02

The mission was successful.
EDI just needed to get the IFF figured out and integrate it into the Normandy's systems. After that, they'd have everything they needed to go through the Omega 4 Relay and bring the fight to the Collectors.
The entire ship was upgraded with the finest artillery and shielding. The squad was outfitted with the best weapons and armor money could buy. Their loose ends had been tied up and they were all completely focused on the mission ahead.
The suicide mission. Everyone was prepared for that plunge into the abyss.
They all trusted their Commander.
It was now the calm before the storm.

After watching that dead Reaper drift toward the planet's core, all Shepard wanted was a stiff drink. Jumping off a platform through space to get onto the Normandy wasn't exactly fun. She hated having to trust Sir Isaac Newton that they would land safely in the airlock after hurtling through that tiny bit of frightening uncertainty.
It reminded her of a similar event that she'd rather forget.
The Husks and that stupid Geth brought up memories she'd stuffed so deep down that it caused her to lose check of her nerves.
The uncontrollable tensing at every horrible noise had forced her to use biotics just to keep her hands steady; it radiated off of her, made her skin itch and her brain crawl.
That's why they had to blast through those ugly things and get the fuck out of there ASAP.

But it was over now. It was another mission complete; another report to be written and filed away.
Handing the IFF over to the crew to deal with, Shepard changed out of her armor. Miranda waived the mission debrief until she got some rest. "You don't look so well, Commander."
Bitch always had something unnecessary to say.
The only thing running through her mind after watching that first Husk's body bust open and drip through the metal grate floor was, "I will do whatever is fucking necessary to make it to the bottle of whiskey waiting on the nightstand."
Drink and isolation were still beckoning as she made way toward her cabin.
A rough, familiar voice met her in the elevator, "How's the face holding up, Shepard?"

Zaeed's words were like a wall and she had run full-speed right into them. The ship suddenly materialized around her as if she was previously in some kind of trance.
Her face burned. Her joints ached. She was nauseous, dizzy, and ready to collapse.
How long had she been like this? Was it adrenaline, exhaustion? Fear?
Zaeed reached out and took her arm, steadied her after she stumbled through the doors.
"Shit," he sighed, guiding Shepard to the wall to lean against, "Let's get you to the doc."
The world went dark the moment the back of her head was resting on the cold metal wall. The console next to her beeped, the elevator lurched downward, the warm grip of a hand returned to her arm.

The moment she heard the doors again, her eyes fluttered open. She was met with a rough, albeit concerned mercenary's stare.
"Can you walk on your own?"
She tried to push herself into a standing position but her body refused to comply. All she could manage was a slight shake of her head.
Zaeed took the arm he had been holding to steady her and lifted it up around his neck, his other arm sliding around her waist.
Slowly, he helped her hobble her way past the crew in the mess hall and into the med bay.

Dr. Chakwas sighed the moment she saw her old friend, seeming strangely amused. "Some things never change, do they Georgiana? Always the forgetful biotic. Those nutrient shakes are in your field pack for a reason."
The doctor motioned for Zaeed to set the Commader down on one of the cots.
"Get some medi-gel for her face. I'll fetch her something to eat and return shortly."

The doctor hurried out of the room and the med bay doors closed behind her. Zaeed finally moved Shepard's arm from around his neck so that he could move freely. She hadn't realized it was still there, though she figured she was fine to sit up without his support. A hand went up lazily to rub her eyes, wipe some of the grogginess away, but recoiled after accidently brushing her wound.
"How bad is it?"
Zaeed was already back at her side, medi-gel in hand.
"Not as bad as mine," he laughed, "You got nothing to worry about."
He moved his hand up toward her, lingering, making sure it was alright to touch her face. She nodded, tilted her head and he began applying the gel over the gashes and burns.
A small, noisy breath escaped her lips, eyes darting shut as a first instinct to the pain. But it faded quickly. Her focus on it lessened with the gel's effects and shifted to the feel of the man's calloused fingers resting where the back of her neck met her shoulders.
When she opened her eyes to look at him, Zaeed removed his hand and gave her a knowing smirk.
"You'll be alright, Shep." He nodded, standing up to take his leave as Chakwas reentered the room.

She watched him as he left, eyes still trained on the door after it had closed. The doctor placed a tray of food on her lap and her gaze shifted.
Something pulled at her lips that she hadn't felt for a long time: a smile. Its origins were as questionable as the meal in front of her. But Shepard ate it, savoring every bite of the nutrient infused slop as if it was her last. The tray was almost empty when she had finally lost her strength, her body giving way. Falling back into the cot, she drifted into a deep sleep, last thoughts still romanticizing the whiskey on her nightstand.
It was supposed to be the calm before the storm.
Nothing ever works out like it's supposed to.