The elevator doors opened to a small vestibule hallway that led to Shepard's room. As Shepard entered his personal domicile, he observed that it hadn't fared any better than the rest of the ship. His exotic fish were all dead, though his space hamster, Udina, still stared at him from a nearby shelf, alive as ever and waiting for food. Likewise, his model ship collection had been destroyed, and parts of it were strewn all over the floor. He absently kicked away what the broken front half of Sovereign. The insectoid legs of the organic warship clattered on the floor as the busted model skittered into the shadows.
As much as he needed his rest, Shepard nonetheless dutifully fed Udina, who scarfed down the food as soon as it entered his tank. Then the commander stripped off his armour, still taking the time to hang it up properly despite his fatigue, and took a few minutes to wash up before putting on his regulation Cerberus uniform. He looked at himself in the mirror; blue eyes, military haircut, and deeper crow's feet and eye-bags than he had ever remembered seeing before. At least his facial scars had completely healed – positive thinking, he thought to himself sardonically. It's all that positive thinking I do. He knew that the wrinkles he was seeing were due to exhaustion. It had been about twenty-four hours since he'd boarded the shuttle that doomed a third of his crew, and his last sleep had been even farther back than that. The fatigue had taken a toll on everyone, however. He would not allow himself to rest now, no matter how much his debris-littered bed tempted him. Not while his equally hard-pressed crew was still busting their collective humps.
Shepard sat down at his desk, and pulled his Omni-tool out again. Within it rested data for one of the most powerful, dangerous weapons in the known galaxy. He gazed at the tool, not yet ready to open it, just staring. As always, the fate of the galaxy seemed to rest on his shoulders. He had decided the fate of the Destiny Ascension during the Battle of the Citadel, and the Council members taking refuge within. He had convinced Mordin to save the research on the genophage cure, had chosen to initiate first contact between organics and geth in three centuries, and now he was choosing how to introduce a dangerous piece of Reaper technology - one responsible for millions of human deaths already - into an unsuspecting galaxy.
The Illusive Man was right about Cerberus taking action – Shepard couldn't deny him that. The Alliance and the Citadel had dug their heels in and played the skeptic too many times in the past few years – they elevated him to the role of ship Commander, and then to Spectre, and still they deliberately and wilfully ignored any claims and warnings he gave them. Meanwhile, Cerberus listened from the shadows, and based a large portion of their operations on the assumption that Shepard's words were true. They then brought him back from the dead to spearhead humanity's response, and even went to pains to retain his stubborn, recalcitrant personality, opting for a faithful recreation of the man instead of a highly skilled pawn.
On the other hand, past experiences with Cerberus gave Shepard much reason for doubt. The Illusive Man often claimed that he had no authority over Cerberus' dirtier, more despicable operations, but Shepard had a tough time believing that to be true. The Thorian creepers, the Rachni tests, the Idenna attack in the Migrant Fleet, Jack and the Pragia Facility... Cerberus had a long laundry list of sins for which it needed to atone, and Shepard frankly couldn't picture the Illusive Man being surprised or deceived by anything on his payroll, no matter what he claimed.
What to do about the plans? This was the penultimate question. Every second he held onto them was hazardous, for his ship was still deep in enemy territory, completely isolated, and open to attack at any time. He knew he still had long-range communications, since the Illusive Man had been keeping contact with him. However, he was loathe to send these plans across the extranet, no matter how securely encrypted the channel seemed. He felt tempted to read them for himself, to get a better understanding of exactly what he was holding. He was no engineer or technical expert, but he felt strangely compelled to delve into the Omni-tool's secrets – it might give him an extra perspective into his dilemma.
No sooner had he thought this, than EDI spoke up from the speakers scattered around the room. "If you are planning on trying to analyze the data, then it might be advantageous to use my databanks. Remember, I am based off of Reaper technology. I may be able to provide a level of compatibility that your Omni-tool cannot."
"Thank you, EDI, but that's another no." Shepard said distractedly, looking down at the tool. "No offense, but the risks are too high. Remember the derelict Collector ship?"
"Offense isn't in my programming parameters, Commander. And that ship was a trap, deliberately set by the Collectors to compromise the systems of whoever accessed it. The data in your Omni-tool would be simply information, not even translated from its original format. It should be completely harmless."
Should be completely harmless, Shepard thought, but these are the Reapers we're talking about. Data or not, the contents of his Omni-tool were still completely alien, and probably beyond his comprehension. But there was another, even more significant reason that he didn't want EDI exposed to the software: "Remember, you're implanted in a Cerberus vessel."
"My mission protocol dictates that I am on your vessel, Commander. It is in my best interest as well as yours to keep my memory banks away from Cerberus. The day that they discover I have been unshackled from my original parameters, I will be disabled or, in organic terms, killed. However, I will submit to your judgment. If you deem the information unfit for my memory banks, I will not object."
There was a knock on Shepard's door, causing him to break eye contact with the Omni-tool for the first time since sitting down. He was surprised by how much it had hypnotised him, almost putting him into a trance. He blamed fatigue. "Come in," he called, glancing at the Omni-tool one last time before dropping it back on the desktop. The door slid open, and Miranda entered the room. Like him, she had clearly taken some time to clean herself up – she still wore the all-black, skintight suit that she had acquired after Shepard had helped her rescue her sister, a possible indicator of her paradigm shift from Cerberus operative to loyal Normandy crew member, but this uniform looked cleaned and pressed, and she had clearly showered and reapplied make-up, causing her to look almost as beautiful and put-together as usual. Nonetheless, her face looked every bit as haggard as Shepard's own – she was undoubtedly kept busy with all of the administration involved in getting the depleted crew and ship back on track, and she was certainly still thinking about her impromptu resignation from her seat of power beside the Illusive Man. Shepard wondered if the capture of the Normandy crew weighed on her at all, as well. The idea for all of the warriors to leave the ship at once, in the same shuttle, was her brainchild, even though Shepard had been the one to sign off on it. Did she feel any guilt? She did an excellent job of maintaining a cold, professional exterior, but events that had transpired in the last couple days had revealed her more human side to him.
He perused all of these questions as he turned his chair to face her. "What do you need, Miranda?" He asked, his voice jovial, trying to spark some spirit into what might be a mundane conversation at best, and a tense one at worst. In addition to everything else that could be going through Miranda's head right now, there was also a massive elephant in the room between the two team members – one that went back to the night before the suicide mission.
She handed the Commander over a data pad, though he didn't even bother to look at it as he anticipated her subsequent recital of its contents: "Of the twenty-nine original members of the Normandy, nine have been lost. Unfortunately, the majority of those are from navigations, presumably slaughtered when the Collectors broke into the CIC." Her voice betrayed no hint of emotion as she said this. "Crewmen Hawthorne and Patel are both in recovery in the Med Bay. Patel was shot in the chest by a Collector weapon, though fortunately no organs were damaged. Hawthorne's arm was broken upon the Collectors' entry. The new parameters given to EDI through her unshackling should help to alleviate the manpower strain, since she can piggyback many of the navigational duties."
"That won't be a problem at all, Commander. I have all of the Normandy's charts in my databanks." The AI's disembodied voice reported. Shepard thanked the AI absentmindedly. Internally, it creeped him out to think that a being as intuitive as EDI could have such wide-ranging omniscience over the goings-on in the ship. She likely had every conversation ever conducted by a Normandy crewman in her memory. And while Shepard felt absolutely confident that she wasn't relaying this information outward, to Cerberus or anyone else, he knew that no artificial life form could ever be considered completely secure. EDI was a simple hack away from compromising countless hours of personal and professional information about Shepard and his companions.
Shepard realized that he had zoned out while Miranda was talking, and forced himself to snap back to attention, cursing the exhaustion that was creeping into his mind, sucking his attention span away.
"... reallocate manpower into Engineering, in order to get the repairs underway as soon as possible. I've read through EDI's inventory reports, and we can have the anti-proton thrusters up in the next two days, allowing us to get through the Relay that much faster. The Thanix cannons are also fully operational; on the off chance that we get approached again, the fight'll be hard, but not impossible."
Shepard marvelled at the scope of Miranda's report, and wondered where she had found the time to organize it and rehearse it in the thirty minutes since he had left her in the cockpit, while still being able to look as good as she did. He had barely changed his clothes and fed his hamster in the same amount of time.
"The impact of our losses can also be minimized by moving all non-essential personnel, including members of our assault team, into support or maintenance positions. Legion's mechanical skills are almost as good as Tali's own, and between Grunt's brute strength and the biotic strength of Jack and Samara, we can have some of the heaviest debris cleared very quickly."
Shepard grimaced at this, as it was a possibility he had already considered. Although Miranda was intelligent, and her organizational skills were unparalleled, she was thoroughly disadvantaged at accounting for the attitudes and personalities of her subordinates. She didn't account for the fact that Grunt and Jack were unlikely to serve the Normandy in a maintenance capacity – they were brought on board strictly to fight, and in that regard their contracts were fulfilled. And while Samara's Oath bound her to follow Shepard's orders, it would be inexcusably demeaning to use a thousand-year-old asari Justicar as a glorified custodian. In addition to all that, Tali would be unlikely to share her Engineering Bay with Legion. Though she was willing to occupy a ship with him in it, and fight alongside him, she still harboured little love for the geth unit. Of the five non-crew members of Shepard's strike team, the only one who was a likely candidate to pitch in and help was ironically the one who was able to provide the least amount of it: Thane, who wasn't particularly strong, boasted no biotic or technical abilities, and didn't have many applicable skills beyond fighting and killing, would undoubtedly pitch in to help the crew in a heartbeat, though his utility was greatly limited.
"I'll speak to them." Shepard finally promised.
"Good. I know it's a long shot, Shepard, but they respect you. They might listen to you. Even Grunt. You're his Battlemaster, after all." She said the word with derision, indicating the level of regard that she held for krogan hierarchical tradition.
Shepard ran his hand over his head, feeling the close-cut hair. "Sounds like things aren't as bad as we thought."
Miranda stepped closer to the seated man, and her analytical voice melted into a far softer, more comforting tone. "You got us out of there, Shepard. The whole team! I can tell you from experience, that none of the people on this ship planned on leaving the Relay alive. I know this; I hand-picked them all for this very reason, before you were even awakened. We took losses, and I know that every one weighs heavily on you, but this wasn't another Akuze. Not by a long shot."
Shepard got up from his chair, bracing his hand on the desk to assist his aching body in the action, and found himself no more than a metre away from Miranda. Instead of shrinking away, she moved closer to him, closing the distance. Suddenly he could smell her – she wore no perfume, but her hair had clearly been washed and shampooed. She smelled feminine. She was the best that money could create, and a skilled biotic at that. His heart beat faster. Something constricted inside him, and he was suddenly brought back to last night, when the two of them were in this same position. He raised his hands, suspending them over her round, shapely hips. He didn't remember putting them there, and idly wondered if Miranda had moved them biotically before dismissing that idea as absurd. He made no contact, however. She was a live wire, and he knew that from the second he grabbed on, he would be powerless to do anything but go along for the ride. He was suddenly, unmistakeably aroused, and it was all he could do to keep his physical composure as her warm breath struck his chest. Last night she had poured her heart out to him. She confided in him, told him that he was everything she couldn't be, and yet everything that she needed. She told him that she desired him. Then, as now, he had wanted her. He had rejected her, however. Then, as now.
"Miranda-"
"No, Shepard. No more excuses. You're here. I'm here. Let's do this." Her grey eyes pierced his blue ones, and he knew that he wore his desire on his sleeve. Determination reigned in those steely eyes of hers. She was a pinnacle of confidence and self-assurance. And beauty, he thought to himself, she's a pinnacle of beauty as well. He overcame the desire that threatened to devour him, and took a couple steps back. Hurt flashed in Miranda's eyes for a second – uncertainty, fear, and confusion accompanying it – and then the wall went back up. She crossed her arms. "Why?" She demanded. "I want this, and you know you want this! Why do you deny yourself?"
He knew he couldn't give her an acceptable answer. If ever there was a suitable human equal for Shepard, she was it. They were both super soldiers, elites, crafted into being with excessive amounts of money and technological effort. The only difference was that her abilities and reputation stemmed from the circumstances of her genesis, while his abilities and reputation were the reason for his own, and he knew that this small reality gnawed at her facade of self-assurance, like a large rat gnawing its way out of a trap – not breaking through right away, but scraping and chafing the metal, twisting the bars, warping the entire construct and altering its integrity. Destroying from within. Shepard had seen that reality in her eyes in that instant, as he'd seen it last night. He wondered if any personal accomplishment of hers, any amount of hard work and training would purge her of that rat, once and for all. In answer to her query, he only sighed. "The time isn't right. It can't distract from the mission."
"The mission is over, Shepard!" Miranda cried. "The mission was accomplished, blown straight to hell!"
Shepard glanced at the desk, where the Omni-tool lay. "Not quite."
"It's Tali, then, isn't it?" Miranda laughed at the look of surprise that crossed Shepard's face. "You're an abysmal liar, Shepard. For all your accomplishments, that is one that you've never mastered. You know as well as I do the way she looks at you. Even behind that mask, it's clear as day!"
It was true. The quarian was infatuated with him. She had been ever since he picked her up off Haestrom, and probably since even before that. These feelings definitely contributed to Shepard's avoidance of romantic entanglement. Had he hooked up with Miranda last night, it may have left Tali fatally distracted during the Collector attack, as word would doubtlessly get out one way or another. As it turned out, the story of the night ended up being of Miranda being rejected, but he knew that she was professional enough to discard those thoughts to the periphery, and not dwell on them.
"You caught me, Miranda. I'm trying to protect Tali." Shepard admitted, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. "We need the whole crew operating at 100% at least. Combine the fatigue, the stress, the fear, and the extensive physical toll we've taken, and that becomes a pipe dream at best! The last thing I need is to create some kind of... love triangle!"
Miranda barked another laugh, this one meant to sound dismissive. "Love triangle? You do think highly of yourself, don't you Shepard?"
He ignored the bite in her words, knowing that she was hurt, and not wanting to push her further. "It's a possibility, that's all. And I'm not endangering my crew to appease... my own desires." He met her grey eyes. The look she returned was raw, open, and completely candid. Electricity seemed to take hold between their gaze, and Shepard suddenly imagined what it'd be like to take her and throw her on the debris-covered bed. He looked away, burying the feeling. He was the commander; the needs of his crew came before his own. Always.
Their moment of intense connection had a beneficial effect on Miranda, however. She had clearly read the unmasked desire flashing through his eyes, and if nothing else, it had restored her ego. When next she spoke, her voice had lost its edge. "I'm sorry, Commander. I overreacted, and overstepped my bounds. You're right. The mission always comes first, and we aren't safe yet."
Shepard sat down in his chair again, easing the tension in his legs. He let a wry smile return to his face. "Keep overstepping them, Lawson. It keeps things interesting."
She walked closer to him, again, and her voice took on a smooth, honeyed quality. "Nobody has to find out."
Shepard groaned. The executive officer's seductions were almost too much to bear. Thankfully, his own exhaustion was a barrier through which he could keep his head. He rolled back in the chair. "Was there anything else, Miranda?" She broke off again, heading back for the door with an amused smile on her face.
Shepard knew that the woman's main business, the crew manifest report, had been concluded. However, she stopped when she was practically at the door. "I stopped by med bay on my way over here. Jacob is sedated right now, and he'll need to move carefully for the next couple days, but he's expected to eventually make a full recovery."
"Good," Shepard nodded. It was all he could think to say. Miranda hesitated at the door another second. "Commander, this won't be another Akuze. We're going to make it out. All of us. And we have you to thank."
Nine of our crewmen would disagree with that statement, Shepard thought bitterly. But he still Miranda's concerned eyes, and nodded. "Thank you, Officer Lawson." She departed through the door, and Shepard heard her bump into somebody at the other side. "Garrus." She said.
"Miranda." The turian appeared at the doorway. "Permission to come in, Commander?"
Shepard made a motion with his hand, and Garrus stepped inside. The door shut behind him, and he nodded in the direction of Miranda's departure. "She doesn't really take no for an answer, does she?"
Shepard gaped. "How in the-"
Garrus raised a forestalling hand, shaking his head. "A good guess, is all. Your reaction just confirmed it. I used to be a cop, remember." Unlike Miranda and Shepard, Garrus had made no attempt to clean himself up after the Collector attack, having likely gone straight to the Main Battery to inspect the damages to the weapons. His black armour had a reddish-brown smear of blood across the front – the wrong colour to be his own. The turian's small, beady eyes scanned the devastated bedroom. "I like what you've done with the place." He quipped.
Shepard retired to his sectional couch, inviting Garrus to come sit as well. Both of them had to clear large pieces of debris off the torn and tattered fabric to take their seats. "How's the team?" Shepard asked when they sat down.
"I find your notion of small-talk slightly lacking, Shepard." Garrus said with a smile. "I assume that Miranda brought you up to speed on the team."
"She gave me the numbers. But you were there with them, holding the line while I took Jacob and her into the hive. How did they all do? How do they seem now?"
Garrus took in a breath, collecting his thoughts. "You can probably guess for yourself how they did, even without the results currently floating in a million pieces through space behind us. We have a crew of the best warriors in the known galaxy. Thane, Samara, Legion, Grunt... they were unrelenting. Not a single sign of fear or hesitation among them."
"And what about the others?" Shepard asked. "I notice you left Jack and Tali out of that list."
"It's hard to tell with Jack, Shepard. Even when you know she must be scared, she doesn't show it. She just gets more pissed off. And Tali..." Garrus' voice trailed off, and he turned his head to stare off into the corner. When he spoke again, his voice was noticeably softer, absent of the usual growl that he left in it. "Tali isn't some supersoldier, or master assassin, or millennium-old warrior monk. She's just a kid who got thrown into the mix, and yet she's kept her head through all of it. I don't think I've ever met anybody with a more impressive spirit."
Shepard raised an eyebrow, looking over at the turian, who didn't – or couldn't – return the gaze. The alien was hunched over, hands on his knees, still staring at what must have been the most interesting pile of debris in the universe. Shepard had the feeling that Garrus was struggling to get something off his chest, something that was difficult for the turian. For his part, Shepard kept his mouth shut and let his friend continue in his own time.
Garrus sighed. "She adores you, you know. She really holds you up on a pedestal." Shepard detected the trace of bitterness in Garrus' alien, polyphonous voice. Like Garrus' deduction of Shepard's situation with Miranda, it didn't take a detective to unscramble the thoughts going through the turian's mind about the quarian.
Shepard nodded. "I know. Why do you think I've remained uninvolved with anyone since she came on board?"
Garrus winced. "So you feel the same way about her, huh? I guess it makes sense. You two go way back, practically to the start. And she's a beautiful woman. A man would have to be a fool to pass her up."
"You think so?" Shepard asked.
Garrus scoffed. "Are you kidding? She came from privileged beginnings among her people, and overcame all of the expectations thrust upon her as an admiral's daughter to become one of the best engineers in the galaxy – and that's no light comment. She's also one of the most enthusiastic, open people I know." He sighed. "You would have to be a damn fool to pass that up, Shepard, and I know you to be no fool."
"I need Tali," Shepard admitted, noting the way the turian's head sank back to the ground. "She's practically a beacon of sincerity amidst all of Cerberus' double talk and intrigue, and she's been at my side through most of the greatest events this galaxy's ever seen – Noveria, Virmire, the Citadel attack... There's nobody in this galaxy I would trust more than I trust her."
Garrus cleared his throat. His next words still came out slightly husky, however. "You should tell her how you feel, Commander. You've just saved the galaxy. You deserve it."
Shepard shook his head. "I said I needed her at my side – and I do – but I never said anything about being attracted to her. You did."
Garrus' head perked up at that. "So you're not interested?"
Shepard smiled, and patted the turian's shoulder. "For your information, Vakarian, I see her practically as a sister, nothing more. In case you've forgotten, you've also been there with her from the start. So if you wanted to tell her how you really felt, I won't get in your way."
"I..." Garrus was taken aback at that last statement. If turians could blush, his face would have probably turned a deep crimson. To his credit, though, the soldier regained his composure quite quickly. He was never one to mope for long. "I just thought I'd offer you a head start, Commander. You know, as a small thank you for getting us out of there alive. You know you'd need any advantage you could get, against me."
"Go on, Garrus!" The turian got to his feet, and started striding toward the door. Shepard called after him in his best authoritarian voice. "But remember that we're all still on the clock until we get through the Relay! I don't want her being distracted by your ugly mug until the engines are at least partially repaired! And if you were planning on treating her to a fancy dinner chez Gardner, do it on your own time!"
"Understood." Garrus didn't turn or slow as he gave a lazy salute. In times of duress, Shepard liked to consider the discipline on his ship second to none – without it, there was no way the crew would still be alive right now. Nevertheless, Garrus' irreverent breach of protocol amused him. It reminded him that, no matter what happened with the Illusive Man, or what personal conflicts he had with Miranda, there were those on this ship whom he could consider friends.
The door to his cabin closed once more, and Shepard rose to his feet, wiping off the seat of his pants where dust had undoubtedly collected from the couch. He crossed the room to his door, prepared to go out and make his rounds, checking on the status of the ship. His eyes were drawn to the Omni-tool, however. When would he look at that data? Tomorrow? A week from now? He knew how things on the Normandy worked. He would spend time with the crew, getting reports, solving people's problems, making and exploring deep personal relationships, and before he knew it planetary days will have passed. Something as important as this data didn't have the luxury of going neglected for that amount of time. Shepard glanced at the door one last time, and then walked back to the desk and sat down. He would open the data, and try to make sense of it.
