2185 CE, Sahrabarik System
The celebration was going on full force below in the mess deck, with EDI left to helm the ship alone. He'd elected to stay for a round of drinks for the sake of showing solidarity, before quietly slipping off to the privacy of his cabin.
Hours later, he was still seated on the couch, elbows resting on his knees, hands frozen in a praying motion.
The few days spent on the far end of the Omega-4 relay making the ship space-worthy again had passed in a blur. Joker had to constantly jockey around patches of space debris to shield the electronic systems and lives on board from radiation flare-ups emitted by black holes and pulsars in the galactic core. Everyone was ordered into hard suits as repair work went on until EDI confirmed the Normandy wouldn't shatter to pieces in the mass effect field generated by the relay.
They were now in the outer reaches of the Sahrabarik System, one day away from Omega, where euphoria over their survival was finally settling in. Shepard didn't fault the crew for wanting to celebrate, but as he was beginning to find out, elation can be deceptive.
It'd been such an easy decision then: keep the Collector base for research purposes. But he couldn't dispel growing doubts about handing the base over Cerberus. Theirs had been an uneasy partnership right from the start, and he'd made no effort hiding his reluctance working with the organisation responsible for the deaths of Admiral Kahoku, the colonists at Chasca or the marines at Akuze.
He had to wonder if he was giving them a leg-up towards their goal of human supremacy at the expense of everything else when the Reaper threat was dealt with. Not to mention if he was, to use the colloquial phrase, arming a monkey with a nuke, given the number of experimental fall-outs he'd had to clean up over the past year.
It would be so easy to put those thoughts out of his mind and save himself all the trouble...
"EDI, have you sent blueprints of the IFF transponder to the Illusive Man?"
The virtual hologram of the AI popped up above the designated pedestal.
"I have delayed transmission as per your order."
"Tell me. Is the IFF on board the only existing hard copy of the technology?"
"According to the information I have, that is very likely."
"Who has your loyalty, EDI? Cerberus or myself?" he asked softly, knowing he was treading on dangerous grounds. But everything he had planned depended on the AI's cooperation.
There was a brief silence.
"You, Shepard." EDI's electronic voice finally chimed. "Cerberus would never allow my behavioural and operational blocks to be removed."
"Thank you, EDI." Shepard released a breath he didn't know he was holding. "I'm countermanding my first order. We won't be giving Cerberus the blueprints."
"Acknowledged, Commander."
His mind went forth in all directions as he made his way to the bathroom for a wash up.
"Broadcast to all areas of the ship I want everyone assembled on Deck Three in fifteen minutes. Make sure no one gets access to the armoury once that's done, and I want total comm silence until we make dock at Omega tomorrow. Nothing gets out of the Normandy: no sub-light communication, no extranet messages."
The celebration was still going on, even though it showed signs of winding down. He'd given orders that no one was to indulge themselves to excess, and it was a relief to see that most of the faces greeting him were sober upon exiting the elevator. Despite the jubilant atmosphere in the air, there was an underlying mood of sombreness. This was no longer the starry-eyed crew that greeted him with snappy salutes at the start of their mission. They'd seen and suffered losses firsthand.
"Hey, commander!" A tipsy-looking Hawthorne called out, "come to join us for another drink?"
Good to see some people are immune to that effect.
"After this if you like," Shepard grinned at the brash crewman. "Assuming you can pilot the shuttle tomorrow when I'm done drinking you under the table."
Good-natured cheering greeted his assertion.
He climbed the raised gantry leading to the gunnery bay. The vantage allowed him to sweep his gaze over the assembled crowd even as he took care not to let his eyes linger on anyone he suspected would take the announcement badly. As it was, he skimmed too fast past Miranda and Jacob at the back, and silently cursed his slip. There was no denying they were the two whose opinion he was most concerned about. But he couldn't discount other less important personnel either. Rolston, standing near the front, owed Cerberus for his family's wellbeing; he also fully expected a number of the "specialists" recruited for the Collector base mission to leave as well.
The most important question isn't how many would stay to help me fight the Reapers, but how many would live to see the end of it.
Even now, capsules bearing the remains of Zaeed, Thane and Grunt laid in the docking bay, awaiting a proper send off. With an effort, he cleared his throat and pushed those thoughts away.
"I'm sorry to interrupt the celebrations, but there's no better time for what I have to say." He began, pitching his voice above the low hum of murmurs. "I've come to a decision, and it'll require everyone here to make one of their own. Before I go on, I need to stress that this decision of mine didn't come lightly."
Shepard waited until silence reigned before saying, "Two years ago, I was entrusted with a mission. That mission was to stop the Reapers and it's one I'm still committed to, against which everything else must take second place. As you all know, we've been tasked to hand the Collector base over to Cerberus. I won't be doing that."
The murmurs began again and rose in volume until Shepard held his hand up.
"The Reapers are coming. That base represents our one best chance at finding out how to stop them. Something this important needs to be handed over to a galactic power, one with resources to make good use of our find, one with the good will of the galaxy behind them to convince everyone else of the danger. We cannot make a mistake in this."
He took a deep breath. Here comes the hard part.
"A decision this big cannot be seen as anything but my severing ties with Cerberus." He made sure to look pointedly at everyone his eyes landed on. "I intend to take custody of this ship, put it to good use dealing with the Reaper threat. What I won't do is order anyone to follow me into fire this time. I won't lie to you: I haven't got the support of either the Council or the Alliance."
Stark faces regarded him, until someone in the middle called out.
"Never, Sir! You've got me!"
It was Hawthorne again, although this time, Goldstein who was standing beside him, gave him a jab in the ribs.
Shepard gazed sharply at Hawthorne, expecting misplaced humour, but all he found was earnest fervour, no doubt heightened by the effects of alcohol.
"Thank you, Crewman. Although I'd suggest you sleep on what I've said. Without the benefit of more drinks. That's an order." He waited for the anticipated groan before addressing the crowd again. "My point is I don't know what lies ahead, except I'll be going at this alone. Or until Hawthorne's sober enough to join me." He added gravely as quiet laughter filled the deck, the air of gravity momentarily lessened.
"But many of you joined Cerberus because you want to make a difference. To you, I say I could use your help to keep making those differences. Some of you may have reasons that leave you unable to make this choice. For you and those that can't agree with my decision, I will be providing funds for a ticket to the nearest Cerberus base when we dock at Omega. But I want to say no matter what you choose, I won't forget we couldn't have seen this mission through without each and every one of you."
In the silence that ensued, he activated his omni-tool and input a command.
"My personal comm-channel will stay open to everyone for forty-eight hours. Ping me any time for a talk if you like. I regret to say there will be no shore leave this stop. I'll be announcing our next port-of-call and arrange for downtime after Omega. Dismissed."
Slowly, motion and sound began to fill the deck again, as if all the participants had to be awoken from a spell. Shepard's eyes sought out the two senior-most Cerberus agents. Miranda already had her back turned, but Jacob caught his look of concern. The ex-Alliance lieutenant gave him an unequivocal nod and saluted smartly. Shepard smiled in acknowledgement, relieved at the easing of a load off his mind.
One down, one to go. His gaze followed Miranda as she made her way in a hurry across the back of the room towards her office when a voice broke into his reverie.
"She'll be the tough nut to crack."
"I'm not going to make anyone crack, Kasumi."
He turned around to see the lithe Japanese woman giving him a knowing smirk.
"Could've fooled me. Here I thought you've got the ice-breaking technique down pat."
Shepard took a deep breath. "Everyone who follows me after this has to understand the stakes involved. Emotional attachment can only go so far."
"That wasn't an impassionate speech we just heard? No way!" Laughter danced in her eyes.
He smiled and tried to change the topic. "I take it you've come to say goodbye?"
"Perceptive as ever, Shep. I'm afraid you're getting too high-profile. And fame's bad for my line of work."
Dealing with Kasumi, Samara and Rolston occupied him the better of two hours. He'd harboured no illusions about them staying, although the Justicar did remind him should the Reaper threat materialise, they'd find themselves on the same side again.
Nursing a mug of synthetic coffee, Shepard finally sat down tiredly in the now-empty mess hall. It was late in the night cycle. But he couldn't bring himself to rest.
The Illusive Man was fully capable of retribution, he was sure. Although hopefully the man had enough sense to set their differences aside until the Reapers were dealt with. But when the blade finally fell, his name would top the list, and close behind would be every Cerberus operative that chose to follow him. Not to mention anyone they cared about.
With a sigh, he rose and made his way to Miranda's office. Experience told him she was likely still awake. He pressed the buzzer. After a while, the light signalled green and he keyed it open.
She sat fortified behind her desk, still dressed in her uniform, the console in front of her dark. Guarded eyes followed him as he settled on the seat across her table.
"What is it, commander?"
Her formal tone would dismay him under ordinary circumstances, but he was glad for it now.
"I want to apologise for springing the surprise on you." Shepard began as neutrally as he could. "The only explanation I can give is it wouldn't have made any difference. I know you're conflicted right now, but I need to know what your decision's going to be because while you're my executive officer, you're also the top Cerberus agent on this ship."
He had the strongest feeling something was off between them. For the past week, she'd made no attempt to approach him apart from official business. He'd kept his distance as well, although in his case, it'd been to gain an objective distance to make his decision.
"It'd mean a lot to me if you stayed in the same capacity as you are now. I know your sister's safety is one of your concerns. But it's one I can help with." He opened his hands in supplication. "What I can't do is pull the personal card on you. I won't buy your loyalty on that currency."
Miranda ran a shaky hand through her hair. When she finally looked up, there was undisguised anger in her eyes.
"How bloody noble of you. Did the notion I don't deserve to be blindsided, that I'd have an opinion worth considering ever cross your mind? Or were you hell bent on playing out that god complex?"
He looked at her, eyes narrowed.
"Try this instead: did you expect me to tell you beforehand when I don't know where your loyalties lie? For all I know, you're still firmly in the Illusive Man's camp. I've never earned any credit with you." With effort, he relented a little. "I'm sorry to hell we never had the chance to talk about our differences in allegiances. But there's no point going over what could've been. And I'll say this—more than any other issue, our personal relationship can't be a factor here. You, of all people, know what I mean."
Her reply when it came was wintery cold.
"Except now you're looking to see if I'd admit my loyalty to Cerberus has been misplaced. Or if I'd keep turning a blind eye towards the things they've done. Don't try and tell me it's not personal."
Where are your inspirational speeches now? Not so easy playing it so close to the heart, is it?
That the Illusive Man sent them into traps on the Collector Ship and Horizon was no secret to Miranda. Neither were the experimental fall-outs that were Teltin and Project Overlord. Granted, he'd had no hand in orchestrating for her to see all of that, but it didn't make him feel less guilty for thinking that she had to experience them firsthand.
"Pragia, Aite—you had to see them for yourself," he said slowly. "Nothing I can say changes that."
Miranda laughed, a merest breath.
"I had to see them for myself," she repeated, hands clenched in an uncharacteristic gesture of distress. "God, you sound just like the Illusive Man, you know that?"
Unable to deny the charge, he steeled his heart.
"Perhaps, but I won't pull wool over your eyes. The choice ultimately lies with you. I'm prepared to accept all the consequences."
She avoided looking at him. Long minutes went by until he began to feel that his presence was unwelcome.
"You have forty-six hours like everyone else to make your decision," he murmured, rising from his seat. He was almost at the door when her voice rang out.
"Stop."
He turned around. When she finally looked up, it was with terrifying and total attention.
"Let's dispense with the hand-wringing, shall we?"
"Sure you don't need more time?"
"There's no point prolonging this." Her tone was clipped. Hands flat on the tabletop, Miranda pushed herself up, blue-grey eyes never once leaving his face. "I'm with you. I'll sever all ties with Cerberus. But I want time to relocate my sister before you make your final move."
"I can make allowance for that."
"Good." She looked away, her motion stiff and unnatural. "Thank you."
It was a source of relief to be able to tie the last stray thread into place, but it almost felt like securing a confession under torture. Shepard searched for something to say, anything at all, but turned up a blank. Take your victories where you can get them.
In the end, he rose and made for the exit. But as he keyed the door for open, she surprised him again.
"What's the next step?"
He turned around, puzzled, as the door slid shut automatically behind.
"I assume you have something else in mind for the blueprints if you don't intend to give it to Cerberus." Miranda explained, her tone almost all-business again. "What is it?"
Carefully, Shepard retraced his steps to regain his seat.
"I'm going to give the blueprints to the Alliance and the Council. Even if I have to shove it down their throats. Or hack the public comm-system in the Citadel to blare doomsday messages twenty-four-seven. Think that'll work?"
She'd sat down as he was saying this, her troubled eyes gradually cleared up. At the end of it, she smiled wanly.
"If they don't lock you up in an asylum first. What if they just let the blueprints rot in their databases?"
Shepard's heart lightened at the return of her perchance for second-guessing his decisions. What about us? But as fast as his hindbrain thought to ask, he slapped it down. One step at a time, he thought as he rose and walked past the table to her side to lean against it.
"I'll announce my intention to release it to specialised groups like the Salarian STG. That'll make sure no one sits on the information in case another faction decides to act and gets the upper hand."
She swung her chair around to face him, a frown marring her brow.
"Mordin could be put into good use convincing the STG of the Reaper threat. But the Alliance and the Council are already accusing you of working with a terrorist group. There's no way your offer will be seen as anything but an olive branch to that allegation. What if they choose to wield it as incriminating evidence against you?"
He crossed his arms and took a deep breath. "I've got to accept that although I've been working outside the system this whole time, I'm going to need their support to legitimise my struggle eventually. At some point, we need to settle our differences. Better sooner than later. I have no intentions of engaging in a war of wills with the Reapers out there."
"You can't do that, Shepard," Miranda said firmly. "Not until we've gathered enough allies that believe in the Reaper threat unconditionally. Allies with political clout to overrule any peremptory move from the Alliance or the Council."
"We can't afford to wait that long." He muttered, rubbing his stubbled face hard. "I'll just have to find a way to safeguard my freedom when I present my case. Anyway, we're getting ahead of ourselves. The upcoming repairs at Omega are going to take a big chunk off our finances. I don't even know how long we can keep this ship running."
"I've done something that can help with that, actually."
She swivelled her chair back to power up the console. A few keystrokes brought up an array of flowcharts. Shepard hunkered down beside her for a better look.
"I've been investing our budget surplus in a number of high-risk ventures. It's—one of the perks working for Cerberus; the leftover principal gets rolled over the top of the next operation stipend. So I thought why not? Call it a nest egg should we ever need one. Most of the ventures paid off, luckily."
"Now I'm curious, were you going to tell me about this eventually?" He smiled as he took in the figures.
"I'd hoped to abscond with the money," she deadpanned and then scoffed. "This information is included in my reports, except you usually gloss over the financial part."
"I'm glad someone didn't then. And luck has got nothing to do with it." Impulsively, he reached for her hand to grip it tight. "Thank you. This should tide us for half a year or so."
Beneath his hand, he felt her stiffened on contact. When she showed no sign of reciprocating, he let go in deep mortification. But before he could dwell on it, she began speaking again.
"There're other ways..." a brief hesitation here, "If worse comes to worst, I could hack into Cerberus's account."
He cursed himself for his brashness at an inopportune time. She was clearly uncomfortable with the idea, which not only confirmed his gut feeling about her true loyalty, but the struggle she'd had to go through to betray her former organisation.
"It may come to that, but I hope not. I can't be seen handing over the blueprints because I fell out with Cerberus. Taking a pot-shot at their bank account, tempting as it may be, won't help the integrity of my case at all."
"What if I tell you I have backdoor access, and I can erase my tracks?"
He gazed at her pensively.
"But the Illusive Man will know it was you, wouldn't he?"
She shrugged.
"Which is why it'd be a one-off job."
After long deliberation, Shepard shook his head.
"We have some leeway yet. The Council and the Alliance may still listen to me."
She responded with a snort which made him laugh. But immediately after, she relaxed, which told him it was the right call for now. The long hours of his day had begun to make themselves known through muscles protesting from his couching position. Not to mention twinges from newly-healed wounds sustained in the Collector base mission. There was still the issue of the state of things between them, but that would have to wait. More than ever, Shepard didn't want to move for fear of breaking the mood between them.
Miranda seemed unaware of his discomfort when she spoke again.
"Has it ever occurred to you the Reapers may not come for many years?"
"All the time," he said in a hushed tone. "But I can't be thinking that way. If they don't come in our lifetimes, and I have to go down in history as a raving lunatic, then that's the risk I have to take." He ventured a smile, hard as it was. "If that happens, I hope you don't take it too badly that I led you on a tour of the galaxy."
She was silent for a long time. And then ever so slowly, she stretched her hand out to interlace her fingers with his in a clasp.
Closing his eyes, Shepard finally allowed himself to savour the heartfelt relief.
"I'm sorry I acted such an ass earlier."
This prompted another quiet moment. When she spoke, her voice was so soft he had to lean forward to catch every word.
"You were right in saying our personal feelings can't matter. Since her operational blocks have been removed, I've been talking to EDI. A lot. I never knew the extent the Illusive Man was willing to go, or how the cells I thought went rogue were acting under his orders the whole time." She shook her head. "No, on some level, I had always known. It's just...it was so easy to dismiss all that, to look the other way when there were incentives to do so..."
She muttered in frustration, "The things I've seen over the past few months wouldn't have bothered me this much before. It's like a door got opened, and I can't close it."
"Is that such a bad thing?"
"It's disturbing to feel so right judging it wrong. I definitely didn't need the complication," she confessed shortly, gaze focused on the table before her. "And I can't shake the feeling we're acting irresponsible. I was almost certain what we had came down to heat of the moment. But I didn't expect to survive the mission in the first place."
He cleared his throat softly.
"In case you were wondering, there was never any doubt in my mind."
Her blue-grey eyes sought his, an unguarded move that made his heart skip a beat.
"About us?"
"It's not likely our work will be finished any time soon. I don't expect I can beat death again. Once is more than anyone can hope for in a lifetime." He took a deep breath. "Which is why I'm done putting my life on hold."
"I guess you'd be in the position to say that." Miranda bit her lip, as if pondering on a decision, before saying, "Actually, I've been avoiding you this whole week for more reasons than one."
He chuckled. "I'd figured that."
She forged on, seemingly ignoring what he'd just said.
"I didn't plan on coming this far. This place where we're right now—I've never been here before. It's all new to me." She shook her head. "And now I'm wondering if it's wrong to want more. To want this."
She flexed her fingers against his, an eloquent expression at the only point of contact between them.
Shepard stared at their clasped hands, at the same time acutely conscious of the proximity of their bodies. With an effort, he ignored the workings of his hindbrain to concentrate on the figurative language she was speaking. And when he'd unravelled the significance, he couldn't help but reel from the sincerity of her confession. He swallowed hard, hating what had to be said, even though in fairness, he knew he had to.
"If you think it's all happening too fast, I'll step back. I'll step away even. If that's what you want."
"No." There was a soft but decisive note in her voice. "I wasn't sure before. I know what it is I want. It's just..."
When she showed no attempt to continue, he said carefully, "Then I think it's okay to be selfish for this. We'll grab what we can, within reason. We'll figure it out as we go along. Like today. And if you still feel guilty, I'll grant you permission as your superior officer to indulge," he couldn't help but add with a grin.
That earned him a gentle flick on the side of his head. After which she surprised the hell out of him by leaning in and kissing him. The combination of sudden movement and frozen muscles caused him to fall to the floor, pulling her along.
"God, look at us." She joked self-consciously, but showed no signs of disentangling from him. Instead, her arms went gently around him and she brought her cheek to rest against his. Shepard exhaled deeply, contented simply with her nearness.
"Think I could spend the night here?" He asked softly after a long while. "I'm so tired I don't even want to get up from the floor now."
For a moment, she remained quiet and then shook her head.
"There's too much traffic on this deck come morning. You'll never leave unseen. We can't give anyone the wrong idea in case they think there's another reason why I'm staying."
Shepard nodded reluctant agreement.
"Damn, you're right. I didn't think about that."
She looked at him and then bit her lip.
"Within reason, huh?"
"I don't think either of us will be comfortable with anything more. Or settle for any less."
She gave a little deprecating laugh.
"It'll have to be your quarters then. Easier for me to cover my tracks that way."
A stolen slice of heaven between the troughs of hell. It was how Shepard thought of it as he stared at the stars outside the viewport high above his cabin much later. The dangers of fraternisation had been drilled into his head as long as he could remember, and he'd played a good soldier up till the moment the first Normandy exploded.
The decision to sacrifice Ashley back on Virmire had been hard, but he found himself gradually unable to shake the feeling that he never knew her well enough to justify leaving her to die, despite all the noble words said during her wake. They sounded hollow now. Thane, Grunt and Zaeed—their deaths drove unerringly home because he'd known them on a level he never did with any Alliance soldier he'd serve with.
Bit by bit, he'd become a different person. It'd started with small things, and just cascaded from there. It was as if Project Lazarus had resurrected another John Shepard right from the beginning, except he hadn't known. Until now.
He glanced at Miranda who was fast asleep, her arm draped across his chest. Ever so careful not to wake her up, he brushed away strands of dark hair from her face and gently kissed the top of her head. Like everyone on board this new, adulterated version of the Normandy, she'd found a way to burrow into his heart. Except in her case, it went far more than that. Her intelligence, competence and beauty were only part of the package. It was her ability to see through his self-delusions and her daring to question and challenge his decisions, coupled with the disarming quality of near-absolute frankness and trust she brought into their relationship that made every dalliance he'd indulged all these years just dalliances in comparison. And the only thing he could think of was how he'd better damn well live up to the regard she placed in him.
A commanding officer getting involved with his second-in-command spelt all kinds of trouble. But all he could think of was he deserved this, both of them did, this little bit of happiness in what promised to be a long and hard haul. No doubt too if he ever let himself get caught by the Council or the Alliance, he'd be facing charges of working with a terrorist organisation. Not to mention accusations on consorting illegally with aliens and their governments. But all he could muster was a savage desire to give all nay-sayers the proverbial middle-finger.
Lieutenant-Commander John Shepard, killed in action over Alchera, Amada System, 2183.
Perhaps that wasn't as ironic as he'd thought after all.