Chapter 34
Sleep wasn't coming. Shepard kicked the bedcovers down to a crumpled heap at the foot of the bed and rolled over again. The empty fish tank bubbled light around the room. It was so hot in here. Her window overhead glittered with stars not veiled by a blue film of FTL. They must be offloading the charge. Black space spread out above glittered with stars and asteroids, planets and solar systems, and everything beyond.
All she wanted to do was sleep. Her breathing slowed as the air inflated her chest and drained out over and over again. Each heartbeat flushed blood through her skin. Each movement of a finger, a toe, the blink of eyelids held so much intricacy and complexity, but simplicity too.
She should have died on the crucible. Should have died the day the Normandy tore apart above Alchera - the madness hurtling over broken terminals and rolling equipment, fire scorching her armor, and heart pulsing in her chest. That was the first time she should have died. If she'd died then, the galaxy would be different. It could be destroyed, or maybe saved by someone else, maybe saved a different way. A different decision.
Maybe Kaidan would have been better off. Not if the galaxy had been destroyed, of course. If she was the only solution, then that was worth it, certainly. But, if she hadn't been the only solution and never come back from the dead, maybe Kaidan would be happier. He could have moved on, found someone else, maybe a civilian. He'd be happier, not hurt. Perhaps the biggest turning point wasn't dying on the Normandy though. There never should have been a relationship at all. He'd be better off. She'd be better off. She was fine with all now, but it was the idea of him not being over it yet and still hurting causing all this turmoil in her.
Her face burned against and the pillow felt damp. She frowned and lifted her fingers to the slippery skin under her eye. She bolted upright and tore off the covers. Her feet caught in the sheets. She stomped them away then stumbled up the stairs to the bathroom. She smacked the sink handle to the side and splashed water into her face. It was so damn hot in here. She needed to lower the damn thermostat. Probably good she didn't have any fish. They'd be boiling. She jammed the down arrow on the thermostat until the number hit its limit.
She flopped in her desk chair. Work was what she needed. She flicked on the terminal, and Stofsky's station report came up. She punched through the pictures, but realized after a few minutes that she couldn't even remember what she'd looked at. She'd back up and tried again. Her eyes drifted to the empty fish tank, and her hand dropped slowly from the screen and rested on desk.
Joker had said they were forty-eight hours from comm range. She checked her Omni-Tool. That was ten hours ago. Soon they'd jump back to FLT. She slumped back in her chair and stared up at the ceiling. She wanted to do it. Enough time had passed to be a proper buffer period. If she talked to him, it would just be friendly. It'd be business even.
She frowned and glanced down at the computer terminal. He might not appreciate her bothering him though. Her fingers drummed on the chair's armrest. No, he might not appreciate it at all actually. Hard to move on if you're being pestered by the one you're trying to move on from. It would probably just upset things and set him back.
This whole damn situation with Anchor though. The station crew, the shard, it wasn't coming together. Wavy light from the fish tank danced across the hulls of her model ships. The Normandy hummed with that ever-present vibration in the air she couldn't hear without thinking about it. If she could go over everything, hash it out, get pushed into seeing what was probably right in front of her, maybe she could make sense of it. It rather sentimental though thinking it had to be him to do it. If she allowed it, she could get help from anyone. Damnit though, she wanted to talk to him. She was just going to do it. She drew a deep breath and made the resolution. Now she just had to wait a few more hours until they were in range.
Her eyes drifted around the room and strayed to the image on her terminal's screen. Her spine shot straight with a heart flutter, and she squinted at the screen. Her fingers magnified the image. It was Langley's central control room. The walls had bullet holes. She scrambled to her feet tipping the chair over. That ferret eyed man, she remembered him now. She hadn't worked with him in the Alliance. She worked with him in Cerberus. Shepard tumbled down the stairs, raced to her closet, and threw it open. If he was Cerberus then, he was probably Terra Firma now. If she could—
A boom echoed through her walls. Shepard paused swaying with one leg in her pants. Another boom echoed. She fumbled into her pants and ripped a shirt out of the closet scattering hangers across the floor. More echoing booms. Shepard's heart raced.
She secured the shirt's middle button as she raced to the cabin door. The elevator door outside her cabin whined as they slid open. Someone must be coming to get her. She reached to the green button. Heavy metal footsteps reverberated over the ringing booms. No one would be wearing armor already unless …
Shepard lurched to her desk, fumbling behind the terminal and scattering datapads and pens, until her fingers gripped the butt of her pistol. The booms punctuated a muffled roar of what sounded like yelling and running in the distance below. It was gunfire. It had to be. She leveled her pistol at the door and planted her feet apart. No one was coming in. The armored visitor was waiting for her then.
The muffled booms set her teeth almost to shattering. She couldn't just wait here. She darted to the door. If someone was waiting, she'd need to do something unexpected. The cabin doors slid apart, and Shepard rolled out into the landing. Metal feet move and a gunshot burst in her ears hitting the floor in the doorway. She rolled up on her knees leveling her gun. Two armed figures on either side of the door turned their pistols. She pulled her trigger twice as she stood. This close of range, it broke one of men's shield, and he fell. Something sharp and metallic caught the light in his hand. The second man's pistol fired, and Shepard dodged. Surprising how lithe and agile she could be in combat without armor. Another shot tore into the metal by her foot. She fired again and again still dodging until the armored man slumped back against the wall. A red stain smeared down the wall as he dropped. The first man lay unmoving. Blood pooling on his back as metal syringe rolled from his hand. She fumbled after it with a pinched frown, but it slipped through the grate. It clacked metal-against-metal ricocheting down into the darkness.
A red drop splashed by her hand on the grate. Her temple burned, and she lifted a hand to her hairline. Hot liquid slicked her fingertips. Shot in the head. She reeled. Her fingertips brushed the ripped flesh with a sharp flinched. No, just grazed. Shepard steadied herself rising to her feet and sent over to the bodies. Two of the station soldiers they'd picked up. She recognized their armor. They were dead or nearly. She picked up the first one's pistol and then the next. She turned them over in her hand. Must be their own pistols they'd brought on board. Should have cataloged them into the armory like the rifles. She took out the clips and tossed the pistols aside.