Title: Ilos Chapter Six
Author: DinkyMew and JagesPages
Game: Mass Effect (one)
Disclaimer: Bioware own all content and characters related to the Mass Effect franchise. Abigail Shepard is my own creation inspired by the character of Jane Shepard created by Bioware. Any original characters contained herein are my own creations (with the exception of Vindex Foster who is the sole property of Julie Jones and the Swagger Vasa Chronicles) and are not necessarily affiliated with Bioware. **You may not copy, edit or distribute this fanfiction as it stands without my expressed permission – thank you**

For a PDF version of this fan-fiction complete with illustrations please look for DinkyMew on DeviantART:

Abigail shook her head, muttering to herself as she buried her hands back into the soapy water in the sink, scrubbing the pint glasses clean before setting them gently on the towel she had laid flat on the counter.

The party was winding down, most people had left but a few stragglers had crashed on the living room floor, some had taken the rooms upstairs but she couldn't sleep. Couldn't bring herself to stop thinking of that damned idiot Hobbs.

She had done her own searching after the club and she had been told he was a womaniser, he was never seen alone – but she knew the two things were very different. Not being alone and being alone could exist in simultaneous circumstance. She knew that herself all too well. And there was something in his eyes that compelled her to speak with him – as much as she hated talking, as much as she hated having him get under her skin, she couldn't help it when he was around.

And damn did she hate it.

Slamming a glass on the counter she held her breath, closing her eyes and counting the seconds while her temper passed over.

"Abby?" The voice startled her and she flinched turning to see Craig enter almost sheepishly. He rubbed the back his neck, bright red hair falling in his green eyes as he came to a stop beside her. "Have you seen Libby?"

Abigail regarded him carefully "She's your girlfriend Craig." She moved her shoulder "I thought she would be with you."

He smiled, his face growing red as he dropped his gaze "Yeah… she's had a bit to drink." He said quietly "And she was talking about your friend all night."

"My friend?" Abigail shook her head.

"You know, the brown-haired guy, tall. Big. Tattoo on his shoulder."

"Oh." Abigail grimaced "He's not my friend. You mean Hobbs."

"Yeah." Craig nodded "Well, he went upstairs to catch some sleep… and not long after him, Libby went up."

Abigail paused, looking at him carefully "Libby went upstairs?" She asked carefully "What are you saying Craig?"

He moved his shoulders. She had known Craig for the duration of his relationship with Libby and he was a gentle soul – far too shy and introverted for the likes of Libby.

"Maybe nothing." He said quickly "I mean, I don't know… I haven't had the courage to go and look." He admitted with a smile.

"You want me to go and look?" Abigail asked tiredly and he blinked at her, green eyes flashing between worry and relief.

"Maybe." He faltered "I just think it would be less… you know… if I go and something's … I don't want to get into a fight with him is all." He swallowed "One of the marines got into a fight with him once and he almost killed the guy. People say he fights for money in the pits."

Abigail frowned "The pits?"

"Yeah, these underground clubs where you get pitted against aliens most of the time." He looked at her seriously "A guy who can survive being hit by a batarian shouldn't be messed with."

"I don't think he would do that." Abby smiled reassuringly "I'll go look. Wait here."

She squeezed past him careful not to brush him in anyway as she slipped from the kitchen back into the lounge. Picking her way over the sleeping bodies carefully she padded down the hallway, her ears tuned for any sounds upstairs. It seemed quiet and so she started the staircase shaking her head the whole time.

She had known the rumours were true, but she had expected better from Libby. She had expected better from both of them and that made her angry again.

Reaching the landing she padded to the first bedroom peering inside. A bedside lamp had been left on and two bodies were curled naked on the bed but she didn't recognise them and silently closed the door padding to the next room.

The hallway light cast a slice of light in the room and she peeked inside. Hobbs was lying in the bed, his arm tucked around a pillow, his face buried half into the soft mound as he slept fitfully. There was no sign of Libby and breathing a sigh of relief she retreated as he stirred.

"What are you doing sneaking around?" His voice was rough from sleep, and he blinked, squinting at her as he rubbed the heel of his hand into his eye.

Caught she froze, turning back to him as he turned the bedside lamp on low, the room igniting only dimly. She moved her shoulders.

"I was looking for Libby." She said honestly and he nodded, yawning as he sat back in the bed. She tried to keep her eyes to his face and not the expanse of tanned skin rippled with muscle and body art. "She's not here." She made to leave again and he chuckled.

"She was." He scratched his head as she turned back to him, lazily he dragged one knee up toward him "She came in here looking to jump my bones." He said sagely "I sent her down the hall. Made sure she got into her bed. No touching. Honest."

Shepard looked at him sceptically and he smiled "Honest."

"Right. Well." She nodded making to turn and he leaned forward, the movement of toned stomach catching her eye and making her flush as she stumbled over words "I should…"

"You can't sleep?" He asked, and she looked at his eyes, instantly wishing she hadn't as green-blue anchors snapped hold of her, gripping her tightly as she shook her head numbly.

"I… don't…" She mumbled.

"I can't hear you." Hobbs smiled "What did you say."

She hesitated glancing behind her at the empty, dark stairwell longingly and then hesitantly turned back to him "I don't sleep well." She said quietly.

He shook his head again, patting the bed "Come here. I can't hear you." When she paused, visibly nervous he raised his eyebrows and cocked a lopsided smile at her "I don't bite."

Slowly she moved into the room, sitting softly on the edge of the bed. She looked at her feet, still tucked inside her old sneakers and sighed "I don't sleep well." She said quietly, terrified he was going to reach for her to comfort her or coax inquisition from her, but to her relief he didn't move – as though he sensed her discomfort he kept himself carefully still as he watched her unwavering.

"How come?" She looked at him, avoiding his eyes as she looked at the edges of his face, the angular shape of his jaw, the scruffy, short cut of his brown hair, his ears. At last she looked to his mouth, the lips full and curved and attractive. She blinked realising she had been quiet a long time and looked to him guiltily but he wasn't pressing, she could see that in his open expression, he was simply waiting, his arms folded over his chest and she could see the dark lines of his tribal tattoo in the corner of her vision.

"I guess…" She breathed, and she thought about lying, about making something up, but for some reason when she looked at his face she felt unprepared for the rush she felt. A feeling she had been absent a long time, something akin to trust. "I guess it's probably stuff that happened in the past." She said weakly and he nodded, his brow furrowing as he considered his next words carefully.

"Bad things?" He asked gently and she looked away "It's ok." He said quietly "Everyone has baggage right?"

She nodded, hunching her shoulders as she swung her legs absently, her sneakers skiffing the carpet. She waited for another question but it never came and again she was surprised by his patience and when she looked at him expecting to see him look tired or bored he looked anything but. His eyes were bright, moving as he tracked her expression, her body language and he gave her a small smile and it wasn't as threatening as she had expected. It was actually quite warming.

"I was on Mindoir." She whispered.

She might as well have dropped a frag grenade. The silence that followed was just as devastating.

She heard him breathing, slow and heavy and steady, could hear her own heart race as she looked back at her feet, memories barrelling against her barriers she had built over time as she fought to keep the despair out. She felt him move, tensing and dreading the feel of his hand on her – and wishing for it too, but it didn't come. She heard him take a breath, it was shaky – the first time she had heard his confidence waver.

"I'm sorry." He said thickly "I know what it's like to lose people Shepard." He cleared his throat "Do you want to talk about it?"

She let out a breathless laugh, no one had ever asked her that and the question made her pause – did she want to talk about it? Really? Would it make a difference now? She swallowed, looking back at him as her eyes misted with tears.

"I don't know." She said honestly "I've never thought about it before."

His movement was slow, deliberate so she could see it coming and see it she did, tensing as his hand brushed her shoulder gently. The contact felt like a physical blow, sucking the energy from her as his fingers skimmed her throat, climbing to her chin where they curled drawing her toward him with skilful grace.

Her eyes closed, hot tears blazing trails down cool cheeks as his lips coaxed hers open gently. It was infinitely soft, tender – almost like passing a feather over her mouth and she gasped – her skin flushing hotly as her biotics sparked to life, the wash of electric discharge making her shiver as it passed over her and into him.

"WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?!" He yelled, jumping back in the bed, scrambling over the mattress to topple to the floor on the other side. Abigail snapped her eyes open, the blue light of her biotics whispering away as she swallowed hard, looking after him.

He got to his feet, his hands splayed in a defensive manner as he frowned at her from the other side of the bed "Did you just…. glow blue?" He asked unsure "And shock me? Did I fall asleep?" He shook his head "No. No I definitely didn't. Did you just glow blue?!"

Shepard got to her feet, turning to face him over the bed as she shook her head "I did – I mean I'm sorry – I should have told you before now."

"Told me what?!" Hobbs cried "You're a freaking cyborg?!"

Stung Shepard recoiled, shaking her head as she made to leave the room but he got in her way, catching her hand and trying to turn her to face him.

"I didn't mean that!" He insisted "I just.. I'm in shock – I mean what-"

"Let me go." She said, struggling against the grip he had on her wrist.

"Just wait a minut-"

"Let me go!" She screamed and before she could contain it her biotics slipped from her grasp again, the blast barrelling into him as he was knocked back, tumbling back over the bed again and crashing to the floor on the other side. When she didn't hear him move she approached cautiously; she didn't want to kill him, and for a moment her heart thundered in her ears as she peered over the edge of the bed.

He groaned, rolling to his back as he shook his head "What…" He pushed himself to sitting "Has anyone told you that you really need to find temperance?"

Abigail shook her head "I told you to let me go."

"Alright Tempy." He said holding his hands up "Don't shock me again." He frowned "How are you doing that?"

Shepard caught her breath "I'm a biotic." She said quietly and he blinked at her, for the first time she thought she could see fear in his eyes. "I should go."

"A biotic?" He breathed, getting to his feet unsteadily. He hesitated, sitting back on the bed as he cleared his throat and said smoothly "I've never talked to a biotic before." He said quietly "Is it true you can read my mind?"

She smiled "Maybe."

That made him more uncomfortable than it was meant to and he laughed nervously suddenly clearing his mind of everything as he looked at her seriously "Can you?"

She rolled her eyes "No." She said, her hands dropping to her sides as she sank to sit next to him on the bed. A little closer than she would have allowed previously and he took that as a win. Regarding her carefully in case she turned blue again, she looked at him frowning.

"You've seriously never met a single biotic in all your time on Arcturus?"

He shook his head "I haven't. I mean I knew they had them in Blue Horizon but I thought..." He swallowed the words heavily but he had started the sentence now and knew he would have to follow through "I didn't think they looked human." He said weakly.

Abigail laughed, low and humourless "I have heard the rumours Hobbs." She said thickly "Trust me."

He paused, a period of silence passing before he said quietly "Sorry."

She wasn't looking at him, she was looking at the walls and he could tell by the set of her expression she wasn't going to talk. He took a breath making to speak as she suddenly wrenched to her feet.

"Where are you going?" He asked and she moved to the door angrily, throwing a glance over her shoulder at him before she yanked it open and then she was gone.

Raising her head from her hands brokenly Shepard looked to Foster who watched the door to the surgery unwavering. His eyes were red rimmed, full of worry and emotions she didn't dare unleash.

She wrapped her arms around herself, burying her face into the crook of her arm as heavy sobs threatened to overwhelm her.

"Shepard?" When she glanced up Kaidan stood awkwardly a cup of coffee in each hand. She leaned back, accepting one gratefully and he paused, offering the other to Foster who took it numbly.

"Thanks." She said brittle, feeling fragile as hell as she took a tender sip.

"When did you last sleep?" Kaidan asked quietly "Maybe you should come away, the doctors will let you know…" He didn't complete the sentence. He couldn't, and she knew why. She was a sentinel too – more than that she was damned good at human anatomy and she knew Hobbs' chances dangled by a thread. She swallowed and shook her head resolutely.

"I'm sorry Kaidan." She said firmly "I can't." She made a mew of an apology "I need to be here."

He looked stung but covered it carefully with an unsure smile, nodding as he glanced to Foster "I'll take care of the reports." He said gently "You two have other things on your minds." He added after a beat and then he folded his arms over his chest "He was a good soldier."

Shepard closed her eyes "Stop talking like he's dead." She said heatedly and when she met the lieutenant's gaze she could see the pain in his face – the harsh truth of what was to come and she bucked against it, anger rising inside her "Hobbs is a fighter." She ground out "Always has been. Always will be."

She sank her head onto her chin, deliberately moving her eyes to the door as Kaidan hesitated. She didn't mean to bark at him, she was fried, and emotional and too damn quick to anger – but she couldn't care about that right now, nor could she think about how to fix Kaidan's wounded feelings. All she could think about was the man in the next room clinging to life.

The Mantis sniper rifle had a personality all its own. People thought he was crazy, Foster thought as he lay quietly in the bough of a tree, but it was true. The rifle had a certain feel, a tingling sensation that coursed through him when he flexed his finger around the trigger, when he pressed his eye to the scope, when he fine-tuned it so that he could see the nose hairs when the target was human.

Liselle had only told him her mother wanted this man eliminated. He knew Liselle; he trusted her. If this man had been targeted by her mother then he must have done something bad, something terrible enough for a sniper expert like him to be called in. Foster never thought of himself as an assassin; he made problems go away—problem people. Liselle had begged him to eliminate this man, that he was a danger to her mother. He'd never met her mother, but he trusted Liselle.

You're splitting hairs, he thought and wiped a bead of sweat that slid from his forehead into his eye. You kill people for credits. Bad people, he reasoned. You kill people for money and that makes you as bad as them. But Liselle said…You know how she is when it comes to her mother! Something's not right. Even the Mantis is trying to tell you.

Swearing silently, he gazed through the sight, blinking until his eyes adjusted. He turned the calibration knob, bringing the target into close proximity. Whoever he was he was tall! Must be six four,five, maybe? And, even with the black body suit fabric armor so new to the trade, Foster could see muscles writhe and flex, see the smooth coordination as the man moved, the assurance of his steps. Liselle had said the man was an assassin.

"Turn around and face this way," he urged softly. He preferred not to shoot someone in the back of the head. It seemed cowardly and gave him an unfair advantage.

As if his words were a prayer that floated from his lips towards heaven and then stopped their ascent to fall heavily upon the man below his perch in the tree, he saw the man react. Foster barely avoided a knife the man had tossed with unerring accuracy. Well, he avoided it hitting his carotid, but it sank into his shoulder to the hilt. He bit his lower lip, squelching a cry of pain, but his moment had been lost. The hunted had now become the hunter.

He used his scope, trying to locate the target. He pretty much ignored the knife, knowing better than to pull it out. No sign of his prey, even when he did a 360 about the base of the tree.

A bullet gouged into the trunk—the ancient tree spat out wood chips that ravaged Foster's cheek. This was getting serious, he thought. I made a rookie mistake and I may pay for it with my life.

He listened. His hearing was sharp and he heard the sound a body makes when a man is snaking through the grass. He scoped out movement and then it stopped as if the man below knew the moment he was spotted. How is that possible?

He needed to move. His prey knew his position. Staying put meant certain death, so Foster carefully stayed behind the larger branches and climbed up, flinching at every creak of the tree. Another bullet zinged upwards and burrowed into the branch he was currently standing on. The branch burst into splinters as the shredder round exploded.

Foster was barely able to save himself. He jumped for another branch just as the branch gave way and crashed to the ground. He hung there and a bullet landed beside each hands. The bastard was playing with him!

"Tell Aria not to send rookies after me."

Foster froze at the timbre of the voice, the Scottish accent, the inflection.

It can't be!

He pulled himself up far enough so he could bend his body over the large branch and gain purchase. He propped his back against the trunk. His heart was a trip-hammer inside his chest.

"I'm only leaving you alive so you can tell her it only pisses me off."

That voice! Foster had to risk leaving his cover long enough to employ his sniper scope. He located the man with great difficulty, but he saw a head, a face and hard turquoise eyes and he saw the barrel of the M-98 Widow and knew it was aimed at him. The assassin drew back and shaded his eyes a moment and Foster had him! His finger tightened on the trigger, but the Mantis misfired. It never misfired!

No, it hadn't. His finger had come off the trigger as if something stung him and a little voice in his head told him to look through his scope again. He did and the face crystallized into view. Nose like their father's and his eyes were a mix of blue and green—Mom's full lips.

Foster moaned as tears burst from his ducts, blinding him. Socks! It was his brother down there!

He started to call out to him, but he noticed the spot where he'd lain flat in the grass was empty. He climbed down from the tree as fast as he could. He heard a shuttle descend from the heavy cloud cover.

"No!" He cried out wildly and he threw his beloved rifle into the grass and double-timed it to the hilltop where he saw his brother hop into the shuttle. "Socks! Don't go!" He collapsed into the grass as the shuttle picked up speed. He grabbed handfuls of grass and ripped them from the ground. "Dammit, I almost killed my brother!" He put his grass-stained hands to his head and howled in misery.

Blood seeped past the hilt of the knife and the pain brought him out of his misery. Socks was gone. It had been ten years and somehow Foster knew he'd never be able to find him. It was his last chance to find his brother.

He tramped back to his rifle, picked it up and touched it, wonder in his eyes. "You knew it was him, didn't you?" He kissed the stock. "Thanks."

He called for pick-up. Aria wouldn't be pleased he'd failed. Liselle might want to believe her mother was a good person, but Foster knew better. And he swore on his brother's turquoise eyes that he would never take a job to kill someone for money.

"Aw, dammit, Socks," he groaned. "We came so damn close!"

Foster jerked out of his reverie and reached down to the sheath in his boot and pulled the knife Socks had thrown at him that fateful day.

He looked at his face in its mirrored surface. Had Aria known? Had she known the assassin she sent him to kill was his brother? That had marked the end of his employment with her. He knew vaguely who Aria T'loak was and her absolute reign on Omega. Liselle idolized her mother; he loved LIselle, but that day had forever changed his destiny. Something had made him hesitate; something had made Socks let him go.

I swear, if I ever find out you knew he was my brother, I'll go to Omega and end you. He smiled grimly as he used his brother's phrase.

"Just wake up, bro. It can't end like this! We found each other. This is so unfair!"

He flinched as Kaidan offered him a mug of coffee, hesitating and then taking it absently, his gaze turning back to the door as he took a instinctual sip of the beverage. It was hot and laced with caffeine but it did nothing to lift his mood. Did nothing to change his train of thoughts as he closed his eyes, he could hear Shepard speaking – her words not making sense in his ears as he focused on breathing.

When he opened his eyes again Kaidan had left and she was sitting, her knees drawn up onto the chair and into her chest as her thumb and forefinger picked at her lip nervously.

He bounced on the balls of his feet, a fighters dance, the rhythm of a weapon as he launched blows to the punch bag with deadly force. His bound hands took the hits gratefully, the pain that shot up his arms like adrenaline stims as he rolled the muscles in his neck and shoulders, the first flush of sweat making him break into gooseflesh against the cold of the empty gym.

He ducked, imaginary blows hitting nerves as he saw the matron of the orphanage, saw the heavy steel of his boot as it had rammed into Hobbs' ribs again and again. Felt the bones snap – felt the raw pain in his chest as though it were yesterday, and he fought back – barraging the bag with a string of blows, muscles coiling and releasing heat and energy as they snapped and popped with each brutal hit.

He remembered his kid brother – half starved, his head shaved for the lice that crawled in his hair; remembered the nights they curled inside the orphanage against the winter cold, scavenging blankets and food to survive – the stories he would tell him, about their father, about their grandfather and the way his eyes would look to him, hopeful and dependent and believing.

He grunted, his anger rising as he pressed his attack, his fists like hammers as he brought them down for justice on all the years of pain and anguish.

"Hobbs?"

The voice barely penetrated his thoughts, like a wall it echoed off the foundation, rattling a moment before he frowned, concentration broken and stopped the swinging bag smoothly with his fingertips.

He turned and she was standing there dressed in a green hooded jacket and blue jeans, her arms were folded and she was looking at him with that bemused expression she got – that one he could never figure out quite what it was.

"Tempy." He smiled, inclining his head "What brings you to a gym?"

She frowned at the use of the nickname, but he didn't care and she didn't persist as she fidgeted with the cuffs of her jacket, moving from one foot to another.

"I owe you an apology." She said at last and he nodded, turning back to the bag but his hits were less focused, lazier.

"For?" He pressed and she rolled her eyes at him.

"For running out on you last night." She relented. "I shouldn't have done that."

He nodded "You shouldn't have." He agreed "It was rude. Not to mention you left me at the mercy of Libby and Craig for the night wandering the streets of Arcturus looking for you."

She grimaced "Oh." Her voice dropped "I didn't… I didn't know about that part." She shook her head "I said I was sorry." That tone was back, that crisp, biting tone and he smiled, loving the reaction it stirred in him. It got his blood hot and he stopped the bag again turning to her.

"Apology accepted." He said sincerely feigning a bow and she frowned, turning from him.

"So… I came by to tell you that I've enlisted." She said it casually but he could feel the weight behind the words as he watched her.

"You did?" He asked, genuinely surprised she had listened to him at all "When do you start training?"

She moved her shoulders "I'm not sure. They're not sure where biotics are fitting in to the military right now." Her tone was cagey and he knew she had more to say but was holding back. He still couldn't tell what it was but it intrigued him and so he moved toward her, unwinding the bandages from around his hands as he watched her.

"So you came here to tell me that you're going to be joining the Alliance?" He asked and she nodded, her eyes firmly on her sneakers. "That all?"

She moved uncomfortable "I guess I wanted to apologise about last night." She said at last "For kissing you."

"For shocking me." He corrected with a wry smile.

"That too." She mumbled.

"Does that happen every time you kiss someone?" He asked earnestly.

"I don't know." She said with a frown "That was my first time."

He dropped the bandages on the table that was littered with boxing gear, his skipping ropes and bottles of energy drinks "Well that won't do." He said simply and she looked at him sharply.

"What do you mean?" she asked, her voice rising as panic fluttered into her chest "I said I was sorry."

She watched him as he shook his head, teeth drawing over his bottom lip as he moved in close to her. She could smell the exertion on him, he smelled like heat and man and sweat and something like lust – if that is what it felt like – and she felt her skin begin to prickle with energy as she begged him silently to get away from her and prayed that he wouldn't all at once.

"We can't have your first kiss being ruined by an idiot." He said quietly, standing so close she could feel the heat vibrating from his skin, the energy he had built up coming off him in waves that made her head spin.

"I…" She lost her train of thought as she looked up into his ocean eyes "I'm not looking for just another first kiss." She whispered and he smiled.

"What are you looking for then?" He asked.

"A last first kiss." She breathed and his smile widened. His hands moved to her hips, his fingers curling so h is nails could anchor her as he leaned into her. She expected him to crash against her, to ignite in a fiery passion like what she felt bubbling inside her, but he didn't – he hesitated at her mouth and try as she might she couldn't hold onto the energy as it thrummed inside her – reacting to his presence, to his touch, and she could see the cool azure reflection of her biotics as it danced over his skin. He smiled, his lips brushing hers – sending a jolt through her – and then mercifully he pressed his mouth against her own.

It was as though she had been cast adrift until that moment – the feel of his mouth on hers, his tongue gently probing her mouth – suddenly woke her up, as though she had been devoid of oxygen until he breathed it back into her. His hands at her waist moved to her lower back, running over each other as he pressed her to him gently.

Shepard closed her eyes as tears spilled over tired lids anyway; wiping them away she clasped her hands together, pressing her forehead to them desperately as she drew her knees to her chest. This couldn't happen like this – in all the years they had been apart she had wondered, worried, but never actually believed Hobbs would come to harm. He was the most dangerous man she knew, the bravest and probably the stupidest and that seemed to be a winning combination.

Now she was faced with losing him, she was faced with living without him because he had protected her to the end. Like he had promised all those years ago – and hadn't she made him pay for that promise? Hadn't she just?

She sank her teeth into her knee, the momentary distraction as pain lanced up her leg more welcome than an oasis in the desert. She felt weary, emotionally drained and a sudden presence beside her made her start. She looked up to see Foster watching her, his blue eyes mirrored her own – lost and brimming with tears.

He fidgeted, fingers pressing to the arm rest of her chair as his gaze ticked to the floor, back to her, she saw the muscle in his jaw flex, the tears spilling over his lashes unprovoked as his legs went from under him. He crashed against her, and she held him – they held each other – fear overwhelming all sense as they clung to each other like long lost family – fear of being lost forever should they break the hold.

"I'm so sorry bambi." She whispered brokenly and when Foster tried to speak no sound came out, just a crackled whimper as he shook his head against her and tightened his grip around her.

It was the sound of the hydraulics pulling the door open that made them both freeze, both momentarily unable to let go for fear of the look they knew would be waiting on the doctor's face. Foster pulled back from her, standing as he wiped his face with an open palm.

The doctor regarded them both carefully. He was older, his dark skin contrasted against a tidy cut of greying hair. He looked at them both in turn, gesturing to a seat for Foster to sit down. He did, almost falling down as though commanded. As though the doctor held his strings rigidly.

"I understand you have been here for some time." The doctor said gently and Shepard shook her head, the tone of his voice worse than any wound she had felt – it felt like he was dragging a blade over her throat inexorably. "I'll try and be as concise as I can." He nodded soberly.

"Argyle has suffered some severe trauma to his head. Now, we've managed to reduce the swelling, but he hasn't regained consciousness yet. He lost a lot of blood – and that has starved his brain of oxygen as well." The doctor swallowed "At this juncture we have done all we can for him."

"Is he going to die?" Shepard asked, the question rushing from her mouth before she had even processed all the doctor had said.

"We cannot say." The doctor said "All we can do is wait and see if he wakes up. If he does we will have to reassess him then for further damage."

"Wait?" Foster asked, at last finding his voice and Shepard almost wished he hadn't for it was so raw and broken it cut deeply to hear it "For how long?"

The doctor shook his head "We don't know. We'll monitor him over the next few months, if there is any change or signs of… well, we can only wait and see." He folded his hands "You are welcome to go through." He said "But I wouldn't stay too long. You need sleep yourselves."

Shepard rejected the offer of kindness getting to her feet shakily as her blood sugar plummeted and she felt faint. Foster stood next to her, just slightly taller and she leaned on him, grateful to have his steadying presence there.

The doctor nodded, pushing past them as he made his way down the sterile corridors. Foster looked to Shepard and she stared back as they entered the room together.

It was silent, save for the whir of a life support machine and the monotonous bleep of the heart monitor. Shepard froze, feeling Foster's hand spread on her back as he came to a halt next to her.

She barely recognised him.

Under a nest of wires and tubes Hobbs breathed raggedly – the machine pushing oxygen in and out of his lungs for him. His skin was the colour of clay, marred with wounds, some still healing as the cybernetic arm passed over him weaving and knitting the broken flesh back together. Pressing a hand over her mouth to stifle the sob building in her throat Shepard moved to the bedside, sinking to sit on the stool beside him as she gripped a cold, limp hand between both of hers.

Foster came around the other side, sitting silently, taking the other hand mirroring her gesture.

"I can't believe it's him." He said hollowly and Shepard shook her head, tears spilling down her cheeks.

"I spent… years… dreading this." She whispered, her voice hoarse "In the pits, he used to get so beaten, and I would be there to nurse him back – he swore to me he would never leave. He promised." She ground out, gritting her teeth as she leaned forward, close to his bruised temple as she sucked in a breath "You promised me." She said firmly "Don't you dare flake on your word Hobbs. You told me yourself you never break a promise. Now I need you to wake up. Your little brother needs you to wake up. Don't you dare let go." She gripped his limp hand, willing her strength into him as she shook her head "Don't you dare let go."

Overcome her voice cracked and she buried her head in his shoulder, crushing her eyes closed as she let memories take over, feelings and emotions that had long been buried under a guise of hate. Hate that seemed so ignorant now, so meaningless.

"Please." She begged, feeling the first dizzying whispers of sleep in her head as she closed heavy eyes next to him "Please wake up."