"Lie still. This is going to take a while."
The med bay felt almost cavernously silent after Garrus' outburst as Shepard now lay listening to nothing more than the hum of the lights and the quiet, precise movements of Dr. Chakwas. Her leg was numb and heavy, although she could still feel the minute movements of the instruments being used to extract the shrapnel from her thigh. Every so often, the digging and prodding stopped, followed by the sound of another fragment joining the others in the bowl.
The twisted greave plate that had sliced into her calf had already been removed; the gash cleaned and sealed with medical adhesive.
Garrus… what the hell had that been? The way he had stormed in and thrown Vega up against the wall had reminded her of the first time she'd him—seen Archangel—on Omega; bleak eyes full of fire. They had so much to talk about now that she didn't even know how she was going to begin. Their paths had diverged, two cracks splintering through a pane of glass, and everything she'd done and not done had only made things worse.
Despite the temptation to close her eyes and lose herself in an antiseptic-scented lull, Shepard stared blankly at the wall. The anesthetic Dr. Chakwas had administered was making her head feel strange, as if she was standing one step outside herself. She traced the seams between the panels with her gaze, anchoring her drifting consciousness to the solidity of the med bay as she studied the slight imperfections in the fit. On the pair of panels closest to the floor, one of the tiny screws on one side didn't match its mate on the other side. One black. One silver.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
Her focus slid to Dr. Chakwas' face. The doctor had paused to look at her with eyes that had always struck Shepard as being too kind, too… accepting.
"No." Her voice was still battle-hoarse, raw and raspy.
"Mmm." Dr. Chakwas didn't comment, merely resumed the meticulous probing through Shepard's shredded tissue.
Her gaze returned to the wall and the existential absurdity of the mismatched screws. She should be thinking about how she was going to explain all of this to Hackett, but all she could think about was the dull throb in her head that was steadily building, the gritty heat burning her eyes, the ache settling into her bones. Shepard counted back the hours since she had last slept, since she'd awoken to the memory of emptiness and stars and jealousy choking the air from her lungs.
Too long.
After her leg was patched up, she would sleep. She was fucking up, getting careless.
This wasn't her.
How had she let things slip, lost control so badly? Planet-side, it had felt so good to have something to fight, a physical outlet for the fury that was tearing her apart with teeth and claws from the inside. It hadn't taken long for her SMG to not be enough. Not when she wanted to see, hear, taste the damage she was causing. Until Vega's grenade, it had been fucking amazing.
They'd scouted out enough to know there were more troops than they'd expected, but it wasn't anything they couldn't have handled. It had been so freeing to race ahead, adrenaline surging as she pushed the limits of her biotic barriers until they hurt—the good kind of hurt, like the dry pull in her lungs after a hard sprint. She'd felt almost invincible, knowing Vega and Liara were behind her—somewhere—but she was free; an unshackled spirit of vengeance.
She hadn't heard Vega call the fucking grenade.
He had called it.
She just knew, with that sixth sense that all soldiers—the good ones, anyway—developed over time. But, the lust for destruction had been thundering too loudly in her ears, pulsing in her blood with a fevered sort of madness.
They had been lucky there'd only been a handful of troops left, all of them soon floating comically in the air until Liara had killed them one by one and let them fall. Vega had been at her side in an instant; acting calm and confident as he'd applied the medi-gel to the pulpy flesh of her leg. She'd pretended not to notice his hands were shaking, pretended she couldn't hear the apologies and prayers he'd whispered into her hair as he'd carried her back to the shuttle.
She owed him an apology.
Echoes of her old squad leader's voices colored the words that surfaced in her mind:
Reckless.
Taking unnecessary risks.
That's how you get yourself killed.
That's how you get your squad killed.
If Commander fucking Shepard couldn't keep her shit together, how was she supposed to expect—no, demand—everyone else to? The way Garrus had charged at Vega, ready to act just as reckless, just as stupid, as she had been…
Fuck. She was supposed to be better than this, wasn't she?
"Commander?"
She was embarrassed to find that her eyes had closed of their own accord and that a tear had escaped, leaving a damp trail down her cheek.
This wasn't her, dammit!
Commander Shepard wasn't weak, didn't let her emotions get in the way. Never mind how raw she felt, as though the confidence she'd always projected was being ground away; layer after layer until there was nothing left but darkness. Dark like the little cupboard in the kitchen on Mindoir, when all she'd been able to do was listen and wait and shake as her nails carved perfect crimson crescents into her skin…
She'd fucked up. She wouldn't do it again. That was what mattered.
Pull it together, soldier.
Focus on the mission.
Dr. Chakwas was crouched in front of her, their faces level. "Are you in pain? I can give you another shot of anesthetic."
"No." She managed a perceptible shake of her head. "My eyes are burning." It was difficult to talk through the self-inflicted hatred. "Just sore. From the incendiary chemicals."
"I can give you some drops that should help in a moment. I'm nearly finished." Dr. Chakwas gave her a lingering look before she stood up and returned to her previous position, although she continued to talk and describe what she was doing; not letting the hungry silence invade Shepard's thoughts once more.
"This is the last one." The final shred of metal was methodically extracted and discarded like the others. "Let me scrub up, and then we'll get you set up under the reconstructive console. The muscle regeneration will take a few hours, plus the time for the temporary skin weave to set."
oOoOo
It had taken more than a few hours—the damage more extensive than the doctor's estimates had suggested—and the evening crew were already well into their shift by the time Shepard limped wearily from the med bay. The analgesics that Dr. Chakwas had injected a few minutes earlier were slowly easing the sparks of pain that jolted with each step. As an added bonus, the drugs were driving off the pounding headache reverberating in her skull as well. Shepard clutched a vial of garishly-colored antibiotics in her hand. Food. She was supposed to take them with food.
She deliberately kept her back to the Main Battery as she hobbled towards the mess, claiming an MRE from the automated dispenser. Chicken with noodles. She gulped it down without tasting it, suddenly ravenous. It took three more nutrient bars before she was sated and she washed down her first dose of pills with her final swallow of artificial, vitamin-fortified orange drink.
She was more than a little relieved that the mess was empty; she'd been half-expecting to find Liara camped out at one of the tables, waiting for her. Liara had left the med bay shortly after Garrus and Vega—at Dr. Chakwas' firm insistence that she needed to concentrate and that any further demands on Shepard's attention could wait a few more hours. With a sigh, Shepard crunched up the empty foil packets in her fist before tossing them into the closest waste receptacle. She really should talk to Liara, too.
Another one to add to the list.
She trudged up to her quarters, placing the vial of antibiotics on the desk. Even with the nightmares she'd been having, the bed looked inviting.
Soon.
Shepard stripped off the last few pieces of armor she still had on, stacking each one neatly on the sanitation racks to be cleaned and disinfected. A brief shower washed away the smell of blood and medi-gel that clung to her, and the simple feeling of being clean was enough to make her feel like she could breathe again. She left her hair down to dry and pulled on the tee-shirt and then the shorts she typically slept in, wincing as she pulled them up over her hips. The edges where the skin weave met her own skin were tender, still red and inflamed.
Messages, then bed.
Shepard settled herself in front of her private terminal and activated the screen. She diligently read the first few but, now that she was cocooned and warm in her quarters, her fatigue was becoming harder to ignore. The words began to blur together as she skipped over all the routine sitreps. Nothing critical had come in. Everything else could wait at least six hours. Then, she could deal with Vega and Liara… and Garrus…
"EDI, patch me through to Joker."
"Yes, Commander."
She turned off the terminal and yawned.
"What's up, Commander?"
"How long to get us back to the Citadel?"
"About sixteen hours. Why? Is the newest issue of Fornax out already?"
Shepard would have laughed if she hadn't been so tired. "Probably, but we need boring things like rations and medical supplies."
"Well, maybe if you weren't using them up all time."
"Yeah, don't give me that. I know what you cost us in painkillers."
"Harsh, Commander. Harsh."
"Just get us there, Joker, and there'll be some shore leave in it for you. Feel free to spread the news."
"Yes, ma'am!"
"Night, Joker. Get some sleep."
"You, too."
Shepard stood up gingerly, rubbing at her eyes. Surely, with this level of exhaustion, her sleep would be dreamless. She was already imagining how good the coolness of the sheets was going to feel against her skin when the comm link on her door chimed.
She could barely bite back the groan. Fuck, what now? "Who is it?"
"Shepard? It's Tali. Do you have time to talk, or is this a bad time?"
She wished she could scream.
Of course it was a bad time.
It was late, she'd nearly had her leg blown clean off because of her own fucking stupidity, and she was so tired that she didn't even know how she was still standing.
Just the sound of Tali's voice had sent a spike of pain through her stomach like a hot needle spearing her flesh.
But… she had heard the sadness there, too.
Fuck.
As much as it hurt, a few taps on her terminal turned the panel green. "It's not a bad time. Come in."
A/N: A giant, humongous, thank-you to the ever-patient Josie Lange for her invaluable advice on this chapter. I'm so grateful for your help and support!
Thank you so much to all of you out there reading! :)