A/N: Kind of dark and angst ridden. I don't really like the chapter, myself, especially the latter part of the fragment with Shepard. If I had the time, energy and ideas for something better, I would have rewritten it. I suppose I wanted to show how the more time she spends on Earth, the more she begins to lose herself, but I can't help but feel as if I kind of failed to do that. (And yeah, they totally need to get away from Earth. Fool Shepard, listen to my reviewers!)
Chapter 147 - Animal Instincts
Commander Morgan Shepard is lounging sleepily on the living room sofa of her Bradford residence, late in the evening, thinking about retiring for good, joining Liara in the bedroom upstairs. Her bondmate, now late in the ninth month of pregnancy, has retired half an hour earlier, while Shepard has remained downstairs to watch through the ending of some action vid that she realizes she has absolutely no interest in. It is then that her omni-tool decides to beep, startling her and she activates it to see the caller, her heart sinking the moment she sees it.
"Yeah, Shepard here," she speaks, having pressed a button to accept the call. "Again? ...what? I see... yeah, I'll be there in twenty." She disconnects the call, for a moment remaining lying on the sofa, feeling utterly depressed. "Fuck," she then says, slowly propelling herself off the bed and starting to look for her winter jacket, discarded somewhere in the foyer. While she is looking for her clothes, Morgan hears a creak on the stairs, Liara descending from the upstairs bedroom, probably having overheard her talking, looking sleepy and heart-wrenchingly beautiful with that bulging belly of hers.
"I thought I heard... oh," she starts to speak, then quickly realizing why Morgan is looking for her clothes, the asari's face falling. "Not again... that's the second time this week?"
"Mhm," Morgan merely harrumphs in reply, not feeling much like talking, Joker's drinking binges starting to get progressively more frequent and severe. At some point she had tried to talk the proprietor of the Black Swan out of giving Joker any booze, but the man hadn't been interested in losing one of his best customers. The most he had agreed to was to take Shepard's contact details and give her a call whenever Jeff became too pissed to get home on his own. Which happened too depressingly often.
"It's completely dark outside, if you're not going to wear your armor, at least take a weapon. For my sake, please, Morgan," Liara says, picking up her Carnifex pistol and handing it over to Shepard, the Commander scowling as she accepts it.
"As if something's going to happen, the pub is like next doors," she mutters. "It's pissing outside again, though, so I'm going to grab the skycar."
"I wish we could get to the bottom of what's eating Jeff," Liara sighs, looking deeply unhappy and a little forlorn, unsure of what can be done to help their old friend.
"It's kind of hard to do that when he's not even talking to me," Morgan shrugs. "I'll try not to take too long," she steps up to Liara, planting a soft kiss on her bondmate's cheek. "I'm sorry."
"It's not your fault, Morgan," Liara whispers as Morgan is already on her way towards the doors.
Yeah, if only I could make myself feel that way, she thinks bitterly, getting into the skycar and starting the engine, pulling up in the air and then quickly taking a short flight towards the old pub down the Thornton Road. She decides to land the skycar a few blocks away from the pub itself, feeling like taking a short walk on foot to clear her head, getting out and pulling the hood of her winter jacket up, hiding from the chillingly cold rain, wind whipping her and biting through her thick coat to send unpleasant shivers down her body.
As always, there are several groups of people milling about the entrance of the pub, some of the older patrons stepping out for a moment to have a smoke, while a group of youths lounge against the wall and give Morgan the kind of stares that make it clear that they do not recognize her, fooled by her youthful appearance, probably assuming that she is around their age of early twenties. Fortunately, they don't try anything save for a catcall or two, but by then Morgan is already inside the pub, striding towards the counter where Joker usually collapses, pathetic and tearful, sometimes ranting at her as she drags him away.
Joker is in his usual roost, slumped and weeping on the counter, hand cradling a half-empty glass of amber liquid. "Again?" Morgan asks with disbelief, throwing herself in a seat next to Jeff, giving him a reproachful stare. "Look, this is starting to spiral completely out of control."
"I'm not asking you to... come here..." Joker slurps, a little more coherent than usually. Still, Morgan nods appreciatively at the proprietor of the place behind the bar, knowing that Jeff would have passed out after finishing this glass anyway. "In fact... I keep telling you... to get lost..."
Morgan sighs deeply. "Right. You want to finish that before we go?" she asks, pointing at the glass in Joker's shaking hand.
"I'm going to... finish this... and two more..." he manages in reply, trying to sound confident. "So... don't wait for me... just go, Shepard..."
Morgan reaches out to grab Joker by the shoulder and shake him a little, starting to get a little irritated with his antics, but then stopping as she spots someone approaching her from behind. She jumps off her seat and turns around to face a burly marine, bald and cleanly-shaven giant of a man, looking at her and appearing a little annoyed. "It seems our friend here doesn't want to go with you... Shepard," he adds the last word with a great amount of distaste and spittle.
Shepard sighs inwardly. She has had to deal with someone like this almost every time when coming down to the pub, usually being able to talk them down, sometimes having to teach some troublemaker a lesson. "If Joker is your friend, then you surely want him to safely get home, which is what I intend to help him with," she says determinedly. "Now, get out of my way and let me take care of him."
"Ah, but will he be in safety with you, Shepard?" someone speaks up behind her now and she swirls around to look at two other marines standing protectively over a slightly confused Joker. Oh, this is rich, Morgan groans to herself.
"Yeah," the first marine, the large giant, grunts. "Didn't want to believe all those rumors flying around about you, Shepard, but... with what this guy has told us about serving with you, and the things on the news... hell, maybe those rumors are true, and you're not the hero we believed you to be."
"Shepard has always been a clever Alliance PR trick to make good with the aliens and kiss the Council's asses," one of the other marines speaks up. "She was the perfect poster-girl for them, being such an alien lover herself. You didn't save Earth because you cared about the people down here, did you?"
"I certainly did not save Earth for pathetic examples of humankind like you," Shepard snarls at them, finally having had enough, starting to get a feeling that this will only end in violence. "Hearing this makes me wish I had left this piss-hole for Reapers for chew on. At least not everyone down here is as dumb and gullible as you are, and some were actually worth saving."
"Don't!" Joker cries out, seeing the giant of a marine advancing on Morgan with the obvious intent of smashing her face in. "Please... don't... Shepard, just... go."
"You've been telling them all about me, have you?" Morgan gives Joker a stern look, too irritated to let go. "Did you also tell them how you got me killed those three and a half years ago? Have I ever accused you about that? No, I never even mentioned it to you! You made Liara's life a living nightmare for two years because you wouldn't get off that fucking bridge, and I never said one word to you about it! Not one word!"
Joker lets out a heart-wrenching wail and covers his face with his hands, tears flowing down his cheeks. "Come on, Shepard, get out, you're not helping him, you're upsetting the bloke," the big marine takes her by the shoulder and pushes her away towards the exit, at least no longer keen on engaging Morgan in a fistfight.
"Gods... she's right..." Joker shouts drunkenly behind her, wracked with sobs. "I've made a terrible mistake... oh gods, what have I done... Shepard, I'm so sorry, but..."
"What? What have you done, what are you apologizing for?" Shepard feels herself starting to shake from anxiety, but the burly marine and his two buddies are unceremoniously pushing her towards the exit.
"...you'll find out soon... sorry..." Joker whispers, slumping heavily in his seat again.
"What the hell do you mean? What on earth is he talking about?" Morgan frantically demands of the marines, but they unceremoniously push her away and she is forced to yield, unwilling to resort to more violent means to convince Joker's new bodyguards. Damn it, what was he trying to tell me? Did it have something to do with why he always seems to have so many supply chits to trade in for the booze, perhaps? she ponders, stepping outside the Black Swan again, quickly pulling up the hood of her winter jacket.
Deeply upset and irritated, she leaves the Black Swan, noticing that the group of youths that had been there when she arrived are still lounging around, conversing idly and giving her a few appraising looks. Morgan's lips twist into a sneer as with the corner of her eye she notices the young men pushing off from the wall and idly setting to follow her when she begins to walk away from the pub. Oh, please, just try anything. Just give me a reason, she mentally begs, feeling an urge to find some reason to engage in violent behavior, dying to find an outlet after the encounter with Joker, not wanting to bring all this pent up frustration home to Liara.
She turns around one corner in a lazy walk, then around another, still finding the three juvenile delinquents following her, starting to walk slower when she lessens her pace, speeding up again as she moves faster. Having received this affirmation that the group is indeed following her, Morgan can't stop a feral grin from spreading on her lips, as she deliberately turns into a dark and narrow side-alley, away from prying eyes, hearing the steps behind her growing louder as the group of three round in on her.
"Baby's gotten all lost?" she hears a voice behind her, Morgan smiling when she realizes that she has walked into a dead end, appearing all helpless and vulnerable. "Can't find your way home? Maybe we can help."
"Or maybe the little doll doesn't want to go home? I've got a place nearby," another voice adds. "We could take her there, keep her safe and warm. Very warm."
"Sounds like a plan to me," the last one chuckles. "What do you say, doll-face?"
Morgan turns around slowly, keeping her hood up and lowering her eyes, hoping that the little bastards won't recognize her, but the cul-de-sac is dark and she makes sure that what sparse light there is does not fall on her face. Gods, they're barely over twenty, she thinks, but somehow it doesn't make much of a difference to her. This isn't the first time they've tried this, clearly. They wouldn't be so casual and flippant about it, they would be more nervous.
"I'm saying that you're about to make a terrible mistake," she says, trying to sound like someone putting up a brave face despite being horribly frightened. "If you don't leave me alone, I'm going to... I'm going to call for help!"
"You could try to do that, but really, it would be pointless. There's nobody around to help you," two of the youths slowly approach her, laughing. "I think we've got a kitten with sharp nails here, what do you think, boys? Always so much more fun when they struggle, eh?"
This kitten is about to shred your face to bits, idiot, unless you step away, Shepard snarls inwardly. "Wait a moment, guys," she says, quickly raising her hand to halt the advance of the approaching would-be offenders, then moving it to undo the buttons on her winter jacket for an easy access to her pistol, a gesture misinterpreted by the three youths. "I think we just hit things off on the wrong foot... how about we start from the scratch, hmm?"
"Ha, I can't believe it, this slut's all wet for us already!" the trio share another laugh, which ends very abruptly when Shepard unbuttons her jacket, pulls out her Carnifex pistol and almost casually unloads two shots each at the pair approaching her, blowing their faces off and killing them instantly, then pointing the heavy pistol at the last offender, watching the grin on his lips fading, the young man slumping to his knees, shaking with fear.
"Shit! Oh god... you... you killed them... gods, please... we were just having some fun!" he pleads, but now Shepard is the one grinning smugly as she steps a little closer, pulling her hood back as she approaches.
"Maybe now you recognize the woman you tried to force yourselves upon?" she snarls.
The man before her collapses pathetically on his back, trying to slowly backpedal away from her. "Damn it... shit... you're that Alliance hero... Shepard, right? Fuck... damn it... we didn't recognize you, you looked like some young lass nobody would cry about going missing... fuck, sorry..."
"Right. Sorry for the misunderstanding, we clearly thought we were about to rape someone else. Yeah, that makes everything all that much better," Shepard says, now deceptively calm.
"Please... I'll do anything, just don't shoot me, okay? I'll... I'll turn myself in, confess to all my crimes, I'll work to become a better person? Please? You can't just shoot me in cold blood... please..."
"And why is that?" Morgan asks, pointing the pistol at the cowering piece of filth.
"Because... you're the hero of the humanity... you're kind and merciful, right? You just don't shoot people in the street like that... you believe in the goodness inside of everyone or else you wouldn't be the hero you are, yes? I can change my ways... I will, I swear on my mother's grave!"
"Very eloquent," Shepard nods, smirking sarcastically. "But you obviously did not hear the conversation that took place inside the pub. Apparently, I'm not the kind of hero people believe I am. Which means that I do shoot filthy little pricks like you as I please," the grin never fades from her lips as she pulls the trigger, ignoring the man's frantic cries. With a gaping hole in the side of his face, he slumps back on the wet pavement and remains there still.
Feeling a great deal better, Morgan puts the pistol away and casually leaves the alley, slowly returning to her skycar, parked nearby. Damn, that felt good. What a thrill! Maybe it's that feeling of the hunt that Aria once tried to describe to me... never really felt like it before, watching the fear on that bastard's face as I pulled the trigger.
I wonder if it is wrong that a part of me enjoyed this casual, brutal execution, regardless of whether they deserved it or not. I've killed too many out of necessity and in self-defense, but these... these ones I wanted to kill, and it felt so frighteningly good, she realizes, feeling a little disturbed at the rush of empowerment this act of violence has given her. Or maybe... maybe I just need to accept that this war has shaped me into a killer, and this is simply what I am. Taking the lives of others is in my nature now, I won't be able to deny it to myself... and perhaps... perhaps I shouldn't even try.
"Another quiet evening, eh?" the two quarian guards outside the supply warehouse in the quarian enclave outside Nottingham exchange handshakes as they arrive to take over the next shift, stretching throughout the night.
"Of course. What, are you expecting trouble?" another pair of guards walk past them, one of them turning to ask.
"Not really," one of the first group replies. "Though the admirals clearly are, or else they wouldn't have doubled the amount of guards, following their decision to cut the turian supply share."
"Turians... those poor sods. Almost feel sorry for them." The other group then continue on their way, leaving the first pair of guards alone at their post.
"Almost? I do feel sorry for them," one of them says. "Kreeto, did you hear that they actually got some extra supplies from the asari and tried mixing the food?"
"Yeah, ended up with all their ship medical facilities full and almost crowding the Citadel, too," Kreeto sighs. "Well, I guess that's one way to find out who can tolerate the stuff and who can't, now those who aren't too allergic can keep using it."
"You know, I think they're more pissed off about those six hundred who died in horrible agony. I can sort of understand where they're coming from. Sometimes I wish we would have just split the supplies equally even if it meant extra four hours between meals."
"Radin, my friend, I completely agree with you," his friend nods. "But the good news are, all the preliminary tests of the mass relay have gone very well. They're talking about sending some probes through in a few days, and if successful, maybe we can return to Rannoch soon and forget all about this starvation and rejoin our people and our families."
"Yeah, that's right," Radin nods. "I wonder how the rebuilding is going. I was skeptical about the geth, but... Keelah, our ancestors sure built them very efficient. No wonder they thought it was worth it to circumvent some of the Council's odd laws about the AI research."
"Tanii must have had the baby by now," Kreeto says wistfully. "Just kills me that I couldn't be there back with her on Rannoch. And no comms either, so I have no idea how they are doing," he adds, taking out a small datapad showing a picture of a quarian girl in her last months of pregnancy, holding her hands on her engorged belly. "Keelah, maybe she had twins or triplets, with a stomach like that! Well, at least I have this picture... have you seen it?"
"Only twenty or so times," Radin chuckles. "Something tells me I'm going to see it one more time, though," he adds as Kreeto shows him the image on the datapad.
"Sorry, but I just love her so much... damn, I know fighting the Reapers was important, but I often wish I could have remained back on Rannoch with-"
"Huh? With her, you mean?" Radin asks, handing the datapad back to his fellow guard, wondering why he has suddenly stopped in midsentence. He almost jumps, watching Kreeto slowly slumping to the ground for no apparent reason. "Kreeto, old friend, what the-" then he freezes himself, bullet fired from a Mantis sniper rifle impaling into his brain and killing the quarian guard instantly.
Moments later, several heavy turian boots stomp by the fallen quarian guards, one stepping on the datapad, shattering it to dozen small pieces. "Confirmation, all targets down," a gruff voice speaks on the comms, as the turians stand outside the warehouse, waiting for further orders. "Alright, men, the coast is clear. The shuttles are coming in. Get inside and start prepping those supplies for loading."
"Where are we taking those supplies, LT?" one of the other turian marines asks.
"The 'Endurance' stands ready to receive the shuttles. The captain is a trusted friend of mine, and her crew are loyal. We can use her ship as a point of distribution to all those in need and able to keep their mouths shut about the origin of the goods," the lieutenant in charge of the operation replies. "Now get in and clean out that warehouse. And be quick about it... it's only a matter of time until the quarians realize something is up..."
Standing in the middle of a field of smoldering rubble, all that has remained left over from a destroyed quarian supply warehouse, Garrus feels himself becoming more and more pissed off. I guess it was inevitable, he muses to himself. After so many lay sick and dying from food poisoning, I should have expected this. If they weren't pissed about the situation before, this definitely tipped the bubbling dissatisfaction over the edge... not that I can't understand them... but I don't hate the quarians, I hate the circumstances we have been placed in...
The argument between the turian and quarian leaders, visiting the site of the brutal attack, is slowly growing in strength and letting out another resigned sigh, he begins to walk back to the group of wildly gesticulating disputants. "None of this would have happened if you had only agreed to split the supplies equally!" Primarch Victus argues, waving his only remaining hand angrily, still waiting for a suitable cybernetic implant to be produced.
"You were given a perfectly adequate solution to this problem," Admiral Kar'Danna huffs, sounding outraged. "It's hardly our fault some of your people got sick and died!"
"The blood of those six hundred and twenty one turian people is on the hands of the quarian Admiralty Board," Councilor Sparatus states angrily. "Why did you not subject your own people to the same treatment that you advised for us?"
"There are not many of the quarian people left, Councilor," Admiral Kal'Reegar says, shaking his head. "Before the war, there were seventeen million of us on the Flotilla. Now, we anticipate that number is between eight and nine million, barely enough to maintain a viable population. We cannot risk any more of our people dying from this famine... I don't want to imply that your people are more expendable, but..."
"But your decisions alone have stated that loud and clear," Sparatus finishes. "You had to expect that it will lead to something like this," he adds, turning towards Admiral Shala'Raan.
"Councilor, two wrongs don't make a right, as the humans like to say," Raan replies, tension in her voice. "We added extra security, but it is clear now that we must pull our people out and return them all to their ships. It is fortunate that all the components for the relay repairs have been manufactured by now."
"I pray those tests are successful and we can leave the Sol System before our people decide to wipe each other out," Victus adds angrily.
"Dangerous words, Primarch," Raan looks a little unsettled from what she appears to perceive as a threat. "We will keep our fleets on the highest level of battle readiness, just in case..."
"What of the supplies?" Sparatus looks at the quarian delegation with a demanding stare. "Your resolution to cut our share led to this disaster. Will you reverse your decision?"
"Such heinous act towards our people should merit a harsh response. If it was up to me, I would sever all supply deliveries," Kar'Danna crosses his arms on his chest defiantly.
"You would not dare," Victus snarls, angry at being threatened. "Our fleet strength is far superior to yours, Admiral. Provoke us with such talk, and we will wipe out your ships to the last for such treachery!"
"Please... we are supposed to be logical and rational thinking leaders of our people, not a pack of wild animals, growling at each other!" Kal'Reegar exclaims, raising his voice, a little surprised to see that the others immediately shrink back, looking somewhat ashamed. "Now, it is clear to me that we cannot leave our turian brothers and sisters to starve to death, those who had nothing to do with this attack do not deserve such fate. But this despicable act cannot simply be forgotten, either."
"I agree with Admiral Kal'Reegar," Raan nods resolutely. "And I propose the following. The shipments will be continued in the same reduced amounts as before the attack. We will increase the turian supply share by ten percent, as soon as you have identified and apprehended those responsible for this attack. This will not bring it back to equal share, but it will make it more bearable on your people."
Everyone spends a while pondering upon this proposal, Sparatus speaking up first. "What would you have us do with those responsible?" he asks.
"Turn them over to the Citadel security and let them be tried under the Council laws," Raan suggests quickly.
"That seems like a fair compromise," Sparatus eventually admits, looking at Victus. "Primarch?"
"What? Oh, yes, I don't like it, but... there aren't many scenarios here that I would have liked," Victus eventually agrees with some reluctance.
"It is decided then," Raan nods curtly, turning around to leave, Kar'Danna and Kal'Reegar setting to follow her, leaving a silent and subdued Tali behind, standing in the rubble and staring at Garrus, also having kept quiet throughout the whole discussion.
"You coming, Vakarian?" Victus asks, as both he and Sparatus return to the turian shuttle, walking by Garrus.
"Give me a minute please, Primarch," Garrus says, receiving a brief nod. He makes a few steps towards Tali, not really knowing what to say. For a few seconds they just stand there, facing each other, feeling uncomfortable. "So..." the turian finally starts. "I guess now I know what the geth went through."
"Not funny, Garrus," Tali snaps back.
"Yeah... sorry," he manages, shuffling from one foot to the other uncomfortably. "So... Kal spoke well."
"Yes. Very well," Tali looks equally uncertain.
"Damn. I..." he hesitates again, not sure what to say. The relay might be declared as functioning properly in a few days. The quarian fleets will be leaving for Rannoch. The turians for Palaven. You will go with your people, I with mine. Was this it? "Everything's... gone to hell, hasn't it? It was supposed to become easier after the Reapers, but..."
"Did the bitter, pessimistic turian I know actually believe that?" Tali asks.
"Yes... I guess he did," Garrus replies, his eyes dropping to stare at the ground at his feet, then back up at Tali. Don't leave. Stay. I need you. I love you. "So... I guess I'll see you around, then."
"Yeah. See you around, Garrus," the quarian replies, looking as if she wants to say more, but there is an impatient shout coming from the shuttle, asking her to hurry up. "Take care... of yourself and your people, okay? They need you right now, just as my people need me."
He nods, taking a deep breath. Damn it, I need you, too. I want you. But... I guess it doesn't matter what I want. "Alright, Tali. You are right, of course. We need to keep our people safe." With that he nods and turns around to stomp away with heavy steps.