepard."
Omega hadn't changed. What a surprise.
It was the same, backwater filth that Shepard had come to know. Everything about it, from the foul odours, like rancid sewer refuse, to the chilling, violent atmosphere, reminded her of the first time she had disembarked upon the station. Voices filtered down the hall toward her; two batarians were arguing loudly with a turian. 'Barefaced,' Shepard remarked, noting the lack of paint marking the turian's plated features. Garrus's visage popped into mind, the elegant tracery of blues against the paler scales of his thick hide. The thought seemed inappropriate to dwell upon, Shepard construed. Garrus was nothing more than an associate and a good friend. She was positive he would not appreciate such nonsensical fantasies about the loveliness of his skin colour.
'Wait what! No I meant, I –'
Shepard groaned. Somehow, her mind had managed to turn an innocent thought into sexual speculation. "Perverted," a quarian remarked to her friend. "I swear all humans are." Perhaps there was some truth to the memory. She seemed to be able to integrate some lewd aspect into most of everything that drifted through her mind. For example, the fact that Miranda and Mordin were late.
She thanked every single deity she knew that they weren't there in that instant to remark on the look of sheer disgust that dominated her expression. Surely, Mordin would not be so rash as to have anything to do with Miranda! 'You're overreacting again, Shepard.' If screaming at oneself wasn't regarded as a sign of insanity, Shepard would most definitely be engaging in such a pastime. 'You're jumping to conclusions based on a ridiculous concept cooked up in your tired brain. Though Miranda can be quite the tease when it comes to men.'
"Shepard, you look rather ill."
The Commander wheeled about, unaware of when the former Cerberus operative had arrived, nor how long she had been standing there. Thankfully, internal conflicts did not show up very well in her physical features. More gods were praised for the icy demeanour that military discipline allowed her to tap into. 'At this rate, I'm going to be religious before the day ends.'
"Where's Mordin?" It had taken her distracted mind to register that the figure standing next to Miranda was not the salarian scientist, but the tall, imposing frame of Garrus Vakarian. Surely that glimmer in his eyes was not a sense of hurt, was it? The flood of guilt returned, like that stale coffee that she was sure was still on Jacob's desk. Garrus had been with her on every single mission since they had first joined forces against Saren. Not once had the turian been left behind; it had become tradition. A pair, inseparable, a force to be reckoned with. Shepard wasn't sure why she hadn't asked EDI to notify him.
No, she knew.
Since their talk, the thought of Garrus made Shepard uncomfortable. To think that someone cared for her, even minutely, brought emotional complications that she was unsure of how to handle. 'He's a friend,' she had insisted to herself over and over on the pointless elevator ride up from her temporary quarters. 'There's nothing to worry about. Not like with Alenko.'
Was she afraid of her emotions? Afraid of getting close to someone, only to have to lose them in this messed up galaxy they lived in? Her eyes darted to Garrus's own again, remarking the nonchalant shrug in his broad shoulders, the half-hearted turian equivalent of a smirk on his face. "Dr. Solus was indisposed. I do believe he partook in some celebrating with Dr. Chakwas and her bottle of brandy. If you would Commander, I will accompany you in his stead."
There was an inkling of disgust in his voice. Was he lying? No, turians did not lie. Such strong honour would prevent them from that. Lying by omission then, she was convinced, especially given that tone just now. For the sake of preventing an argument, she acquiesced to his unspoken demand.
"If you're done staring at one another," Miranda chose to gripe. "We're here to get a job done?"
"In due time," Shepard grumbled.