After all of those years isolated from people, so absorbed into my research, well, I suppose it has made me a bit uncomfortable socializing. Most days I prefer to be alone, running over ideas in my mind, but I'm trying hard. I'm starting to feel a bit of a connection with the rest of the team, and I feel as though I'm starting to. . . oh, I don't know. Fall into place? I feel as though I belong here, Shepard, and I have you to thank for it. So, thank you.
Liara T'Soni to Commander Shepard, approximately one week before the Battle of the Citadel
The Normandy SR2 was twice the size of its predecessor, divided into four levels in the middle of the ship and insulated by a variety of combat seals, armor plates, and intra-venous shield inlays that should give us a fighting chance against the Collectors. Two years ago ('pre-death' I was starting to name it) I would've been hard-pressed to believe that I'd own a ship better than the first, but this time I knew. This baby was extreme in every detail, and I was overwhelmed at first. I even had a cabin all to myself on Deck One with an aquarium. Such a waste of cubic space, I knew, but obviously the Illusive Man spent a few resources towards keeping me happy.
I did a general walk-around on Deck Three, the general crew congregation area. The mess hall was designed after the original ship, but an actual kitchen had been implemented on the side with state-of-the-art cooking instruments. It was manned by a guy named Gardner, and after looking through his personal file a bit on my omni-tool over an adequate meal of steak and potatoes, I learned that he'd lost his entire family to a batarian attack and joined Cerberus not long after. Curious, I talked with him for a bit and soon began to enjoy myself. He was easy-going and didn't mind doing the unsung work, from cleaning the vents, cooking the food, and even plumbing the toilets. He complained a bit about Cerberus food stores, saying he'd actually given me one of the best meals on the house on account of just coming back from the dead. I promised to funnel some credits down so he could do some shopping on our next stop at a respectable planet, and he seemed satisfied. I pocketed three cookies, a thank-you gift, and continued on my way.
I liked the idea of giving the crew bunk beds instead of the regular Alliance-issued sleeping pods and even met two of the crew on break, a male and female who introduced themselves as Rolsten and Patel respectively, and they said they were honored to be aboard and under my command. I garnered a few salutes as I left, passing two crewmen who had just taken a seat at the table I'd just evacuated minutes ago. "Commander, we expecting a good fight?" one of them, a man, called.
"The best," I replied, coming over. I extended a hand. "Good to meet you."
"Good to meet you," said the other, a dark-skinned woman with short, cropped hair stated fervently, shaking my hand. "I'm Tracy Goldstein, this is George Hawthorne. Welcome back, sir."
"Glad to be back," I said, grinning. I looked at Hawthorne, who seemed to be memorized by my scars, and asked, "You looking foreword to some action?"
He blinked and nodded. "Yes, Commander. Every Cerberus operative stationed here has some combat training or another, except for the doctor. Oh, and your assistant. We're all honored to be on this thing, sir, and we'll be fighting for you one-hundred percent."
"I'm glad to hear it." Hawthorne was a smaller man than average, but more than made up for it with his increased muscular size. His shaved blonde hair was cut so close to his head that patches of his scalp could be seen underneath. "Were either of you in the military before you joined?"
"Alliance," said Goldstein with a rueful glance towards her comrade. "You'll find that most of the crew are if you check through our files when you have a chance. Most, including us, with the same reasons for joining. Couldn't stand the politics and realized Sovereign was a threat bigger than what they were saying."
"Are any of you aware of Cerberus activities outside of the Lazarus cell?" I asked curiously. I didn't buy the story about most of them being former Alliance, but it was plausible that the Illusive Man recruited them in the time-frame between then and now for their abilities. Most soldiers didn't even know what Cerberus was, and I hadn't even known about them until Admiral Kahoku, God rest his soul, led me on a manhunt throughout the Terminus Systems, wiping out facilities along the way. I still wondered why nobody brought that up.
They said they weren't. "Most we know is that it's a pro-human group," Hawthorne said, shrugging. "Other than that? Zip."
I started to ask more, in-depth questions, when a door opened behind me and to my left. I glanced up to see the new arrival, who broke into a familiar, exasperated smile. Steel-gray hairs ringed the strong face of the chief medical technician, who, even two years later, wore that same crisp uniform ironed down with military precision.
Doctor Chakwas and I hugged, and she squeezed me tightly before withdrawing with the biggest smile I'd ever seen her give. "Commander Shepard," she said warmly.
"Today seems to be a day for ghosts," I agreed, shaking my head and chuckling to myself.
"I watched the Normandy die with you on board," she said, scanning my face with those sharp eyes of hers. "It is a pleasure to see you alive once more."
"Same for you, too," I said, nodding. We took our conversation to the medical bay, a place so different from the original that I had to stare, and Chakwas pulled up another chair across from her new desk. "I can't tell you what it means to me having you on board."
"Nonsense," she said, waving a hand in the air. "I still work for you, Commander. After all, you did convince me to, oh, what were those charges? Theft of military craft, insubordination against not only Donnel Udina, but the rest of the Council? They never officially charged us with anything, but unofficially we've been reminded quite a few times by the Alliance. For example, after you died they put me on a ground facility, quite away from any ships at all. I was dreadful."
As she talked, she typed on her computer, pulling up biometric readings. My name was on the top of the file. "I'm sorry to hear that, Doctor," I said, looking over the data with an apprehensive air. "Couldn't Anderson step in and help you?"
"No, I'm afraid he couldn't," she said sadly. "After all, it's not like it went on forever. I was. . . recruited into Cerberus nearly a month after your death." I cocked my eyebrows in surprise and she hurried on, saying, "Oh, no, I didn't perform those God-awful experiments. I flew on small cruisers as the chief medical officer during pirate raids. Your Illusive Man didn't put me anywhere near his special projects, and I never asked about them."
I grunted in distaste. "They do horrible things to people," I said, "and think of how many people died to get the information that would revive me. How could you and Joker join them?"
A shadow passed over her face, and she looked out the window towards the kitchens, her expression mournful. "Every day I woke up wondering what you would think, Commander. If you knew what we were going through, you would understand. I don't side completely with them after everything I saw, but they do a lot of good, too. I prefer to be on that side of the board."
I shook my head, feeling irrationally angry even though I perfectly understood. Trying to control myself, I changed the subject. With a nod towards the computers I asked, "So what're the scans for?"
Chakwas seemed glad for the topic change and said, "I'm making sure Cerberus didn't miss anything. According to my medical reports you were woken up earlier than expected and are suffering from a few chemically-induced symptoms I should be able to take care of. Your muscles are atrophied, but part of the medicine they've been feeding into your system by some kind of implanted tissue-regenerator is a type of steroid I'm not familiar with. It's the only reason you're not flopping on the floor like a fish."
"Great," I said, a bitter edge coloring my voice. "More things they're doing that I wasn't aware of."
"I'm sorry, Commander," said Chakwas immediately. "I know this must be frustrating for you."
Damn straight it is. I sighed and shook my head, unwilling to get into an argument at this point. What was done was done and there was no way I could reverse it. Though, now that she mentioned it, I did feel weaker than I normally was. First I'd thought it was fatigue, but it was deeper than that. "Well, at least I'll be able to set off every metal detector out there just by being in the general proximity," I sighed. "I could just say it's a force of personality, after all."
She smirked. "I'd prefer it if you slept in the medical bay tonight, just for observational purposes. And. . . it'll make me feel a bit calmer, too."
"You don't like being alone here?" I guessed.
She shook her head. "No, not that at all. I am used to being alone. But having you here will help me realize this all isn't some kind of dream that will float away when I wake up."
I stared. "Miranda put you up to that, didn't she?" I guessed again.
Her expression was answer enough. I stood suddenly, unable to be in the room. "I'm not going to be a science experiment," I spat, heading for the door. "See you later."
I almost went to Miranda's office on the same floor to demand her to lighten up, but I was in a bad mood and negotiations never went well if my head wasn't on straight. I was. . . tired. More so than I'd ever been, even though I'd only been awake for a couple of hours. The clock said it was 23:05 and I knew I should probably go up and hit the hay lest I collapse. Promising myself that I'd go down to Engineering tomorrow, I took the elevator back to my own private suite and, on a hunch, fired a mini-EM blast from my omni-tool that wiped out any listening devices that may have been present. The 'tool said six were neutralized, all in various positions around the room, and I smirked to myself.
"Commander Shepard, it is strongly advised that you report to the medical bay for overnight observation and study," EDI said, appearing as a giant blue sphere from a terminal beside my fish tank. She sounded contradictory.
"No." I began to take off my armor plates, storing them in a drawer beneath my bed.
EDI was silent for a few more seconds, probably gathering a response from Miranda in the background, then said, "Very well, Shepard."
She blinked out of existence and, just for good measure, I found the volume button on her terminal. I turned it all the way down and climbed into bed, gripping my pistil (the safety on) in my hand as I pulled the sheets around me. I was asleep barely ten seconds after my head hit the pillow.
&.
"She didn't mean anything by it."
"I know."
"Look, I'm not saying you should go be Cerberus's new test subject, but you should really–"
"I know."
"Okay, okay, sorry, Commander. I'm just trying to–"
"–help. Yeah, I know. Sorry for snapping." I sighed, rubbing the bags underneath my eyes, and stretched. We were still thirty-seven hours away from Omega, our first stop, and I'd had a very restful night, slipping into a sleep so deep that I hadn't woken up for twelve straight hours, and only then because Joker decided to limp upstairs to check up on me. I was still in bed, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes and feeling immensely irritated. Joker sat on the couch across from me, stretched out luxuriously with his leg braces detached and sitting next to his feet. "Damn it," I muttered, sitting up. I ran my hand over my head, almost expecting to feel my hair there, and made a face when it met a smooth, bald surface. "And damn them for my hair, too."
"It'll grow back," said Joker, sounding forcibly upbeat. "Hey, cheer up."
I glanced at him, evaluating the uncomfortable edge beneath his cheery outlook, and realized that I'd never complained before back on the old Normandy, not even when Udina locked us down. I rolled my head around on my shoulders for a moment, popping the bones back into place. "I'm a bit out of it. Just give me a few days and it'll be better."
"Oh, well, that's good then," said Joker, sounding slightly relieved. He nodded at the pistil laying next to me on it's side, looking very lethal indeed with the blood spatters on the side. "So, uh, you went to sleep with that?"
I glanced over at it and shrugged. "You would, too, if your day was as crazy as mine."
He nodded, conceding the point. "Yeah, true. You do know you're technically a zombie now, right?" I raised my eyebrow, and he laughed. "Just saying, don't get your hair in a knot–oh, yeah, sorry. Relax, I'm trying to make you feel better, Commander. You're making it pretty damn hard, y'know."
"Joker. . ." I had to ask this question. "Do you think Ash would join up if I asked her?"
For the first time, a shadow crossed his face. Looking extremely uncomfortable, he shook his head. "I really doubt it. I haven't actually seen her in two years."
I grimaced and stood, fighting the sudden head rush, and Joker began to gather up his crutches. I'd fallen asleep in the jumpsuit typically worn underneath armor, and I was beginning to smell. "Shower," I grunted, disappearing into the built-in bathroom. I locked the door behind me, perturbed, and began to undress. If they thought I was going to continue with their little science experiment, they were dead wrong. I was fine enough, and, to me, it seemed like all I had to do was get in shape again so the steroids stopped screwing with my body.
Why had Joker not kept in touch with Ashley for two years? Had she changed, did she blame him for getting me killed? I was confused, and it wasn't an emotion I was intimately familiar with. Sooner or later she'd have to know I was alive, and the longer I sat on the secret the harder it was going to be to break. Like any good boyfriend, I should have called her or something, left a note. Something to give her some hope, even if she wouldn't allow herself to feel it. I didn't even know her email address, as sad as that was, because I'd never needed to use it before. Maybe if I went to Anderson. . .
Hell yeah I was going to Anderson. Former Captain or not, friend or not, he was still humanity's representative on the Council, and I needed access to whatever relevant files he was willing to foreword to me.
When I got out of the shower, Joker had left, which I figured was just as well. I wasn't in the mood today, as much as I was relieved that my death hadn't been in vain. I needed answers, I needed. . .
I collapsed into the chair in front of my private terminal, a towel wrapped around my body, and began to massage my head.
I needed Ashley.
Love was another strange emotion–sure, I'd experimented with a few girls back in secondary school as I continued my studies, but nothing too serious. Flirting was a time-honed skill, and I'd always been a natural at it. I was the guy with the phone numbers and email addresses, but I was also the guy who never called, who never wrote. The silly girls I met as I traveled were small and meaningless, just a mild attraction as I awaited the order for us to move to our next posting, and out of all of them I had perhaps only two friends I stayed in contact with. After I'd joined the Navy at sixteen, we had one giant get-together. Months later, I went to one's funeral; he'd been killed in a bank robbery. The second distanced himself from me, or perhaps I did it, and we hadn't talked for years.
You found a lot of good friends in the Navy, like Anderson or Alenko, and the people there understood in a way nobody else could. But when you find a girl like that, somebody who makes you laugh and presses your buttons just right, you can't help it. I thought I'd be able to control it, I really thought I had, but then. . .
The choice between Alenko and Williams was a tough call I never, ever wanted to make again. Either way I would lose a friend, but if I lost Ashley I would lose more than a friend. Ingrained training, burned so deeply in my being, saw a choice between a man who had volunteered and a woman trying to buy me time. All instincts said to protect and respect. I chose Williams, and Kaiden died.
I didn't believe anything about his last words. I don't regret a thing, Commander was going to haunt me for the rest of my days, and I'd always wonder if he did or if he knew my reasons for choosing Ashley.
Afterwards, I could barely look at her. I shut myself in my room for an hour, closing the door as I had never done before except to sleep, and came out with a calm facade I didn't feel. I comforted Joker, who was mourning the loss of his best friend, and I comforted the rest of the team. Chakwas was crying, I remembered that. Kaiden had gotten on along well with her.
And Ashley. . . she could barely look at me, but she plucked up her courage and kissed me on the cheek when I came to check on her, see how she was doing. And she hugged me, squeezing me tightly, and said she couldn't change it, but she wanted to see it through. At the time, I didn't know which thing she wanted to see through was, and I don't think she did, either.
Hell, how could I explain my feelings for her? She was a best friend, an ally, and a wonderful woman. And her opinion completely terrified me.
I hated feeling like this, like some type of girl PMSing. I wanted some stability, I wanted. . . I didn't know what I wanted.
I want to go home, I thought sadly, thinking of the original Normandy. I want to go to sleep.
I sat there for a few more minutes, staring out into space, and finally got up the will to get dressed. EDI appeared after I clothed myself, watching me with a silent, accusatory air as I placed the pistil in my pocket. I relented and turned the volume back on.
"That was unnecessary," EDI remarked. "If I wished, I could have used the ship's intercom."
"Then obviously it's not very important," I said, raising my eyebrows. "I don't like wake-up calls."
"There is no need for that," she replied. "I do not act as your alarm clock, Commander Shepard. I simply watch and offer advice when needed if we're not in combat."
"As you're about to do now, no doubt."
"Yes. If you do not report to the medical bay for regular checks, you run a high risk of malfunctioning on the battlefield and getting yourself or your team hurt in action. This does not come from Operative Lawson, which you are no doubt wondering. It is simply common sense and a logical assumption based on the patterns of circumstance, and the most wise course of action right now would be to agree with Doctor Chakwas and have her run her tests on you, placing your personal feelings of Cerberus aside and putting your trust in your former crew member."
EDI went quiet, observing me, and I felt stupid. I ran another hand over my bald head, wondering when hair would start to appear there, and said, "You're not like any other AI I've met, EDI."
"Yes. I am not shooting at you, but giving counsel."
"And you're right. I'm not about to let my crew die again because I don't trust Cerberus enough. I'm not taking back what I said, though–I refuse to be an experiment."
EDI had no answer for that, and said instead, "Doctor Chakwas is waiting for you downstairs. Logging you out, Shepard."
She disappeared, leaving me alone for what I suspected was the first time since I'd entered the room, and I crossed over to my private terminal to check any incoming messages. There was a small message from the Illusive Man about a set of armor that was recovered from the science base I'd escaped from yesterday and en route to my ship, which I could care less about. I leaned back in my chair, thinking, and activated my omni-tool.
"Come on, two years won't kill you," I muttered, typing in a new command. It was a new tool and unfamiliar with the websites I was searching, but eventually I managed to get to the homepage of my old, private email address I mainly used for forwarding myself pictures I took with my omni-tool. With a few clicks I brought it up on-screen and, with a pang of relief, discovered my account was still there. It hadn't even been flagged for deletion, which I thought was odd, but then I realized that the last time 'I' had logged in was two weeks ago. I couldn't get more than that, and I wondered who had managed to get into my personal email files.
Perturbed, I searched through old files until I found the one I was looking for. A small grin on my face, I waved the omni-tool in the direction of the empty picture-frame on the shelf behind me. A digital picture appeared there, depicting a group scene consisting of my old crew, taken a little bit before Virmire. Liara, her pale blue skin glowing faintly in the light, smiled shyly up at the camera, dressed in a slim-fitting tunic of green and silver; Wrex glared up from the background, looming like an undersized giant; Garrus was on the other side, arms crossed and looking confident; Tali was next to him, waving cheerfully; I was in the middle, my arms around Ashley and Kaiden both, and we smiled at the picture-taker, who I remembered to be Pressly. The intercom could be seen in the background, Joker's preferred communications method of choice, so in a roundabout way he was in the picture, too.
I placed the frame carefully next to my computer terminal and began to look more closely into the unspecified logins on my account. There was no way I could accurately trace the IP address without hacking into the server itself, and I lacked the skills to do that without tripping an alarm. If only Tali or something was here, then I would know. . .
Did Mom do it? Most things that were on there were pictures or notes that I would use to remind myself of certain things. Some said, 'Take shower, don't care if you're tired.' Others said, 'Check ammo' or 'Clean weapons.' Nothing important was on there, nothing at all, except for a few pictures and vids. . .
I scanned through them quickly. Most were inconsequential, pictures of crew members working around the ship, or some kind of nice horizon on an uncharted world. They brought me back to the old days, and I couldn't help but smile when I saw Garrus sitting in full armor on a too-warm world, leaning against the side of the Mako with a defeated air. Tali's feet could only just be seen, the rest of her body having disappeared underneath the engine. Remembering that this was a vid, I pressed the play button, and they sprang to life in my hand.
"Out of all the planets we could get stranded on," Garrus said sadly, glancing up at the sky. Tali's feet were moving. "Just waiting for the thresher maws. Meat meat, come get it. . ."
"Relax," said my voice, years ago. "None are in the area–I checked."
"Garrus?" Tali asked, sliding herself out from underneath the vehicle. She lay on her back, sand marking her purple outfit, and she asked, "Please don't work on the Mako any more. You–oh. Why are you recording us, Shepard?"
Out of the screen, I laughed. Tali stared at me for a long moment, then went back to fixing the Mako. I remembered that scene perfectly. The video ended not long after that when nothing else happened, finishing on a close pan of the horizon and the little speck in the sky that would soon solidify into the Normandy.
There were other videos like that, other notes, other pictures, and I downloaded them all to my personal inbox. On a small hunch, I typed a message and sent it to myself, there for the person who found their way in. 'Who are you?' I asked.
Setting my alerts to ping me when I got a reply, I stood, joints cracking, and closed my terminal. I took the elevator to Three, wondering if I'd at least be able to catch a meal before Doctor Chakwas performed her tests. It wasn't to be, however. She was waiting for me, leaning her back against the wall, measuring me with a hesitant, concerned look as the doors opened. "Shepard," she said by way of greeting. "I'm sorry, I know I must have put you in a difficult position. After everything you've been through–"
I raised a hand, cutting her off. "Don't talk like that. I was a jerk. I trust you not to put any illicit things in my meds I don't know abut. I'm sorry for not trusting you before."
Her expression softened. "I accept your apology, Commander. To be fair, I don't think I would relish the chance of being poked and prodded, either." She led me to the med bay and proceeded to poke and prod me, muttering calculations under her breath and writing down information on piece of paper. "Most of what they were doing to you is above my general knowledge, and theirs most likely. . ."
I tried not to complain as she proceeded with her check-up. "So how's the new Normandy working for you, doc?" I asked, glancing around at the large, stainless-steel room.
"Oh, it's the same as the old one, really," she said, checking my breathing. She chuckled. "A bit more upgraded, of course, and I have access to some medical data I wasn't able to get before–namely, yours. The only thing I'm missing is my private stores. I even had a bottle of Serrice Ice Brandy I was saving for a special occasion; I always regretted not opening that original bottle when I still had the chance. . ."
"You seem happy here," I said.
"Yes, it's. . . okay. Seeing you alive and here really brightened things up."
I shrugged. "I heard things fell apart after the accident. Is Anderson still the man he was last I saw him?"
Doctor Chakwas has been close to him, I remembered. I wondered if he knew about her relation to Cerberus. "I dropped off the grid after I retired," she said sadly. "I still keep in touch with old friends or family who would worry, but I cut ties with Anderson the day I retired. Our meeting didn't go. . . well."
"What happened?"
"He still believes in the Reapers, but the Council won't see it. They hush him if he speaks about it and threatened to remove him of his position if he continued on about it. He went on the defensive, and ever since then relations between them have been strained. I confronted him about my being stationed on New Canton, such a far away little place, and he got angry. I got angry. We haven't spoke since, and I doubt he even knows if I'm alive or not, or even what I'm doing." She sighed. "Part of me feels a vindictive pleasure at the pain I'm causing him, and I hate that feeling. I'm trying to suppress it. He and I used to be friends, after all. But the idea that so many people died, and nobody's doing anything and hushing it up and it just makes me so angry."
I was shocked at the overwhelming sadness in her voice, and I wondered how long she'd bottled it up. "I'm so sorry," I said. "Maybe I could talk to him, let him know I've seen you and you're okay."
She chuckled. "No, Commander. I fight my own battles. But thank you."
"I wish I could do more to help," I said. "We need everybody together to fight the Reapers."
"You yourself should know that will never happen, Commander," she chided. "Everybody isn't meant to get along."
"Given a common enemy, we can fight anything," I countered.
Chakwas snorted, removing the stethoscope from my chest. "I won't argue with you, Commander. Your fever seems to be receding, but I can't tell you how long it'll stay that way. Your lungs seem to be working fine."
"And?"
"And for the rest, I'll need to talk to Miranda about."
I almost snapped again, but caught myself. "Fine. I assume I'm allowed to eat?"
"Certainly," she said, helping me to my feet. "I apologize that I can't join you, my duties here. . ." She looked out the window at the small group dining at the mess table, and said, "Do try not to kill Hawthorne when he asks to spar. I've grown accustomed to him."
Mess Sargent Gardner was only too happy to hand me a tray of food–pre-cooked eggs that looked like rubber, uselessly seasoned with a variety of peppers and herbs–and I took my seat next to Goldstein, the African-American woman I'd talked to yesterday. "Look who's joined us for breakfast, guys," she said, calling to the six other assembled crew members. Hawthorne looked up, curious, and his eyebrows twitched in surprise. "Nice to see you up, Commander." A chorus of agreement rang up from the crowd.
"Thanks," I said, leaning over to take a bite out of my food. They watched me, their gazes evaluating, as I took my first bite. The egg was horrible, with a taste that said it came straight out of a ration cube. One of them, Rolsten, chuckled as I paused to identify this, chewed once more, and swallowed. Conscious of their gazes, I ate the rest–after all, I'd tasted much worse–and smacked my lips to a general show of approval. He needs groceries. Badly. "Don't worry, we're going to fix the food issue," I assured them, grinned a bit. "But these? Not as nasty as they are straight from the canisters. He's trying."
Back in the kitchen, obviously listening, Gardner laughed in triumph. "HA! See? Ungrateful freeloaders."
"Just laugh it up, Gardner!" Hawthorne called. "We'll see what you do with the real food when it gets here!"
"Just let me break out my doilies."
They laughed and returned to their meals. Goldstein gave me the rest of her eggs and concentrated on a vegetarian soup, and a few more joined us for breakfast. They seemed to share the same dismal view of Gardner's food, but were by far less vocal about it. We ate in silence for a while, and then Hawthorne asked rather curiously, "Why is your face glowing like some sort of flashlight, sir?"
I immediately felt my face with my free hand, probing at the new scars along my cheek. "That is a very good question. I never asked it because I really, really don't want to know that they did something else to me while I was sleeping."
"Like?"
I shook my head. "A million things I can't even explain."
His next question was a bit more hesitant. "Did they upgrade you?"
When I nodded, he sat deeper into his seat and concentrated on his eggs. I stood, already finished, and walked my tray back up to Rupert Gardner. He winked and placed it in the dishwasher.
&.
(Kenneth Donelly)
I whistled under my breath as I worked, loud and unintelligible music blaring in my ears with a volume so extreme that it buffered every other noise around me, and typed up another status report for our big bad-ass master upstairs, watching Gabby's hips move in the corner of my eye as she danced, however subtlety, to the beat begging to be heard.I tapped my foot, working in harmony with my partner of so many years, and mumbled some lyrics under my breath–I didn't know them all, of course, which Gabby was keen to point out, so most of it sounded like mangled garbage.
I pressed a button rather hard as I tapped out the rhythm, changing the pitch of my singing into a mangled, high-pitched whine that made Gabby fall over her station in theoretical agony. Shaking her head and saying nothing (heh, that I could hear anyway) she glanced back up at her screen and sighed. She hit my arm, and I turned down the volume, knowing that if I ignored her she'd whack me a lot harder. Women. "What? I was just getting started."
She took the earphones out of my ears with a stern look and held out her hand for the music player. When I didn't give it to her, she pointed to a message on her screen. "Hawthorne says Shepard's up."
I gave her the music player, grimacing. "Ah."
"Be good," she scolded, tucking it into her pocket and away from further temptation. . . though I was tempted to reach in there and take it, just to see what she'd do. I grinned cheerfully at her, and she, always able to guess my thoughts, shook her head and turned back to her diagnostic station. "Just play nice. Be a good boy, Kenneth Donelly."
"Yah, yah, yah, good boy. Right." I rolled my eyes towards the ceiling and began to finish up, whistling under my breath, when a thought struck me. "Oi, that was your email, wasn't it?"
"So? It's not like I'm worried about being stuck up on a charge. Besides, I'm already finished."
"So Hawthorne sent that to your private account. Jesus Christ, woman, we've only been here a few days and you're–" I gestured wildly, edging closer "–I don't know."
Gabby narrowed her eyes. "It's not like that. Maybe I make friends easier than you do."
"Uh-huh, well, I bet if I got the email address of every guy onboard within a couple of hours you'd suspect something, too–"
"Ken, chill," she said, exasperated. I was thoroughly enjoying this, but made sure to keep a straight face and tone. "It's only a couple of people, and some of them are girls–"
I gasped. "I'm shocked!"
Her eyes narrowed dangerously, the only warning I had before her fingers were suddenly wove into my hair, pulling me down to her height. She was actually a very tall woman, averaging around five-foot nine, but I'd hit my growth spurt early on and pushed a good six-feet. I didn't take that for granted at all, because she had five blackbelts and I was the winner of the Plastic Chicken Tourney back at that fair a couple of years back. In layman's terms, that damned she-devil had me and I was a little nervous. "What was that, Kenneth?" she asked sweetly.
"Uh, oh, nothing." I grinned suddenly and pulled myself away from her, clutching at my prize–the silver music player. "Hey, hey, don't kill me–"
It stands to duly note that whenever I have fun–and that's whenever–some sort of CO has to be coming down to check on us, so I should have known that Hawthorne's warnings were with grounds and that he might come to see the ship. Gabby had me in an arm lock against the terminal, twisting my wrist as far back as it would go, asking politely as a she-devil can for the music player, when there was a cough behind us. "Commander!" Gabby squealed, dropping my hand and spinning around. "Uh, sorry, sir, we were just messing around!"
Commander Shepard was a mean-looking son of a bitch, alright, and I was suddenly nervous. I drew myself to my full height, unbelievably shorter, and glanced at those glowing orange scars on his face. God damn, and I thought they were joking. He was pale, his green eyes slightly sunken in his face and blurred from exhaustion, and he was bald. I don't know what the hell they'd been feeding him, but it didn't look like enough–not by a long shot. I placed myself slightly in front of Gabby, the hairs on the back of my neck standing up, and waited for the verdict.
He did this long, slow look around like he couldn't believe we were the only two down here, then said, "Sorry to interrupt. I'm just getting to know my crew and take a walk around. That okay with you two?"
"Uh, yeah, sure," Gabby said, a false cheerful tone in her voice. "Just, erm, do whatever you want. Your ship, heh, you know. . ."
He grinned, the light throwing the scars into higher relief. "I didn't mean to startle you," he said gently. "Nice arm lock, by the way."
I was slightly relieved that he wasn't going to eat us or do other boss-ass powers. "Great," I muttered, rubbing my wrist. "Yeah, wonderful, Gabby. That woman puts me through more pain than I'd bargained for, Commander, and that's the truth. I was the guy who held up the punching bag back at the Academy."
She elbowed me, demonstrating my point. "Kenneth," she scolded. "Show some respect." She held out her hand. "I'm Gabriella Daniels, and this is Kenneth Donelly. We work on the Normandy's engines, make sure everything is smooth sailing."
"But, just a secret," I whispered, "we actually call ourselves Gabby and Ken."
I talk a lot when I'm nervous, pure habit, but I also talk a lot when I'm not, which is just as well. Commander Shepard was a guy that'll make anybody nervous, and that's the truth. And was it just me, or did he still look half-dead? I didn't know about Gabby (actually, I did) but I didn't want a zombie walking around. He even smelled weird! Like decaying flesh, most likely. . .
"Then you can call me Shepard," he chuckled, taking Gabby's hand. "Besides, I like to get to know my crew." He gestured at us. "So what's with the fight? Are you two having problems?"
"What?" Gabby asked. "Oh, no, Commander. We're best friends."
I nodded empathetically. "Best friends who hit each other, anyway."
"Kenneth."
"Hey, okay, sorry. Not my fault you're temperamental."
"I swear, Ken–"
"So, Commander," I said loudly, "what can we do you for?"
He was watching us all with a small smile on his face I immediately distrusted. "You two don't seem like any other Cerberus people I've met before. How long ago did you join?"
I shrugged. "Shortly after you, er, died, Commander." I grinned apologetically, but he didn't seem to mind. "Anderson lost a lot of political clout after that, records were sealed, and they were saying that the Reapers were all some weird hallucination and a geth creation."
"We rode in on the first wave," Gabby said in a hushed voice. "Saw Sovereign first-hand. We knew it wasn't a geth creation."
"Yeah, their tech is based on pulse-energy. Everything was coming up as unknowns," I said, nodding. "If the geth could built such a big-ass machine, then why would they use stuff they've never used themselves before? It didn't make sense, and I told those Alliance reps that. Of course they descended on your words like vultures, picking apart everything you said. I was very vocal in my defense for you, Commander, I didn't hold back."
"He's under-exaggerating," Gabby said. "The only reason he wasn't court-marshaled was because he's such a good mechanic."
I shrugged modestly. "But it got me noticed by Tim, and here I am."
"Tim?" Shepard asked curiously. "Who's that?"
Gabby and I looked at each other, and we grinned at the same time. She gestured for me to take the reigns. "Well," I said heavily, "the Illusive Man is such a mouthful, and to be frank we're already wasting enough time on those stabilizers, so we dubbed him Tim. I thought it was real funny, actually."
Shepard blinked once, his eyebrow twitching in shock. "You call one of the most powerful men in the galaxy Tim?"
"Well, yeah. It fits," I said defensively.
He seemed to think about it for a second, then smirked. "Tim it is."
Gabby laughed.
"So how did you come in, Gabby?" he asked, turning towards her.
She lifted her chin proudly. "After Kenneth eviscerated the media and the Council, he got the offer. Well, I couldn't stand just lazing around doing nothing. Besides, he'd fall apart without me."
"Yeah, thanks mum," I muttered.
She snorted. "When we got the chance to work on the Normandy I had to jump. This baby is state-of-the-art, best ship I've ever served on."
"Plus, we like the relaxed protocol," I added helpfully. "If I wake up in the middle of the night to take a pee, I don't want a damn hall pass to use the toilets."
Shepard nodded, conceding the point. "Protocol is there for reason, but personally I think it's better suited towards newer recruits learning the ropes. As long as everybody gets the job done, I don't mind if you're listening to the Mind Flayers."
What? How could he know. . .? His eyes dropped to the bulge in my pocket, zippered close, and I felt my ears go red. "Well, sir, that's very good," I said. "Uh. . ."
"And Gabby, I don't care if you check your email, just make sure to log out when you're finished." His eyes flickered over to her terminal, which was closed, and she went deathly still, as she always did when she discovered a new threat.
"Aye, aye, sir," she said, her tone neutral.
He asked a bit about our training and seemed pretty surprised at Gabby's previous unarmed fighting experience. "Why aren't you a marine?" he asked.
"I wanted to ever since I was a girl, but I like computers, too." A small smile played on her lips. "Besides, if somebody ever boards a ship, I'd like to show them that hell hath no fury like me."
I raised my hand, feeling ignored. "So vouching for that, sir."
I was pretty sure nobody would ever board the Normandy, but if they did I inwardly knew that I'd have my trouble cut out for me keeping Gabby away from the main fighting to concentrate on maintaining the drive core. Damn girl always wanted some action–sometimes I thought that the only reason she even bothered to stay in her current position was because of me. Shepard asked a few questions about the Normandy and how it was running, asked about our opinions of Cerberus, et cetera. Pretty boring stuff, but you can't say that to the only Commander who seems curious about you. On the last ship the only time we ever even saw the Captain was when he was fuming up the bathrooms.
Shepard left soon after, leaving us alone, and I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. "I can't believe he actually came down to see us."
"Shush," she said, "I told you he would."
"But how the bloody damn hell did he know what I was listening to? And how you were checking your email?"
The door back to the engineering room opened, and Shepard stuck his head back in. "Magic." He left.
"He's a scary bastard," I whispered in her ear. "Smells funny, too."
She nodded, turning back to her station. "Be a good boy, Kenneth," she whispered back, and we finished our work in silence.
&.
(Miranda)
All neural functions seemed to be in order, and aside from an elevated testosterone level and general exhaustion, Commander Shepard's body seemed to be acclimatizing well to resurrection. It would take weeks, maybe months for him to bring back his original muscular structure so I could disable the steroids feeding into his system, but other than that I was pleased. Not with his attitude, of course, but that was to be expected when his body was producing enough testosterone to grow another pair if he wanted. But he was pretty controlled so far and hadn't broken anybody's neck, so I had high hopes.
I watched him walk around via security algorithm placed in my terminal, writing down my observations next to the notes Chakwas had taken for me. After he left Engineering he returned back to Deck Two, the CIC, and began a conversation with Jacob, then Joker. Yeoman Chambers seemed to throw him off, especially when she said, "Oh, Commander, I love every species! Turian, hanar, salarian, asari, drell."
He responded with a hesitant-sounding, "You're a very loving person," and made an excuse to leave. Chambers turned back to her terminal, not put out at all, and Shepard attempted to go into the tech lab before remembering the restrictions that the Illusive Man–codenamed Tim, apparently–had placed. He coughed a bit, rolled on his heels, and went back to the elevator.
Three minutes later, on the dot, he was back in his quarters. Unknown to him, there were cameras installed there that his EMP pulse hadn't destroyed, so I had an unobstructed three-hundred-sixty view of his room from a lightbulb placed above his bed. He began to work out, going through the regular lunges, push-ups, and stretches common to the Alliance military. He focused more on flexibility than strength, grimacing as he brought his leg half-way up and was unable to bring it up any more.
I began to record his workout session, one of many I was sure to be unknowingly party to for the next while.
He was in horrible shape, no doubt about it, and I realized the only reason he'd made it as far as the shuttle back on the station was because his body was filled with pure adrenaline. I made a few more notes. Eventually he collapsed in the middle of a push-up, breathing hard, and tried to do it again. His face hit the ground and he lay there, still. I was afraid he'd finally passed out from overexertion and was about to stand up and go to him when:
"Damn it, Alenko," he muttered. Spurred on by the death of his best friend, he got up and managed ten more push-ups. He rested. Ten more. He rested. Ten more. He eventually got to hit feet in an odd, stiff manner, and began jumping jacks, running in place, and different variations of gym calisthenics. What he needed was a treadmill, I realized.
I opened up a line to the Illusive Man, forwarding him the test results and my own personal observations, plus the security recording of Shepard's exercises with a request for a collapsible treadmill to be sent to the Normandy after we got off of Omega. The Illusive Man replied quickly, stating that it was a good idea and he'd go look for one now.
I didn't even stop to think about what Shepard would think about having a treadmill delivered to him. It was necessary, so he'd put up with it.
I wondered when Shepard would begin practicing his biotics. Obviously not now. While I'd been preoccupied, he'd fallen asleep on his bed.